"How much are you taking out?"

The portly man smiled, as he looked at the list of time he had spent.

"A mere two years today."

Opposite him sat the Dealer. Its skin was stretched taught against bone, fingers turning to claws at their tips. It had eyes of white, and a distinct lack of hair on its head. Any who saw it would know it was an undead. It nodded, pulling the scroll back towards its side of the desk.

From a drawer it withdrew a large black quill, it's tip shining a spectral blue. In a practiced motion it added on his withdrawal, leaving a space next to the life. It offered up its quill, and the man happily seized it, signing against the withdrawal. There was a faint rattle as it was completed, before the Dealer looked up at him.

"The transaction is approved. Go the the Hole, and you will receive your money."

The man smiled, pulling himself up. Already he pictured the fine foods he could now buy, his particular indulgence. As he left, the Dealer rolled up his Credit Scroll. With a puff of dust it vanished, returning to the vaults below. It's job done, it sat up straight, waiting for the next visitor. It stayed still, having no concept of fatigue. It merely waited to do its job.

With a crash its door burst open. A pair stood in its entrance, wreathed in magic. The one who stood in the door was a looming figure. She held a pair of almost comically small shields in her grasp, shaped with a sharp point. Her body was clad in plae armour, green lines pulsing along it. Behind her was a diminutive figure, in golden robes. Most of their form was hidden, as gloved hands held a staff taller than their person. The Dealer looked at them, before gesturing to the seats before it.

"Welcome to the Exchange. How might I be of service?"

The looming woman lunged in first, aiming to grasp the Dealer. But as she did black chains burst from the ground. They grasped her charging form, before pulling her down onto a chair. The golden robed person had moved to follow, before more chains rose to give her the same treatment.

"Unhand us monster! We know you are the key!"

It knit its fingers together, looking steadily at them.

"My name is the Dealer. Explain what you mean that I am the key."

The robed figure spoke quietly, a far away accent coming though their tone.

"You bind souls and manipulate minds to be beneath you. These people are slaves to you and your master's will."

The Dealer watched them, unmoving.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken. We do not enslave their minds. And it is very rare we extend a line of soul credit. It is true there are occasions, but it is all explained to those who wish to do so."

The woman strained against her bindings, hateful glares looking at it.

"Lies. You lie. Undead are evil, and you would not have such care for the living. We have had to put so many to rest."

The Dealer unlaced its fingers, taking a new scroll from thin air. It looked it over, before glancing at the heros.

"So you are the cause of our loss of staff. I shall make sure that is passed on, so reparations can be made. You say we have no care for the living. Technically that is true. But we care about what the living produce. More bodies. More to join the working class. It is simple. An investment of money in now, decades of free work coming later."

"Lies."

She spoke again, echoed by the robed figure. The Dealer snapped the scroll away, before tapping a button. There was a pause, before a hoarse whisper came out.

"What is it?"

"I require some educational materials be sent to holding cell six in the Skull sector. Two copies of each."

"Very well."

The line fell dead, and the Dealer returned its attention to the heros, who still fought a futile battle against their restraints.

"I understand you will not listen to me. Please do not resist your transfer to a holding cell. There you can speak with someone more qualified than I on this subject. I am a Dealer, not a Teacher. But rest assured only Dealers can offer lines of credit on your body and soul. You will come out with all faculties intact."

A pair of lumbering corpses squeezed through the cracked doorway, having been summoned by his call out. With vast expressions they picked up the now swearing heros, carrying them from the office. The Dealer resumed its earlier position, waiting for the next customer. It would make its report at the end of the day, for the Necromancer's office. He always liked to know when heros bothered his little arrangement.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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