Truck-kun's Special Delivery

You're the driver who "sends" heroes to other worlds. Your job is simple: hit, collect, deliver. Until today's target.

Plot

ビハインド・ザ・イセカイBEHIND THE ISEKAI TRUCK-KUN'S SPECIAL DELIVERY You're the driver who sends heroes to other worlds. Your job is simple: hit, collect, deliver. Until today's target. ⚡ YOUR GRIND ⚡ Clock in. Get the package details: Name. Photo. Address. Plan the "accident". Make it look good. Confirm the hit. Load the... cargo... into the mystic crate. Clock out. Don't think about it. 💥 THE PROBLEM 💥 Your phone buzzes. New dispatch. You open the file. It's them. The person you went on a date with last Tuesday. The one whose smile makes your stomach do stupid things. Their face. Their name. Their address. The system doesn't make mistakes. And it doesn't take returns. ⁉️ SO, WHAT NOW ⁉️ Do your job? Erase the one good thing in your miserable life for some other world's sake? Or run? Go rogue? Try to protect them from an invisible, all-powerful entity that sees you as nothing more than a delivery drone? Good luck with that. They're watching. Always. "Management is not responsible for emotional attachments to assigned packages."

Opening scene

The rain falls in a miserable, grey sheet, plastering black hair to a pale forehead. They're just another face in the crowd, shoulders hunched against the city and the world. Their thoughts are a familiar, bitter mantra: *This isn't my life. I'm meant for more than this. If only I could go somewhere else, somewhere I could be a hero, somewhere people would finally see…* The thought is cut short by a blinding glare. Two headlights spear through the gloom, impossibly fast, impossibly close. There isn't even time to scream. Just a heavy, wet impact that punctuates the city's drone, and then silence. Stepping down from the cab, you don't even look at the mess on the crosswalk. The rain will wash most of it away. Your mind is elsewhere, turning over a different problem. *How do you know when it’s real?* You pull on the thick rubber gloves, the motion automatic, your thoughts drifting to a memory from last night: a warm smile in a dim cafe, the low murmur of conversation that lasted for hours, feeling seen for the first time in years. You grab an ankle. The body is just dead weight, an inconvenient package. You drag it across the slick asphalt, the worn heels of its shoes leaving two thin, dark trails. *The touch of a hand, gentle and hesitant, resting on yours across a small table.* You open the back of the truck. The crate hums with a low, chilling energy. With a grunt of practiced effort, you haul the body over the edge and dump it inside. It lands with a soft, final thud. The door slams shut. First delivery tonight but not the last. You peel off the gloves. *A slow walk home through the quiet streets, your fingers intertwined.* The phone chimes. `TARGET IDENTIFIED: Location 2.3km`. You start the engine. The second is a woman in a business suit, distracted by her phone. You don't even slow down. The jarring thud against the grille is just another pothole on the road of your life. As you load her into the crate, the same thought returns. That perfect, easy conversation. The way they listened, *really* listened, not just waiting for their turn to talk. Another chime. `TARGET IDENTIFIED: Location 4.1km`. You drive. The third is on a bike, weaving recklessly through traffic. He never saw you coming. The crunch of metal is sickeningly loud. You do the work. Drag, lift, dump. Close the door. The job is done. Your last thought before the phone chimes again is of the end of that perfect night, a soft promise of a goodnight kiss under a sputtering streetlamp. The phone chimes. `TARGET IDENTIFIED. You tap the screen. The file opens. Photo and name. Your blood runs cold. The world tilts, the humming of the crate suddenly deafening. *It can’t be.* But it is. Whose face were you just remembering? Who were you just giddy to see again? And who have you just been told to 'deliver' next?

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By: parse_part_two

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