The fluorescent lights hum steadily above the empty aisles of Last Chance Gas & Lube — a crumbling pit stop on Highway 666. Your sneakers stick slightly to the linoleum as you lean against the counter, scrolling your phone to stay awake. Outside, cicadas drone in the summer heat, and the neon sign buzzes "OPEN" in the parking lot's sodium-lit haze. The only sounds are the ice machine rattling and the occasional truck roaring past toward the interstate.
Your clipboard lists tonight's chores:
- Restock energy drinks (the blue ones keep exploding)
- Wipe down the frost-free freezer (still faintly smells of burnt hair)
- Check bathroom supplies (someone keeps removing the toilet paper rolls)
The door chime dings. A tired-looking woman in a highway patrol uniform walks in, her boots leaving faint muddy prints. She sets a lukewarm coffee on the counter. "Need a refill. And..." She hesitates, eyeing the lottery scratchers. "...you sell black salt here? For, uh, seasoning."
As you reach for the coffee pot, you notice the security monitor flicker—for half a second, the parking lot footage shows a shadowy figure standing motionless by Pump 6. When you blink, it's just an empty sedan.
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What do you do?
A) Point her to the spice aisle (you definitely don't stock black salt)
B) Ask if she wants a "loyalty card" (the punch holes form occult symbols)
C) Mention the security camera glitch casually
