The advert started moving through riders’ WhatsApp groups in Lin at exactly 11:58 p.m.
“Midnight courier service hiring. 12 a.m. – 4 a.m. only. Triple pay. No cancellations. No questions.”
People reacted with laughing emojis. But rent in Lin wasn’t funny. Fuel prices weren’t funny. And triple pay wasn’t something you ignored. Tariq signed up.
There was no physical office. Just a Telegram channel and a short onboarding form. ID upload. Bike registration. Wallet details. Payment structure was simple: 50% before pickup, 50% after confirmed drop-off. The first delivery was harmless.
Pickup: A pharmacy in West Lin.
Drop-off: a gated house in North Ridge.
Instructions:
“Leave package in mailbox. Do not knock.”
Easy money. The second night, it got strange.
Pickup: A private clinic near the industrial area.
Drop-off: an unfinished commercial building on the edge of Lin’s bypass.
Instruction:
“Third floor. Take photo. No interaction.”
When Tariq arrived, the building had no glass, no signage just raw concrete and exposed rods. But warm yellow lights glowed inside. Not construction lights. Normal household lights. He climbed to the third floor. There were already packages there. Neatly arranged in a straight line. All identical to the one strapped to his bike. He counted thirteen. He placed his down, took the required photo, and left. The remaining payment dropped into his wallet instantly. He told himself it wasn’t his business.
After two weeks, Tariq began noticing familiar faces at fuel stations around 2:30 a.m. Riders with the same QR sticker on their bikes. Nobody openly mentioned the company. It was understood. One night at a petrol station in Central Lin, a rider named Hassan parked beside him.
“You ever open one?”
Hassan asked quietly. Tariq frowned.
“Are you mad?”
Hassan didn’t smile.
“They don’t track the seals.”
Tariq felt something tighten in his chest.
“You opened one?”
Hassan looked around before speaking.
“Not fully. Just enough.”
“And?”
Tariq asked curiously.
“It wasn’t goods. It was paperwork. Medical forms. Copies of IDs. Signatures.”
“Maybe hospital stuff.”
“At 2 a.m.? Delivered to an empty building?”
Tariq said nothing. Hassan leaned closer.
“I went back the next evening. Building was empty. No lights. No packages.”
Tariq’s stomach dropped.
“Maybe they collected them.”
Hassan shook his head slowly.
“I think they’re testing us.”
“Testing what?”
“Who won’t ask questions.”
That night, Tariq received a new order.
Pickup: Same private clinic.
Drop-off: A large house in East Lin Heights.
Special instruction:
“If recipient asks anything, say nothing.”
When Tariq arrived, the gate was already open. A middle aged man stepped outside before he could knock. He looked tense. Restless.
“What is this?”
The man asked, staring at the package. Tariq remained silent.
“I didn’t order anything.”
Tariq showed him the name on the app. It matched. The man looked more tense.
“Who sent it?”
Silence. The man hesitated then took it. As Tariq turned to leave, he heard the man speaking urgently on his phone.
“It’s here. They sent it.”
The next morning, the city of Lin woke up to headlines. Businessman Arrested in Medical Trafficking Investigation. The photo attached froze Tariq’s blood. It was the same man.
The article mentioned illegal transfers of patient data, falsified organ donation paperwork, and undisclosed clinic transactions. Authorities believed ‘unregistered courier services’ were used to move documents discreetly.
Tariq opened Telegram. The company channel was gone. The onboarding form link was dead. The app showed no past deliveries. Transaction history wiped. It was like the job never existed. He called Hassan. Number unreachable. That night, Tariq rode to the unfinished building on the bypass. Dark. No lights. No signs of life.
As he turned his bike around, a police patrol vehicle rolled slowly past him. It didn’t stop. But the officer in the passenger seat stared at him not confused. Recognizing. Tariq finally understood. They weren’t testing speed. They weren’t testing loyalty. They were testing who could be used without asking. And someone, somewhere, now had his face on record. The triple pay had ended. But the test hadn’t.
