Aiden, no middle name, Black was a seriously tiny thing. A tiny adult with a big temper and an even bigger ego. All throughout his school life, starting about around middle school when it became apparent to others that he wasn't getting any taller like the rest of them, Aiden was teased and bullied. Of course, Aiden didn't take it lying down. No, that would have been way too easy, way too degrading for his liking. Where he watched others step down, Aiden stepped up, metaphorically, due to his 4 foot size, standing nose to nose with any who thought he, Aiden, could be messed with just because he was the smallest in the class.

Aiden Black was an orphan, no background, no standing in society, and, even worse, no money. So, to say the only thing Aiden had had the clothes on his back and what little he could pocket from his daily walks around the square was as true as it ever could be. Passed from home to home, some nice, some not so nice, Aiden learned early on not to depend on others to lend a helping hand. Aiden had the mannerisms of a war child, eyes always scanning all the exits, even as his mind calculated and judged the use of everything, including people, in his environment. His lessons in life, the bullying that was often ignored when it came to him, taught him to keep his back protected and any usable object, whether it was a spoon for his coffee or the pencil for his essay, nearby at all times [you just never knew when you would need to go for the eyes].

That isn't to say that Aiden Black was a murder. At least, not yet. However, Aiden learned early on in his life, the greatest things come when you fight to the death over them. Aiden likened himself the General and his friends? His army.

Surprisingly, for such a tiny thing, Aiden's confidence in himself was huge. Life was funny like that. Survive enough killer blows and you wake up from the month long coma thinking you were invincible.

October 31, 2000

Halloween Night

Aiden pulled up into the middle of the parking spot, leaning back, eyes already taking in the environment around him behind the darken face mask of his helmet. One leg kicking down the kick stand to his black 2000 Ninja, shutting down the engine as two more bikes pulled in behind him taking up the space left in the parking spot and half of the one to his left. The outdoor lighting on the bar they chose to stop at for a brief break on the trios way to meet up with the rest of the gang in Atlanta burned his retinas as he pulled off the equally black bike helmet, swearing as the sweat pooled up onto his eyelash and dripped uncomfortably near his green eye. "Fuck," Aiden grunted, pulling a, well, a handkerchief from his leather jacket pocket, dabbing at his eyes to clear the sweat, then shipping it over his face. "I hate the daylight."

"We told you black was a bad idea," the man to his left commented in an irritating, to Aiden, sing song tone as he kicked down the kickstand to his silver Harley. The mother fucker wasn't even wearing a helmet, his lengthy brown hair wind swept into all directions. Aiden hoped the kid died tragically and brutally in some car crash somewhere, someday.

The man to his right just shook his head at the two in his group, using the excuse of shaking his blond hair out in some vain hopes of fixing the helmet hair. "Jimmy, cool it. You're going to rile him up before we even get inside," the blond said as he threw a leg over the side of the forest green bike, some weird mish mash of Harley parts the man had thrown together about a year ago, standing and moving away from his beloved, hands in his pockets as he waited for the other two.

'Jimmy' threw a glare at the other man. "Where's in God's name green earth, did you get 'Jimmy' from Jefferson?" He to cut his engine to his bike and went up to the blond, tense and ready to fight. Everyone knew Jefferson hated being called anything other than 'Jefferson.' In retrospect, that is probably why the blond made it a habit to fuck it up every time.

"It's not Jimmy?" the blonde pulled his face into one of confusion. "But I have been calling you Jimmy for ages and you answer to it." A lie that they all knew.

"Mother fucker," Jefferson snarled, throwing a fist at the man's smug looking face.

The blonde blocked it effortlessly, showing discreet skills in speed that belied his bigger form. Had to be fast to keep up with Aiden's annoying ass when he was pissed off. Still though, Jefferson's strength alone pushed the man back a step.

Jefferson wasn't built like he had strength to push anyone over. The brown haired man looked thin, lanky, like he was starved half his life before trying to turn the lack of body fat into muscle. In truth, he was. Jefferson was a street rat before Aiden came along. Before he joined hands with the 'tiny general,' as the gang called him, because of his brilliant militaristic mind, Jefferson was eating out of trash bins and practically begging for the next penny to fall into his lap [for some reason he was always a penny away from the next place to shower. Weird how that happened and, stranger still, how greedy humans were to keep that penny. He could, only, assume people thought if they gave a penny now, it would be a dollar tomorrow]. It was Aiden who took pity on his poor soul and helped him out of the situation. No strings attached. At least, that's what Aiden had said when Jefferson asked, and Jefferson believed him at the time. Now, haven gotten to know the small man, Jefferson knew differently. Aiden had seen something in him that day. What Jefferson didn't know and never asked. He was just happy to get off the streets and have real food.

