"A/N: Yes, this is the next chapter. Basically, Pepito and Devi went to see Mr. Satan. Pepito twisted his arm and got his father to tell them about what happened to Johnny. Later chapters will tie everything together, I promise."

April, 1997

Driving out past the city limits, Johnny C., also known as "Nny," rolled down his windows and embraced the cool night air. Cruising at about forty miles per hour, he let his eyes drift away from the road as he stared up at the heartless moon again. The highway stretched on for miles and he had to admit that this was quite different for him. He'd never really left the city before, only going up to the edge to look down on it. He always liked looking down on the rat-hole and shit-excuse for city he lived in.

Being out on the open highway, Johnny realized that he seemed to have been living in a dirty bubble for his entire life. The billboards and lit-up signs on either side of the road were bright and vibrant, instantly getting his attention. There were advertisements for new cars, casinos, and fast-food restaurants. The people on said ad's were smiling and looking genuinely happy, something completely unfamiliar to him. All of the signs a few miles back were for shitty dinners and porn shops.

The streetlamps seemed to shine brighter, too. The road wasn't half as hard to see at night and the steady stream of traffic took away from the ominous and creepy atmosphere that usually surrounded the night owl drivers. The stars were harder to see, but that appeared to be the only setback. The air seemed cleaner – lighter, even – and breathing was easier. There didn't seem to be a proverbial blanket of bullshit hanging around and that actually brought a tiny smile to his face.

He was finally out on the road, finally taking the push that Nailbunny had tried to give him to stand on his own and walk away. He was starting to refer back to his thoughts where he identified that that place had made him sick somehow. There had to be some truth to that, for having only been gone for about an hour now, he already felt like he was recovering. Maybe he didn't have to kill people, he thought. Maybe it was only where he was at that made him feel the need to do such crude and unforgiveable things.

It wasn't long before Johnny approached the nearest city exit. He contemplated turning and getting off, but then he thought that just taking the nearest stop wouldn't be far enough away. No, he needed to be gone, completely removed from anywhere that anyone from his former life could run into him. He didn't want to risk the possibility of being identified. The police where he was from might not have bothered to track him down and arrest him, but he couldn't be sure that the authorities in other places would do the same. He could still be locked up for his heinous crimes. After all, murder has no statute of limitations.

So he drove on, passing several more exit signs and offers for cheap motel rooms. Though he did start to wonder where he would be staying from now on, but it didn't bother him too much. After all, he was on a journey to find answers and get help. Being a creature that rarely slept, he figured he'd have no trouble staying awake and occupied until he found what he was looking for.

But that posed an interesting question: Exactly how much would Johnny change after getting "help?" He was hoping to completely diminish his homicidal tendencies, lessen his irritability, become void of all emotion, and hopefully walk around as a functioning zombie. He wanted to keep his ability of higher intellect, not wanting to be completely rotted away and useless. That would actually be counterproductive. But then he had to wonder about the other possible side effects of any treatment he may receive. Was there any chance of him becoming… "normal?"

You know, the kind of person that sleeps regularly, eats real food, puts on weight because he won't exercise, dresses in jeans and sneakers, listens to mainstream music, gets' a- oh, dear God…

Johnny didn't want that kind of help. Despite whatever was wrong with him, he still preferred his other qualities. He liked being awake most of the time; it evaded the possibility of false hope and terrible nightmares. Eating hamburgers was just another way for people to gorge themselves with things they didn't need in order to feel better about themselves. Tight jeans and slender shoes, form-fitting shirts and men wearing "greasy" hair… it was all too sickening. He would rather wear his skinny black pants, high-rise steel toe boots, black t-shirts with creepy faces on them, and whatever jacket of his was handy. As for his hair, well, he was safe. There wasn't much to work with anymore.

Coming up to a sign that read "S. 17th St.," Johnny decided that now was the time for him to get off. He followed the tightly curved exit as it led him to a near-empty stoplight. No other cars were around him or behind him, and the traffic was practically nonexistent. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Johnny waited for the light to change. He waited, and he waited, and he waited, but nothing happened. So after about seven minutes of wasted time, Johnny checked the traffic and took off.

