First Run

Alex walked briskly through the busy streets, his mind racing. 'Pete's Market. 7th and Pine. Blue dumpster. Red cap. Nice weather. Need rain.' He repeated the details like a mantra.

"Okay, think. The fastest route would be down Main Street..." He froze mid-step, spotting a police cruiser parked outside the coffee shop ahead. His heart hammered against his ribs.

'Damn! The police...'Alex's feet started moving backward instinctively. "I should turn back now, before they actually notice me. Before this becomes real."

He stood there, paralyzed between retreat and advance. 'No. You made your choice. You walked away from your normal life the moment you took this package. Can't chicken out now.' Alex reminded himself, steeling his resolve.

Taking a deep breath, Alex forced himself to keep walking, eyes straight ahead. 'Just another person on the street. Nothing suspicious about that.' He passed the cruiser, his pace deliberately casual even as sweat beaded on his forehead.

Alex kept walking, maintaining a steady pace despite his nerves. The paper bag felt like it was burning a hole in his jacket pocket. "Stop fidgeting with it," he scolded himself, realizing he'd been constantly checking it. 'Might as well wear a sign saying , a suspicious package,' Alex thought reprimanding himself once more.

After passing the cruiser, Alex's relief was short-lived. The only immediate route forward led through known Skull Crusher territory.

The Skull Crushers were just one of many local street gangs that operated in the city's margins. They marked their territory with graffiti and their members with skull tattoos on their hands, putting on a tough show for the average citizen. But everyone knew there were four major organizations that truly ran the city's underworld - the Phoenix Gang and three other powerful groups, with the BlackWolf Gang standing above all others.

Small-time operators like the Skull Crushers knew their place. They stuck to petty crimes and intimidation in their small territories, always careful not to interfere with any business connected to the major players.

His pulse quickened as he realized the choice had already been made for him – there wasn't time to find another way.

The graffiti-covered walls seemed to close in as he entered their turf. He'd barely made it halfway through when three figures stepped out from an alley. The skull tattoos on their hands caught the sunlight as they moved to block his path.

"Well, what do we have here?" The tallest one smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Looks like someone's lost."

"Carrying anything interesting in those pockets?" another asked, cracking his knuckles.

Alex's mind raced. He could feel the package in his jacket, but there was something else – the photo of Marco's cousin he'd been given for emergencies. He pulled out his phone instead, making a show of opening his contacts.

"Actually, I'm heading to meet Marco," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You know – Marco Rodriguez? I'm late for our meeting and he's already texting me." He held up the phone, showing Marco's contact info. "I really don't want to tell him why I'm delayed."

The name drop had its intended effect. The gang members exchanged glances, their aggressive posture softening slightly.

"Rodriguez's new runner?" The tall one asked, studying Alex more carefully now. After a tense moment, he stepped aside. "Get moving then. Next time take the main street."

Alex didn't need to be told twice. He kept his pace measured until he was clear of their territory, then let out a shaky breath.

'Nine minutes left,' he thought, checking his watch.

Finally, Pete's Market came into view. Alex almost smiled with relief until he saw two guys hanging out near the blue dumpster. Neither wore a red cap. His stomach tightened.

'What now?... Wait them out?, But the time limit...' He thought, he paced nearby, pretending to be absorbed in his phone. Three minutes passed. Four. Each second felt like it was eating away at his chances of success.

Just as panic started setting in, the guys left, and a man in a red cap rounded the corner right after. 'Thank god.'

Alex approached, his mouth dry. "Nice... uh, nice weather we're having." His voice cracked slightly, the practiced phrase sounding artificial in his ears.

The man gave him a look that made Alex's stomach drop. 'Did I mess up the code?'

"Could use some rain," the man replied after what felt like eternity, though his tone suggested Alex should work on his delivery.

The exchange was quick—a package for cash. Alex tried to appear casual, snapping a picture of the money to send to Marco as proof of success. But as he slipped the cash into his pocket, his fingers fumbled with nervous energy, nearly dropping it twice.

As he walked away, he heard the man mutter something about "amateur hour."

'Doesn't matter,' Alex thought, feeling the weight of the cash in his pocket. 'Got it done.'

Alex's new phone buzzed with a message:

"Phoenix-rises. Back court. Report." -Shadow wraith.

He took an entirely different route back, checking over his shoulder every few minutes. Maybe he hadn't been smooth, maybe he'd made rookie mistakes, but he'd completed his first run. Next time would be better. Had to be.

---

Marco was casually dribbling a ball, the rhythmic thump echoing through the empty basketball court.

As Alex arrived, the sound of his footsteps made Marco pause briefly before he resumed dribbling.

"You made it on time," Marco said, not looking up from his dribbling. "Barely. Our friend in the red cap wasn't impressed."

Alex shifted uncomfortably. "But I completed the delivery."

Marco caught the ball and finally looked at him. "Yeah, you did. That's why you're getting another chance." He spun the ball on his finger. "Tell me your mistakes."

'Is this a test?' Alex thought before answering. "I checked the package too much. I got nervous around the dumpster. Messed up the greeting." He answered.

"Good. You know what you did wrong." Marco's expression softened slightly. "But here's what you did right: you stayed calm when you saw cops, took alternative routes,

"—you kept your head when the Crushers stopped you. Using my name was smart, but risky. Could've backfired if they decided to verify your story. Always have a backup plan."

"—and most importantly," he tossed the ball to Alex unexpectedly, "—you completed the job."

Alex caught the ball, surprised by this shift in Marco's demeanor.

"Listen up," Marco continued, his voice taking on that teacher-like tone again. "Every runner I've handled either quits after the first run or stays in the game long enough to make real money. The quitters? They're the ones who think they know everything. The survivors? They're the ones who know they've got everything to learn."

He walked closer to Alex. "You're green. Greener than spring. But you've got potential. You think before you act. That's rare in this business."

"So what now?" Alex asked, rolling the ball back to Marco.

"Now?" Marco checked his phone.

"Your pay has been transferred. Now, go home. Tomorrow, I'll have another job for you—bigger pay, bigger risks. That's how this works."

He pocketed the ball under his arm. "But here's your first real lesson: in this business, you're always being tested. Always. Remember that."

As Alex turned to leave, Marco called out.

"Oh, and Alex? Work on your small talk. Nice weather we're having should not sound like you're reading from a script." He let out a short laugh.

"Always being tested," Alex repeated to himself as he walked away. Behind him, the sound of Marco's dribbling resumed, echoing through the court.