The thrilling continuation of "If You're Reading This" will not be seen today, so that we can show you "Terrance and Phillip 'Asses of Fire 2, The Burning Hole."

"What did the Spanish Priest say, Terrance?" Typical Terrance and Phillip joke. They always mock Spanish Priests.

"I don't know Phillip! What did the Spanish Priest say?" The comedian says, exaggerating. They always over-act.

"To hell if I know!" The Canadian jumps up, and farts in his partners face. They both laugh.

Just kidding.

I tune out the television. How did I find myself in this situation? I'm flying on a private jet with twenty guards surrounding me. I'm hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet in the air. I'm hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet from the tunnels. I'm twitching like Tweek Tweak. I want to throw up.

My shovel feels useless, but I hold it in my hands anyway. The guards laugh at how weak I must look. How weak I feel. The rope has no use. It sits on my lap regardless of use. They told me not to smoke, but I flipped them off. They confiscated my cigarettes when I started to shake. I couldn't even snap their necks.

It's probably my instincts. The same instincts that are creaming that I'm insane for leaving the safety of the dirt that must surround me at all times. The only ground beneath my feet is metal.

Even in the base, I made Cartman make sure that every room I'm in has a small patch of dirt, just big enough to escape through. And my underground base is completely dirt.

"I'll keell you." I mutter over, and over again. Only one of the men on the plane shows any compassion. He's the pilot. It's not long before I lower myself even further with verbal ticks. I've never felt lower than I am now. And I live forty feet below the Earth's surface.

One of the guards tells me to shut up. I gain enough courage back to crush his trachea with my shovel. He dies on that plane. The other guards don't seem to care. The pilot loses his compassion for me. He calls me a freak.

I call him a cocksucker.

And we fly. We fly through the air in a manmade machine, and even my screams of 'Please get me down. Please, I don't want to die. Get me on the ground. Get me under the ground' don't work. The plane sours

I stop begging. I don't pray. I never pray. I'd side with Satan before that fucking faggot in the sky.

Those Angels made two mistakes. They gave me a power to dig. Under the ground. Nearer to Satan. And two? They picked me.

I'm closer to him. That's why I'm twitching like this. I hate that fucking faggot assed cocksucker. That dickless pussy. That asslicking motherfucker! I realize that I said that out loud. The guards watch me with a confused expression. I curse at them in French. One of them scowls. I'm guessing that he knows the language.

I can't sleep. I look out the window, shocking the guards. I look down. We've reached the land. My theory is reinforced when the pilot tells us to buckle our seatbelts. I ignore him. I'm already in it. I tie the rope around my shoulder, and put my shovel back onto my back. Cartman's a cocksucker. Bastard told me that taking a plane would be a better idea than a boat. Fucking cocksucker Fatass.

I'm the first one off of the plane. The guards smirk, as they see me speed to the grass on the other side of the landing strip. It's a miracle that I didn't get hit by any planes.

"I'll take eet from 'ere."

"We're supposed to bring you to-" One of them began, the smirk fading from his face.

"I said zat I'll take eet from 'ere." I stab my shovel into the grass, and pull out a chunk of it. It isn't long before I'm completely underground. The tunnel soothes my nerves, and I'm back to normal within the minute. I already sent an email to my maman telling her exactly what to say if soldiers come to her doorstep. I also had Gregory send an email to the prime minister of France, warning him that Cartman's troops were coming, in an attempt to take the country. They'll be kept out alright.

I hum some French tune like I always do when I dig. I almost consider it a part of the ritual. Pick up dirt. Hum. Pack dirt behind me. Hum. Pick up dirt. Hum. Pack dirt behind me. Hum.

I barely notice myself picking up my pace. My mind is running in circles. I don't want to die.

The thought comes out of nowhere, and for the first time I think it, and accept it.

I don't want to die.

I really don't want to die.

I want to be a normal kid with normal problems. I want to go back to maman, and throw away my past. I want to get rid of this shovel, and these cigarettes and my rope. I want to forget about La Resistance and just walk away from this whole thing. I want to just say 'fuck it all' and walk away. It's fun to dream.

I can't throw away my past. I'm in outlaw in over a hundred different countries, France included. Cartman can track me down, and make me kill and kill and slice and cut. I can hide behind the shields that I've put up. I can pretend that I like this. I like being on the run. I like killing a maiming and torturing. I can pretend. But that's all that I'll ever be. Pretending. I will never be normal.

I was dealt the worst card in the deck. People like me, with the bad card, have to aid those that were dealt the kings and the queens and the aces. Maybe I was dealt the joker. My entire life was a joke anyway, so why not? No one ever knows the card that they were dealt until they're all face first on the table. No one knows until someone wins. I won't win. I don't have a chance.

This shovel. This rope. This cigarette. These things are just objects to the people that got the kings. To me, these are my lifeline. To me, these are more than just weapons. These are mine. These are the only things in the world that belong to me and only me.

