...
Midnight draped the quiet neighborhood in a soft, serene darkness. Only the distant hum of streetlights and the occasional rustle of leaves broke the silence. But soon, that tranquility was disrupted by the low hum of an approaching vehicle. It wasn't just any vehicle; it was a neat-looking, customized mini truck, gleaming under the moonlight. The truck wasn't an ordinary delivery vehicle either. It was a state-of-the-art, bulletproof, explosion-proof masterpiece, reserved only for the VIP customers of the prestigious Newport Mall.
The vehicle rolled to a gentle stop in front of a modest-looking house. The driver, a man in his late thirties with a thick mustache and wearing a pristine uniform, glanced at the GPS screen embedded in the dashboard. His brow furrowed, and he exchanged a confused look with the younger man sitting next to him.
"Are we sure this is the right place?" the older driver asked, scratching his head.
The younger man, who was also dressed in a crisp uniform, double-checked the GPS coordinates. "I'm not sure," he replied, looking up at the small, everyday family home in front of them. The house was simple, well-kept but entirely unremarkable. "I mean, the GPS says this is it, but... with goods worth tens of millions, you'd think we'd be delivering to some extravagant mansion, not... this."
The older driver nodded in agreement, still bewildered. "Yeah, I'd expect a private estate with marble pillars or something. This looks way too... normal."
The younger man sighed, pulling out his phone. "Alright, let's not jump to conclusions. I'll call the manager and confirm." He quickly dialed the number, and the phone rang a few times before someone picked up.
...
Back at the company's headquarters, a young man in his early twenties, wearing glasses and dressed in a sharp business suit, was typing furiously on his keyboard. The glow of multiple monitors illuminated his face as lines of code and logistics data streamed across the screens. As he finished inputting a set of commands, his phone rang, vibrating insistently on the desk. He paused, sighed, and answered the call.
"What's the problem?" he asked, his voice professional but slightly exasperated.
The younger driver on the other end explained the situation quickly, detailing how the GPS had led them to an ordinary house rather than a grand mansion. There was a hint of doubt in his voice, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was saying.
The youth on the other end of the call chuckled lightly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You're doubting our GPS?" he asked, amusement evident in his tone. "The navigation system we use is one of the most advanced on the market. The mall pays a premium to rent this technology from abroad, and we even rent satellite services to ensure our deliveries are precise."
The younger driver frowned, feeling a bit foolish. "I know, but... you have to understand, this place doesn't match the value of what we're delivering. It just doesn't make sense."
The youth smiled to himself, though the drivers couldn't see it. "Listen, the system is updated constantly to avoid traffic and ensure efficient delivery times. It's practically foolproof. But if you're still unsure, hang tight. I'll call my supervisor and double-check the address. Stay there."
The driver on the other end sighed in relief. "Alright, thank you. We'll wait."
...
The youth ended the call and stood up, straightening his suit. He made his way through the labyrinthine hallways of the company's headquarters and finally arrived at the supervisor's office. Without bothering to knock, he entered, shutting the door behind him.
Inside, a man in his late forties, with graying hair and a serious demeanor, looked up from his mountain of paperwork. The supervisor's face softened slightly when he saw the youth. "What is it?" he asked, his voice carrying a touch of familiarity.
"Uncle," the youth said, addressing him informally in private, "we have a situation. The drivers are at the delivery address, but they're confused. The house looks way too... plain for what they're dropping off." He handed his uncle the phone, showing him the picture of the house the driver had just sent.
The supervisor adjusted his glasses and studied the image. He frowned slightly. "Strange. What's the order number?" he asked.
The youth quickly recited the code: "#V2387."
The supervisor turned to his computer, typing in the code. A few seconds later, he had all the details of the order on his screen. He raised an eyebrow at the contents: luxury wines, gourmet foods, designer clothes, and expensive gadgets—items worth a small fortune. "Well, this is quite the order," he mused, then picked up the phone and dialed the number associated with the delivery.
...
At that moment, Zastan was lounging in his study, scrolling through short videos on his phone. He took a sip of his milk tea, enjoying the rare moment of relaxation, when his phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. He frowned slightly, wondering if it was a wrong number, but decided to pick it up anyway.
"Hello?" he answered.
"
Zastan's brows furrowed at the use of his alias, but he replied calmly, "Yes, that's me."
The supervisor wasted no time explaining. "We're calling to confirm the delivery address for an order under #V2387. Our drivers are at the location, but they're having doubts. The address seems... unexpected for a delivery of this magnitude." He sent a picture of the house to Zastan's phone.
Zastan chuckled lightly as he glanced at the image. "No, it's correct," he replied, his voice friendly. "That's the house. I can understand the confusion, but yes, the delivery is meant for that address."
The supervisor felt momentarily embarrassed. "Ah, I see. My apologies for the inconvenience. We just wanted to be sure."
Zastan's eyes glinted with humor. "No problem. It's understandable. Just make sure this doesn't become an issue in the future. I expect more deliveries like this one."
