“ What sort of evil should I do today? Oh I know, let's go into dollar Mart and stir up some trouble. Now where am I? Looking around the unfamiliar surroundings of a store. Every shelf was stuffed full of brown cardboard boxes. 

“Where’s the exit? Hey does this store have any attendants I’m trying to escape and continue on my villainous ways here. I yelled not seeing anyone around. Ok fine then since you all won’t come out here I’m going to steal all your products.”I walked closer to the nearest shelf while watching for any people to run out and help me. It was a black sizable shelf with 4 separate shelves rows. 

“Hmm I wonder what they even sell here and why is it all still in boxes. I grabbed a random box on the top shelf. Looking around one more time I screamed I will open this donut test me . Get it ah I crack myself up sometimes as a brown box tossed itself off the shelf and landed in my hands. Yeah that’s going to be my alibi. I can imagine the trouble now, yes officer you’re hearing that right I was not opening that store's package it jumped into my hands and opened itself. ”

 I tore at the edges of the cardboard box, muttering to myself about the audacity of being left unattended in such a chaotic environment. Inside, instead of finding anything remotely villainous—like explosives, cursed artifacts, or at least an intimidating-looking stapler—I found…

“Pens?” I exclaimed, holding up a plastic-wrapped pack of cheap ballpoint pens. “That’s it? No hidden treasure? No world-ending secrets? Just office supplies?”

I tossed the pens aside and grabbed another box. “Alright, let’s try this again. I’m not leaving here until I uncover something suitably diabolical to kick off my day.”

The second box opened with a satisfying rip, revealing…

“Paper clips? Are you serious?” I glared at the box as if it had personally insulted me. “This store is clearly not catering to aspiring villains. What am I supposed to do with paper clips? Construct a tiny prison for my enemies?”

I chucked the box over my shoulder, the sound of it clattering against the floor echoing through the silent aisles. “Alright, Random Store, you’ve officially ticked me off. If I don’t find something interesting in the next—”

Before I could finish my threat, a soft click-clack echoed from somewhere deeper in the store. My head snapped up. “Ah, there it is. 

I followed the sound, weaving through aisles stacked high with more unhelpfully sealed boxes. The farther I walked, the dimmer the lighting became, until the fluorescent bulbs above were nothing but a dull hum. I turned a corner and stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing there were two employees, a man and a woman stacking a shelf much larger than any other shelf in the store. “I screamed at them can’t you hear me where the exit is.” I walked closer and then saw the shelf they were stacking the man on the front of every product on the shelf looked familiar to me. It was the same man I saw outside my house every morning, the same man I wake next to every morning, the same man I see in the mirror when I’m brushing my teeth. It was me.

Then I noticed something was horribly wrong with the people. Not the fact they acted like puppets and were pretending to be dead but how careless they were with my face and how unorganized they were with stacking my new products. So I did what any person would do in my situation. I kicked their behinds away  and started stacking my products right.  

Seriously you have candy next to the ramen and the sauces next to the dishes. So out of order. Then I heard a gasp from behind me. Turning back I saw the two employees who were ignoring me earlier now staring at me like I was some type of hero. 

I stared at the two employees, my hands still hovering mid-air with a box of candy bars in one hand and a pack of chicken ramen in the other. Their wide, unblinking eyes made me feel like I’d just sprouted a second head.

“What?” I snapped, dropping the boxes onto the shelf with as much authority as I could muster. “Is there something on my face? Or are you both just amazed at my superior organizational skills?”

The woman’s lips quivered as she took a hesitant step forward. “Y-you… fixed the shelf,” she whispered, her voice filled with a reverence I hadn’t expected.

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“Yeah, I did,” I said, brushing off imaginary dust from my hands. “Somebody had to, and you two were clearly too busy being zombies to do it properly.”

The man blinked slowly, as if processing the momentousness of what I’d done. Then, to my absolute horror, he dropped to his knees. “It’s him,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “The Organizer.”

“The what now?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

The woman clutched at her chest like she was about to faint. “The prophecy,” she said in an awed tone. “The one who brings balance to the shelves. The one who sees through the chaos of misplaced products and restores order.”

I looked between them, waiting for the punchline. When none came, I sighed heavily. “Okay, listen. I don’t know what weird cult you two are part of, but I’m just here for some good old-fashioned villainy. Fixing your pathetic excuse for shelving was just collateral damage, alright?”

