Truck-kun Novels & Stories

The man in the frame was in his mid thirties and he looked very similar to Marco which made her believe that he must have been the older Mister McCoy, Beside him was a very beautiful woman, a little shorter than him but with the pale complexion and electric blue eyes. There were two kids in the frame. One looked around seven years old wearing a black tuxedo as his mother caressed his hair. There was Another boy in the frame around three years old, He was wearing the same black tuxedo as the older one but his face was blank and he looked like he was a complete stranger to the family.

The bumper was slightly dented. And the driver’s door clearly required unnecessary violence before it properly shut. “Oh God...” Chatrine sighed dramatically. “So this is the vehicle I’m supposed to drive?” One of the workers emerged from the warehouse wiping sweat from his neck. Marko. “Don’t worry, Miss,” he said cheerfully. “This truck is loyal. The engine’s a little stubborn, but once it starts, it’s strong as an ox.” “An ox?” Chatrine repeated in disbelief. “I’d rather call it a tank. Look at the size of it. I could probably drive through a two-story house and the truck would survive.”

she whispered, burrowing into his chest. "Yeah," Jack choked out, tears freezing on his cheeks. "I'm warm. I've got you." "Ahem," Ben coughed loudly from behind a snowbank. "Not to ruin the moment, but... is that a tank?" Jack looked up. Coming over the ridge wasn't a Council tank. It was a rusty, beaten-up T-72 with graffiti sprayed on the side: RUSSIAN ROULETTE. The hatch popped open. A bearded man in a fur hat popped out, holding a bottle of vodka.

I was making a delivery to a rural village when a mob of villagers suddenly swarmed my truck. They surrounded the vehicle, pried open the cargo hold, and started looting everything inside. “We hit the jackpot this time! A whole truckload of flour! This is enough to feed everyone for ages! Grab it!” The cargo door was forced open, and white sacks spilled all over the ground. The villagers went insane, snatching my cargo like starving wolves. They divided it up without the slightest hesitation. I was pinned to the ground, my mouth clamped shut by someone’s hand. All I could do was watch as they stripped the truck clean. But what I was transporting wasn’t flour at all. It was a highly r

A sound cuts through the conversation. It’s not a siren. It’s not a helicopter. It’s a heavy, diesel roar. Low gears grinding. We all freeze. "Truck," Riker says. "Big one." Leon grabs his shotgun. He kicks the front door open. We spill out onto the porch. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the gravel driveway. Coming up the hill, kicking up a cloud of dust, is a vehicle. It’s an armored truck. Matte black. No markings. It looks like a bank truck, but heavier. Reinforced.

The middle-aged driver barely has time to unlock the door before Kai reaches him. "I'm sorry," he rasps. Kai grabs the front of the man's shirt, pulls him clear of the vehicle, helps him onto unsteady feet, and climbs behind the wheel himself. The engine grumbles before roaring to life. He slams his foot onto the accelerator. The truck lurches forward, bouncing over uneven stones. Wooden crates shatter beneath the tyres. The steering wheel shakes violently in his grip as he struggles to keep the vehicle steady. In the mirror, Garren's soldiers dwindle in size.

As Alpha he wants to reset the balance, to deal with the insult and offence dealt this way. The headlights pull my eyes from Colton to them as they flash violently, swinging around into the car par as they trundle in and catch us all standing here waiting. The low humming of two big green military trucks that I recognize from the bay. Both have tented backs and seem so much bigger out here in the dark.

Annabelle looked serious. "I heard Ryan also made the cut." Tension decended in that area of the small bus as they glared at each other so fiercely, the unspoken war in their head. "Hey, can I sit here?" A smiling brown headed guy interupted them. "Sure," Suzanne nodded while Annabelle snorted and faced the window beside her seat. "I'm Justin," he smiled at Suzanne and they shook hands. "Nice to meet you, I'm Suzanne," she said. ~~~

Kirk's POV I walked towards my beat-up truck, parked under a thick canopy of pines. It was old, dusty, with dents in the bumper and mud splattered on the tires, a far cry from the sleek, expensive vehicles Norman favored. But it was mine. It had taken me through rough terrain and long roads, a loyal companion to my wandering life. I climbed in, the springs groaning slightly, and started the engine. The familiar rumble of the old truck filled the air, a grounding sound.

I stood straighter and tried to wave the truck down. It looked worse than this rented car. It was a black truck, with bull horns at the front and tires covered in mud. What kind of jackass drives this? I might as well just shift, find a way to tie my bags to my body and run the rest of the way. Sure when I shift back I’ll be naked, but it’s better than whoever this creep-