Strongest Deliveryman In The Apocalypse

The surface was quiet, too quiet.

Outpost #47's heavy blast doors groaned as they sealed shut behind them, cutting off the low hum of underground machinery. The only sounds left were the night wind, the crunch of boots against gravel, and the distant whine of turrets adjusting their scope.

Sobin stood by his truck, arms folded as Miriam's soldiers finished unloading the last of the crates. Each was stacked neatly in the cargo bed, their metal edges glinting under the harsh floodlights. The faint aroma of dried grains and sealed vegetables lingered in the air, reminding him of how vital these supplies were.

Miriam dusted her hands and approached, her expression as firm as ever.

"That's everything. You'll be carrying foodstuffs, medicines, and a few other essentials. Some of it is perishable. Families are counting on these goods."

Sobin gave a curt nod.

For once, there was no cocky grin—just a steady resolve in his eyes.

"I'll treat them like glass."

Miriam studied him for a moment, then reached for his RCD.

Sobin hesitated, his instinctive possessiveness over the device flaring, but allowed her to take it.

She tapped swiftly on the glowing interface, inputting a series of coordinates and drop-off points. The map flickered, then expanded to show multiple waypoints branching out like arteries across Zone E.

"These are your delivery locations," she explained, her voice level. "Prioritize speed, but don't drive recklessly. Some crates are delicate—medications, glass vials, even seedlings we're trying to replant. A cracked box could mean the difference between survival and hunger."

Sobin leaned against the truck, arms crossed as he watched her work. "So… fast, but careful. Got it. I can manage that balance."

Miriam handed the RCD back. "See that you do."

There was something about the way she said it—an edge of trust mixed with command.

Sobin didn't reply immediately.

Instead, he looked at the crates once more, the faintest flicker of pride burning in his chest. This wasn't just another Quest.

These weren't meaningless waypoints. Every box had a heartbeat tied to it.

Lives were counting on him.

Actually, Sobin had always felt this way about delivery—even back when he was merely delivering boxes of pizza in his earlier years.

There was a family behind each delivery… a home that counted on his service.

That always motivated him to give it his all!

Miriam gave a final nod, then stepped back as her soldiers began filing toward the blast doors. The heavy gates of the outpost's warehouse rumbled open briefly to swallow them inside, leaving only Sobin, his truck, and the night air behind.

For a long moment, he stood in silence, watching the distant stars blink faintly through the dusty sky. Then he exhaled, climbing into the driver's seat.

The RCD buzzed in his hand.

[New Route Confirmed]

He glanced at the glowing map, then frowned. A small icon blinked at the edge of his planned path. Curious, he tapped it.

[BOTL Request Available]

[Pickup: Zone E-45, Drop-off: Along active route]

[Reward: 300 Credits]

Sobin smirked faintly. "Well, would you look at that. Two birds, one truck."

He hit 'Accept,' slotting the extra delivery seamlessly into his path.

His fingers drummed once against the steering wheel, his thoughts already racing ahead.

"Perishables for families, meds for survivors, and one BOTL request. If I keep this up… I'll carve my name into the ranks faster than anyone expects."

VRUUM!

He started the engine.

The truck roared to life, headlights cutting through the gloom.

With a glance at the desolate building that served as a front for the outpost behind him, Sobin shifted gears and rolled forward, his determination burning hotter than the engine beneath him.

Unknown to him… something else was happening miles away.

And it was all his fault.

An entire perimeter of armored vehicles encircled a crater that scarred the earth like a wound. Towering spotlights carved away the shadows, illuminating the twisted, lifeless corpse of a creature that should not have existed.

—The Deepcrawler King.

Its body sprawled across the cracked terrain, jagged limbs bent at impossible angles. Black ichor seeped from its massive form, congealing into pits that hissed faintly against the dirt.

Soldiers moved carefully around it, rifles raised though the beast was clearly dead.

Forensic units in hazard suits picked across its body, pulling samples, scanning tissue, and feeding results to mobile labs that buzzed with constant activity.

Standing apart from the bustle was a woman in a black suit.

Short hair framed her sharp features, and a tablet glowed faintly in her hand. Sharon, Head of the Leaders of Sector E.

She stared at the corpse without blinking, her lips pressed in a hard line. The reports were already coming in: confirmation of death, confirmation of subspecies identity, confirmation of structural collapse from… an external force.

But no report could erase what she had seen on the satellite feed.

Her fingers tightened on the tablet.

On the recording, just for a moment, the silhouette of something monstrous had flashed through the haze—something that moved like a phantom across the battlefield, tearing the Deepcrawler King apart as if it were prey.

The technicians had called it a distortion, an error in the feed.

But Sharon knew better.

"Not a distortion. A beast." She exhaled slowly, the weight of responsibility heavy in her chest.

"Ma'am." One of her subordinates approached cautiously, saluting. His voice wavered against the heavy silence. "The area's secured. All paths have been blocked. Do we proceed with containment protocols?"

Sharon didn't answer immediately.

Her gaze lingered on the Deepcrawler's shattered torso and the jagged wound running across its carapace.

No weapon in Sector E could have done this. No strike team, no artillery, no Rider.

Finally, she turned, eyes sharp as steel. "Double containment. Keep even Riders, and especially those pesky Plunderers away at all costs. I want constant patrols until this carcass is moved."

"Yes, ma'am." The soldier saluted and started to leave, but Sharon's voice stopped him cold.

"Wait."

He froze.

"Ring up Zone E-46. Tell them to report any suspicious activity immediately. Increase their defenses, reinforce their gates, and put their scouts on high alert. If what I saw on that footage is real, it's headed their way."

The soldier's eyes widened, but he nodded quickly. "Understood, Commander."

Sharon turned back to the beast, her jaw tightening.

The floodlights carved cruel shadows across its remains, but her mind was on the unseen, the unknown. The phantom that had carved this path of destruction.

For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself a sigh of relief.

The Deepcrawler King was dead. That much was certain.

But her relief was brief.

Because somewhere out there, beyond the lights and the fences, something else walked the wasteland. Something stronger.

Her fingers dug into her tablet, nails biting against the casing. "Whatever it was… it's moving toward us. Zone E-46 won't stand a chance if we're not ready."

*******

Far away, on the dusty roads lit only by headlights, Sobin gripped the wheel tighter. His eyes were locked on the horizon, where the stars blurred into the endless dark.

His voice broke the silence, firm and steady.

"Our last delivery for the night before we clock out! You're up for the task, Bessie?"

"Of course, Master!"

[You've been completing all the deliveries like a monster. So you're finally resting…]

"Of course." Sobin smiled as he checked the time on his RCD. "It's almost 10 PM. I don't work overtime unless the pay is high enough."

The truck surged forward, engines growling against the wasteland night.