A/N This was originally a bit of a flashback thing for chapter 9 of Crushing the Code. (Those who've read that chapter know exactly what I was going for.) However, it twisted into this thing that makes chapter four in CtC look like bedtime story, in my opinion, so making it a 'Codebook' story was out of the question. Once I added in a Jeff the Killer reference (of Creepypasta fame) I decided to just go all out and pretty much make it a crossover. This was what came of it- my first real horror. It's just a oneshot, but still. Baby steps, right? I actually really love how this came out. It's not for the squeamish, as I think the description's pretty good and the scene's pretty damn gory in my opinion, especially for a 'Dib is nearly alone' thing. I also did this because I wanted to do a 'look into the crazy person's mind' sort of thing. 0I was also trying to find a style, rather then just writing what sounds good. If you haven't skipped this already, please enjoy and review!

It was dark out. That much Dib knew. Then again, he didn't trust his eyes. If he did, it would dredge up long agreed-to morals and slash them to shreds. His other senses were clearly lying as well-the smoky smell in the air, the sharp wave of copper assaulting his nose. No, that couldn't be right. Touch, too. He couldn't possibly be feeling a loose sweatshirt rather than his normal coat and shirt, and there was no way the smooth, almost slimy handle clenched firmly in his right hand was what he feared it was.

It was all changed, switched around into a twisted puppet show in which he was a helpless marionette. Across the street, a flickering neon sign cast a crimson shadow over the scene that was not registering in Dib's senses, a prospect that couldn't possibly be right. His body was tingling, electricity racing up and down through his veins as the last shots of adrenaline quieted down to a whisper. He didn't want to look down-it would make the reality too… real. If he looked down, if he saw himself, he knew he'd break down and never pull himself back together again. Back to the Krazy House, throw away the key.

Why had he done it? Had it been the cat-call of the man obviously high, or the mocking laugh of the girl who didn't even know him? Perhaps the man who'd pulled on his hair. He hadn't even wanted to be here, but they had the Network headquarters in this neighborhood Huh. The Network. What would they say? He'd have to resign. They wouldn't want someone who had killed people. Only those who killed creatures. But, weren't people creatures? They drooled, they bled, they reproduced messily and they slept. They ate, getting filth everywhere. It was all very confusing. Dib didn't want to think anymore. Thinking hurt his brain. Action was easier. Like the quick actions he'd just taken.

Dib took a hesitant step forward, approaching the first body. The smell snapped at his nostrils like a pack of rabid dogs, and the edge of a gooey and slimy organ peeked around the massive slash in the dead man's chest. He reeked of illegal drugs, and Dib's nose twitched. The man's dyed white hair was matted, dirty with mud and slick with the blood of himself and his comrades. Dib's head flipped to the next one-the skin looked tanned, although under the red light they all looked like that. The slight wrinkles in the face suggested that his first impression was right, however. Dib knelt down, his boot clicking on the sidewalk. He ran a hand through the man's crew cut, fingers becoming damper with a touch of hairspray combined with a bleeding wayward cut. He wiped his palm on his sweatshirt, before taking one last look around. There were three more bodies. Two were clearly dead, but the third's chest was hitching slightly. That wouldn't do. He approached the one still alive, trying not to let the terror show in his eyes, the implication of what he'd done just barely breaching the surface.

"H-h-" The man stuttered. Dib looked him up and down. He was in a loose black sweatshirt, and had pants down just enough to reveal white, only half-clean boxers. His hair was brown with flecks of black, and reached just below his ears. His half lidded eyes appeared to be a dark brownish, tinted with the hellish light cast over all of them. Overall, he would've been a fairly handsome man, if not for the long slash along his mouth and the red liquid staining his shirt and pants from uncountable other injuries Dib was forced to to take credit for. Dib sighed.

"How are you still alive?"

"I- I-"

"Never mind. I'll just put you out of it now. After all, I don't want you to suffer." That was the polite thing to do. If someone was in pain, make them stop being in pain. Help them. Help them however necessary. Make them better. Make them more beautiful.

"N-no…" The man's pleading snapped something deep within Dib. His eyes widened, and he gripped the knife in his palm tightly as he stood up. The teen traced a hand along it slowly, carving a long deep line on the inside of his palm. If he noticed the pain, he made no outer motion to show it. Fresh blood dripped down his wrist, onto the man's shirt. Dib's eyes drifted upwards, to see his flickering reflection in a nearby store window.

The new moon left only red light as a backdrop as the image flickered in the cracked glass. From a bone-white teenager in a snowy white sweatshirt saturated in scarlet blood with messy black hair, vacant eyes and a wide grin smeared with blood to a scared thirteen year old in a trench coat and a blue shirt clutching a knife dripping with blood to his chest. Dib finally looked down at himself-he wore a pallid colored sweatshirt over his normal pants and boots. His eyes shot up to the store window again, and he saw something he hadn't noticed before-a small bump in the blood soaked raven hair. His hair lock. There were harsh parentheses carved into the side of his face, creating a demented smile, under eyes black from insomnia. That must have happened during the scuffle. To many it would be disturbing but Dib suddenly realized that it was nice.

Very nice.

Beautiful.

Dib felt a real smile, full of teeth and laden with insanity, slide across his face, jostling the newly carved psychotic grin. A bolt of pain shot through his mind, but the haze descending around the teen's skull shoved back all but his new ideas, everything other then his new being. He knelt back down. The man was obviously on his last breaths, and Dib placed his knife, which had already gotten some good use, above his victim's faltering heartbeat before whispering three solitary words. He put his entire new philosophy behind those words, words that would push people away from this pitiful life and into the next. The words carried off into the wind as he shoved down, blood spurting into his face like a fountain of youth bringing him into a new life, a new reason for existing. A new way to help people. As the man died, Dib was reborn. He slowly whispered his new motto, his fresh mantra, again, almost to himself, with the grin never ceasing.

"Go to sleep…"