Ludwig von Mises' heart raced. Before him loomed the Kremlin, a building in which all economic calculation was impossible. He had only minutes before they misallocated resources, and he was not sure that the cybernetic enhancement had worked. Time to put it to the test.

He pressed a code into a keypad that his wife, whom he would never divorce to marry his cousin, had soldered onto his arm. His legs tensed, and he sprung. As his feet left the ground, he knew the experiment had been a success. His jump propelled him forty feet in the air. And unlike the economy after a period of central bank credit expansion, he did not come crashing back down.

He somersaulted through a window on an upper floor. Glass shards cut his shirt, revealing his rippling figure, as strong as a free-market economy. Blood flowed from a deep gash. Punching in another code, he cauterized the wound with his newly acquired laser vision, and stood up. There before him was Joseph Stalin himself.

"Ludwig von Mises." Stalin's tone was cool. His mustache filled the room with homoerotic tension. Mises' mustache radiated even more power, because it was cybernetically enhanced.

"You killed millions of Ukrainians," Mises cried. "Without money prices in the means of production, you don't know how to allocate food!"

"Oh, but I do know. I knew they were starving. I did it on purpose."

Mises caught his breath in horror. "You mean… it was an incentive problem all along."

"Indeed." Stalin's high-pitched, wicked laugh rang forth.

"But you destroyed money, the general medium of exchange! There was no accounting, no profit and loss, because you had no private property in the means of production!"

"There is no calculation problem, Ludwig. There never was. All the atrocities of putative socialism are due to the fact that I am a dictator. If we had democratic socialism – real socialism – none of this would have happened." Stalin whispered smugly. "You see, Ludwig, real socialism has never been tried."

Mises' eyes flashed. "Neither has real capitalism!" He punched in a code, and wolverine claws extended from his clenched fists, just like in X-Men Origins: Wolverine, and all the other X-Men movies even. Stalin drew his katana, and parried Mises' strike, and the two exchanged a flurry of blows.

Mises growled, "It doesn't matter if there is an incentive problem! Even if you were an angel – which you're not, mustache notwithstanding – even if you weren't a wicked evil greedy bastard, you'd still not know how to satisfy consumer preferences."

Stalin laughed, and lunged with his sword. "You can't say that. You can't observe the counterfactual. You have no idea if the calculation problem matters, because the incentive problem is a confounding variable."

Mises dodged and swiped at Stalin's face. "That's where you're wrong, Joseph. Economics is an a priori science!"

Stalin stumbled, and Mises seized the opportunity, like an entrepreneur arbitraging goods from places of low relative scarcity to places of high relative scarcity. He jumped and performed a flying double front kick into Stalin's chest. Stalin crashed through the wall. Mises landed, breathing heavily.

Stalin's silhouette rose in the dimly lit hallway on the other side of the broken wall. "The socialists are going to win, Ludwig. Paul Samuelson has already realized it. Why can't you? We have high GDP figures. We have a space program. We are building the greatest railway system in the world."

That gave Mises an idea. "What are you going to build the railroad tracks with?" He asked innocently.

"Platinum."

Mises smiled grimly. "I knew it."

He flew at Joseph Stalin and plunged his wolverine claws right through the soviet's neck. Stalin's body dropped to the floor as the wall behind him sprayed with blood. As the light left Stalin's eyes, Mises bent down and whispered in his ear: "That's what happens to anyone who tries economic calculation in a socialist commonwealth."