I was halfway through demolishing my pancake stack, syrup dripping down my chin like some kind of overenthusiastic toddler, when the system popped up again.
[New Task: Use a phone sex service for 1 minute. Hang up after the woman says something naughty.]
[Reward: $200]
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.
I read the screen again.
And again.
And again.
"...WHAT?!" I nearly choked on a piece of pancake.
Phone sex? Phone sex?!
I rubbed my eyes furiously. Maybe I was misreading it. Maybe it was phonics service or phoenix service. Something—anything—that wasn't "call a stranger and listen to her whisper dirty things in my ear."
But nope. It was there. Clear as day.
The system wasn't even pretending to be normal anymore.
I stared at the floating screen, my face turning an impressive shade of red.
"I—You—THIS IS NOT NORMAL!" I stammered to absolutely no one because, again, I lived alone like the pitiful goblin I was.
The system, as usual, said absolutely nothing. Just hovered there, menacingly cheerful.
"Two hundred dollars..." I muttered, calculating rapidly in my brain.
Two hundred dollars for one minute.
One stupid, weird, deeply uncomfortable minute.
I mean, it's not like I actually had to do anything, right? Just call, listen to some lady say something spicy, and then hang up. Easy. Simple. Quick cash.
Right?
Feeling like I was about to commit some kind of moral war crime against my own dignity, I hesitantly opened my laptop and typed:
"Phone sex services near me."
Instant regret. Instant, searing, crippling regret.
My screen exploded into a chaotic hellscape of websites that looked like they hadn't been updated since 2002. Blinking neon fonts, half-naked cartoon ladies, tacky heart clipart flying across the screen like I had time-traveled back to the internet's Wild West era.
And the taglines—oh my god, the taglines.
"HOT MOMS NEED YOUR ATTENTION!"
"SIZZLING COLLEGE BABES WAITING TO MEET YOU!"
"CALL NOW FOR THE WETTEST EXPERIENCE OF YOUR LIFE!"
I felt like I needed holy water just for scrolling.
My hand hovered uncertainly over the mouse. "This is for money," I told myself. "This is for survival. This is professional."
Nothing about this was professional.
Sweating bullets, I clicked on one of the slightly less horrifying-looking links. A homepage popped up, complete with a cheesy saxophone soundtrack and a button that said CALL NOW TO UNLOCK PLEASURE!
I wanted to die.
"Nope, nope, we're doing this," I muttered to myself, my voice cracking like a twelve-year-old hitting puberty for the second time.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my phone and dialed the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
"Hi there, handsome," purred a voice so sultry it practically melted through the speaker. "What can I do to make your night... unforgettable?"
I froze.
Panic shot through me like a cannonball.
Say something! Be cool! Be a man!
Instead, I made a noise that can only be described as a dying whale.
"Uh. Hey," I croaked.
"Mm, you sound shy," the woman teased, her voice dripping honey. "Don't worry, baby... I'm really good at loosening you up."
My soul left my body.
I checked the timer on my phone. Thirty seconds down. Thirty to go.
I gripped my phone like it was the last lifeline tethering me to sanity. Sweat poured down my back. My brain was screaming. Abort mission! ABORT!
And then, the woman leaned in with a low whisper:
"I'm not wearing anything but a smile right now, and I'm thinking about touching myself... slowly."
DING.
The system immediately flashed:
[Task Completed!]
[+$200 deposited to your account]
[Good job, champ!]
Without a single second of hesitation, I slapped the red "end call" button like my life depended on it.
Click.
Silence.
I sat there for a solid minute, just staring into the void of my apartment, listening to the distant hum of my cheap refrigerator and reevaluating every life choice I had ever made.
Finally, I opened my bank app.
Sure enough—another two hundred bucks had been dropped into my account.
$3650.
"Sweet merciful chaos," I whispered, collapsing onto the couch. "I'm getting paid to traumatize myself."
The system cheerfully blinked at me:
[Remember: Happiness comes in many forms!]
I glared at it.
"This was not happiness," I muttered. "This was... this was emotional terrorism."
But deep down... I couldn't deny it.
