title ; All Mercenaries go to Hell

chapter ; Oh My God, You Killed Kenny!

characters ; Kenny, Christophe, Stan, Kyle, Butters, Cartman

setting ; High School

rating ; T for swearing, frog dissection, Cartman and Christophe

disclaimer ; I quite obviously do not own South Park or its characters

disclaimer 2 ; I do own what is written here, so please don't steal it

author's note ; First rule of business: Thanks so much for the reviews. They mean so much to me. Even a single word means a lot. Second rule of business: This is the first update of the new schedule! I've recently moved, so I wont be able to update on Tuesday. I'll put up the new chapter on Wednesday after the Cable guys (or chicks) set my internet up. I do hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope you feel the mounting tension. Oh, yeah, sorry about the spoiler chapter name. I couldn't think of anything better. Now, please do enjoy this chapter. I loved writing it.

...

Laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, Kenny sighed. Days at school passed so slowly when he had to stay in the office. It happened more frequently, now that he had entered high school. Apparently, Mr. Garrison had gone rather soft on them as fifth graders. Kenny missed those days. He died more frequently, but he had more fun. Now, everything was schoolwork, schoolwork, schoolwork. There was little time for anything else. Except sleeping around with any girl in the school he could get his hands on. He always made time for that. There was nothing better in the world than sex. He was poor, and there wasn't much else he could enjoy for free.

Speaking of poor, they had waffles for dinner again. With the rising price of the damn things, Kenny thought his parents would wise-up and buy some TV Dinners. Apparently, they were too poor for those, too. Waffles for dinner, bread for breakfast, and whatever they could manage to bum for lunch. At least they didn't get fat. Kenny would dare anyone in South Park to find one obese poor person. He knew for a fact they didn't exist.

Flipping over to stare at his wall, he heard something scratching on the roof outside his window. Sitting up, he looked over as Mole pried the window open, slipping inside and closing the window behind him. Maybe it was just what he did, crawling through windows whenever he wanted to visit people. Maybe he just didn't know what a door was. Either way, Kenny had learned not to lock his window after the first time Mole had broken it off trying to get in at two in the morning. The kid never slept. Or maybe he had a bad case of sleepwalking. Or, Kenny's favorite theory, Mole was a compulsive thief who had a burning desire to break into any locked item he found, be it window, door, or trunk. He didn't drive, so cars were safe from him - as long as they didn't have anything expensive on the seats.

Yawning, Kenny waved Mole over. "Knock-knock," he mocked, rolling his eyes. "So why are you here?" It wasn't often that Mole showed up in his window without some kind of crazy request.

True to his form, Mole sat on the bare plywood floor, crossing his legs and taking out a smoke. "Someone eez making snuff films," he answered in his business voice. The voice that he used any time he had a request, or any time he wanted to keep things impersonal.

Kenny knew this because he had been Mole's friend for almost eight years.

"Really," Kenny said, disinterested. "So what is the Great Christophe going to do about it?"

Blowing smoke, Mole glared. "Zis is serious, Kenny. Zis is not ze fucking comedy hour," he snapped. Biting the end of the cigarette as he thought, he looked at the quaint room surrounding him. Kenny didn't have the money for paint, and he didn't have money for carpet. The room looked like one of those 'Habitat for Humanity' shacks. Mole had lived in one for a month, he would know. Finally, he shifted his weight, leaning over, elbows on his knees. "Eet's a job. Gregory referred me. Eet is mandatory."

Kenny arched an eyebrow. "Gregory." Shaking his head, Kenny looked at the clock. It was a clock he had gotten for his tenth birthday, after being late for school seven weeks in a row. It flashed on and off sometimes, and the display missed numbers frequently, but it worked. "You said you were done with Gregory until the semester is out."

Mole waved his concerns away. "I know what I said," he complained. "Zis is important. Very fucking important."

Kenny snorted. "Why not point them in my direction? Let 'em snuff me. I'll be back in the morning."

Mole looked agitated, but he quickly covered it up. "Zat is not ze plan," he said firmly.

"So what is the plan?"

"Notzhing you need to know."

Staring each other down, Kenny turned his eyes away in defeat first. "Fine. What do I need to do?" he asked, giving up. There was no arguing with Christophe when he went into his 'Mole' state. When he was business, he was business.

