The driver got the first glimpse of his target, a young girl.

He put his hand on the window crank and inched his window open. He kept turning until he felt air begin to flow inside. With the fresh air came old thoughts, why did he have to be partnered with someone who smoked? He loathed riding with an operator who smoked. Despite repeatedly requesting a non-smoking operator, he always seemed to end up with a smoker, which he despised.

The act of opening the window also made him wonder why these black trucks were all so very old. It wasn't a budgetary issue, so why does the company keep using them? Could it be because of the soul harvester's interference with electrical systems? But engines still used spark plugs, right? Maybe it was about the style. This was an infamous 'Truck-Kun'. Magic was influenced by belief, so perhaps it was necessary for its function. Before he could voice his thoughts, his partner abruptly opened the passenger side and flicked his cigarette out. "Finally," he muttered.

The driver mentally echoed the same sentiment but for an entirely different reason.

For nearly seven days, they'd been dodging The Exemplars. The crackdown had forced the duo to abandon their usual nightly hunting grounds of half-deserted streets, but even rural towns were now strictly off-limits. According to the rumor mill, The Exemplars were looking for someone specific, and until they found their target, anyone and everyone was getting squeezed. Because everyone was feeling the pressure, the bounties as of late had skyrocketed.

This required a change in tactics: The Airport

Undoubtedly, it was high risk, high reward. Of course, the airport was monitored, but since it had such a high volume of people, the duo was counting on The Exemplars would be preoccupied with monitoring cameras instead of keeping a close eye on the streets. Everyone knew that attempting to harvest in this area was insane.

The pair hoped that this would make a blind spot.

The client's request was precise in terms of the type and caliber of soul they desired, which compelled the duo to change this dangerous location. On one hand, if they were going to get the bounty, this was going to do it. On the other, it was going to be difficult to escape, given the limited number of ways in and out of the area. Fortunately, they had two things to save their bacon. First, the pair had been a successful enough team to warrant being issued a short-term invisibility generator.

Second, they had an exceptional driver.

The driver released the wheel, then clenched and unclenched his fists before he stretched and wiggled his fingers, "I live for this shit." He muttered under his breath, while mentally mapping out several escape routes for the van. With a vehicle of their size, he had more options at his disposal than most. If one assumed that driving on pavement was merely an option and not a necessity, of course.

The operator clicked his tongue and uttered, "The target is emerging from the primary terminal, and my projections indicate that she will descend the embankment and head towards..." He jutted his chin at a multi-tiered parking garage, "That building." This particular operator possessed a unique skill for predicting the paths people would take. He had an intuitive sense of it.

The driver suspected that his uncanny synergy with this operator might be the reason why he was never paired with anyone else. Together, they were an unstoppable force. However, he would much rather work with someone he could get along with, even if they were less skilled than with someone who made him feel so... defiled. The driver felt the need to strip naked immediately entering his home so he wouldn't drag the smell of those damn cloying cigarettes through his apartment.

The operator's fingers flew across the touch-sensitive screen with a flourish, marveling at what he saw, "Bit on the young side… but..." His eyes lit up, "Check out these analytics! Soul force eight? Magnificent!" However, he couldn't help but let out a sorrowful sigh, "It's a shame to use her to fill this order. Downright overkill, if you ask me."

The driver tapped the wheel lightly with his fingers as he waited for the perfect moment. He wasn't very talented in many other departments, but driving was one thing he excelled at. He would often brag to the other drivers that if he wanted, he could make this black beast put on a grass skirt and do the hula.

The driver turned to his companion and spoke in a frustrated tone, "You want us to wait here for ANOTHER week? We can't keep wasting time-" The driver spotted movement and stabbed a finger into the darkness, "Wait. Look. She's got company. I can't tell what his intentions are. He looks... Hostile? I'm not sure. It's hard to make out what he's doing."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The operator tapped the screen of his setup a few times as he refocused his attention on the mysterious figure, "He’s got... Soul force high sevens. Shouldn't interfere with the transfer. If he pulls a Dixon, get them both." He tapped his screen a few more times, "Annnnnnd we're good for multiple inputs. Just remember-"

The driver dropped the truck into gear, "-don't hit anyone under soul force four or the whole transfer will be botched and we'll have to spend another week doing this shit." He rolled his eyes, "I got it. I got it." The truck was practically silent as it rolled down the narrow alley between garages, "Reeelax... I'm ah-"

The Japanese girl picked up the pace, scooting down a short embankment to cut across the road to the parking garage. Not a good idea even at the best of times. She was obviously fooled by the apparent lack of traffic. As soon as she hit the pavement, she broke into a dash across the roadway, ironically passing a sign that warned against any pedestrian traffic doing such a thing.

The black truck came barreling into view, swerving to line up the proper approach vector. Despite the fact such a maneuver should have been joined by a horrible screech of tires, the only sound was a slight increase in what could easily be mistaken for a gust of wind.

