Slurp.
Trevor leaned back in his creaky gaming chair, sucking the last bits of overcooked noodle from a cheap styrofoam cup.
His desk, cluttered with snack wrappers, instant soup lids, and tangled charging cables,
stood proudly beneath a wall lined with faded anime posters most of them slightly crooked, held up with tape older than the posters themselves.
"Trash," he muttered, lobbing the empty cup toward the overflowing bin in the corner.
It bounced off a crumpled manga volume and hit the floor. Again.
"Perfect delivery accuracy: zero," he said, deadpan.
Trevor, age twenty-five. Delivery driver for EagleCrate Logistics. Bachelor.
Lives alone in a cramped apartment where the air conditioner wheezed more than it worked.
His schedule? Deliver boxes by day.
Binge anime and argue in forums by night. Rinse. Repeat. Forever.
And tonight, like most nights, he had a date with Misfit of the Demon Lord Academy.
He flicked on the monitor.
The glow lit his pale face and tired eyes.
A paused frame of Anos Voldigoad hovered on screen, sword in hand, mid-teleport through a horde of enemies.
Trevor grinned.
"No truck-kun in this one," he said.
"But demon kings who casually rewrite the laws of physics? That's my jam."
He reached for his remote, then hesitated eyes drifting to the dusty window.
Outside, in the dim parking lot below, sat his truck.
The same dull-gray delivery vehicle he'd driven for five years straight. Its windshield cracked.
The bumper dented. But it ran. Like him.
"Man…" he said, chuckling.
"All these anime protagonists getting hit by trucks and waking up in magic kingdoms. With harems. Swords. Stats.
I've watched that same plot, like, a hundred times."
He stood and stretched, joints popping like popcorn. His spine objected. Loudly.
"I've got a truck too," he smirked. "Maybe I'm, like, half Truck-kun?"
He imagined it: some poor NEET stepping onto a crosswalk.
The world slows down.
Trevor's truck rolls into frame in slow motion celestial music swelling as the impact sends the kid to another world.
"Haha… I wish. All I get are screaming customers and back pain."
Still, the thought lingered.
A version of him who could send people to fantasy realms instead of warehouse docks.
A version of him who mattered.
"Nah. Just sleep-deprived," he muttered. "Jokes aside, time to binge."
He collapsed back into his chair and hit play.
Trevor woke up face-first on the keyboard.
His mouth was dry. His neck stiff.
The anime was still playing, now deep into a sword duel with orchestral background music.
His screen was smeared with fingerprints and... was that soy sauce?
His phone buzzed violently. The screen lit up with a contact labeled: "Mr. Miserable (Boss)."
He groaned.
[INCOMING CALL]
He answered with the resigned sigh of a man who knew what was coming.
"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, YOU PIECE OF CRAP?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?! YOU GOT ROUTES GET YOUR ASS IN THAT TRUCK BEFORE I—!"
Trevor thumbed the screen and ended the call.
"Good morning to you too, tyrant."
He stood slowly, sleep still hanging from his shoulders like a wet blanket.
As he stepped into the narrow bathroom to splash cold water on his face, he caught his reflection messy black hair, baggy eyes, stubble too lazy to be called a beard.
"You look like you just lost a boss fight," he said to himself.
He walked into his living room, still in boxers, and began mock-waddling across the floor. Puffed out his cheeks. Raised his voice.
"'WHeRe tHe HelL aRe YoU—GeT tO WoRK oR yOu'Re FIReD!'" he mimicked, stomping like a rabid walrus. "Stupid micro-manager with anger issues…"
Satisfied, he threw on his uniform creased polo shirt, faded work cap, nametag that said
"Trevor (Don't ask)" and slurped down another cup of instant ramen.
He grabbed his keys, phone, and snack bar before heading out.
6:15 AM – Parking Lot
The sky was still gray. The air smelled like damp pavement and tired dreams.
Trevor climbed into his truck and gave the dashboard an affectionate slap.
"Morning, old girl. Let's go disappoint some Karens."
He plugged in his phone, scrolled through his playlist, and tapped on the Naruto Shippuden opening.
The speakers were old and crackly, but the spirit of youth came through loud and clear.
He hummed along as he pulled out, a ghost of a smile on his face.
Depot – 6:45 AM
The warehouse was already buzzing with forklifts and forklifts drivers who thought they were Fast & Furious extras. Trevor parked by the loading bay.
His boss was waiting.
"YOU'RE LATE," barked a man who somehow always looked both sweaty and dry. Balding. Red-faced. Cheap cologne that could kill small animals.
Trevor rolled down the window. "Morning, Mr. Douglas."
"Don't you 'morning' me! You've got an emergency shipment client's a Grade-A psycho.
Get it there before ten or she'll call my boss, and then I'll make your life a living—"
Trevor nodded. "Yep, yep. Toilet paper, towels, mood swings. Got it."
Douglas turned purple. Trevor rolled up the window mid-rant and smiled as he pulled forward to load.
Midday – Special Delivery
The day crawled on like a drunk snail. Traffic was hell.
GPS kept rerouting him into neighborhoods where potholes outnumbered people.
The back of the truck smelled like cheap plastic and industrial cleaner.
By 4:00 PM, he'd dealt with three rude customers, one woman who refused to sign without inspecting every item, and a guy who tried to pay him in coupons.
Trevor took it all with a blank stare and an occasional internal scream.
The final stop was a high-maintenance hotel manager who demanded exact stacking alignment. Trevor nearly threw a box out the window.
Evening – The Road Home
The sun dipped behind the skyline as Trevor drove back along the river highway.
He rolled down the window, letting the wind wash over his sweaty face.
He felt… peaceful. For once.
His playlist looped into a nostalgic opening from Inuyasha, and he sang under his breath.
Then—
FLASH.
A blur darted into the road.
His eyes widened. "Wait what?!"
BAM!
He slammed the brakes. The truck jolted. Tires screamed. Something heavy crumpled.
Silence fell like a curtain.
His heart thundered. Hands clenched the wheel until his knuckles turned white.
"I hit someone," he whispered. "No… no no no…"
His breath shook as he slowly opened the door, boots crunching gravel as he stepped into the dark.
There just ahead was a person. Unmoving. The outline of a body against concrete. Trevor's mouth went dry.
He took a step forward then another.
Everything felt surreal. Dreamlike. The world was too quiet.
But before he could reach the figure, the air split. A strange warmth wrapped around him like static and
BLINK—
The world disappeared.
A blinding white light swallowed him whole.
And somewhere, far above, a voice spoke with delighted laughter:
"Found you."