It's me against the world. I don't care if I don't have a chance. I'm still going to try. I'm not folding these cards until I'm good and fucking ready. I change the tune, and all of a sudden I'm mumbling a random song that I heard at Cartman's base.
"We're not gonna be,

Just a part of their game
We're not gonna be
Just the victims
They're taking our dreams
And they tear them apart
'til everyone's the same
I've got no place to go
I've got nowhere to run
They love to watch me fall
They think they know it all
I'm a nightmare, a disaster
That's what they always said
I'm a lost cause, not a hero
But I'll make it on my own
I've gotta prove them wrong
Me against the world
It's me against the world."

Me against the world. And fuck it, I'm gonna win.

I never really noticed (or cared) that when singing everyone has the same accent. It's strange. By now I'm just rambling random shit so I can be distracted. I love being underground, but it can be kind of boring. I flick off the ground as I work.

I carve a picture of Cartman into the dirt wall. My shovel smashes against it until it's just a wall of dirt again. And I dig.

My feet also move faster when I'm underground. I remember when, four years ago, I first met Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. They seemed to be in awe of my digging. They're used it now, but they were the first (non-supernatural) people to watch me dig. Even Gregory had never been underground with me. I was wondering why they were so shocked. I had to push back the need to question them. I was trying to make them look like pussies. Back then I didn't believe that I was stronger than them, so I tried to make myself feel it.

Now I wish I were like those eight year old boys. They'd been through shit, but they'd always come out unscarred. They'd never killed in cold blood. Or maybe they had, and they just didn't care. My murders always came back to haunt me.

"We won't let them change
How we feel in our hearts
We're not gonna let them control us
We won't let them shove
All their thoughts in our heads
And we'll never be like them
I've got no place to go
I've got nowhere to run
They love to watch me fall
They think they know it all."

I'll never be like Cartman. I'll never be like Gregory. I'll never be like Damien. I'll never be like Brofloski. My name is Christophe DeLorne. I am the toughest mercenary on Earth. I know all. I'll watch them fall.

My shovel moves at a relaxed pace. About 6200 miles per hour. I'm that fucking fast. I'll never be like those bastards that are trying to steal the lives of billions.
"I'm a nightmare, a disaster
That's what they always said
I'm a lost cause, not a hero
But I'll make it on my own
I'm gonna prove them wrong
It's me against the world
Me against the world
Now I'm sick of this waiting
So come on and take your shot
You can spit all your insults
But nothing you say is gonna change us
You can sit there and judge me
Say what you want to
We'll never let you in.
"

I'll kill you Cartman. I'll rip out your brain and feed it to your little fuck buddy. And then, and only then will I win. I'm going to die. Yes. But I'm not going down alone. I'm taking you with me. I don't want to die.

I'm going to rip off Damien's head, and give it to the Angels. Maybe then they'll let me rest in peace. I don't want to die.

I'm going to help Gregory take back control of the world, and let former leaders regain their positions. He's going to start making sure that citizens revolt against their governments again. I don't want to die.

"I'm a nightmare, a disaster
That's what they always said
I'm a lost cause, not a hero
But I'll make it on my own
Me against the world
I'm a nightmare, a disaster
That's what they always said
I'm a lost cause, not a hero
But I'll make it on my own
I've got to prove them wrong
They'll never bring us down
We'll never fall in line
I'll make it on my own."

I don't want to die. I want to live.

"Me against the world." And for once I'm going to win, you fucking cocksucker.

I'm even tired when I finally reach the tunnel. I tap the code into the coded lock that Gregory had set for me all those years ago. I type in the seven numbers. 3, 6, 3, 8, 4, 6, 3.

"Why those numbers?" The ever inquisitive British faggot asked.

"Evairre looked at a phone?"

"Yes?"

"Ze numbers 'ave letters on zem. Zree, seex, zres, eight, four, seex, and zree mean End Time."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because. Ze End Time ees draweeng nearer."

I never anticipated how near the actual end of days may be. I have a feeling that Cartman isn't actually running this show. It's funny how the most manipulative person on Earth doesn't realize that he's being manipulated.

Gregory is supposed to call me once he reaches the tunnel. For now I can just relax, and smoke. And think.

"Let me go!"

"Shut up you! Now, you can either give us 10 million dollars, or this little boy dies."

"Let me go! Zis rope ees 'urting me!"

"SHUT UP!" He snapped.

"Please, I don't want to stay 'ere. Let me go!" The butt of a rifle smashed into my face. I had to bite back tears. "Don't 'urt me." I managed to say.

"Shut up, and we won't. State your name for the fucking camera!"

"Chris-Christophe DeLorne."

"And why are you here?"

"Zey took me. Zey 'urt me. 'Elp me!"

"Get us the money by tomorrow, or this kid dies." He shut the camera off, and watched me. "Good job Mole."

"Eet 'as no beeg deal. Zomeone get me a fuckeeng towel." I ordered, using a much more confident voice. "Get ze video to zem Shadow."

"I'm on it." The man said, smirking. "Great acting though."

"No problem. Don't forget my cut. I want 'alf."

