Chapter Twelve - The Couriers

The rest of the day passed interminably slowly.

Sharp and I made it back to the bar when it was at its busiest, and spent the rest of the evening training. I ran around until I approached exhaustion, and Sharp was... gently encouraged to do some exercises until she was left a shaking, sweaty mess on the floor.

We both hit the showers after that, and while I now had a better understanding of why cats disliked water (it made my fur mat in a terribly uncomfortable way) it was still nice to soak in some warmth and feel clean for once.

We actually both gained something out of it. Sharp's Body skill climbed from two to three, making it her second highest stat next to Protagonist which sat at the same level.

My own jumped up as well.

Body Has Levelled Up!

Body 0 > 1

I felt pretty smug as we went to bed early. Mark had said he wanted us to be there as early as possible, which I translated to 'before Sharp's shift.' Most courier work happened during the morning anyway. It was only sensible.

Criminals didn't have a stellar track record for being up at the crack of dawn, and mid-day was too hot for most sensible people to want to start trouble. Early evening and night were the best times to cause trouble. So, conversely, couriers avoided those times of day if at all possible.

Basically, we had good reason to show up early.

Unfortunately, I awoke in the middle of the night, completely wired. I felt like someone who'd just taken a double expresso with a snort of cocaine.

There was no way I'd be able to sleep. If Sharp and I didn't share a room, I might consider doing more exercise, but that would definitely wake her up, so I tried to settle down... to no avail.

In the end, I found the phone we had nabbed, set it up on the end table, and tapped it on with a paw. Then I was off navigating the web. Mostly I looked into what prior couriers had to say about their jobs. There were a lot of horror stories, but those could serve as invaluable lessons.

Things like, don't walk around unarmed, don't walk around armed in the wrong neighbourhood, always have a clear sign that you were a courier visible, hide any signs that you were a courier at all costs...

It was rather vague and mostly contradictory stuff, but I could parse enough of it to know that every bit of advice was contextual.

I was an hour into a deep dive of an old Wroteit comment thread when the phone's battery died on me. I hissed faintly at it, then gave the phone a smack for the impertinence.

Tech Has Levelled Up!

Tech 1 > 2

... That had to be a coincidence.

By then, my eyes were a little tired, and that incredible wired feeling had drained away, so I hopped back onto the bed and settled down near Sharp's feet. She'd showered, so there was no stink, and sleeping next to her upper body was a risk. She was... grabby.

Before I fell asleep, I checked my stats, mostly as a reminder of my current progress.

Name: Caroline Daniels

Aliases:

Sarah Black

Mia Quinn

Sam Knight

Switch

Lucas King

Echo Four

Christie

Jacline Carter

Ghostwire

Princess Snufflebutt

Duchess Fuzzywhiskers

Marchioness Muffinmuncher

Tsarina Kittina

Baroness Biscuitblanket

Anima 1

Body 1

Cat 1

Combat 0

Cool 0

Magic 0

Reflex 1

Tech 2

What was up with all of those names? My other aliases were all some that I'd kept and worked with, some for years. Sharp's nicknames were one-off jokes. Unfunny, rude jokes. I huffed, but paid more attention to the rest of the stats.

Still nothing in Combat, Cool, or Magic, but I supposed those were more circumstantial. Tech was ahead of the rest, though not by much. Was this good progress? At this rate, it would be another month before I started to see those perks Sharp had mentioned.

Perhaps the progress would be aided if it was progress towards something as opposed to random and slight stat growth from everyday occurrences?

I fell asleep thinking of numbers going up, and awoke to Sharp scratching my head. "C'mon," she said. "It's... almost seven. If we head out now we'll be able to impress mister Mark."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I yawned, but didn't protest as I stood up. "You're right. Let's head out, then?"

"Well, I need to get dressed first. Just because you're heading out naked doesn't mean that I can do the same," Sharp said.

I sniffed, but she wasn't entirely wrong. Not that I was naked. Fur definitely counted as appropriate covering. Still, maybe I could look into some cat clothes? My own cats had very vocally and violently refused to wear anything, no matter how cute, but I wasn't a normal cat. Why would I refuse to wear a teeny tiny coat?

Sharp dressed in her finest--a ratty pair of cargo pants cinched with a belt that was too big for her and a t-shirt with a few old stains--then I climbed up onto her shoulder and we headed out. We did take a quick stop to scrounge into the lost and found, and Sharp pulled out an overly large men's jacket. It was fast fashion slop, but it would keep the chill at bay and gave me a place to hide while we went out.

Now that we'd been to the office once, the route back was a little faster. Being that it was so early, the HOA security was a little more lax and we made it to Malcolm and Weiss - Intracity Couriers without a fuss.

We rang the door, were buzzed in, and Sharp climbed up to Mark's office where the man was sitting behind his desk. The office space had a few lockers against one wall, and a number of crates in another. I noticed harnesses and folded up backpacks, even a few fold-up electric scooters charging in a stack off to one side. All equipment that I'd expect a courier to have on hand.

Mark wasn't alone, however. There was another man there. Mid-thirties, at a guess. Poorly shaven and looking like the energy drink he was clutching in one hand was the only thing keeping him going.

"Sharp," Mark said. "This is Derek Slade, he's been a courier here for five years. That practically makes him ancient in terms of couriers."

Derek chuckled darkly. "If you listened to me some more, we'd have a few more veterans."

"Ah, do people not stay in this line of work for long?" Sharp asked.

Derek shrugged. "It's a good-paying job, but the hours aren't fixed, and it's more dangerous than some other work. You're trading health for cash with this one, kid."

"Oh," Sharp said.

"Derek makes it sound worse than it is," Mark said. "Turnover time is usually three months. Most people don't find that the work suits them. It's hard work and people are lazy. Most don't want to invest in making themselves better for the job. And those that do often end up working directly for a favourite client."

Derek hummed, then nodded. "Not wrong," he said before shifting to the side. I glanced down and noticed for the first time that his shoes weren't shoes, but complex articulated feet. Cybernetic feet? It was hard to tell with his baggy pants, but I suspected that Derek here had fully cyberized legs. Not a cheap thing to get.

"Right, let's get you set up. Derek, do you mind taking on a few simple jobs today?"

"I don't," Derek said. "I've got to leave off around noon though."

"Oh, me too," Sharp said. "I still have work at the Bloody Bat."

"Huh, with Paris?" Derek asked.

"You know her?" Sharp asked.

He shrugged. "It's a small world. Anyway, I'll be showing you the ropes... is that cat real?"

"Yup! This is Archduchess Applepaws. She's my emotional support kitten, and I can't go anywhere without her."

"...Hmm, but no."

Mark shifted a few pages on his desk. Old school paper print-outs of all things. He grabbed a few, stacked them up, then handed the pile to Derek. "One in Brookline, two deliveries in Fenway, one in South Boston. Nothing high risk."

"Anything heavy?" Derek asked as he took the pages and leafed through them.

"Nothing too bad. Plus you have an extra pair of hands," Mark said. He grunted as he stood up, then moved over to the lockers. Opening them, he rifled through a few things then came out with a coat which he tossed over to Sharp. She caught it, then held it out in front of herself. It was the same as what Mark and Derek were wearing. A red faux-leather jacket with black trim. There was a hovering tag over the arm, the company logo spinning slowly.

"Get that on, then head out. Derek, don't let her die."

"Yeah yeah, I'll manage," Derek said.

I'd never felt so confident.

***