Strongest Deliveryman In The Apocalypse

The control room of Zone E-46 was chaos!

Alarms blared red across the panels, holographic screens flickered with static, and the sharp smell of burnt wires filled the air as technicians shouted over one another.

"—We lost all of them!"

"Thirty-seven airships! Gone!"

"They weren't even the cheap ones, either!"

Somebody threw a headset onto the floor, the plastic shattering like their last thread of sanity.

On the main screen, the desert stretched endlessly, now scarred with craters and burning sand-glass valleys. At its center floated the Chaos Angel, still glowing with that smug "I just vaporized your fleet" radiance.

One officer clutched his hair. "An A-Rank Monster shouldn't even be near this Zone! Why the hell is it here?!"

"Forget that, what the hell was that beam?!" another cried, voice cracking. "Do we even have a term for it? Should we just call it—uh—God's Middle Finger?"

"Shut up and run the damage reports!" the commander barked. He looked like he'd aged ten years in ten minutes, sweat dripping down his collar. "We didn't lose anyone out there, did we?"

A silence followed. Then one of the techs spoke up, voice flat.

"No, sir! All the aircraft were unmanned."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. They were all remotely piloted from a safe distance. Not a single crew on board."

A collective sigh swept through the room. Half of them slumped against their chairs like limp noodles.

"Oh, thank God…"

"Bless the automation program…"

"I almost had a heart attack for people that weren't even inside the ships."

But relief was short-lived. Because the Angel was still there, and it wasn't losing patience.

On the screen, it spread its wings again. The sand itself recoiled as if afraid.

"Alright, enough chatter," the commander snapped, tugging at his collar. "Contact Zone E-45 and E-44 right now. They're closest to this sector, and if that thing keeps drifting, we'll need to evacuate the surrounding areas. I repeat—prepare civilian withdrawal plans."

"Yes, sir!"

The comms team scrambled, lines buzzing as voices from other Zones crackled in. Each call carried more panic than the last.

"—This thing's already destroyed a fleet?"

"Are you insane? How do you expect us to hold it off?"

"Evacuation will take days!"

The commander pinched his temples, groaning. "Our only priority right now is to stall time. Contain it. If that caravan doesn't get away, we'll have thousands of civilian deaths on our hands. We cannot allow this monster to wander into our major population lines."

"But, sir," a trembling lieutenant muttered, "we don't have anything left in the skies. We'll need at least three hours before the next batch of ships can—"

The door hissed open.

Every officer froze.

A woman strode in with the kind of confidence that suggested she could slap a monster and expect it to apologize.

"Miss Sh-Sharon!" someone yelped, snapping to attention as they all stared at the Head of the Leaders of Sector E!

Sharon barely acknowledged them.

Her black coat trailed behind her like a cape, her boots clinking against the steel floor. Her eyes locked on the giant screen.

"…Show me satellite imagery. Now."

Nobody hesitated. Fingers flew over consoles, and the image zoomed closer and closer until the wasteland came into sharp focus.

The Angel loomed. The wreckage of the air fleet smoked. Corpses of Riders lay scattered.

And in the middle of it all…

A single man stood there, hands on his hips, like he was judging a barbecue gone wrong.

Sobin.

Alive.

Utterly, absurdly, alive.

"What the hell…" one officer whispered.

"That's… impossible."

"Nothing should've survived that strike."

The room filled with disbelief. Mouths hung open. A few people rubbed their eyes, as if expecting Sobin to vanish like a desert mirage.

Sharon's expression didn't change. She only narrowed her eyes.

"…How long until we can launch another fleet?"

The reply was instant and miserable.

"Three hours, minimum."

"Three hours is too long. That thing will wipe this entire Zone in less than half of that."

She clicked her tongue, then glanced at the operators. "Send out a drone. Immediately."

The commander stiffened. "Ma'am, even our drones won't scratch that monster—"

"I'm not sending it against the monster," Sharon interrupted. "I'm sending it to him."

All eyes turned back to the screen. Sobin was squatting now, poking at a melted helmet on the ground like it was some sort of art piece.

"D-don't tell me—?" The commander asked with a raised brow.

"He's the only thing still alive out there," Sharon replied flatly. "And if he survived this long, then either fate has a terrible sense of humor, or he's exactly what we need right now."

The commander swallowed.

"…Understood."

A drone was dispatched, its thrusters roaring as it zipped across the desert sky. The operators guided it with shaky hands, weaving past smoldering dunes until—

The drone hovered above Sobin, dropping low enough to project a crackling hologram.

Sharon's stern face appeared before him.

Sobin blinked.

"Y-you are… the potential client…?" Even at this point, Sobin still didn't know Sharon's true identity, so he was a little surprised to see her image on a government security drone.

"Prisoner Sobin, I am the Head of Leaders of Sector E…" Sharon said with a sigh

"E-eh?"

"There's no time to explain the details. But—" Her voice was cold steel, but there was a faint thread of something else—desperation.

"We need your help."

Sobin tilted his head.

He folded his arms and entered 'serious mode', his face now a mask of utter sternness.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"The Chaos Angel is an A-Rank threat. If it's left unchecked now, it will destroy the retreating caravan before they can get very far. If it reaches the populated Zones, the casualty count will be catastrophic. Our forces can't respond in time." She paused, eyes narrowing. "…We need you to buy us time. Contain it. Stall its rampage until reinforcements arrive and the caravan escapes."

Sobin tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Contain the giant bird that just erased your armada like they were flies on its windshield."

"Yes."

"…And if I say no?"

Sharon's lips thinned. "Nothing. You're an enemy of this Sector, so I don't reckon there'll be further punishment if you don't act.

"…Not much of a negotiation, huh?"

"Listen carefully. If you do this—if you help us protect the civilians—we'll pardon you for your crimes. And when this is over, we'll have an honest conversation about… everything." Sharon's hologram leaned forward, her tone sharp.

The room went silent, waiting.

Sobin blinked once. Twice. Then, slowly… his grin spread wide.

"Ohhh, now that's interesting." He straightened, brushing sand off his shoulders. "Pardon, huh? I like the sound of that."

He turned to glance at the Angel above, which was currently charging another sun-sized ball of energy. Sobin cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and looked back at the drone.

"Alright then." He gave a broad smile, showing teeth. "Leave it to me."

The drone buzzed as if it, too, doubted what it just heard.

Back in the command room, jaws dropped.

"D-Did he just agree?!"

"Is he smiling?!"

"That guy looked like he was on a vacation stroll while an apocalypse bird was nuking the skyline!"

The commander nearly fell out of his chair. "Why does he look excited?!"

Because Sobin was excited. Very, very excited.

Finally, he could do something.

Not only had he been given a chance to clear his name, but he had just been given a mission by the government of this world. Plus, the Chain Quest from the System finally appeared, causing his grin to expand even more.

[Chain Quest: Defeat the Chaos Angel and save Zones E-45 and E-44 from doom]

"Well then…" Sobin flexed his fingers, his shadow stretching long across the scorched desert.

"… Let's see how long this'll take without Bessie."