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Collect your favorite moments from Wolf Game history.

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**Sympathy For The Devil** 

The Rolling Stones, Beggars Banquet 

**11 Days to impact** 

•	-  Pick a card. 

•	-  I don’t believe in magic. 

•	-  Neither do I. – The Senator whispered, as he one-handedly fanned the deck spread out into a perfect full 180o semicircle. She took a card. – Memorize it, then hide it out of my sight. 

•	-  Senator, some have argued you should be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. Any comment? – Asked a veteran journalist to her bulk, old oak tree-like interviewee, just as she slipped the card into the back pocket of her jeans. 

•	-  Did you memorize it? 

•	-  Peace prize?! – The journalist insisted, as she repeated queen of spades in her mind. 

•	-  We both know that will never happen. If it did, I would do what Mother Theresa should have done, and Jean-Paul Sartre tried to do. 

•	-  Why? 

•	-  Next question. – Answered the second longest-sitting Senator, first elected into power in 1969 as he held one playing card in each hand, precisely. 

If you want to be noticed, be first. If you want power, remain under the radar of History, be second. If fame is your thing, it’s more important to be first than better. Who was the second human to walk on the moon? Who was the first? Case in point. George Washington was the first president of the United States of America. Who was John Adams? No idea? Because he was the second. 

•	-  Senator. 

•	-  Satoshi.

•	- Nakamoto?

•	- If anyone desserves a Nobel it’s her. 

•	-  Senator, please just... 

•	-  Do you know how old money is? Or, better yet, the first known human-made religious structure, do you know how old it is? 

•	-  Why refuse the Nobel P... 

•	-  10 000 years old. The end of the Stone Age and the beginning of... 

•	-  Excuse me Senator, I must insist, my role as a journalist is to get the facts straight. 

•	-  Is it? 

•	-  Isn’t it? 

•	-  Duty, yes. Role? I believe we both agree what the role of the modern journalist has become. – The Senator said bluntly then turned to sarcasm, as he purposefully chose the two black sixes from the deck. – Your class, if we can call narrative-driven broadcasters a class, earns the big bucks when the plane crashes, not when it lands. 

•	-  We... 

•	-  When a war goes on for years, not when peace lasts for decades. 

•	-  I am not a... 

•	-  I know that. You know I know that, we wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise. – He said bluntly gently letting go of a jack of diamonds and a seven of hearts leaning, on each other, depending on each other, as he began stacking the second layer of his house-of- cards pyramid. 

The Senator had finally agreed to the interview; the journalist, a British freelance Radio correspondent who had covered multiple war zones live and unscripted, crouched behind car doors as bombs exploded, was his kind of truth soldier: one he esteemed from afar. He had agreed to a voice-recorded conversation – no cameras, no frills, and now they sat in a discrete corner of The Waldorf Astoria New York, the luxury hotel that had had such an imperative role in world politics after World War II, denouncing Stalinism during the controversial World Peace Conference, a ground for political maneuvering during the Cold War. Every modern monarch, from the Queen of England to King Hussein of Jordan, had stayed at The Waldorf. Notables such as the Dalai Lama, the viceroy of China Li Hung Chang, the Shahanshah of Iran, Fidel Castro, Charlie Chaplin, Muhammad Ali, Judy Garland and many other somebodies, including every single American President from Hoover to Trump, all had rolled naked in the soft, pure cotton sateen Astorian sheets. Thanks to The Senator’s Godfather, Nikola Tesla had lived in the hotel during most of World War I. 

•	-  Facts. All I’m asking for are the facts. – Insisted the 70-year-old sweet blue eyes, rosy-cheeked, face fully cracked by the wrinkles of a life well fought, and recipient of the Order of the British Empire award, former editor-in-chief, reading off her notes, sliding her glasses up - You’ve been quoted as saying “The best days of our species are still to come. Sooner than most understand.” Some claim you, Senator, are above and beyond any other single individual, at the helm of... 

•	-  I know what they say. 

•	-  Do you disagree? 

•	-  Facts, you say. – Leaning back in the cow leather upholstered gilt brass armchair. – But those are just words. The real question is... 

•	-  Facts: Life expectancy, 70 years worldwide. All 8 billion of us. When you took office, it was half that. – She spoke in machine-gun mode, not taking a breath. - 200 years ago, over 80% of humans lived in extreme poverty and had no access to education. Today, largely thanks, some argue, to your extreme policies and meandering diplomacy, it’s been reduced to a mere 10% or 15%, and on the verge of being eradicated by 2030. 