"Of course, Moley." I'd never get my cut. Neither would Shadow, or any of his little minions. Instead I'd get an ally that would stay with me for the rest of my life.

"Christo?" I didn't realize that I'd fallen asleep. I shake my head, and press my hand against the wire.

"Oui? Are you 'ere?"

"Yes."

"What's ze code?"

"I'm a bloody faggot." I can hear the annoyance in Gregory's voice, and the laughter from his companions. I pull my shovel off of my bag, and follow open the sheet of metal that I use as a door. I follow the tunnel for a bit, before sticking my shovel into the roof. It's always a challenge to dig directly above me, but somehow I always manage. I walk like a spider, keeping one foot on each side of me. Then I stick both hands in the same position. Occasionally I have to dig a hole large enough to climb for about five feet, but I keep going.

"You owe me for zis bloody faggot."

"I just called myself a bloody faggot."

"I just let you stay at my 'ome."

"I saved your life."

"You know as well as I do, zat I was nevairre een any danger." He doesn't respond. I can hear him grunt as he digs one of my extra shovels into the dirt above me.

"Can't we do it diagonally?"

"Non."

"Why not?"

"Because eet ees funner zis way."

"How is falling forty feet straight down supposed to be fun?"

"I'm not falling. You are. Zat ees why eet ees fun." I laugh, as I spot light shining through a tiny hole that I had dug. Gregory can dig the rest of the way. I stick my shovel back onto the strap, and loosen my grip on the dirt wall surrounding me. I slide safely down the forty foot drop, landing on my own two feet as I reach the bottom. "Bomb drop." I say, knowing full well that he doesn't know the meaning.

I'm smirking as he falls face-first onto the floor of my tunnel. The dirt around me is packed safely enough that it doesn't crumble away, and crush us.

"Do zey 'ave wires?"

"Yes."

"Mophesto, you're up next." He weighs much more than I do, and I can see some spots where some of the dirt begins to trinkle down. I take off my shovel, and re-pack those spots.

"Wait about ten seconds between victims," Gregory scowls, and mutters something about going diagonal. "You pick the order. If anyone comes, just jump into the tunnel all at once. Let the doctor come down first, so he can't get hurt." I turn away, so that I only hear the crash.

"Watch all of zem, and zen follow zis tunnel to ze metal door at ze end of the hall of dirt. You remember ze code, oui?"

"Yes."

"Good. Tell your leetle army zat ze bettaire not ruin any of my weapons and ceegarettes."

"How do you ruin a cigarette?"

"Smoke eet."

"Oh."

"Cartman and Damien are probably peessed about my absence."

"You ran?"

"Non. I ran from ze plane. Ze guards were making fun of me. I zink zat I keelled one of zem."

"You killed someone?" The new arrival, Kenny, asks. His parka is gone. He probably ditched it so as not to be caught by one of Cartman's loyalists.

"Oui. You speak as eef I nevairre keelled before."

"Then why are you fighting for La Resistance? Shouldn't you want to side with Cartman?"

"That's the way Christophe works. His idea of kindness is shooting someone in the face. His idea of love is shooting someone in the heart. And his idea of helping is ripping that heart out with his shovel." Gregory says. Damn, he got that one right.

"And you are so much bettaire? 'Ow many people 'ave you keelled een your lifetime? Een fact 'ow deed you meet me?" That shuts him the fuck up. "Zat's right cocksucker. Shut ze fuck up and zink about what you've done, eenstead of peecking up on my faults. Look at your own Breetesh faggot." Bastard thinks that we're friends. I've told him more than once that my only friend is fate. And she's not that generous.

My past was shit. My present is shit. My future will be shit. Deck of cards, yeah? Maybe one day I'll draw the king.

The silence is only broken when I turn away and travel down the tunnel. Something heavy smashes down. Probably Clyde. He's got big bones.

Even I, with my small stature, have to duck through the tunnel. I'd like to see Gregory try. That asslicker is one of the tallest people that I've ever seen. He was my size when I met him, but as I stayed the same height he grew. He's 6' 10" in my four foot high tunnel.

My fingers glide along the key pad with trained ease. I can dig through solid rock. Pressing a fucking key isn't that hard anymore. I slip into the cave, and lock the door behind me. Just as my fucking secondary wire starts ringing with static. I press it against my ear, wincing at the volume of the speaker.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" His voice cracks twice.

"I 'ave a zzjob." My accent grows even more pronounced than usual. "'hy? 'At ees 'rong?" Stress always makes it worse.

"LA RESISTANCE LEFT THEIR BASE! THE SAME TIME YOU GO TO SEE YOUR LITTLE FUCKING PRICK OF A MOM. GET BACK HERE AND MAYBE I'LL MAKE YOUR DEATH FUCKING QUICK." The Anti-Christ screams. Five times going the preteen voice!

"Zat's great eencouragement. You s'ould be a couch for ze Olypmeecs." I drop the wire onto the floor, creating even more static. "La te faire foutre monsuier." My foot crushes it. Metal digs through my shoe, but I don't even wince.

