NO RECEIPT

MERIDIAN DEPARTMENT STORES thanks you for fifteen years of loyal service. You started Tuesday.NO RECEIPT is a first-person inspection game about the worst counter in retail: returns. Customers slide their stories across the laminate — a television that "died in a week," a wedding dress "never worn," a blender with someone else's serial number — and you decide what the store owes them.Inspect the thing, not the storyPull items out of their packaging — the box and what's inside are two different objects, and they don't always agree.Read the receipt line by line. Query the store database. Check the dates, the branch, the employee number.Weigh it. Plug it in. Kill the lights and sweep a UV lamp across the fabric and watch what blooms.Click what looks wrong. Real defects become evidence; hunches become accusations — and false accusations have a price.Negotiate like your job depends on itRefunds, store credit, exchanges, repairs — or refusal, if you can make it stick. Customers push back, walk out, come back angrier. The queue is watching, corporate is measuring, and policy changes every morning. Some of the new rules make sense. Keep telling yourself that.Stay after closingThe store is different at night. Doors that were locked. Footage that doesn't match the paperwork you processed. A register that prints receipts from BRANCH 14 — timestamped tomorrow — into an empty store. What you pocket, report, or leave in the tray changes what the morning briefing says about you.FeaturesA 15-shift campaign of authored return cases — funny, sad, fraudulent, and eventually impossiblePhysical evidence discovery: unboxing, weighing, power tests, UV sweeping, and clickable defects with forgiving, readable targetsDeterministic negotiation with no dice rolls — the same play always earns the same outcomeRecurring customers who remember exactly how you treated themAfter-hours exploration of a compact employee-only backstageMultiple endings driven by what you proved, what you obeyed, and what you kept in your shirt pocketDark comedy that curdles into corporate horror