Alfred spiralled without support from anyone. His piece of land was soon the only one up for grabs in the area. Suddenly two rival gangs, the Waywards and the Reds, were circling him like vultures, waiting for a time when he showed vulnerability.

The man had become a drunk. Brown and green long-necked bottles and tall cans littered his home. Whenever he had company, like when his friends visited, he'd throw them out, but other than that he made no effort to keep his house clean. This wasn't really a problem since hardly anyone visited.

Even alone and friendless, the blond showed no signs of cracking under the pressure. Somehow he led everyone to believe that he was fine. Probably because he had a steady job that he showed up for every day. His father had an old friend, one who worked as a mechanic several blocks away from Alfred's house. The mechanic knew what his friend had become, and had taken every opportunity to help Alfred out when he was young. Since graduation, he'd taken him under his wing at the shop, teaching him everything he needed to know about cars.

It gave him a routine. He'd wake up with a hangover, take some pain-killer, drink some coffee, then head off for work. Even though he was working for a man who'd known him since he was born, he wasn't given the easy work. So when he came home, he was tired and completely aware of his empty house. Then he'd turn to his fridge and pull out a six-pack that he'd go through before the end of the night, getting caught up in television the whole time.

Then there were the visits from the gangs. At least twice a week he was confronted by one of the two rivaling gangs. He was threatened and yelled at, but his only answer was to pull out the 9 millimeter Glock he kept in his waistband and point it back, then smile threateningly and say, "My gun's bigger than your gun." The person would retreat, yelling false apologies.

Eventually, when Alfred had proved that he wasn't budging, the Waywards and the Reds sent out assassins. When he was targeted, Alfred didn't hesitate in shooting them. He did take pity enough, in the moment, to shoot them only in the knee or shoulder, just to disable them. It didn't mean that he wasn't furious. So he left his house that night with another gun to accompany his Glock, and several cases of bullets.

He shoved both assassins in the trunk of his car and drove to his first destination of the night. The Reds were closest, in an old converted warehouse. When Alfred parked, the people who had hung around outside stiffened to attention and watched him cautiously. He ignored their inquiring eyes as he got out of his car and opened the trunk. He pulled the man dressed in a red sweatshirt, black jeans, and a black t-shirt out by the red fabric, pulling the struggling, teary man out. His shirt was stained with a darker shade of red on his left shoulder, the stain, like a flower, was blooming and spreading out across the sweatshirt.

Alfred dragged the man, kicking and screaming, into the warehouse, flanked by numerous gang members, all with weapons drawn. Just to show he wasn't a fool, he let his arm pull his shirt up, seemingly by accident, and reveal one of the guns in his waistband. He stopped by a guy who looked in charge and dropped the whimpering assassin. The blond pulled out the gun and shot the sniveling man on the ground in the forehead, killing him instantly.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed, bespectacled man that stood in front of him looked visibly shocked. Before he lost his nerve, he asked, "Are you here just to kill one of my men?"

"Nah, I thought it was about time I met you and I have a couple'a things to say about how you've been acting."

"Well, my name's Lloyd, and you know what I do."

Alfred nodded sagely, then said, "Yeah, I do. So I guess you've been thinking that you need my little plot of land, or at least you think I might be a threat, right?"

Lloyd nodded.

"Okay, so I'm gonna lay down a couple of rules, and I'll tell you what you get in exchange, and then I'll say what happens if you ignore this, 'kay?"

Another nod.

"Number one, my land is my own. I'm not leaving anytime soon. Number two, don't attack, or attempt to kill me, because you see how that ends up," Alfred waved at the guy on the ground with his gun before continuing. "Number three, I am not going to join you, so don't even try that move. Number four, I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill my boss 'cause he's a family friend. And number five, do not come on my property, whether it's to talk to me about something, or set fire to the place. Sound good?"

Llyod's face screwed up as he asked, "What do we get in return?"

"I'm not joining you, or the Waywards, so for one, I'm not your enemy. I won't jump in to save victims, or discourage you in the least."

"What if I don't agree?"

"Then I'll become a problem," he said, pulling the second gun from his waist band. "And I've been known to be a pretty big problem, as you know."

"Okay, okay. I agree to your terms," Lloyd said quietly, offering his hand to shake. Alfred didn't take it and simply turned around to go back to his car.

When he was back in his car, he turned his music up loud so he couldn't hear the other man in the trunk screaming himself hoarse. He hated it when people screamed. Fifteen minutes later he pulled up to a small house on the other side of town. Two men with pistols came out instantly, aiming at him. Alfred simply walked to his trunk and pulled out the screaming man, dragging him across the lawn like he had the first man.

The two men saw that Alfred also had a gun, and that it was pointed straight at their blubbering friend's head, so they backed off and even opened the door for him. A surprisingly ecstatic man with pale blue hair and startlingly blue eyes was standing in the center of the room, bouncing from foot to foot. He practically shrieked when he saw Alfred and bounded up to him with a pleased grin on his face.

"Ohmigod you're actually here! I can't believe I finally get to meet you! I've heard so much about you! I-I'm Ian, by the way, a huge fan of yours, and I lead the Waywards." The fanboying young man stuck his hand out for a handshake, and Alfred shot the bloodied man he'd been holding by the hair in the chest, then dropped him as he bled out on the carpet.

An almost sexual noise came from Ian, and he looked like he was squirming to conceal a boner, "Um, I guess he deserved that."

"Damn right he did."

"Is there anything I can do to make this better?" Ian asked, looking slightly like a kicked puppy.

"Yes, actually. I'd appreciate it if you didn't send people to threaten, or kill me, or my boss. Don't come on my property either, I'm not selling it, or allying myself with you or the Reds, and I don't want either of you setting foot there."

Ian nodded furiously, then paused and asked, "Are you sure you don't want to join? You could be the leader!"

"I'm sure. I just want to be left alone."

"Okay! I'll start sending you money too."

"What? No, I don't need that," Alfred said, confused.

"But I want to. I want you to like me, since I love you."

The blond looked at him, slightly uncomfortable and slightly pleased.

A sudden thought came over the blue man as he exclaimed, "You aren't getting the Heroes back together, are you? Because then we'd be enemies!"

"No, I'm not. I'm just working and living."

Ian nodded again, "I'll do anything to make sure that you live peacefully. But...I've noticed some of your old members come see you every once in a while."

"Yeah, they're friends, so they check up on me now and then. We are definitely not reestablishing the Heroes, kid."

The shorter man beamed, "Good. Good. Good. It was nice to meet you."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm going home," Alfred said, turning away from the kid and walking back to his car. The Waywards watched him with reverence as he passed, letting him get in his car and drive away.

After that day, Alfred's life returned to peace. Every week he got a letter with a short love letter and a wad of cash enclosed inside, from Ian. Lloyd didn't keep in contact, except to call and briefly explain what they were doing with their time at varying times. He had no idea how Lloyd had gotten his phone number, but he didn't really care.