I can hear the tapping of the keys. Fuck. I don't want anyone to come in. He's gonna kill me. Fuck. He's gonna hurt me. Fuck. I don't want to die.

The sound of each key mocks me. End Time. The end of my time on this Earth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Fuck!" The door swung open.

"What's wrong Christo?"

Fuck is the only word that make sense in my mind. I'm screaming it over and over again. They'll kill her. They'll kill my Maman. They'll kill Gregory. They'll kill La Resistance. They'll kill me! Because it's motherfucking Cartman that got the Ace! The word repeats again and again in my mind and words. I tune out everyone that tries to see what's wrong. It's Fillmore that finds the crushed pieces of metal next to me. It's Craig, with his pessimistic mind, that figures out what happened. It's Gregory that tries to calm me down.

I blink. The world is gone. Gregory is the only one that stands in front of me. Except he's not Gregory. He's six years old again. And so am I. And there's Shadow and his little minions. They're lying, corpses leaking blood onto the white furry carpeting of the room. He's smiling at me, untying the ropes that bind me to the chair. The world is silence.

The rope falls to the floor, and I shoot up and grab the nearest weapon. A shovel. I lift it with trouble, and wave it in front of me threatening. He says something, I can see his mouth moving, but no words come out. I try to tell him to stay away, stay the fuck away, or I will kill you, but my voice does not exist.

The walls are white, faded. They don't exist. Nothing exists. There is only the carpeting corpses, the shovel, Gregory and I. He carries no weapons. He tossed them away after killing my four allies. I'm telling him that I'll kill him, I'll fucking kill him. He holds his hands up in surrender, and moves his silent mouth.

"He's lost it." I shake, and fall to the ground. So does he. The words created an earthquake. The shovel crushes me, and I'm trying to get it off and I can't, help me I can't, I'm gonna die.

And the weight lifts off of me. I draw in a rapid breath, and I see Gregory staring back at me. 12 year old Gregory. Mutant, Angel enhanced Gregory. Just like me.

"'Ere am I?"

"The secondary base." The memories flood into my brain like a faucet. Damien's message. The flight. The meeting. "You okay Christo? What happened?"

"I- Ze- First- You- Shadow-" My words are rapid, and make no sense. Gregory understands at the last word.

"We're here. It's the year 2014. It's been six years since that incident. Get the fuck over it."

"You nevaiire curse."

"Times change, and people change with them. Grow up."

"Grow up. I always zought zat I was ze grown up one of ze two of us Gregory fucking Adams."

"Says the one who just waved his shovel at a wall threatening to kill it." My fists clench. I hate being the butt of a joke. Mostly from him. He may be an ally, but I still hate him. But an ally is the closest thing to a friend that I have.

"Fuck you."

"Are you done in there? I think Stan and Wendy want some time in there now." Kenny says. No one moves to shut him up. I don't think they've slept since I told them they had to run. That was four days ago.

"Fuckeeng sheet. I can't just 'ave an ally can I?"

"Nope." It's rare to hear his voice, but until he gets another parka we'll be stuck with it. I remember when I was in Hell (Even the Angels don't want me) his voice echoed through the flames. 'Goodbye you guys.'

"Fuckeeng Sheet." Gregory laughs.

"You fuck sheets?" The blonde asks. I flip him off, and I can hear Kenny's laughter coming closer, step by step. I feel the need to remind them that they're staying in my fucking tunnel.

"So 'ow do you like ze cave?"

"It's bigger than the last one. And you've got actual doors." Gregory states.

"Oui. Great observation beetch."

"First he's a faggot, now he's a beach?" Kenny feels the need to say.

"I'm going to keell ze boz of you eef you don't shut ze fuck up. And I'll make eet as slow as I posseebly can." And… cue silence. That's right bitches. Don't fuck with me.

'I don't want to die!' The six year old inside of me still screams.

'You're going to. Get ze fuck over eet already.' It annoys me that thought have accents.

"Anything you're hiding from us?" Gregory asks, pulling me back out of my thoughts. I owe him for that one. Not that I'll ever tell him that.

"Non. Just a wall of alcohol from ze raid een Ireland, and ze one een Alaska. You weell need jobs 'ere zough. Non 'ouses to raid. Sorry."

"We can do the jobs." Gregory says, referring to our mercenary work. I smirk. Kenny seems to catch what we're talking about.

"You think that I'm going to let you guys go alone? Who's gonna be the perverted voice during missions? Who's going to die for the cause?" Only I seem to remember his deaths, having once died myself. Since the day that his mother died, he's been reappearing in the base. Hopefully he'll reappear in our new base.

"Non. We're not putteeng anyone, but us een danger."

"Number one, just joining this La Resistance thing is dangerous. Cartman will kill us," The six year old repeats his screams, as I speak. "And Number Two. I'm not in any danger." Gregory believed me when I told him that Kenny's an immortal. He knows me. He knows when I'm lying, or screaming nonsense.

