The Milky Way is a tiny speck in the infinite universe, one of trillions and billions of other galaxies, floating around like a little grain of sand in the world ocean. In that Milky Way galaxy, there is a teeny tiny little solar system centered around a small star, drifting on one of the glittering spiral arms like a pinprick. Feel insignificant yet? It gets worse. There are 9 planets in that solar system, and the Earth is only one of them; one of the smaller ones. On Earth, there are 7 continents, and North America is where America is, one of God knows how many countries; not like I know how many there are. And Townsville is one of the millions, probably more, of the cities in America, shining like a jewel in the black night. So as the full moon with a ghostly halo ringing it shone down milky beams on the sparkling night metropolis, nobody in the whole freakin' universe cared about me, one tiny boy on the streets of Townsville, one tiny city, in one tiny country, on one tiny continent, on one tiny planet, in one tiny solar system, in one tiny galaxy, sailing through never ending nothingness. That's what it felt like to me.

I sat on a trash can in a dirty, dark, narrow alley somewhere in downtown, curled up in a little ball, staring up into the deep ink colored sky, the moon reflected in my wide eyes. A cool wind was blowing around, and my butt was nearly frozen stiff from being planted on that stupid, freezing, metal trash can for hours, not moving an inch. Even though my body was paralyzed, my mind was running marathons, and aching from it. All that I could think of was that moment, when Boomer looked me straight in the eye and blamed me for attacking him, and that scene kept on replaying over and over like a horrible scene from a bad movie that you can't get out of your head, no matter how hard you try. The camera would zoom in on Boomer's zombie-like expression as he pointed at me and told the whole room who had cut him up, zooming even closer when his eyes filled with tears and he began to bawl. Then it zoomed back and caught the horrified looks on everyone else's faces as they shouted "WHAT??!!", and whipped around to stare at me, their eyes penetrating me like x-rays. It focused on me as I fled, but it suddenly zoomed in on that horrible smug look on Dr. Reynolds' stupid mug; narrowed, piercing tunnel eyes, huge grin, and his arms folded across his chest, trying to hide a very obvious urge to break out in hysterical laughter. That image lingered in my head like a ghost, haunting me forever and ever, following me down to my grave, laughing and pointing in my face without shame. I felt my eyes get wet and heavy again, and this time I didn't even try to hold them in, instead I flipped off that voice in my head that was calling me a blubbering crybaby and sobbed, the tears silently pouring down my cheeks. Nobody cared, so I couldn't care less what those damn people thought of me. Nobody…nobody…NOBODY was listening, NOBODY was caring, and nobody was even LOOKING. I was completely and totally alone, all by my psychotic self, with nobody else. Nobody… I pulled my knees up to my face and cried even more, watching the tears slip off of my face and drip onto my pants, soaking through to my skin. My chest felt empty and full at the same time, heavy with dread and hopelessness. I'd never even felt like this before; all my life, I'd always had somebody. Sometimes it was my bros, sometimes my buds, sometimes a crazy 'family member', but there had always been somebody. Somebody. Somebody please find me here. Somebody say they know what the hell is wrong with me, and tell me they know how to fix it. Somebody please see me, listen to me, and help me. HELP ME…

I don't know how long I sat like that, frozen to death by the stupid trashcan and the crummy wind, crying my stupid heart out, my face buried in my legs, and my arms going to sleep from staying in the same position too long. All I know is that I woke up suddenly, from something prodding me between the shoulder blades. When my eyes adjusted, I saw with dismay that it was still dead dark, and I was ready to pulverize whoever the heck thought they could ruin my relief and live to tell the tale. I sat up and whirled around in a flash, to face a gaunt, pale, unshaven face with sunken, bloodshot eyes, grinning at me widely and showing off disgusting butter popcorn colored teeth. I jumped violently with a ragged gasp, nearly falling off of the trash can, my heart soaring into my throat and my eyeballs nearly popping out of my head.

"Yo." The guy said, leaning close to my face so I could smell his putrid breath; naturally, I backed off.

"What the HECK?!" I exclaimed, scrambling to my feet, not trying to be an ass, but what would you have done?

"Hey, sorry if I scared you, little kid." The man said, gesturing innocently with his hands.

"I'm not a little kid." I retorted, even though I thought being six years old put you into the category of 'little kid'.

