A Hot Job

I might have the most dangerous job in the world. I drive a truck, but it’s not just any truck. I drive the Flaming Truck of the South, as they’ve been calling it on the local news. People love to speculate about what a 40-tonne truck with glow in the dark flames on the side might be carrying. Fact is, I can’t tell you. Don’t know myself. At least, I didn’t.

The other day we had a breakdown, about thirty kilometres out of Hobart. We hadn’t quite reached the River Derwent yet. As soon as the press got wind of it, they were right outside the truck with their cameras and microphones. Some curious punks even thought to break in and find out what the goods were. The automatic laser rifles took care of them quickly enough, I’ll tell you that much.

It was all getting a bit overwhelming, and with a bit of luck, I managed to find a mobile mechanic throughout Brighton, the nearest town. Soon enough they’d be able to fix old Flameo and get us back on our way.

After the whole laser incident, the press took off, scared that they were going to get roasted as well. But it got me thinking, while I waited for the Brighton truck service, that there had to be something valuable in there. Why did we have laser guns on the back of a truck? It dawned on me then that I didn’t even know who my employer was. Someone hooded figure just dropped Flameo off at my house one day with a letter saying that I’d be paid $1000 in Batcoin for every hour that I drove the truck around Tasmania. Sounded like a good deal, so I went with it.

I had a look inside the truck, to see what I was actually driving around, since the laser guns don’t target me. Would you believe me if I told you I had been driving a nuclear bomb around the state? Seems like the world’s most dangerous job just got even more dangerous.