Hi, I'm Pen! *insert cheesy opening line here* Yeah, enjoy this JTHM/Invader Zim crossover!
DISCLAIMER: All of the characters are Jhonen's except for Thomas!
A pitiful, dark house lay just off of the road of this idiotic neighborhood. The gremlins of the idiotic neighbors in this suburb were sound asleep in their beds, twitching from their dreams. They dreamt of their supposedly glorious future, the females dreaming of being pink glittery things living in grand castles, the males imagining being a great action hero to save said princesses. They know nothing of how the world works. How society thrives on dividing constantly, creating imaginary groups just so that they can stereotype them all to make themselves feel superior. The ones that live on the fringes of it all are dubbed outcasts. If you're too thin, too pale, too tall, or too creepy, you're royally screwed. Especially if you're all of the above.
A certain occupant of the dark house knows this, had it ingrained in his soul over the years. He suffers daily from the whole of society grinding down on him, trying to force him to happily conform and take part in, maybe even add, to the buzzing hive of the throbbing city streets. There are several unsaid rules that he would have to follow, if he chose to comply. Compare yourself to others self-consciously. Mock the outcasts. Raise the spawn of idiots to be even more stupid.
He shook his head. He refused to take part in this. The human race has to be punished for their creation, their contempt, their mockery, all of it. He fingered a nearby knife. He has already delt out suffering today. Tried to create new ways to make them feel the torture he feels daily. The victims to anyone else would seem random. A teenage boy strapped to a wall. A middle-aged businesswoman trapped in a small cage. A young woman twitching from the horror she has witnessed thus far. But they were each selected for a reason. The boy had jeered at a young cowering boy, then had called the killer a faggot. The businesswoman had sneered at his appearance, then commented on it loudly to a passerby. The passerby, which had been the young woman, had openly laughed in response. People, in general, are truly detestable.
The man grimaced a little. The bit of humanity left in him resented the fact that he was fated for this job, almost wished he had been just as oblivious as the next human being. Perhaps he would have been happy then. Truly happy. But then, who would do the job for him? Surely not one of those incompetent mass murdurers, the ones on TV that killed an enormous amount of people, but were finally caught by the bumbling legal system. Pitiful. That's the only way to describe it. Just pitiful.
He sighed and lay back on the couch, his long arms and legs sprawling over the small piece of furniture. He almost wished that the doughboys would return. Almost. They had met their unfortunate end while Johnny had been making people's heads explode. At this point, though, they would normally urge him to either kill others or kill himself. At least that debating had filled the empty void that now seemed to penetrate every corner of this god-forsaken house.
"What am I supposed to do now?" the man said aloud. Only a faint cry from his basement answered him. He had tortured the needed number of victims. He had already had a couple brain freezies today. Squee was sent out of town just yesterday by his parents to the horrible camp of Wherethehellarewe. Everything was done that needed to be done. There always seemed to be a lull in his activity level a few hours before the sun rose. He seemed to grow tired and immensely bored. He carefully kept his eyes open and made sure never to make himself too comfortable. Why? Well, otherwise he would fall asleep. Sleep is a weakness and a complete waste of time. But when everyone else is either asleep or dead, what is there to do when one questions sleep?
"I think I'll just go out. Walk around town a bit," he decided after a while, answering his own question. He pushed himself off of the couch and stretched, feeling the vertebrae in his spine pop into place.
Just as he opened the door, he felt a sharp sting in his neck. He pulled a small dart out of his neck and smirked at it. They hardly affected him at all, normally. The potion residing within those tiny things caused a normal human to pass out, to crumple to the ground immediately. Johnny's body and mind have been trained to resist sleep in any of its forms. One dart could not possibly...
Johnny noticed that it was suddenly difficult to keep any form of balance. He leaned against the doorframe for support, trying desperately to stay upright. Weakness invaded every one of his joints. A cloudiness creeped in on his mind, pulling him deeply under...something. He shot a last disbelieving glance at the dart he still clutched in his hand right before he crumpled to the ground.
