Flynn was stuck in a chair of bubblegum. He swore the whole wooden frame underneath the seat was coated in the squished, mint-flavored substance. At least, that's what he thought it would taste like, considering the smell emanating around the room. In front of him, a freshly-burnt cigarette rested in an ash-filled dish. Next to it, two feet in brown penny loafers were crossed one over the other. The room itself somewhat grey and badly kept, reminding Flynn of an old hardboiled detectives office from many old stories.

A fist knocked on the wood in front of him. Flynn's eyes shot open and he looked up to the man at the other end of the desk.

"Mister Kelly." A British-accented voice said.

"Sorry. I got caught in a bit of a mental sand trap right there." Flynn said.

The man raised one of his large, chalk-thick black eyebrows, and he crossed his arms. Flynn smiled nervously and cleared his throat.

So Mister Kelly, I have a question for you. What brings you to our doorstep today?"

Flynn leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. "Mister Cleveland, I need to-"

"What did you just call me."

Flynn stopped and looked down at the glass paperweight on the mahogany desk, bearing a name in gold plating.

"Mister Kirkland. Sorry. I want to be in a place that can help me grow as a person. A place that can gain me some stability. As you've seen from the files, I've had a rough go for the past few years in college. Not to mention, the normal hijinks fresh grads like me get entangled up in." Flynn said with a chuckle.

Arthur sat in silence while examining the tanned, chestnut haired and matching eyed young man in front of him.

"Anyway, I feel that an esteemed, and beloved company such as yours would be willing to entice a fresh face like me into this beautiful environment."

"Was that sarcasm?" Arthur asked.

"No."

Arthur stood up and took the file in his hand to the tall cabinet next to him. He flung open one of the stuffed drawers and shoved the thick manila folder into a slot. A crash resounded through the room as Flynn flinched. Arthur turned to Flynn.

"I'll be honest with you. I've been with this company for thirteen years. I have no idea what we do here. W file tax stuff. We do things for catalogs. We make contracts for places I can't pronounce. On top of that, I try to keep this division afloat. I'm about six years older than you, and I feel like we're in the exact same position of uncertainty."

Flynn shrugged and took a peppermint from the jar in front of him.

"I didn't say you could do that."

Flynn stopped mid-chew and swallowed. "What are the mints there for, then?"

Arthur's eye twitched and he let out a growl. "You ask for stuff like that first. You don't snatch it away. That was the last one."

"Sorry, sir. I need to know what my chances are of getting this job."

Arthur huffed and took out another piece of paper from the inside of his desk.

"At this point in the quarter, we'll take a monkey that can hold a crayon. Your grades are fine...and I guess there are things that can be overlooked. You're glad this company specializes in hiring people like you. otherwise, you'd be gone."

"People like me?" Flynn pointed at himself.

"Let's not act naive. Mister Honda on the thirtieth floor, however, loves when we can make success stories out of people. I'm sure you've read the brochure, though. And while I need to keep a close eye on everyone in this division, I guess it would only knock a few more years off of my life if I added one more."

"You're hiring me?"

Arthur nodded. Flynn smiled and thrusted his arm out at him.

"Your pay is non-negotiable for the first year. You'll report Monday at 8:00 A.M. to room 419 on the twenty-third floor."

"Thank you very much, sir. You made me very happy."

Arthur sighed and reached out gingerly for the younger man's hand. "And you've made me peppermintless."

The lower side of Atlanta, Georgia was generally not a pretty sight. While the airport and Five Points saved the area from being a total garbage heap, most of the surrounding parts by the perimeter of the city was slummy suburb. Flynn, dressed in a unwrinkled, grey business suit with a red tie, pedaled on his lime green Schwinn bicycle underneath a subway bridge as the MARTA train rocketed overhead. He coasted through the soft spring breeze as he rounded an intersection and came across his apartment complex, an average high-rise building located right by railroad tracks. Flynn always grinned at the railroad tracks. The very phrase "wrong side of the tracks" could have come from that very intersection. On his side was a more calm, well-off area. The other side was certainly one of many ghettos in the area.

As Flynn pulled into his bike's parking spot. An African-american man and a pasty-white man approached him.

"Hey, Brownhair. Get your ass over here." The black man said.

Flynn stared in front of him before slowly turning around. The two men grew maniacal smirks and ran up to Flynn.

"Flynn. You prison-ass bitch. When'd you get out?" The black man asked

"Seriously, bro. You gave us a heart attack. We thought we were gonna collect a reward for you."

"Who said I got out legally?" Flynn said.

The faces of the two men fell faster than a bowling ball off of the Westin-Peachtree Hotel

"Maybe I gave that security guard lady a little...favor." Flynn winked at the two.

The two busted out into a chorus of laughter "Shut up, bro. We need to tell Easter and Pablo about you."

Flynn's eyes bulged open, and he hushed the two loud men in front of him.

"No, bros. I don't wanna talk to those guys for a while."

A soft wind blew around the small group, and a bird chirped on the pine tree behind Flynn. He coughed a few times dn returned looks from the other two men. He lifted his palms up and raised an eyebrow.

"What? I don't wanna deal with that anymore. I just got back from a place, and it's actually legit."

"I was gonna ask about the monkey suit. You getting a real job?" The African-American man asked.

"Yeah. It's at Hetalia. You've probably never heard of it, but it's the real shit. With real money."

The white guy waved his hands in front of him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, never heard of it? You think we're a bunch of hood rats now, don't you?"

Flynn sighed, and he put his hands on one of the two guy's shoulders.

"Taylor, Perry. I appreciate you getting me some of that money, but that's small time stuff. I'm talking about clean bank here, to put it in your words. Rest assured, by next year, when I'm a millionaire, and your still dodging bullets in the hood, I'll get you a mail room job."

Taylor and Perry erupted in laughter and hugged the well-dressed man in front of them. Flynn looked up at the clear, sapphire sky. The two men broke the bro-hug apart, and they fist-bumped each other before crossing to the other side of the tracks. Flynn took his green helmet off, and trudged into the lobby of the apartment.

After going up the silver elevator and hearing more Whitney Houston's strong, raspy voice erupt in the small traveling box, Flynn exited onto the twenty-eight floor. He turned the corner to his apartment: room 1843. As he looked into his pocket for the key, he saw a figure in the corner of his brown eyes. He looked up and saw a female with flowing brown hair and green eyes. Another man with striking red eyes and chalk-white skin saw him and poked the women on her shoulder.

"There he is, Lizzie. Exactly how he described him." the man said in a loud, booming voice.

Flynn did not know whether to think of them as cops and run, or to think of them as enemies, and run anyway. He was on probation, after all.

Welcome everybody, to yet another endeveour. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. As always, comment, compliment, or insult away. The more response the better fro you. You can purge away your demons, and I can be better. It only takes twenty seconds, and it;s worth so much. Please leave any OC or story suggestions as you wish. Thank you!