Before Gamzee was Gamzee, he was Luke.

Luke was a Capricorn, and the day he turned 13 was the day his mother, father, and sister were ripped apart from him.

It was a cold winter day, and his family was driving home from a big get-together, where he had had fun with close friends and more distant family. They were going to celebrate the rest of the night with Luke's favorite birthday "ritual": Faygo and green Jello. He loved Faygo, and would always pretend green Jello was like slime. Some could say he was a strange child.

But as they were driving, an intoxicated driver slammed into their car, sending it spinning towards an 18-wheeler. Luke screamed and ducked. Somehow he managed to survive the impact. Time seemed to freeze, and moments passed before the police arrived. A policewoman helped him out, and his mother's, father's, and sister's bodies were taken on gurneys into the back of an ambulance. He wasn't hurt too badly, so he rode beside their dead-no, unconscious, Luke hoped-bodies.

A couple days later, a very depressed and guilty Luke was taken to an orphanage. He felt horrible that he had survived and they had not. The worst part was that his mother had been carrying another child, a boy. He would have been born in a few weeks if it hadn't been for that drunk driver.

He sat there, thinking til around noon, still in his pajamas (which consisted of a black shirt with his sign, and dark gray pants with lighter polka dots), mentally murdering the man who had caused this to be a reality. One day he vowed to find him and really kill him like he killed them. So that day, he asked if he could go outside for some fresh air. He was a trustworthy boy, responsible, kind, and quiet. But could you blame him? His life, he felt, was purposeless now. He never thought of suicide, though, just homicide. Sometimes not just the drunk driver. Sometimes he wanted to kill several others.

And today, he would leave. Not because a family wanted to adopt him; no, he was just anxious to get out. Running far from the cold, hollow building (as no one had mistrusted him enough to watch him), he hid in an alley. A cat poked out from behind a trash can, and a homeless person slept. He hid as best he could until the sun began to set. Then he searched the homeless person's pockets (who he now presumed to be unconscious, in a coma, or dead) and found a gun. It had no bullets left, but it was a surprising find.

Luke began to walk along, holding the gun by his side and glaring at passersby. It was an intimidation factor he had seen in movies. They all looked away, or rushed past. Finally he got tired, and felt angry. The anger he felt was unlike him, crazy unlike him. He swung open the door to a ghetto-looking tattoo parlor, the owner of which seemed to be finishing off his last tattoo for the day. "Uh, sorry, but we're closing soon..."

Seeing the gun, he backed away. "Whoa, whoa, no need for weapons..."

Luke dashed forward and swung the unloaded gun at the side of his head. He fell to the ground, slumped down, out cold. The customer ran for the door, wide-eyed. Luke let him. He was more focused on the tattoo needles. He grabbed a random one, which so happened to be gray, and began to tattoo his skin, all over. His favorite colors were gray and purple, but purple skin didn't strike him as too awfully spooky. He wanted people to flee in terror at the sight of an insane creep with ashen skin, instead of stupid, plain old peachy.

And yes, he felt insane, and like a creep. Society wouldn't want him. He was an uncontrollable freak now. He howled in pain and pleasure at the feel of the needles. After he was finally done, he stormed out, a new idea popping into his head. What could strike more fear in the heart than a clown? It made him fondly remember his favorite band, the Insane Clown Posse. He marched into a nearby Halloween/goth apparel shop, which he had to break into because of course these shops would be closed by now.

A good stash of white makeup (for vampires and ghouls, zombies and ghosts) was collected by the mentally broken Luke, along with a cool pair of horns, which he decided to paint with two of Halloween's favorite colors: yellow and orange. He found a bottle of "Ultra Strength Gorilla Glue!" and stuck himself into a dressing room to get everything done.

First, the makeup. He applied it all over except for too close to the eyes and mouth. The shop also sold a rather cheap makeup "stay-on spray" for "hard partiers" who might sweat often. His luck was just too much to believe. He grinned wickedly, then realized he ought to sharpen those for super terrifying effect. Fake-ass vampire fangs wouldn't do. But how to go about that...

Shaking his head, he painted the horns, setting them bottom down to dry. Once they had done so, he studied himself in the mirror, moving aside lots of hair, which he had let grow out a bit. Squirting a good amount of glue on the horns and his scalp, he stuck them on and waited. He was sure they would stay. For a nice long while, anyway.