The further down the street he got, the more cars and people he saw. Pretty soon, there was a swarm of young teenagers and kids in their twenties all lined up outside of some door. Glancing up at the front of the line, the sign read "Club Orgasma," and Johnny scoffed and floored it, wanting to be as far away from that place as possible. He figured he must have been downtown if that was the type of business operating at this hour. It was 2:30 in the morning, after all.

Aside from being totally disgusted and repulsed, Johnny decided to keep driving. He needed to find a suitable location to park his car and wander around. He needed to find a gas station or something where people could give him directions and answer his questions. He needed to inquire about therapists and hospitals, or at least he thought he did. That seemed to be a good place to start, anyway.

But his momentary bliss of being in a place he assumed to be far different from where had had come from was shattered when he pulled in to Cheap Gas & Stuff. He walked inside, approached the cashier, and she gave him that bug-eyed, scrutinizing, emo-freak look that screamed judgment. He bit his tongue and clenched his fists, trying to convince himself that one stupid bitch didn't define the entire city.

"Hello, I was wondering if you could tell me where to get a map of this place? I'm new to the area."

"Could have fooled me."

She spoke with absolute disdain as she lazily pointed to the rack next to her register. Narrowing his eyes, Johnny stepped aside and pulled out the small guide. He opened it up and swept his eyes over it, finding key markers for hospitals and restaurants. Deciding that it would do, he returned to the ignorant woman and handed it to her. She sighed as she scanned the item, rolling her eyes and popping her gum loudly to annoy him. Why did she get all the freaks and weirdoes?

After buying the overpriced map, Johnny hurried out the door, proud of himself for not brutally slaying her on the spot. She might have been a pathetic excuse for a human being, but she didn't deserve to die so young. She should experience quite a few more years of sorrow and filth before being taken by some horrible and painful death.

And as Johnny got back in his car and drove down the road, he wondered what kind of people awaited him when he arrived at his still unknown destination. He wondered if they would treat him as poorly as the woman at the gas station, but quickly cast aside such thoughts. He needed to change his perspective if he was going to be getting help, though it wouldn't be an overnight process.

However, fate wouldn't give him the chance at a fresh start. It damned him for all of his past atrocities and inhumane treatment of living things. For while he was going through an intersection, another driver decided to speed through a stop sign and try and beat him, but it didn't work. A pair of headlights belonging to a beat-up, rusted, and terribly faded 1990 Toyota Corolla flashed in Johnny's side window, completely blinding him. And with no effort on the driver's part to hit the brakes, the shitty car sideswiped Johnny at approximately fifty miles an hour.

And while his car skidded to a halt and veered off of the road and onto the sidewalk, Johnny was sent violently rolling down the street, crashing into several parked cars, ripping parking meters right out of the concrete, and finally settling wrapped around a telephone poll a few blocks away.

The accident created a huge disturbance, for people came rushing out of their apartments, clubs, and local late-night businesses to see the commotion. They saw jagged and old car parts littering the street as the driver of the Corolla stumbled out of his car, drunk off his ass and high as a kite. He sustained a few scratches and probably a concussion from the impact of his air bag, but he appeared to be fine otherwise.

Johnny was not so fortunate, for he was completely trapped in the driver's seat. His airbag failed to deploy, meaning that his head slammed forward and onto the steering wheel. His front windshield shattered, sending chunks and fragments of glass his way, each and every piece catching his skin and tearing at it. His left arm was lazily draped out of the driver's side window, while his right arm hung limply at his side after being forced from the steering wheel. The twisted metal from his door tore through his leg and locked him in place, while the rolling caused the car to be half-crushed, forcing his entire body down into his crammed seat.

Blood leaked from his body like gasoline and oil leaked from his car and he looked like he had been tortured. One standby citizen had enough common sense to pull out their cell phone and call an ambulance and the sirens could be heard in the distance. Johnny drifted in and out of consciousness as he heard the buzzing chatter all around him. He tried to move his body, but the surge of ungodly pain caused him to lay still. Not like he would have gotten very far anyway. And all he could think before he blacked out again was: Did a place like this offer brainfreezy's?

"A/N: This is the beginning for all of you who want to know what happened to Johnny. Don't worry, his story doesn't end here. Also, to clear up any confusion, events of the past will be written in italics.