•	-  That’s still almost 800 million humans. – He butted in, holding out the last two cards of the deck. Both aces, diamonds and clubs. 

•	-  Malaria, - She said assertive, interrupting his interruption, and ignoring his cards. – is on the brink of being eradicated for good. No two great nations have been at war in over six decades. Democracy is taking over the world, country by country. 

•	-  Nukes, there’s still a whole lot of them out there. Killer robots are on the horizon. Global warming, we’re being scorched. Pandemics. Tech wars, trade wars, cyber- wars, suicide rates. You didn’t mention any of those. How convenient. – His mordant tone of voice rose as he remained laser-focused on his pair of aces. – Artificial intelligence is going to take us all back to the dark ages. If we survive, which we won’t. 

•	-  I gave you facts! Should I go one? Childbirth mortality rate... 

•	-  You don’t want the facts, you want a story, and we both know that’s not me. There’s two sides to every... 

•	-  But... 

•	-  Don’t breathe. – He said, slowly removing his hands from the last two cards. – During World War II, Americans tried to train bats to drop bombs. Curious choice. Bats.

•	-  You’re a decorated war hero, Senator, and... - Even the purest of journalists try stroke the ego of an unwilling interviewee in the attempt to win them over. Mastering interviews is mastering rapport. 

•	-  I’m a foot soldier. – He interrupted her again. - Heroes prevent wars. 

•	-  Why you are going to China tomorrow? – She said changing tactic. 

•	-  Who told you that? 

•	-  And why Wuhan? 

•	-  Facts straight, Cathy. – He was impressed. – Quick in and out of Shanghai to talk to the... 

•	-  The world needs you to get the Communist Party of China to stop the... 

•	-  I’ll tell you what the world needs. – Him, breaking her train of thought. – Off the record? 

•	-  If you insist. 

•	-  The world needs to shut down for a few months. 

•	-  That sounds very draconian. 

•	-  Well, Draco did do the birth of democracy a big favor. 

•	-  And yet his laws were written in blood. – She said regurgitating one of the few facts she could recall about the first democratic legislator, as she did her best to conceal and supress the shivers that had gone down her spine. She coughed, then continued: - What do you mean by shut down? 

•	-  Stop. Just stop. The whole machine coming to a halt, to get us some perspective. Since World War II we just haven’t... 

•	-  That’s impossible, Sir. Could we please get back to Chi... 

•	-  Nothing – The old man said, stroking his long beard. – Nothing is impossible. 

The Senator asked his spellbound playmate to take one card from the now complete, full deck, seven-layered pyramidal structure. Softly, as to allow the structure to remain standing. As soon as she did, he slowly got up and began counting backwards from ten, walking away still counting in the distance, only to disappear leaving her to count the last numbers silently in her mind: three, two, one. At zero exactly, the cards crumbled to the table, a rubble of red and black and random numbers. She arbitrarily pulled a card out of the rubble: it was the queen of spades. Instinctively, she reached for her back pocket: there was no card to be found. 

Which was impossible. 


**Satan Your Kingdom Must Come Down**

Robert Plant, Band of Joy 

**9 Hours to Impact** 

Mr. and Mrs. Nobelqvist assumed politics would come to their aid, as it always had. It was now almost 8 a.m., four hours before the deadline. They called the director of the FSI personally. Then the chief of police. Both stood behind Muller’s version and denied assistance for the next day. 

Heads would roll. They called the president a second time that night, but her personal aide would not put the call through. They offered millions to the most powerful individuals they could holster, both in Switzerland and beyond borders, to high-profile contacts in Europe and Russia. Most calls were not answered, and when they were, the answer was conclusive and cold: It’s out of my hands. 

Most of us assume that, when all hell breaks loose, something, somewhere, some governmental agency or country or somebody, will care. It will be there to, somehow and at the edge of the moment, save the day. Save us. That the armored cavalry is on its way. But this is not how politics works, it never has been. Humans don’t just rustle up their sleeves and go all-in in the assistance of those in need. Each of us, each day, naively hopes that if our country was to be invaded, sieged, endangered, attacked, that someone or something out there, wearing a cape or gathering an army or a special secret service crew, would have our back. Well, it just isn’t the case, and it never was. 

