After delivering my last order at midnight, I received a mysterious text: "The woman in the red dress behind you has no feet."
Terrified, I threw the food at her. The sauce from the sweet-and-sour ribs actually burned a talisman mark onto the female ghost.
The next day, my phone automatically downloaded the "Netherworld Express" app and assigned me an order: "Mass grave west of the city. Late delivery will cost you years of life."
As my electric bike sped past the graves, the peachwood sword in my insulated delivery box began to hum.
Turns out delivering food was just a cover. My real job was hunting ghosts.
Then one day, I got an order to deliver to my own home. The note said: "Open the door to receive your delivery. You've been dead for three days."
