I know the firetrucks are still five minutes out. I cut them off on the way here, and they drive slower. I can sense the customer is inside, third story, pinned under some rubble. Little balding man in his boxers and an a-shirt. I glance at my watch again. 2:43.

I glance at the external structure and see a fire escape on the neighboring building. I can do this. I sprint, leap cars, show onlookers and get to the third floor of the rickety metal stairway. It's not a huge jump, but I don't like heights, and I really hate falling. 2:10, good luck.

I jump, torpedoing my body through a window. Not the customers, but I am on his floor. And of course, I hear cries for help from the actual residents here. Cries I try to ignore as I kick out their front door and head into the hall. Unfortunately, I see the 1:56 on my watch and decide I have time. I summon a bit of the eldritch power and shove a burning beam out of their way, and the three make for the stairs down. Now it's 1:31, and I'm making a mental note to treat my burns later.

I run to his door and slam my shoulder into it, only to bounce off. I know better, I was just panicking. And panic costs time I can't spare. I bring my foot to bear on the lock, busting the door open just as his floor gives out. 0:42.

I go toward the hole, ready to leap down after him, but burst of flames and another collapse from above prevent that plan. But I have the pie, and there's a gap it can fit through. 0:21 as I prep to throw.

The box leaves my hand. My customer is dead. I am not getting paid. I don't watch it tumble through the air, already running for the stairs in case it misses. If it falls short, I may have a moment to still pull this off. 0:05.

I burst through another door, ignoring the family from earlier, who are panicked because of the first floor stairs. Or the lack of first floor stairs. I see it. Flopped all over his corpse, slices and the burning box. The world is safe.

I lead the family to their downstairs neighbor's place and get them to the window. With a bit of work and part of a bed, we get safely to the ground. They try to stop me, to thank me, but my watch is already on to the next delivery, 28:37.

Before you arrived, Karen was the ace driver at Piaza Del Puerto. A former (?) real estate agent with three kids, Karen was all business. She knew all the angles. The big tippers? Karen would time her delivery returns so she got those runs, it was uncanny how she did that. The crappy tippers and the out of the way runs? Somehow, Karen always avoided those, and they fell to you. Mother fucking Karen. You just had to respect the hustle, honestly.

And then the Eldritch Horror showed up. Nobody thought too much about it at first, to be honest. But, somebody had to do th runs. The tips were predictably awful. It's like they were too lazy or put out to do even basic subsistence level food prep. And guess who it fell to to complete that run? Well, it sure as hell wasn't Karen and her God dammed Silver Honda Accord, that's for sure. Nope. It was on you.

YEET.

The pizza box sails through the air and into the burning building. The cold chills which had been slowly growing through Jacob’s body from the small of his back shrunk back to an ignorable extent. “I almost got you that time.” A voice whispered and yelled in his ear, like nails on a chalkboard the imitation of a human voice receded.

“Yeah, well almost doesn’t count.” Jacob retorted as he pulled his helmet over his head and sped off. The fire department would be here soon and he needed to be gone before they arrived. He had just thrown an unidentified object into the fire after all. He honestly found it quite funny how the horror had thought this would stop him. It was a suitable stupidity to the fate of the world riding on his pizza delivery skills.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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