"Not a bad idea. No one else can come, though."

"No one else." Kenny nods.

"I 'ave Wi-Fi een zis base."

"You've been holding out on us." Gregory is smiling though. He doesn't care as long as we'll be able to feed the team (And keep them alive), he's happy.

"You just nevairre asked." And thus a group of mercenaries is formed. The British Faggot. The Immortal. The Mole.

"I've got three good jobs for us to do." The British Faggot (The Sword as he likes to call himself) says.

"What are ze jobs zen?"

"There's a kid that wants us to kill three people who mugged his parents, and killed them," Kenny mutters something about Batman. "A request to track down someone who shot a friend in the face, and deliver them unharmed,"

"Non. Let zem do zat zemselves. We're on ze run. We can't be trackeeng ozzaires 'ho are on ze run."

"And lastly," He continues as if I hadn't spoken. "A request to start a riot."

"'Here ees zat?"

"Paris." Per-fucking-fect. This is why I said that the base shouldn't be in Russia. Was I ignored? Oui.

"We'll deal wiz the riot first. Zen we do ze zree muggers. And we weell not do ze second one."

"We get to start a riot, and kill the Wayne killers? Sweet!"

"Alright, everyone in position?" I said into the wire. The other two voiced their consent. Whenever I'm on a mission I do my best British accent, and alter my voice until it's high. Gregory goes for a more American tone, while Kenny goes Australian.

I pointed out how suckish his fake accent is. He pointed out how suckish my real accent is. I told him to go fuck himself. He told me something that I don't want to repeat.

"Then let's get this bloody thing started." I slip into the tunnel that we (meaning I) had dug, and wait for the signal.

'It's in place.' I flip the switch that activates the thousands of speakers that we had hidden throughout the city.

"It's on." And… Cue the creepy voice that echoes through the city.

"Citizens, the night has fallen like a black cloak over your precious country," Kenny told us that when using his 'Mysterion' voice he has to use longer words, similes and every other fucked up type of wording. "In exactly an hour, the light of the sun shall fall. My ally is positioned somewhere in Paris. They walk the street as one of you. As the sun sets they shall pull the trigger, blowing you all to smithereens. We're giving you a chance to stop them. If you can. Find them, and you shall have the trigger. Good day, and good luck."

We're all underground, except Kenny who is in the tower itself, and speaking into the wire that we rigged to sound through all of the tiny (but loud) speakers that we placed. I switch off the microphones.

I can hear the screaming. It's momentarily silent as a loud shot rings through the atmosphere (I told Kenny to shoot one), but then a second later they're back to I dig, in the general direction that I know Gregory is in. Then I'll dig to a pre-designated spot that we agreed to meet Kenny at. And then we go to the sicko who asked for a riot. He asks, we deliver. "I'm digging." I say, still in the accent.

"I'm waiting."

"They're killing." Kenny laughs. Sick bastard.

"Is it a riot?"

"Definitely.12 people are either unconscious or dead!"

"Beautiful Kenny."

"You're the one who said that we should do the misseion." My tongue stumbles on the word.

"And you came up with this sick ass plan, man!" I have to hold back a laugh again. Just to hear Gregory talking like that.

"Alright, can you hear my voice?" I scream. My voice travels through the tunnel.

"I'm to your left." I move without thought, stabbing the shovel into the rock. It cuts through with ease. And standing in the cave that I dug, is his faggot-ness.

"Are you there, dude?" I can see the distaste in Gregory's eyes at the words that he speaks. This time I can't hold back my laugh. He scowls at me.

"Ay'm in position mate. Care to come soon?"

"We're coming. Will you dig zthis time?" He laughs as a response. I grunt, stabbing the shovel into the side of us. "I'm digging directly upwards." His laughter stops.

"Bitch!"

"Y-yes you bloody fool." Dammit I hate that word! Fucking Brits.

"We do not-," He began, before swallowing and continuing "Call each other names Mole."

"You just did so, Mosquito." Cue anger! He raises a fist, and I drop my shovel, and mimic the movement.

"Cops are coming. I need to get out, and fast." Kenny says, cutting off what would have been a fight for the records.

"Wait here. I'll go full speed." He raises an eyebrow, and I pick up my shovel again. I blink, and it's lodged in the dirt. I blink and it's a five foot hole. I blink and it's a ten foot hole. And I keep going, until Gregory is a distant memory.

In barely a minute I'm at the designated spot, and Kenny drops into the hole. I see the police officers chasing him, and I flip them off as I seal the hole.

"Alright, it's packed."

"That was fucking fast mate!"

"Turn off the wire." We both do so, and I'm guessing that Gregory probably did to. "Good zzjob Kenny. You got zem riled up."

"That was sweet, man!"

"Oui. Zat eet 'as."

"That shoveling man. That was insane!"

"I can go faster." I find a cigarette between my lips. I don't remember putting it there. I smirk.

"You're crazy, you're fucked up, and you're psychotic, but you are a good mercenary, dude."

