Authors Note: Well this is my second fanfic ever, and i really hope you guys enjoy it! At this point im not sure where im gonna go with the story, but it should be sufficiently angst-y! Reviews would be much appreciated :)

Oh and I dont own BTR :(


The body of a teenage boy lay quietly in the middle of a small alleyway which branched off of Main Street, Los Angeles.

A twitch of his leg. Motionless again. A small flick of his wrist. Silence. The pale corpse was stirring cautiously and sporadically- as if it's puppeteer were waiting. Waiting for the chance to pull tightly on the strings and send his puppet violently through the air of the alley.

If anyone had been around to see this little show, and the night hadn't been his only audience, they might have noted that the doll didn't seem to actually want to move- he seemed to be battling for the pleasure of unconsciousness.

But, all too quickly, the pale boy groaned into the night, towards his nonexistent viewers. The piercing scream of pain seemed to slice through the puppet strings and suddenly the doll fell lifelessly back down to the ground again.

A small intermission and then the body began to stir again. Each motion, however, looked even more difficult in the absence of the puppeteer. Finally, however, the boy's eyes parted cautiously to take in his stage. But the boy had given his strength too much trust and the smallest movement of his neck had caused him to groan out yet again. Immediately, his hand shot up to the origin of this pain. And he felt a cool, slimy liquid separating his palm from the back of his neck. His hand retreated in response, and his dark eyes caught sight of the deep red which was suffocating the pale color of his hand.

His other hand immediatly went to grasp its now motionless counterpart, but thats when the boy noticed the crumbled sheet of paper which he had been clutching. He unfolded it mechanically leaving traces of blood smothering the trembling blue lines.


Don't Panic. Don't ask questions. Get up, hand this to the first person you see:

If you are receiving this note then the boy in front of you most likely has a minor case of retrograde amnesia resulting from a fracture to the left posterior frontal cortex. So he doesnt know who he is. Please take him to the hospital on the corner of 5th Street and Jefferson Avenue. Inform the nurse that he needs to be placed in a medically induced coma IMMEDIATLY so as to decrease any brain swelling and possible hemorrhaging he may be experiencing in the anterior cortical segments of his brain (most likely between areas R3 and R7). Also inform the nurse that this boy is 16 years of age, Blood Type: AB-, has no prior medical conditions, but is allergic to the following anesthetic: Ribosium Triphosphate. Ask the doctors to try a similar compund with a lower degree of variance like: Bicarbonal Oxide.


The pale boy's eyes made their way to the bottom of the page where a final sentence was scribbled down very messily: Thank you very much for your help in this situation and please try to keep – more unreadable scribbles- from sleeping.

The boys eyes wandered back to a specific sentence- doesnt know who he is.

The letter was right, the pale boy couldnt remember anything, much less his own name. He felt a rush of panic overcome him and a feeling of drowning was biting at him. He was finding it hard to breathe as he suddenly felt himself stand up completely. To his horror, his eyes met a pool of blood where he had just been laying.

Is that MY blood?

With that thought the boy's emotions won the battle over logic and fear caused him to run shakily out of the bloody alleyway. The tears that were biting at his eyes were a mixture of panic and pain, and they kept him from seeing where he was running. He simply ran. He ran until a blurred man in a grey suit came into his vision, but the image didnt register quickly enough because almost immediatly he felt himself collide into the man.

"Watch it Buddy!" The boy heard the man in the grey suit beside him yell, "Woh" the voice was somewhere above him now, "Hey buddy, I think your hurt, youre bleedin pretty ba-"

The darkness began to muffle the man's words and the boy could feel himself falling back into the hands of his puppeteer as he drifted off to sleep.


"Hey buddy," the man struggled towards the woman in a lab coat in front of him. She was facing the other direction, but he figured she was a better choice then the receptionist desk which was being drowned in a group of angry men, accusing women, and crying children clutching at their stomachs.

"Im NOT your buddy, im a respected doct-" Her voice was smooth and strong. He watched her as she spun effortlessly on her heels to yell at him. But the look of anger dissappeared from her face as she noted the pale body in the man's arms. "What happened?" She directed as she searched for a pulse on the lifeless corpse.

"He's alive," The man in the grey suit explained, "but he aint mine, I found him over by Main Street and he had this in his hand" The man handed the doctor a familiar stained sheet of paper. Within a minute the doctor turn towards one of the roaming nurses and told her to "prepare a room for a teenage 'John Doe' and ensure that the on staff anestesiologist has Bicarbonal Oxide on hand"

The man in the grey suit looked at her pleadingly. He hadnt understood a word she had said. And the boy in his arms, although somewhat small, was becoming heavy. The doctor sympathized with the man in the grey suit, he sure as hell hadnt asked for this. But the thought escaped her mind quickly when the female nurse returned with an available room number. She turned towards the man and ordered him into a room where he could set the boy down.

The man in the grey suit sat in the corner and watched as a parade of nurses and doctors, of machines and IVs, of pills and gas masks, shuffled around the still lifeless body. The boy looked even smaller drowned in a sea of hospital clothes and cords. Minutes and hours passed, and the boy still showed no signs of motion.

"Ok," the doctors voice awoke the man in the grey suit from his trance, "im going to have to ask you to leave your name and number with Linda, the receptionist. We might need it if this turns out to be a criminal case."

"No problem, i understand. Do you guys know who our little buddy is?"

The doctor immediatly acknowledged that this information shouldnt be shared with the stranger. But she sympathized with him; he had done so much to help this random kid off the street "We, ugh.. We.." She struggled with her words as her voice dropped to a whisper, "well i shouldnt be telling you this but we found his wallet. The kids name is Logan. Logan Mitchell"

"Is he gonna be ok?"

"Well that note you gave us was pretty much spot on, he has a lot of internal bleeding and bruising, he just needs rest right now so he can recover physically." She paused, and looked sympathetically at the boy. His pale complexion was offset by the wave of raven hair the peeked out from the bandage which they had dressed his head wounds in. "As for mentally," she continued quieter, "we wont know until after he wakes up"

The man in the grey suit allowed the information to register in his mind. The kid's name seemed familiar but he couldnt figure out where he had heard it before. He eventually wandered toward the boy's bedside and spoke gently, "Good luck, Logan Mitchell. Someone must be missing ya, Buddy"


Ok that wasnt really the intro i wanted, but it'll do, it was really more of a prologue anyway :) Oh and as for the medical stuff i included, none of that is real xD

So i really hope i sparked someone's interest, next chapter the boys will find Logan (who has amnesia) and the story might begin to actually have a plot. Anyways, reviews and criticism would help so so so much! This is my 2nd story and its much much different haha! THANKS!