What happens when you listen to rent, love writing domestic Jason Todd, and listened to a classmate talk about being taken in by a kind old woman? This.

Please enjoy and tell me what you think :)

L.L.A.P

~Laces

Chpt.1

"My name is Jason." He whispered. "My name is Jason…" the man shook his head, blue eyes staring at his reflection on the window of a closed book store.

"Who am I?" he whispered, stepping backwards from the image of the man in front of him. The man looked so unfamiliar with tussled black curly hair, blue eyes, pale skin, hard muscles, and multiple bruises. On his back was a leather jacket that smelled like…

"Oil and… Gun powder?" he questioned. But how do I know that? he thought, frowning at the reflection. That man was him. That unrecognizable person staring back in the reflection was him.

"My name is Jason." He whispered again, comforted but alarmed that this was the only thing he could remember.

Staggering away from the window, Jason limped around the city that he had found himself in. His limp and bruises were disconcerting for him. How the hell did I get so banged up? He wondered but no memory surfaced to remind him.

After what felt to him like several hours of walking around, he had gathered that he was in a city called Metropolis, the date was September 24, and that someone called Superman was important. The name nagged him like something itching in the base of his skull, but no memory was pulled out.

Feeling exhausted, Jason meandered to a nearby bench in a park, and laid down.

Maybe when I wake up I'll have my memory back and then can go on from there. He thought with some hope, then quickly drifted to sleep.

"My name is Natalie." She whispered. "My name is Natalie." The girl stepped into the room. Her wild hair as tamed as possible, her makeup only accenting her eyes and lips, and her clothes presentable despite the fact that they still smelt like the thrift store.

She walked confidently into the room where two men and a woman were staring right at her with sheets of papers in front of them.

"Hello." She spoke slowly. "My name is Maria Colon, and I will be reading for the part of Natalie."

"My name is Luke Johnson." He whispered. "My name is Luke Johnson." The man stared down at the paper in his hands, reading his name that was written in bold faced times new roman. "They have to listen to me."

The man ran his dark hand on the pad of his laptop, clicking the send button on the screen.

"My name is Carla." She whispered. "My name is Carla." With that, the elderly woman hobbled into the laundry matt.

"Good morning Katrina." One woman smiled. The old lady paused for a moment, shriveled but firm hands clutching onto her load of wash. She then flashed the woman a smile.

"Good morning." She replied.

"My name is Charlotte." She whispered. "My name is Charlotte." She walked down the street, noticing the way people who knew her stared at her, but tried to keep her head held high.

With a tug, she felt herself pulled into an ally and pinned to a brick wall.

"So." The man smirked, pointing the knife in his hands to the girl's soft tan throat. "What's your name, huh?" he questioned with a cruel smile. His eyes bore down on hers, daring her to tell him something he wouldn't like to hear, something he knew wasn't the truth. She gulped hard.

"Charles." She whispered.