Hey, whaddaya know... I'm putting up the next chapter... yayness. Ha! Now I shall answer my reviewer person thingies. Ha ha, here I go:

Nessa-you-sort-of-kind-of-know-me-a-little-bit: Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I did indeed take heed (dyah, god damn it, I rhymed) to what you put above your little review thingy. Ah, well... and YES! THOU SHALT RECIEVE A PIDGEON!... of, some kind. o.O Yet another "Ah-well followed by an elipses" moment... I love elipses... anyways: ANIMATED CHRISTMAS CARD! Yayness! My friends keep on sending me these greeting cards from Neopets... it's slightly annoying. o.o Ha ha, look at the widdle face... (pokes smiley insanely) I still can't spell... I hear Inu yasha music... dun dun dun dun... YES! UPDATE THYV STORY OF OUR FEMININE KING ARAGORN! Fweeeeee hee hee hee hee... happy-ish that you liketh chapter. Monkey feet!

nessagain: Wow... hey, look, another review from you. (anime sweatdrop) Heh heh... I figured it was you... I don't know a whole lot of people with the name "Ness"... let alone usernames... anyways, yea, I figured it was you. Um... sorry? o.o

Nessa Inwe: Wow, you don't know when to stop reviewing, do you? o.o' Heh heh... just kidding. Anyways, yes, I am stupid I sucketh alot 'cause I only got the account a few days ago... Oh well...

Githoniel: Yayness! Hooray for Elbreth Gilthoniel... (starts humming hymn) Fwaha... um, my grammy that was sick about a couple of months ago... she's kinda dead. o.o' When I said "gramma," I was making fun of my spelling for not spelling "grammar" correctly. My formerly sick grandmother has been released from her suffering for quite some time though... hmmm, but I'll accept your sympathy anyways, thank you. o.o' I ish glad that you ish lovey my chapter, though I personally think it sucks... of course, I believe all of my writing to suck, so... (shrugg) And I can't help but randomly blurt out the synonym phrase to the Day of Reckoning! It's kinda stuck in my head.... Oh well... Ha ha, I've got My Chemical Romance stuck in my head... DAMN YOU DEANNA! Oh well. Gladdish you likey!

CHAPTER 3: Out into the Night

Silence.

That was exactly what he loved to hear. Absolute silence. Well, at least for the moment anyways.

Johnny arched a brow and glanced behind his shoulder in the paranoia-like character that was Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. He adjusted the black strap of his ebony backpack slung idly over his bony shoulder, and swayed slightly in his pencil-straight stance, staring in wonder at the steel-toe of his boots. He was suddenly so fascinated by them...

He blinked and randomly flicked his eyes up to the ceiling and glanced to the inanimate cardboard Dough Boys nailed against the now-silent blood-drinking wall. His gaze traveled to the entrance of the corridor, where a flimsy door stood ajar. Despite the windows of his humble home being boarded up, a little voice informed him that it was still about, oh, say, maybe... one or two o' clock in the morning.

His footsteps padded quietly on the wooden floor of his household, he gripped the strap of his bag and swayed again after every footfall. As soon as he was at the entrance of the opened door, he pointed one finger at the very center of it, and poked it open with one slow, strong jab. The rusted hinges groaned in protest as it squeaked out of Johnny's path, who silently skulked out into the living room, aware that besides him the only living-breathing organism in the room was a slumbering Felix, who was laid comfortably on the not-so comfortable couch.

Nny rotated his head around to peer at her, and his arched brow went lowered slightly. Her pale eyelids were gently veiling her auburn-flavored eyes, and she had forgotten to slip off her boots before she slept. Both arms were folded protectively over her torso, her slender hands clutching her shoulders in defense against some dream monstrosity Nny could not see. Her knees were crumpled to her chest, and he observed the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders as she inhaled, then exhaled.

Johnny blinked, realizing randomly that his housemate seemed much less vexing when she was in slumber. Well, of course Nny. She can't say anything when she is caught in the trenches of reverie, now can she? Yes, yes, she was like a corpse, crumpled together in the exact position of fear in which they died. The exact same pose they were in whilst their demise dawned upon them, or... well, something like that.

