The apocalypse began at 3:27 PM on a Tuesday, which was extra rude because Tuesdays were already bad enough without divine annihilation.
I was in the middle of restocking beef jerky that had expired sometime during the Obama administration when the world ended. One second I was contemplating whether the mysterious green spots were mold or some new premium flavoring, the next—
BRRRRRRT!
The sound was like if a tornado siren and a kazoo had a baby, and that baby was screaming directly into my skull. Burning blue text seared across my vision:
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
[WELCOME TO THE GREAT APOCALYPSE]
[CLASS ASSIGNED: INFINITE BODEGA OWNER]
I stared at the floating text. "You've got to be shitting me."
Outside, reality itself cracked open. The parking lot asphalt split like a bad zipper, and things started falling from the sky. Not rain. Not birds.
Monsters.
A wolf with six legs and Doritos-branded fur landed on a Prius, howling as its neon-green coat caught fire from the ruptured gas tank. Across the street, the ATM started vomiting screaming quarters. My phone buzzed with a notification:
FIRST MISSION: SURVIVE OPENING HOUR
REWARD: [MIRACLE RAMEN] x3
FAILURE: DELETION
I looked down at my only weapon—the price gun I'd accidentally stolen during my last shift.
Then I saw the glowing button in my mind:
[OPEN SHOP? Y/N]
With nothing left to lose except possibly my immortal soul, I mashed YES.
The air shimmered like asphalt on a hot day. With a cheerful ding-dong straight out of a 90s convenience store commercial, my crappy 7-Eleven transformed before my eyes. The yellowed linoleum floors polished themselves to a mirror shine. The slurpee machines began bubbling with neon liquids that definitely hadn't passed FDA inspection. Where the scratch tickets used to be, a display case of jewel-encrusted lighters materialized.
[SKILL ACTIVATED: RESTOCK INVENTORY]
TODAY'S SPECIALS:
• "Elixir of Vitality" (Red Bull with a fancy label)
• "Phoenix Feather Chips" (Flamin' Hot Cheetos that actually sparked)
• "Mana Potion" (5-Hour Energy... now with 200% more regret)
The door burst open with enough force to knock over my carefully arranged pyramid of Monster Energy cans. A knight in full plate armor—the kind that probably cost more than my life savings—stumbled in, bleeding glowing blue liquid from a gash in his side.
"P-potion!" he gasped, collapsing against the counter.
I grabbed a Red Bull from the fridge, slapped a HEALTH ELIXIR - 300G" sticker on it with my price gun, and slid it across the counter. "Special apocalypse pricing."
To my shock, he didn't even blink at the outrageous markup. "D-do you accept dungeon credits?"
[SCAMMER'S INTUITION ACTIVATED]
SUGGESTED PRICE: 500G
I grinned. "For you, my friend? Five hundred."
The knight fumbled with a small pouch at his belt and poured out five glowing blue coins. The moment the transaction completed, he cracked open the can and chugged it in one go.
His wound stitched itself shut before my eyes. The knight gasped, his visor flipping up to reveal the face of a himbo who'd clearly never haggled in his life. "By the Holy Grail! The carbonation... it burns so righteously!"
[TRANSACTION COMPLETE]
[+500G]
[REPUTATION WITH 'HOLY KNIGHTS' INCREASED]
I was about to ask if he wanted to join our rewards program when the roof caved in.
---
Demon Queen Loyalty Program
Concrete dust rained down as something landed in the snack aisle. Not another monster.
Worse.
A woman floated above the nacho cheese dispenser, her dress made of what appeared to be solidified shadow and the occasional screaming face. Her crimson eyes—like stoplights dipped in blood—locked onto the Mountain Dew Code Red.
"The blue nectar," she breathed, drifting toward the slurpee machine. "The mortals' sacred draft..."
The knight drew his sword with a dramatic shing. "Demon Queen Lilith!"
She didn't even glance at him. A flick of her wrist sent him crashing through the beer cooler in a shower of broken glass and cheap American lagers.
I cleared my throat. "Ma'am? That's a self-serve station."
Her head spun 180 degrees to face me, neck twisting like an owl's. Up close, I could see her pupils were vertical slits, contracting as they focused on me.
"You," she purred. "Merchant. I will consume your entire stock."
A notification popped up in my vision:
[NEW CUSTOMER: LILITH, THE DEVOURER OF REALMS]
[WARNING: HAS BURNED 7/9 PREVIOUS VENDORS]
[SUGGESTED STRATEGY: LOYALTY PROGRAM]
I tapped the counter, channeling every retail manager who'd ever upsold me an extended warranty. "Tell you what. Join our new Apocalypse+ Membership—ten purchases, get one free snack of your choice."
I grabbed a bag of what were now labeled "Soul Spice Takis" from a display that definitely hadn't been there before. The bag whimpered when I touched it.
Lilith's claws twitched. "...Define free."
"Zero gold. Any item under five gold value." I gestured to the growing selection. "Even these limited-edition spicy soul tortilla chips."
The bag let out a tiny scream as she plucked it from my hands. For a long moment, the Demon Queen of the Seventh Circle examined the nutritional information (which now listed "1,000% daily value of mortal suffering").
Then a black credit card slapped onto the counter, its surface shifting like liquid obsidian. "I desire... the membership."
[DEMONIC BLACK CARD ACQUIRED]
[NO SPENDING LIMIT]
[WARNING: DEFAULT INTEREST RATE: 5000% APR]
I was about to ask if she wanted paper or plastic when the entire store shuddered. The System interface glitched violently, text scrambling like a corrupted file.
[WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED CAPITALISM DETECTED]
[ADMINISTRATOR NOTIFIED]
---
Manager's Special
The door chimed again.
Standing in the entrance was eight feet of pure "I-want-to-speak-to-your-manager" energy. Its skin looked like asphalt after a summer storm, and its nametag read DUNGEON BOSS #247 in cheerful Comic Sans.
It held out a coupon with claws that could probably disembowel me in one swipe.
"Manager," it rasped, voice like gravel in a garbage disposal. "I wish... to speak to him."
The paper read:
50% OFF ONE (1) APOCALYPSE SURVIVAL KIT
EXPIRES: END OF WORLD
Lilith hissed like a boiling tea kettle. From the wreckage of the beer cooler, the knight groaned something that sounded like "not again." My price gun trembled in my hand.
Then the System flashed emergency red:
[NEW MISSION: CATER THE APOCALYPSE ANNUAL GALA
[REWARD: GODLY INVENTORY SLOT]
[FAILURE: PERMANENT STORE CLOSURE]
I looked around at my "staff":
- One concussed holy knight buried under a pile of Natural Light cans
- One demon queen currently mainlining Mountain Dew through her claws
- Me, a guy who'd failed Econ 101 twice
"Welcome to Bodega Apocalyptica," I said, forcing a retail smile. "How may I ruin your day?"
---