"Zat's more or less what Mosquito," I quite like that nickname. "Says about me, all ze fuckeeng time. Now, 'ere's ze plan. You take zis tunnel back to Mosquito, and I'll deeg." For me digging is always a faster mode of transportation than walking. Have I been holding back on them? Definitely. Do I care? Not at all. "Oh and make sure to fight off any offeecers zat dug zrough ze tunnel. And breaz as slowly as posseeble. Zis tunnel does not 'ave any air filtration system, and there is no 'oles for air. I can leeve een eet, but I doubt you could."

"Right…"

"Au Revoir monsieur." I may not have gotten the Ace. My shovel cuts through the dirt like a drill. But I'll make do with the joker.

Gregory

I curse myself along with him. I am not going to have the codename of 'Mosquito.' My sword does a much better job as a weapon that his little shovel. All he can do is knock someone unconscious. I can cut someone's throat. I have a much better weapon. And yes I know that I'm tricking myself.

I use my hands to scrape along the tunnel, willing them to work like Christophe's shovel. The dirt just crumbles down the side like an avalanche. I pull my sword out of its scabbard. It still shines even underground. I rub my hand along the front. It bleeds.

I stick it sideways into the dirt wall, and the crumbling Earth builds a mountain on it. It's about that time that I realize that I have no idea where I am. North? South? East? West? No idea. As Christophe always says 'Zis ees fuckeeng bullsheet!' I'm forty feet below the Earth's surface. I don't know why Christophe is obsessed with the number forty. He says it's something of a fuck you to God. His mortal enemy or something. I don't know, he's insane.

I can hear a scraping sound behind me, and I turn around to find Christophe. "Kenny ees comeeng. Follow ze tunnel zat I am deeging. Do not stop walkeeng. Ze tunnel 'as a limmeeted supply of air. Eet weell lead you to the car. I expect you to dig ze last few feet. I weell leave a sign for you zat eet ees ze correct poseetion. Kenny weell be coming soon. I am going to dig to ze base, and get ze reward for zat riot. Call me on ze wire when you finally arrive. Au Revoir." And he's gone again. I step through the tunnel that he dug, and I don't even wait for Kenny. Let the Immortal fend for himself. He's probably gonna kill himself and magically teleport back to base.

I drag myself forwards, not even tired after the four mile run that we had been forced to take part in to reach Paris. I had made sure that we parked the car far away from the city (You know just in case they blow it up or something).

"Mosquito?" The words echo through the cavern. It's not Kenny's voice. I pull the sword out of its scabbard. "You 'ere dude?"

I stop moving, and press myself against the wall. It crumbles in on itself, and the dirt spills onto my face, and clothing, masking me into the brown. "Dude!" It's a French accent. Fools. At least mask it. "I know you're here!" I hear a smash, and a familiar voice calls something out. In a British accent.

"Right here." I call.

"I'm digging." Odd response, but that's Christophe for you.

"Have you seen the Immortal, man?" Dammit, I hate Americans.

"Wait here," He doesn't eem finished with his sentence, but he doesn't continue. His footsteps are heavy. I turn on my wire, and allow the dirt to collapse over me again.

"Mole," I whisper. "Are you there?" I can hear static, before I finally get a response.

"Yes." He seems to struggle with the world. That's Christophe alright.

"They have me cornered, dude."

"I'm coming. Hide, and hopefully Immortal's already dead." I trust him that Kenny's an immortal. He's the one that died. And he's not completely insane yet.

"Mosquito," The accent slips back into French. My fists clench. Their joking aren't they? How obvious can they make it?

"Where are you?" I make sure that my voice is as quiet as possible, so they'll think that I'm far from them.

"Turn off the wire." And then in a masculine voice, right in front of me "Fuck! Where is he?" He complains. I judge his angle quickly, and lash out with my sword. The silver blade stabs through his stomach, and he turns to face me with wide eyes.

"Hello motherfucker." I say in perfect American English.

"What the-" He begins, and picks up his gun. Blood pools around him, but he succeeds in taking aim between my eyes. His hand fingers the trigger, and I know that I don't have enough time to take the sword out of his gut. The bullet leaves the barrel, and I don't even bother to move.

"Non!" A voice screams. I don't bother to respond. There's no way that I can avoid this. Everything moves in slow motion. I can see the bullet flying between my eyes. I can see my life flash before my eyes in a fraction of a second. There's not much to remember.

I close my eyes. Seconds pass, that feel like years. It takes me a minute to recognize the fact that the bullet hasn't hit me yet. And it never would.

"Mozzerfucker!" Christophe doesn't even try to hide his accent. He smashes his shovel over the guards head again and again and again. Even after he stops breathing the tool lifts and falls. I don't stop him. I can't think.

The shovel has a dent in it. The size of a bullet.

"We need armor." I say over his grunts. I throw away my accent.

"You fuckeeng zink. Dammeet I can't leave you alone for ten meenutes before you get youself eento a life or deaz situation. 'Ow ze 'ell deed you survive Cartman's rule?"

