Hey guys! Here's another chapter for you and again for those of you who haven't known: there is a poll I'd appreciate you guys would vote on the characters featured. If you go to my Bio/Profile page the poll is at the very top of the page. This is based on your decisions since my readers should have the input on how this story characters is run. I already have the plot in my head for this but I might have to adjust based on poll results.

Other than that, I hope you guys enjoy this. Signing off: The Sunflower Seed

P.S. My flash-drive is still missing. :/

Key:

(h/c) = Hair Color

(f/n) = First Name

(s/n) = State Name

(j/c) = Jacket Color

(y/f/s) = Your Favorite Subject

It felt nice going on this road trip. The windows were rolled down and the wind tussled your (h/c) locks behind you. The radio played in the empty air, filling the silence. It was still hard to fathom being fired…by your own uncle! You hit your steering wheel in frustration at your misfortune.

'Damn CIA! Damn Savoy! Damn Attinger! And damn-' Your phone went off with the ringtone "I'm So Fancy" by Iggy Azalea. You rolled your eyes. It was Marquette.

Again.

Oh you loved the annoying squirt; he was also one of the experiments who was subjugated to the military. He was good at being sneaky and hiding. A master prankster as people say and you had to agree with the people who've met him. He may look sweet and innocent on the outside but he always has some concoction of mayhem under his extremely flamboyant clothes. Smiling a little, you answered, trying to concentrate on the road while tucking the phone under your chin.

"Hello?"

"Hi (f/n)!" He cheerily greeted you, the background filled with music. You couldn't exactly tell which music genre it was but you know where he was. It was at the music festival located not too far away from your farm property in (s/n). There was a booming noise in the background and it was the t-shirt cannons going off.

"Ouch! I just got shot by t-shirts!" The squirt fake cried. He was a kid after all. He wasn't alone though. Before long, your other friend (apparently) snatched the phone out of Marquette's hand and started talking to you.

"Yo (f/n)! Are you coming to music fest?" He asked. This was D-Jay. A great friend and he was roughly a year older than you. He was African American, that part shouldn't have mattered and it didn't, he was a great guy. He was the older brother you wish you had.

"Sorry not today, D-Jay. I got fired from KSI."

There was silence on the other end for a couple minutes. There was movement and suddenly,

"YOU GOT FIRED!?" Marquette screeched. Apparently you were on speaker phone. You withdrew from the phone and put it on speaker phone as well so then you didn't lose your hearing to the troublemaker.

You swerved a bit as a reckless driver driving a yellow Camaro nearly plowed you over as they were coming onto the ramp. Doing a one finer salute you turned your attention back to the road and the phone call.

"What did you do?"

"Cool it M. I think (f/n) has a good explanation." A grimace came over your face at that statement. You definitely knew that the government was listening on your conversations. It might seem like a flawless conversation; the background told a different story. You can hear the music from the festival yes it's the static that gave a dead giveaway. That static from your training told you that someone was listening to your conversation.

You whipped out a pencil from your (j/c) jacket and tapped in Morse code "I CAN'T SAY IT OVER THE PHONE. I'M BEING WATCHED," as you rambled about (y/f/s). Soon, Marquette giggled and said, "We'll meet you at your place!"

"We're going to be there anyways. We've been crashin' there for a while. Hope ya don't mind." You couldn't help but giggle. You did buy that property for your own ambitions and you let those two hooligans stay since they are still so close to you. They were your very extended family.

"Bye (f/n)!" the little punk yelled, his voice fading into the distance. You were going to hang up only for D-Jay's voice to stop you.

"Hey, (f/n) listen. Your enemy, The Dealer, is back. I don't want you to get into so much trouble for your first time back in a couple years but he's been doing "business" if you know what I mean." Oh that got your blood boiling! You were going to go kick his ass for that. You stepped on the gas and hurried home, D-Jay's farewell being, "Be careful (f/n). Be careful." You charged through the borderline state to (s/n) and decided to put The Dealer back in his place.

The Dealer was a man who dealt in much of the underground business. You name it: drugs, prostitutes, human trafficking, alcohol, and anything illegal, he can sell it. A black market salesmen if you want to be technical. This isn't what made him a dangerous man. This man was constantly guarded by men trained to be assassins. That didn't scare you. Actually they downright annoyed you. The Dealer was the one who almost jeopardized your friendship with both Marquette and D-Jay.

You turned on a dirt road, the sun had set, and it was extremely creepy. There were no other cars in this wooded area. It wasn't hard to find them. The idiots decided to hide their cars in an empty parking lot behind a police station not too far from your location. There was a sole shack in the dark with a dim light and a huge muscular man was guarding the door.

Oh something was going down and you weren't happy about it. With all that anger pent up in your body, you kicked your door open and didn't bother shutting it behind you. No one was going to steal that old run down pickup. You stomped up to the door and immediately you recognized the bodyguard and he recognized you.

"Black Widow!"

"Bubba." You growled. The big man immediately stepped aside to let you in. You threw open the door and stormed to the lower levels where there laid an arena all carved out of dirt and reinforced with concrete and brick. Dim lighting again shone your target, hosting illegal games and making profit on drugs. That got you to snap.

Bubba had followed you down here. He wasn't threatening. Oh no, he was a follower of yours who only let criminals use this place as a meeting house. Not for their activities. You earned your nickname by assassinating criminal leaders. Especially those who dared to harm you and others. In a sense you were a vigilante. The arena was jam packed with men trying to fight for the money and trading drugs.

