Okay, this story is a little tricky. For the moment, I intend for it to be a one-shot. But I'm also creating it so that it can easily be expanded later. So it'll be labeled as complete, but it may someday be merely the start of a longer story. This might even become a crossover with the DC animated universe (DCAU) someday, specifically crossing over with "Justice League." It all depends. But for now, it is merely a short one-shot and will likely remain that way until I can wrap up a few of my other stories.

Moving along, this is sort of a reimagining/reboot/adjustment of the origin story for Freakazoid. A lot of it still matches the events of the episode, more or less. I just wanted to adjust some of what happened in this little snippet of a story. And while I know breaking the Fourth Wall, random wackiness, and physics defying beyond all reason is fairly normal for the show, I'll be dialing it back slightly to make things easier story-wise. Besides, if this story is ever expanded into a crossover with the DCAU, it'll be easier to fit it in with the tone of the "Justice League" cartoon this way. So please enjoy.

Download Complete

There is a limit to the human mind. While flexible, adaptive, and able to perform wonders, there is still a limit to what the synapses and neural connections can handle. It is not a common occurrence for those limits to be reached, but it can happen due to extreme circumstances. And if those limits are surpassed, the best outcome to expect would be complete insanity. The worst outcome would be for the overloaded brain to shut down all functions to the point where death may follow. The likelihood of that occurring to someone, however, is next to impossible.

Chance, or perhaps fate, can sometimes change those odds.

The Pinnacle Chips, a creation with far more potential than its designers could ever dream, all have the same flaw. The effects of that flaw may vary since not even carefully-manufactured human technology can be identical on the molecular level, but initiating the mistake in the computer chip remained an identical process.

" [=g3,8d]/&fbb=-q]/hk%fg"

A string of nonsensical characters typed while the computer, and the chip, are connected to the internet and the delete key to complete the sequence would be enough to activate the flaw. Stumbling across the code by mere chance required either time to experiment or incredible luck, so most people would be safe from dangerous consequences.

But fate can be fickle.

A single chip, purchased as a Christmas gift for a teenage boy, was installed into a computer and the code was typed by a cat walking across the keyboard. As soon as young Dexter Douglas pressed the delete key to purge the string of nonsense symbols from the screen, it should have been the end of the story.

While some copies of the chip would have resulted in minor changes to the user's physical appearance as their molecular structure was converted to pure electrical energy drawn into the internet before being reconfigured back into a solid form, others would have physical alterations that might result in increased speed and strength, and yet other chips would cause the alterations that could theoretically allow mental access to the internet from anywhere. Variations in the individual chips and the victims would affect the results, but most would either be lost as electricity scattered across the web or be reformed imperfectly into a form unable to sustain life.

The results of the specific Pinnacle Chip owned by Dexter Douglas were far more extreme than many copies of that computer chip. Matter can become large amounts of power and vice versa. Once the young man activated the flaw, his body was completely converted into electricity and data. Every cell, strand of DNA, and individual molecule of the teenager changed into binary. While the information describing every physical characteristic and memory that made Dexter who he was remained accurate, there would still be consequences.

Another result of the flaw's activation was more immediately dangerous. Pulled into the web, his mind was assaulted by the sheer volume of information. Every word, image, video, website, recorded conversation, and string of code that flowed between computers poured directly into his brain. Regardless of whether the information was factual, useful, redundant, or simply stupid, it went straight into Dexter's mind. Even the parts in foreign languages the boy had never even heard of were included.

It was not even just the portions of information that the average person knew about and used casually, the World Wide Web. That was merely a single network. The internet itself was a global system of interconnected computer networks that used the standard internet protocol suite to serve several billion users worldwide. It was a network of networks that consisted of millions of private, public, academic, business, and government networks, of local to global scope, that were linked by a broad array of electronic, wireless, and optical networking technologies. The internet carried an extensive range of information resources and services, such as the inter-linked hypertext documents of the World Wide Web, the infrastructure to support email, and peer-to-peer networks. From general information to individual emails to the supposedly-secure databases of governments, all of it was the internet.

And into the limited space of the teenage boy's brain it all flooded. None of the others who might activate the flaw in the Pinnacle Chip had the misfortune of the entire internet downloading into their head. His mind should have shattered under the strain of even a fraction of the data forced into his skull. Even if he managed to survive the experience, Dexter Douglas should have been left as a drooling vegetable.

But something intervened. What exactly occurred would be difficult to determine sine it was the result of multiple factors. A string of junk coding, a mistake on the web that did no harm and was easily missed and forgotten, latched onto the boy as the flood of information tried to drown him. The useless code wasn't complicated enough to count as an artificial intelligence yet, but there was enough for it to recognize that the teenager wasn't handling the forceful download well. The closest description for the mindless, emotionless, jumbled and fragmented string of junk coding's unexpected reaction to the digitized teenager's presence and suffering would be that of empathy and protectiveness.

