So...just realized that my computer has been changing Stilwater to Stillwater... *sigh*. Why must technology betray me? Anyway, POV changes are indicated in the scene changes, nothing serious!

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So, remember when I said being friends with an undercover agent got boring at times?

BOOM!

"Holy fuck, calm your tits, Hammer!"

"Fuck off, Scott!"

That was a complete lie.

Once the meeting with Price rolled around Lin told me where to go and to just eavesdrop on the conversation. Sure enough, that idiot Donnie let slip something about a convoy, and by how desperate Price's Uncle Sharp was about keeping it quiet, you bet I jumped on the case.

I managed to round up a trio to help me out defending the trucks, and so far things were running smooth. We rounded up the two other trucks like cattle and drove them to the other stationary truck, sent the drivers of the trucks into the building so they wouldn't risk getting shot, and sat behind a few crates in wait.

And then the Rollerz rolled up. Ha. Puns.

Hammer was an explosion maniac, hurling grenades without care at the Rollerz's tricked out cars, laughing as they exploded into a fiery mess. His eyes were nearly as black as his dreads, glinting dangerously in the moonlight.

Scott was tall but lanky, cradling an assault rifle in bony arms as he yelled at Hammer for wasting all their (I secretly pocketed a grenade when Hammer wasn't looking) explosives in one go. His murky green eyes were narrowed almost constantly, unkempt brown hair singed at the ends due to an explosion too close for comfort.

And the last of them all, was a muscle-y guy with the palest blue eyes imaginable and blonde hair like mine only a few shades darker. For some reason he was called Playboy by his peers, and I didn't really want to know why. Weirdos.

"Havin' fun yet, Princess?" Playboy asked with a lazy smirk, firing at a Roller that got to close.

Yeah, they've taken to calling me Princess because I happened to have been moping when Hammer killed the last of the Rollerz tailing us on the way here when I had a perfectly good shot on them. Excuse me for wanting some bloodshed!

I glared at him before lifting my GAL-50 and spraying bullets over our cover, hearing a few bodies drop a second later. My expression practically screamed fuck off.

"Runnin' outta mags here!" Scott yelled over the gunfire, AR rattling in his arms as his lips curled into a sneer. "You gotta backup plan or some shit, Princess?"

Fucking stop calling me Princess and I'll make sure that plan consists of you getting out alive. Fucker.

I noticed the pile of red barrels stacked on their side right by the Rollerz cars a while ago, but I didn't want to waste a good finale. Besides, I didn't actually know if the things exploded, and if they did, I wasn't sure we wouldn't be killed in the explosion too.

All I know is my phone's been vibrating for the past five minutes, I had five clips left, and a sole grenade in my pouch.

Scowling as my phone stopped vibrating for a blissful second before starting up again, I whipped it out and didn't even look at the caller ID before answering with an angry hum. Yeah, my method of communication via phone is humming. How the fuck else am I gonna talk over the phone? They don't like it, then they should text me instead of fucking calling me.

"…okay, hello to you too." Troy, of course it was Troy. "Dex is ready for the next move on the Los Carnales. Where you at?"

I blinked. The Los… fuck it, nevermind. I was honestly surprised Dex was already ready for the next step. Right before this shit with the Rollerz I was blowing up drug labs for him.

But now that Troy was on the line, I got an idea.

I punched the button for speaker and yanked Playboy over, giving a pointed look to my phone and humming urgently. Playboy looked startled to put it bluntly.

"Blondie? Yo, you doin' okay? I hear gunshots."

Suddenly understanding what I wanted him to say once he heard Troy, he spoke into the phone for me, "We could use some help! Rollerz got us pinned down, but we can't leave, gotta protect the trucks."

"Trucks? Wha— fuck, hold on Blondie, I'm on my way. Which street?"

As Playboy told Troy where we were, Scott mumbled with some bitterness, "Yeah, I guess we'll hold on too. Y'know, your precious little Blondie ain't the only one…"

I narrowed my eyes at him with a little anger, wondering if all he could do was bitch. Hammer, despite the gunshots all around and the sudden lack of explosions, was still smiling happily while he nudged me.

"Scott don't mean nuthin' by it. He's just pissy, like usual."

"Fuck off, Montana."

