Who: Spike and open to Hyperion. What: Spike-in-a-box, anyone? When: Evening. Where: Hyperion. Rating: TBD.
It was an unusual requirement, having to deliver a package at such a later hour. Considering the size, which wasn't a particularly large one, a person would naturally assume that the package would have been stuffed away in a mailbox along with all of the other mail that was sent in daily to the homes of the Los Angeles residents. But this? It was different. The circumstances were different and, as the deliveryman eyed the small square sitting in the drivers seat of his van, he knew that it had to have held some sort of higher value than the typical package. There was something special about it. In fact, there was even a strange feel to it whenever he picked it up. It was light. Very light. And it didn't seem very out of place when one looked at the traditional wrapping that surrounded the box. However, it still left him with a strange feeling. Like there was just something wrong. For a while, the deliveryman considered prying the package open himself. But he knew that he'd hear hell from the people back in his office, so he kept his hands on the steering wheel in front of him, only glancing off at the object every now and again.
After parking along the curb in front of the address listed, the young man picked up the package and looked down at it. TO: THE HYPERION. Followed by the address. There was no return address. No name from the sender. Just the small bit of information that verified that, yes, this was very much the place in which the package was supposed to be directed to.
Fighting off the temptation to tear into the package, just to see what was inside, he climbed out of his vehicle and cautiously walked into the hotel. Holding the package in one hand and a clipboard in the other, the man stepped up to the front desk and set the package down. "Got a delivery for you," he stated distractedly, searching his pockets for a pen. "I just need your signature..."