"Look like one to me. You an orphan or somethin'?"

Was I an orphan? I had two dads: one was Mojo Jojo and the other was Him, who was destroyed anyway.

"I don't know…" I muttered, pulling my legs tightly against my chest and resting my chin on my knees.

"How can you not know somethin' like that?"

"I just don't know, OK!" I glared viciously at the bum. "What are you, a police interrogator?!"

The guy shrugged.

"Just gettin' to know my fellow bums."

What a disgusting freak. I snorted, looking away from him.

"Leave me alone." I growled, sick of this guy already. But he didn't go away; he stayed standing next to my trash can as silence hung over us like a heavy blanket.

"You look familiar to me, kid…"

"Oh I do, do I, Holmes?"

"Aren't you one of those superhero kids?"

I whipped around, staring at him, the tiny stars reflected in my huge eyes. He shrugged again.

"You're pretty easy to recognize, ya know."

I sighed, burying my face in my hands. I really didn't feel like spilling my heart's secrets out to this guy; I briefly considered picking him up and throwing him on top of the nearest skyscraper.

"So," he continued. "What are YOU doin' out here?"

I glowered at him, trying to copy Dr. Reynolds' penetrating glare.

"Why do you need to know?" I snapped, narrowing my eyes to slits. He shrugged again. This was really annoying me now. I decided not to talk to him anymore, turning my back on him and settling my freezing butt back down on the icy trash can lid, hugging my knees to my chest to try to conserve the miniscule bit of warmth my tiny body made. I shivered as the chilly wind swept through my clothes, really wishing I was bigger.

Suddenly a rush of flaming heat exploded in my head and it was on fire again, like it was being skewered by thousands of white hot knives. My whole body lurched and a shuddering gasp escaped my mouth, my hands flying up to my head and my eyes squeezing shut. Stupid, stupid crap…Once I found out what was doing this to me, I would make sure to skewer IT up into microscopic pieces. But now I had to win this fight.

Grunting and trying to block out the scorching, throbbing agony, I gathered up all the strength in my mind and shoved, struggling once again to force that crushing thing out my head. But it countered with a ram so powerful that I was mentally kicked to the ground and stamped over like a piece of garbage in a busy high school corridor. Such a pain exploded in my head that a piercing screech escaped my mouth and I tumbled off of the trashcan, barely feeling the pain of hitting the asphalt. The pain in my head was so much worse; tearing, burning, incinerating, searing…I wanted to die…My body twitched and jerked uncontrollably. Please just let it end…Screams, screeches, howls of agony…please…

The black haired boy sat up, his emerald eyes alight with a wicked red gleam, his face twisted into a maniacal grin. His eyes searched his surroundings, a dank, dirty, narrow alley, and he spotted someone; a scrawny, grimy hobo with a scraggly beard and tattered clothes, staring at him with huge eyes, obviously paralyzed with terror. The boy's already huge grin widened; this frail dimwit would soon be gone, crushed…Well, the gene pool would get a little well needed chlorination. The boy pounced, throwing himself at the hobo, who let out a strangled cry and struggled to throw him off. The black haired boy laughed crazily, socking the hobo hard in the gut with a sickening crunch; what a pathetic excuse for an attack. Well, he would show this hobo how to attack; the hard way. The boy snickered and slapped the hobo across his scrawny face; he let out a yelp and dropped weakly to his knees, dark red blood oozing from the left corner of his mouth. One more punch to the stomach knocked the hobo onto his back, and he screamed as his ribs snapped like twigs under the brute force of the black haired boy, who let out a shriek of laughter and continued to beat him mercilessly. A good hard punch there, a kick there, a slap there…The black haired boy laughed and laughed and laughed, uncontrollably and crazily, the red gleam flashing menacingly in his wild eyes. He continued his ruthless beating until he couldn't find a part of the hobo that wasn't already battered and bloodied so he could punch it. The scrawny man lay motionless on the ground like a tattered rag doll, moaning weakly, his body oozing blood all over and his limbs sticking out at odd angles. The emerald eyed boy stood up and surveyed his work with a wide grin, his hands on his hips. Then he reached out and seized the hobo's arm with a snicker; time to tear the loser limb from limb…

