The Courier Files
Episode 1: The Package
The morning air in Los Angeles had that familiar haze — not quite fog, not quite smog — the kind that makes streetlights glow like muted lanterns.
Lorenz “Ren” Phautos had been on the road since 7:00 a.m., his battered silver van humming over cracked asphalt, the smell of fresh coffee curling from the cup holder.
Deliveries were usually routine: furniture, documents, boxes that rattled or didn’t. But this one… this one came with instructions.
The envelope was thick, sealed in a way that looked more ceremonial than practical. Gold thread stitched across the flap, a red wax seal pressed into a crest he didn’t recognize. The label had no sender, just a downtown address and a line in block letters:
DO NOT OPEN. DO NOT DELAY.
Ren’s phone buzzed with the navigation update — forty-three minutes to destination — and he merged onto the 101. But as he passed a row of graffiti-tagged warehouses, something in the rearview mirror caught his eye.
A black SUV had been behind him for the last three turns. Same lane, same pace. When he sped up, it sped up.
Ren’s deliveries sometimes took him into shady neighborhoods, but a tail was new. He took the next exit earlier than planned, weaving through a series of side streets. The SUV followed, its tinted windows revealing nothing.
At a red light, Ren glanced back again. The SUV idled thirty feet behind. His coffee suddenly tasted bitter.
When the light turned green, he made a split-second decision. Instead of following the route, he swung the van into a narrow alley lined with dumpsters and flickering fluorescent signs. It was tight, but the van just squeezed through.
Halfway down, he killed the lights.
The SUV rolled past the alley entrance. No brake lights, no hesitation — just gone.
Ren exhaled slowly. Too slow. Because that’s when he noticed the figure standing in front of his van.
A man in a dark suit. No expression. No sound.
He stepped forward, tapped the hood twice with his knuckles, then gestured for Ren to lower the window. Against his better judgment, Ren cracked it open.
“Mr. Phautos,” the man said, his voice low and even. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Ren’s gaze flicked to the envelope on the passenger seat. “I’m just the delivery guy.”
“That,” the man said, pointing, “is the delivery.”
Before Ren could respond, the man stepped back into the shadows and vanished between the buildings — as if he’d never been there.
Ren stared at the empty spot for a long second, then looked back at the envelope. The wax seal glistened under the dim light.
The route on his phone still pointed toward downtown. But now, he wasn’t sure that’s where he was going anymore.
While Ren’s day-to-day adventures are pure fiction, our real deliveries are on time, in full, and far less… mysterious.
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