Breathing in, Mole paused. Letting smoke float out his mouth as he spoke, he said, "I need you to cover for me. Say I am at your house, so my mozer doesn't worry."

Kenny noticed something different in Mole's voice. Frowning, he leaned forward on the bed. "For how long?" he asked suspiciously.

Mole hesitated. Something he never did, something that startled Kenny. Catching himself, Mole answered, "Tzhree weeks."

"Three weeks. Are you fucking crazy?" Kenny asked, bewildered with the time frame. Mole rarely left for longer than a week, and when he did, it was to visit Gregory. "Dude, I cant cover for three weeks. They're going to suspect something eventually. What could possibly take you three damn weeks?" he asked, irritated with the request.

"Eet is a big job," Mole answered. "If you're too much of a pussy, I'll get someone else to do eet."

Kenny bristled at the thought. "Shut the hell up. I'll do it. But you owe me."

"Whatever you want," Mole answered.

It was too easy. Kenny paused, attempting to find something Mole hated more than God. Something he would resist at all costs on any other occasion. Staring him down for any signs of reluctancy, he said, "You have to bring me to a Radiohead concert."

Making a face, Mole sighed. "Done."

Too easy.

"Is zer anytzhing else?" Mole asked.

"When are you leaving?"

"Sunday."

"Are you going to church with your mom?"

Disgruntled, Mole sneered. "Mozer asked me to. I told her God ees a fucking beetch. She sent me to my room."

"And then you came here."

"Zat is how eet happened, oui."

Gnawing on his finger, Kenny settled back on the bed. Something didn't sound right. The mercenary gave in too easy and he wasn't barfing up enough information for his blonde coverup. "You're more trouble than you're worth," Kenny observed.

Puzzled, Christophe blew smoke out his parted lips, not catching the joke in Kenny's voice at first. Rolling his eyes finally, he smiled. "Oui," he answered.

...

"Come on, Butters. Its just a frog spleen, you chicken shit."

"I don't think-"

"Thats the problem, Butters, you shouldn't think. Just eat it. I'll give you a dollar."

"Eric!"

Cartman looked up, Mr. Morris looming over him ominously. Smiling sweetly, Cartman hid the detached frog spleen from the teacher. "Yes, Mr. Morris?" he asked.

Staring sternly, he looked at Butters for a moment before turning back to Cartman. "If I hear one more complaint from Butters today, I'll be sending you to the principal's office."

"Of course, Mr. Morris," Cartman wheedled, a large, fake grin plastered on his face.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "He's just going to do it again. Fat ass," he mumbled under his breath.

Bebe smacked him in the arm. "Don't swear at school!" she warned. "Pay attention to our project."

'Our project' consisted of Kenny holding a sharp scalpel, prying the frog's ribs apart and poking around inside as Bebe 'ewwed' and 'icked' over his shoulder. She was terribly helpful. Kenny poked at a bubbly, round mess with the end of the scalpel, effectively causing the frog's mouth to gape open in an after-death reflex. Bebe gasped and said 'disgusting' so loud, half the class came over to see what happened. Huddling around the desk, they watched as Kenny pushed at the bubble, causing the frog to open and close its mouth.

"Oh, ew, that's gross" Wendy said, rolling her eyes and moving out of the group.

Looking quite torn between the awesome spectacle of a frog moving after death and the prospect of yet another chance to impress Wendy, Stan gave Kenny an apologetic look. "That's really sick, dude," he said.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "You don't know what cool is anymore, Stan."

Cartman shouldered Bebe out of the way, ignoring her protest. "Dude, that is fucking weak," he complained, bumping into Kenny as he leaned over.

Feeling the scalpel slip, Kenny tried to grab it, missed, and cursed as it popped the bubble he had been poking at. Liquid sprayed out, catching him in the eye. Before falling off his stool and writhing in agony, he had time to think, "Oh, not again." As if thinking it would help, Cartman tossed a vile of water on Kenny.

"Wash it off!" Cartman shouted, more happy than concerned. Like usual.

"Dude, you just tossed bacteria all over him!" Kyle said, pulling the vial from Cartman's hands.

Kenny knocked over the stool, hitting the table and causing the scalpel to fall onto his face. He stopped moving, causing the whole class to take in a collective breath and hold it.

"Oh my god, dude."

"Cartman, you fat ass! You killed Kenny!"

"You bastard!"