Hey guys! Okay so this plot bunny, or something along the lines of this has been bugging me for years! I am taking some influence from 'anime' and various other things that I've come across…but I assure you this story will be my own. Enjoy!
I don't own South Park. Never have. Never will
July 13/5:54 am.
The silence is the most frightening part. The burning houses, falling soot…the dead bodies, none of that compares to the silence. Nothing moves, nothing breathes. In the aftershock, it is as if everything has been lost. The world is dead. Grant it I can only see as far as the demolished clearing where my hometown use to be, but the world might as well be just as desolate; I'm fairly positive large parts of it are.
I desperately try to clear my vision of the filth that blurs it. My raven colored hair is matted with God only knows what, and my left eye is stuck closed with my own blood. The scent of smoke is thick, filling my lungs with heavy painful breaths. I feel like I have a few bruised ribs, possibly broken, and I can't feel my left arm. Sputtering on the metallic taste slowly seeping out of my mouth, I limp over the rubble of a nameless building. South Park has never been one of the prettiest places in the world. It's always covered in snow; there are no special landmarks or natural wonders. The only things that really stand out here are cows and rednecks.
That was before…
As I slowly make my way through the wreckage, I find myself wishing I could see my plain old mountain town again, just one last time, as it used to be. I wish I could know if my friends and family survived or not. I wish I could know where to find them. As much as I always claimed to hate South Park, I never wanted this. This madness is more horrible than anything I could've imagined.
Through my dazed state, I catch a glimpse of light from the corner of my eye. Despite everything that has happened, my heart flutters and my mind snaps to attention. It's him. Desperately, I force myself to half run, half stumble to the source of the light, ignoring the sharp pain the movement sends up my spine. I have to see him, to know he's okay.
The worst part about the grim circumstances I am faced with now is that it's all because of him. All the blood that's been spilt is on his hands. He's killed so many and destroyed all of our lives…and yet, I still love him so much it hurts. I am in love with the Angel of Death.
When I finally haul myself over the hill of debris, the heat from the light is so intense, I can hardly see anything. Out of instinct, I shield my good eye and tremble. My mind starts to race out of control. Oh god, we're going to get attacked again. I'm going to die! My frantic paranoia is replaced with relief as the light fades, then intense fear grips my spine as the scene before me comes into focus.
He stands up straight, body lean and slightly muscular from recent events. His face is narrow and feminine still, the same face I've grown up with; the same face that gives me butterflies every time I see it. The right lens of his glasses is cracked, though I doubt he really notices. His white button up shirt and brown khaki pants are covered in blood, some his, some others. His normally auburn hair looks crimson in the dawn sunlight, and the tips are sodden, sticking to his pale face. His right arm is gone, in its place is the type of machine gun that you only see in video games; wires connect his torn flesh to the cruel weapon. Multiple long metallic blades stick brutally out of his shoulders, creating a macabre set of wings. His clothes are torn to accommodate the machinery, leaving most of his right shoulder and arm bare. The soft, ivory skin is a stark contrast to the jagged steel.
None of that is what makes my heart stop.
His eyes, those gorgeous emerald eyes, usually so full of ambition and vigor, now seem lifeless and dull, like the soul behind them is lost in the machine, and has been gone for some time now.
"K…Kyle." I wheeze, the pain in my left side consuming my body steadily as I struggle toward him.
He turns to me, slowly and with purpose. I go rigid as he examines me; I can feel his eyes boring into my head as he looks me over.
"Human, male, most damage taken over left side of body as follows: broken ankle, fractured femur, broken ribs four and two, shattered collarbone and shoulder blade. Should I take out target?" he sounds more robotic than human as he lists the things wrong with me to an invisible counterpart; my stomach churns and I feel nauseous at the sound of his voice.
When our eyes finally lock, I swear I see Kyle. My Kyle. Just for a moment, his stony exterior breaks and his eyes fill with life. He gazes at me, and tears slide down his pale cheeks. His eyes say so many things at once I almost miss the most important message.
Stan…I'm so sorry…please…help me.
As my vision fades, I watch his soul wither back into the depths of his mind. His expression and demeanor become cold and calculating, and a cruel smirk overtakes his angelic features.
"Understood. All survivors must be annihilated." The last thing I see is his right eye glowing red and his gun being aimed at me.
A shot rings through the air.
So I hope it's good for a start! Please review so that I know if I should continue. I'm kinda nervous to take on a multi-chapter story. Love to all!