Fed Up with Gang Life: New Identity Wanted

I am fed up with my current life. I have never been so messed up or confused and scared in my entire existence as when my life with the gang started. Before, I thought it was the solution to all my problems. The gang gave me a family; I always had a “brother” to turn to whenever things got sour; I had a social life and an identity. I had a home.

But almost as soon as I was in, what I found was the complete opposite. From the day I joined, nothing seemed right anymore. Every day was a plunge deeper into darkness, and as each day passes, my hope for redemption further wanes.


I started seeing my “brothers” as the thugs that they actually were. They don’t really care for me; they just needed another body to feed into their fight and to be used as cannon fodder. Each day saw a never-ending cycle of violence, hatred, drugs, bigotry, shit talk, and every other thought and deed that makes the world the sickening place that it is today.

Fear is one major emotion I have as a part of my gang. We had mortal enemies in the various gangs of other ethnic groups. Each day I would wonder whether another gang war would erupt; a war that is worse than the last. I am always on guard in case some unknown enemy would catch me off guard in the back streets and stab me to death. I live in constant fear.


Sure, there are perks. The girls were all right, and even downright satisfying. But women mixed with drugs, violence and other shit makes things too sour for my taste. The benefits are not worth the pain.

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I wallowed in this kind of hell for five years. I was a wasted addict with no future in sight. I wanted to change but I could not. It was only one morning when I woke up a week ago when I started to realize the only option left for me; I need to change my identity. I need to get off the grid and disappear from the map, just like John Connor did in Terminator 3.

My plan should be flawless. Despite its barbaric and disheveled consciousness, a gang with a vendetta can find you if it really puts its mind to it, and my gang “brothers” made it clear that I can never part ways with them. The only separation is death, and they are only too willing to inflict that on me should it become necessary.

I need to erase my digital footprints. I need a new name and a new birth certificate. I heard that it is not impossibly hard to do so; with enough persistence, I only have to put the right effort and meet the right connections.

Despite the tough security, I have managed to steal enough dough from our drug dealing operation to get me a comfortable life in some third-world, poverty stricken country somewhere in South America or Asia. As a kid, I have always been fond of traveling and visiting new places anyway.

I have cold cash and I only need to ditch my card and my online presence. I need to stage an elaborately fake but credible death. I need ways by which to mislead potential investigators who would surely be on the hunt once my gang discovers I embezzled thousands from them. I need to change my identity start over and begin a fresh new life. I need to disappear.



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