"Jefferson, Terry," Aiden snapped at them. The dark haired man didn't need to say anything more. Jefferson and Terry could hear the spitting anger in the little man's voice.

Terry was Jefferson's opposite. He was built like a body guard dressed like a noble. Terry came from money, the old school trust fund kind of money. He kept the clean look even after he joined up with Aiden, that decision being made out of pure boredom. People say the rich had everything, and that was sadly true with Terry. The man had money, women, and… well, pretty much everything he could ask for. However, what they neglect to tell you is: being rich is boring. There was no struggle, no need to fight everyday just to survive to see tomorrow, no real interest in the common folks around you. It was like living in a bubble, detached from society, where the rules could be bent in any direction as long as you had the money to make it happen. It took Aiden showing up in his life, a brief year where a 'lovely' couple of richies trying to do something 'good' in life by adopting a child [and boy, did they make a mistake], to make Terry realize just how monotonous and ritualistic his life was. Every day with the hot headed man was an adventure, until it wasn't anymore. It took another year for Terry to realize it, but he did. Now, Terry followed Aiden around for the shits and giggles, meeting new and interesting people, picking fights to spice up his love life, and drowning his boredom with spontaneous drinking, gang fights,

that often led to slit throats, and hospital bills, that gave him a secret crackling fit at the idea of his parents faces when they opened the bill.

"Aw, come on, Aids," Terry grinned at the short man, "We only playin' around."

Aiden snarled at the two dick heads he reluctantly allowed to follow him around, swinging his leg around his bike to hop down, not that he really needed to hop, he wasn't that short, and strolled his way to the door of the bar. "let's just go in," he grunted as he passed by the two idiots.

Aiden no middle name, because no one ever bothered to give him one, Black was a small man, he knew, but something in the way he stood, the way he strolled in to a room like he own the place, shoulders back, head of black hair held high, made him look taller than the buildings itself. Aiden was a good looking man, black skinny jeans hugging his calves with a studded belt looped through only one belt loop so it hung sideways on his hips, and the crisp dress shirt tucked into his jeans giving him that casual but dressy look, and he knew it. Black steel toe boots kicked open the stupid door that held the noise within the bar. Aiden took a minute to take in the smoky interior of the bar, greener then grass eyes taking in every face, every bottle, empty chair and even the tables, the scowl of distrust and discuss already set on his face.

Georgia was a disgusting state with shit to do, and Aiden hated being here, hated being anywhere really. If he hadn't already spent his life trying to survive this disgusting world he had the misfortune of being born in, Aiden would have already committed to suicide to escape it. Sadly, by the time he realized where his hatred stemmed from, Aiden had already spent 20 years trying to make it a home. Now, at 28, Aiden was too invested in it to give up.

Angry green eye connected with dulled blue in one of Aiden's scans of the bar, and both lit up with interest. Though, Aiden's was hidden behind the snarling growl of annoyance while the owner of the blue's was hidden by a frown.

For a brief moment, Aiden allowed himself to think, maybe Georgia wasn't completely discussing. It was just a moment before Aiden began to move, feet carrying him over to an unoccupied table in the very back corner of the joint.

"Jefferson," the small man snapped, never finishing his sentence. He didn't need to. Jefferson was already moving towards the bar to order the drinks, probably batching about demands and bitches. Aiden didn't care. He already slung his body into the booth, back firmly plastered to the wall, even as Terry took the seat across from him, readjusting the cheap napkin holder to reflect the area behind him in its dirty ass reflection.

In reality, Terry, Jefferson, and Aiden had been together for so long that they could practically read the others mind. They knew each other better than they knew themselves now. They didn't need to speak, didn't need to even look, to know what the other was going to do. Aiden preferred it this way. Preferred not speaking, just doing. So, it didn't surprise Aiden at all when Jefferson came back, placing a jack on the rocks in front of him and Terry, as he subtly shifted the napkin holder, much to Terry's ire, to reflect the Blue eyed man's position in the bar back at him. The man was staring over at them behind the lips of his beer. Aiden scowled, deep and angry, but not as dark as it usually was as he watched.

"The gen is being watched," Jefferson sang cheerily as he plopped down next to Terry.

Aiden's fat ass [not that it really was] was parked deliberately as close to the edge of his booth as he could get without being as obvious. He didn't want Jefferson, or anyone really, trapped in just incase he was in need of a quick getaway. "What's your point?" he grunted, lifting his glass to his lips. It was a double shot, two fingers. Jefferson had used Terry's card, then, to pay. Shit ass bars usually charged way too much for the higher quality of alcohol.