"Kenny probably had to die a lot."

"Fuckeeng oui. Speakeeng of zat, 'e's dead. Told me on ze wire zat zey found 'im. Zey 'ave 'is corpse and shruiken. Zey'll deesappear 'en 'e wakes up."

"That's good."

"I got ze money."

"That fast."

"You don't know 'ow fast I can go Mosquito." And for once I take the insult. My sword really did do nothing for me. As much as I regret saying this, a shovel saved my life.

The others are still asleep when we get back. Pip and Butters are in the corner of the room, avoiding the other children. Mophesto and the doctor sleep on piles of dirt that they had formed. Only they seemed to find the need for that. Kenny waves at us, from one of the tables that we had carved out of rock.

"Why did you leave?" I ask. "We couldn't failed the mission!" Christophe and Kenny exchange a glance, and I nod once.

"Yeah." The Immortal states. "Bastards got me right here." He points to his left shoulder. "Even hitting the shoulder can still cause damage to the heart, did you know that? Took a while though. I was lying there for two minutes waiting to be claimed. Luckily I was teleported back here!" He laughs.

"'Ow do you leeve wiz eet?"

"You get used to it," He dismisses the topic with a wave. "How much did they pay?"

"At first zey only gave me a zousand. I told zem zat a friend died. Zey told me to fuck myself. I placed a knife against 'er zrout. Zay gave me an extra two zousand." He dumps the green paper onto the table. We only accept U.S. dollars. It's just something that we do.

"You don't threaten a girl." I complain, chivalrous as I am.

"I'm not a faggot like you. I actually get ze zzjob done, wiz extra pay. Just be 'appy zat I'm on your side een ze first place." I can tell what he's thinking. 'Because eef I deedn't I wouldn't be at ze top of Cartman's sheet leest.'

"Whatever. We need a plan."

"Plan eet yourself, cocksucker."

"Does Cartman know about this base?" Kenny asks.

"Non."

"Does Cartman know about the other base?"

"By now, oui. Definitely."

"Has his empire stretched to the middle east?"

"'E was planning to take France useeng me as bait. Zat plan ees offeecially ruined. Zough, 'e might try to use Karen to take over Ireland. McCormick ees Irish oui?"

"Yeah." His voice is low. He's never been too happy with his little sisters decision to join the United Federation Under Cartman.

"Or, knowing 'im, 'e'll use 'er against us."

"How?" I ask.

"'E'll make you trade 'er for me."

"What?"

"She eesn't valuable, unless 'e uses 'er to get to Kenny. Let's face eet. Ireland eesn't worz sheet, and 'e needs money. 'E'll use me against ze French government, een exchange for ze money. Zey'll take me, and zen zey'll probably execute me for my crimes 'against 'umanity'. Or zey'll 'ave me een prison for ze rest of my life, and Cartman will keell me 'en he takes ovairre. And 'e'll make it as slow as possible." He gives me a sad, forced smile. I know what he's thinking. 'This is your fault.' And it is.

"Christo," Kenny stats. The mercenary shakes his head, dismissing the matter.

"'En 'e tries to make ze trade do eet."

"What?" I state, incredulously.

"'Ou 'eard me. Do eet. Tie me up, and 'and me over een exchange for Karen. I 'ave a plan."

"And that plan is?"

"To totally fuckeeng weeng eet." He is smiling, a rare expression for him, so I just shrug. Kenny looks like he wants to debate further, but decides against it. "Now onto a lighter subject, I'm going to keeck zem awake."

"Why?"

"Because eet would be fuckeeng funny." There's no denying Christophe logic, so I watch as he heads to his first victim. Little Amanda Harrison, a four year old. Since she's being privately tutored by Ike she already has a mind of a fourth grader. Fun stuff.

His shovel smashes right next to her face, jolting her up with a scream. He laughs. She glares. And flips him off. Yeah, a group of sixth graders are not a good influence for a four year old. Hell, these children are a bad influence on me! My 4.0 grade average has probably dropped to a 3.7. Dreadful, which is another word that Christophe claims is absolutely British. Yes I'll never be able to run from my nationality.

Next comes, Mark Harrison. He's the oldest of us children. As for the Harrison's ever since their parents died they've lost touch with their religion, and are now self-centered 'dicks'. So he almost punches Christophe in the face when he wakes up. The Frenchman blocks with his shovel, and sends him a rapid right hook followed by a straight jab with his left hand. All while changing his cigarette. I'm impressed.

The only two people that he doesn't wake up were Stan and Fillmore. Probably to make sure that we won't have to waste any painkillers. Some people woke after the first bang of the shovel, and others, but he still had his fun.

Tweek is the first to notice the pile of cash on the table. "Oh Jesus man! How did you get that? Did you sell me to slavery? Gah! They're gonna rape me man! And I'll drop the soap! And the CIA will kidnap me, and make me pay for setting up those cameras. Which is weird cause I didn't set up those cameras! Clyde did! And the CIA doesn't exist anymore, and THEY'RE GONNA RAPE ME! I know it man! They're gonna kill-" He's only shut up when Thomas slaps a hand over his mouth, saying something about asslicking pussies. They've really become friends. It's almost touching if they weren't so annoying.