The driver hit his high beams. They weren't your normal high beams, but in fact, contained a pulsing rhythm designed to cause those who looked into them to become disorientated and reflexively freeze in place. The driver didn't use them often, mostly because its range was quite far and an entire crowd could become immobile for several seconds.

Not only does that draw way too much attention, but it might also cause people to come to a halt next to the target as well. While the system could handle several souls at once, it is impossible to separate the souls after harvesting. If you hit eight people at once, that harvest had eight souls. If any of those souls were too weak, the whole batch had to be purged.

At this late hour, concerns about obstacles on the road were minimal. The driver decided to use the high beams to keep the figure in place and discourage any potential interference. It was frustrating when a perfect target was lined up, only for an unexpected hero to intervene and ruin the plan. While the duo sought out people with heroic qualities, like those willing to save people about to be hit by trucks, this was not one of those times. After all, a failed mission meant refunds, and in the worst-case scenario, it could lead to the most disastrous of consequences.

A Retracted Bonus.

The driver licked his lips as he saw the woman's eyes widen in fear. He was 'in the zone,' and when he was like this, everything moved painfully slow. Colors seemed to dull, sounds faded away, and time stretched like taffy. The harsh, white glare washed over her pupils as he zeroed in on his target. 

The driver wondered if the figure would close her eyes before impact or if she would watch until the very last moment. His anticipation grew, and he ground his teeth together in a near-orgasmic sensation.

As the car raced closer to her, he let out a low growl of pleasure.

Lost in his thoughts and mentally calculating the probabilities of the situation, the driver almost missed the sudden appearance of a figure darting out of the darkness. A man in his thirties, dressed in a dark blue business suit, rushed in front of the truck. The driver knew immediately that this was a dreaded 'Dixon,' a thorn in the side of every soul harvester.

The driver cursed loudly at this turn of events, even as he did something with the steering wheel that could only be described as 'Auto Origami'. The truck, in defiance of all known laws of physics, turned sideways so it could sweep the entire road. No one would be pushed or pulled out of its way, even if it meant collecting an additional passenger in the process. It was a shame he'd be picking up another soul in the process, but better to have an extra soul than the wrong one entirely. Several sickening thuds later, the truck finished a full rotation and straightened out as it bounced down the road.

The driver accelerated the truck, putting as much distance as possible between them and the carnage as possible, quickly leaving the frightening scene behind.

His partner had an entirely different opinion of the unfolding events.

The operator was holding onto the grab bar over the passenger side door with both hands and white knuckles. Long ago the driver had named that grab bar the 'Ogezus', because that's what the operator usually cried out when he grabbed it

"OH JESUS!"

The operator's eyes were shut tight as the black truck defied the local laws of physics and moved in ways that never failed to leave the operator queasy and on the verge of emptying his stomach. The operator pointedly ate little for this very reason, hence why he smoked so much. Smoking took away that gnawing hunger he always felt.

The driver glanced at the operator's screen to note that the soul condenser was practically overflowing, before glancing over at the operator himself with a snicker of derision, "As I was saying..." The driver's eyes returned forward as he casually flipped a switch on the dashboard activating the occlusionator, "I'm a professional!" The truck seemed to get swallowed up by the road itself as it sped off with its ill-gotten booty.

The cheerful tone of the driver annoyed the operator so much that he opened his eyes earlier than he normally would. He usually counted to ten so he could force himself to relax. The stress of this job was too much. If he didn't need the money, he'd have quit long ago.

With shaking hands, the operator fumbled to get out a fresh cigarette and tried to light it. He might be well paid, but his nerves were shot. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. He tried again and again to get his lighter to work, but since he had not taken the time to calm down, his manual dexterity was in the toilet.

Out of frustration, the operator abruptly slammed the laptop shut and threw his cigarette at the windshield. He flailed his hands about for a few seconds, sending the lighter bouncing down under his seat. Instead of looking for it, he abruptly turned to look out his window. The driver sighed and ignored the minor tantrum. He knew from past experience to keep his mouth shut and drive. Sooner or later, his partner would calm down, and get back to work, and both of them would continue on.

In silence.

As the operator looked into the rearview mirror, he found himself both hoping to see the scene of the accident and yet not wanting to see. That is simply not the sort of image you want burned into your memory for the rest of your life. On the other hand, the operator's imagination was far more macabre than reality. In the dead of night, his dreams were relentlessly besieged.

Eventually, the operator's eyes refocused to look at his shadowy reflection in the glass. He would vanish at regular intervals as they passed the lights that illuminated the road. He could barely recognize himself anymore. The man staring back at him was a decade older than his actual age but paradoxically looked far younger than he felt. He touched the window lightly with his fingertips as he considered his situation, ~Maybe... it's time.~

While the operator was caught up in his own self-destructive thoughts...

The driver-focused on the road.

And neither one noticed the abnormality.