You are a customer. The building you are entering is larger than any in the known world. That is because it is in the unknown world, and you have to prove beyond a shadow of the doubts that plague your dreams that this store, among all in all worlds known and unknown, has the best savings and cannot be beat. You will also spend more money than any person who has ever entered (or known) this building before. 

"The bar here does not actually give anything back except for whatever profit is made from drinks," one of the staff members informs you as he leads you across floor after floor. "We charge 5 dollars per bottle." 

You tell them that's great, where can I determine my credit standing to queue for a juglet? and they tell you: it's just down here. It won't even take long, because there is always someone with an account number and signature around so when you arrive they will be able to identify you quickly as the owner by looking at your mug on screen and confirming it's yours or a similar one. You plug your mug into their juglet plug and hum the secret theme tune. You forget how it goes. It could be a problem. 

Of course, they type for a good ten minutes, then print out something for you to sign, or shake, then give you a juglet of some default setting and set your account going. "You are now in the system," one of them says and heads back to the front desk. "You'll have to share that though unless you get more jugs." You think about the last time you shared a juglet. Due to technology, you remember it perfectly: 

It was the end of university and you were throwing a party, because after that you would be out in the real world with endless possibility ahead of you. You had a peak at your student loan and it seemed like it was all melting away before your eyes. 

Even so you decided to buy over fifty jugs to share what you hoped would be enough beer for everyone there. "Beer" of course is what they called Shulgin in those days. The experience peaking opening your mail forever altered your third eye. You had to watch and describe 60 music videos in 72 hours. 

You didn't regret that for a second and your love of mush has made you something of an expert on the subject. Almost everyone came and brought more beer too, in fact it seemed like the caterers had run out so people probably went to local vendors to restock, you can only imagine how much money was spent that night but you were having such a good time you didn't care. 

You didn't care because your ego had physically ripped free of its earthly tether (your body) and gone on a rumspringa to the forbidden valleys beyond the Klaeyne. That was last time you truly felt alive, and free. You realize the jug in your hands is now empty and look around for somewhere to get a refill, or maybe just a fresh one. 

Being cheap, you check the shelves for the seconds, but every one looks perfect to you now. Then you think of your wallet and wonder why you didn't just use plastic since you never carry cash any more. You manufacture a hunder juglet (100 juglets worth of settings) from loose plastic you find around the compound. People give you eyes, but you spit on them and shove them back in their faces because they're not plastic. 

Finally, it's time for the party. You arrive a good hour late and see everyone sitting or laying down in various places in your long apartment. They look so sad and bored, you decide to play bartender. 

You call up the jug screen and order 70 jugs of your favorite beer 'Fatally Flawless.' They'll have to send 15 cabs to deliver it all, but that's perfectly fine because you don't need the hassle of carrying 7 jugs, that's how you got the strength to save humanity before. 

One of the cabs is a Golden Reward Cab and as the fleet is unpacking itself from the chassis, you eyeball a beautiful eyeball inside two women that you just HAVE to get to know. 

You dip out of the part to see what Halfclops' whole DEAL is. You order a liver and wild mushroom pizza with artichoke hearts, brown onions, and drizzled in creamy Italian sauce. It better be good because the best you can do is "last try" cuisine. After ten excruciating minutes it gets there and it's pretty good. Maybe you should've ordered that instead. 

Now there's double downside: two hot chicks are watching you eat and get rude, and your boner has gone down. All is lost. Thankfully hope doesn't exist, so there is still it! That's it! There! Your bone organizer, or boner, is back online! You remind yourself that even though it is two women, they are chicks no longer and it is polite to consider a shared-eye one unit. You call one with an eye (L3) for pickup at 1800hrs, the other you invite over for a "movie night" at 2000hrs. 

You cook up some chex mix and watch some 3D nonsense about a cyborg woman assassin that murders people that displease her on grounds of moral character. As a real professional killer you consider it trash because murdering bad people calls upon the just within us all to come out, nobody ever murders anyone with bad moral character. As it happens, the “just within” subunit Barcalitalia (as you have taken to calling the hot one [?]) does not understand how time works, so you are pretty sure she is cancelled right as you are about to kiss. Waggler comes out from behind a bush and says something like "Dude, your BYUSH!" but you just smile cursorily because now is not the time. 

Right at the moment of occlusion, the other subunit (Ty) gets a wild hare to drink rum. You tell them it's illegal, so they bite a hole-tattoo in your cheek. They also start to fight over the remote, but it's too late because as girl-code (sort of) dictates they must continue with th... 

