Madison’s father always assumed she would excel. He did, of course, name her after the avenue. But, like most sons and daughters, she never took to life in the manner that was assumed. She’s proud of the unique definition given to herself. One that she’s developed without paying any attention to her father’s prodding. Though she’s starting to wish she had.

The burlap sack chaffed her face as it was torn off her head. She was getting used to it. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to their first action in days. Light seemed subversive, sneaking in through gaps between the lumber which made up the shed. Her hands and legs were bound to a chair. It was bolted to the floor. She could feel metal as her arms pressed against it, left bare past the edge of her t-shirt.

A figure stepped out from behind her.

“Johanna,” Smiling, Madison tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

“You seem to excel at not being found.”

“Not exclusively.”

"Don't underestimate me, sister," Johanna took out her gun.

“Likewise.”