My head jerked backwards and it bumped on something hard, throbbing pain exploding on the back of it. My hand flew up to my head out of instinct; my heart dropped down to my gut when I felt something slip out of my hand as it moved. I dared myself to look, and I froze with horror when I saw; it was a pale hand. The hand of the scrawny, tattered, hobo guy who'd been interrogating me. Now he was sprawled on the asphalt, looking broken and beaten, all covered in dark rivers of…blood. My breath left me suddenly; the image of Boomer, bloody and mangled on the kitchen floor, sprang into my mind, like it was teasing me. I stared at the hobo, who was looking more dead than alive, and terror clogged my throat like a hard knot. I looked down at myself in horror, and I felt my heart leap when I saw that my skin and clothes were covered in dark red bloodstains. I had to face the truth that was spitting in my face; I was the one hurting all these people. My brain wasn't working anymore; my legs gave way under me and I collapsed onto my knees, staring at the beaten hobo, my gaze frozen in shocked disbelief. But it had to be me. It was me. I was a killer, a maniac, a …psycho; a real psycho. My throat seized up, and icy chill spread in my chest, and my stomach dropped so far down that it probably fell through the earth and came out in China on the other side. My head dropped down, and I stared at the blood drenched asphalt, my hands sweating and my jaw clenched so tight that it hurt. I sat there, frozen like an ice sculpture, until I suddenly burst out in choked tears, like a dam breaking all of a sudden. The hot tears poured down my cheeks silently, and I watched them drip to the ground as my body shook uncontrollably. I didn't even care how stupid I looked; screw all those judgmental people. I just bawled like a little baby until no more tears came out, like the reservoir had run dry. Then I slumped over until my forehead touched the cold, bloody asphalt, drowning like a rat in the pool of despair that swamped my stomach, icy and clenching. My head spun hopelessly; who was I? What was I? What was making me kill people? I knew I wasn't trying to… Where would I go? I couldn't go back home; my heart leapt uncomfortably when I thought of the others…me hurting them like I had hurt Boomer. Buttercup…Another sob managed to burst out of me, a few last tears squeezing out of my eyes and crawling down my cheeks. I pictured Buttercup, laying spread eagled on the ground, all torn and bloody like Boomer, not breathing, and only the whites of her eyes showing; I retched in horrified disgust. No… I didn't know what the hell to do with my insane self, but I knew enough to not go back home and put everybody else in danger. My feet left the ground and off I flew, soaring over the twinkling night city, free like an eagle and imprisoned in my own body at the same time, my throat sealed off by a hard, cold knot.

***************************************

And so I passed the days; stupidly and helplessly, but what else could I do? I couldn't go home; not to everybody else and put their lives in jeopardy because of my uncontrollable insanity. I didn't have a home anymore; I didn't belong anywhere in the whole damn universe. This thought haunted me, and it stayed frozen brilliantly in my mind as I wandered aimlessly around town. Nobody cared about me. Nobody could help me. Nobody…

I usually camped out in the alleys like a hobo, which I guess I was now, sleeping in cardboard boxes when I was lucky; I usually had to park my butt and the hard, freezing concrete for the night, always waking up all stiff and sore. I had to steal my food, which was a part of my old lifestyle that I wasn't proud of going back to, but since I was a killer anyways, what difference did a few missing cookies make? I tried not to steal directly from the stores, just trying to behave myself a bit; I liked to root through dumpsters out in the backs of grocery stores and restaurants, scavenging for something that was mildly sanitary. You would never believe how much perfectly good food that grocery stores throw out, only because it was a day after their expiration dates. I'm talking about practically untouched cupcakes, cookies, crackers, soup cans, and tons of other good stuff. That one night that I found a hoard of perfect hamburgers in the dumpster outside Bravo Burgers was heaven for a hobo like me. I definitely was in character now, with tattered and filthy clothes, tangled hair, and a stench that would probably make Blossom drop to the floor in a dead faint if she came within 30 yards of me. But I didn't really care. I'd survived through all of that when me and my brothers were evil, and we would run around on the streets and blow up stuff, trying to live the best we could, fighting the Powerpuff Girls every chance we got. It wasn't the hobo lifestyle that tortured me, it was this insanity.

