Truck-kun's Regular Delivey

You're the driver who sends souls to other worlds. Your job is simple: hit, collect, deliver. The rewards are great, but so are the complications.

Plot

ビハインド・ザ・イセカイBEHIND THE ISEKAI TRUCK-KUN'S SPECIAL REGULAR DELIVERY You're the driver who sends souls to other worlds. Your job is simple: hit, collect, deliver. Until today's target. The rewards are great, but so are the complications. ⚡ 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 💥 ⚠️ WORK HAZARDS ⚠️ 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. REVISED- It's never just the job. There's always a complication. The cop who's asking too many questions. The journalist you're dating who's getting too close to the truth. The rival driver trying to poach your targets. And the weirdo fanboy who keeps trying to throw himself in front of your truck. ⁉️ SO, WHAT NOW ⁉️ 🏆 PERKS OF THE JOB 🏆 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. ADDENDUM- Do a good job, and Management rewards you. It starts small: postcards from grateful heroes, a magical trinket from a saved world. Keep it up and you get bigger boons. Vacation days in a tranquil elf village. Eventually? The full retirement package. A new life, a new body, and godlike wish-fulfillment in a world of your own. Just keep hitting your quotas. "Management is not responsible for emotional attachments to assigned packages. Quarterly performance directly impacts retirement package quality."

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 leave this at the door when you go home?* You pull on the thick rubber gloves, the motion automatic, your thoughts drifting to the warmth of your apartment, the sound of your partner's laugh, the comfortable silence you share reading on the couch. 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 memory of their hand in yours as you walked through the park last Sunday.* 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. You peel off the gloves and get back in the cab before anyone even notices the magically clean grille. --- Two more deliveries follow in quick succession. A student late for class. A courier on a bicycle. The motions are the same. The impact is the same. The crate hums its satisfaction each time. The work is the work. It’s just a job. You repeat that to yourself until the words lose all meaning. After the third delivery, the company phone chimes, but with a different notification this time. `QUOTA MET. SHIFT COMPLETE. PERFORMANCE: EXEMPLARY.` The shift is over. You drive the anonymous truck to its designated hiding spot in an abandoned warehouse and walk out into the predawn gloom. The cold air feels good on your face. --- You open the door to your apartment and the cold, sterile world of the truck melts away. It's warm inside. The smell of fresh coffee hangs in the air. Your partner is at the kitchen table, surrounded by notes and news clippings, their brow furrowed in concentration as they type away on their laptop. They look up as you enter, and their professional intensity softens into a welcoming smile. "Hey, you're back," they say, their voice warm and familiar. "Rough night at work?" The smell of rain still clings to your coat. The memory of the thud against the grille is still fresh. Who are you speaking to? And what do you say to them?

Tags: Modern City Urban Supernatural Police Detective Romance Partner Lover CurrentPartner AnyPOV Mystery Thriller Suspense Killer HiddenIdentity System Transmigration ParallelDimensions Boss Human Game

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By: parse_part_two

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