A little tiny part of me was laughing. Laughing at how absurd my life had gotten. Laughing because a few days ago, I was broke and depressed, and now I was getting paid to brush my teeth and accidentally participate in late-night hotline horror shows.
Life was weird.
But for once?
It was weird in a way I could actually survive.
I was still laying there, sprawled across my couch like a melted popsicle, trying to scrub the memory of that phone call out of my brain with sheer willpower, when my phone buzzed.
I flinched like it had personally insulted my mother.
For a second, I panicked—what if it was the phone sex lady calling me back??
What if she wanted to talk about my extended car warranty but in a sexy voice??
I peeked at the screen, bracing for the worst.
It was a text.
From Mia.
I sat up so fast I gave myself whiplash.
Mia: Hey Allen! Hope you're having a good day! Look who says hi!
Attached was a picture.
My heart did a weird little triple jump against my ribs.
It was Marshmallow—the tiny, fluffy terror himself—posed dramatically on a bright pink blanket, his tiny tongue sticking out just a little, like he was mocking me through the screen.
He even had a little bandana around his neck that said "Certified Good Boy," which was a lie, because I knew he was a certified menace.
Still, I couldn't stop the stupid grin stretching across my face.
Then came another text:
Mia: Are you busy tomorrow evening? I was thinking… maybe we could go for a walk? Marshmallow would love to see you again!
I stared at my phone like it had just proposed marriage.
A walk.
With Mia.
And her tiny demon-dog.
A date. A second date.
I was so excited I almost forgot that dogs existed and that I was, fundamentally, a gigantic coward around them.
Still, this was Mia. Mia with the pink cheeks and the easy laugh and the way she didn't look at me like I was some weird bug under a magnifying glass.
This was worth braving the Land Piranha.
I thumb-smashed a reply before my anxiety could wrestle the phone out of my hands.
Allen: I'd love to! What time were you thinking?
Immediate regret. Was that too eager? Too desperate? Should I have waited, like, exactly 7 minutes and 36 seconds before replying? Was that a thing?
Before I could spiral, she texted back:
Mia: Yay! Maybe around 5? We can get some ice cream after if you want!
Ice cream.
With Mia.
This was not a drill.
I was mid-dreaming about buying the biggest, dumbest ice cream sundae known to mankind when—because of course—the system decided it was the perfect time to pop in:
[New Task: Prepare for your date!]
[Subtasks:
Buy treats for Marshmallow (Reward: $50)
Pick up some nice clothes (Reward: $100)
Smile at yourself in the mirror and say "I'm awesome" (Reward: $150 + Confidence Boost!)]
I stared at the list.
"...Smile at myself?" I muttered.
The system added a little winking emoji.
Like it knew.
Like it knew exactly how much that was going to hurt my soul.
Still. Money was money. And I was about three more dumb tasks away from having enough cash to buy, like, an actual functioning adult wardrobe instead of the "sad scarecrow" aesthetic I was currently rocking.
I sighed dramatically, peeled myself off the couch, and shuffled over to the mirror.
My reflection stared back at me.
Disheveled hair. Lopsided T-shirt. A face that screamed "I just survived phone sex trauma and lived to tell the tale."
"You're awesome," I mumbled.
No ding.
I tried again, louder, putting some oomph into it.
"You're awesome!"
Ding!
[Task Completed!]
[+$150 deposited to your account]
[Confidence Boost Activated: +10 Charisma for 24 hours!]
I felt... weirdly good?
Like I had just given my soul a little pep talk and it hadn't immediately flipped me off.
This was wild.
I checked my bank account.
$3800.
From basically zero to almost four grand in, like, two days.
I could actually buy nice things. Real food. Maybe even pants that didn't have mystery stains.
Maybe this wasn't just surviving anymore.
Maybe this was the start of something awesome.
My phone buzzed one last time:
Mia: Can't wait to see you tomorrow! Marshmallow too!
I clutched my phone against my chest like a total dork.
Tomorrow was going to be great.
Probably.
Assuming Marshmallow didn't decide to eat my face.
No pressure.