He had just whirled around on he heel of his boot and began progressing to step spider-like onto the doorstep, when he thought his ears caught something.

"Johnny..."

Once again, the male blinked, and turned his face to the right to face the thing that had muttered his name. Not to his immense astonishment, only the tell-tale silence answered him. He had lost Nailbunny quite awhile ago, and the Dough Boys were still hushed and nailed to the wall. That left only one possibility:

Once again, Nny turned around to regard the sleeping girl on the couch, who he noticed had tightened her fetal position, and hid her face from his view behind her knees. He felt his right optic twitch vaguely, the murmur echoing in his enigmatic black mind. "Johnny... Johnny..."

"Johnny..."

He wagged his head violently, and concealed his ears desperately, mentally ushering the verbal memory out of his head. Before he allowed Felix's whisper to crawl back into his ears. He darted quickly and inaudibly to the door, swung it open, and somehow managed to shut it swiftly with nothing more than a soft click.

The atmosphere was smothered in crispy coolness that washed over his exposed hands that were still clamped onto the backpack straps. The cul-de-sac was ringing with silence, except for the cool breeze that occasionally whispered false truths into Nny's keen ears. The only light came from the radiating orbs screwed in the street lamps, where tiny specks of moths and flies circled it idly. The sky behind and above it was just a pure black, no stars dotting it's dark blanket, no violet clouds drifting into view...

Johnny breathed it all in, pleasantly glad to be out of the house once again. He glanced over his shoulder to his backpack to peer at it knowingly, and then released an insane, evil smirk.

Where should he go tonight? There were so many places that were open for twenty-four hours a day, but which one should he bestow havoc upon tonight? There was the dance club two blocks away, yes, yes... that was one possibility... But then there was that... other dance club that was about six streets ahead, and was easily much more populated. But, then there was that Music Store right besides it, packed with cheerleaders wanting to listening to all of those damn boy bands... like, Who's-the-Skank and the Smite Strikes, or some rock band along those lines.

((A/N: I'm sorry, my people, but I had to make fun of Hoobastank and the White Stripes. Yes, those were the two bands that I was indeed mocking. Don't get me wrong, I sold my soul to the White Stripes, so it's not like I hate them or something. Honestly, there's nothing that I have against them. But Hoobastank... That damn "The Reason" song was currently stuck in my head when I began the previous paragraph, so you might just have to deal with my not-so funny making-fun-of-ness of popular bands of today. I do that a lot now. And by the way, I am perfectly aware that neither of these two bands, Hoobastank and the White Stripes, are NOT boy bands. Peace out.))

Yes that is exactly where he will sojourn tonight... he will go massacre every son of a bitch that just so happened to be in Da Music Store...

Besides, most of them probably accomplished some grotesque deed that made them unworthy to live in his perspective. Yes, yes... Everybody seemed to be an asshole these days.

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About maybe... seven minutes later, Johnny found himself standing in front of the music depot, peering up at the filthy "DA MUSIC STOrE" indicator fused onto the top of the building. He tilted his head slightly, and let himself in. Perhaps he would not have to kill someone tonight after all. Maybe every animalistic human organism will just leave him in his typical solitude...

On the thin, papery grey mat of the floor (that rudely read WHAT DO YOU WANT?) after the entrance though, as these thoughts bubbled happily to the surface, immediately began sinking into doubtful, deep water again. No. No, no, no. There were perky, happy people here, and these perky happy people meant cheerleaders. And, everyone who came into close contact with Johnny, even for a temporary time, knew that in Johnny's mathematics, it was butcher knife plus cheerleader equals decapitated head on pointy metal bar.

Sighing, he sadly allowed his eyes to fall to his fascinating toes again, and watched them step forward with a gentle clunk on the white tile floor. He looked up to the people surrounding him, and that habitual piss-me-off-and-you're-screwed half-smile reappearing once again. Some Goth was filing through the Hard Rock whilst his girlfriend was flipping through the different volumes of Nine Inch Heels. A group of girls in pink, lime-green, yellow and orange were standing in the third aisle, giggling and gossiping how the leader to Corn was so "hot." Away down the same row stood a nerd-like in yellow and green plaid, his elegant fingers shuffling for something that might express how much he hated everyone calling him dork.

