A Shipment That Shouldn’t Exist: The Kamagra 100 Mystery

Dr. Max Holloway was having an ordinary Tuesday morning when his life took a sharp turn into the absurd. He had just finished his third coffee and was about to see his first patient when his receptionist, a perpetually unimpressed woman named Linda, poked her head into his office with an expression that suggested someone had either died or delivered a very large, very suspicious package.

"Doctor, there’s something you need to see," she said, gesturing toward the lobby.

Max followed her out and immediately stopped in his tracks. Right in the middle of his waiting room, surrounded by confused patients and a very nervous-looking delivery guy, stood five massive crates labeled ‘Kamagra 100.’

Max blinked. "What. Is. This?"

"Your shipment, apparently," the delivery guy muttered, flipping through his paperwork. "Dr. Max Holloway, right? Five cases of Kamagra 100, direct from Mumbai. Sign here."

Max’s brain short-circuited for a second. "I did not order this. I don’t even prescribe this. Why would I—" He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly aware that half his patients were staring at him, some looking far too intrigued. He lowered his voice. "This is some kind of mistake."

The delivery guy sighed, already tired of his day. "Look, buddy, I don’t care what’s in the boxes. My job is to get a signature and leave. So unless you plan on rejecting the shipment—"

"Oh, I reject it. I reject it so hard," Max said, arms crossed.

Linda, however, had been silently inspecting the boxes and suddenly made a thoughtful noise. "You know, if you sell this stuff, you could probably retire early."

Max shot her a glare. "Not helping, Linda."

"Just saying, there’s a market."

The delivery guy cleared his throat. "So… rejection?"

Max nodded firmly. "Yes. Send it back. Immediately."

But as soon as those words left his mouth, a new complication arose. A man stepped forward from the far corner of the waiting room, dressed in a sleek navy-blue suit, holding a phone as if he had just recorded everything.

"Actually, Doctor," the man said with a knowing smile, "I think you’ll want to keep this shipment."

Max groaned. He didn’t know who this guy was, but he already hated him.

The Man Who Knew Too Much

The man adjusted his tie, still smirking. "Dr. Holloway, you have something that belongs to me. Or rather, something I was expecting. It would be very inconvenient if it… disappeared."

Max stared at him. "Are you telling me that this is your shipment? Because, if so, I am more than happy to let you have it. Take it, please. It is literally in my way."

"That’s not how this works, I’m afraid," the man replied. "You see, someone arranged for these to be delivered here. Not to me. To you. And I need to know why."

Max exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. He was just a doctor. A normal, overworked, underpaid, stressed-out doctor. And yet, somehow, he was now the recipient of five giant crates of Kamagra 100 and a mystery man who seemed far too invested in them.

"Alright, you know what? Let’s back up," Max said, forcing himself to sound calm. "Who are you?"

The man extended a hand. "Elliot Wade. Investigative journalist. I track illicit pharmaceutical shipments, and I’ve been following the Kamagra black market for months. Imagine my surprise when a shipment I was watching… ended up here."

Max refused to shake his hand. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

Elliot shrugged. "Help me figure out why someone sent them to you. Because I promise you, Doctor, this is no accident."

Linda let out a low whistle. "This is getting interesting."

Max shot her another glare before turning back to Elliot. "I don’t deal in illegal drugs. I don’t prescribe Kamagra 100. I don’t even know why anyone would associate me with this. I have nothing to do with it."

Elliot pulled out his phone, scrolling for a second before holding it up to Max’s face. "Then maybe you can explain why your name is on the international shipping invoice?"

Max felt his stomach drop. Sure enough, the screen displayed a shipping manifest from India, addressed directly to him.

He took the phone, scanning the details. "This is fake. It has to be. I didn’t place this order."

Elliot sighed. "Maybe you didn’t. But someone did. And they wanted it traced to you. The question is, why?"

Max had no answer. He had absolutely no idea what was happening.

But he had a sinking feeling he was about to find out.

The Box Nobody Wanted to Open

Max turned to the delivery guy, who was still holding his clipboard, looking like he wanted to be literally anywhere else. "Just… leave the boxes for now."

The guy nodded and practically ran out the door, eager to be rid of the situation. The second he was gone, Max stepped forward, inspecting one of the crates. The shipping labels were real. The documents looked legitimate. But something about this felt very wrong.

"I have a terrible idea," Linda said, eyeing the boxes. "We should open one."

Max frowned. "That is an objectively bad idea."

"You just said that this shipment is tied to you. Maybe there’s a clue inside."

Elliot nodded. "I hate to agree with her, but she has a point."

Max groaned. "Fine. But if something explodes, I am holding both of you responsible."

Using a box cutter from the supply cabinet, Max carefully sliced through the packing tape, lifting the crate’s wooden lid. Inside, dozens of small, neatly stacked boxes of Kamagra 100 stared back at him.

Max hesitated. "This feels like evidence."

"It is," Elliot agreed. "Which means we have about ten minutes before someone shows up to retrieve it."

Linda grabbed one of the boxes, inspecting it like she was evaluating a fine bottle of wine. "So… you think this is counterfeit? Or stolen?"

Elliot tapped his phone. "It could be both. Kamagra 100 is technically legal in some countries, but there’s a massive underground market for it. Fake versions are everywhere. Some are harmless. Some are lethal. And whoever arranged this wanted you involved."

Max leaned against the desk, running a hand through his hair. He was just a doctor. A normal, overworked doctor. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of what was beginning to feel like a pharmaceutical crime scene.

"Okay," he said finally. "So how do we find out what’s really going on?"

Elliot grinned. "We follow the money. And we start with whoever actually placed this order."

Max exhaled. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what they found.