Toiletocalypse

WELCOME TO WORK. THE TOILET IS OVER THERE.

The client left the keys, a list of jobs, and vanished. You're paid per job: finish it, you get the cash. Don't finish it, you get nothing.

Your bowels came to work with you.

Your shift starts. Cleaning, mopping, assembling furniture. Simple stuff.

Thirty seconds later you feel that first twinge.

You drop the screwdriver and bolt for the toilet.

THREE BARS, ONE DISASTER

Hydration drops. Pressure builds. Your sanity holds it all together until something goes wrong.

Neglect one and it comes back at you through the others. We won't tell you how. You'll find out.

SOMEONE ELSE'S FLAT, SOMEONE ELSE'S SUPPLIES

You go through the cupboards like a burglar, because you have no choice. You find tea, two unlabelled pills, and something that used to be cola.

You check the date. It's expired.

You drink it and pray it works out, because there's nothing else.

WATER IS EVERYTHING

The tap works until the building management shuts it off. And they will.

Then all you've got is whatever you managed to pour into bottles. Or the toilet cistern, if it really comes to that.

Boiling helps. If there's power.

TWO HANDS, NO MENUS

No inventory. No crafting tree. No recipe list.

You pick up two things and see if they make something.

Sometimes they do. Sometimes they make something else.

THE PHONE WORKS BOTH WAYS

You order, you pay for delivery, you wait. You buy upgrades for this one shift: bladder, kidneys, work experience.

Money doesn't carry over. You're broke, not an investor. Whatever you earn on the shift, you spend on the shift.

But the phone also rings.

Sometimes it's the building management with a warning. Sometimes it's a cold caller who won't quit until you get rid of him. Sometimes the management got the wrong flat.

NO SHIFT IS EVER QUIET

The lights go out. The water dies. Your hands go slippery and everything hits the floor.

Or you just get the night shift.

YOU SHIT YOURSELF. IT'S JUST A NUMBER ON THE STATS SCREEN.

There's no winning here. There's a shift to survive and points that stay with you, even when your sanity gives out and you've simply had enough.

Points buy unlocks. New items, new buffs, new ways for the shift to fall apart.

In Toiletocalypse mode, unlocks are pure RNG: you spin, one thing drops, you take what you're given. In roguelike mode you get cards and choose for yourself.

Next time will be different. Not necessarily better.

WHAT'S UNDER THE HOOD

• Randomised loot, sometimes rich, sometimes bone dry
• Expiry dates on products
• No inventory, just two hands you can make things with
• Water quality tiers and temperature
• A kettle for boiling water that needs looking after
• Three QTE types, optional, to speed up the work
• Cash on completion, points for progress
• A shop with delivery and a courier fee
• Character upgrades and money that last one shift only
• Meds that might save you when it gets bad
• Random events, buffs and debuffs
• Toilet clogging, paper and its substitutes
• Hygiene you have to keep on top of
• Mess and a stink that follows you around
• Day and night shifts
• A point bank for unlocking new things
• Two unlock modes: pure RNG or pick from cards
• An encyclopedia of everything you've discovered
• Rising difficulty in roguelike mode
• Shifts from 10 minutes to four hours
• Profanity filter you can switch off
• Loads of items, every one with a comment from MR Shitty.

Some of them are good for nothing.

Some only pretend to be.