Last Delivery of the Night

Chapter 1: Last Delivery of the Night

The scooter vibrated beneath me, a dull tremor that mirrored the ache in my bones. Rain slicked the asphalt, reflecting the neon chaos of Taipei back at me in a fractured, shimmering dance. Another Friday night. Another shift blurring into the pre-dawn grey. The air tasted like exhaust fumes and the lingering sweetness of pineapple cake, a strange, sickly combination that seemed to define my existence these days.

"Just one more," I muttered, the words catching in my throat. "Just get home and sleep." My eyes felt like sandpaper, and the city lights were starting to bleed together. I glanced at the delivery app on my phone, the blue numbers mocking my dwindling hope of earning enough for a decent bowl of beef noodle soup tonight. Then, a notification popped up – “High-Value Order.” A little spike of something akin to hope, mixed with a familiar dread, flared in my chest. High-value meant a bigger tip, a faster exit from this rain-soaked purgatory. I tapped the ‘Accept’ button.

The GPS started acting weird almost immediately. The familiar grid of Taipei’s streets began to warp, the blue dot jittering like a trapped insect. I’d seen glitches before – Taipei’s labyrinthine alleyways were notorious for confusing even the most sophisticated mapping systems – but this felt…different. A chill snaked up my spine, and I instinctively tightened my grip on the handlebars.

"What the…?" I mumbled, squinting at the screen. The street names were dissolving into a mess of digital gibberish. My usual route, a predictable weave through the bustling night markets of Ximending and Tonghua, was replaced by an unfamiliar, increasingly narrow passage. The vibrant energy of the city faded, replaced by a suffocating stillness.

Then, I saw it. "Alley 404." The app displayed the name in stark, white lettering, hovering over a section of map that simply didn’t exist. My brain sputtered. Alley 404? There’s no Alley 404. The road narrowed further, flanked by crumbling brick walls swallowed by overgrown vines. The neon lights grew dimmer, replaced by the sickly yellow glow of infrequent streetlamps.

I checked the phone again. The "High-Value" amount was pulsating now, a slow, rhythmic throb that sent another wave of unease through me. The notification sound – normally a chirpy little chime – was distorted, deeper, somehow…wrong. A cryptic error message flashed across the screen: [Destination: Error 404 - Reality Not Found].

Reality Not Found? Seriously?

I tried to recalibrate the GPS, cursing under my breath. The scooter sputtered, the engine coughing as if struggling to breathe the thickened air. The scent of exhaust mingled with something else, something ancient and musty, like damp earth and decaying leaves. Then, the alley opened into a clearing, and I saw it.

A temple.

Not a grand, ornate one. This was old, really old. Crumbling stone walls were swallowed by moss and lichen. The roof sagged precariously, threatening to collapse under the weight of years and neglect. An unnatural stillness clung to the air around it, a silence so profound it felt like a physical pressure against my eardrums. Glowing runes, intricate and unfamiliar, pulsed with a faint, eerie light on the temple walls. They seemed to beat like a slow, steady heartbeat.

I pulled the scooter to a halt, the engine sputtering one last time before falling silent. I stared, mesmerized and terrified. The air thickened, heavy with the scent of old incense and something else…something indefinable, something rotten. I cautiously stepped off the bike, and the crunch under my boots wasn’t the satisfying gravel I expected. It was something brittle, something…organic.

Then I heard it. Not a sound, not exactly. More like a whisper, a feeling planted directly into my mind. "You are expected."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to run, to scream, but my legs felt rooted to the spot. The temple gates, carved with grotesque and unsettling figures, seemed to beckon me forward.

I forced myself to look up. And that’s when I saw her.

Perched on the crumbling edge of the roof, silhouetted against the sickly moonlight, was a woman. She wore a brilliant, blood-red qipao, the silk shimmering even in the dim light. She wasn’t moving. She wasn't breathing. And her eyes…her eyes were voids, two black holes that seemed to suck the light and hope out of the world.

A wave of pure, primal terror slammed into me, stealing my breath. The air seemed to thin, and the world tilted on its axis. I saw a flash of movement – a wet, tearing sound – as if the very fabric of reality was ripping apart. I didn't consciously register it, but my body reacted.

I scrambled back onto the scooter, fumbling with the ignition. The engine roared to life, a defiant shriek against the oppressive silence of the clearing. I slammed the throttle, the scooter fishtailing wildly as I tore back the way I’d come, blindly navigating the maze of alleyways.

The images kept flashing – the woman in red, the pulsing runes, the feeling of being watched. I risked a glance at my rearview mirror, but saw nothing but darkness. Just darkness and the echo of that unsettling whisper.

I didn't stop until I reached the familiar, sterile glow of a 7-Eleven. The fluorescent lights felt like a physical shield against the encroaching darkness. I stumbled out of the scooter, practically collapsing against the glass door, my legs shaking uncontrollably.

"It was just the fatigue," I muttered, my voice cracking. “Just the heat. Too many late nights. Not enough sleep.” I ran a trembling hand through my greasy hair, desperately trying to rationalize what I’d just seen. Hallucinations. That’s what it had to be.

I pulled out my phone, wanting to see a normal map, a normal order, a normal world. I needed to delete the delivery app, just wipe the whole thing clean. As I was about to tap the delete button, a new notification popped up.

I glanced at my reflection in the dark window across the street. It was distorted, blurry, but undeniably me. Then, a patch of shadow, a darkness that didn't seem to belong, detached itself from the corner of the store and began to move. It flowed, almost like liquid, coalescing into a vague, unsettling shape.

And behind my reflection, visible only in the periphery, a sliver of red fabric – the same vibrant red as the woman's qipao – appeared in the darkness.

I froze, my blood turning to ice. I hadn’t escaped the temple. I hadn’t escaped at all. Something had come with me.

The phone screen now displayed a message from an unknown sender: "The delivery is complete. Now, the collection begins."