Two aisles down, the one that Johnny himself was at the entrance of, at the very end stood two girls about maybe around Felix's age. One of them, the girl dressed in gray and black, looked up and giggled at the sight of him and whispered something to her companion, who was conveniently attired in ebony and white also.

The other girl whispered something, but her friend raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and replied, "So?" He heard the female that was eyeing him earlier scoff and observed her rolling her eyes. The smiled in a coy manner with her eyes directed his way again, her fingers delicately swapping the CD she desired. Her voluptuous smile expanded slightly as she strode down the aisle and waltzed past him into the General Bathroom behind him.

Annoyed with the wench, he grumbled something in low tones, something about "fucking low self-esteemed sluts and penguin beaks," smoothly fished the screwdriver he had pocketed earlier into his pocket for easy access. He readjusted the shoulder strap of his bag once again and sauntered off into the Classical section, just for the hell of it.

His eyes wandered from each old, wrinkled face of ancient composers but none of them, absolutely NONE of them was the one he was looking for. He already had a Beethoven CD, which he positively adored... but, what would there be to listen to? What be there that he wanted to listen to? Pretty much all of today's music was unpleasant, and belonged in the garbage pail of horrible audio sounds. His gaze shifted to the familiar plastic cover of Beethoven, the composer's portrait glaring at him ambiguously.

Johnny smiled slightly at the sight of a duplicate of his favorite CD, and picked it up as if it were his own. He wasn't quite sure what he had done with the CD case anyways, but, he always had enjoyed Ode to Joy ((A/N: (sniff) Nny has the absolute greatest taste in music...))

"Excuse me?"

He blinked, his neck erecting in alarm, his dark eyes narrowing in suspicious annoyance. Not another voice directed at him... not another female's little voice, please, not another teenager's voice... not an annoying voice.

Moderately he craned his neck around, eyebrow arched in immense provocation. It was that same damned girl who had practically tangoed (sp?) to the bathroom. His lip was pouted out at the sudden vexing girl behind him, who, just to annoy him even more, looked slightly eager about something.

"Can I help you with something?" He asked slowly but vigilantly. His skeletal hand clutched his backpack strap with an increasing grasp.

"Um..." She began, an obviously embarrassed grin breaking her semi-beautiful tan face. She hastily moved a strand of hair out of her eyes and giggled like a fucking, sluttish cheerleader in ebony. The little screwdriver in his pocket seemed to feel lonely... and Nny did not appreciate his loneliness at all. "Hi, um, what's your name?"

Despite the knowledge that she was flirting with him, an evil grin cracked across the homicidal maniac's face, allowing his head to tilt in false kindness. Rotating to the left in an angle where he ensured that she couldn't see his creeping hand to the hilt of his skewering weapon, his false smile expanded maniacally. "Nny," He greeted, tilting his head even farther, subconsciously aware that her friend had shaken her head in nark-ness ((A/N: Heh... Heh. I think I have a new favorite word. Heh, heh...)) and had forsaken her companion to the blood hands of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac.

"Nny?" She inquired, giggling again. "That's a funny name... how do you spell it?"

Without answering, he sighed in great joy at this encounter. No, no, not the fact that he, Johnny, had run into her... but, the knowledge of foreshadowing his screwdriver lodged deep in the temple of her head. He fingered the concealed behind his bony back eagerly, silently cheering that tonight he was out of the house.

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Thirty minutes later, our protagonist Nny stalked out of Da Music store, his triumphant face splattered with was unmistakably blood, and what looked like a fragment of cerebellum dangling off of the ends of a lock in his hair. He arched an eyebrow, and cackled to himself in satisfaction. Sighing once more, he glance his head around to judge his handiwork, and was disappointed to see that he could have done better.

The display window advertising the new releases of CD's was drenched in blood, and there was an eyeball caught in-between two CD cases. The blood-spurting arm was still sliding down the sand-created barrier, leaving a long streak of crimson liquid behind it. He had left the other surrounding civilians alone, clumped in cowering bands in the comforting corners.

