"Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes...the ones who see things differently---they're not fond of rules.  You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them, because they change things."

 -Steve Jobs

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"I'm trying to take a dump here!"

The impatient stranger pounded their fist on the door.  Sweat broke down my brow, the late summer heat crowding the enclosed space.

Bang! Bang!

"Can't someone shit in peace?!" I shouted.  My nose scrunched as I inhaled the horrifying stench, my nostrils gasping for fresh air.

Bang! Bang!

After two minutes of non-stop knocking, I had lost my concentration on doing my business, and was focused on this persistent person who dared to disturb my call for Mother Nature. 

Bang! Bang! The pounding fuelled my anger and I gritted my teeth. Bang! Bang! Relentless, I sent my foot straight into the door with a loud smack! "Shut up!"

Immediately, a beautiful miracle filled my ears: Silence.

I spat out a strand of dirty blonde hair that flew between my chapped lips. "Finally," I muttered under my breath.

It was bad enough my last resort was the port-a-potty since my best friend and I decided to do a 'Who Could Chug Down the Most Coke' contest during dinner time-at a park without bathrooms. Stupid things people did when they were bored...

Suddenly, the port-a-potty shifted.  I nearly fell in the toilet.

My hands grasped the edge of the plastic seat, my anus dangling stark naked above the mountain of human crap.  There was more than a—respectively using the new measurement term I like to call—shit-ton of human crap less than a foot away. 

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" I banged my fist on the thin walls.

My voice was now soaked in utter panic.  "Isaac!" I called with a crack.  "Issac, this isn't funny!"  The port-a-potty did a violent shake. I felt a pang of icy fear smack my abdomen.  "Isaac, are you even there?" He failed a response, answering my question. This wasn't my geeky, short, narrow-headed friend. This was a real stranger.

Then the inevitable thought seeped toward my mind, clicking into place. What if the angered stranger was going to tip the port-a-potty?

I was about to fly to my feet and make a beeline for the door, but the portable bathroom jerked again.

With one hand, I reached for the door knob while sitting and rattled the knob. It was stuck.

My heart pumped faster. There was a high chance I could fall into the revolting toilet if I wasn't holding onto the edges. Yet the numbers were far from my concern. I used two hands to grasp onto the knob again. Rattle.  Shake.  Rattle.

Not a single budge.

The walls violently jolted, and a scream escaped my lips as I grabbed the toilet edge again. Beads of sweat rolled off my neck.  "Please don't tip me!" I pleaded. It shook more. "I'm too young to die of embarrassment!" The ground vibrated. "Take pity on a little sixteen year old!"

The walls tipped.

"I just wanted to take a shit!"

And then it stopped. My entire body froze, millions of nerves on the verge of breaking down. The silence stretched further. One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. My eyes fluttered closed. "Thank goodness." I sighed in relief.

Bam!

The port-a-potty thrust in different direction except this time, it was different. The room itself wasn't moving yet I felt the ground rumble quicker. "What the-"Vrrooommm!

I banged on the walls, and kicked and screamed, but the engine and screeching tires were louder.

A hot flash of fear pooled into my stomach. The only thing that could be as loud as that would have to be a truck. An enormous moving truck. Carrying a lot of weight. Including me.

My face paled. My blood turned cold and I made a leap for the door. "Help! Help! Isaac where are you?!" I pounded and attempted to unlock the door.

I felt the truck speed forward and I wobbled backwards. Unable to catch myself with my pants by my ankles, I fell, plopping back on the toilet.

Luckily-not in it.

"SOS!" I cried. "Fire! Morse code! Drowning! Help!" My fist punched the wall. "How the hell do you cry for help?!"

Jeans zipped and butt off the toilet, I stood by the door and kept pumping sanitizer on my hands; just so I could stop biting my nails.

It didn't help for the fact the person on the other side of the port-a-potty could have a gun. Or worse.

I'd run out of sanitizer.

I groaned at the frightening thought. Grimacing, I drew a long sigh. "This day can't get any-"

The truck jerked to a stop. My face fell forward and squished onto the door. Before another groan trickled down my mouth, the port-a-potty suddenly leaned. My breath caught. It was tipping.

"No-no-no-no," I stammered. The gravity escaped under my feet. This couldn't be happening. I shut my eyes and heard my screams.

The door swung open and my body was caught.

Adjusting my vision, I found one tanned arm wrapped around me. The other held the port-a-potty. Fixing it upright, my hazy eyes drifted back to the stranger.

Midnight pupils, nearly black flickered an edge of mystery. Wild raven hair untamed, his nose was slightly crooked, but a thick scar down his lip was the captivating sight of this attractive combination.

Smelling like clean aftershave, my heart fluttered thousands of beats per second, my body leaning in closer. He leaned in, his gaze gliding towards my mouth...