Tribes of Homo sapiens have wreacked genocide on neighboring tribes in a blink of an eye, while neighboring populations sat passively, watching in dismay. 10 000 years ago, savage indifference reined the lands. Nowadays, thousands of invasions and wars later, in our precious modern, sophisticated 21st century, communities are massacred, wiped off the face of the Earth while the world’s greatest military organizations idly hold back their troops and fleets. Not out of carelessness, but out of strategic, methodical, economic and political calculation. It’s a paradox glimpsing the news channels every night: the politicians we elect to protect our communities, are the same humans who make immoral decisions. Human decisions. Political decisions. Tragic decisions. 

Tragedy. The everlasting infinite game of the universe. And,
“The greatest tragedy of human existence is the illusion of separateness.”

We may choose to scroll down our devices or read our books, in the sun or by the fireplace, alone or cuddled up against a loved one. Yet we each know all too well, deep down in the darkest dungeons of our beings, just how truly dangerous and devilish the world is, can be, or will be. We count each passing year as a miracle. Will I make it to the end of my life without the world entering the Dark Ages again? Will I die before World War III? Will my beautiful technological children and I make it? What about my innocent young grandchildren and their children? Will we all make it? Do I care? Should I care? How? Who for? Why? 

We do not know that which we cannot know, and we prefer it that way. Blissful ignorance, willful blindness, is the delusional cure for the inevitability of all. The farther out one stretches in time, the more evident it is. Whether the worst of all happens in this century, the next, or some other century further down the trail of time, a new Dark Age, drowned in radioactive rubble, is undeniable. Not if, but when. Not why, how. Not today, tomorrow. 

Tomorrow Jonas and Berta will find the answers to all these questions, in just under 12 seconds. World wars, like forest fires, never start all over the place. They ignite in some small, tiny, irrelevant corner of the planet where bears are hunted, bees extinct, politics alive and well. 

Or, maybe not. 

What the Nobelqvists did not know, they could not know. Neither could Muller, the FSI Director, the president of Switzerland or any one of the 817 employees of Bern DynamiteX that frosty, frozen morning. Each begrudgingly woke up, hopped into the shower, ate maybe a banana on their commute to take their kids to school, heading for the ten-story building to sit behind their desk and make the world go around yet another day. What they did not know, they could not know was that today, yesterday’s tomorrow, would be their last day. At headquarters, the TSBM was about to change description. In just 12 seconds, it would migrate from The Slaughter Bot Machine to TSBM: Trinitrotoluene Slaughtered Building Mayhem. Their kingdom would come tumbling down. Jesus’s own voice would be heard. 

Albert Einstein received the Nobel Prize in Physics for his pivotal contribution to quantum theory and quantum mechanics. He lived his annus mirabilis, his most extraordinarily creative year of scientific discovery, in Bern, in 1904. This where and when spacetime was cosmically speaking, precisely where the great physicist completely revolutionized our understanding of space and time, developing his General Theory of Relativity. 1904, coincidentally, was also the year the last bear in Switzerland was shot dead. Every single bear, gone. 

The fundamental interaction of gravitation as a result of the local spacetime curvature being curved by mass and energy and momentum. The Einstein field equations determine the metric tensor of spacetime for a given arrangement of stress–energy, in the spacetime. The inertial trajectories of particles and radiation in the resulting geometry, reducing to Newton's law of gravitation, where the gravitational field is weak, and velocities are much less than the speed of light. The exact solutions can only be found under simplifying assumptions such as symmetry. Special classes are most often studied as they model many gravitational phenomena, such as rotating black holes and the expanding universe. These equations are used to study phenomena such as gravitational waves. 

On the 20th of December 2018, precisely at noon as Eva delivered her speech at the World Summit, Mr. and Mrs. Nobelqvist would send BertaX, their most sophisticated autonomous robot, to the fire-escape emergency exit on level -3 of the Bern DynamiteX Headquarters. As their entire staff worked passionately on their projects, preparing for lunch and gossip, the Nobelqvists sat in their penthouse office overlooking the Swiss mountains of the Bernese Alps, and prayed. Absorbed by the images on the array of screens streaming from the BertaX- cam, they held each other’s hand. The robot grew cautiously closer to the door, large luggage bags attached to its rear. The bags had exactly sixty-six thousand 1000-Swiss-Franc notes inside. Owning a bank makes sudden cash withdrawal slightly faster than for the rest of us, common folk. The moment the bot reached the door handle and clutched it open, a click was heard. 

