Nothing quite like the city at noon to remind you the sun is not your friend. Out there, smacking down on the delivery hub's drowned streets, it felt less like work and more like surviving a bad fever dream. Even the puddles got in on the mayhem, throwing up little gusts of steam that made everyone look extra ghostly. And the hub? Controlled chaos—kids zipping by on rusty cycles, towers of boxes wobbling, grumpy supervisors yelling as if that'd keep the mess from swallowing them whole.
Most people stop at the chaos—see it, sigh, clock in, clock out. Arjun, though? This is where he comes alive, right? Dude strolled in, blending so flawlessly it was almost suspicious. Bent over his handlebars, just another "exhausted office drone" in a neon vest, but his eyes—sharp as broken glass, missing nothing. He's that guy who notices if you swap the order of sugar and milk in tea. Sketchy glances? Weird, smudgy labels tossed on random parcels? Ledger full of doodles and shifting pen styles? He's clocked all of it in the time it takes most people to send a WhatsApp.
And, oh boy—the System chirps up in his head, like a super chill guide from a sci-fi flick. "Observation complete. Next phase: evidence gathering." The dude makes James Bond look like an intern, but you gotta admit, having some random digital voice laying out your next move is kind of a vibe. Gives the whole thing this game-like edge, not gonna lie.
Now, Arjun's no hero, but he's not an idiot either. He wipes sweat off, scanning for trouble. "Easy for you to say," he mutters, because everyone knows gutting a rat's nest isn't as simple as catching the first mouse with cheese on its breath. These crooks—yeah, they're slick. If he jumped the gun, poof—he'd disappear faster than those stolen wages. He's gotta play the long game.
And, as if on cue, Raj slips up. Always Raj. This guy's the kind that cracks dirty jokes when the boss isn't listening, eyes darting, hands fast enough to shuffle a deck behind your back. He does his trick, shoving an extra package in his already stuffed backpack while everyone else is looking the other way (or pretending to, which, same difference around here). But Arjun? He's laser-focused—he catches the whole thing, mental note filed, heart beating a little faster because, hey, it's always wild seeing a plan start to form.
Honestly, you ever see those scenes in spy movies where the hero just happens to get stuff on camera without anyone blinking? Kinda like that—Arjun whips out his phone, pretending to scroll through texts, but he's snapping quick vids. Now, a single shaky clip isn't bulletproof, but it's a good start, right?
System chimes in with advice straight out of a textbook: "Get three, you get the pattern, you win." Like, sure thing robo-boss, but in real life that's a lot of sneaking. Arjun just rolls his eyes—he's getting used to weird, cryptic support.
The hours drag. Packages everywhere, horns blasting out on the road, tempers rising. Turns out, people who steal don't stop at just once—Arjun's camera grabs Raj messing up a delivery list, another guy misplacing piles for, well, "reasons." Every move gets snagged, archived.
Thing is, it's never just about proving the theft—it's about making sure no one can ignore it, you know? Arjun's got bigger worries than being a hero; the bills at home aren't going anywhere, and his mom—don't even start. Still somehow grinning when she can barely stand, telling him not to worry. That gets under your skin. Arjun's got grit, but there's only so many times you see your mom pretend to not be sick before something breaks.
But no drama. He's got his mission. End of shift, he waits till the supervisor holes up in his little office, the air smelling of stale smoke and old stress. You have to laugh a little when the guy tries spinning the "we're broke" excuse—man, please, half your cash is floating out the back door in a battered backpack!
Without a word, Arjun slides out his phone, plays the clips—slowly, one at a time, giving it that edge-of-the-seat feel. You can see the supervisor go from "Whatever, kid" to "Damn, I need to sit down." By the last video, he's tapping ash nervously.
"Who else knows?" the guy barks—like he could bully the truth out of the universe.
"Just me," Arjun says, staring him dead in the eye. Doesn't mean he trusts this dude, not even a little, but he's playing it cool. "Not looking for heat—just don't want the whole ship to sink. I need my pay."
A long, heavy silence, the kind that makes you sweat. Maybe it works—looks like it does. Supervisor says he'll handle it, eyes dark and calculating. Would Arjun bet his rent on it? Not a chance. But he's started something. The floodgate's cracked now, just takes time to see how the current runs.
Soon as Arjun hits the street, the System perks up again. "Strategic foresight. Small move, big result. Reward: Market Analysis—Beginner unlocked." Okay, now he's got a new toy. Suddenly, the world is this giant spreadsheet, everywhere red flags and golden gaps—ways to make a living, ways to get ahead. For a delivery guy used to hustling just to keep the fridge filled, this? It's like being handed cheat codes.
Off to the side, a couple guys banter, nudging each other and cursing out the day as if the universe gives points for the best insult. For them? Another grind, maybe a few laughs and cold chai. For Arjun—these moments, these mistakes, every slice of the system he sees—that's a shot at getting out of the cycle. Tomorrow's not just "another day"; it's a step up.
And hey, tucked deep in his pocket, that weird, glowing jade amulet pulses—a lucky charm, maybe, or something more. Whatever, after the day he's had, Arjun's willing to believe in a little magic.
He weaves through the crowd, heading home, thinking about a dozen ways this could all go wrong or right. His mom'll pretend not to worry, and he'll pretend not to notice she's sick. But tonight? He's got something better than a fistful of rupees—he's got options. Hell, for the first time in months, maybe he's even got hope.
So yeah, tomorrow's rolling in, and who says it isn't Arjun's turn to win?