Day 000 – Hour 005: Taking Someone's Place
There were two things inside the envelope.
A hundred dollar bill — uncreased, untouched — and a folded letter written in clean, deliberate strokes. One side held the message. The other bore a symbol I didn't recognize:
A capital C, hollowed out in the middle, with a $ snug inside the open curve.
It looked… official. But not corporate. Not government.
Something else. Something carved out for those already expected to understand it.
The money made me pause.
A hundred.
Just like that.
No note about repayment. No address. No signature.
In this neighborhood, people have vanished over amounts that wouldn't cover a cab ride. So whoever delivered this — they either didn't care who found it…
…or they were sure it would land in the right hands.
I opened the door, fast.
Too late.
The hallway was empty.
Ten apartments on this floor. No one loitering. No sound from the stairwell. Whoever had slid the envelope under my door had disappeared without echo.
If they lived here, they were behind a locked door already. If not, they were long gone.
Either way, they didn't want to be found.
And I didn't have anyone to ask. No cameras. No witnesses.
Just another mystery dropped into my life without warning.
I shut the door again and bolted it — twice.
Wedged the back of a chair under the knob for good measure.
Then slipped the hundred into the pouch sewn against my ribs, under my shirt. I'd had it stitched there years ago. Not for fashion. For survival.
Out here, walking around with that kind of cash in your pocket was just asking to get followed. Or worse.
The letter came next.
I sat with it under the weak light from the stove hood. Unfolded it carefully, expecting riddles or threats or flowery language.
What I got instead was something colder. Smoother.
It didn't greet me. Didn't explain itself.
It just started.
It is time to inherit a membership.
If you wish to decline, take the money as a gift and never speak of this again.
Though no one will believe you, we will not take the chance for you to divulge any information.
If you wish to accept, follow the instructions exactly.
Every step is part of a larger test.
This is how membership is earned.
Step 1 – Go to Polito's Shop.
Say: "I request change that can be traced back to me."
Step 2 – Begin your first task.
You have 672 hours to complete it before disqualification.
Buy a cell phone using the least amount of money possible.
Send a message to 3334444 with the phrase:
"The $100 Club"
You may use only the change provided by the shop owner.
You may not use your own money.
You may trade your skills, labor, or information as needed.
Everything will be reviewed.
Further instructions will follow upon completion.
I read it again.
And again.
It wasn't a threat.
But it wasn't a request either.
It was a design — a machine already running. One I could step into or step away from.
But not interfere with.
Not question.
Take the money. Go to Polito's. Speak the phrase.
It didn't sound like much.
But the air had already changed in the room. Like the rules that governed my world were no longer the ones I grew up with.
And somehow, I already knew:
This wasn't about a hundred dollars.
Not really.