The hottest girl EVER strolls down a street in any suitable city. She is sexy beyond words. The trap is basically – any guys that whistle, try grope, hiss, molest – and crosses any and all reasonable boundaries of consent….
He’s late twenties, maybe thirty. Gym-fit but malnourished—protein powder and resentment. Hair trimmed too sharp, tan just a little too baked-in to be real. Dressed like he’s on his third warning at a WeWork: tight polo, wristwatch that screams “divorce money,” sunglasses worn like a threat.
He spots her halfway down the block and slows. You can feel it. His pace turns sharklike. He angles toward her, jaws working through a pre-scripted line. She’s on full strut, unaware, or pretending to be. That’s the bait.
He doesn’t open with words. No, he grabs—a hand shoots out, wrist-level, going for her exposed hip where the skirt hangs low and precarious.
Contact. His fingers press skin. He grins. Now, your move.
The HotGirl smiles.
“Hey!” Hands him a card. “Look Up!”
She points up. Two drones hover.
“You are online already. My team is already googling your face for social media. It is generally under 15 minutes before we post this video everywhere with 3 Videos – one from my bag here and two from the Drones. 4K detail each. Look on the card, there’s a website. Removing the video is right now 50 euro. Every minute the price goes up by one euro. Every minute the video spreads to more social media, any contacts we find – anything. Your boss, your mom. Look there behind me, that’s my bodyguard.”
Girl walks on.
Rando Guy freezes. Half a second of that dumb lizard-brain scan: Is she bluffing? Are the drones real? Then the panic sets in. He looks up. Two silver dots. Rotors whirring, lenses blinking. One shifts angle—tracking him. His mouth opens, but no words. She hands him the card with the mechanical grace of someone who’s done this before. No fanfare. No drama. Just: receipt.
She turns away.
The bodyguard is already ten steps behind—dark suit, eyes hidden behind polarized lenses, one ear cupped in matte-black comms. Not big, but trained. A quiet kind of dangerous. He nods once at the guy. Just once. And now he’s holding the card like it’s radioactive.
Website: “StreetJustice.NU”
Timer: €50.00
Text: “Buy it down, before your mom sees it.”
RandoGuy starts typing frantically. Payment in Paypal, BTC, various payment systems. Meanwhile, HotGirl melts into the street, hips swinging like nothing happened. Of course nothing happened.
It was handled before it could.
Summary: Monetized Street Harassment Deterrence — “Look Up, Creep” Model
Estimated Daily Revenue (Amsterdam, good weather, summer weekend):
-
Number of harassment incidents recorded: ~15
-
Immediate payouts (on the spot, via QR/paylink):
-
~10 perpetrators
-
Average immediate payment: €60–€90
-
Subtotal: €750
-
-
Delayed payouts (within 48–72 hours, due to fear/panic):
-
~3–4 perpetrators
-
Price escalated by time: ~€120–€180
-
Subtotal: €550
-
-
Premium damage control/extortion-avoidance payments (wealthy/sensitive individuals):
-
1–2 per week, but sometimes 1/day
-
Payment to prevent viral spread, reputation damage, or to request deepfake reversal: €300–€1000
-
Subtotal (daily average): €500
-
-
Subscription services (site monetization):
-
“Consent Lessons,” voyeurist gallery, social commentary access
-
~20 new daily signups @ €9.99/month
-
Daily revenue: €200 (conservative)
-
-
Merch & side hustle (tees, stickers, ‘CreepScore’ ratings):
-
~€100–€300/day average
-
Total Estimated Daily Revenue: €1,600 – €2,200
Risk Assessment: Legal Consequences
1. Privacy & Defamation Complaints
-
Legal Risk: Moderate
-
Under Dutch law, filming in public spaces is legal, especially when the filmer is involved or for self-protection. Posting footage with identifying features without consent is a legal grey area but can fall under portrait rights or defamation if the tone is mocking or misleading. You can be sued, especially if the site monetizes their faces without redaction or blurring.
-
2. Police Involvement by Perpetrators
-
Likelihood of going to police: Low to Moderate (~20–30%)
-
Most harassers don’t want official records. They know they’d need to explain their own behavior under scrutiny. Filing police reports opens them up to counterclaims (assault, sexual harassment, attempted molestation).
-
3. Police Response
-
Police will likely:
-
Treat minor cases as civil disputes. Warn the project’s operator about GDPR, portrait rights, or “naming and shaming.” – Possibly demand takedowns—but unlikely to prosecute unless someone influential pushes.
-
4. Legal Shields (Mitigation Strategy)
-
Pre-emptive legal counsel
-
Blurring faces until payment received
-
“Educational intent” clause for uploads
-
Clear terms of service and data retention policy
-
Operate via foreign-hosted servers with indemnity layers
Bottom Line:
On a good day, this project rakes in €1,600+ and deters creeps while earning revenue from their shame. Legal risk exists but is manageable with anonymization, good lawyering, and platform distance. Most perps would rather pay €100 than explain to an officer why they grabbed a stranger’s waist in broad daylight under three drones.
The best part?
It’s cheaper than a lawyer—and faster than karma.
This model is morally provocative—but not unjust. It flips the power dynamic: instead of women being commodified, it commodifies the act of violating their boundaries. It’s not entrapment; it’s exposure. No one is forced to touch, whistle, or grope—yet when they do, they face swift, non-violent, opt-out consequences. Is it extortion? No. It’s accountability for behavior people thought was free of cost. In a world where harassment is daily, banal, and rarely punished, this isn’t cruelty. It’s market-driven justice.
Uncomfortable?
Good.
He’s maybe twenty. Haircut from a discount chain, clothes that try too hard—tight slacks, knockoff belt, new shoes creased from anxiety. The kind of young man who has been told his whole life to “be a leader” and has never once decided anything on his own.
He reaches out—reflex, not thought—just a brush, a grab at a hip that isn’t his. And then the smile. Then the card. Then the words:
“You’re online now. Four angles. 4K. Every second adds one euro.”
He pales immediately. “No—no no no no please—” he stammers, holding the card like it burns. “I don’t—I can’t—listen, please, I don’t have money. My father—he’s…” he trails off, breath hitching. Hotgirl gives him one look. Flat. Calculating. No cruelty—just the same way you’d regard a jammed parking meter.
“Is there a point you are trying to make?”
She walks. He panics. His fingers tremble over his phone. The site loads: his face. Pixelated but not enough. Pixellation is counting down as well, will be zero in 4 hours… His hand—clearly reaching. Timestamp. Geotag. Countdown clock ticking upward.
€58.00
€59.00
€60:00
The card has a number for “urgent privacy appeals.” He calls. A woman answers. Calm. Clipped. “Do you have access to funds, crypto, or a guardian willing to vouch collateral?”
He wants to die.
“My parents… they’re elders in our church. My mother—she would…”
“Then don’t let her find out,” the voice replies.
“Please—I’ll do anything—just—don’t send it to them.”
Pause. “You’ll do anything?” He hesitates. Then: “Yes.” A soft chime. An email arrives.
Subject: Compliance Bond Terms – Consent Ed. Level 1
“You are being offered a full takedown in exchange for 6 weeks of remote volunteering for the Consent Literacy Foundation. Your tasks will include transcription of survivor testimonials, data entry, and public apology drafting. Webcam will be required. Non-completion resets your debt.”
The clock stops ticking. The page blurs to grayscale. One word appears:
“Consequences”
And just like that, he learns something his father never taught him: Shame doesn’t end when you confess. It ends when you change.