I never knew when it might strike, that horrible burning, searing pain that sliced through my head like a red hot knife, making me into a bloodthirsty, ruthless killer. It could be while I was sleeping in my soggy cardboard box, or when I was stealing Oreos from Malph's grocery store, or when I was just skulking around in the alley like a lost soul, staring up at the hot spring sun that slanted through the towering buildings that clustered around the dank, narrow roads. But when I went insane, I went insane. I'd come back to myself later, not knowing what had happened, and finding myself standing in front of some person, beaten to a bloody pulp and lying lifelessly on the asphalt. I didn't even try to fight it anymore; I just let the pain overcome me, welcoming the fact that I'd escape my horrid life for a while, because I wouldn't remember what happened afterwards. At least as a ferocious murderer, I moved around like my life had a purpose (I guessed), because it sure didn't feel that way when I was in my normal state.

If there was anything I knew, it was that I couldn't live like this, confused, suffering, helpless, alone… I just couldn't…

*********************************

The black haired boy scampered down the white tiled aisle, an evil gleam in his glowing, scarlet tinted emerald eyes. People were standing all around him, frozen like popsicles, staring at him with terrified gazes. But he didn't care, and he twisted around them, shoving them out of his way when he needed to. There was only one person he wanted right now. As he rounded the corner and entered the chill of the frozen food aisle, he saw his prey: a pimply teenage boy with greasy dark hair and a grocer's shirt, running away along the slippery floor, petrified. The black haired boy cackled insanely and threw himself forward, charging at the teenage boy; how pathetic. The black haired boy landed right on top of the teenager with a thump, and the teen crumpled to the floor with a cry, his body skidding across the tile and out of an employees' entrance, coming to a stop in the dirty alley beside the supermarket, which was littered with garbage and old cardboard boxes. Score; it was a perfect landing.

Without even thinking, the black haired boy started to beat the teen, punching him in the jaw, the stomach, the arm…With every cry of pain from the teen, the more ecstatic the boy became. He strengthened his blows until the teenager stopped fighting, limp from the powerful attacks. More blood, more blood…More. The black haired boy picked up his victim and slammed him into a dumpster with devastating force, and the teen was knocked unconscious as he cut his leg on a rough edge, the dark red blood dripping down his thigh. The black haired boy shrieked with laughter and continued his work; punch, kick, slap, and keep it up until he was tired. More blood…more….

I slipped on a puddle and pitched face first in a spectacular fall that you only see in movies, landing on something big, soft, and wet. I felt something wet and salty in my mouth, and my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I realized what it was: blood. I spat frantically, trying to get that shit out of my mouth and trying to hold back the acidic vomit that was lingering in the back of my throat as my insides lurched uncomfortably. Then when I couldn't taste the salt in my mouth anymore, I clambered off of the soft, damp thing I had fallen on, and I found I couldn't hold in the vomit when I saw what exactly I had fallen on top of; it was the blood soaked, battered body of a teenage boy. After I had barfed out my whole dinner of moldy pizza and dirty gutter water, I tried to squeeze out some of the blood that was soaked into my clothes with my hands, disgusted that it was somebody else's blood covering me from head to toe. A few drips squeezed out, but that was all I could manage, so I gave up with a groan, letting go of my bloodstained shirt and turning around to scurry away down the alley so I could find my bed (which was currently a recycling bin) and get some rest, which I desperately needed. But when I'd swung around I froze instantly, like a statue, my expression like the one on a little kid's face who'd just been caught stealing cookies, my eyes huge and my face blank; it was Mojo Jojo. Mojo Jojo, my first creator, the insane chimp dude with a crazy hat and who didn't know how to shut his trap. And he was there, standing in the alley a few yards in front of me, staring at me with a horrified expression. We stared silently at each other for a few seconds, frozen where we stood, and then I spoke, shifting into a more comfortable position as I did, my arms falling to my sides.

"Wha-what the heck…What're you doing here?!" I exclaimed hysterically, pointing accusingly at him. Had that creep been following me?! A shiver ran down my spine; he better not have. Mojo just stared, his eyes blank, and then he started jabbering away like the motor mouth he was, crossing his arms angrily in a quick movement as he did.

"The question is not what I am doing here, but the question is what you are doing here!" he retaliated, the words pouring out of his mouth in a long, fast stream. "My actions are not the actions to be questioned; it is your actions which will be questioned. And furthermore…"

"Hey, shut it, dorko!" I yelled, cutting him off before he could get into one of those never ending rants of his. "Were you following me?!"

