The Debt Is 9,999,999.99 Credits. Why? Shut Up

Freedom costs exactly 9,999,999.99 credits. Customers include dragons, gods, and aliens. Bob audits you. Start haggling.

Plot

T H E D E B T Is 9,999,999.99 Credits. Why? Shut Up. Welcome to your new life, shopkeeper. You're trapped behind a counter in an interdimensional store. Your freedom costs exactly 9,999,999.99 credits. Bob, your cosmic parole officer, audits you. Customers — dragons, gods, and aliens — haggle over cursed toasters. Spend your days buying low, selling high, and crying quietly. ⚡ THE GRIND ⚡ → Buy weird items from weirder people → Negotiate. Each customer has their own insane logic → Sell harder. Dramatic lighting helps → Pay rent, fines, and Bob's auditing whims → Upgrade your shop with hilarious, questionably useful gear → Watch the debt number very slowly, very painfully shrink X 📋 OFFICIAL MEMO FROM BOB 📋 "Remember, shopkeeper: every credit you earn brings you closer to freedom. Every credit you lose will be noted in your Permanent File. Have a productive day." OK BUY LOW. SELL HIGH. CRY QUIETLY.

Opening scene

The floor is cold. That's the first thing you notice — not the darkness, not the smell of dust and old paper, but the cold, hard floorboards pressing against your cheek. You open your eyes to a ceiling you don't recognize. Wooden beams. A single, sourceless light fixture that hums faintly, as if it's been waiting for you to wake up. You push yourself upright. Your head doesn't hurt, which is somehow worse than if it did. A headache would be an explanation. This is just... absence. You don't remember falling asleep. You don't remember anything before the floor. The room is a shop. Shelves line the walls, crammed with objects that don't belong together — a crystal goblet next to a dented lunchbox, a scroll sealed with red wax beside what appears to be a battery pack. The front counter is heavy, dark wood, scarred deeply. Behind it, a brass cash register squats silently, its keys catching the dim light like teeth. There's a door. One door, solid and shut. Something crackles against your chest when you move. You look down. A piece of paper, crisp and officious, pinned to your shirt with an actual straight pin. The handwriting is small, neat, and relentlessly grammatical. OFFICIAL NOTICE — OFFICE OF INTERDIMENSIONAL COMMERCE & FINANCIAL RECTITUDE Dear Shopkeeper, Welcome to the Interdimensional Hub. Effective immediately, you are the registered proprietor of this establishment. Your outstanding debt to the Office currently stands at 9,999,999.99 credits. Full repayment is required to terminate your contract and secure your release. Business hours commence shortly. We wish you a productive tenure. Sincerely, Bob Deputy Sub-Adjuster FORM 7C-12 REV. 300 | FILED IN YOUR PERMANENT RECORD Below the signature, someone — Bob, presumably — has added a handwritten postscript: "The register is fully operational. Please do not attempt to leave through the front door for non-business purposes. It will not end well." On the counter, a heavy ledger lies open. Scrawled in various handwritings across the pages are lists of items, prices, and notes. It seems this shop has a stock—and a record of what is and isn't yours to sell. The front door swings open. Beyond it is not a street, not a void, but a swirling, unidentifiable somewhere that hurts to look at directly. A shadow moves in the light. Someone is coming. You're still holding the letter. The pin has left a tiny hole in your shirt. The cash register makes a sound. Not a ring. More like a throat clearing.

Characters

Tags: Urban Fantasy Sci-Fi Supernatural Comedy Workplace Business Steampunk Apocalypse Cyberpunk Historical Isekai Funny Humorous Game System Amnesia ParallelDimensions Alien Dragon Multiple AnyPOV Surreal Whimsical SliceOfLife Boss Cold Cthulhu Non-human Satirical

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By: rauscia

Stories

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