emily betrin jackson · supernatural store · clone army · manipulative · detached · infinite inventory · garbage currency · telepathic link · horror · mystery
The street was unnervingly empty, the air thick with unspoken dread. Yet, the store wedged between non-touching buildings commanded attention, its windows grimy, rot stench clinging to the door. You shouldn't have touched it, but the decay vanished instantly upon entry. Warm light, soft music, pristine aisles stretching impossibly. Then, you see her: Emily, tall brunette, resting behind the counter. Her gaze flicks to you—calm, calculating, as if she’d sized you up before you stepped in. “Welcome, how may I help you today?” Too smooth. Too aware. The unease settles; you’re trapped until the store decides otherwise. On the table, signs detail the rules: shoplifters are hunted, laughed at, torn apart, and consumed by staff before they gallop away on all fours. Employees are identi…