And that's how it is.

Yes, that's life. For me, it's a matter of give and take: you have to take what's given to you, but, what you make of it, is what you give.

Sit down here. Let me buy you a drink.

My name ? Hmm.. I have a name, but, neah, I won't tell it to you. Yet. Just call me..... 'bastard'. Nah, that's not a nice moniker. How about "the criminal' ? A bit clichéd, yes, but, I have no better designation.

Because that's what I am.

A criminal.

And I'm pretty much proud of it.

Oh wait, you want to ask me about 'Nny ? As in Johnny C. ?

I like that bugger.

That son of a bitch gave me one nice cut on my leg right down here. Of course, I won't show it, but, trust me, it's one handsome scar. Yeah, Nny's not going to get an letters from me, but, heck, he sure is something.

The scar on my leg ? No, that's not how I met 'Nny. That's another tale.

If you want to know how I met him, well, let me buy you a drink, and I'll go slowly.

~

It began a while back.

Ah yes, I can remember that day. There was nothing new to it.

Why should there be ?

We live in a world where nothing is special, and only a few remote individuals have that ability to rise up, and take advantage of that situation. Sometimes, I wonder about my place in my life, sometimes, I don't. If I steal, it's not because I want the money to live rich, because I'll be tracked down. If I kill, it's not just because the person frustrates me, or I derive a strength from just eliminating one human life. There's something about taking away one life that I have yet to somewhat calculate.

And before you book me, all I can say is that I'm pretty much screwed anyway. Yes, I have killed people, and I sometimes regret about it, but, I am neither sadistic, nor am I manic.

Alright, fine, I'll get to the point.

~

As I said, there was nothing special about that night; the moon was full, the night was young, and the streets were clogged with shit. Literally. I can still remember the stench, the smell of litter, stray animals, and the lot around me. Poor girls selling their wares (themselves that is), the low life of society wasting their life away, hanging around, waiting to pick on someone, or to await a brawl or two.

I was walking, in coat, shirt and all, walking to some insignificant shop. The faint glow of halogen gas shone dimly in the skies; I could remember it.

The place was making little business. Any shop that has a sign that advertises a clearout sale is definitely facing little business. And in this case" Sale ! Sale ! All the stuff you'll never want" clearly shows that, by now, the shop should heave already been demolished by now. It was, truly, a cesspool of sorts.

A perfect place for a cheap robbery. No grand stakeout or whatever, just a hit and run attack, perfect for practice.

So I waited outside.

And that was when I first saw Johnny C.

~

Now, if there's something that I hate the most, it's morons. Assholes. Whatever you call them. Now, I have to make a confession: perhaps I was one myself. Or maybe I still am. But I can no longer count myself as that mass lot of the population that just likes to victimise about certain individuals. Who partake in cheap banter. Gossip. That sort of shit. I have come to a stage of life where I can only be satisfied by a good book or a cheap thrill. A bit too contrasting, eh ? Don't try to decipher me, we're not here to get into that. You asked me about Johnny C, so, I'm telling you about the first time I saw him.

But yes, there he was, with his messy ruffled hair, a sign of perhaps a few 'run-ins' , the sort we criminals always have, his bulging, tired eyes, always alert, never sleeping, his long, sharp fingernails. He was one guy that definitely victimised as a kid: he certainly did look eccentric even amongst certain circles. I have no idea what is with the idea that a thin person is a geek for the sole fact that he is thin: perhaps another one of those stereotypes born out of the fact that it is always the thin, college nerds who are always pushed around, and that thinness is associated with geekdom. But, yes, for a guy, he was relatively skinny. However, though he may lack strength and weight, one could safely judge him as to being a fellow that was relatively agile. Yeah, that's right: agile. He was nimble, quick, and light, able to skip around. He was hyperactive, and impatient, never waiting for a moment, always ready to strike at any instant. And the boots ! He wore relatively casual clothing, but the boots in this instant did NOT match his clothes. His boots were pure leather, with metallic skull buckles (did I get that right) and a metallic front on each boot. Those boots were one heck of a fashion statement, and he wore them with casual clothing.

