A/N: Started in 2006 and I have every intention of continuing, if it's liked. Thank you so much for reading.

The air was thick with alcohol, laughter and voices. He couldn’t help but smile as he took off his coat and stood in one place for a second, letting his body get used to the dampness of the bar. He clutched his blue spiral notebook to his chest and strolled to his usual seat at the bar.

“Heya CB, what can I do for you today?” Angel, the kind bartender offered.

“The usual” he smiled.

The only reason they called him “C.B” was because of his father, might his soul rest in peace. Chad Benjamin was one of the most well known people around the silent town. Not rich with money, but rich with knowledge and patience, the man made a legend of himself at the age of 20, creating all kinds of formulas and difficult to understand theories. He studied to be a psychologist and the only sad and painful part about that was that he sometimes took some of the patient’s problems home.

He looked around the well-known place and smiled contently. The mixture of the smell of alcohol and cigarettes was intoxicating his brain already. He couldn’t even remember how long he had been coming here, asking for the same drink and entertaining himself with the same thing.

The lighting was shitty, his clothes ended up smelling like vodka and Jack every night, and the usual bar brawls often interrupted his reason for visiting the place, but he couldn’t stay away for anything in the world. It was his sanctuary.

He opened his spiral notebook and casually took the pencil from behind his ear.

“27th of August, 2009” he penned down.

Now came the hard part, he thought as he thankfully accepted the drink from Angel and let the cool liquid slide down his throat, leaving a burning trail. He looked at as many faces as his eyes could permit until he spotted one that stood out of the crowd.

A smile painted itself on his lips. “Perfect…”, he mumbled, eyes still fixated on this one person.

He was casually sitting back in his chair, one arm around a pretty, fake-breasted, black-haired girl and a cigarette between his pale fingers that were decorated with skull rings. He spotted black nail polish on two of them and couldn’t help but make a face. His eyes explored the pitch-black spikes that somehow stood in absolute perfect contrast with his pale skin. He let his eyes trail down to this stranger’s eyes. They had something daring about them, just by looking at those eyes; he knew he shouldn’t mess with this person. His whole attire was screaming “heavy metal” and, once again, he smiled to himself.

“Never tried one of his kind before”, he mumbled more to himself than anyone else and started heavily penning down what his mind told him to.

Angel looked at him and smiled in amusement. C.B. had been coming here ever since he started his career as a bartender. He always did the same thing too; he would eye the customers one by one and picked out one whom he thought stood out of the monotonous crowd and write stories about them.

Nobody knew why he did it, maybe he had an overactive brain or maybe he just didn’t have anything better to do.

Wild adventures that involved people running from the law, romances about a brother and 2 sisters, fetishes, phobias, you name it, he probably wrote about it. Angel only had the honor of reading 2 or 3 of his stories, because he seldom finished a story at the bar, but when he did, he always let him read it. After reading one of these stories, the grin on C.B’s face made evident that he found Angel’s amazement amusing.

“What’s his name going to be?”, he asked with genuine interest, nodding towards the man in black.

“I think I’ll call him… Mike Shinoda”, he smiled, his eyes never leaving the paper.

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