Identity [Gerard Way] *Completed*

Chapter One

I'm running once again. I'm running away from the Identity Takers. They want to take me to prison, and force me to be like them. They want to make me into another one of their... clones. And I am doing what I always do. I run away. I refuse. I will never, ever give in. I will never agree with them, let them brainwash me like the rest of the world. There is no way. I'm going to keep going, as if something, one day, one day, is going to happen.

I take off down the streets I always escape to, finding the rusted sewer door and heaving it open before any of them catch and see me. The door wide open, I jump open, I jump down, the musty air of the sewer attacking me. Familiar, though. I quickly close the hatch, and sit down, exhausted to the fullest. Another narrow escape.

I'm 18.

I've been running for a while now. Running away from those I call the "Identity Takers", I know it's a ridiculous name, but I was 8 when I thought of it. It had been a long eleven years, getting used to this new country, adapting. On that terrible day when I discovered how the world was changing, how little I knew. I didn't know that I'd be forced to be similar like everyone else. At least, that's what they expected of me. But I decided against them. I don't know why. It was the first thing that came to my mind. Maybe it was anger. The frustration. The betrayal. The loneliness...

I don't know.

I only know that I was the only one- or at least felt like the only one- to go against the new government's plans. Their plans to make everyone look identical. To apparently eliminate conflict issues, and bullying. Their thinking seeming so brilliant to them, and to all others they brainwashed. They made everyone think that their way is best- like most governments- and told them everything was under control. Told the people of the country that they were in good hands, that their plans were going to make life better. Said that it would reduce the number of outcasts. Make sure they're locked away or executed- that's right, executed- so that the normal people are safe from the dangerous ones. These aren't my even my words. These are all things that the government has said before on T.V. and in newspapers.

I've been on the news a number of times.

I being the only one deciding that I want to stand up for myself in the city, the police take notice to me, and they're always attempting to track me down and lock me up. They underestimate me. They think that I'm just a stupid girl. They're wrong. I'm not exactly smart, but not... stupid, I suppose. Anyway, the police are wrong. They're always wrong. I sprint and duck behind buildings, and I always end up finding the sewer unnoticed. They're constantly, incessantly broadcasting me on T.V., for everyone to know who I am. The outlaw- the criminal. The one who absolutely refuses to do what they say. To obey their stupid rules.

You're not allowed to express yourself.

You're supposed to be like everyone in order to get somewhere in life.

You're not allowed to dye your hair.

You're not allowed to wear dark or out-casting clothing. Apparently it's a "violent" colour. I don't know, I-I can hardly talk about this without wanting to shout, "Why?". I don't even know the real reason for this law , so all I can ever ask is why and how and when and repeat.

When I was 12, I was found living on the streets and was put in an orphanage. God, I hated that place. It always smelled like mildew and mold and you couldn't even sleep at night, no. You couldn't even sleep because your pillow wasn't even a pillow. It wasn't . Just a pillow case stuffed with newspaper, plus the fact that the walls were always creaking , and the mice would be skittering through the walls, and you couldn't even hear yourself breathe and you couldn't hear the hateful thoughts coursing in your head, like an angry stream.

Like, for example, thoughts of escape.

Listen. Story telling isn't really my thing, and I'm sure you're getting bored by now. Even I am. But, here, let me get to the point. These long days of doing pointless chores and long nights of mice and nothing were starting to get to my brain. It was getting to the point where I didn't even know what good food was. Or the feeling of privacy. Or the feeling of belonging. Of being somewhere where you mattered. All that stuff just gone, leaving this sort of... blank left behind. Yeah. That's what it was. A blank that was starting to make me feel claustrophobic in my own head.

And it was only on the seventh month of this cramped, boring, depressing blankness that I did something.

Escape. Escape was on my mind. In fact, that was the only thing that had been on my mind. And, you know what? You know what I did?

I escaped.

During the night, while all the other brainwashed children slept, dreaming bland, stale dreams, I simply slipped out the window. Yeah. That's it. That's really all it took. All it took was a careful slide down the slanted and falling- apart roof. Then I just plainly landed soundly on the ground and made an all-out break for it. Man, if only you'd seen how fast I was running then. It was faster than I've ever ran in my life. You would've thought that the whole freaking world was chasing me those darkened streets.

My name is Lynx. I can't recall my last name, so if someone ever asked me, it would be "Just Lynx". And with a shrug. I've dyed my hair black, specifically just for those stuck-up rule makers. Just for them. I wear black clothes, obviously. I took 'em from a store and dyed the fabric black. It doesn't look all that neat, mind you. But, hey. It works, I guess.

Oh yeah, and I also found this crazy leather jacket with long zippered pockets. It's really cool. Makes me feel more powerful than I am. I don't even think I deserve a jacket like it, because I certainly don't do it justice, but I'm lucky to have come across it, because the police would've probably found it and thrown it away. I'm happy I found it before them. In a way, I saved it.

So now, here I am, 18 years old, striving strong like always. Well. Maybe not that strong. I'm living in the sewer, a couple blankets accompanying a pillow for my bed, a lantern my only source of light. I've always been alone, all my life, and I've never really expected anyone to care about me. Who would? I mean, my parents abandoned me. So they obviously didn't care. There's no one in this world of clones. There's no one who respects me and accepts who I am. I'm alone, and, for me, that isn't really a problem. I don't want people's company if it's just going to bring me down. Nobody like me, and that's that. I'm not going to complain, because... I like it.

It's only on this particular, chilly night that something happens... something a little different from what I'm used to.

Everything seems normal. I'm doing my regular run into the city, looking for food, stuff that I can steal. It's a little around ten at night. I know the local convenience store closes at this time, so I'm sorta in a rush, you know? And I know of a back door to the store, a way that nobody would ever think someone could slip through. I have this small old piece of wood wedged underneath the back door of the store, so when the owner closes it, it doesn't fully lock. Not the most genius thing ever. At least it works.

The owner is another dull-minded fellow, who wouldn't realize his store was being robbed if it jumped out in front of him and said, "Hey! You've been robbed."

As simple as that.