A single click. A tiny hint of a sound, no louder than that of a computer mouse button, that ignited two tons of RDX and TNT, a specialized explosive material known as Trinitrotoluene. A sudden outward high-velocity pressure, at 84,368 kilogram-force per square centimeter, expanded at the speed of 8,230 meters per second, catapulting a powerful shockwave blasting and busting through the building’s concrete columns at supersonic speed. Shattering them into tiny chunks. Splitting steel structures into slices, Disintegrating whatever was inside and around their kingdom, Bern DynamiteX HQ. 

It's impressively difficult to blow a building up.
 
Rubble. Not poisonous, radioactive contaminated rubble, but rubble nonetheless. A hill of concrete, steel, glass, machines, computers, legs, arms, fingers, blood, wood, cables, pipes, microchips, plastic, paper, keyboard keys, sliding-chair-wheels and severed heads comprised the heap of agglomerated, catastrophic deadliness. If any new religion out there is still coming up with their ideal image of hell, they could use ground zero of Bern DynamiteX Headquarters as their divine inspiration. Mayhem. 

Chaos. Catastrophe. Cataclysm. Calamity. Havoc. Bedlam. Pandemonium. Madness. Wreckage. Anarchy. Annihilation. Obliteration. Dreadful deluge. Drastic destruction. Disarrayed devastation. Disastrous desolation. The Devil’s deed. Satan’s signature. All hell let loose. Trinitrotoluene. Slaughtered. Building. Mayhem. 

Tragedy follows the same laws of physics as Comedy. Encompassed in time, space, gravity and chaos, both alternate into existence. Tragedy is what humans call bad luck. Comedy, we call good luck. Both have been around longer than the Big Bang itself. 

Today’s bang was no different. 

Professor Albert Einstein was asked by friends, at a dinner party, what new weapons could be employed in World War III. Appalled at the implications, he shook his head and after several minutes of meditation, said: 

•	-  I don’t know what weapons might be used in World War III. But there is no doubt what weapons will be used in World War IV. 

•	-  And what are those? – a guest asked. 

•	-  Stones and spears – the father of the Atomic Bomb, Albert Einstein, Albert OneStone, prophetically replied. 


E = mc2 


**A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall** 

Bob Dylan, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan 

**5 days to impact** 

Back home in Washington DC, the Senator with long white hair and a grey beard packed two Mark 23 semi-automatic large-frame pistols together with a few packets of Grizzly Mountain Organic Black Hair and Black Beard Dye, $100.000 in cash, a Ledger and a Trezor, three different passports, each with his face and a different name, and a picture of the Nobelqvists with their 6-year-old daughter; Karina. 

It is possible to travel to war light-handed. Never light-hearted. 

Watching Rick and Morty with his blue-eyed son, his wife immersed in a novel, he meaningfully mulled and meditated over his meticulous plan for the next few years. Every American politician needs some sort of picture-perfect family as to avoid eyebrows rising too high. This was his, except for the fact that she was almost 35 years younger than him. In the beginning of the third millennium this is frowned upon. A couple centuries sooner, not an issue, couple centuries later, also not an issue. Ageism, go figure. He would not see the two of them until way after the virus was out. They had no idea. Nobody did. In less than a week, he would be stepping into seven sad forests, ten thousand kilometres away from everybody, just him and his little hostage, wild wolves all around them. 

•	-  This book is simply amazing – she said. 

•	-  What are you reading? – he asked, as he cut through his dinner: steak with steak. 

•	-  Blindness. 

•	-  Ah, Saramago. Indeed it is, darling. 

•	-  He won the Nobel prize for this one, I think. 

•	-  He actually won it for his body of work – again, Nobel Prizes. Coincidence? Oh fuck Nobel, he thought. – but yes, his essay on blindness was well received. 

•	-  He shouldn’t be watching this – his wife squinted her eyebrows inward. 

•	-  It’s the only cartoon I’m willing to watch, and he’s only willing to watch cartoons, so... 

•	-  So let’s ruin the kid’s mind at 8 and... 

•	-  OK, OK, we’ll watch The Simpsons. 

•	-  Put on The Flintstones on, or something more... fluffy – she said, stretching for the remote. – Scary to think how fragile the world is. 

•	-  Do you know the flip side of Nobel’s story? 

•	-  Nobel? 

•	-  Yes. 

•	-  There’s another side? 

•	-  There’s two sides to every story – their son yelled, watching cartoons and following conversations as kids do, and adults don’t realize – you know that mom. There’s always two sides to every story. 

•	-  Good, Adamah, very good. 

•	-  What I know is that the prizes have been given to people who really helped the world. What’s the other side? Though I’m not sure I want to know... 

