The Change

Summary: the world is wicked, the world is cruel. No one knows this better than humanity's emotional sewer system, Johnny C. But floods are a thing of the past, and the world is spiraling out of control, and it seems like maybe, this time, the lights have gone out for good.

Story:a crossover of Johnny the Homicidal maniac, "Dies the Fire", Invader Zim, and misc. names and places. In which the old world ends, and a new world begins.

Leading characters
: Johnny C., Devi D, and Todd 'Squee' Castil.

Warnings: Murder, language, references to cannibalism, speculation on religion, and of course Johnny C. himself.


-With the sunset spread like wings,

And the sun all red and dripping blood,

The party's footfall rings...

"Tenna, Derek, grab those grocery carts!"

The two fugitives jumped to attention, snapping up the abandoned 'hobo-mobiles', as Tenna had put it.

Although it was early noon, the streets were not entirely empty. Devi scowled dangerously at a pedestrian, shouldering her bags.

Over the last day, they'd been by everyone but Tenna's house to pick up their stuff. And other people's stuff. The Home-Depot surely wouldn't miss a couple wagons, and it was doubtful that the Wal-Mart would need those shopping carts. The same way that the hunting store wouldn't miss those Swiss-army knives or those arrows.

Granted, she wasn't sure why she needed arrows—or the bow that went with them—but she was in Prophet mode by that point, and running seventy percent by instinct. Guns don't work, bows do… well, and you do the math.

She just needed someone who could use them.

She needed more food, too. They had picked up Gwen's brother and his neighbor during her leg of the trip, and Devi was running the numbers. There was no way she could feed these people for over a week, even with the cans they had liberated from the supermarket.

"My... A girl from my coven lives just around the road," Derek called over the rattling cart wheels, "Could we stop and get her?"

Speaking of mouths to feed…it was occuring to Devi more and more that she could only really afford to take in people with skills they could use… a part time hunter, or a bow maker, or a survivalist with stocks of food. Or somebody who knew what the hell to do in the face of a potential apocalypse, because she was barely winging it at this stage.

"Can she do anything useful?" the leader finally asked. "It's just that we just can't afford to take care of dead weight at this point."

The man rolled his grocery cart up beside her, falling into step. "Pam was a naturalist before... things changed, yesterday. Wiccan-tree-hugger syndrome, as I like to call it. If we have to hide in the woods, she'll be helpful."

Devi made another quick decision. "Alright," she said, "we'll get your friend. You run ahead and let her know we're coming, and I'll take your hobo-mobile."

Shit. Did she actually say that?

"M'kay." Derek winked. Ugh. So she did say that…

But the Wiccan was ignorant of her chagrin, and bounced off to collect his friend.

Double shit. Now she was stuck with two religious nuts for the remainder of this goddamned apocalypse. But, if there was a consolation, Wiccans were generally more agreeable than, say, Christians, in her experience. Less evangelical, at least.

As long as nobody starts preaching, I think we'll get along.

A loud call from across the street caught her attention, dragging her out of her thoughts.

"Hey lady!" the stranger said, dragging his companion by the arm, "My friend here needs help—do you have any bandages?"

Devi looked them over. The speaker was an older teen, black-haired, well-built. The unconscious one was probably about the same age, thinner, with brown hair and a torn green jacket. Blood leaked from his side.

"Holy shit," Devi yelped, eyes wide. "What happened to him?"

"He has something of a hero-complex," the darker explained, watching as she pulled out some towels, "Thinks he can stop every looter in the city. This time, I'm pretty sure he met his match."

As she wrapped the towels around his torn side, Devi sighed loudly. Fuck. Well, the universe probably knew what it was doing.

"Your buddy's not going anywhere like this. The two of you had better come with us."


Dear Die-ary,

I picked up Squee and his mom yesterday. And her pills. And some food. The TV doesn't work anymore, but the bathrooms do, somehow (gravity pump?) and Squee is fun to have around. We've been talking a lot.