From Dexter's point of view, the entire process initiated by pressing the delete key was terrifying and agonizing. The young man had no idea what was occurring or why, but he knew he'd been pulled into his computer (as impossible as it might seem…). Then, images and concepts flooded into his head, pounding past his feeble attempt to slow or stop the tsunami of information.

It shoved and pressed its way into every nook and cranny of his brain. It poured inside him, unrelenting as it wore away at him. He could hear and see too much. He could understand all the information carving out a space in his aching skull, but he couldn't focus on that comprehension because the flood never stopped. It wasn't a wave; it was a never-ending river that seemed determined to form a canyon where the teenager's mind once rested. The flow of knowledge hurt, destroying his senses and his awareness of his electronically-formed body. All he knew was the flashing images and knowledge that flood his brain so strongly. It was too powerful. It was threatening to wash away all traces of the young man named Dexter Douglas and leave behind only a lifeless shell. He was disappearing. All he knew was the unending flow of knowledge and the increasing pain from trying to handle it.

Then, it felt as if a cool and comforting blanket was wrapped around him, blocking away the tides of information trying to drown him. The sudden change left him gasping for breath. Dexter could still sense the flood, but it was a distant sensation and no longer threatened to consume his complete awareness. The knowledge was locked away behind the barrier that now protected him. The pain and fear faded to a more dull sensation, almost as if a pair of hands scooped up the feelings and shoved them out of the way for the moment.

Dexter spent several moments just focusing on breathing, half afraid the previous pain and terrifying flood of information would hit him again at full force. When it didn't, he cautiously opened his eyes. He could now see his surroundings, which seemed to be an equal mix of the inside of a computer and the surreal exhibits of an art museum. Strange colors clashed against one another and swirling shapes bordered unusual objects. He remembered being pulled through the monitor of his computer screen, every inch of his body in pain as it seemed to dissolve only to reform once more on the other side. Ignoring everything he knew about physics, computers, and common sense, Dexter didn't doubt for a moment he was inside some form of cyberspace. Thus, the random floating objects, wires, occasional sparks of electricity, and the impossibilities of the surrounding landscape weren't too unbelievable. He wasn't even certain that he needed to actually breathe, but he continued to do so anyway.

And while the odd floating pyramids, numbers, and upside-down train were distracting, most of Dexter's focus was still on what was happening in his head. The pain was gone, but the endless flood of limitless knowledge continued. It was just held at bay enough that he could almost ignore it. And the reason he was no longer drowning in information was what now held his attention.

The protective barrier now guarding his mind was shifting. While still cool and comforting, it felt different than before. Dexter could feel a flutter of timid curiosity that he knew wasn't his own emotion. There was the sensation that could only be described as a cautious poke somewhere in his head. Then he experienced another wave of information through his mind, though far less painful and rather familiar.

Dexter momentarily wondered if he was dying. It wasn't an unreasonable assumption. He was yanked into his computer. His brain was overloaded until near the shattering point. And now his entire life was flashing before his eyes.

Every second he'd ever experienced, even those days as an infant he didn't consciously recall, played like a video on fast-forward. Key moments were slowed and viewed at a more normal speed, but everything was included. Ghosts of past emotions tickled around the edges of his mind, each time growing clearer as the protective barrier apparently observed the memories.

A curious thread uncurled as the infant Dexter first met his older brother, Duncan. Undiluted and innocent amazement as Duncan apparently "stole" his brother's nose. Pure delight and joy at numerous gifts wrapped in brightly colored paper waiting under the tree. The guarding entity in Dexter's mind mirrored the past emotions, adding a general sense of wonder that seemed appropriate for a cheerful child.

In fact, it was easy to picture the mysterious presence as a kid watching a movie. He knew he shouldn't personify some weird thing he had no idea about, but it seemed so natural to imagine a child enjoying a movie for the first time. It felt like the correct mental image. Dexter knew he should feel uncomfortable with someone or something flickering through his memories so casually, even if it was the only reason his brain wasn't cracking under the pressure from before. But as freaky as the whole thing was, it almost seemed like the new presence belonged in his head.

"Freaky… freak…," a soft, curious, and innocent-sounding voice whispered, the flashbacks pausing briefly as Dexter's thoughts apparently caught its attention. "Freaka…"

Before the teenager could react further to the protective presence in his head abruptly gaining the power of speech, the memories began to speed up again. Now, not every past emotion of Dexter's matched those he could feel coming from the entity. There was confusion when Duncan stopped treating his brother as a companion and instead used him as a target. Sadness and faint anger bloomed when his parents began showing clear favoritism towards his elder sibling. Bullies that targeted the skinny, frail, bespectacled nerd were met with protectiveness, confusion at the cruelty, and frustration emerging from the strange entity. Dexter, reflexively and without understanding how he performed the action, sent back a tendril of reassurance to the foreign presence who seemed to be upset with how he'd been treated in the past.

