Trent and Sam

A loud, obnoxious yawn and groan was the first thing that Sam woke up to every morning. It was definitely something that she didn't enjoy. Especially when it was coming from a man that she didn't even love. That seemed to just be twisting the knife. A soft sigh fell off her lips as Trent got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

They did have some sort of daily routine. Trent gets up and gets ready, then go leaves to get whatever food and/or alcohol that he wishes to have that day. Meanwhile, Sam is expected to clean up around the house and get ready herself. Trent always seems to get upset with her if she doesn't look her all-time best every single day of ever. That was something she always hated.

Trent walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later and whistled, causing Sam's head to lift from the comfort of her pillow. Trent's greasy, bald head made a swift motion towards the door. He was going for his daily runs. Sam nodded and gave him a small smile before getting out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. Time for her to start her day. If you can even call it that. Her days always seemed to blur together. Blurring together with the constant smell of alcohol.

Trent hopped in his old truck and headed to the local liquor store. To say everyone there knew him would be an understatement. An extreme understatement. Trent had never missed a day of going to this exact store. The owner loved it, he was his favorite customer. But everyone else thought it was sad. Many people believed he had something happen to him when he was a little kid and that is what forced him to be this way. People had many theories. No one was sure which one was actually true. Or if any of their theories were true.

Trent bought his usual Moonshine before heading out the door. That's when he was stopped. A hand on his shoulder caused Trent to turn around with a look on his face that showed fury. Who would stop him? He needed to get home and go get drunk. The headache from last night was starting to sink in. "Trent Wizor? Do you have a foster son named Dylan Sinclair?" Confused, Trent shrugged.

"I might. What's it to you?" He questioned. A smirk spread across Mike's face.

"I think you'll like what we have to say..."

Sam was dressed in a red dress that was torn towards the bottom due to the anger of her husband Trent. But, she didn't remember that. Trent and her reasons for drinking were completely different. Sam didn't know Trent's reason, but hers was so she didn't have to remember this awful way of living that she had unknowingly chosen for herself. Oh, how she wished she could take it all back.

The opening of the front door is what grabbed her attention. She turned her head and furrowed her eyebrows since Trent was usually never home this early. Her makeup was still being applied. "Sam! Get down here! This man knows something about that boy."

Instantly knowing about what boy he was talking about, she hurriedly tried to make her makeup more presentable before rushing down the stairs. There, she was met with a tall, skinny man with brown hair down to his shoulders. "Hello. My name is Mike Oldman and I would like to speak with you about your son, Dylan Sinclair?"

Although confused, Sam nodded her head and motioned for the three of them to sit down. Once they did. Mike cleared his throat. "You see, my team and I work for the government under a certain branch that is to remain a secret. My team was sent here to your town because we were informed of something that people have been seeing in the air. A person with wings, as some described. To the point, we have reason to believe that the mystery thing in the air, is your son, Dylan."

As if it was all he heard, Trent corrected him. "Foster son." He grumbled with a glare.

Mike's eyes widened in surprise as that was all he had to say. "Yes, my apologies, your foster son, Dylan Sinclair."

Sam had a look of bewilderment all over her face. Finally, she found her voice. "Excuse me? You come into our home and suddenly declare that the kid is some sort of superhero? No. You need to leave."

Mike stammered over his words, not expecting it to go this way. He had been informed that the two of them were drunks and they wouldn't argue with what he was saying. They were hoping the two drunks would just hand away his location.

Looking over to the husband for support, Trent seemed to jump up into action. "Oh yeah! She's right. Out." His voice had lowered into a threat, nodding his head towards the door. Mike sighed, nodding his head reluctantly. It wasn't his job to fight with them.

"Have a good day." Mike spoke with a sickly sweet tone. They would speak eventually.

Mike wandered back into the hideout where he was instantly swarmed. "Did you get any information on that boy?" The manager of the mission, Scott, asked. Not wanting to go into much detail about his failure, he only shook his head with a frown on his lips.

Sighs and groans were heard around him along with a couple of pats on the backs and some words of encouragement for next time. Not that he cared.

"Alright. Well, it seems we will have to send in a more... convincing group." Scott spoke with a slight chuckle. Mike knew that group all too well from a few altercations that he was involved in a little bit ago.

Turning his back on Mike, Scott went to his desk and picked up the phone, dialing a number that Mike could only imagine being the physical team. The words of him speaking into the phone about the address of Trent and Sam only confirmed it.

"Well boys," Scott spoke with a smile on his lips, showing off his yellow, crooked teeth. "We'll know the location of the boy soon enough."