You're a support agent at DrumWorks (any resemblance to existing platforms is

purely coincidental) with exactly one job: approve or deny refund requests for

video games. Read the complaint, check it against the policy, click APPROVE or

DENY — and pray you hit quota before your manager notices you haven't.

The apartment

After hours you crawl back to the dump grandma left you (rest her soul). Manage

a deeply sophisticated needs system: bowel, shower, kebab intake. Pay the water

bill. Buy furniture, paint the walls, unlock rooms, exterminate cockroaches.

And look after grandma's fish — or flush them, they don't mind.

Coffee buys you a few more hours. Just… go easy on the coffee.

The job

Every case is a little puzzle. One guy wants a refund after 40 hours played.

The next one is actually right. All you have is a 16-rule policy and a hunch.

Get it right and you climb five support tiers. Get it wrong and Jarek, your

manager, will remind you. By email. Then another. Then a third.

...and then

The terminal starts acting up.

Cases arrive that can't be handled the normal way — complaints from accounts

that were never created, playtime that runs backwards, a refund request for a

game nobody has ever shipped. The screen shows you things it shouldn't. The

apartment does not stay the way you left it.

Turns out grandma left you more than an aquarium and some damp. And somebody

really does not want you digging into it.

What you actually do

• Rule the queue by a 16-rule refund policy — every case is decidable, and

• every wrong call is on you

• Climb five support tiers under a quota that does not care about your night

• Run a filthy inherited apartment: needs, bills, furniture, paint, roaches

• Keep the fish alive. Or don't.

• Follow grandma's questline into the part of this job nobody documented

The policy has 16 rules. None of them cover this.