The supervisor's eyes widened slightly. 'More in the future,' he thought, immediately understanding the implication. This customer wasn't just a one-time VIP but a recurring one. He smiled, grateful for the business. "Understood, Mr. Williams. We'll ensure this doesn't happen again."
After a few more polite exchanges, Zastan ended the call. He couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe it's time to buy them a better house," he mused, already thinking of future arrangements.
...
Meanwhile, at the Williams' home, the night had been anything but peaceful. Zastan's younger sister, Lily, and his older sister, Maria, were huddled in the living room, watching a horror movie with the lights off. The atmosphere in the room was tense, every shadow seeming more sinister as the movie reached its climax.
A sudden knock at the door shattered the suspenseful silence, followed by a deep voice calling out, "Mrs. Williams?"
"Ah!" Lily screamed, clutching a pillow in terror. Maria jumped from her seat, her heart pounding.
Outside, the two deliverymen stood by the door, feeling increasingly uneasy. Behind them, two armed security guards stepped out of the truck, guns in hand, scanning the area vigilantly. The guards had been hired specifically for these high-value deliveries, and hearing the sudden scream from inside the house put them on high alert.
The guards moved swiftly, their military training kicking in. One of them stepped forward and, without hesitation, kicked the door open. The door flew off its hinges, landing with a loud crash inside the house.
The deliverymen, now standing behind the armed guards, looked at each other, wide-eyed. "Are they okay in there?" one of them stammered, his voice shaky.
Inside, Maria had grabbed a long kitchen knife and was pointing it at the intruders, her hands trembling. She stood protectively in front of Lily, who was sobbing uncontrollably.
"Put the gun down!" Maria shouted, her voice wavering but determined.
The two guards paused, assessing the situation. One of them glanced at the TV screen, which was frozen on a scene where a ghostly figure loomed ominously. The guard seemed to piece everything together, tapping his partner on the shoulder. They exchanged a look of understanding.
The second guard nodded, and both of them slowly lowered their weapons. "It's okay," the first guard said calmly. "We're here to make a delivery."
Maria's grip on the knife didn't loosen. "Delivery?" she echoed, still on edge.
The deliverymen, sensing that the tension was finally easing, stepped forward cautiously. "Y-yes, we're deliverymen from the Newport Mall," one of them stuttered. "We have a large shipment for Mr. Richards. We're so sorry about the door..."
Maria's eyes widened in disbelief, the knife slipping slightly in her grasp. "A shipment?" she repeated, struggling to process what was happening.
Rapid footsteps thundered down the stairs as Mr. and Mrs. Williams, along with their youngest daughter, rushed into the living room. Mr. Williams, his face red with anger, demanded, "What is going on here?! Who are you people?"
The deliverymen, now desperate to explain, quickly held up their hands in a placating gesture. "Sir, we're from Newport Mall," one of them repeated, his voice cracking. "We have a delivery for you. A very... expensive one."
Mr. Williams frowned, his anger slowly giving way to confusion. "Expensive delivery? I never ordered anything."
The second deliveryman, still trying to catch his breath, pulled out his phone. "The recipient confirmed it was the correct address," he said, showing the image of the house on the screen.
Before anyone could say anything else, Mr. Williams's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that it was his son, Zastan, calling. He answered, his voice still tense. "Zastan? What is going on here?"
On the other end, Zastan's voice was calm and composed. "Dad, don't worry. There's a delivery of goods coming to the house. You need to be there to receive it."
Mr. Williams's eyes widened. "Delivery? You mean these people are here for real?"
"Yes," Zastan confirmed. "Please give the phone to the deliveryman."
Mr. Williams hesitated, then handed the phone to the driver. The man took it with both hands, clearly feeling the weight of the situation. "Hello, Mr.…" He trailed off, not knowing what name to use.
"Just call me Mr. Williams," Zastan replied smoothly. "Is the recipient someone named ***?" he asked, referring to a name associated with a biochemical persona he had created for undercover purposes.
The driver's eyes lit up with recognition. "Yes, that's the name on the order."
"Then you're at the right address," Zastan affirmed.
The driver let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I'm so sorry for the confusion, sir. We... we overreacted."
Zastan's voice turned stern. "Apologize to my family for the trouble. And make sure they're compensated for the damage to the door."
"Yes, sir," the driver said, nodding vigorously. The call ended, and for a moment, the room was thick with an awkward silence.
The driver cleared his throat, then bowed slightly to Mr. and Mrs. Williams. "We deeply apologize for the misunderstanding and the damage we caused. We'll cover the costs to fix your door and make sure everything is put right."
Mr. Williams sighed, finally lowering his guard. "It's... it's alright. Just fix the door and make sure it doesn't happen again."
The guards nodded, already putting away their weapons, while the deliverymen began arranging to have the door repaired. The entire family, from Maria to little Lily, was still reeling from the chaos.
...