Some props were in order now. And his teeth! He still needed to work on his teeth. He found a nail file, most likely left behind by some preppy, gum-chewing, bored with her job female cashier. Frustrated, he decided while it might take a while, it would work well enough. So he sharpened all his teeth, especially the canines. Afterwards, he traipsed towards the clown apparel, taking two clubs (which were harder than your everyday plastic, coming as quite a shock, but not really) and a horn. "Honk," he whispered, giggling maniacally. "Honk, honk!"

It was really dark out now, so he decided to just sleep there. He didn't care if he was caught, he'd just slaughter the first person who tried any funny business. He wouldn't put up with any...clowning around.

The next morning he woke up exactly where he had been before. A goth-looking cashier had her back to him, talking on the phone. "Yeah, some clowny freak was sleeping in the dressing rooms. ...Yeah, Spooks and Freaks BOOtique. I know, the title implies weirdos are gonna march in, but he doesn't even look older than 14, maybe. ...All right, just as long as you make sure he's okay. Looks like he needs the looney bin."

She ended the call. Luke stood, a club in one hand, a horn in the other. He kicked her behind the knee, not too hard, but hard enough to cause her to fall on her knees. He crouched behind her, the club against her neck, the horn beside her ear. "Honk, honk, motherfucker," he said, squeezing the horn for emphasis. Before she made a move or sound, he swung the club on top of her hand. She crumpled, motionless. Luke calmly walked out.

Seeing a taxi, he waved it down with a club. The driver rolled down the window, staring with knit eyebrows. "A customer's a customer, I guess," he muttered. So Luke hopped in.

"Take me to the nearest mental facility," he growled. He knew he was crazy, and it actually kinda frightened him. Who better to talk to than a doctor who could prescribe meds to control the crazy?

The cab driver obliged, but received no payment once they arrived. Luke stepped out and towards the facility, stopping at the driver's door of the cab, and swinging at the driver, who needless to say probably needed glasses because he did not see that coming. He proceeded to walk onward. A doctor stood just inside, likely coming back from a short break.

"Please, sir, I need help," Luke begged.

"Oh? With what, young man? And why are you painted...?" The doctor looked at him with confusion and bewilderment.

"I need medication. I think I'm insane. Just please, that's all I'm asking."

"I can't just..." But Luke cut him off, and told him his story about his parents' death, the orphanage, the insane feelings, ending with "Please don't tell anyone, please just let me take some medicine and leave."

A nearby nurse looked at him nervously but sympathetically. She whispered to the doctor and he nodded hesitantly, leaving and returning with pills. "This is highly unusual... But if it will help, if it will prevent any...danger to yourself or others, we can allow it, I suppose... These are merely for bipolar two, because it may be that in your case. Don't overdose, kid."

Luke grinned, exposing his teeth. "Thanks, doc."

He strode out and headed away for what felt like forever. A store was soon to be found. He swung in, snickering at frightened customers. He grabbed a cart and threw in box after box of Jello and bottle after bottle of Faygo. It comes to us obviously, but workers attempted to thwart him, and workers ended up in a pile. Customers fled, screaming. Grinning, Luke rode away on the cart.

Hours later he found himself exhausted and no longer near civilization. His surroundings were those of a forest, a cave, an ocean, and other convenient places. He set up his new home near the ocean. He decided he'd crush up the "crazy pills" and mix them in with his Jello, which he gave a new name. This we know makes for a stupidly ideal place to be. The circumstances are just too dumb to be true. Likewise, Luke's whole story might seem stupidly unrealistic, but it is how it is.

11 of his closest friends joined him not long after. They found themselves in the areas mentioned above, their new dwellings different from the others. Some prefer the woods. Some like the ocean.

Luke's name was no longer Luke, however. He and the friends just mentioned came up with a new replacement for the society which plagued some of them and just proved uninteresting to the others.

His name now was Gamzee Makara, and he had become not a freak, but a troll.

Before you say this is stupid, unrealistic, crappy, Gary Stu, or whatever the fuck, let me explain you a thing: I DON'T CAAARE.

I wrote this for the hell of it. Actually want more? I have the other trolls' stories planned out. Reviews and criticism are appreciated.

kthxbaiii!

Motherfuckin' miracles, man. Motherfuckin' miracles.