The man and woman exchanged looks, then turned back to me with matching expressions of hope and adoration. “You don’t understand,” the woman said. “You’ve fulfilled the ancient promise. The store is yours now.”

I blinked. “The store is what now?”

“Yours,” the man said, standing and spreading his arms as if presenting the world’s greatest gift. “You are the chosen one. The rightful ruler of “random store”.

“It is the actual name of this store. Is Random store the name or something. Why are you speaking so weirdly?”

Yes, the one who built this store named it after himself. His name was Random man pulled a legendary Sword from a stone JR. So he named the store a random store. 

I stood there, staring at the two overly enthusiastic store attendants like they’d completely lost their minds. “Let me get this straight,” I said slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You’re telling me that not only am I apparently some prophesied shelf-arranging deity, but the store’s founder was some guy named Random Man Pulled a Legendary Sword from a Stone Jr.? That’s the name we’re going with?”

The woman nodded earnestly. “Yes! He was a visionary, a pioneer in organized retail chaos. He named the store in his own honor, knowing one day, the true heir of his vision would arrive.”

“Great,” I muttered, “so not only is the store named after some discount Arthurian knockoff, but you think I’m the one destined to carry on this ridiculous legacy.”

The man clasped his hands together, his eyes practically sparkling. “You’ve already proven it! Your effortless mastery of shelf symmetry and product categorization—”

“I shoved ramen next to fruit,” I interrupted. “That’s hardly a sign of divine intervention.”

“To you, perhaps,” the woman said, practically glowing with excitement. “But to us, it’s a miracle. No one’s ever dared touch the Sacred Shelves.”

I stared at her. “Sacred? You mean the shelves I just manhandled because you were stacking my face next to instant noodles?”

“Precisely!” the man exclaimed. “Only the chosen one would have the audacity—and the skill—to correct such heresy! Can I please ask your name oh great organizer.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “You already did, my name is Arthur. Wait oh oh. I turned to the two who looked like I just told them they won 12 lotteries in a row from buying one ticket. Look, I didn’t sign up for this. I came here to cause some trouble, maybe steal something cool—preferably cursed or shiny—and now you’re telling me I own a store full of paper clips and pens?”

“It’s more than just a store,” the woman said, her voice reverent. “It’s a legacy, a responsibility. The Random Store holds secrets that even we, the humble attendants, cannot fully comprehend.”

I paused, narrowing my eyes. “Secrets, you say?”

The man nodded vigorously. “Oh yes! The founder, Random Man Jr., left behind a mysterious artifact locked in the store’s depths. It’s said to grant unimaginable power to whoever can unlock its mysteries.”

“Now we’re talking,” I said, my interest piqued. “What kind of artifact are we talking about? A cursed cash register? A stapler that bends space-time? A vending machine that dispenses sentient snacks? Then I made a horrible mistake. I blinked and it was gone. ”

I blinked again, gripping the steering wheel of my car tightly, the cheap leather sticky against my palms. The fluorescent lights of the Dollar Mart’s sign buzzed in the background, faintly audible through the rolled-up windows. I was parked in the exact same spot as earlier, the engine idling, as if I’d never left.

“What the…” I muttered, glancing around. My heart pounded as I searched for some hint that what just happened wasn’t a complete break from reality.

The car was empty—no boxes, no pens, no overzealous cult-like attendants calling me the Organizer. Just the smell of  pasta in the back seat and the distant hum of passing traffic.

I rubbed my temples, muttering to myself. “Okay. Either I’ve finally cracked under the pressure of being the world’s greatest villain, or someone’s messing with me.” I glared at the rearview mirror, half-expecting it to start talking back. “Stress-induced hallucinations, maybe? Or…” My eyes narrowed. “One of those damn do-gooders dosed me with some kind of illusion-causing serum. Wouldn’t put it past them.”

I leaned back in the driver’s seat, drumming my fingers against the wheel. “Alright, focus. Let’s think this through logically. If this was a hallucination, it was awfully detailed. Too much for a typical stress episode. That means either my subconscious is incredibly creative today, or someone wants me to lose my grip on reality.”

I tapped my chin, glancing at the store again. The glowing sign seemed… normal. Too normal. No eldritch whispers. No prophetic attendants rushing out to bow before me. Just a boring, poorly lit Dollar Mart, looking exactly like it had before.

“Right,” I said, exhaling slowly. “First things first. Evil doesn’t take a day off, and I’m not about to let some mind games ruin my plans.”