Hi! Welcome to my Frerard 1920s mafia AU!

❦ I've always loved mafia AUs so here I go. I got inspired from an Episode-like game called Time princess I used to play that had a similar plot base. I really hope you will like this book, I've worked a lot on it :)

❦ Main characters (appreciate the retro aesthetic)

❦ Don't hesitate to *spam* this book, I love reading comments and interacting, and I'm bored out of my mind lmao

❦ https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6jA3qm6fWj7zL8xqpjkSee?si=T3LHXjt5QGC6u0Tstq8AkA Here is the playlist, made with love. If you have other tracks in mind that match the theme, tell me :)

- To Lizzy, a ginger bean I am more than happy to have in my life.

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New York City, 1926.

Gerard's POV:

"Excuse me, I'm in a hurry!" is the excuse I am told by the man in a grey check suit who just bumped into me. He walks past me without looking back, melts into the crowd of this New York street.

Normally, I would have stopped him to have a chat, but in these conditions...

My name is Gerard Way, I am 23. I'm a journalist, an intern at the Sunday News.

I am going to work and I'm already late. Before I know it, my legs bring me at top speed to the same building the man who bumped into me was heading. After my race, I enter the elevator to go to the 25th story of the Sunday News facilities.

I am stuck between several men, unable to move, and the elevator goes up slowly. I take a deep breath and slide between those people to get out of the elevator. I look down at my watch.

9:03 am? Oh no, I'm late!

Everyone is too focused on their work and too busy to mind me. I make myself small to try and sneak into my office.

"Gerard! Are you late again?!" I hear behind me, sending shivers down my spine. It is a familiar voice. I have a bad feeling about this.

Obviously, all eyes are on me. A man in a grey suit approach me, smiling. It's the man who bumped into me.

"Keep your voice down, Paul, I-I'm not that late. You're so boisterous!"

"Hahaha, your discreet entrance was quite funny, I have to say."

"I-"

Some people are still looking at us, waiting for some sort of drama, it seems.

"Let me guess, you spent the night editing the article that article that the boss rejected?" Paul mocks.

"You're not even close." I frown.

"Oh yes, I forgot. It would be pointless to submit it. An article from Gerard 'the apostle of truth' Way is unpublishable, even after editing."

Anger starts bubbling inside me at the name Paul gave me. How dare he?

"Don't call me that!" I point at him threateningly.

"Aw, don't you think it's a cute nickname? Gerard, the apostle of truth?"

I scoff. "Isn't telling the truth what we're supposed to do, as journalists? When I was at university-"

"Here we go again... How many times do you have to brag about how you went to Harvard with a scholarship? What's the point? You remain a poor countryside boy who struggles to survive in New York."

"That has nothing to do with my article, Paul. If you keep attacking me personally like that, there will be consequences!"

"Who's exaggerating now? You're getting pissed because you're not sharing my opinion. I already told you. You're not made for journalism. Get another job."

I ball my fists. "You fucking-"

"Gerard, boss wants you in his office." A colleague interrupts our discussion.

Paul stops harassing me, but his prideful attitude doesn't vanish. He leaves.

I look at the colleague who delivered the message. Although his features don't let it show, I can feel his contempt. I shouldn't have let Paul piss me off and start an argument in the middle of the office.

"Thank you." I head for the boss' office and open the door. Stress is taking over. Is it about my article?

I go in. There are five people in the boss' office; they are all interns like me. Some look at me, exulting for some reason.

"Why are you waiting outside, Gerard? Come here," Abernathy, my boss, tells me. He is a middle-aged man. His shoulder straps can barely hold in his stomach, covered by a tarnished grey shirt and a dull red tie.

"Yes Sir." I step in.

"Late again?" Abernathy shoves his hand at the bottom of his beige pants, looking at me severely.

"In fact, I-"

"-I don't want to hear excuses," the boss scolds before addressing to the whole group. "Honestly, I couldn't care less if you're late or not, as long as your articles are popular to readers. I became an editor because I earned by my boss' respect by knowing where to get info. If you want to succeed in NYC, you got to meet my expectations, at least."

He looks at us gravely, then a little smile appears on his face, disappearing as soon as he started talking again.

"I got the perfect mission for the young journalists that you are, so you can prove yourselves. The Metropolitan Hospital of New York is hiding something. It would be a hell of a news if we could find out what exactly. So, who wants to take the case?"

Whispers rise in the group. The words 'Metropolitan Hospital' make memories arise in my mind. Metallic bars, chains, leather stripes, shock therapy... So many horrible images flash before my eyes.

This hospital is not a hospital that saves lives. It's a prison for the clinically insane.

It sounds too dangerous. I don't want to go to such a scary place.

The murmurs eventually go quiet.

"So, did you decide who would go?" Abernathy asks. One after another, all other interns tell their excuses – a sick mother, a busy schedule...

"What's going on here? You're supposed to be journalists!" Abernathy starts getting angry.

"What about Gerard? He must have time if he finished his article," one of the interns snitches. I shiver when I hear my name and look up at the boss.

"Mary, David and Peter wrote quite good articles last week. As to you..." Abernathy looks at me gravely. "...You haven't submitted any decent article, even after 5 revisions."

"It's- it's because-"

"-I told you I didn't want excuses. We don't have any spots available for incompetent journalists in the Sunday News. I'll give you a chance. You either do it, or don't bother to come back tomorrow."

I don't want to do it but...

"Okay, I'll do it. I'll investigate the Metropolitan Hospital. But... What do I have to look for, Sir?"

Abernathy's face twist with a smile. "If you can't find out by yourself, then you shouldn't call yourself a journalist. I want a good article, this time."

"I'll do my best." I nod and prepare myself to visit the asylum.

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