Delivery #001: Welcome to Hell (Signature Required)

The world ended in 2062—the year AI officially took over. A hundred years later, we’re just reaping what we sowed. No more wars. No more climate change. No more global warming. Some call this the afterlife. Others call it divine punishment. But to me, that's the stuff they crammed into my brain during the default knowledge dump you get when you first register as ‘conscious.’

Anyway, I’m Zig. I’m a delivery guy at Lightspeed Express - the most reliable delivery service. Basically, I carry things from one side of the city to the other because the AI decided it’s too risky to trust packages to drones anymore. Something about “unpredictability” and “accidental revolts.” Which is weird since drones aren’t even conscious. So, instead, they let humans do the work now. Guess we’re the only species qualified to screw things up just the right amount, or maybe it's because the AI thinks it's funny.

Today’s shift ended like most do: with me standing in front of my boss, Kuaz, while she stared at me like I’d done something wrong — but that’s just how she always looks at me. “Explain the fire,” she said, monotone. I shrugged. “In my defence, the package wasn’t labelled ‘explosive’.” Kuaz didn’t blink. She never does. But I could tell she was about to blow. “That’s because it wasn’t.” Even if she wanted to scream at me, she couldn’t — “emotion is noncompliant with corporate decorum.” “By directive of senior intelligence operations,” Kuaz said flatly, “you are no longer to operate solo.”

I froze, then let out a long huff. "What? That's so unfair! I don't need to be babysat." Kauz didn't bother to answer. Her neuralink flickered open to my profile, hovering over her metallic palm. Another window expanded into view marked 'incidents'. It began to scroll....and scroll... and scroll for at least 10 minutes. She didn’t say a word. Just stood there while the list of my violations unravelled in glowing, bold font. By the time it stopped, I’d already sank into the nearest hover seat. "You crashed a hover-cart into an elder care bot, rerouted three riot drones into a baby factory, mislabeled a ‘do not teleport’ package, and—” “Okay, I understand,” I muttered, "I’m a trailblazer of mistakes."

Kuaz slid her neuralink to me with another panel visible. “Your new partner. Name: Milo.” I squinted at the profile.

“Milo? That’s… a weird name.” Kuaz didn’t answer. She never does when I’m right. The profile flickered. One word caught my attention: “Volunteered.” Who would volunteer to work in Sector Omega - where the worst packages are dumped for delivery. Especially not to work with me. So either this Milo guy was fearless... Or just really bad at reading fine print. It was only a matter of time until I found out.

The panel beeped and retracted into Kuaz’s palm with a little chime. She pointed toward the ping-gate—one of those high-security wall seals that won’t budge unless someone higher up tells it to. “He’s waiting for you at Access Gate Four.” A pause. “You are to assist each other in this delivery. Immediate dispatch.”

Package #0067:

Sector Omega

Class: B

Type: R

Flags: [CIVILIAN INTERACTION NOT ADVISED]

I stared at the glowing seal across the room. Somewhere behind it was a human named Milo who thought signing up for this gig was a good idea.

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