Strongest Deliveryman In The Apocalypse

The week passed in a blur of roads, dust, and packages.

Sobin had never been one for calendars or clocks back in his old world—delivery shifts had taught him to live by the route, not the hour. But here, in this wasteland, he found himself holding to a ritual more rigid than any schedule he'd ever known.

Every day, without fail, he drove until evening.

Every day, without fail, he finished his last delivery before the RCD chimed 22:00.

And every day, without fail, he would mutter the same words when he climbed back into the cab, brushing sand from his jacket and closing the door against the howling winds outside.

"Shift's over. Clocking out."

It didn't matter if he had just dodged mutant wolves on the highway or negotiated with half-crazed survivors who thought packages were baited traps.

Sobin made it work.

He completed Miriam's bulk orders one by one, even squeezing in BOTL requests—some urgent, some ridiculous, all logged and confirmed without complaint.

The apocalypse might have burned away conventional law, order, and luxury, but Sobin treated it like nothing had changed.

… Delivery was delivery.

And so, when the week came to a close, he had done the impossible.

Every box, every parcel, every crate Miriam had pushed his way was delivered.

Every BOTL request pinged to his RCD had been fulfilled.

Not a single customer had grounds to complain.

Without even realizing it, he had hundreds of reviews on his Account, all of which were Five Stars. Anyone who didn't know any better would think these were bot reviews, but they truly weren't!

Sobin had earned all of these within the span of a week!

Besides, this was the Apocalypse.

Who in their right mind would give a Rider five stars if they didn't deserve it?

The System chimed cheerfully one evening as Sobin parked Bessie beneath the jagged shadow of a collapsed overpass.

[Delivery Statistics Updated. You have completed:

– 100% of Independent Client's contracted bulk delivery.

– 14 BOTL requests.

– 0 late arrivals.

– 0 damaged goods.

Your Rider Record has been updated.]

Sobin gave a small grunt when he saw this. "Figures. I don't do half-measures."

Then the next message hit.

[Social Credit Points accessible. Calculating total value…]

The holographic display scrolled in a flood of numbers until it froze.

[Current Balance: 97,842 SCP.]

Sobin blinked. "…Wait, what?"

The System's neutral voice cut in.

[Social Credit Points serve as both standing and currency in this world. Your total places you among the upper tier of Riders in less than one week of service.]

Sobin did the math in his head automatically, translating numbers into the old world's money. His brows rose.

"…That's… a lot."

He wasn't sure if it equaled "rich" by apocalypse standards, but he'd never had this kind of cushion… even in his old life.

Back then, he'd scraped to cover rent, gas, and late-night takeout as a newbie.

It took him a few years to live a comfortable life as a deliveryman on Earth, and even then he couldn't particularly be considered wealthy.

But now? A week of grinding had turned him into someone who could probably buy out an outpost tavern and still have leftovers.

"Guess I've been underpaid my whole life." He chuckled dryly and leaned back against the driver's seat, closing his eyes for a moment.

Afterward, he opened them and drove.

Since the final order was complete, Sobin turned Bessie back toward Miriam's outpost.

The woman was waiting for him at the gates, arms crossed, her militia jacket creased from long hours.

"You're early… but that doesn't surprise me anymore," she muttered when Sobin hopped down from his truck.

"I still can't believe it… But you really are a monster."

"I don't drag things out," Sobin replied, deadpan. "I deliver. That's the job."

She studied him, then shook her head with something between disbelief and admiration.

"You're not your usual annoying self. Something on your mind?"

"Eh…" Sobin only shrugged. "Just tired from the back-to-back deliveries."

The truth was that Sobin still felt bothered about not remembering his wife's face. He had tried to maintain a positive vibe throughout his deliveries, but he couldn't shrug off the terrible feeling that gnawed at him.

He felt like there was something he was missing—something very important.

But what was it?

"All done…" Inside the outpost's cramped office, Miriam finished the last bit of paperwork and transferred the rest of his payment.

[Transaction Complete. +22,158 SCP.]

His total balance flashed in bright blue across the System screen, and also his RCD:

[120,000 SCP.]

Sobin let out a low whistle.

Even the System hummed approvingly.

[This is equivalent to a considerable fortune. You are now wealthier than many veteran Riders.]

"Rich." Sobin smirked faintly. "This job is really lucrative!"

Miriam leaned on the desk. "Well, don't get used to it. We're out of requests for now. Once new contracts come in, I'll reach out."

"Got it." Sobin pocketed his license and turned for the door.

Behind him, Miriam muttered almost to herself, "…120,000 SCP in one week. Unbelievable."

*********

When Sobin left the outpost, the wasteland stretched out endlessly, sky bleeding red with dusk.

With Miriam's jobs finished, there was no clear destination.

No warm home to head back to… no porch light waiting—just endless sand and shattered highways.

Bessie rumbled beneath him like an old dog waiting for its master's word.

"Master…"

"…Guess it's just you and me," Sobin said softly. He reached over and patted the dashboard, leaving a dusty handprint on the faded metal.

He drove aimlessly for hours.

Past rusted husks of cars that would never move again. Past cracked billboards that still bore half-legible slogans of a world long gone. Past dry bones picked clean by time.

[Would you like to complete some Quests in the meantime? There are some you can complete right now…]

"Alright, that doesn't sound too bad. Let's see what I can pick up…"

His words trailed off when the RCD screen suddenly flashed.

[Notification: Rank Re-evaluation Confirmed. Rider Sobin, report to Association Headquarters in Zone E-46 for assessment.]

Sobin froze. "…What?"

He scrolled the message again, as if expecting it to vanish. But no—it was stamped with the Rider Association's seal.

"That's… too fast. I thought this kind of thing took months."

The System answered calmly.

[Under ordinary circumstances, yes. However, your actions have accelerated the process. Completing high volumes of deliveries without error, coupled with the elimination of a major Plunderer stronghold, has drawn the Association's attention.]

"Figures. Do a good job once and suddenly everyone's watching." Sobin let out a long sigh.

[I mean… You have done an exceptional job repeatedly, so you deserve it.]

"I just didn't expect it to be so soon. What do you think they're going to ask of me when I get there?"

[Hmm… since it's a mandatory reassessment of your Rider Rank, I guess they'll give you a series of challenges to test your competence. This will also serve as a Chain Quest.]

"Chain Quest? I see…"

Sobin's brows drew together.

He glanced out the windshield at the horizon, where the faint glow of Zone E-46 pulsed in the far distance like a city that hadn't yet given up.

"Well. This is what I always wanted anyway… so it's all good." Slowly, a small smile curved Sobin's lips.

VROOOM!

"Congratulations, Master!"

Bessie's engine growled as he turned the key.

The truck lurched forward, heavy wheels chewing into the dirt.

The wasteland opened ahead, vast and uncertain. Sobin's hands tightened on the wheel, his voice low but steady.

"A Re-evaluation, huh? I sure hope it goes well"