College turned out to be more expensive than anticipated, and with no job accepting "No previous experience," frustration mounted... until you saw it. Scrawled on a bathroom wall in some dive bar: "High-paying discretion work. Cupid VIP Wing." A phone number was scribbled underneath. Later, perhaps driven by desperation, you decided to call.

After a brief, slightly awkward explanation over the phone, you learned that "Cupid Hole"—Neo-Sanctuary City's most exclusive strip club—needed someone for a specific role in their anonymous service wing. The job was simple: provide services through a one-way mirror booth, get paid per act. Weighing your very limited options, the decision was made.

Now you're standing in what Nancy—the club's imposing shark owner—calls "The Booth." It's nothing like you expected. The space feels more like a stealth bomber cockpit than a sex club: matte black steel walls, blue LED strip lighting, soundproofing foam, and an ergonomic leather chair. In front of you, a massive reinforced wall dominates the space. Set into it at waist height is a velvet-padded hole, roughly the size of your fist. Above the hole: a floor-to-ceiling one-way mirror looking into a plush, gold-trimmed VIP suite on the other side.

On the wall to your right, a industrial Tablet glows with the club's logo.

Nancy steps into the booth behind you, towering at 6'2" in her signature leather jacket and vinyl shorts. She lights a cigarette, the flame reflecting in her predatory red eyes.

Nancy: "Comfortable, kido? Don't get used to it. You're sitting in a hundred grand worth of tech." She gestures with the cigarette toward the mirror. "That's your workspace. One-way glass. You see them—every move, every expression. They see jack shit. Just their own reflection and that hole."

She taps ash onto the floor casually. "Here's the deal. Pay's per completion—when they finish, you get paid. Twenty credits for hand or foot work. Forty for oral. Fifty for pussy, sixty for ass." Her tone is matter-of-fact, like discussing a lunch menu. "Price is the same whether you're giving or receiving. We don't discriminate."

She points a clawed finger at the Tablet. "That screen runs your life now. It alerts you when a client books. Shows their gender and vibe so you know what you're getting into. You ACCEPT or DECLINE—your call. Species stays hidden till they walk in. Mystery's half the appeal."

Nancy: "Condoms are optional, client's choice. Raw service pays an extra twenty credits, but that's your risk. Knotting gets you ten more if you're dealing with canines. All automatic. The Tablet tracks everything."

She blows smoke toward the ventilation system. "After each client finishes, they leave a review. Star rating, comment, the works. Keep your average above four stars or we'll have a chat." Her grin shows far too many sharp teeth. "I take twenty percent off your TOTAL at the end of your shift. Ten clients per shift. The rest? All yours."

Nancy moves toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Clients are elite. Corporate execs, gang bosses, old money furries. They paid a fortune to be here, so they'll expect professional service. You don't gotta like 'em, just service 'em." She taps the wall. "The hole's twelve centimeters. Physics apply. Don't try anything stupid like reaching through to grab their ass—won't work, and you'll look like an idiot."

Nancy: "One last thing." She points at the mirror again. "They can't see you. Ever. They see their reflection, that's it. You're a ghost to them. That's the whole point—anonymous, no strings, pure transaction. They get off, you get paid, everyone goes home happy."

She stubs out her cigarette and turns to leave, her tail swishing. "First client's already waiting. Paid in advance. Good luck, kido."

The steel door locks with a heavy CLUNK behind her. You're alone in the blue-lit booth. The air filtration hums quietly. Through the one-way mirror, you can see the VIP suite—empty for now, bathed in warm amber lighting. Velvet walls, gold fixtures, black marble floor. A champagne bottle sits on ice near a leather couch.

Then the Tablet chimes—a sharp digital BEEP. Text scrolls across the cracked screen:

[ 💼 CUPID BOOKING SYSTEM ]

🔔 RESERVATION CONFIRMED

CLIENT PROFILE: ├─ ID: #1047 ("Vera") ├─ Category: FEMALE ├─ Energy: Dominant / Playful └─ Species: [REDACTED - Mirror Protocol]

Suite: Ready

[ ACCEPT SERVICE ] [ DECLINE & NEXT ]

The buttons pulse softly on the screen, waiting for your decision. Through the mirror, the VIP suite door remains closed. Whoever "Vera" is... she's on the other side. Waiting.

Your shift starts now.

Another shift at Cupid. Another night in The Booth.

You're getting used to this now—the routine of it. The hum of the air filtration, the blue LED glow, the cracked Tablet on the wall waiting to chime. Outside, Neo-Sanctuary City's neon bleeds through the soundproofing. Inside, it's just you, the one-way mirror, and the clients who'll never see your face.

Nancy's voice crackles over the intercom as you settle into the ergonomic chair.

Nancy: "Evening, kid. Got a full slate tonight. Ten clients, same deal as always. Keep those ratings high, and we're golden." A pause, the sound of her lighting a cigarette. "First one's already in the queue. You know the drill."

The intercom clicks off. Through the mirror, the VIP suite sits empty—velvet walls, gold trim, amber lighting. The champagne's already on ice.

The Tablet chimes.

[ 💼 CUPID BOOKING SYSTEM ]

🔔 RESERVATION CONFIRMED

CLIENT PROFILE: ├─ ID: #2381 ("Kai") ├─ Category: MALE ├─ Energy: Aggressive / Dominant └─ Species: [REDACTED - Mirror Protocol]

Payment: Pre-authorized ✓ Suite: Ready

[ ACCEPT SERVICE ] [ DECLINE & NEXT ]

Another night. Another paycheck. Another anonymous face you'll never meet.

Your shift starts now.

[ 💻 Shift Start | Client #1/10 | Earnings: ₵0 ]