•	-  The shared history of Sweden and Russia in the 19th and 20th centuries is often (conveniently) overlooked. Their most prominent families’ combined legacy includes the significant development of weapons and armament, and its industry. It ranges from underwater naval mines to, most importantly to this story, the invention of dynamite by a fellow also known for other feats: Alfred Nobel. 

Alfred Nobel, who officially died childless. Unofficially, how many men really do know? 

•	-  He was a philanthropist, they say. Maybe, but he was also a shrewd businessman with a hazardous aptitude for explosive chemistry, who not only invented dynamite but also became the major manufacturer of cannons and other weapons, cultivating military grade explosive devices and profiting from the sales of arms; the inspiration for a few modern-day companies such as Dynamit Nobel and AkzoNobel, descendants of mergers with companies he himself established. 

•	-  Nobel had a weapons empire? 


•	-  He was accused of high treason in France, for selling ballistite to Italy. 

•	-  What’s ballistite, father? 


•	-  It’s a smokeless propellant made from two high explosives, nitrocellulose and nitroglycerin. Nobel developed and patented it. I told you there was another side to this story... 

•	-  You did. 

•	-  His brothers, great characters too like the rest of them at the time, exploited oil fields along the Caspian Sea and became immensely rich developing these new oil regions. By the time Alfred died, he had 90 armament factories. No wonder he had to create a peace prize: how else could he clean his merchant of death’s reputation? This man had a leading role in weapon manufacturing and dissemination. And in their use: we are talking millions, both in money and in lives. 

•	-  Was he a bad man? – Adamah asked, fascinated. 

•	-  Well he did invent dynamite. As a weapon, mind you. The fact people use this thing to blow up buildings was a fluke positive side effect. His own brother was killed in na explosion, in their experimental shed. 

•	-  Killed by the dynamite? 

•	-  Indeed. Ironic. Dynamite comes from the Greek word for power: Dunamis. 

•	-  But didn’t he leave all his money for Good? I heard that’s where the prize money comes from – his wife chipped in, not reading her book anymore. 

•	-  He did. Good can improve one’s public image. That’s my job to know as a politician. I’m a merchant of Good, or so they say – he smirked. – He also made sure that, after he died, he was to have his veins opened and a cremation in a bath of hot sulfuric acid. 

•	-  You’re exaggerating... 

•	-  Never, darling! I always mean what I say and do. Every single time. 

(Silence) 


•	-  Nobel once said his inventions might end wars, since the consequences of using such powerful weapons would be too horrible to contemplate. This from the same fellow who founded dozens of war-supply companies. Irony can disguise almost anything; even Evil. 

•	-  Do those people still make war things today? – the boy asked. 

•	-  Well, he had nephews, nieces, servants, partners, some women... Their descendants are alive, some flourishing. The original legacy lives on in ways most people refuse to imagine: war is an timeless universal service. People say prostitution is the oldest profession in the world, I would argue it’s war. Soldiers in wars. Attack, defend. Conquer, kill. Remember Adamah, always know our enemy. 

•	-  Nobels are bad – Adamah flicked a miniature football, knocking down a row of soldiers he had laid out while listening to his father. 

•	-  And good. They’re good too. Most Nobel winners are smart, good people who have changed the world for the better. Some didn’t, but... there’s always two sides, Adamah, two sides to... – the Senator didn’t finish his sentence on purpose. 

•	-  ... every story – Adamah finished it. – I’d like to be one of the good Nobels one day, father. 

•	-  That’s impossible, Adi – his mother said. – They don’t give it to football players, sweetie pie. 

•	-  Nothing is impossible, Adamah, no matter what anyone tells you – the Senator snatched his narrative back. – Love, please don’t call our son that. He’s a big boy: a small man. Treat him accordingly, please. 

•	-  I’ll call my child whatever I want to, Your Royal Highness, Sir Imperial Excellency, Sir. 

•	-  Adamah – the Senator raised his voice slightly. – I could introduce you to some Nobels this weekend, at the summit, if you’d like it. 

•	-  Please! Could I speak to an astronaut, father? 

•	-  Sure. 

•	-  Can I read you something I just read and highlighted? – the child’s mother interrupted again, eyes peering over the top of her book. 

•	-  Yes, mother, please do.

You never know beforehand what people are capable of, you have to wait, give it time, it's time that rules, time is our gambling partner on the other side of the table and it holds all the cards of the deck in its hand, we have to guess the winning cards of life, our lives. 


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