"Quiet –ass ramming donkey fuckers!- Tweek." Thomas screams, his words somehow calming him down.

"Did you kill him, and make him eat dad?" Scott Tenorman asks.

"No Tweek, and no Scott."

"I'll use his blood as lubricant, and hold a carnival where people eat his flesh in chili. Then he'll be sorry!" The (sorry Scott) insane boy mutters.

"Dude." Clyde says.

"Uh, ok Scott. And no, we're back in the business." Kyle knows what I'm talking about immediately from his days in the old La Resistance. "Christophe, Kenny, and I will be," I continued, before being rudely interrupted by one of my companions.

"Kenny? No way dude! Kenny's a pussy!" Kyle says.

"Hey fuck you!"

"I assure you, Kenny is very good at what he does. We'll be eating much better from now on, and we'll have a lot to drink. This," I point at the pile of cash. "Is just the beginning." And I know that that sentence means so much more than I ever intended it to.

Damien

If you're reading this, then I have won. My mortal enemy, and all resistance groups have been defeated, and Hell has finally risen. Earth and Heaven are no more. Death and decay is the only thing in sight. If this is true, read on.

My name is Damien Thorn. All my life I have lived in Hell, cast out by the Angels of God. My father has vowed vengeance, but he's too much of a pussy to ever attempt to take the world that he himself returned to the humans.

I do not have such sympathy. In fact, I am probably crueler than my father can ever attempt to be. I despise Luau Sundays, and Taco Tuesdays down in Hell. My father is ruling as if he is the nice one of the two (God and Satan).

I will take Earth, and then I will take Heaven. The two combined forces will help me take control of the land that is my birth right to own. And then I shall control the four dimensions. Hell, Heaven, Earth, and Purgatory. God shall die. Father shall suffer. And I shall rule everything.

There's only three things standing in my way. Gregory Adams. Christophe DeLorne. And Eric Cartman.

It isn't a surprise that Cartman took over the world. It isn't a surprise that he killed his own mother and fed his cat to four Chinese men. It isn't a surprise that he succeeded in manipulating the president of the United States of America into handing complete power over to him. I had called it on day one.

What I never expected was that he'd be a pussy. And the obese boy is showing that particular personality now. "Meh!" He whines, kicking dust off of the floor. I watch him with a bored expression plastered on my face.

"How am I supposed to take over England without Christophe." I have grown to hate his voice.

"He's French."

"Whatever!"

"You'll manage." I already vented my anger out on the boy in question himself. Now I just have to wait until Cartman finishes venting out his own anger.

"But he's been spying on us!"

"They they lost a spy."

"But meh!" He whines, kicking the floor again. I have trouble comparing him with the brute leader who puts two people in an arena and only one of them can leave, for his own amusement.

"I'm sorry sir." I have to bite back my disgust for the word. I can't fail at my own destiny. Everyone in Hell will call me a pussy.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Kill him."

"We don't know where he iiiisss!"

"Find him."

"How?"

"I'll do it."

"Good." And just like that his anger disperses, and he's back to normal. "Tell Norman to hold my calls." I don't move. The secretary already knows. Whenever we meet no one is allowed in.

"I have a plan in the works, but for now…" He smirks.

"Isn't this blasphemous?"

"I ran a fake church to get money, and I didn't rape the kids. I've had a fair share of blasphemy in my life.

"And that's what I like about you." I break the monotonous voice that I'd had for the entire span of our conversation. The words cut into my like a hot knife. I can feel the bile rising in my throat, but I swallow it my down. It fills my mouth with the taste of brimstone. I hate that taste.

"Do you know what I like about you?" The brunette asks.

"What?"

"This." He pulls me in by the back of my head, pushing my lips against his own. I fight the instinctive urge to burn him to a crisp.

The fire burns in my eyes, and the urge to kill him grows stronger and stronger with each passing moment. Kissing him is blasphemy in both Hell and Heaven. Christophe DeLorne was correct. He just got one thing wrong about our relationship. Cartman's lips taste like poison, sweat, and… vomit. I keep my eyes open.

Originally I planned that this story would only have two narrators, but then I had Christophe become a criminal (As if he wasn't already), and I added something else (that will soon be revealed), so there are going to be four narrators. Christophe, Gregory, Damien, and the new narrator will be revealed in the next chapter.

I've been trying to add in South Park brand comedy into this to make it more realistic to the show. Tell me if you like it!

I know that I promised never to include romance in my stories, and I'm sticking to that promise. You'll soon see what I'm talking about, but there's a major (and minor) 'hint' in this chapter about that.

The line breaks and some italics won't show up, but there's nothing I can do about it.

I've settled on a date to send the computer for repairs. There will not be an update August 29th, and possibly September 5th if they can't repair it fast enough.

See you next week on August 22