By now, I should've known better. After glitchy apartments, biting boxes, and a cult of sun-worshippers, you'd think I'd get the hint.
But no. When the app chirped NEW DROP. CLIENT: UNKNOWN. DESTINATION: AUTOMATIC ROUTE MAPPING. SPECIAL WARNING: AVOID THE ROAD'S HUNGER. I stupidly said, "Eh, how bad can it be?"
Spoiler: BAD. SO. BAD.
It started normally enough: I hopped on my moped, GPS blinking softly, package strapped securely. But instead of showing an address, the map pulsed with a strange, shimmering line—a living route, snaking itself onto my screen. The streets ahead shimmered too, like heat waves, even though it was well past midnight.
As I revved up, my tires crunched over cracked pavement, and the world shifted. Streetlights flickered unnaturally, their glow stretching and twisting. Storefronts blurred, bending at odd angles. And beneath my wheels, the asphalt... moved.
I swore loudly. "Nope. Not dealing with this tonight."
Too late.
The road rumbled hungrily, the concrete cracking open like a mouth lined with jagged rebar teeth.
"OH, COME ON!" I yelled, yanking the handlebars hard. My moped skidded sideways just as the asphalt jaws snapped shut where I'd been seconds before.
My phone buzzed: WARNING: THE ROAD IS HUNGRY. DO NOT STOP.
Gee, thanks, app. Real helpful.
For the next mile, I dodged potholes that weren't potholes, leaping cracks that lunged like snapping jaws. Cars on either side rusted and collapsed as I passed, as if the road devoured their life force too.
Panting, I made it to an intersection—and skidded to a stop.
Before me, the road spiraled upward, looping into a twisted rollercoaster ramp. Physics had officially checked out.
Behind me, the street shuddered again, groaning hungrily.
"Alright, alright!" I revved the engine. "No brakes, no logic—let's go!"
The moped screamed up the impossible loop. Wind howled in my ears as gravity gave me the finger. My eyes watered; the package pulsed hot against my chest.
Halfway up, the road's surface peeled open, revealing a yawning abyss lined with twitching tongues of asphalt.
"WHY IS EVERYTHING IN THIS JOB ALIVE?!" I shouted, clutching the handlebars.
With a last desperate push, I shot off the loop's crest, soaring into open air.
For one heart-stopping moment, time froze. I saw the moon, hanging full and pale. I saw the ground, miles below. And then—I landed hard, bouncing once, twice, skidding to a halt on a perfectly normal street.
I gasped, shaking. "Oh my god... I did it."
My phone buzzed: DESTINATION NEARBY. CONTINUE FOR FINAL DELIVERY.
I followed the map cautiously, turning down a quiet alley.
At the end was a small door, barely taller than my chest, set into the cracked brick wall. No lights, no markings—except for a single brass plate: FOR THE HUNGRY ROAD.
Gulping, I knocked. No answer.
I placed the package on the doorstep and stepped back.
The door creaked open on its own, shadows reaching out—and snatched the package inside.
I stumbled back, heart hammering.
My phone buzzed one last time: DELIVERY COMPLETE. BONUS: SURVIVAL.
A low creak echoed behind me. I turned. The road I'd just come from... was gone. Just a blank wall. Like it had never existed.
I stared, slack-jawed. "Oh great. Now even streets are gaslighting me."
I reached into my jacket for my phone—but it was gone. In its place was something round and cold.
I pulled it out: a coin.
Black. No markings. Just an oily shimmer that pulsed when I touched it.
Then, a voice—quiet, lilting—came from behind the wall where the road had vanished:
"One favor returned. One favor owed."
I took a step back. "Nope. Nope nope nope nope—"
The coin burned hot in my hand, and then... vanished. Just poof. Gone.
My hand was fine. No scar. No smoke. Just a lingering sense that something had been marked.
Then my phone buzzed again—miraculously back in my pocket.
NEW SHIFT INCOMING. CLIENT: THE FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD CULT.
I groaned. Out loud. At the sky.
"You know what? I miss when 'weird job' just meant bad coffee and annoying coworkers."
Still, I sighed, got on the moped, and rolled forward.
But as I turned the corner, the city had changed again. The buildings looked older, cracked with vines, as if the past had seeped in. The sky was the color of bruises. A figure stood at the next intersection, cloaked and still, holding what looked like a mailbox with teeth.
I braked instinctively. The figure pointed at me, then at the coin-shaped shadow now burned into the street.
"Your path is marked," the figure said. "The road still remembers."
Before I could speak, they vanished, melting into the air like fog.
I gripped the handlebars tighter.
This job wasn't just weird. It was a trap. One delivery at a time.