Mojo seemed taken aback by my accusation.

"Of course I was not following you, you incessant pest! I was merely walking back from the supermarket, which is a large market where many good can be bought and sold, after buying eggs for Mojo's ultra nutritious breakfast, the kind upgraded with omega-3, which is very good for a person's health and well being…"

"Oh, shut it!!" I yelled, cutting him off again.

My god; how did he learn to blabber like this?!

"So you were coming back from the store and you happened to run into me. And please speak like a normal person." I just noticed a plastic shopping bag under his left arm; he was probably not lying then. Good, because the thought of a crazy chimp following me everywhere was pretty disturbing.

"That is correct, uncivilized little child. And no, I will not speak in your "normal person" way of communicating, which is much too brief and primitive. If I were to speak in such a fashion, which is brief and primitive, I would not be able to express all the feelings that I wish to express, therefore not achieving my highest potential of expression."

I groaned, throwing my head back, and then I turned to leave, not wanting to waste any more time talking with this loon.

"Wait! Stop! Cease! Desist!" Mojo yelled as I began to scurry away, throwing out a hand in my direction. "You must tell me the turn of events which in turn led to your being in the state of filth and gore you are currently in!"

I stopped and turned back around, not understanding a word he just said.

"What?"

"What happened to you?!" Mojo yelled, his hands thrown up in frustration; frustration probably coming from me not understanding him and his having to ask a simple question like a normal person. But as much as I appreciated his efforts, I didn't feel like spilling my guts out to him, so I gave him a piercing glare and turned to fly away.

"WAIT!!" Mojo screeched, running up to me, an almost crazed look in his eyes. "I must know the turn of events which in turn led to your being in the state of filth and gore you are currently in!"

I'd never seen him this desperate, and I was repulsed by it; more by the fact that he'd seized the front of my bloody, grimy shirt and pulled my face close to his.

"I insist that you tell me the facts, for fantasy is useless in this kind of situation; one where facts are necessary. If you agree to come with me to my current place of residence, which is the place in which I currently make my home, I will supply you with necessities that you at this state, lack."

"You mean like food and water and stuff?"

I tried not to sound eager, but my mouth starting watering like crazy when images of real, fresh, steaming food danced through my head. Burgers…Coke…I was dying now.

"That is right; 'food and water and stuff.' " Mojo confirmed, his tone disdainful as he imitated my speech, but I couldn't miss that gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he noticed the eagerness and longing I was trying to hide. Crap. I really needed to work on that.

Mojo stared at me and I stared at him, both of our minds whirring like overworked engines. Mojo gave me a small suggestive smile, letting go of my shirt and shrugging casually, saying with body language: "Well, what the heck?" I wasn't really too eager to trust this guy, but I was practically starving to death, and what could that crazy chimp do to me anyway? He was my original creator, and he'd spent that whole one father's day trying to prove to me and my bros that he was a worthier dad than Him because he was more evil; he must still like me, somewhat at least.

"Ok…" I breathed, my whole body relaxing, finally giving in to the bright prospect of fresh food in my grasp.

"Good, good, excellent." Mojo replied, looking almost sunny himself. And then he turned and began to walk out of the alley, whistling a merry tune. "Follow me."

I groaned. There was no way I was walking all the way over to his joint, so I zoomed up like a dart, seizing him under the armpits and soaring away through the sky with him, carrying him to his volcano top observa-thingy.

In no time, I spotted it and streaked down towards it, my eyes narrowing as I focused on my target.

"STOOOPP!!!!" Mojo bellowed just as we were about to make an entry through his roof; I just barely skidded to a shaky stop in time.

"What…?!"

"Use the front door!!" Mojo ordered exasperatedly, gesturing down towards his tall, black entrance doorway in the side of the sleek, metal dome of his lair, at the top of an immensely tall flight of narrow stone steps that led all the way down the side of the steep volcano and onto the rippling grass of Townsville Park below. I groaned but did what he said, soaring down to his front porch and dumping him in front of the door, a scowl plastered on my face as he unlocked the door with a key from his pocket and pushed it open, whistling again as he walked inside; I floated in after him with a grimace, slamming the door shut behind me.

