The year is 1968.

Dallas was a Greaser. You were a Soc. And you know what? You didn't really care about the labels. People were still people despite the financial advantages or disadvantages. That's what made you friends with Dallas and the other boys. If you could remember their names correctly.. Darrel, Two-bit, Sodapop, Ponyboy, Johnny, and Steve. And don't forget Dallas.

Dallas would often antagonize the Socs. Get in fights with them. A lot of other things too. You didn't pay much mind to it, as you really weren't into fighting anyway.

But that was in the past, in 1965. About 3 years ago. You had finished high school, and assumed Dallas and the gang did too. Hopefully. And you wanted to go back to Tusla to say "Hi. I'm still alive, I swear."

Of course, that backfired. You were famous in your industry. The head. You were on billboards, the TV, the newspaper. Anything your advertising team could get their hands on.

Your life wasn't about Socs and Greasers anymore, it was about money. At least to your colleagues.. to you, it's most likely different. But often, you thought about the others. The Gang. The Greasers. It was lonely, this life.

Did you like the money and luxury? Yes. Did you miss your old 'thug' (In truth you did nothing 'gangsta' like, you just hung out with greasers.) Life? A little, yes.

So, tonight, you're walking on this rich red carpet, for some.. company collaboration or something. Then you see this man run on the carpet, two guards behind him. What was this man doing? You figured he'd stolen something. Then again, if people were that desperate, maybe it was something the man needed. Or maybe he was just crazy. Or liked to mess with high class people. There were a lot of possibilities.

..But strangely, he looked quite familer.