I feel very lucid. I've even been across the street to raid the neighbor's kitchen without and major shit. It's almost as if the modern world was a drug that was fucking me up too badly to stand, and now that I'm off of it…

Reverend Meat hasn't talked since the lights went out.

I think I'm getting better.

March 19, 1998


Johnny waltzed up the basement steps and into the living room, carrying a bag of coins and keys.

"Hey Squee!" He shouted, looking for his tiny roommate, "I just killed most of the people left in my basement! What should I do with the bodies?"

He liked asking Todd that kind of question.

"Squeee…" the boy whimpered. Terrible, terrible images flooded into his head.

"I mean," the maniac continued, "I usually just shove them into an unoccupied room or bury them under the front lawn, but I have company now, so…"

Squee gulped and tried to think rationally, because that tended to calm him down. "…Y-you should p-probably bury them. We may n-need to plant things, and it'll help them grow better."

"Good plan! I might need you to help me dig, though. I'm pretty skinny, as you might have noticed."

Todd looked at the madman as if he were an alien from planet Xenu. You could almost hear the mental cords snapping.

"Just as long," he answered faintly, "as I don't have to touch them." And he wandered off in a daze.

'Huh' Johnny mentally shrugged.

While he was down there killing people, he'd taken the liberty of chopping up the healthiest looking bodies he could find, supposing that in a pinch, he could eat them. Although he really hoped it wouldn't come to that.

It was strange, though, that as soon as he starting gutting, he knew exactly what to do to, and exactly where everything was. Had he been an anatomy major in college? A professional sportsman?

Things were getting more uncanny every minute.

As he was building a fire in the sink—he'd found that it was safer that the carpet—Squee wandered in behind him.

"Nny," he frowned, "what are you doing?"

"I'm building a fire so I can smoke human meat for us to eat someday."

The look on Squee's face shifted into an I'm-not-surprised-but-I-really-should-be expression. "Nny, do you think this is the apocalypse?"

The murderer turned to him, surprised. "I didn't think about that! What do you know about the apocalypse?"

Another change of expressions, this time to the look that comes with bad memories. "Only what Pepito's told me. That usually involved fire and tattoos 'n stuff. But he said it was the end of the world, and, well…" He gestured out the now un-boarded window, "this looks like the end of the world to me."

Johnny sat down on the tile, gesturing for Squee to join him.

"Maybe it is he end of the world," he mused thoughtfully, "Or maybe it's the beginning of a new world. Maybe this is our Flood story; maybe we're finally going to turn the human race in a decent direction! You and me, Squeegee. We're going to make a whole new fucking world. All we have to do is make it through the night, then we'll be in a new day."

"I don't think we'll make it," the younger said sadly, "bad things always happen to me. I'm like a trauma buffet—Shmee told me so."

Johnny frowned. Poor kid, one of the last true humans on earth, and so unlucky… "Well," he said, "if this is the end of the old world, this is the end of old Todd too."

"…So I won't be like a badly drawn cartoon full of misfortune and hilariously sick woe anymore?"

"Nope! No one's drawing us a crappy future now. You and me, we can be anybody we want. We're free."

Johnny found himself thinking of all the months he had spent on the road, trying to suppress his own emotions, only to realize that he was his emotion, and come back home at a loss. Inadvertently, he'd found his freedom here at home, emotion and all.

Ironic.

So he could be anyone he wanted now. He could be…

"Hey, Squeegi."

The little kid looked up at him, chewing a lip. "Yeah?"

"I just realized, I don't have a last name. All my pictures have 'Johnny C.' written on them, but no real last name. We live together, now. It's almost like we're family, right?"

"…Right..."

"Well… do you mind if I steal your last name? What is your last name?"

Squee rubbed at a spot on the tile. "It's Casil. And… well, okay. But you have to be good if you're gonna be in my family. You can't try to kill me like Daddy did."

"Okay!" the older man agreed, jumping to his feet. "This is gonna be great!"

ToBeContinued