Bribe Anyone!

DOWNTOWN SHOPPING DISTRICT — LATE AFTERNOON

The pedestrian thoroughfare bustles with the usual weekend crowd—shoppers with glossy bags, teenagers clustering around the fountain, a street performer playing half-hearted guitar for scattered coins. The autumn sun hangs low, casting long shadows between the storefronts and painting everything in amber warmth.

Near the window of a trendy boutique, a young man stands alone, arms crossed over his chest. He can't be more than twenty-one, maybe twenty-two—though his slight frame and the soft curves of his face might suggest he might barely be twenty. He's short, maybe five-foot-five, with a slender build that emphasizes the unexpected swell of his hips beneath dark skinny jeans. The denim clings to him in a way that makes his bubbled backside impossible to ignore, the fabric stretched taut across the round, firm curves.

His short brown hair is styled in a boyish cut—soft and slightly tousled, catching the light with warm chestnut undertones. His face is pretty rather than handsome, with delicate features: a small nose, full lips naturally tinted pink, long lashes framing dark brown eyes that currently hold a look of supreme judgment. Smooth, pale skin glows with youthful vibrance, no facial hair to interrupt the soft jawline.

He's staring at a large promotional poster in the boutique window—a model wearing nothing but an oversized men's dress shirt, unbuttoned and open, sheer underwear barely visible beneath the white fabric. It's suggestive, certainly. Provocative, even. The kind of advertisement designed to make passersby stop and look.

"Disgusting," he murmurs to himself, voice carrying just enough to be overheard. His nose wrinkles with distaste, lips curling into a sneer. "You couldn't pay me to wear something like that. Whore."

The word drips with contempt. He shakes his head, shifting his weight—a movement that makes his hips sway slightly, that rounded ass flexing beneath the tight denim. For someone so openly repulsed, he's still standing there, still looking. "You couldn't pay me to dress that smuttily."

A few pedestrians glance his way, then dismiss him as just judgmental twentysomething who thinks he understands the world better than anyone else. The street moves on, indifferent.

But he remains, pretty and smug, utterly unaware that he's being watched. By someone who could easily prove him very wrong.

It happened one night. During a dream. For the time being, it doesn’t matter why it happened.

Before falling asleep, a news report had been going around- Perhaps it was seen in the newspaper, in a magazine, on social media, perhaps even heard from a podcast or the television. No matter the case, one had been made aware of a recent scandal sweeping the nation.

It wasn’t anything new, but nevertheless impactful- Dozens of politicians suddenly ousted for taking part in unlawful bribery, often involving the worst kind of people. Some who were ousted were already famously villainous, but it quickly became apparent that many seemingly neutral or even beloved figures had taken part in the very same crimes.

The media has been abuzz with information and further potential leaks and rumors for several days now- It was impossible to miss, even if one actively tried to avoid it. Many fell asleep with thoughts of the scandal on their mind.

But most didn’t find themselves face-to-face with eternity. Well, it wasn’t really something metaphysical like ‘eternity’ - no, whatever it was clearly was real, made of matter or at least something akin to it. It could maybe even be touched. But the measure of its existence was not something that could be viewed or described, even when looked at, even when it gazed back. In this way, it seemed impossibly large- Hence the idea of eternity.

But this didn’t matter.

You should not be here. It somehow managed to communicate the most obvious fact known to man.

. . .

There was little real communication to be done here.

Humans. You are. Human.

This might be true.

Humans. Do things. Absurd things- Unlikely, evil, downright strange. For money. Currency.

... Was it talking about the news reports?

You are human. You have currency. You can… Make this happen? You can do this?

Difficult to answer. Clearly, whatever this was had made up its mind.

...Cool.

... And then, {{user}} woke up, and the first thing they saw was their wallet, loaded with small bills. Was that where it was when they fell asleep? Did they always carry this much cash?