The whole joint was domed of course, like we were inside a giant metal igloo. It was about the same temperature as an igloo too, and I felt the goose bumps rising on my arms as I landed on the hard, black sofa and sat down, my stomach growling; Mojo walked over to his fridge and started rummaging around. I stared around the lair as I waited; I'd only been there once, and that was in my first life. The whole place was pretty dim, only lit by the feeble white light pouring out of the kitchen and the eerie greenish glow of all of Mojo's machines, beeping and humming and blinking like apparatus on a UFO. Other than that, the place was heavy with inky blackness, since Mojo had all of his blinds shut on his big thick, gray tinted windows. I sat there seeing if I remembered any of this scenery from my first life, when Mojo came out of the kitchen and into the room I was in, flicking on a bright white bulb over my head, which made me feel like I was in a police interrogation room. But he was carrying a tray of food; my mouth dropped open and a thread of drool slid out of the corner. He set the tray down on my lap and I stared at it in sheer ecstasy; a big liter bottle of Coke, a package of those pizza flavored Goldfish crackers that were my favorite, a hamburger and fries (leftovers since they were cold), and one of those white cardboard packages of Chinese food. I broke out of my trance and began to wolf it all down, not really caring what I was shoving down my rat hole, only that it was real food. The whole liter of Coke vanished in about a minute, stray drops splattering my already filthy shirt, (covered with a whole bunch of wet and dry blood, plus layer after layer of green-brown grime) and I stuffed my face with whatever food I could get my paws on, crumbs cascading down my shirt and all over the sofa, the floor, and my pants. A handful of pizza Goldfish followed by a huge bite of hamburger, with a handful of cold greasy fries, and then gulping down a mouthful of egg noodles…

Then my hand reached down for more and grasped nothing; it was all gone…already? I looked up at Mojo with big eyes, and he was staring at me like I was a very strange specimen of slime mold in a lab, one of his eyes crinkled a bit at the bottom in obvious disgust. Once he saw that I noticed him, he handed me a napkin very quickly, and I wiped the food crumbs off of my face with it.

"So…" Mojo said uncomfortably, pulling a chair from a nearby cluttered desk and positioning it so that it was facing me on the sofa and he plopped down onto it, crossing his legs with stateliness. "What…?"

"…What happened to me?" I finished the sentence for him, not wanting to hear him blabber, pushing the empty tray off to the side. "Well, I've gone…. mad. My head hurts and I turn into this killer, and I kill people and I wake up and I don't know what I did!"

We stared at each other in silence, and all I could hear was my heavy breathing and the steady hum of Mojo's apparatus. Mojo was looking at me as if I was completely out of my mind, which I guess I was, his eyes bigger than I'd ever seen them.

"You mean you go into a trance, a hypnosis like state…"

"I think it hurts a bit much to be hypnosis…" I butted in.

"…Where you kill or seriously injure other specimens of humankind, otherwise endangering their lives and putting their internal balances at stake…"

"Slaughter is a bit more serious than endangered internal balances…" I cut in again, but he paid no attention.

"…And when you come out of, or leave this hypnosis like state, you have no recollection of the events of which your actions, while in this hypnosis like state, caused to occur?"

Motormouth.

"Yeah, I guess." I said, annoyed. Mojo's astounded expression suddenly melted into one of evil triumph.

"Perfect."

In the time that my annoyed face twisted into a confused one, Mojo pulled out a gun and aimed it right at me, firing it silently. A bright blue beam shot out of the end and hit me square in the chest, knocking the breath out of me and ramming me backwards like a fist until I hit the curved metal wall with an echoing bang, having knocked over the sofa and a whole bunch of other crap in the process. Before I could regain myself, Mojo yanked a thing out of his pocket that looked like a TV remote, and he pressed a button on it, cackling victoriously. A web of glowing, blue bars suddenly materialized around me, a cage, wavering and buzzing as if the bars were made of crackles of electricity or strings of blue flame. Not thinking, I threw myself against the bars with all of my might, but I bounced off of them as if I were only a tennis ball, instead of an insane kid with superpowers. This couldn't be.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGGGH!!!"

I screamed in fury, ramming the bars over and over again, with my head, my leg, my elbow, only to get the same results, while Mojo doubled over with laughter on the other side of his lair, clutching his stupid remote gleefully.