The coupon trembled in my hand like a live grenade. Dungeon Boss #247 loomed over the counter, its asphalt skin cracking with impatient energy. Each of its six eyes blinked in sequence, reflecting the flickering fluorescent lights of my newly acquired Infinite Bodega. Behind me, I heard the distinct schlurp of Lilith sucking down another Code Red through her fangs, the sound echoing like a drain in an empty swimming pool.
"Manager," the boss repeated, claws tapping the glass countertop with enough force to send hairline fractures spiderwebbing across the surface. "Now."
A System prompt materialized in my vision:
[NEW MISSION UPDATE]
OPTION A: HONOR COUPON (-250G, +DUNGEON REPUTATION)
OPTION B: SCAM BOSS (+500G, 85% CHANCE OF VIOLENCE)
OPTION C: DISTRACT WITH SNACKS (30% SUCCESS RATE)
I glanced at my "staff" for backup. Sir Lancel was still unconscious beneath a mountain of Natural Light cans, his armored foot twitching occasionally. Lilith gave me a thumbs-up with a clawed hand while simultaneously shoplifting a bag of Soul Spice Takis with her tail.
"Tell you what," I said, sliding the coupon back across the cracked glass. "This appears to be for our retail survival kits. What you really want is the wholesale version."
The boss's central eye narrowed. "Wholesale?" it rasped, the word dripping with skepticism.
[SKILL ACTIVATED: BULLSHIT BARGAINING]
[EFFECTIVENESS BOOSTED BY 'SCAMMER'S INTUITION']
I ducked beneath the counter, rummaging through boxes until I found what I needed - a dusty case of granola bars that had expired back when people still thought Y2K was going to be a problem. With a quick slap of my price gun, the label now read:
APOCALYPSE SURVIVAL KIT (DELUXE EDITION)
Includes:
- 12 Artisanal Nutrition Bars (now with 10% more survival!)
- Complimentary Doomsday Guide (pamphlet missing pages 3-7)
- Limited Edition Collector's Coin (while supplies last)
"See?" I said, presenting the box with a flourish. "Technically a different product line. No coupon necessary, but I'll throw in a loyalty card good for 10% off your next impending doom."
The boss stared. The System glitched audibly, the pixels in the air distorting like a corrupted video file.
[...TRANSACTION APPROVED?]
[+750G]
[DUNGEON REPUTATION: NEUTRAL (UP FROM 'PROBABLE LUNCH')]
As the boss shuffled out clutching its overpriced granola bars, Sir Lancel finally stirred from his beer-can tomb. "By the Lady's grace... where am I?"
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Sir...?"
"Lancel," he groaned, rubbing his head where a dent in his helmet perfectly matched the shape of a Natural Light can. "Sir Lancel du Lac. And you would be?"
"Noah Park. Owner, operator, and sole employee of Bodega Apocalyptica." I handed him an ice pack from the freezer section. "That'll be 50 gold."
Before he could protest, the door chimed again. This time, it wasn't a monster or a demon, but something far more terrifying - a man in a pristine white suit that somehow remained immaculate despite the blood and monster guts coating the parking lot outside. His nametag read:
SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR NEIL
(DEPARTMENT OF FISCAL OBLIGATIONS & TAXATION)
My stomach dropped to somewhere around my knees. Neil adjusted his tie with fingers that glowed faintly with bureaucratic power and spoke in the cheerful tone of someone about to ruin your life:
"Noah Park? We need to have a little chat about your unauthorized economic activity."
---
The IRS of the Apocalypse
Neil unrolled a holographic scroll that extended halfway across the store, the glowing text listing violation after violation. "According to System records, you've failed to properly report:
- 1,200G in unreported sales
- 3 unlicensed miracle-grade consumables
- And this." He pointed an accusing finger at Lilith, who was currently licking nacho cheese directly from the dispenser nozzle. "Demon royalty counts as imported luxury goods. That's a 400G tariff right there, plus processing fees."
Lancel made the sign of the cross. Lilith responded by flipping Neil off with a cheese-covered claw.
"Now," Neil continued, summoning a glowing abacus that floated menacingly above his head, "you can either pay your back taxes plus penalties..." A spectral guillotine materialized behind him with a ominous shink. "...or we repossess your shop and all associated assets."
[MISSION UPDATED: SURVIVE SYSTEM AUDIT]
OPTION A: PAY 2,000G (INSTANT BANKRUPTCY)
OPTION B: BARTER (HIGH RISK, HIGH REWARD)
OPTION C: FLEE (100% CHANCE OF FAILURE, BUT FUN TO WATCH)
I looked around at my meager inventory, my questionable clientele, and my demonic regular who was now drawing anatomically improbable doodles in nacho cheese on the front windows.
"Option B," I said, cracking my knuckles. "Let's make a deal."
---
Divine Loopholes
What followed was two of the most stressful hours of my afterlife. Through a combination of quick thinking, creative accounting, and outright fraud, I managed to:
1. Trade Lancel's "blessed" sword (he was still too concussed to notice) for a 500G tax credit by classifying it as a "religious artifact donation"
2. Convince Neil that our expired taquitos qualified as "charitable contributions to the apocalypse-afflicted"
3. Somehow get Lilith registered as an "emotional support demon" to waive her import fees
[TAX LIABILITY REDUCED BY 85%]
[NEW TITLE: 'KING OF LOOPHOLES' UNLOCKED]
[SKILL LEARNED: CREATIVE ACCOUNTING (TAX EVASION SUCCESS +20%)]
Neil sighed as he signed the final forms, his pen glowing with reluctant approval. "Just... don't let me catch you selling Class S holy items again without proper permits." He fixed me with a glare that made my soul itch. "We're watching you, Park."
As he vanished in a puff of paperwork and righteous indignation, Lancel finally noticed something amiss. "Wait a moment... where's Excalib—"
"Free slurpees for life," I blurted, shoving an extra-large cup into his hands.
His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "By the Grail... you drive a hard bargain, merchant. Deal!"
[NEW EMPLOYEE ACQUIRED: SIR LANCEL (BARISTA TRAINEE)]
[SKILLS: HOLY AURAS, CHIVALRY, LATTE ART]
---
That night, as I counted our meager profits (and hid from Lilith's increasingly insistent demands for "spicier mortal suffering snacks"), the System pinged with an ominous chime:
[ALERT: FIRST MONTHLY APOCALYPSE GALA BEGINS IN 24H]
[REQUIREMENTS: CATER TO 100+ ENTITIES]
[FAILURE PENALTY: DELETION]
Lancel paled beneath his helmet. "We don't have nearly enough—"
His words were cut off as the front door burst open with enough force to knock over three display racks. A horde of goblins piled in, their grubby hands waving dozens of glowing coupons.
"WE HEARD BUFFET IS FREE!" their leader shouted, brandishing a coupon that appeared to be written in crayon. "ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT FOR 5G!"
Lilith cracked her knuckles, her eyes glowing with malicious delight. "I'll handle the idiots," she purred. "You figure out the menu."
As chaos erupted around me - with Lancel trying to maintain order, Lilith terrorizing the goblins, and the microwave inexplicably catching fire - one thought comforted me:
At least in the apocalypse, there were no health inspectors.
---