Something strange ocurred, though. Due to Johnny fighting the sleep so fiercly, his mind remained active although to all appearances, he slept soundly. His senses, besides for sight, worked perfectly. So he still felt the hard wooden floor beneath him, and still heard his own shallow breathing. He inwardly smirked. He had beaten sleep once again. The downside was that he couldn't move any of his limbs, nor could he even open his eyelids to see his attacker. A foot jabbed him in the side, and fury sparked in him. The attacker was lucky that he could not move, or else their lifetime would be literally cut short, no matter how long the lifelines were on his palms.
"Once again, I have given a great benefit for mankind using REAL SCIENCE! A wanted criminal, taken down by my own hands!" a pompous voice from above him celebrated. He knew that voice from somewhere, maybe from TV? He sounded like that one guy, the idiotic scientist that always seemed so egotistical and oblivious. The one with the supposedly crazy son.
"You did it once again, Professor Membrane," another nearby voice responded. So that was the next name to add to his mental list of potential victims! Professor Membrane, supposed savior of mankind. Would his blood on the wall be any less messy or any brighter than the blood of the average human, due to his status? Johnny mentally growled. He truly despised this man.
"Of course I did! Now, to administer the second sleeping shot to ensure that he is completely unconscious!" Professor Membrane announced dramatically.
"Um, sir? That might be going a bit overboard. Is that second shot really necessary?" the other person asked. A deep-throated chuckle was heard in response.
"Why, it certainly is, Thomas! This man, Johnny C. I believe he is called, has slaughtered over three thousand human beings. It is also a rumor that he suffers from an odd condition that allows him to stay awake for months at a time with no sleep. Better to be safe and alive than dead on his wall!" the professor exclaimed cheerfully. Nny tried to cringe away, tried to move any of his limbs so that he could still be aware of his surroundings. The only thing he accomplished was that his steel-toed boot twitched. Another sharp sting is felt in his neck, and the homicidal maniac quickly succumbs to his most hated horror...a much needed deep sleep.
The scientist looked proud of his accomplishment while his colleague looked...to be blunt, nervous. Thomas hoisted Johnny's unconscious form over his shoulder carefully. As he followed his boss out the door, he couldn't help but question the motives of 'the best scientist ever'. Yes, capturing the now helpless mass murdurer was a great accomplishment, one that many wish they could boast about. But there was a weird, sick gleam in his boss's eye when he had originally kicked the fallen man. Thomas could almost see the mental gears spinning, of what was in store for this homicidal maniac.
Yes, Johnny had killed thousands. But Thomas studied his story enough, followed it along through the years, to learn something. Nny wasn't just a random, violent, crazed criminal that would slaughter you if were to so much as look at him, like most thought. He was more like...a genius with a tortured soul. If one were to actually listen to the rants he gave right before the slaughter, they would find that it echoed with truth that made you think about what kind of things had occurred to make him more observant than the average human being. He was quite lucid for a supposed maniac.
Too bad Thomas was just a lower-ranking employee to the professor. Otherwise he might have actually had a say in what was to be done when they reached the lab. Inwardly, he scowled at the man who had saved mankind countless times. The man was sometimes a benevolent, kindred spirit that truly cared for his children. But other times, just around his colleagues, he acted like a stereotypical mad scientist. You can't exactly pick who you work for, though. Especially not in this day and age.
"We have reached the labs, Thomas!" Professor Membrane announced. "Let's go to the surgery room and conduct REAL SCIENCE, and cleanse this evil incarnate from the world for the good of humanity!"
"Sir?" Thomas asked hesitantly. "How, exactly, to do you plan to do this?"
"Horrible tests with a low survival rate! How else is evil supposed to be extinguished?" the professor pointed out a little too cheerfully. He eagerly darted inside the building. Thomas groaned and reluctantly followed. If it were up to him, Nny would be cured in some other, less painful way. He would, in Johnny's words, just switch him off and fix him. But what was he to do? He was just a lowly assistant to a mad scientist. He had no say in the matter concerning the fate of Johnny C.
