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"Stop making so much noise, it doesn't hurt that bad.", were the last words that would ever come out of the six foot three football player that had Brian pinned up against shower wall. He had two fingers shoved inside the shorter boy getting a kick out of how he squirmed and yelped as knees threatened to buckle. That's when it happened the first time, that's when he lost himself. He wasn't even aware of what he'd done when he walked out of the bloodied shower stall, fragments of skull and brain were washed away and forgotten. That was also the day he left Huntington Beach, California.

Any normal person looking in at Brians childhood wouldn't have seen anything wrong. They would have seen happily married parents, good grades, and financial stability. He was after all on the varsity football team and even up for Validictorian of his graduating class. It was an honor just to hold those titles in that town, but the price that came with them is what broke him. Although he was smart, charming, and born into popularity, he was also born very, very attracted to men. This did nothing but piss his father off. He was beaten for every time he looked at another boy, and when daddy's hands were tired, he poured it on in words. Some people even think the verbal abuse is worse than the physical. Brian Haner Jr. knows it is.

Most young men in Brian's situation would have killed themselves, it was even suggested by one of his closer friends. "Just kill yourself and get it over with, you're already halfway there." , that's exactly what he'd said. He was sixteen when he started retreating into himself, building this other personality, this shield to hide behind. This new boy was mean, arrogant, self-absorbed, everything that Brian himself could never be. He did everything that Brian was afraid to do. He drank hard, partied hard, and God knows he fucked hard. Synyster Gates fucked everything that dangled a toe at him. Brian Haner Jr. on the other hand, hadn't had the balls to do more than kiss a boy on his own. The shower incident didn't count seeing as it wasn't his idea and he was in no way 'okay' with it.

Brian was finally eighteen and had graduated, but by now everyone had seen the other thing that lived inside him, and frankly, they were scared. His parents didn't try to help him, the didn't want to hear about Scitzophrenia, a word they could barely pronounce. The family wanted him out, his friends wanted him out, and the police were right along with them. It's always nice to come home on your birthday to one packed duffel bag and the keys to the Mustang on the front porch, it's just how he expected to spend the afternoon. Atleast his father had left a couple hundred bucks in the glove compartment, along with a note that said simply, "Don't come back." not an 'I Love You', not a 'Kiss My Ass', not a 'how did you get so fucked up?', just those words, "Don't Come Back."

So here he was, eighteen, homeless, jobless, and possibly insane. For the next seven years he used everything he knew about the word to twist it and manipulate it to work to his advantage. Most of what he did, he used Synyster for. Brian never could quite get used to the smell of blood or the sound of a bullet penetrating flesh, but Synyster Gates fucking loved it. The sick bastard thrived on it like he was out to settle some sort of score. He was growing weary of Brians hold on him, feeling caged and strangled everytime he was forced back into the recesses of a fitful mind. With every single kill, his alter ego got stronger, he was building up momentum for the takeover.

Now he was in a new town, with completely new faces. He had to flee the last place. What else do you do when you wake up in bed with a boy, no older than thirteen, and he's not breathing. Not only is the child dead but it looked like you've painted the entire apartment with his blood and made a pretty new belt with his entrails. That Synyster Gates, he's one fashoinable motherfucker.

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