“I'm the generator,
Firing whenever you quit...
Can you hear my motored heart?
You're the one who started it..." -Generator, Foo Fighters

---

"He didn't seem very..." Mikey starts. "Good."

"Yeah," I agree. "But it's jail. You're really not supposed to thrive in jail."

Mikey nods, leaning against the doorway of my front door. "I should probably be going," Mikey says finally and hugs me tightly. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Mikey Way," I say and he laughs. I detach myself from him and enter my house, letting the heat blast into my face.

I quickly change out of my warm winter clothes and back into my plain black t-shirt and Gerard's Star Wars pajamas.
Without anything else to do, I turn on the radio and lay down, trying not to think about Gerard. The news is on, and it helps me zone out.

Suddenly, the phone starts to ring loudly, drowning out the news. I grope around on my bedside table for a second before my fingers come in contact with the gray landline. "Hello?" I ask, turning down the radio.

"I have an idea," Mikey tells me with no introduction.

"Aren't you at dinner with Kristin's parents or something?" I ask. "It's at five, right?"

"Yes, but they're not here yet and I'm hiding in the restroom," he says quickly. "Anyway, here's my idea: we need to get Gerard out of prison."

"That's a great idea," I say as sarcastically as possible. "But here's the issue: we can't get him out. Unless we break him out."

Mikey's silent and I can practically hear the grin slipping onto his face. "What you thinking 'bout, kiddo?" I ask, afraid of the answer.

"We can break him out," Mikey says in a whisper. "Yeah, let's-let's break Gerard out of prison."

"That is ridiculous, Michael," I say, rolling my eyes. "First of all, how would we? And also, that is completely ridiculous."

"I'll come up with a plan later," Mikey says. "This is... This is amazing. I'll call you back later tonight."

"Mikey, no, this is the worst idea ever," I warn him. "This won't end the way you want it to, trust me."

"Bye, Ash," Mikey says and hangs up. I stare at the phone, as if I can see him through it, and grip it so hard, I'm afraid I'll break it. Who does he think he is, saying that he's gonna break Gerard out of prison? Mikey wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone break the law.

"Breaking news," a woman's voice says, interrupting the news show. "A rebel has been spotted in Battery City, near the Neon District. This rebel, known under the moniker 'Dr. Death Defying', is armed and highly dangerous. Citizens are warned not to help or offer sanctuary to this criminal, lest the citizen be sentenced to a minimum of 20 years in a federal penitentiary. Thank you, and have a pleasant evening."

And just like that, a spark is lit in my head. The Neon District— that's where I live. I peek out of my window and watch as everyone on my street turns off their porch lights to ward off Dr. Death Defying. I, however, keep mine on. I want him to come around for a visit. I settle down on my windowsill and continue to watch the darkened street for any sign of the rebel.

Eventually, I see a figure fleeing down the street, illuminated every so often by the streetlights. I quickly fly down the stairs and unlock my front door, running out to meet him in the middle of the street. I don't bother putting on shoes or a jacket— I need him as quickly as I can. "Dr. Death Defying!" I call, stopping and trying to get his attention.

He stops running a few yards in front of me, and studies me, from my messy hair to my smudged makeup, from my Star Wars fuzzy pants to my lack of shoes or a coat to shield me from the December cold. "I'm not going to hurt you or turn you in, I promise," I say, putting my hands up in a don't-shoot gesture. "I want to help you. But I need your help."

The man moves forward a bit and into the light of one of the streetlamps. He has shoulder length, curly black hair held back by a black bandana, and his dark brown eyes sweep me before scouring behind me. He seems about my height, and he's a bit heavier set, unlike me. "Why do you want to help me, Ritalin Rat?" He asks finally. I assume the quote-unquote 'nickname' is supposed to a pop at me, but it only makes me smile for a second. His voice is a bit deeper than I expected it to be. "Gonna turn me in to B.L.I?"

"I swear, I'm not going to do anything like that," I tell him. "Just... Come into my house and I'll explain."

Dr. Death studies me for a second more before getting up right in front of me. I stand frozen with fear while he inspects me from a closer distance, his thick eyebrows knitting together. "I have to be the craziest motherfucker on the face of this God-forsaken planet," he mutter finally. "Take me to your house and explain."

I lead him into my house, turning off my porch light and locking both doors. Dr. Death stands hesitantly in my living room, inspecting every inch of it. "Alright," he says. "Explain."

"Okay, here's the short of it," I start, sitting down on my couch. "My best friend, who's a rebel as well, is in jail and his brother and I are conspiring to break him out. But we need help."

"Dude's a rebel?" Dr. Death asks after a second.

I nod. "So am I. We never got the chance to escape out to the Zones."

"How much of a plan do you have so far?" He asks. I hold up a finger, telling him to wait, and grab the landline.

"I'm calling his brother, who is not a rebel, but hates B.L.I with a passion," I tell him and dial Mikey.

