"They say that trucks are angels of reincarnation.
Me, I'm just the asshole who pushes the pedal.
Welcome to Isk Corp, please do yell before you go."
I'm 28 and still living with my parents. Not very glorious indeed. Far from the perfect life of Lucius Van Docker, a genius from birth. He uttered his first words at the age of 1, graduated from the world's most prestigious university at 8... killed his first dragon at 10 and founded his own country at the same age as me. Like one of those fucking isekai where high school kids become gods. Surprising, isn't it? He's the main character of an rpg on which I clearly spend an unhealthy number of hours.
But what else could I do? After university, like any good citizen, I looked for a job. I applied for a number of jobs. EVERY - SINGLE - DAY! I was told "you don't have enough experience". SERIOUSLY? YOU'RE THE EXPERIENCE, DAMN IT!
This world is clearly not right, and I'm certainly not going to waste my time this way. If I'm going to waste my time, I might as well do it in the comfort of my room / in a more... "enriching" way. Now it's been 3 years since my last job-hunting e-mail. Since then? As you can see from the state of my room, I've built my own little paradise. I've got food, drink, a roof over my head, and all for FREE, no experience necessary.
Well, there's the look on my mother's face that I have to face every time I go out, who thought her son was going to end up a lawyer, or a doctor. But no, sorry mom, your son is a certified loser from class S. My father, on the other hand, often leaves trays outside my door, with post-it notes. Yesterday, there was a sandwich and a post-it note that said: "Eat, if you can persevere through a video game hero, you don't lack willpower". I heard him sigh as he left.
But at this point, I've become numb to his words, which doesn't take anything away from the intention. Just that I tried, it didn't work, I give up. At least they won't say I didn't try. Really? It's true I've heard of people making money playing games. Maybe I should... huh, I'm hungry. Thinking on an empty stomach reduces your grey matter, according to what I read on a forum. The forum's called @TrustMeBroItsTrue, though, so who knows? In any case, I'm starving.
As I rolled my chair over, reaching for the nearest pot of instant noodles, something caught my attention. It was the sound of a notification, coming from my computer. With the pot of noodles ready, I rolled back my chair. In front of the screen, I looked for the origin of the notification. It's 3 a.m., who's the idiot writing to me at this hour? The +90 open tabs didn't help. Five minutes later, I finally found it. It was coming from my e-mails. It wasn't spam, or any kind of ad, because I personally make sure I don't get any of that crap. And there, in front of my eyes, was the e-mail:
HR Team ISK Corporation
"Dear Kazuki Sato,
Congratulations! Your profile has caught the attention of ISK Corporation, and we would be delighted to have you join us.Position available: Commercial vehicle driver ( CDI, benefits )Mission: To ensure the punctual transfer of valuable goods.Join us tomorrow at midnight, warehouse n°13, Forgotten Street, for more informations.
PS: Bring snacks for the road.Looking forward to seeing you,
ISK Corporation HR TeamISK Corporation."
WTF? A company? A positive response? Surprised, but hesitant, despite my best efforts, I had no recollection of having applied for any company named... what's it called again? ISK Corporation, that's what. Strangest of all, the e-mail was marked as "read 10min ago", even though I'd just opened it. I could feel cold sweat running down the back of my neck. Lucius Van Docker, on the other hand, would never have opened an e-mail at 3am. He'd have hacked the server to find out what was wanted. But I just clicked. That's one for me.
In addition to the fact that they have my contact, the time I'm supposed to be there. Midnight!? Who interviews for anything at midnight. After a few minutes of consideration, when you're a 28-year-old loser who collects cans of Monsterz under his futon, you don't ask questions: you follow the GPS.