He had to admit, though, that was indeed a pleasant kill. She was rather irking, after all. Some one as whorish as her didn't need to be strutting around anyways. She didn't deserve life anyways... Sighing, he turned around and outstretched a booted foot to progress forward into the night—

WHACK.

Before he realized what had happened, he saw a spin of light colors and felt himself falling like a struck-down tree, almost fell flat on his stomach, before his hands caught him in the nick of time about a centimeter above the concrete. Unfortunately, he still thumped his head lightly on the concrete, sadly affecting our hero to bite his tongue and gnash his back teeth together, grinding internally loud. Grumbling, he staggered himself onto his hands and knees, eyes shooting upwards in vengeance for what had struck him down.

There were two men, probably a couple of years older than he, striding past the spot that Johnny was inhabiting about ten seconds before, each of them cackling at Nny's "clumsiness." One of them pointed at his posture on the ground and chortled like a moron, and the poor victim had to observe the predators trotting off across the street.

Johnny shuddered in germnaizing anger at the typical treatment he received practically every time he dared leave his house. He laid his hands out in front of him a bit farther, heaving his lightweight off of his knees into a balanced stance. Swaying uneasily in his awkward foot adjustment, his ears caught something, a little...

Clink.

((A/N: I like onomatopoeia... can't you tell?))

He blinked at the random little noise, and dropped his eyes to the street ground immediately. It was his happy-face screwdriver that he had operated on that low-life girl in Da Music Store. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he was so cruelly knocked over to the ground. He knelt down and gently picked it up again. The hilt was freezing compared to the tip, which was warmed by the previously spilt blood.

Johnny bowed his head sadly, staring at the red-stained metal pole part of the screwdriver, gently turning it over in his fingers. Why didn't society just leave him alone? In public, what had he ever done to make humanity mistreat him so unduly? Why was he the subject to ridicule every desperate attempt to enjoy himself in reality? Why was he always the target when he needed to escape his prison of a house for the sake of his non-existent sanity?

Wait a moment.

Blood. Screwdriver. Asshole.

Johnny turned his head up in time to see the one of the assholes swing open a heavy metal door, and both animalistic organisms strutted into the place. His keen eyes traveled upwards until they fell on a title that read, "Disco Duck," the ultimate nightclub of Perky-People socializing. A duck in sunglasses was doing what looked like the disco... no doubt the pathetic insignia for the establishment. A devilish, insane grin extended over his face, hatching an uncanny arrangement for those two assholes...

But why only those two? That place was surely bound to be crawling with bastards, each of them tainted with cruelty, and a few of them must have had a negative introduction with Johnny at least once before. Besides that even, practically everyone whom Johnny had met turned out to be an asshole, now didn't they?

Even besides that, assholes couldn't be the only thing that he would find in that ridiculously loud dance club, now would they? Yes, yes, there were bound to be infested with bitchy teenage girls in there too, who would treat Johnny like shit... most of them, anyways... yes, but bitchy teenage girls meant cheerleaders!

Nny shuddered at this realization, and clutched the screw driver a little bit more tightly. Oh how he despised those perky pom-pom-waving wenches...

"They don't deserve it..." He whispered aloud, nearly embracing the screwdriver to his thin torso. The insane grin had grown dangerously long now, exposing almost every tooth in his maw. Taking no notice of a pedestrian as she screamed at him at the sight of blood, he, yet again, readjusted his backpack strap and darted to the entrance of the night club.

Characteristically (and somewhat dramatically), he without meaning to skittered into the shadows that the lamplight darkened in the corners. Through the heavy door, laughter and cheers could be heard... he wanted to be able to laugh at a joke, an experience that a friend had... he wished he had a friend... This sad desire dawning upon him he immediately morphed into anger, twisted, maniacal anger. They did not deserve the happiness that they were fortunate enough to obtain! Chuckling to himself, as he began a mental diagram on how to kill certain humans, he wrenched the door handle open, and casually slinked in.

Despite the two assholes knocking him to the ground, despite the flirtation device ((A/N: It's a term that I use for whores at my school.)) that he had unassembled, he couldn't help but think as he drew out a dagger with his right hand, and crept up behind the asshole that had mistreated him, the dagger raised above to the base of his spinal cord:

What a wonderful night...