Two years had passed since Jack had become the reluctant caretaker of this rundown, interdimensional mall, and in all that time, he had received neither the mysterious instructions he hoped for nor the flood of otherworldly customers he expected. In fact, it had been eerily quiet—so quiet that Jack often found himself wandering the vast empty corridors, thinking it was all some bizarre dream.
The system he was given, his only real companion in this strange afterlife, had been a double-edged sword. It was useful, sure, but cryptic as hell. It had given him 5,000 “Mall Coins” at the start—currency that could be used to repair the mall’s decrepit stores, upgrade the facilities, and presumably attract customers. He had spent countless hours exploring its various features and menus, hoping for some kind of tutorial. No such luck.
The system interface wasn’t overly complicated. On a small floating screen that only he could see, it displayed his balance: [Mall Coins: 500].
Why so it at 500 when I said it was around 5,000, you ask? Because Jack thought it was a good idea burn almost all of his starting money. The first expenditure was for the repair of a general goods store. After much indecision, Jack settled on a theme: the shop sold items from different worlds—specifically, ones from games he remembered from his previous life.
The General Goods Store now stocked an odd assortment of things, from stimpaks survival equipment, and purified water from Fallout, to potions, totems, and enchanted gear from World of Warcraft, and even military-grade equipment like tactical vests, night-vision goggles and even the infamous ray gun from Call of Duty. He wasn’t sure how these items worked across different realities, but the system assured him they’d function as intended in the hands of the right customer.
The second shop he restored was far more personal: a gaming café, or as Jack liked to call it, The Glitch Zone. Hey its a good name Jack said talking to the air. On the outside, it looked like a regular internet café—rows of gaming chairs, sleek computers, and neon lights. But once inside, it offered something much more: a virtual reality experience that was as close to real as it got. He had hoped to separate the games into different options, but his system constraints meant he could only offer limited selections. He ended up merging the entire Call of Duty: Black Ops series—from the original to Cold War—with the Modern Warfare trilogy, all into one immersive game experience. The only other game available was the classic Fallout 1, which felt weirdly appropriate for the mall’s apocalyptic aesthetic and planned for to make the rest of the fallout trilogy but... These two shops alone had drained 4,800 of his precious coins, leaving him wondering if he’d made the right investment. Not that it mattered much since—despite his repairs and preparations—no one had actually shown up to buy anything.
After two years, the loneliness had become almost suffocating. With no human (or otherwise) interaction and no customers, Jack’s days had turned into a monotonous cycle of exploring, waiting, and playing his own games in The Glitch Zone just to keep himself sane. He had all the time in the world now, so why not dive into a few first-person campaigns?
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Jack sighed as he walked the empty halls. Two years, he thought bitterly. Two years and not a single customer. It wasn't that the place was completely broken down anymore. Sure, he hadn't repaired everything, but it was functional. The stores he had fixed up were ready for visitors, the halls were relatively clean, and the few benches and chairs scattered throughout the mall looked like they'd hold up if someone actually sat on them.
As he made his rounds that day, he headed toward the front entrance of the mall—a habit he had developed, though he wasn’t sure why. The glass doors were caked with dust, and every time he looked through them, he saw nothing but a swirling gray mist beyond, the vague shapes of worlds flickering in and out of existence on the edges of his vision. He never fully understood where this mall existed. It wasn’t on Earth—that much was clear. Sometimes he wondered if he could step outside and find out, but something about the mist warned him against it. This was his place now, for better or worse.
Jack sighed and leaned against the entrance doors, wondering if today would be any different. He had long stopped expecting anything, but a faint hope remained—one he tried to ignore, yet couldn’t shake.
That’s when it happened.
Ding! A loud chime rang through the empty halls, echoing in the cavernous space. Jack’s eyes shot open, and he glanced up, a faint notification blinking in the corner of his vision.
[Mall Status: Closed]
“What the hell?” Jack muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. “Closed? No wonder no one’s come here! How the—”
He stared at the glowing words for a moment, his mind racing. It all made sense now. All this time, all this preparation, and no customers because—well—he hadn’t even opened the mall for business! In his panic during the early days, confused by his sudden new reality, he must have forgotten the most basic thing. And now, two years had slipped by.
Are you kidding me?" Jack groaned, slapping his forehead with enough force to leave a sting. "I’ve been waiting for customers for two years, and the damn thing was closed the whole time?"
Frustration welled up inside him as he cursed under his breath. "The one thing that damn being could’ve told me—‘Hey, Jack, make sure you actually open the mall!’ But no, just vague cryptic nonsense and poof, they’re gone. Fantastic."
A wave of frustration hit him. “Two years!” Jack repeated and slapped a hand over his face, groaning loudly. “Goddamn it. No wonder no one showed up. I swear, if I ever meet that cloaked jerk again, I’ll—”
His complaints were cut short as he navigated the system interface, his fingers clumsily selecting the right options. Within seconds, he found the command he was looking for: Open Mall.
With a sigh, Jack pressed the button, and the screen flashed. A deep rumbling filled the space around him, as if the very walls of the mall were groaning back to life. The glass entrance doors suddenly shimmered, the mist outside swirling with new energy. A series of mechanical clicks echoed throughout the empty corridors as the mall’s security systems activated, and the lights flickered before stabilizing into a soft, welcoming glow.
[Mall Status: Open]
“There,” Jack muttered, taking a deep breath. “Finally.”
He stood at the entrance for a long moment, waiting. The mall felt different now—alive, almost. The air seemed to hum with possibility, as if some unseen force had finally turned its attention to this forgotten place. He didn’t know how long it would take for the first customer to arrive—minutes, hours, days—but he was determined not to let it slip by this time.
He walked back toward the center of the mall, his eyes scanning the now-active storefronts. The General Goods Store looked pristine, its glass windows displaying strange and exotic items. The Glitch Zone glowed with the soft blue light of its neon sign, the VR machines humming softly inside. The place felt ready, even if Jack wasn’t.
He leaned against one of the support pillars, trying to relax. His heart raced despite the long two-year wait, excitement and anxiety battling within him. He had no idea what kind of beings would walk through those doors—what kinds of worlds they’d come from, what needs they would bring with them.
But now, at least, he was ready.
All that was left was to wait for the first footsteps to echo down the empty halls.