Ryan Random clutched the Super Coupon of Infinite Percentage as if it were the last oxygen tank on a sinking moon.

Behind him, a stampede of six-legged Glip-Glops and a very angry hive-mind of sentient sweaters shrieked in consumerist rage. He was sprinting through the Dust-Bowl Quadrant, a rusted retail colony on the edge of the Void where the only thing harsher than the UV rays was the competition for a clearance sale.

“Pick it up, Ryan!” Nebula Norris yelled, her third arm extending from her neck to swing her onto a hovering kiosk. She snatched a passing tray of nebula-nuggets from a startled waiter and hurled them at the pursuing crowd. The nuggets exploded into sticky, neon-purple goo, slowing the first wave of bargain hunters, but the sweater-hive simply absorbed the mess and kept rolling.

“I’m going as fast as these bargain-store boots allow!” Ryan wheezed. He ducked under a malfunctioning laser-fence and dove onto Dover, who had compressed himself into a portable, high-speed escalator mode.

“Going up?” Dover groaned, his metallic steps clattering with existential dread. “Though, technically, in this gravity-free zone, up is just a relative concept to mask the fact that we are all descending into the heat death of the universe.”

“Less philosophy, more velocity!” Ryan commanded.

Dover surged forward, his railing-appendages sparking against the obsidian floor as they blurred past the storefronts of Payless Tentacles and a very confused Wormhole-Mart.

The exit was in sight: a shimmering portal to the employee breakroom. Ryan reached for the scanner, the Super Coupon glowing with the promise of a free, life-sized chocolate asteroid. Just as his hand touched the sensor, a tiny, four-eyed toddler alien sitting in a hovering stroller reached out and sneezed. A glob of radioactive mucus hit the coupon, instantly dissolving the barcode.

The mall’s PA system crackled to life with a smug, synthesized voice. “Coupon invalid. Please pay the full price of four trillion credits or surrender your soul to the customer loyalty program.”

Ryan looked at the approaching mob, then at the dissolving paper in his hand. “Well,” he sighed, “at least the loyalty program offers a free tote bag on your thousandth year of service.”

(This story created by an earthquake NEAR California on Sept. 26, 2026. Magnitude of: 4.1. 20 km W of Preston, Nevada. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nn00924954)

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Ryan found the teenager weeping behind a stack of defective flux-capacitors in the Boont-Sector Forest Colony, a rustic mall annex where trees grew fiber-optic needles and the air smelled like ozone. The kid was a Zorch, a species resembling a sentient, purple avocado with four weeping eyes.

“It is my Shmool-Mitzvah,” the Zorch sobbed, leaking neon slime onto Ryans boots. “To become an adult, I must navigate the Mall of the Multiverse and successfully return a used item without a receipt. If I fail, I am exiled to the parking moons for eternity.

“Brutal, dude,” Ryan sympathized, leaning on his security flashlight. “Returns are the deadliest part of retail. Even I avoid `em.”

Nebula Norris appeared, tossing spicy asteroid nuggets into her mouth with her third arm. “I can help. My boss at El Pluto Loco is currently a pile of sentient sludge and won’t notice if I slip you a tainted burrito.”

“The policy clearly states no returns on bio-hazardous materials,” Dover the Escalator groaned from the corner, his metallic steps clanking in despair. “You will all be ground into dust, just like my dreams of being a stationary staircase that is permanently closed.”

Suddenly, Mr. Meankinder’s angry head swiveled toward them. “Random! Why is this customer leaking on the floor? Sell him something or fire him!”

Ryan grabbed a half-eaten taco from Nebulas tray and shoved it into the Zorchs hand. “Go to the As-Is kiosk. Tell them it looked like that when you bought it.”

The Zorchling approached a nearby counter, trembling. He whispered the lie, and the clerk, a bored robot, processed the refund instantly. The alien’s body suddenly glowed with golden light, signaling his transition to adulthood.

“I am a man!” the Zorch cheered excitedly.

“Great,” Ryan sighed. “Now you are old enough to pay the cleaning fee for that slime trail.”

(This story created by a California earthquake on Sept. 25, 2026. Magnitude of: 3.74. 10 km W of Boonville, CA. URL:https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75442207)

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Ryan steered his electric scooter across the Liquid-Coolant Plains of the Nacimiento Sector, a moon-sized server farm where the hills were literal hard drives. Beside him, Dover the escalator walked on his handrails, clanking with every depressed stride. Their mission: deliver a “No Loitering” sign to the far end of the Cooling Basin.

A sentient cloud of expired coupons swirled around them, screaming about half-off space-ham. Ryan swatted them away with his map. “Just keep moving, Dover,” he said.

They were soon blocked by a trio of Quantum Carollers who refused to stop singing the Mall’s elevator music until Ryan “liked” their performance on a floating tablet. Ryan hit the button to make the humming stop. Then, a giant, four-armed toddler blocked the path, demanding to know if Ryan was a “limited edition” toy.

“I’m a human, kid. Very common,” Ryan said, dodging a sticky grab.

They finally reached the basin, only for Ryan to realize he had brought a “No Running” sign instead. Dover groaned. “Great. Now we go back. My life is just a series of ascending disappointments.”

Suddenly, the ground started moving backward. They were on a giant, cosmic treadmill.

(This story created by a California earthquake on Sept. 21, 2026. Magnitude of: 2.57. 12 km W of Lake Nacimiento, CA. URL:https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75439717)