The day I was laid off, a new app appeared on my phone.
Its icon was a black van, and its name was “The End.”
It didn't deliver takeout or packages. It took jobs from the dead.
First job: deliver a bowl of plain noodles for an old woman who had passed away.
After I completed it, I permanently gained her thirty years of noodle-making skills.
Second job: retrieve a USB drive from an underground parking garage. The client had been murdered.
Reward: advanced hand-to-hand combat.
Third job: attend an upscale banquet and identify someone who was lying.
Reward: advanced microexpression analysis.
Every time I fulfilled a dead person's last wish, I permanently gained the skill they had been best at in life.
Cooking, fighting, reading minds, foreign languages, driving, hacking, first aid...
The more skills I acquired, the more dangerous the jobs became.
There was only one rule: refuse three jobs, and my heart would stop.
I thought this only concerned me.
Until the System informed me that there were seven active couriers.
One of them was less than ten meters away.