"Give me the microphone." You snapped. Poor Bubba was terrified. Your temper was legendary among the ranks of the criminal world. He turned on the stereo you had built into the arena and handed you the mic. You turned on the button with a click. You watched as the people looked at the ceiling looking for an answer. Stepping into the main aisle, you put the microphone up to your plump lips and put on your best seductive voice.

That would drive the men crazy.

"Oh Dealer~" you sang. It wasn't hard to pick out Dealer. He always called himself a gentlemen and dressed like one. He looked pretty sleek, dressing as though he was a gangster from the 1930's. He was pale and his features were sharp. You cursed yourself inwardly. You liked men who had that suave look. He found you, his eyes steeled with fear.

Everyone watched as you walked down the aisle, your (j/c) jacket swaying to the rhythm of your feet. A lot of the people tucked themselves into their respective aisles as you walked to the center where the Dealer was trying to seem like he was tougher than you. That wasn't how tonight was going to go down.

You stood in front of him with your microphone and did a once over of the arena. That was funny. No guards. Being a bit cautious you continued on with the seductive voice.

"I like how I said that this is a place to convene-"

"And it is." Dealer interjected.

'Bad move!' You backhanded him for interrupting you. Silence filled the air.

"It is a place to convene and discuss. Not to sell or to divulge in death matches."

The Dealer seemed stunned yet that cocky grin came across his face. A glint of metal caught your attention and you kicked it out of his coat pocket. He looked shocked and you started wailing on the poor soul. Everyone sat and cheered for you. It should've been uncomfortable but hey, you needed to teach this guy a lesson in "courtesy." You stopped beating him after he crumpled to the ground and begged you not to beat him, he bribed you with all the money and merchandise he had on him currently.

It was enough to get by for a while.

"I-I p-p-promise…I'll scram! I'll conduct my business elsewhere, Widow!" he stammered and handed over the duffel bag filled with money and drugs. You faced the crowd of awed criminals and you yelled into the microphone, "Get out!"

Criminals scattered to get out, not wanting to face your wrath. The only people left after the commotion of exiting criminals were the Dealer and yourself. You walked over and crouched to his eye level, throwing a white handkerchief at him. He picked it up and waved it in surrender before dabbing at some blood on his face.

Satisfied he finally got your message, you strolled out of the arena. Microphone tossed into the storage room and when you reached the top of the shack, your pickup was sitting there.

That might've been a little strange. You approached the pickup and did a once over. You checked for bombs, bugs, and of course tracking devices. Nothing was found. You jumped inside your vehicle and drove off, watching in your back mirror as the Dealer stumbled out.

It was pretty dark by now. Close to midnight if you guessed correctly. Your pickups radio was busted, so no clock. You'd look at your phone but it was lost to the abyss of darkness in the pickup. A reflector of green signified you were only a couple miles from your destination. A sigh of relief was the only sound in the vehicle.

Your life isn't that screwed up. It got harder though with the recent hacking at KSI…

You immediately pulled over and after finding a flashlight stowed under the driver's seat, you flicked it on and looked around. You went through the nearly spotless car and found your purse. You whipped it out, and dumped the contents on the driver's seat, looking through the pile to make sure your holographic tablet didn't get stolen. Throwing things here and there, you found two little black cylinders. Those were the bases for your tablet and when you activated it, you breathed a sigh of relief.

Everything was still there. All the stolen files and you haven't been compromised…yet. Satisfied, you powered down the tablet and drove home.

The property was beautiful in its nearly rundown state. The barn was extremely rundown, filled with your special gear. The house itself looked pretty old with peeling white paint and the southern style house. The lights were all on and you peeked into your living room window. There D-Jay and Marquette sat, Marquette cuddled into D-Jay's side. This wasn't normal behavior but you couldn't blame Marquette. He's been through a lot of stuff and under his mischievous, playful self; he was mentally ill. It was hard to remember specifically what he had but as the doctor put it, "It's a hybrid. PTSD mixed with abandonment issues."

D-Jay was against it in the beginning. He stopped when he understood why the youngest member of their "family" did it. He didn't like the gay comments thrown at him in the streets but he dealt with it. You smiled, seeing them finally relaxed and waiting for you made you feel happy. You walked on the moldy old porch and opened the screen door, letting it slam with a clack behind you. Immediately, Marquette sprang up from the couch and ran to you, enveloping you in a hug.

"We missed you!" The blonde giggled, his spiky hair tussled a bit by the night air. You hugged him back and D-Jay walked up to you both. He was always relaxed around you two; around other people was a different story. Marquette let go and stood next to D-Jay.

"How did you get fired? Are we going to be okay?..." It was hard to answer Marquette as he kept bombarding you with questions until a slight bonk on the head from D-Jay got the youngster to pause.

"Marquette, let (f/n) get a chance to breathe. She seems worn out." That was true. Your body felt like lead and you really wanted to sleep.

"Can I actually grab some sleep? I haven't slept in a couple days." It was true. You've been on the road most of the time, only stopping to get gas and food. Marquette looked at D-Jay then to you before smiling an ok before bounding up the stairs. Apparently he was tired too. D-Jay smiled at Marquette's retreating form before looking at you.

"Did you take care of-"

"Yes."

"Are we in danger?" You froze at that question and smoothly, you replied, "I'll explain in the morning." With that, you decided to sleep on the couch. Not only because you were dead tired but because you have to make sure that no one comes onto the property. Especially the CIA.

"Goodnight (f/n)."

"Night D-Jay." You replied. He did the honor of turning all the lights off. As you laid in the oh so plush couch, you looked out the window. It didn't take you long to fall asleep, your mind drifting off to nirvana.