Then he dropped me.

When I say dropped, I mean threw me hard.

I skid across the floor with an audible thud. My head cracked. A low moan slipped below my breath. The impact was shattering as my ears rang a deafening buzz.

The faint sound of a man's voice was barely clear. I squeezed my eyes shut.

"You smell like shit."

A bit down a snarky remark and remained sprawled on the floor.

"Pathetic," he grumbled.

Did I ask for your opinion, retard? Saying that would be a death sentence. I wasn't those people who talked back to their kidnapper. I mean, come on, where was the logic in that?

"Rise." I swallowed hard and rose. Alarmed by the sound of his voice and the truck engine roaring, I was surprised it was just only us two. "God dammit. How long does it take for you to fucking stand, you idiot?!"

But who said I always thought logic?

Infuriated, my head snapped up to see the dark stranger casting an annoyed look. Now closer, I noted he was only a few years older than I. But I wasn't so sure, the childish glint in his eyes deceiving.

"Excuse me?" I retorted. "I may rise as slow as I want," I spoke, raw anger still fresh from my earlier frustration.

He arched a brow and weighed my appearance. A smirk toyed at the tips of his lips. "You're just a kid. A girl," he said more to himself. He shook his head. "What a waste of time you are."

I took a physical inch back, completely stunned yet equally bothered. "That's no way to treat a woman!" I said in exasperation.

All in one sudden swerve; the truck skidded across the road and caught me off guard. The deafening sound of rubber tires burned against the pavement.

My body was instantly thrown by the abrupt turn, and banged roughly against the wall. A sharp cry left my lips and I slid back to the ground. Smoke swarmed the air like an infectious virus.

What the hell was going on?

I flinched as a gunshot rang. My cradled position on the ground was the only sanity I had, and my wits were too shaken to sit up.

An explosion went off. I winced. The sudden chaos confused me, and I was afraid I'd go mad from it all.

Slowly, my eyes searched through the fading smoke to see bodies in fast motion. I blinked back, and squinted. The moving truck door was now open. Masked figures swarmed in. People were everywhere.

The childlike boy I had just met earlier was no where compared to the man I was seeing now. Oh, but to my surprise it was the same crazy boy.

He kicked and struck at temples, his speed heightening within every swing. It was like he knew where to hit and when, his timing precise and effective. Other men were battling along his side yet I couldn't stop looking at him.

Frightened and intrigued, I no longer had the desire to make fun of this boy or man, whoever he may be-no matter how bad of a flirter he was.

Clipping another man's forehead, the crazy boy I met before clicked eyes with mine. My conscious said to look away once more, but I found myself straining to do so.

His mouth stirred into the hint of a smirk, and that was enough to release me from my spell. Cocky was what men like him were made out of. Cocky and arrogance. Nothing else, nothing more. Then a shift in his eyes occurred.

A sharp pain swelled from my head. I yelped as someone yanked my ponytail, cracking my head back in surprise.

The crazy boy made a run for me, but a group of invaders threatened a gun to his chest. Whoever was fighting alongside him was outnumbered. I realized beneath my pain, the masked invaders wearing black were now holding the right hand, all with guns pointing at crazy boy's crew.

The hand yanked me by my hair, painfully forcing my feet to stand. I refused to give my attacker any satisfaction and gulped a cry.

"Oh, Jessie," the man spoke pleasantly.

He twisted my neck around so I could gaze straight into his callous, blue eyes. The pain from my scalp increased, and my confusion extended even further.

Overwhelmed by his young attractive age, I wasn't a fool to think he wasn't dangerous. I had never seen this man before yet knowing he knew my name was terrifying.

"How could you be so sure something is a lie?" he asked. He cupped my cheek with the other hand. His golden rings brushed against my shaking skin. The touch was so acute, so eerie, I was on the verge of begging for him to stop, but I kept my mouth shut.

The man yanked my hair harder, compelling me to face him. "How can you be so sure something doesn't exist?" he hissed, above my ear.

This couldn't be happening. Gangs weren't real. Canada was a safe place. My parents kept me safe. They promised. It was all they cared about.

My stomach tightened. Then how come I didn't feel safe?

"Seeing is believing," he whispered. "And sweetheart"-he lifted my chin-"you're looking right into the Eagle's Eye."

My mind raced.

Romane. It had to be Romane. Blue, callous eyes, icy hands filled with gold rings, those eyes.

Eagle eyes.

I was in the hands of Romane; the most dangerous man and gang leader in North America. The man who everyone feared. The man from my bedtime stories. The man who could kill a man with a popsicle stick. Hell, he could probably kill someone with a cotton ball.

He was real.

He was holding me, a sharp knife glinting on the hook of his pants. Tracing my jaw line, he deeply whispered