Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of it's characters. In addition, I do not own the plot of this story, but I came up with this idea all on my own.

Summary: This story is a complete rip-off.

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Four people jumped of the train that screeched to a stop in Denver Station. Some guards ran up attempting to stop the trouble makers, but Sara and John (two completely insignificant and unimportant characters) shot them down, clearing the way for the other two. The youngest of the group raced through the city streets slashing down every guard who dared to stand up to him.

"Hey, kid, you're pretty good!" yelled John. "Oh, you think?" said the youth, his blue eyes zooming in on the next target.

"Hey, didn't you used to be in ARMY, though?" shouted John.

"Yeah, how do we know we can trust you?" said Mike, another unimportant person.

"Relax, guys. He's on our side now." Said Sara. The four came within view of a large building with blueish smoke coming out the top. Waiting for them was a large black guy wearing a chef's hat.

"Stan? Is that you, boy? I didn't know you were in COWS," he said to the newcomer.

"Oh, hey Chef. I had no idea you were in charge! Well, I'm just in it for the money—they said they'd pay me a lot to help them," said Stan.

"Alright, now. We're going into the North Jew Reactor. It's right behind me, in case you can't tell. Our mission is to set a bomb, get the hell out of there, and watch it explode into sweet smithereens." Stan nodded. "Sounds easy enough."

The four entered the large steel double doors. "I got the codes!" shouted Sara. Sara and John entered the security codes on several doors inside the facility. Chef and Stan went forward into the reactor, and Sara, John, and Mike stayed behind. There were monsters inside the reactor, for whatever reason.

"Hey, Chef, what's all this stuff about anyway? I don't really care, but entertain me while I hack away at this ball of slime."

"Jew energy has made all of our lives very convenient, but sucking it out of the ground is draining the energy of the Earth. Those Cartman bastards exploit the energy and make a lot of money off harvesting it like this, but it's killing the Earth, shortening its life. So we gotta blow these reactors and fight against Cartman!"

"Uh, okay, whatever," said Stan. He slashed a rat dead with his sword, and continued down the narrow walkway. As he stepped onto a platform, a voice spoke to his mind, Be careful! This isn't just a reac—smack! Chef wacked Stan on the head with a spatula. "Quit spacin' out! There's the core. Here, you set the bomb."

"Okay… oh… shit." Stan had accidentally set the timer wrong. They had five minutes to scram.

"Dammit! What the hell'd you do that for!" yelled Chef. "No time, no time! Let's scram." They ran as fast as they could through the walkways and ladders.

"Look! A window!" shouted Stan. Chef and Stan leaped out the window, since it was faster than running through the whole building.

"Wait a minute—"Don't worry, we were at ground level," said Stan.

"But what if we weren't!"

"Well… we are, so stop complaining." Chef and Stan sprinted away from the reactor and went to stand by Sara, John and Mike. "Okay, let's split up and get back to the train before we get screwed over with bullets!" announced Sara.

Stan ran through an alley, chopped of a guard's head with his sword, ran down another alley. Not watching where he was going, he completely knocked down an unsuspecting person.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" apologized the stranger. It was a boy about Stan's age. He wore a green hat on top of his curly red locks, and he was carrying a basket of flowers. "No, it's my fault, I'm the one who was running around alleys."

"That's okay. Hey, would you like a flower? They are only twenty bucks."

"Holy shit. You drive a hard bargain, mister."

"Okay, how about fifty cents?"

"Deal."

Stan ran off, thinking that he'd probably never see that guy again. He jumped on the train as it started going. He looked at the flower he was holding. It was white with traces of purple and had three large full petals curling upward, and three smaller ones hanging on the side. Stan decided to give it to his friend Wendy when they got back home.

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There. You can probably figure out who is going to die now. You can flame me all you want, but I will not change my mind.