PLEASE INSERT PASSHASH FOR EXPLICIT NEWS FEED -Beep- "OMG, you can say that again. That was so brutal!" 

JaneS is one of your several dozen Inside-relations, a fact you like to hide from everyone else. The less people know about how many "people" you really are, the better. She pops up in your room via printed portal. JaneS says "I'm done with Sergio. He treats me like a rag doll. I mean, he used to beat me up, before we got personal, but that was more just because I was in the Bad Dudes, and that was the scene. But no, he's modeling me. I swear it. He says it's something about the way something crepes? God he sucks. You hate Sergio too, right?" 

You change the subject. You don't ask how he models. You could give a shit. While it is interesting, you also recognize that it isn't any of your business. You say, "I do indeed hate that man. Let's talk about him over dinner at 7, at Matilda's place?" 

"Let's do it," she says, popping off to get ready. You call Matilda and insert her a one unit currency object transference for research on a hunch name of Project Model's. You thought you saw an apostrophe in models, but it was just filth, and now you think God is real. You believe it (“[M]odel[’]s) is a pre-description emporium of some renown. And obviously, the fact that you don't know about it means you fire Matilda. 

Dinner is nice. 

The company's nice. 

The food is OK. 

Nothing like a hot pizza when it's on your mind. Besides, JaneS doesn't eat mushrooms. You bring it up and she goes on about fungiEXTREME. The both of them, on some pas de deux fugue shit, decide that they're going to hell and death is bad, but they will see each other there anyway. Waggler barfs all over the exchange student. You tell him to apologize in German; the exchange student is Finnish. They exchange information. You suggest fungiEXTREME is too expensive considering it's made of human hair. JaneS accuses Waggler of war crimes. 

Your new boyfriend is Belechap, formerly of the original BeleChaps. He joins you for making movies after he makes a very convincing argument and threatens to have one of your people killed should you refuse. They say if you make movies with him, they won't kill you. You think that's messed up and go anyway. BeleChap is obviously rusty, but it's fun. Every so often some stupid incident will occur. 

One time, your boyfriend forces you to wait in line at a bureau in order to demand a capital C. He's full of beans. You intended you murder him but you forgot. 

Suddenly, you're back in the present--so to speak. BeleChap is gone. Not just in this room, but his voice is gone too. 

You wonder, was it the earplugs? 

Was he in the room, watching you the whole time? You realize it doesn't matter right now. 

He's gone and that's all there is to it. Your movement has also been stopped anyway, and you're pretty sure you're weaker than when he left. You also have a cool helmet like Data. You remember making out with BeleChap during one of the Frakes movies, he bit a whole piece out of your face and you just went along with it? That's pretty insane. Youth sucks. 

You review aisle 7, "Perfect Homes and Savings." You got about 300$, and your apartment is pretty cheap. Then you realize that someone in this store seems to be trying to signal you. Wasn't there some scene like this in The Firm? 

Is this a set up? 

Should you play along or bail out with what you have? You've never seen the movie, but you've heard of it. You ask an employee where the films are. She says, "In progress blockbuster production? You want the Red Light District. Don't walk in if it's blazing. You will die alone. Aisle P Open-Manhole Emoji." You forget about The Firm. Or did you remember? 

You're in the subsection now. Your parents always laughed about how you deserve to be there and now here they are, shaking each others' hands about the deal they struck with the business. Somebody lets you out of the subsection. Back to your aisle-by-aisle review of savings level. 

The Whistleblower is beaten to a pulp and leaking information left to right. She was a trilingual tour guide hired by the Names of James. Your AM tried telling you that he believed you, but he was always obviously a spy. Really shitty at it too (spying – I mean, customer service? Even worse!). 

She says, "You are in grave danger. W-Warn your girlfriend." 

You think she will live, but what about Dasha? 

"Blergh," she mutters, blood streaming from side to side of her face. 

"Fucking you tell me about Dasha right now!" 

She's already dead. Names of James has your ID. They put out a contract. 

The coin dissolves. She coughs blood, splattering your shoes with red. 

It will eat through the bottom. He types out a message on his dying phone...the last words are "I have loved you without question." 

He avoids your gaze.

The shelves on aisle 7 empty into a hole you hadn’t seen. You abort this trolley ride. "May I listen to an executive?" 

You scream for 3 days.

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