Skipper sat there, choosing to stay in the dark alley until the police men and ambulances arrived to take the bodies away. Thoughts raced inside his head like a tornado about to destroy anything and everything in it's path. One thought dominated all the others: WHY?. Why would his best friend in the whole entire world do this? They grew up together! They were practically brothers! Emotions flooded his head, along with the memories they shared as children.

A young, 10-year old Skipper ran through the military base. "Prairie dog red where are you! Repeat: where are you, over.""Prairie dog red reporting. I'm in hangar eight. Repeat: I'm in hangar eight, over." another young voice answered Skipper's question through the walkie-talkie.

Skipper ran until he reached hangar eight, where he would find his comrade. Now had to , usually, one would think a group of boys would play pretend in the backyard, but having all their fathers serve in the military did have its advantages.

Skipper finally found his ally hiding behind a crate, holding his own squirt gun. Skipper hid taken his position beside him and waited. They were both in army clothing even though the uniforms were much too big.

"Prairie dog blue, target sighted." the boy beside Skipper pointed at a younger version of Manfreedi and Johnson, approaching the hangar slowly and cautiously. They were both wielding a squirt gun in one hand.

"Ready…" Skipper said aiming at his target. "Aim…." His comrade did the same "FIRE!!!"

Manfreedi and Johnson both screamed at the twin jets of water coming at their throats. On instinct, they pulled the trigger on their own guns, missing Skipper and his friend by about 50 feet. Skipper and his friend high-fived each other. "Were gonna be the best military unit there ever was in the history of history!"

Somewhere, in the outskirts of the city, Daniel played the last words in the memory over and over again in his head. He never thought that one of the happiest memories in his childhood would come back to haunt him. Are you insane?? He asked himself this question while he was running away from the scene of the crime and as he set up his makeshift home in the outskirts of New York. What drove you to kill two of your best friends and severely injure you practical brother??!!! A voice in his head shouted at him as he looked at the crimson blood on his hands. He did not know the answer to the question. Out of frustration, he pulled at the naturally silver hair on his head, drenching himself in more blood. A drop slowly trickled its way down his forehead, around his eyes and into his mouth. The pupils in his eyes suddenly enlarged at his first taste of someone else's blood. From then on, he knew what he had to do and who he was. He Daniel Blowhole had become a murderer.