Wasteland Takeaway

Twenty-seven years after the nuclear war, wasteland survivor Chen Ge picked up an old mobile phone that could still be turned on. On the screen, a takeaway APP pushed a message: "You have a coupon for 15% off when you spend 30% or more. It will expire soon." He placed an order using the bottle caps he found. Half an hour later, a hot piece of braised chicken appeared at the door of his hiding place. The order notes read: "No cilantro, no cilantro!!" Chen Ge's hand paused. Twenty-seven years ago, on the day the nuclear war broke out, he had the same remark on the order of braised chicken that he failed to deliver. Since then, there has been takeout in the wasteland. He's not a hero, not a warlord, just a forty-five-year-old former part-time rider. He stubbornly believes that if someone places an order, it should be delivered. Behind every takeout order is a life in the wasteland - the keeper of the shelter who has been waiting for twenty-seven years, the orphan in the ruins who has never tasted "sweetness", the dying old man who guards the seed bank of civilization... What he is delivering is not takeout. It's the feeling of being remembered, cared about, and connected. It is the remaining warmth of the civilized world. When the system pushed the final order - "Birthday cake, delivery address: coordinates that do not exist on the map, remarks: Today is the birthday of human civilization. I want to... Celebrate it one last time" - Chen Ge pressed to accept the order. "Hey, can you hear me? This is Wasteland Takeout, Rider No. 001. Does anyone need help? Any help is welcome. Today's special: Hope." The first broadcast in the wasteland was the voice of a delivery rider. Content Statement This story is purely fictional