A/N: Well, this is for all the fans of this story, all two of you. Hmm, I think that was in one of Jhonen's comics. My brain! I shudder at my lack of creativity!

I think I might've said that before…

You see, that's my problem right there!

My mind is looping, I hate my life, oh Christ, angst! I need to kill something

Alright I'm back, poor little ants. Anyhow, this chappie will be a bit different seeing as it's going to go into third person, only not really. I'm lying.

Sorry about how confusing this chapter will be.

Disclaimer: If I owned JTHM that would make me Jhonen, which means I'd kidnap myself and therefore could not write this. Also it would mean I'd have some badass drawing skills and a cracked out mind of insanity. Plus a bee suit.

I own none of those things.

Chapter Two: There Are Places I Remember

As I've said, the city itself made me shudder. This in and of itself is no small feet. After all, when one is a homicidal maniac being squeamish just kind of seems odd, and the feeling tends to elude you.

I suppose it was…a premonition in a way. My subconscious mind reacting to the treachery that would soon befall it.

Of course I ignored the feeling, partly because it was a feeling and also because soon after that little wave of fear I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Like I had been here before. The streets I walked seemed imprinted in my brain and I actually knew where I was going. I never know where I'm going, but this time I did. Even though I wasn't going anywhere at all.

So very strange. It was like I had spent years in this city.

But that's stupid. It's almost nostalgic, and regression to such a foolish thing such as that is indicative of a poor mind. I try to think higher of myself than that.

My feet were acting of their own accord by now, and when I finally chose to look up I saw I was in front of a 24/7.

A brainfreezy sounded like a good idea, so I went in.

Heh

Like a domino starting a chain reaction until the entire row falls.

Damn my urge for cheery freezies. Damn it straight to hell.

Forgive me, I feel I should be more detailed in this encounter than I have been previously. If this seems strange and startles you then that makes you stupid.

I'll come and kill you in a bit.

Let me see now.

I walked in and I was heading for the brainfreezy machine when I heard someone yell something dreadfully rude. Now, at first I believed the comment was directed at myself, after all I seem to be a magnet for malicious behavior.

The words are like fucking paperclips!

Anyhow, office supplies aren't a necessary topic of discussion. Where was I? oh, right.

So, I spun around, fully prepared to go off on one of my little informational rants and end the evening with killing everyone in the store and not getting my brainfreezy (it's sad really) when I saw I was not the subject of their persecution.

Now, you'd think I would have just left it at that. After all, they're weren't bothering with me. They were just two teenagers who looked like they thought they were punks. Their brand new Green Day shirts and faux-hawks were such amazing proof of their rebelliousness. But you see, I just can't leave well enough alone. I mean, it would only be a matter of time before they left their current victim and turned to me for release of their petty aggression.

Curiously I craned my head and looked past them at their unfortunate prey.

Of course.

Their victim fit the "weak freak" stereotype amazingly well. The boy had a rather small stature, very frail looking. His clothes hung off him two sizes too big; the black fabric worn and faded from too many washes, clearly the state of his clothes screamed for him to be ridiculed. It would be a sin not to. In fact, his very being projected a sense of submission and fright.

Dogs can smell that kind of fear, no wonder the poor child was being subjected to such behavior.

I could tell he was trying to defend himself against the sharp barbs of their words and the violent shoves they treated him to. But it was useless. It was like trying to chop down a tree with a feather, an impossible task for someone currently blinded by their own tears.

You know, all I needed to do was step forward and deliver two swipes with the knife I could feel so distinctly in my boot and it would all be over.

But I kept watching a little longer as I awaited that final straw that would allow me to begin my berserk blitzkrieg and eliminate two more idiots from the population.

And then I had that feeling again; no, not the feeling of foreboding, nor nostalgia, but the one of being shoved underwater. Everything moved so slowly, fluidly. But I heard their words acutely, and they were so unoriginal too. That's one thing that never changes, the extremely low intellectual category that insults fall into.

"Queer!"

Of course

"Fuck face"

Ah, a classic

"Emo fag"

Emo?

"Faggot butt"

Oh now you're just getting redundant.

"Wacky freak"

What?

Yeah, he said it…that word. That ass lancing word. Oh how I HATE that word! I hate it like you would never believe! Well, that was the final straw then wasn't it? All the water disappeared immediately at that word, like a vacuum sucked it all up, short circuited and electrocuted my body into a jump-start of beautifully pure rage.

And it was then that I took action.

Swipe, swipe, thud, thud, splatter, splatter.

Anticlimactic? Very.

Effective? Of course.

Mission accomplished I suppose. After all, in all of five seconds I managed to extinguish two wastes of skin and coat myself and an innocent bystander in the disgusting red fluid called blood. It all felt so refreshing. But it was all just…too easy. So simple. It made me realize again just how delicate a human really is.

I shook the feeling off. No point in mourning those who do not deserve it.

It just amazes how such people can actually exist in the first place.

Maybe they're all put on the planet JUST to annoy me. Like God was bored and decided it'd be funny to fuck with my life. But such a large scale scheme seemed a bit too crazy even for me at the moment, so I stopped my musings on the subject.

To distract myself I turned to that innocent bystander I mentioned.

You know the one.

Poor kid.

I mean, I wasn't even excessive, but by the look on his face you would've thought I had ripped out their spines and tugged until their brains were yanked from their skulls which I had previously smashed open in the back with some blunt instrument.

I mean…I've DONE that, but I didn't this time. I was mild. Kind even!

His face was priceless though. You could tell he would've fainted, but he was too scared.

Jesus, how annoying! Not him, but the trauma!

Why can't I ever get through a day without traumatizing someone? I don't even try to you know.

It just comes naturally to me.

Kind of like making toast. You don't burn it on purpose...

It just happens.

A talent if you will.

How funny, his eye started twitching. The face seemed familiar somehow, all covered in blood and scared like that. But just different enough to slip through the rather large holes in my memory.

It seemed a little rude of me to stare at someone I had just helped out.

So I graced him with a rather twisted smile. Happily I grinned, I felt the corners of my mouth pull up and make my eyes slant slightly as I bared practically all my teeth.

I suppose my smile could have been interpreted as "sinister". Not that I was intending to convey such a thing…it's that toast concept again.

So with that smile and a polite half bow I left. Freezie-less, bloody, but in rather high spirits.

Who says trauma doesn't do a body good? Well, the body not afflicted by it that is.

I felt rather content as I left the 24/7 and began to wander around again, however the sense of déjà vu returned as I wandered those filthy streets, the feeling tattooing itself into the base of my skull, causing my good mood to evaporate quickly.

If it's not one thing it's another.

Someone out there just doesn't want me to be happy.

TBC

A/N: Did I cop out in the end of this chapter? You bet your sweet ass I did! Yay!

God, I'm sick of trying to fabricate a storyline, failing miserably, then drinking V8 juice till I get sick and forget all about it. It's really not fair!

Anyhow, I promise the plot will pick up from here, and I apologize for the lack of anything good or interesting at all in this installment. I'm afraid my character introductions needs some work. (yes that means the trauma boy will return..w00t?) Anyhow I won't tell you what's going on, cause I'm an asshole like that.

I need to switch into third person. Nny is getting tired of being in my head and is threatening to bust his way out. So it's either, write him better or kill myself. I'm leaning towards the latter.

Oh well. My neck hurts as I write this.

Good day...eh night? Shit.

Anyhow, leave a comment/review if you want. Suggestions are always gratefully accepted. Criticism is always nice too.