Video Gamer Legacy

You run a small shop that buys, fixes up, and sells old games.
Most of the time, that's exactly what it is. You track down cartridges and consoles, clean up the rough ones, price them, and put them on the shelf. You hire a few people, cover the rent, and every so often watch a Pretendo Wave U sit in the window for a month because nobody wants one.
You do all of it through CHRON/OS, the old desktop machine that came with the shop. Every part of the game is an app on it: your ledger, your suppliers, your staff, a messenger where reps and regulars write to you, and a browser full of sites that only exist in here. It is the whole interface, and it is not only a business tool.
Your week
A day is people coming in, browsing, buying, and offering you things. Five factors decide every sale: Appeal, Fit, Price, Timing, and Service. They're the same five words on the receipt, on the product page, and in the weekly wrap-up, so you can always trace why something sold or sat. Close out the week and you watch it play back on the Store Monitor: your actual floor, your actual staff, serving the people who walked in. Then the Week in Review says plainly what sold, what turned people away, and where your Influence came from. When a week goes badly it tells you why.
What the game actually cares about isn't the money.
You can run the place like a shark, overcharge everyone and work your staff to the bone, and you'll turn a profit that goes nowhere. What counts is Influence, and there are only two ways to earn it: preserving games and treating people decently. Fair prices, a shelf you've genuinely restored, staff you haven't burned out, regulars who leave happy. Turning a ruthless profit isn't on the list.
The shop
Rough stock is the good stock. Your bench techs refurbish it, swapping parts, adding mod slots, bringing a wreck back to something worth keeping, and every genuine rescue counts. Your best copies go into the Collection, which is the real scoreboard. Some titles you'll never see on a supplier truck: obscurities only turn up in trade-ins and scavenging expeditions, and the true grails have to be dug for. A handful of things exist exactly once per timeline. There are 31 Legends, items and people and even storefronts, each rolled somewhere between mediocre and god-rolled, several carrying house rules that bend the simulation outright. Chasing a good roll is the point.
Your people
Staff have stamina, happiness, and loyalty, and all three are load-bearing: a happy clerk measurably serves people better, an exhausted one burns out, an unhappy one gets poached. You set the schedule, the rest days, and how hard you push. Everyone has a class that grows through tiers. There are 35 of them, each with a full talent tree, 211 talents in all, and the choice is a real strategy call, because a class carries a stance that changes what your store is good at. A Bench Tech who becomes a Restorer earns more from preservation. A Clerk who becomes the Regulars' Host turns strangers into regulars faster. Customers work the same way: impress someone and they come back as a named character who remembers you, and your best trade-in leads eventually walk in the door on their own.
Influence is what lets you change the industry's history.
Leave it alone and everything plays out the way it really did. Catari runs out of money and folds. Zega gives up on hardware. One company after another quietly disappears, each on the schedule it actually died on. There's no villain and no countdown the game made up. It's just what happened.
But preserve a company's whole catalog, sit down with the people who ran it, and spend your Influence making the case, and you can buy them another shot. All eleven makers have someone who talks to you in their own voice, and they say hello long before they ever ask you for anything. When the pact seals, CHRON/OS amends the timeline in front of you: it strikes out how that company really died and writes the version where you saved it. Then things start showing up on your shelves that never existed, the console that company would have built next and the games that would have come with it. A history you wrote instead of the one we got.
Link Play: fix the timeline together
You can do all of this with friends, and you don't have to be online at the same time to do it. Join a private league with an eight-character code, or the community league with everyone else playing. Everyone still runs their own store, their own staff, their own money. What's shared is the history you're rewriting. When a partner seals a pact, it holds for everyone, and the news reaches you in the mail at your next week close. Collections count as a team, so you can split the work: you champion Catari, your friend covers Zega. Big pacts pool, everyone pledging what they can afford. Once a week you can send $500 to whoever's running leanest. You might play on a Tuesday night and a friend on Sunday morning; the timeline moves along either way. Nothing a partner does can hurt you, because the shared timeline only ever accumulates good news. Prefer to be left alone? Single-player saves stay private forever.
Get your favorites through and it's a good run. Get all of them through and you've mastered it.
It's a solo project. One person doing the code, the design, the art, and the music.