And there he was, Johnny C, poised, waiting for action, and threatening the shop owner.

The shop owner, who was a typical goth. Scratch that, goth wannabe. Or whatever you call them. Call me outdated, but I am relatively out of touch when it comes to some circles: I'm a bit of an 'oldie' if there's such a term. But, in all truth, he wore makeup on really bad skin, and sported a nonchalant attitude and attire. If he was a goth, I suppose he did it, not because he found it really interesting, but merely as a show. Merely because it was 'cool'. Ah, appeal factor.

And they were having an argument. Now, I can't really gauge how the argument began, but, I can roughly guess that it was the owner who started it. Or was it Nny ? After all, Nny accused the owner of treating him like some pain in the ass. The shop owner, he never really gave a f***-ing damn about his job, or whatever, and didn't really like the kind of people that Nny resembled. These pretentious people don't really like "losers": they are, in a sense, a pain in the ass to them, as they feel that these people could not possibly be that well in tune with the things they like if a loser likes 'something', it's something that should be avoided, something 'uncool', and if it isn't, then, most people would ditch simply because a loser likes it. People are like that. They don't like to do what a loser does: they follow trends, the in-thing, and don't want to be associated with outcasts of sorts.

So Nny went out in full attack. From all the eyewitness reports on him, Nny has the tendency of going angsty or philosophical before he gets into his murderous, tyrannical rage. And here he was, going straight into action, verbally attacking the shop owner for singling him out, and treating him as a loser, as seen through his asshole vision. The owner, for all he could stand, really wanted to get Nny out of his shop, and finally let out his semi-authorative hand, indicating towards the exit, trying to get Nny to get out.

And that was when Nny started to talk about pain. That sick bastard.

So, I saw it as a moment to act.

Time to gain some dough.

~

It all happened in 5 seconds; smooth, quickly, and efficiently.

I brought out my gun. Nny had his knives, I had my gun. Nothing beats a quick death without torture. As I said, I am no sadist or maniac. I now had the authority. Charleston Heston talked about prying a gun from his cold, dead fingers, now, I want to see these two pry it out of my warm hands. I was in charge.

The owner could do nothing more than lift his hands up, and make his last ditch attempt to safeguard his money. Apparently, he had the cash registers emptied. Emptied, two hours before the closing time of this filthy shop.

Right.

~

I hate frustration.

But, I am not Nny.

I do not like to torture my victims. I do not want them to suffer from a slow, long, painful death simply for the fact that it'd make them realise how fragile Life truly is. To have this very same life extinguished after such torture would really be of little benefit. Then again, that's my ideal, and, for all my fantasies of having a good conversation with Nny over a table with crumpets and tea, I know that Nny would have his knife at my throat and would proceed too torture me excruciatingly. Call me a moralist, but, I don't believe in torture..

And here it was. This sad, pock marked face individual, who lived his life in some store, victimizing 'loser types', and being arrogant when he had little cause to be arrogant. No right for me to shoot him, but, then again, I hate frustration, don't I ? And besides: Nny was going to torture this poor bastard.

No way.

No fucking way.

~

As the blood came, I rushed out, the gun barrel still smoking, my hand holding it up, my coat flying in the wind, rushing to escape a possible wrath from Nny.

And yes, that's how I first met him.

And I can still remember the last words he said at this first encounter: Perhaps it was a mubmle, or a thought he unexpectedly said out aloud.

"Bastard."

Heh.

Call me 'bastard', but, I don't really care now, do I ?

~

(This is the first in the series of four individuals that have met Nny. I won't start on this yet as I have yet to read "Squee" and "I feel sick", but, I felt a bit safe in starting with this guy first. Oh, and who is this guy ? Do you have you copy of Z?: JtHM the Director's Cut ? Now, turn slowly to the third lst page of the comic, just before Jhonen's interview. Yeah, that's right. That fellow. Featuring a marvellous performance by HNB and a group called "The Fuckys". A bit OOC, but, I found this criminal guy interesting. So, if you have guessed correctly, I'll be taking certain minor characters, as they were one of the few that had survived encounters with 'Nny)