A crackle came over the CB radio. "You're late, Elias. The cargo won't wait for the sun."
Elias rubbed his eyes, the blue light of the monitor reflecting in his glasses. It was 3:00 AM in a cramped apartment in Berlin. Outside, the real world was silent, but inside the zip file lay thousands of miles of open road, the hum of a diesel engine, and the neon glow of rest stops he’d never visit in person.
He looked into the rearview mirror. Behind his truck sat a trailer draped in a heavy black tarp, chained down so tightly the metal groaned. He hadn't picked this job. He hadn't even started the engine.
He shifted into gear. The floorboards of his apartment vibrated with the roar of a thousand horsepower. As he pulled onto the asphalt, the walls of his room didn't disappear; they simply stretched, the ceiling becoming the vast, dark expanse of the autobahn.