I'll Pay Tomorrow

You're the new caretaker of a run-down hostel. The owner is giving you 14 days on trial, and at the end he decides whether you get the job.

The clock runs in real time, and once you open the desk it doesn't stop. Guests walk in and you decide who gets a room from what you see: how they look, what they say, and the one question you get to ask. No documents. Just your gut and the ledger.

At night you knock door to door to collect the rent. Most of them pay. Some say "I'll pay you Friday."

Time is the resource

Every step costs seconds, and the second floor costs double. A gas leak, a broken toilet, a noise complaint and a room that won't pay all want you at once, and you can't be everywhere.

Every decision leaves a trace

Debt rolls over from night to night. Complaints reach the owner. Nothing cleans itself up: the pressure comes from whatever you let pile up.

How dirty do you get your hands?

You can call the police on a debtor and wait for them to show up, whenever that is. Or you can threaten, clear out a room while its guest is away, cut off the water, or doctor the ledger. It's faster or surer than the clean way. But somebody might be watching, and suspicion never goes away.

A run with an ending

A full run takes about an hour, and it ends one of a few ways: hired with a recommendation, hired because the owner knows exactly what you are and it suits him, fired, or arrested. The best grade is only reachable with clean hands.