Goodie Gumdrops! A brand new fun-licious, thing-a-ma... ah, shit, I can't do it. This is the first chapter of whatever this thing'll be named, done by me. The next will be done by tasty cheez.

Huzzah.

Johnny C. rarely dreams.

This happened to be in direct correlation with the fact that he rarely slept, but it was more than that. Whenever his body actually did shut down from over two weeks worth of insomnia, nothing ever happened. Just a blank, pure black unconsciousness and that oh-so-hated feeling of disorientation.

But it was different for once.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he knew he had. There was no clue or indication that he was dreaming, but he knew he was. Johnny was standing in a four-way intersection, cars piled around the edge. All the cars, buildings and even the sidewalk were on fire, a massive, all-engulfing flame.

Johnny only had time to gaze at the works of the one that had played Arson when an earthquake occured. The ground began to shake and split, the asphalt cracking apart. Then a black hand burst forth. Slowly, an arm came up, the another, then a whole body, all covered in an inky darkness.

The only parts not covered in black were an old brown stetson on the figure's head and two gleaming pistols pointed at Johnny.

With two thundering bangs and puffs of smoke added to the rising mass of burned city, the guns fired. The bullets flew in slow motion, but Johnny didn't move. They crawled across the distance between the two. The fires still roared around Johnny. Buildings started to collapse as the bullets finally tore into Johnny. One in the shoulder, breaking his collarbone; one in the forehead, shredding his brain...

And he woke up.

Johnny C. sat his slim frame up immediatly, more from wanting to regain his senses than from fear of the dream. That was another reason he hated sleep. No damn consistency. At least his living room was the same: the rotting wood walls, the desk piled high with Happy Noodle Boy comics, the literal bunny-ear TV set, the beaten up old couch.

It was the couch Johnny had slept on, and the TV was blaring some odd noise. Johnny stood up.

"Damn. Weird dream. Like there's not enough shit in my head without dreams to contend with." He noticed that there was some kind of emergency news broadcast on TV. Something about a mass murderer attacking the city.

Heh, Johnny thought, big deal. I'm mass murder incarnate.

The newscaster said something more about the terrible gruesomeness of the situation, then switched to a live video footage.

A man stood in the middle of a road, cars piled all about. Some of the cars had burst into flames, making the man have a silhouette form. He was firing two guns at people, cars, whatever was close. People were running around, screaming, many of them bleeding. The man was laughing and screaming in the crowd. He wore a tattered brown poncho, regular blue jeans, and cowboy boots.

But what really got Johnny was the old brown stetson on the man's head as he screamed.

"YEEE-HA-HAW!! THA'S RIGHT, RUN, SHITHEADS!! RUN!! HA-HA-HA-HA!! WHEN YA SEE TH' DEVIL, TELL 'IM OL' WILLIE WILIKER SENT YA!! YAH-HA-HA!!"

The video ran for a few seconds longer, then a bullet hit the camera, and there was static. Johnny shut off the TV.

Burning intersection. Crazy cowboy. So much like the dream, and something about the cowboy's name...

"Fuck." Johnny said. "Another maniac."

Johnny grabbed his smiley face knives from the umbrella stand by the door and stepped outside. He saw a glow in the distance and heard faint gunshots.

With an I-can't-believe-I'm-actually-doing-this sigh, Johnny began to walk towards the glow.

The entire town was deserted as Johnny walked through it, which was decidedly a good thing. He drew closer to the sounds of fire and guns and wondered why he was doing this.

It's just a dream, Johnny thought. Why the hell should I care? It's only coincidental, nothing prophetic or fated about it...

Johnny paused for a second seeing a frightened lady run towards him, asking for help. With a quick jab, his knife was in her throat. He slid it out and kept walking. He didn't want to lose his train of thought.

I mean, it's not like I don't have a choice. I could just turn around a go home.

But he kept walking.

Shit. Another inexcusable flaw of Johnny C. Keep walking, doing something I don't want to do, just like with the wall! DAMN! I'm getting all worked up! I don't have emotions, for fuck's sake.

Of course you have emotions, m'boy! Reverend Meat chimed in.

"Oh, shut up, Meat! You're not even here!" Johnny said out loud. He was thankful that the town was deserted; all the people would have stared at him, and he would have had to kill them all.

Hell, I could just go home now, just turn around and walk away. That's right. That's what I'm gonna do. Just walk away.

But he was already there.

The first thing Johnny noticed was the heat. Of course fire would be hot, but not this hot. Not even Hell was this hot.

The cowboy in the middle was still firing off at random, not hitting anything. He'd stopped laughing.

Johnny comtemplated walking away like he so wanted to, but the cowboy noticed him out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, how-dee, Mister Johnny." the cowboy said. He holstered his guns.

"Oh, I'm so glad the crazy psychotic cowboy knows my name. Honored, really." Johnny said. No backing out now.

"And you are a Mister, Wiliker, was it? Heh, funny name... Yes, well, you seem to be rapidly destroying this city, which actually doesn't bother me, but you are making quite the noise. It's bothersome, and all the people screaming..."

"Heh-heh-heh." Wiliker laughed. "Don't care 'bout no one else, do ya? Just like you, Nny."

Johnny gripped his knives tighter. "Did you just call me Nny?"

Wiliker grinned. "Hey, cool it, goth boy. Don't wanna go and pop a vein 'r somethin'."

Johnny clenched his teeth and managed to spurt out, "DID YOU JUST STEREOTYPE ME?"

Wiliker unholstered his pistols. "Whatcha gonna do 'bout it? Cut me?"

Johnny's rage finally flowed over the edge. "WELL YOU ARE BEGGING FOR IT!!"

With that, Johnny rushed towards Wiliker, knives pointed forward.