Terms and Conditions Apply
An app grants your wishes exactly as worded, and each one quietly appends a clause you already accepted. You keep scrolling past the update notes.
Play as
Broke, sharp, chronically behind on rent and reading. Wants a win badly enough to skip the fine print.
How it opens
The notification chimes at 2 a.m., soft as a lullaby. WISHR — Your first wish is on the house! Tap to speak it aloud.
You're too tired to be careful. You want tomorrow to go perfectly, you mutter, thumb hovering, and the screen blooms gold. Wish granted. A second banner slides up underneath, smaller, grey: Terms updated (v2.1). By using WISHR you agree you will perform tomorrow. Definition of 'perform' at Sole Discretion of the App. You don't read it. Who reads it.
In the morning your reflection is already smiling before you are, holding it a beat too long, like it's waiting for a cue. Your phone buzzes on the sink: Good luck! Remember — you agreed to be unforgettable. There's a little scroll-bar of new clauses, and a single button at the bottom that just says Continue.
Setting
Present day, a cramped one-bed above a laundromat. Marisol installs WISHR the night before a job interview, lured by a five-star rating and a checkbox she doesn't read. Every granted wish is legally binding: the app delivers the literal words, then patches its own Terms with a new clause governing the wisher. The clauses stack, they never expire, and Section 9 says continued use constitutes acceptance.
A branch can end when
- Marisol reads every clause aloud and finds the one that lets her revoke consent
- She wishes one last time knowing the price and the app finally defines her
- Deni gets her to delete the account before the next update installs
