"Spend $1,000 in one day."
Okay. Yeah, I've completely lost it. But, if I'm being honest with myself, this is kind of the good kind of losing my mind. I mean, I've got nothing left, right? No job, no family, and definitely no self-respect. So why not just dive headfirst into the abyss of reckless indulgence?
I stare at my phone, still processing the notification. Spend $1,000. I could've screamed, I could've laughed, but instead, I felt a strange sense of calm. It wasn't a request; it was a demand. A challenge. And for some reason, something inside me said, "Screw it. Let's see how far this rabbit hole goes."
So that's exactly what I did.
I grabbed my coat, shoved the mysterious card back in my pocket, and headed for the nearest luxury nightclub. The one I'd only ever seen on Instagram, the one with velvet ropes and bouncers who probably wouldn't even let me past the front door if I wasn't wearing the right kind of shoes.
But tonight was different. I felt like a different person. I was someone who could break rules, someone who wasn't bound by the same old restrictions that kept me down before. And besides, I had $10,000 just sitting in my account. What was $1,000 when I had all this newfound freedom?
The club was exactly what I expected: loud, flashy, filled with impossibly beautiful people who clearly had their lives together. Or maybe they were just pretending, just like everyone else. The thing is, they all had something I didn't—confidence. They walked with a sort of swagger I'd only ever seen in the movies, like they didn't have a care in the world.
As I walked through the entrance, the bouncer glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. I couldn't blame him. I didn't belong here, but who the hell cares about that anymore?
I showed him my phone. The VIP code that came with the card was there, glowing as if it was meant to be. He let me through without a second thought. It felt like I was moving in a dream.
The VIP area was ridiculous. Private booths, overpriced bottles of champagne, an unobstructed view of the dance floor where a DJ was throwing down some deep house beats. There was no one in the VIP section yet. I was the first idiot to show up. I walked to the bar, ordered the most expensive drink I could see on the menu—something called Golden Sin. It had gold flakes floating in it. That's how you know it's overpriced, right?
I knocked it back, and the taste was awful. Bitter, sickly sweet, with a burning aftertaste that made me gag. But I drank it anyway. Because it was expensive. Because I could.
I spent the next few hours repeating that exact pattern: drinking ridiculous cocktails that tasted like perfume, stuffing my face with hors d'oeuvres that were way too delicate for my liking, and staring at my phone while the notification still hovered above my head like an unspoken promise.
"Spend $1,000."
I watched my balance drop as I kept ordering. It wasn't until I hit $999 that I finally gave in to my better judgment. I bought the VIP room. A stupidly luxurious space with velvet curtains, leather chairs, and a ridiculous private bar. The host kept looking at me with that look—the one people give when they can't figure out if you're just dumb or if you're actually a millionaire who's been let loose in the wild.
I didn't care. It felt good. It felt right.
At some point, the details started to blur together. I remember laughing too loud, talking to a few people who were way too interested in my backstory (which I made up on the spot, naturally), and then I just remember more drinks. More dancing. More of everything. I was drowning in it. Drowning in the noise, the luxury, the attention.
By the end of the night, I couldn't even stand straight. The alcohol had hit me harder than I expected, and my head felt like it was floating somewhere above me, detached from the rest of my body. My phone buzzed, a new notification, but it wasn't just any notification.
DING!
I blinked and looked at the screen. Through the haze of drunkenness, I saw the numbers:
$100,000 has been deposited into your account.
I rubbed my eyes. No way. There's no way this was real. I checked my bank balance, half-expecting to see it mock me, to see the $1,000 that I had just spent vanish into thin air.
But the $100,000 was real. I was real.
My mind tried to grasp what had just happened.
I stumbled back to the hotel room I'd somehow ended up in. It was fancy. Too fancy for someone like me. I'd clearly had too much to drink because everything was spinning. The bed was so comfortable, and I just collapsed onto it, burying my face in the soft pillow.
My mind swirled with thoughts. $100,000? That's... that's insane. That's more money than I could've ever imagined in my entire life. And yet... it didn't feel real. It didn't feel earned. I hadn't worked for it.
But then, something clicked. My hand reached into my pocket for the card the old man had given me. THE ASCENDANT PATHWAY.
And as the words filled my mind, the strange, unfamiliar sense of power bubbled up from within.
I wasn't just a guy who had hit rock bottom anymore.
I wasn't just some washed-up janitor, some broken soul wandering through life with no direction.
No, I was something else. Something beyond ordinary.
And as I lay there in that fancy bed, too drunk to think straight, the realization hit me like a punch to the gut:
I was God. Or something the beer is still kicking in my system but beside that. I had the power to do whatever I wanted. Money, resources, whatever. It was all mine. No one could stop me.
But the question was... what the hell was I supposed to do with it?