Terry chanced a glance around the bar. Aware the man was not. He had missed the exchange between Aiden and the man at the bar when they came in. Now, he was playing catch up, like always. The blonde hummed when he found the subject of conversation. "Staring pretty hard too."

"Again. Your point?" Aiden growled, annoyed this was even a topic of conversation. A lot of people stared at Aiden. They just couldn't help themselves. He was small, but not dwarf size, more like… child size. He was still carded every time he stopped for cigarettes and would probably still be carded every time until he was old and decrypt. It was just a fact of his life.

"Maybe he has a child kink?" Jefferson's offhand comment earned him a hard kick to the knee with steel toed boots. "OW!" the man yelped, "WHAT THE HELL, YOU FUCK-"

God bless Terry's soul for slapping a hand over that loud ass mouth, Aiden thought, even as he glared at Jefferson. "You need a God damn ball gag."

"Oh, kinky," Terry said, letting go of Jefferson and gulping down his drink. The moment he dropped the empty glass to the table with a clunk, Terry was kicking Jefferson out of the booth. "get another," he demanded.

"Why don't you go get it, you asshole."

Aiden sighed, bringing his hand up to rub at his eyes. Seriously, he couldn't take them anywhere.

"Just go get another one, bitch."

Seriously, Aiden grumbled angrily, why he kept them around.

"Fuck you. Get it yourself."

This happened every time. It was a common routine at this point, but that didn't mean Aiden wasn't pissed every time. The way they acted , you wouldn't know these two made a good Assassin team. Then again, Aiden mused, that could be the point.

"I told you to get it. You're on the outside, therefore, you get the drinks!"

"Says who?"

"Says me!" Terry scowled, throwing his leg out to kick Jefferson again.

"God damn it, Quit kicking me!" Jefferson snapped back.

Aiden knocked back his drink swallowing the rest like it was water, then slammed his glass down on the table. "ENOUGH! BOTH OF YOU!" Aiden shouted over them. "I'll go, since neither of you seem to be mature enough to do a simple task." Aiden scowled angrily at the two overgrown children. At least, they

had the decency to act ashamed and embarrassed. That's all it was though. An act. Aiden knew full well they weren't ashamed or embarrassed.

Aiden pushed aggressively away from the table, muttering about idiots and needing better people. He missed Max. Max was the level head. The quiet man didn't argue or fight, didn't see the point when he could just slit the throat or cut out the tongue. At least with Max, Aiden could sit in peace, maybe actually feel the relaxing effects of the alcohol. Sadly, Max had gone ahead of them. The quiet man was two days ahead; probably, already there waiting on them. With the way that man drove? Yeah, he was already there, living it up in a nice quiet atmosphere, far, far away from these noisy two with him and enjoying every minute of it.

Aiden had just gotten to the bar, in the process of ordering, even as he climbed up into the seat. Fuck the other two. He was staying here, even if it got him killed for turning his back on the door. "Jack on the rocks," Aiden growled out at the bar tender.

"ID."

God damn, mother fucking… Aiden quietly complained body tense in fury as he pulled his wallet out of his fucking jacket in violent jerky motions. "Here!" he snapped at the bar keep, throwing out his ID like he didn't need it back. It slid across the counter, nearly sliding off the edge. The bar tender gave him an unimpressed look as he set down the glass he was washing and took up the card. After several minutes of checks and balances, the bar tender nodded, flipping the card back at Aiden's face and went about making the drink.

Aiden, for his part, caught the card mid-flight easily enough, shoving it back into his wallet.

The chair next to him moved. It was an almost immediate reaction for Aiden's eyes to snap over to the cause for the movement, hand already slipping into his jackets inside pocket, where he kept his, very illegal, gun.

"Whoa," the blue eyed man from early immediately held his hands up in surrender, probably already suspecting Aiden's intentions. "Whoa," he repeated in his southern accented voice. "I was jus' gonna talk."

Aiden forced himself to relax as the bar keep dropped his drink down in front of him. Reluctantly, Aiden slowly pulled his hand away from the handle of the gun, eyeing the man before him from head to toe, assessing the threat level. The man was well built, but in the manual labor, fist fights, kind of way, where the bulk of the muscles were on the arms and legs, maybe the back depending on the labor. Aiden could take the man if he so desired. Would be a hell of a fight, but Aiden would win. He always did. Aiden fought people for a living. Always has, always will.

Aiden grunted at the man, the only acknowledgement he was go to give for now, as he turned away to sip at his drink. So much for quiet. Aiden mentally took notice of the sudden lack of notice coming from his original table, where Jefferson and Terry were. They were probably watching the man as much as Aiden was out of the corner of his eye, only they probably still had their hands on weapons as they silently fell into guard mode.

