Pearly Gates

You died. Your file is bound for the other place. The only way up is the job at the gate.Heaven has a queue, and everyone who died today is standing in it, papers in hand. The clerk at the window is you: dead yourself, with a dagger on your own file. The Office of Eternal Placement has offered you probation. Work the Pearly Gates until the Jubilee, and your file will be reconsidered.

- Read every soul's Vita and the papers they hand across the counter.
- Check them against St. Peter's rules, which change every morning.
- Stamp ADMITTED or DENIED, and watch where they go.
- Catch demons in disguise before they reach the gates.
- Pay rent on your cloud every night, at one halo per soul admitted.
THE PAPERS LIE

St. Peter's memo arrives each morning with new rules, and yesterday's stay in force. Cross-check the Vita against the Writ of Passage, the Testimony of the Choir, the Scroll of Penance and whatever the Office adds next week. One wrong letter in a name is enough. Nobody explains anything twice.
SOME OF THEM ARE DEMONS

Their seals are forged, their names are doctored, and the face on the photographic plate belongs to somebody else. When the papers are perfect, the disguise itself flickers for a heartbeat. Catch one and there is a bounty. Let one through and it is an infernal breach on your record.
EVERYONE DIED OF SOMETHING

A king who choked on a historic grape. A farmer who argued with a bull. Every soul arrives with a life, a cause of death and an opinion about your stamp. The Registry marks some deeds with a dagger, and the Registry is not reasonable: missed Easter (once), Sabbath work (a sock), blasphemy (at a hen). Fairness is not your department.
RENT IS DUE TONIGHT

You earn one halo per soul admitted, and the gates close at dusk. Every night the ledger opens: rent on the cloud, polish for your halo, wards for the nights the demons stop bothering with disguises and rush the gates. Send a parcel down to whoever held this desk before you. Buy a condemned soul back out of Purgatory. Later, the Office starts selling forgiveness. Miss rent two nights running and the Office of Lodgings repossesses the cloud, with you on it.
THIRTY-ONE DAYS. SIXTEEN ENDINGS.
A month of shifts, the rules stacking day on day, and no two days alike. Dispatches from the Celestial Intelligence Agency when an operative with flawless papers is already in your line. A wanted list from the Registry of the Damned. Customs, once the Office of Earthly Effects decides what the dead may bring with them. A gatekeeper with an offer, an inspector with questions, and a movement that would rather the gates were left open. Sixteen endings, and every one of them decides which way your own file goes.
There is no tutorial angel and no face behind the memos. The rules reach you as parchment, and the parchment is all you get.
The Office thanks you in advance.