In District 12, there were no street addresses. It was too rundown for that. And besides, no one lived there except for criminals and gangs, so there wasn't much point to addresses. No postage man would risk their life delivering postage to District 12.

At least, no one except for Manny. Vale Postage Service prided itself in offering the greatest coverage in Vale, and Mailman Manny prided himself in being 90% of the reason VPS could boast that fact without reservation. The other 10% being the sick motorcycles they had bought this year, of course.

Manny lovingly patted his baby Horsey on the pristine leather seat which had not a speck, because he lovingly never rode her. Every company needed to always push its boundaries, or it would stagnate. Which is why Manny was here tonight about to deliver a package to "The Warehouse on Rosewood Street."

It was a repair kit, for machinery of some kind. Perhaps a weapon, or a boot. Manny couldn't be sure. He'd been studying up some so that he could take better care of his girl Horsey, but he wasn't very knowledgable yet.

Perhaps he could ask the buyer for pointers. It was only good business to make friends with your customers, after all.

Humming happily to himself, Manny stepped over a banana peel while looking for Rosewood Street. Slipping wouldn't do after all, who knew what would happen if such a heavy package went flying?

"Hoy mister. Stop right there." A heavy Mistralian voice came from behind. It appeared at some point three people had come up behind Manny. And they said District 12 wasn't populated except for criminals! Manny couldn't wait to get back to his officemate Karen and tell her how he'd met three lovely people right after entering the district.

"Hello fine gentlemen! How are you doing this evening?"

"Great, great. Though we'd feel even better if you could give us all your money. Hand it all over. Whatever you got in that box too and we won't have any trouble."

Oh! Manny had worked long enough to recognize the less fortunate when he came upon them. He always agreed to donate money. They needed it more, after all. Though he couldn't give away the package of course. That was important business! He was sure they would understand.

"Of course. I can't give you my package, but here's some lien. Buy yourself some VcBurgers and I'll be happy for you-"
Just as he made to cross the distance and hand over the lien, he stepped on the banana peel he'd avoided just earlier. With a yelp, he slipped. He threw his hand up for stabilization. The problem was, that hand held the metal repair kit package. The large metal box flew into the air, spinning, straight at the three beggars. Manny watched in horror as what amounted to a large rock hit the first one in the head, bounced, hit the second, bounced, and hit the third one, knocking them out in one go.

Manny landed on his butt. The three beggars also collapsed. Oh no! The package! Manny surged forward and caught it before it could land in muddy water. He felt bad for the beggars, so he called the Vale Police Department. Maybe they'd send an ambulance to the poor fellows. Unfortunately, Manny couldn't waste any more time. He had a job to do! So he propped the three against a wall (who liked waking up on the ground?) went on his way whistling.

He made it to the warehouse in good time. He knocked on the door, and wondered who would answer. A man, a woman? What kind of person was his new soon-to-be friend?

No one answered.

Manny was not to be deterred. Maybe he hadn't knocked loud enough! He bunched up his fist in classic salesman form three, Striking the Mountain, Manny style, and knocked,-

Only for the door to collapsed inward. Huh, maybe Manny was stronger than he thought.
Oh! What was that smell? Humid, sharp and tangy, kind of like his silverware after he hadn't washed his dishes for a week. He stepped through the door. Maybe his customer needed his some help around the house, too. Maybe that'd let them bond some more. And then he could get a good referral from them. "Manny was so helpful. Not only was he an excellent mailman, he went above and beyond." Manny chuckled.

"Oh my!" The warehouse was fairly standard, large spacious. There was a large wooden pole in the middle, and a chair in front of it, a loose pile of rope sitting in it where a person would usually be.

What was unusual was the silver-haired youth with a knife in the back of his throat, sprawled on the ground in a small lake of his own blood. His legs were dismantled next to him.

Huh. Manny realized what the repair kit was for now. But he didn't know if the kit could fix that kind of damage.

Scrawled on the floor in red blood was, "Watch your back. Coming for you. You will pay for what you did."

Manny blanched. What had he done? Was it that donut he had stolen from Karen's desk? Oh gods he knew he shouldn't have taken it. He'd been riddled with guilt for a week!

Manny imagined Karen standing over him, saying soft threats in a sing song voice. Manny screamed, threw the package away, and ran back towards Vale proper, looking over his back the whole way.
Then'd he tripped over the gangsters he had left against the wall, knocking his head into said wall, and passed out. Poor Manny. He'd even left his precious motorcycle in his hurry to get away. All he'd wanted to do was a good job.