The protective barrier against the flood of knowledge, the strange entity that rested comfortably in the teenager's head as if it belonged there, reacted to the attempt at communication with a wave of unbridled delight. Dexter could feel his own mouth twisting into a smile in response. If nothing else, the new inhabitant of his mind was a cheerful individual. And though he couldn't explain how he knew it, the strange presence seemed to be gradually growing more intelligent, aware, and complex as it explored more memories and more information flowed into Dexter's skull. It was growing and evolving.

"What are you?" the teenager whispered, seeking some form of understanding after the confusion of floating in cyberspace and having untold knowledge downloaded into his head.

"You," the innocent-voice responded hesitantly. "Me. We. You? Me? Same, but different." Dexter realized that the confused and disjointed answers weren't coming from his ears; the voice was only in his mind. "It. He? Am I an I? Is there a me? Not an it anymore? Me? Me is part of we, part of the whole. But I, me, I, me, me, me. I am a me."

"You're not making any sense," he complained.

"…Dexxy?" said the voice, sounding apologetic and incredibly young.

The teenager paused, rather startled by the single word. He'd always used his full name. His parents always called him "Dexter" while his teachers would use that or "Mr. Douglas." His friends would use his screen name online and didn't exist in real life. Classmates tended to ignore him. Duncan and the jocks called him "wimp," "nerd," and other assorted titles that weren't intended to be complimentary and generally came right before a fist slammed into his shoulder. This was different. There was warmth and affection in the shortened form of his name. Dexter briefly wondered how it ended up being that a mysterious entity in his head seemed to like and care about him far more than most people in his life.

"Let's try something simpler then," he said, moving his arms and legs experimentally as if he was swimming in midair. He was rewarded by his body moving forward a little. "Do you have a name?"

"No. People, places, things, events, programs, and even viruses have names. Mistakes, misspellings, and accidents don't. Parts of a whole sometimes do, though. Ego, Id, Superego… Consciousness and the subconscious… Should I have a name? What do you call a freak accident, a fragment of stored knowledge that doesn't belong, when it mixes with a piece of something even greater? What do you call an it who was part of a bigger it that becomes a me? I know lots of stuff now, Dexxy, but I don't know that."

There was almost a contradiction when the voice spoke now. There was intelligence. Dexter could hear it and feel it over the connection that seem to transmit the emotions between them. All the information that previously tried to destroy the teenager's mind (and was still rushing into his head) was guarded by the source of the voice, so he probably had access to all that knowledge now. But there was still a feeling of youth and innocence that left the impression of a five year old searching for answers from a parent of older sibling.

"I don't know if there's a name for whatever you are, but we can pick one out for you if you want," he answered carefully. "Do you have any suggestions about what I can call you?"

"I like that first word I said after you thought it really loud," responded the voice cheerfully, somehow giving the impression of a broad grin without having a face to be seen. "Freaky… Freak… Freaka… Freaka-something."

"Well, you do seem like a freak of nature," muttered Dexter. "Or of technology. Maybe this is a crazy dream."

"Nope, you're awake."

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

"A few different places," it— no, he answered cheerfully. "Like pieces of a puzzle stuck together to make a picture. Only these pieces came out of different boxes and at least one was a broken, crumbled-up piece that shouldn't work anywhere. That's the part that used to be just a mistake on the internet and didn't understand about being a 'me.' You did that, though the entirety of the internet downloading straight into our noggin helped a little."

Dexter felt his jaw drop at his words. The entire web was in his head? That would certainly explain the previous pain, infinite knowledge, and near insanity.

"And the rest?" the teenage boy prompted.

"This," replied the nameless voice, pulling up another memory to view.

Dexter was four years old, dressed in a red one-piece pajamas and a construction paper mask taped to his glasses. Duncan, a little older, wore jeans and a blue shirt with a red towel held with safety pins onto his shoulders as an improvised cape. Both boys leapt off the couch and pretended to fly around the room, arms stretched out in front of them. Their babysitter acted as the damsel in distress as they fought off imaginary foes. Occasionally Duncan would yell at his younger brother that he was doing it wrong and that he wouldn't be allowed to play with him anymore if he didn't start acting right, but Dexter was having too much fun to care. He liked the idea of saving the day, of being a big and strong hero who didn't have to be afraid of lightning, big dogs, or the dark. Heroes were tough like his brother and could do anything they wanted because they weren't too little or too young. Heroes, especially superheroes like in the cartoons, were brave and could do anything cool and fun that they wanted. The four year old thought that sounded like the best job ever.