"'m Daryl," the man introduced himself as he pulled up the seat.

Aiden grunted, lifting his drink to his lips. If this 'Daryl' noticed his companions silence, he sure the hell didn't show it. After a long moment of silence, where Aiden sipped on his drink like some high society socialite and watched Daryl fidget out of the corner of his eyes [probably second guessing himself], Aiden answered in his gambling, naturally angry sounding [he didn't know of a time where he wasn't a violent time bomb waiting to go off], tone of voice, "You can call me 'Ace.'" Because Aiden no middle Black is a wanted name for multiple accounts of murder and half a dozen for fraud [happens when you decide to roll out with a gang of misfit and mercenaries], not that this hick would know that.

"Ace?" the tone turned the word into a question, like the brunette was testing it out.

"What do you want, Mr. Daryl?" Aiden growled out , finally turning towards the taller man. Compared to Aiden, the man was a giant, but that didn't bother Aiden. The bigger they were, the harder they fell, or so they say.

Daryl didn't answer. The man seemed content to just fidget under the weight of his burning stare. Honestly, if the man had been a woman… Aiden paused, glass half raised to take a sip, eyes turning calculating. Aiden swept his eyes over the man again. Daryl wasn't a bad looking man. Perhaps, Daryl was a bit shy underneath the harder shell he built around himself. It wouldn't have been the strangest thing Aiden had come into contact with. Aiden hummed in humor. Honestly.

"You want to fuck." It wasn't a question, but a statement as Aiden brought the glass the rest of the way to his lips.

Daryl had the decency to blush in embarrassment.

Aiden stared.

Daryl shifted his eyes away, lifting his beer bottle to his lips to take a swig. Daryl was clearly a man of very few words.

Aiden rolled his eyes, leaning forward in his seat where he had swerved it to face the man. "I need you to say it, Daryl," the man quietly growled out in Daryl ear.

Daryl felt a shiver run down his spine at the dark tone in his eye. It was a tone that promised things, dark and exciting things. In all years, he hadn't heard anything like it. It wasn't like the sweet nothings women would whisper when they wanted to be laid, nor was it the promise of a good time the men boosted about when they wanted to get their dick wet. This was different, darker then the grey areas found in porn. This was the promise of release and restraint, and Daryl quietly groaned at the idea of falling into bed with it.

Blue eyes watched with hidden lust filled eyes as the bar tender moved, finally, finally, down the counter to clean the mess left from a customer.

"Yes," his voice came out light almost like he had lost his breathe somewhere.

"yes, what, Daryl?" the dark voice purred back at him.

Daryl didn't know how the man was doing it, sending shivers that shot down his spine and straight to his dick. The voice alone, if Daryl closed his eyes and just listened, he could cum just by that.

"Yes, I want to fuck, Ace." It was strange hearing the dark laugher in his ear. The man hadn't so much as smiled since walking in the door, and here Ace was laughing in delight like a child told they could have the whole candy store. Granted, a very evil child, but child none the less.

"You know, I'm not gentle." Ace was saying, lips curling up into a smirk as he watched Daryl's reactions.

Daryl moaned at the thought. "Good."

Ace just stared at him, eyes searching for something. After a few minutes, the man hummed, lifted his drink and finished it off in one swallow. Then, he reached over and plucked the forgotten beer bottle from Daryl's hand, took a deep swig, and that to cranked down next to the empty glass on the counter, probably just as empty. "Jefferson! Terry!" the man barked out in the duos direction suddenly, as he hopped down from the bar stool.

The two stood with a grace that could only be inherited from fighting for your lives on a daily bases. They didn't say anything, just started to move; the blonde to the door, the brunette to pay the tab.

Suddenly, there was a calloused hand being put out for him to take. "Come along, Daryl," Ace's deep growling voice floated up to him.

Daryl stared at the offered hand for a moment. This was a new situation for him.. in his experience males didn't offer to talk another males hand. At least, not from what he observed from the general society around him. Did that make him the girl, then? Daryl scowled down at the smaller man, his brother's voice whispering 'Darlina' in the back of his mind.

"Come now, Daryl," Ace scowled back at him, "this is your idea. Don't look at me like that. Stop thinking, and just take the hand offered."

Daryl sighed. "Fine." Then he took the hand being offered to help him up, but it didn't let go after he was standing. Ace held onto Daryl's hand, pulling the, obviously, taller man along behind him as he walked, sure and steadily, to the exit. Daryl almost regretted his decision. For such a tiny human, Ace seems to be boiling over with something… self-confidence? Maybe… that made him seem a lot bigger than the man really was.