After a few rings, Mikey answers. "Hey, what's up?" He asks. "Make this quick, I'm hiding out in the restroom again."

"Okay, so I met a rebel," I tell him. "And I think he can help us with our plan."

"And his name is?" Mikey asks.

"I'm Dr. Death Defying," the rebel supplies.

"Okay, I'll see if I can get out of this early," Mikey says. "I'll be there in maybe 30 minutes." He hangs up and Dr. Death nods.

"Before I go on, I think I need to know my accomplice's name," Dr. Death says.

"I'm Ashley," I tell him. "That was Mikey, Gerard's brother."

"Gerard..." Dr. Death repeats. "German. 'Brave' or 'hero'. That's unique. Sort of familiar, though."

"That's really strange," I comment. "How did you know that?"

"It's one of my things," Dr. Death says. "Ashley— English. 'Meadow'. Mikey— Hebrew. 'Godlike'."

"That's... Awesome," I say, smiling. "I don't have many talents."

"Yeah, it's not really anybody's scene, remembering the origin and meaning of names," he says. His eyes sweep the room once more and they stick on my bookshelf. "Who's that? Your boyfriend or something?" He asks, gesturing to a picture on the shelf.

I look at the picture and see that it's one that was taken when Gerard won a city-wide photography contest. It was the same day of the Spring Solsitce and Bat City goes all out, for some reason, including fireworks in the night sky, one of which is illuminating the sharp landscapes of Gerard's face and he has a small etched on his face. It's my favorite picture of my best friends and it makes me happy to see it every day.

"He's... It's complicated," I say. "We slept together the night he got arrested and he called me his girlfriend, but I think that it was just so B.L.I didn't try to prosecute me for being some stranger. That's Gerard. He's been my best friend for upwards of 20 years."

"And how old are you two?" Dr. Death asks, leaning forward. He suddenly seems very interested.

"I'm 22, and Gerard's 23," I say.

"This seems off-topic, but what's this Gerard dude's last name?"

"Way," I say, confused.

"Gerard Way," Dr. Death says, turning the phrase over in his head. "Yeah, I'll help you guys."

"Wait, what?" I ask. It's that easy? "Why?"

"You're kidding, right?" He asks. "Your boyfriend— don't try to deny it, Ashley, he's your boyfriend— is practically famous in the Zones. His zine is read by everyone out there. So, wait, you're Halsey?"

"Halsey?" I ask. "What the hell?"

"Gerard always talks about you and his brother," Dr. Death says. "But he used fake names for everyone. He was Party Poison; you're Halsey; and Mikey's the Kobra Kid. He included little pictures and drawings and shit in there, too."

"He did?" I ask. "I had no idea."

Dr. Death pulls his bag around to his front and opens it, riffling through it. Finally, he pulls out a small magazine with only about 5 pages in it. "Here," he says, handing it to me.
I take it and look at the design on the cover. It's a picture of Zone 1, with a large, black slider drawn in the middle with permanent marker. There's no title, only a signature on the bottom. 'xoG' it says and I take in a strangled breath.

Gingerly, I open it and see a picture of me. I look asleep, with my hair thrown over half of my face and a blanket over my shoulders. I seem to be on the carpet of the very room I'm in right now, and the picture's taken as if the camera is lying right next to me. There's a small poem next to the picture and my eyes widen when I read it.

I see you lying next to me,
With words I thought I'd never speak,
Awake and unafraid,
Asleep or dead?

I remember the night he took that picture. It was about three months ago, and he had told me earlier that night that he wanted to leave Battery City for the Zones. The words he thought he'd never speak.

I look at the next page and see a drawing of Mikey— except it's not the Mikey I know. This Mikey has short, blond hair and no glasses, with a silver ring hanging in his nose. The baby brother is doing good, the writing next to the drawing says. How's everyone else doing?

I turn the page and see Gerard's handwriting, filling up the whole page. It's overlapping and barely eligible, except for the bright red writing over the black text.

They are not like tremors, they are worse than tremors,
They are these terrors. And it's like, it feels like as if somebody
Was gripping my throat and squeezing and
Sometimes I see flames. And sometimes
I see people that I love dying and... it's always...
And I can't... I can't ever wake up.

The next page has a picture of Gerard, with him reaching his hands for the ceiling and staring wide-eyed at the camera. If I recall correctly, I took that picture. Good morning from Bat City. Photo taken by Halsey, the caption says, confirming my thoughts.

"You're pretty popular," Dr. Death tells me. "If I'm helping break Party Poison out of prison, by God, I'll do as much as I can."

"Thank you so much," I say, smiling and trying to give him the zine back.

"Keep it," he says, pushing it back towards me. "I can find a new copy. You probably need it more than I do."

Notes

I usually don't update on Sundays but my friends are either (A) at ballet class or (B) being salty in a group message, so I thought why not?
And that concludes this update's segment of Odd Parts Of Oli's Life.
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stay lovely xo