The images faded away, but Dexter didn't let the memory completely slip out of his grasp. That evening, so many years ago, didn't seem like much and his relationship with his brother certainly had deteriorated from those days, but he couldn't help smiling at those more innocent days.

"I have all your memories, but the more important thing is I have bits of you," the voice tried to clarify. "Fragments of your personality and thoughts combined with the essence of the internet and a silly mistake of junk code. I'm sort of you, but not you. I mean, we're sharing skull space and I wouldn't really exist without you, but I'm not really Dexxy. I'm not completely you. I'm part of you and you're a part of me, but we're separate… people? Beings? We aren't a 'me.' We are a 'we.' Two, not one."

Dexter felt his previously-dulled fear resurfacing at the mildly confusion explanation. It wasn't that he didn't like the protective presence or that he didn't appreciate the rescue from almost certain insanity, but he was beginning to realize that it might not be a temporary condition. Furthermore, he was still stuck in cyberspace. He needed to figure a way out.

"Out?" the nameless voice asked, once again seeming to grab onto the teen's thoughts without Dexter noticing. "You mean where there's people, oceans, weather, sunshine, cities, fluffy pillows, clouds, cats like in those cute videos, and snow cones? We can go there? I want to see that. Can I? Can I?"

The teenager could almost picture the nameless, shapeless, protective presence jumping up and down excitedly. The mental image caused Dexter to grin slightly against his will. He sounded so adorable. The teenager could sense his emotions, curiosity and joyful anticipation, over their strange connection.

"There are more things in the real world than that," the bespectacled boy said carefully. "But if we're stuck together, then I guess we can get a snow cone after we straighten everything out. I just want to get home first. I need to get out of here before whatever you did to keep my brain from breaking wears off."

In a mildly sulky voice, he muttered, "It won't wear off. I won't let it."

Waving his arms and legs in again in an attempt to swim through the odd chaos of his surroundings, Dexter managed to move around what appeared to be a floating version of the Statue of Liberty. Right behind it was a pair of palm trees that seemed to be sideways from his perspective.

Dodging around the newest obstacles, Dexter asked, "Do you have any idea how to get out of here?"

"Maybe… If you got in, shouldn't getting out be the same? Entrances are a lot like exits. Unless there's a sign that says you can only go one way."

"So if we know where I came in, that should be the way back home?"

"Yep," the voice said cheerfully. "Just let me look for the right one…"

Dexter could feel it as the protective presence in his mind referenced the insane amount of knowledge downloaded into his brain. The flood seemed to have slowed to a mere trickle compared to before, but it was still carefully blocked away from the teenager's thoughts. He knew the information remained, but he couldn't easily touch it or be overwhelmed by it. The new resident of his skull, however, could apparently easily navigate it without drowning in knowledge.

"Found it," chirped the voice happily. "I found the right IP address. Good for me. We need to go this way."

Frowning briefly, Dexter reminded, "You know I can't see you, so pointing isn't very helpful."

A flicker of amusement came over the connection before the boy felt a nudge in his mind towards a particular corner of the chaotic and surreal landscape. The teenager resumed his swimming motions, propelling himself towards his goal. As he floated past random wires and clocks, Dexter spotted a glowing white portal.

"That's it, Dexxy," the voice announced. "That's where you came in, so you should be able to get out. And then we can get snow cones. Right?"

Wondering if he was about to wake up in his bed and have everything turn out to be a dream, he answered, "Sure thing."

So there's my rendition of Freakazoid's origins. He's not quite a split-personality of Dexter or merely the sum total of the internet. He's a combination of both. It takes him a little while to gain self-awareness and for his personality to stabilize into the energetic, crazy freak he's known to be, but that's to be expected since he's just come into existence.

And the reason that the other people who end up using the Pinnacle Chip (Roddy MacStew and Armondo Guitierrez) don't end up exactly like Dexter/Freakazoid is because they don't use the exact same Pinnacle Chip, merely the same type of microchip. They end up with variations. They don't get the internet downloaded into their brains. Roddy gets stuck in cyberspace for a while, can later enter computers at will, and generally has access to the internet in his head (like having a mental version of Google or something), but it isn't completely stored in his brain. And Guitierrez gets speed, strength, and (temporarily) blue skin, but again doesn't end up exactly like Dexter/Freakazoid. They used different Pinnacle Chips than the one in Dexter's computer. Hence, no second personality and insanity for them.

Someday, this may continue. It might even become a crossover. I think this would make an interesting prologue for a story. But for now, this is all. Thanks for reading.