Bonus: Ah-Gui's Blog

Chapter 30: "Bonus: Ah-Gui's Blog"

(Static crackles. The screen flickers, resolving into a grainy webpage. Courier New font dominates. A crude GIF of a scooter spinning in circles plays in the corner.)

The Dead Delivery Rider’s Log

(A single, pixelated picture of a young man in a delivery uniform, looking vaguely bored, is displayed. It's Ah-Gui.)

About Me:

Welcome to the only blog that doesn't require a pulse. I’m Ah-Gui. I died on a scooter, but my Wi-Fi signal is eternal. Technically, I'm a ghost. But don’t tell anyone, it’s bad for the brand. Follow me for tips on avoiding the Hungry Ghost Festival and how to tell if your GPS is actually a demon. Also, I'll probably complain a lot about the quality of braised pork rice. Because, seriously, it's gotten bad.

(Clicking a "Posts" link brings up a list of entries. Each title is rendered in a jarring shade of neon green.)

Reviewing the 1-Star Purgatory Deliveries

(The blog post loads. A blurred photograph of a roadside shrine is displayed. The image is oversaturated, the shadows deep and unsettling.)

Okay, so being a ghost has its perks. No traffic, no need to worry about parking tickets, and the ability to phase through walls. But being a delivery ghost? That’s a whole other level of existential despair. Seriously, the offerings people leave at these shrines are insulting.

Rating: 1/5 stars. The braised pork rice was technically there, but the incense was so thick I couldn't even see the street. It smelled like mothballs and regret. The donor, a sweet old lady with a perpetually worried expression, forgot to burn the paper money. Do you want me to pay for the gas with my soul? Because I’m already broke. I'm pretty sure my soul is already depreciating in value. And the Hungry Ghost from Wanhua? Rude. Absolutely rude. He snatched a pineapple puff right out of my hand. I’m a ghost! I don't need to eat! But still. No manners. Zero. I’m starting to think being a regular ghost would be easier. Less responsibility, fewer complaints.

(A few blurry photos of various street food items follow, each accompanied by a sarcastic caption. “This stinky tofu smells like my eternal sorrow.” “This mango shaved ice is aggressively mediocre.”)

The Glitch in the Map

(The page now has a dark, almost black background. The text appears in a shaky, pixelated font. Random characters flash intermittently.)

You know, when you die, you think you understand how the world works. You think you’re immune to the little annoyances, the petty frustrations of the living. But then you realize you’re still tethered to this place. Still subject to its logic, its rules. And those rules get weird when you’re a ghost.

It started with the GPS. I thought it was just malfunctioning. It’s Taipei, after all. Everything malfunctions eventually. But then it started taking me places... places that shouldn't exist. The street was [REDACTED]... I saw the [ERROR]... it looked like a mouth. A gaping, black mouth in the pavement. I swear, the city's geometry started to shift.

If your Google Maps tells you to turn into a solid brick wall... don't. Or do. It’s kind of a trip. Trust me, I've been there. It smells like dust and forgotten languages. It's a place where the past and the present bleed together. A place you don't want to get lost in. I call it Alley 404. It's probably best to avoid it. Seriously.

(The post abruptly cuts off mid-sentence, replaced by a string of nonsensical symbols.)

The Comment Section

(A long, scrolling list of comments appears, each rendered in a different, equally jarring font. Usernames are bizarre and unsettling.)

User_999: Watch out for the red lady near the bridge. She's looking for a new driver.

Red_Qipao_Fan: Did you try adding more sesame oil to the braised pork? It makes a big difference.

Hungry_Entity_01: Bring more paper money next time. The last batch was low quality. The Elder was not impressed.

Forgotten_Dreams: I remember that alley. It’s where my grandmother used to disappear. She said it was a shortcut to the moon.

Anonymous_Whisper: He's watching you write this, Ah-Gui. He's right behind the screen.

Lost_Soul_23: Don’t trust the GPS. It's not what you think. It wants something.

User_999: She always appears when the rain falls sideways. Be careful.

(The comments continue to scroll, a relentless stream of cryptic warnings and unsettling observations.)

Connection Lost

(The page is now almost entirely black. The font is tiny and centered. The scrolling effect slows to a crawl.)

The signal is dropping. I can hear the engine revving, but I'm not on my bike. There's a shadow on the screen. It looks like... a delivery notification. Someone just ordered... me. It's a strange feeling, being the delivery. Like a reflection staring back at you, mocking your every move. It's… cold. Really, really cold. I can’t… I can’t…

(The text abruptly stops. The screen goes completely dark for a long moment. Then, a single image appears.)

(A screenshot of a smartphone lock screen. The alley is dark and rain-slicked. The background is blurred and indistinct.)

Order Update: Your driver, Ah-Gui, is approaching your location.

(Beneath the notification, the "Map" icon is pulsing red.)

Destination: [LOCATION UNKNOWN: THE VOID]

(The screen fades to black.)