Imp Pact is an incremental where the free trial was billed. It says so in the terms.
There are no good endings.
Your brother is dead, and has left you Rowhouse 14 and his debt. An imp in a top hat has arrangements for exactly this: not a penny on signing, and not a penny after. You cannot read, so you make your mark.
Rats become blood, blood hires imps, they mine under your house, and stone from the mine mends the house. The imps talk about their overlord, and people come to listen; you assume it is about you. You save for the figure on the back of the rent book. Then a letter tells you the free trial is over, and you will be billed for it.
Payable in kind. It means it is not money. The account comes due monthly, in blood, and every imp you keep adds to it. A month is forty-five seconds. Come up short and he takes imps back, and is apologetic about the inconvenience. Often enough, and the rate is revised. The letter calls it customary, for accounts of standing.
Four tiers, each with a surprise in the terms. The Yards, the taverns, the mine tunnels out of town, then the mayor's office and a commission to raise such men as the security of your city requires.
Another chance. A woman standing in the hall can send you back to a morning you have had before. You don't learn from your experience, but you do step on a few butterflies. Step on enough and everything is worth more next time. So is what you owe.
Nothing runs while the game is minimized or closed. When he takes imps back, the clock stops first, so it cannot happen twice while you look away.
A few evenings, and then it ends. Several ways, in fact. None of them is a moment of clarity and none are good.
He never threatens. He offers.