Hammer scowled. "You want me to cut your fuckin tongue out, bitch? I told you, don't use my first fuckin name, I sound like the fuckin singer."

"Sounds like Troy's protective of the Princess," Playboy commented offhandedly, whipping a Roller over the head with his gun and leaving me to stomp on the stunned gangster's neck. Nice tag team. Not so nice what you're implying.

I was getting a little annoyed at this little war of attrition thing the Rollerz were playing on us, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried about our dwindling ammo. Frowning, I glanced at the warehouse behind me. Maybe…

I wonder what toys I can find in there.

…

Troy

…

A lot of things in this life stress me out. A lot of them I can't even talk about to my fellow Saints. But recently, one specific thing has been stressing me out these days, and that specific thing comes in the form of a short, nameless, mute, and blonde teenager with a love for guns, a cute killer persona, and a sassy attitude.

Holy shit, if this girl doesn't give me an ulcer, the amount of cigarettes that I've sucked up since her arrival would sure give me lung cancer at this rate. Think I've gone through a pack in a day…

"Fuckin' watch it, Johnny!" I yelled as yet another pedestrian did a tumbleweed over the hood of Gat's specially detailed Venom, grievously hurt if not dead from the impact.

"Oh, fuck off. You wanted to get there fast, we're getting there fast," Gat replied, looking completely at ease with one hand on the steering wheel, shotgun thrown casually on his lap, and a pistol aimed outside of the car and shooting at stray Rollerz that were driving in the same direction we were. Then, as an afterthought, Gat exclaimed, "Hey, why the fuck is Pixie runnin' around doin' all this fun murderin' shit these days?"

I didn't even bother sighing in disappointment, since fun and murder were two very common words in Gat's vocabulary, even more common in the same sentence. "I don't fuckin' know. She just shows up and stares with her little Bambi eyes until we go over and ask her to help. It's like she's got that guilt trip shit down to a science."

"For me she just barges in and parks her ass in a chair," Gat mused. "And glares sometimes. You know, I get the feelin' she don't like me."

"You don't like her," I reminded him. "And you keep callin' her Pixie, 'course she's gonna glare."

"She fuckin' calls me Cue Tip!"

"Hey man, I can't control what you do with your hair. And she can't talk, she doesn't call you shit!"

"She signs it!" Gat objected. The Venom swerved recklessly then, cutting a corner and ramping over a sidewalk momentarily before bouncing back onto the road. I breathed out a silent sigh of relief as an old woman narrowly avoided getting clipped by the side of the car. "And the fuck you mean, my hair's fine."

I cast a disbelieving look to Gat's frosted tips, but wisely said nothing. He merely shook his head and nodded to the approaching warehouses. "That's the address. Just— look, give the girl a chance, alright? She's done good by Aisha, as well as the rest of the Saints so far. When you get past her sass she's alright."

Gat merely grunted in response, parking the Venom on the side of the road and kicking the door open. He hefted his shotgun up and smirked as he heard the gunshots drawing ever closer. "Let's fuck some shit up, Bradshaw."

I wordlessly followed, pistol gripped tightly in my hand (in a teacup grip I might add. Blondie constantly gave me shit for how I aimed), and turned the corner with Gat only to stop and stare.

"…Okay, this? This might just make me like her," Gat said after a stunned moment of silence, taking in the scene before them.

…

Pixie

…

Guess what I found~?

The blade glinted sharply in the moonlight, the curved edge whistling through the air and gliding smoothly through the leg of a Roller, and I twirled on by with a deranged smile. I ignored how the Roller fell to the ground at the loss of a leg, ignored the blood splattering my face and staining my hair, my clothes, my shoes. The long handle of my new favorite weapon was slippery with blood, and when I tightened my grip I could hear the sticky squelch of the liquid.

Note to self: garden scythes sure were messy.

I thought this without much care as I held the handle over my head, letting the scythe blade spike into the chest of another Roller, my arm brushing the side of my ear as my elbow bent so my arm was literally reaching over my head to grasp the scythe. My free hand (my right hand that is) was pushing the blade further in, having placed itself on the steel part of the handle that was connected to the blade.

I LOVE this weapon!

