By Another Name (Editing)

A Rescue

This isn't an My Chemical Romance fanfic, but it is based on my idea of what battery city and zone 6 are like (don't worry if your not an My Chemical Romance fan, I explain everything and I've changed a few things anyway), and I've included a few (okay a lot) of My Chemical Romance references. Just so everyone knows.

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I fiddled with the radio boredly. We hadn’t had any customers in a few hours and there was nothing else to do but listen to the few channels interspersed thought the static. It didn’t really matter what channel you were on, they all played the same patriotic songs, spouted the same pro State propaganda and repeated identical warnings against rebels. I was only changing the channel because for a few minutes I had searching for another channel as a distraction.

"109 in the sky, but the pigs won't quit,"

It was a channel I’d never been on before, or even heard of. It was pretty weird too, what’s that even supposed to mean?

"You're here with me, Dr Death Defy" (A/N yes I did that is nicked from look alive sunshine, for any MCR fans out there)

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! I fumbled desperately for the switch, but it was too late, the damage was done. My boss, Miranda, looked up.

"What was that?"

"Nothing" I lied, trying not to look guilty, but I knew she knew.

"I think you better take the afternoon off. We've not had many customers, I can manage the shop on my own." She said nervously eyeing me.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow"

"I guess so..."

Crap. Stupid rebels. I'm gonna lose my job now, and it's all their fault.

I nodded politely to an Officers, who was walking in the other direction along the dusty road. The Officers are the peace keepers in the civilised world. They wear white outfits, with a white helmet, made so that you can't see any part of their face. It's a uniform I learnt to respect and fear from a very early age.

I walked home, trying not to get my shoes dusty. The water rations are getting smaller and smaller all the time, and since I'd just lost my job I'd need to sell some of mine to people with more money, so washing dirty shoe's isn't an option. But that's just how it works, if I can't afford to keep myself cause I'm not working, then that's my fault, it's not The States job to care for those who won't or can't work. People like that are useless, they deserve to die. I'll get a new job somehow, I’m certain.

By the time I got to my own block of flats my battered old shoes were covered in the yellow dust that coats the streets of Battery City.

I sighed then started the climb up 14 flights of stairs, in all their crumbling concretey glory. The lift was working, but it cost electricity rations to use, rations which I didn't have, no one in our building had enough of them in our building, the buttons were dusty as anything. I doubt any of us actually knew how to use them.

I pulled my key out of my jean pocket with one hand while habitually picking off some of the flaking green paint on the door, and unlocked the door to my one room flat and stepped inside.

It's quite a big flat compared to some I've seen, with room for my small stained mattress on the floor, a toilet, a sink, a radio and a microwave on a simple table, plus some extra space in between them. Some flats I've seen only have a tiny mattress and a microwave, with no space in between. Those ones usually share a few toilets and sinks with the rest of the floor. The

There isn't enough space in Battery city, but almost no-one wants to live in the Wastes. The desert is too dry, too uncivilised. Still there are a few towns out there, despite the rebels and bandits. The only reasons people went at all was to avoid overcrowding and because the government paid well to go out there. I'm talking, never work again money here.