I don’t know who I am.

Well, that is a partial lie- my name is Chance. Chance V. Césaire, that is the one I go by now. It sounds nice, it rolls off the tongue smoothly and nicely. But I used to go by others- William Mercier was the first one I took up, and he was nice. Charming, even. Then he had to go away, I had to change to evade a chase, and then I became Édouard Lioncourt. He was kinder than William, even if the deeds he did were just as bad. Then there was… Francois Boucher. He was far angrier. 

Francois did something that I, Chance, still cannot shake. And it’s been… mm, maybe a year at this point in time. I did not intend for him to become the focus of this statement, but, I suppose I cannot do much about it now. I’m sure you’re curious, yes? Far more interesting than my current identity crisis, hah.

I would like to make it clear that I steal things for a living. I hate to just confess to it, right here, right now, but it makes sense when it comes to my story. I would hope you don’t turn me in- then I’d have to shed yet another life, and I really do not wish to do so. I don’t consider myself evil, even though the authorities may find disagreement in that statement.

When I first became what I am- a thief, I mean, I swore never to steal a life. Those are not mine to take, I only take things from those who do not deserve their material possessions, but not something abstract like a soul. I- Chance is not a murderer. William was not a murderer, Édouard was not a murderer and Ars-

… Francois was different. 

Francois came about when I nearly died. And Édouard actually did, shot in the shoulder. Bled quite a bit. The scar still aches, to this day, especially when it gets cold outside. But ah, I was mad when Édouard died and Francois came around. I think anyone would be mad if they got shot, don’t you think so? I suppose that fury became an influence on the persona, the act I put on for these- characters, I guess? I do not know what else to call them, because I was never them but they were always me. They were always me but those names never sat too right.

Whenever I take up a new name, though, no one recognizes me, despite the fact this handsome face never changes. Maybe I get a new suit or haircut, just to be sure, but each new name is a new person, every single time. It doesn’t help when you have to rebuild connections in a business such as mine, every time. 

My excuse is that whoever the new one is, is a successor to the previous one- in a, well, have you seen the show, “Doctor Who”? Similar to that, how each new Doctor is, uh, a new person but generally the same person at the same time, just successors. I think Interpol believes that there’s some interconnected “thief ring” or something, when it is all just me. But that is, besides the point. I’m getting distracted, aren’t I? Je suis désolé… I should just get on with it.

Someone recognized Francois.

When I was at that party- one for the rich, at a mansion owned by some billionaire- and I heard a voice from behind call out, “...William? William Mercier?” my blood ran colder than it ever had before. I think I stopped breathing for a second.

I turned around and there was a man- a man I knew, one that I... but I wasn’t expecting the look of recognition in his own eyes. I hoped he would say that he thought I was someone else and move on, like everyone else, but he didn’t. Those ocean blue eyes widened as they met my own gaze and I felt like Édouard again- dying.

He ran to me, catching the attention of a few other partygoers as he did, nearly knocking me over from the embrace he pulled me into. He whispered that he missed me. That I scared him, and that I should never, ever disappear again. Of course, many eyes were on us by now, and I laughed. I said that was a preposterous idea.

“Why don’t we take this somewhere else?” I added in a forceful whisper, waving at the other patrons that there’s nothing to see here. He nodded, brushing a strand of brown hair out of his face. His… perfect face. I forgot how handsome he was, until then. 

Dread crept its way into my stomach and up my spine and throughout my body as we walked, my hand clasped around his wrist. He continued to bombard me with questions, and I couldn’t answer. Not at the moment, anyway. I found an empty bedroom in the mansion, and closed the door behind us. 

 “William-” his voice cracked. “W- where have you been? It- it’s been three years, you- you disappeared, I don’t- I couldn’t find you- you promised me you’d never leave.”

“I know- I know, I’m- I’m sorry, Eagan-” is what I managed before being pulled into another hug. It felt… wrong, this time around. It felt weird in front of all those people, sure, but even stranger in private. Something within me- within, Francois began to bubble.

“I forgive you,” Eagan had sobbed into my shoulder, ruining a perfectly good suit, but I didn’t care about that. Not at that minute anyway, I cared about the fact that this had never happened before. I was terrified.

He pulled away and I looked into his eyes, and he looked into mine- and I suppose he didn’t see excitement as he’d hoped. Eagan brought a hand to the side of my face, cupping my cheek, but I leaned away from his touch. Confusion crossed his features. 

“Wh… what’s wrong?” He asked.

“You shouldn’t recognize me.”

“William, what do you mean- of course I recognize you! I lo-”

“My name isn’t William,” I snapped back, my tone much harder than intended.  “And you shouldn’t recognize me. I’m not who you once knew, Eagan, that man is dead. You sh- shouldn’t know me, not anymore.” I found my hands gripping his shoulders with a tightness I don’t think I’d ever have the strength for. 

“Is… Is something going on? Y-you’re scaring me,” a shaky statement escapes his lips. “You vanished, William, I was so scared, I thought you died o-or worse, where have you been?”

A moment of silence passed between the two of us as panic continued to rise in me, making the air feel so much heavier. It felt like a pressure, and it was telling me- telling Francois to do something about this. My whole career revolves around my ability of hiding in plain sight, and if someone was able to spot me, then- then my life is on the line, fear clawed at my chest and then-

Then, I-  

Then, Francois-

...

Hah, did not think this part would be as difficult as it is to, talk about.

My- his- my hands clasped around the soft flesh of Eagan’s throat, and I squeezed, thumbs pressing into his windpipe. He struggled, for a minute, before going limp in my grip. I did not know there was that much strength inside my flimsy arms, but out of the sheer terror I felt, I just- I don’t know, I don’t know. I felt the life drain from him beneath my hands, the heat drained from his form, and I saw the light leave his eyes. 

I sat there for what seemed like… ages. Just, calming down from the rage that filled me, waiting, desperately for Eagan to wake up. I couldn’t have killed him, could I? Why? Because I got upset that someone knew who I am? I’ve gone so long without people remembering me, thinking whoever I was just died or vanished, never to be seen again, and it scared me. That someone I cared for just as equally did the impossible and then.

I just killed them.

Francois ceased that night, when I left that room, when I abandoned that corpse I so foolishly stole the spark from to feed my own fire. 

I, er…

I don’t know who I am anymore. I claimed to be a good man, once. I did everything I do in the name of my own definition of good, I stole from the rich and gave to the poor. I used to be Ar- I. Used to be Ars..

I don’t even remember his name, hah. I’m sure it’ll come back, fleeting as always. All I know is I used to be four other people and then they all died and got replaced by this current persona. Chance. Chance V. Césaire, that’s who I am, for now. Chance is me but I’m not Chance. I don’t think I have a name anymore. I don’t think I deserve one. 

I don’t think I’m human either, not anymore. After… everything. I don’t know what I am, just this thing that wears names like clothes, this thing that tricks and deceives and ruins the lives of anyone that dares to get close to it. It owns this face but it doesn’t belong to it, not really. It’s like a mask, a mask I never put on and it burns. 

I want to take it off.

FOLLOW-UP NOTES

This isn’t the first we’ve seen of individuals or creatures changing identities to a supernatural degree, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time we see it, either. This one is... interesting, I guess? It’s not like Natasha, where the creature literally... changes its appearance and identity.

From what I can see here, the appearance never actually changed. It was just the name--I had Felix do a bit more research, and all of the names listed were, in fact, real people, but finding any real trace of them is difficult.