An old rusty car drove across a lonely street, not a single soul in sight. Though to be suspected, as it was around two in the morning. Nevertheless, the sleepless driver continued to drive to the city of Los Angeles.

Eventually he reached the suburban part of the city, a rundown neighborhood. He parked in front of a shack like house, if one were to call it that. It's boarded up windows were least inviting, along with it's bare dirt lawn.

The driver stepped out of the car, his boots making a small scraping sound as he got up. The cover of darkness concealed his features, though none could for his height. He walked to the truck of the vehicle and pulled out a dirty traveling case with an adjustable handle, pulling said handle up and closing the truck.

The scrapes continued as did a new sound, one of slight squeaky wheels on the case. But luckily the walkway wasn't long, and soon the man reached the door.

It was unlocked, it's resident finding it pointless anyhow. No one dared come to this place, those who did died upon entering anyway, one way or another.

The light inside was still on, how we may never know. The light had slight yellow tint to it, enveloping the room in a dim-ish glow. The clad in black man stepped into the light and took a glance around before turning and shutting the door.

Johnny C. was home.

He set the case against the couch, examining the room more closely. Nothing had changed, besides somehow it looked more filthy than he left it. Debris still littered the floor some, the house still had some blood on it's walls, the usual shit.

"So, you've finally came back, huh?" A voice spoke, sounding distorted and slightly menacing.

"Yes, and I see you didn't leave. I was hoping you would disappear like the Doughboys did." He sat down on the couch, the dust being disurbed and rising into the air around him.

"I told you before, I'm not like THEM, I'm a personification of YOU, specifically your connection to desire and feeling." He explained, sounding somewhat annoyed at having to repeat this to the goth.

Johnny huffed. "Don't tell me my attempt at becoming cold was for nothing. That took me years just for me to get this far. How much longer before I get rid of you exactly?"

"All you've done was suppress those feelings and wants, not destroy them. You're a feeling creature, Johnny."

"Then I'll continue to suppress these damn imperfections! I've done it this long, your pestering won't reverse my progress! You- You CHUBBY FUCK YOU!"

"Always with the explicitives, real mature."

"I've dealt with enough comments like that from fuckers on the street, I'm NOT putting it up in my own goddamn house. ESPECIALLY FROM A FUCKING BUB'S BURGER BOY STATUE!"

He rose to his feet quickly, marching out the door angerly. He needed a Brainfreezy, if he didn't get one then some unfortunate soul would be slaughtered on this night.

He lived at least fairly close to a 24/7, taking about 8 minutes to get there. The door rang as he entered, alerting the cashier of a customer's presence. Unfortunately, said cashier was tripping on acid, and could care less about some strange and skinny looking customer.

To his beloved Brainfreezy he went, grabbing a plastic cup and pressing the handle, only for there to be no semi frozen red liquid to spill into the cup. It seems it was turned off.

This beyond aggravated him, he wanted to calm himself down from his talk with that bastard corporate statute, not be further angered.

He glared at the cashier, who glanced at him from his newspaper. He'd have to pay, he thought. He wouldn't even see it coming.

He reached into his boot and pulled out his handy dandy big ass knife, it's blade reflecting his sinister smile. He was silent was he approached the counter, the cashier taking another glance towards his towering figure.

"Just what do you wan-" He never got to finish his sentence, the crazed man leaping onto him and slashing his throat with ease. He stabbed him a few times for extra measure, cutting open his stomach and his organs falling out. He soon stood from his work, panting slightly and drenched in crimson. He felt better now.

Leaping back over, he stashed his knife back away in his boot. Taking a look around, he remembered that they had Fiz-Wiz. Not as good as a Brainfreezy, but it would suffice. He grabbed a can and threw some money on the corpse, rushing out to go back home.

Maybe his return home wasn't as pointless as he thought, maybe it would be better afterall. He was hopeful for that, for better or worse.

He would later write once again in his Die-ary, it had been a few years since he had, keeping his promise. Though to an extent.

Dear Die-ary

It's been awhile since I've wrote, but I have kept my promise. I'm much colder than I was 4 years ago, though emotions still haunt me. Reverend Meat is still present here, though the Doughboys have kept blissfully quiet. I hope my return home won't revert my progress, I'm hopeful it won't, but hopefullness ends up failing me like everything else.

A/N:

This has been my first attempt at writing fanfiction for JTHM. I hope to continue this, reviews and criticism would be helpful. Stay tuned for chapter 2 folks!