Chapter Text
It was a day like all the other days at the MOAT. A repetitive cycle, a ferris wheel on fire that never stopped. A mundane gray day, just as gray as everything else. The walls, the uniforms, even the sky had been gray for as long as Elliot can remember it. He was one of the workers there in the Records Department. A little gear in the machine of the Dictator, an easily replaceable one. He had to rewrite history in the way he was told and throw the old version of the truth in the incinerator to be forgotten.
It was a dangerous job. If Elliot happened to remember the old version of things and let it slide outside of the Ministry there would be consequences. People disappeared, no one batted an eye. They didn’t just get fired, they didn’t exist anymore. All records about them deleted. There would be no way to prove that a traitor of DRAAG existed. So he worked diligently and kept to himself. But inside a fire in his chest was consuming him, wanting to be set free. In his mind, every piece of paper he set on fire was burned in his memory.
During the daily Two Minutes of Hate they were shown pictures of their enemies, the traitors, the rebels. Everyone screamed hateful words, and so did Elliot. But no one could know his words were directed to their ruler. His Grand Immortal Dictator. People worshipped him like a god, like their saviour. Elliot wondered if it was all a farce, if there were people like him in MOAT. That hated the Dictator.
The name of the Ministry had evolved with the Dictionary being constantly updated. In the old days, days no one dared to reminisce, when even the Dictator had another name, there were four Ministries in DRAAG. The Ministry of Plenty that oversaw the economy, the Ministry of Peace that managed the never ending wars, the Ministry of Truth that manipulated the media and the Ministry of Love where the traitors were sent to.
But in recent years it became vital for the Party to instill more fear in the public. When The Black Parade was introduced, there could be no revolutionaries around as the Dictator enjoyed his show. So the Ministry of Love and the Ministry of Truth were united in one big Ministry. Ministry Of Arrest and Truth. MOAT for short. Before the nouns were full of irony, but as the new days approached the Party decided that being more direct would be more effective.
Tonight there would be a concert of the Dictator’s Favourite Band.
The Black Parade wasn’t just a tool for the DRAAG propaganda, it was entertainment for the Dictator himself. They were phantoms of what they once were, a band that sang hymns of revolution and power to the people of DRAAG. All four of them were reconditioned, rebuilt to the Party’s image.
Elliot made his way in the crowd of people attending the show. The arena was the only place where Elliot could really breathe, listen to real art, feel emotions.
As the frontman and the rest of the band came up on stage to sing DRAAG’s National Anthem everyone’s hand came up pridefully or automatically on their hearts. Elliot looked at the singer. Really looked at him, he seemed extremely tired. But Elliot could swear there was still a fire inside him. Perhaps the same fire that was aching in him every time he had to burn a piece of history.
They performed, playing the same songs but always with a different twist. When they got to Mama Elliot’s mind went back in time, thinking about his mom. She was so caring and Elliot remembered her making pastries for him, even though he didn’t know where she got the sugar as it was rare to find in DRAAG. She was always affectionate with him and had real genuine motherly love for him.
But one night everything changed. She was taken by the Thought Police. It was midnight, Elliot hid under the bed and could see his mom getting dragged away. He held his breath, terrified to be found and taken as well, and fearing remaining alone.
From that night the apartment they lived in became eerily quiet and Elliot had to learn to survive by himself. He hadn’t found a record of his mother since, he secretly tried when he started to work at the MOAT. But it was hopeless. His mother didn’t exist anymore.
Elliot let a tear slip by as he listened to the song. The Party could’ve wiped her away from the records but they would never wipe her away from his memory. Elliot had a growing sense of determination as he listened to the songs the band was performing.
He had to be the one to break the cycle. He had to be the one to end the oppression. As he looked at Gerard there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. He had to do it. He would succeed or die trying.
He knew this was risky but he couldn’t live like this anymore or the fire in his chest would burn him alive.
He would kill the Grand Immortal Dictator.
But he needed help.