I do not own South Park. If I did, Stan and Kyle would be gay lovers and Cartman would be dead.
Death - Gregory
To my dearest 'Tophe,
I'm not afraid of dying. Never have been. There's no reason-it just completes the circle called Life. We're born, we grow up, we do reckless things, we fall in love, we get married, we have kids, we get in fights, we grow old, our kids grow up and leave us behind, we lose the one we love the most, then we die of heartbreak. Simple as that. Everyone gets the chance to lead that life, and most everyone does.
I never got that chance, though. I work as a mercenary, and, as with every profession out there, my job comes with occupational hazards. Maybe not the same as others, but they're there nonetheless. Of course, it never occurred to me that my long-time partner would be the greatest danger to me. You'd always been careful on missions, never leaving any clues that pointed to us being the killers. But then you got a bit reckless-apparently your target had let something slip that had angered you and you got careless. You left clues-not on purpose, I assume-that led them straight back to our base and, namely, me.
Right now, as of this moment, I'm trapped in a blasted closet with only a laptop, a candle, and a couple grenades. I know I should be more concerned for myself; I should be trying my damnedest to get outta here. But I know I'm doomed, and I know I have been from the start. I might as well face the cold, hard fact that I'm going to die in this wretched hole we pronounce as home. There's a zero-to-one chance that I'd survive if I even so much as attempted to escape. They'd kill me in a few, swift seconds.
Of course, that doesn't mean I won't try-what fun is it if you sit in a corner like a bloody rat and let them kill you? None, I tell you. That's why I'm typing this now, so that whenever you read it, mon cherie, you'll know I went out with a fight. I know you'd appreciate the security of that. You'd always taken great pride in my fighting skills-even if I did sometimes turn them on you. I figured the least I could do in my last moments is leave you a memory of me.
They're knocking on the door now, love, so I have to finish this quick. They'll get in soon. And when they do, they're in for a fight of their lives. I wish you were here now-I'd love to kiss you one last time, to see that wicked smile of yours before you go in for the kill. But I know it cannot be possible, so I will make do and just kick some enemy ass for you. At least that way I can have a bit of fun in my last moments.
Goodbye now, my dear. I hope you'll always remember and honor me.
Je t'aime,
Gregory Moore