I'm back guys! I'm gonna be 18 on the 23rd of this month, so I'll be an adult! Of course, I still have to go to school until June, but whatever. I can take my laptop to school so maybe I can type fanfiction while I'm in class or something, I dunno. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! ~CutelittleMouseygirl

It's been years. It's now 1980. I've been just scraping along. I guess you could say the whole thing with Oliver and Annie screwed me up. I guess you could say where I am right now is a bad I am is this: I'm laying in the bed in my messy one-room apartment, shirtless, hungover and probably late for work. I need to work to pay for the crappy messy apartment. The best thing, I happen to think is the girl I've got laying in my arms. I guess I brought her home last night.

She groans as I get up, looking over at the clock. I am in fact late for work. Shit. I scramble to find my work shirt and name tag, and when I finally do, the girl is looking me over.

"You were my hookup last night?" she asks me.

"Yeah, what of it?" I ask, giving her a flirty smirk.

"Huh. Sorta scrawny." she scoffs. "What did you have that the other guys didn't?"

"How about a piercing... y'know, on my dick?" I say, smirking wider. Yeah, I'm pierced. As of now I have my ears in like, three or four places each done, one in the center of my tongue, both my nipples, my eyebrow and "down there." I'm considering a nose, lip and belly button thing. It really makes girls think I'm a total badass, which I am. Also the dick one is actually a row of 'em going up it. I always get asked if it hurt, and yeah, it did. But that's alright, 'cuz it can make girls scream in pleasure all night long.

I guess I could rob a bank or something for money, but girls don't like it when a guy is too much of a bad boy. I mean, casual shoplifting and vandalism are one thing, but actually robbing places? Pff, I don't wanna end up arrested while I don't have anyone to bail me out. The girl just sighs and gathers up her shirt and skirt and leaves, and I get a good look at her ass, and damn, drunk-me can pick up hot chicks.

I know, I know. I'm underage. I stopped getting older at about 19, but that's why there's a such thing as fake IDs. Anyway, for about ten years I've lived in an apartment in Seattle and worked odd jobs. Today, I fill in for a guy who can't make it to the Starbucks shop down in the market. So I put on the green shirt and brown slacks I'm expected to wear, and since it looks "unprofessional" I take out all the metal in my ears. I don't know exactly why they think a tongue piercing and eyebrow one are alright, but whatever.

Then, heading into the place, looking really confused is this cutie. He's got this dirty-blond hair that has a part sticking up, sort of like mine. He must've been out on a run because he's wearing a neon green tank top, bright blue shorts and a lighter blue headband. Or he's just one of those stupid kids who dresses like that. I smirk in my flirty way at him and say,

"What'll you take?"

"Uh, a large-"

"Grande," I correct him. He looks a little annoyed at me, but continues,

"Fine, grande chocolate frappuccino, and uh, extra whipped cream, please." He finishes. I nod.

"And what's your name, so I can put it on your cup, and know who I'm askin' out?" I say, still smirking. I flirt with guys and girls alike. It's sort of a problem I guess. The cutie blushes and stammers,

"Ah-Alfred. That's my name, Alfred. Er," he's getting more and more flustered by the moment, "but uh, most humans- I mean people call me Alfie."

Hmm. So he's a nation. I wonder which one. I put his order up on the order board and casually ask him, "So, where you from, Alfie?" since at this moment in time there isn't that many other people in here, and nobody in line behind him. It's eleven AM on a Monday- everyone's at work or school.

"New York's where I live, but I grew up in Boston."

"Huh, me too. What year'd you leave?" I ask. Usually, I've found, nations, once they're comfortable, especially younger ones, will answer something like 1800 or 1743 as a year like that, which no human could ever say.

"1778- I mean uh... 1877 uh..." he sighs. "I'm sorry... I guess I'm just being weird, huh?" he puts his hand out to me. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, America personified, and I'm here to collect you, Alphonse."

I shake his hand and blink, right as his drink appears in front of me. "Uh, wait... You're America?"

"Yeah. I always have been!"

"Same here..." I remark, and hand him his drink. Looking at the clock, I see my shift is almost over. I smirk, pop open the cash register, stuff a couple stacks of cash in my pocket without being noticed, shut it, hop over the counter and grin at Alfred. "Well, I guess I'm going with you, then."

Alfred had stared, wide-eyed as I took the money, and I just laughed and put my hand around his shoulders as we left the store. The way I see it, there's not really a point to not taking money from big companies. Plus they honestly just make it so easy I can't resist. Alright maybe I have a problem. Whatever. People dig a troubled-ass bad boy anyway.

We're in a government car now, heading to the airport, where Alfred says there's a jet waiting to take us to New York where the UN Headquarters is. He says there's become in recent times a problem- two personifications for the same nation. I shrug and start counting the money I stole from the register. It comes out to about two hundred dollars. Nice. I can get a pretty decent prostitute for a whole night for that much. That's if I can't pick someone up at a club or bar. I get lonely if I sleep alone. It's tragic. At least that's what I tell the girls.

Eventually we get to the airport, and Alfred holds up this ID and we're lead to this private hangar where there's a little jet.

"Nice. We got a pilot?" I ask, looking the little aircraft over. Alfred grins at me.

"You're lookin' at him!"

I blink. I just met Alfred. Why would I trust him to fly me across the country? Seriously. Its, uh... a five-hour flight. This kid got himself distracted and went for a McFlurry on the way to the airport. I back up.

"No way am I lettin' you fly us that far. No offense, but I don't trust you!"

"Alphonse, I'm one of the best pilots in the air force! I think we'll be fine." he answers. I sigh.

"Call me Al." I say, and climb into the plane. I guess if I do die it's not like I'll be missed.