My new trio of friends were cheering me on, the teasing nickname of Princess now turning into a moniker of respect. They hollered out the nickname like it was holy, pumping their firsts and pulling the triggers of their empty guns, clicks in the place of bullets. The Rollerz still tried to get shots off at me, but I think my bloodied appearance might have put them off of the idea.

Didn't want to anger the Reaper, did they?

"Holy… holy FUCK, Blondie!"

I looked over to the voice. Oh. Troy's here. Wait, wait a second, who the fucks that with him—

"Yo, save some for us!" Gat was here too. Lovely.

While I wasn't happy he was here, I did need help. My new friends weren't doing much else by shouting their support, but once Troy and Gat started firing, the amount of pressure on me to take cover, dodge and then slash was decreased immensely. I grinned ferally before charging forward, two handing the scythe before twirling and decapitating two more Rollerz.

Gat and Troy were felling them fast, the pumps from the shotgun becoming a constant, fast paced noise, and I took the pace they were, running as fast as my legs could carry me as I swung the death machine in my hands. Then I spied the barrels in my peripheral.

Without thought I reached a bloody hand into my pouch, clutching the grenade in my hand and letting the blade's outer curve rest on the concrete. I rested my boot delicately on the blade as I pulled the pin and popped the lever off, flinging it right on the pile. I quickly took the handle of the scythe in my right hand, keeping the blade behind me as I sprinted away, consequently towards Gat and Troy. I heard Hammer bellow an excited "awww, shiiiit!", and heard a deafening explosion behind me, felt the ripples of intense heat on my bare arms and clothed legs, feeling a grin burst across my face. Today is a good day.

I skidded to a stop right before Troy and Gat, absolutely giddy thanks to the rush of adrenaline. My smile was replaced with a small frown of confusion however as both of the guys just… gaped at me. Even worse, Troy didn't think to bring someone who could actually understand what I was signing, so it wasn't exactly easy to ask them what was wrong.

I waved a little unsurely, seeing them both snap their jaws shut and adopt vastly different expressions. Troy looked beyond confused, along with a little disgusted, while Gat just looked at the carnage I left in my wake and started grinning.

"That… that was fuckin' beautiful!" He chuckled, actually smiling at me. "Nice work, Pixie."

Inwardly I immediately recoiled at the nickname, anticipating him to start messing with me about it again. But something about how he said it was different, and I blinked owlishly as he offered his fist. My gaze flickered from his face to his fist for a couple seconds, and all he did was arch a brow. Hesitantly, I bumped my knuckles to his with a shy smile.

"Are the people you were with all good?" Troy asked to not so subtly change the subject, and I nodded before turning to look behind me. I beckoned the three over with my hand.

"That was some crazy shit there, Princess!" Hammer bellowed, not at all sour about me stealing a grenade from him. "Best piece'a action I've seen in awhile!"

"Coulda used that grenade sooner," Scott grumbled as he crossed his arms.

"Ey, quit actin' like a little bitch," Playboy scolded the scowling gangster before sending a charming grin my way. "Nice moves, Princess. We might just have to rename ya the Reaper after that."

I felt my smile growing wider. I definitely approved of that nickname.

"A'ight, enough with the cluckin', it's gettin' late and I still gotta drive this one's scrawny little ass back to the Church for Dex. You better high tail it outta here before the cops show up," Gat ordered while I glared childishly at him when he described me as scrawny again. It may be true, but that didn't mean I wanted to be called that!

"Will do. See ya 'round, Princess," Playboy pat my shoulder as he passed, following after the other two guys who were waving their goodbye.

I half wanted to run back to my apartment and collapse after such an action packed day, but I could tell by the look on Troy's face my day wasn't quite done yet. I breathed in deep, looking expectantly at Troy so he could speak.

Alright, what else has today got for me?

...

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Well that got really bloody. Sorry for the absence, thunderstorms have been going bonkers here and knocked out the power a couple times and left wifi iffy, along with family stuff. But hey, Pixie's making friends! Sort of.

Guest: Haha I couldn't resist posting it early!

HPfanboy31800: Hey, nice to see you still around! I'm so glad you like Blondie/Pixie and are enjoying the story! I might just take you up on that offer, I've played the SR games TONS of times and love them to death.

Happy writing to all! Lonessa out.