Author's Notes: Right, this is the first of the story's chapters that focuses on a non-album track but I thought it would be nice to include them to add a bit more background detail to the story. Whenever there's a dash (-) at the beginning of a chapter, that means that the track the chapter is based on is not a 'Demon Days' one. These chapters will focus much more emotionally and less physically and action-based than the others, but I hope you enjoy reading them as much as the others.

So without further ado, let me allow some light on Kyle's background story from about the age of 20.

Re-Hash

We've been up in the air for about half an hour now. Tom's still gliding the helicopter calmly and comfortably – checking back on us two now and again. I'm still sat in my chair – changing my sight from the one lying next to me...to the outside eye-sore. And then there's Stan – still asleep...still resting...still hanging on.

So I turn my attention to looking back on life – the last six years for me were a balancing act of emotions – no winner in the continuing battle of balancing business and social happiness with the emotional depression of romance and love. As you all know, I realised that my sexuality was...different to other kids when I was 10. No one knew it and I didn't want anyone to find out. It was my little secret for the time being – hidden deep in my emotionally compact soul. I couldn't let myself tell anyone that I was homosexual AND bi-sexual at the same time. Yeh...I liked men and women. My feelings were a mess and I didn't know how long I'd be able to hold this shield up for.

Things took a turn for the worst as you already know when I was 16. As soon as Stan left South Park, I felt like the World was just wrapping its jaw around me – ready to swallow me into a level of deep depression and cowardly outcomes...suicide. For days on end, I'd lye in bed crying and living my life as a mess – my thoughts turning to one boy in particular...Stan. Every night I'd have nightmares; picturing Stan dieing horribly on a battlefield, him getting tortured by possible enemies, him like me, running around in circles in his head in fear and worry...there was no end to my troubles. I convinced my parents that I was just having one of those really shitty teenager years...I lied obviously. The years passed and nothing got any better – I was still a mess...I was still worrying about Stan Marsh and the conditioning he was in.

And I thought it would never happen to me...especially after all those pathetic school presentations back in high school, but as soon as I got into college, I seemed to just sell my soul to the devil of drinks and drug. Alcohol, vodka, heroin, tobacco...the only painkillers that could ease my pain.

It's the sweet sensation, over the dub,
I want a situation, but don't wanna stop.
It's the drug-store soul boy, over the dub,
With the sweetest inspiration, we don't wanna stop.

What else could I have done? It was the only thing that helped me focus at college. Every two weeks or so, I'd stock up on what I desperately needed and I'd never stop doing so. As long as that painfully remembered warm presence was missing in my life...I needed something to evaporate the tears comig from my eyes and that sharp pulse that beats in your head whenever you feel REALLY down and depressed.

'Coz it's money or stop.

It's the money or stop.

It's the MONEY OR STOP!

It's the MONEY or stop.

It's the……(MONEY OR STOP)

I felt like suicide on a stick for about five months afterwards – I honestly did have the odd point in time where I'd just drive off to the nearest cliff…look over the edge to see how log it would be before I ended it all, and then…jump off. But thankfully……like diseases…physical OR emotional…there was a cure.

The college I attended wasn't big or famous in the Colorado region, but what was taking place there I was so thankful for when I finally learned the full background of it. A half-dozen students in the college had started up a little art group they called 'IndieSoul' – an independently run group of young enthusiastic 19 to 22 year olds who were interested in creating art and media designs to express, convey and share their experiences of emotion and feelings through the powers of every art imaginable. When I expressed my interest in the group, they immediately welcomed me in and we seven (yeh, I was lucky member number seven) would spend about three hours a week together in a single and separate art studio in the college – making…well…anything and everything. I started off pretty crap at what I was doing…well……I wasn't really Leonardo Da Vinci back then, that's for sure……but with a little help from my new friends whom were all lovers, they showed me the true ways to convey and express one's thoughts and feelings through art and media. The other six all had their specialties in something different – Fine Art, Film, Media, Graphics, and Photography & Design Studies. We helped one another with our work and we began to learn tricks, techniques and skills from each other. Over the months and eventually years, I learned new things and new ways to create all kinds of Art.

I had finally found a totally new and best yet…positive way to ease my emotional pain. It had become my new addiction…my new drug…my new obsession. I'd become an art-lover…and an art-addict.

It's the sweet sensation, over the dub,
I want a situation, but don't wanna stop.
It's the drug-store soul boy, over the dub,
With the sweetest inspiration, we don't wanna stop.

We seven remained friends even after college and at the age of 22, we seven set up our own shared art and media business, like you'd expect, we called it 'IndieSoul' – after the success of how much it had opened my eyes o the power of Art and expression.

Our art studio and business location was set up in the midst of the chaos of New York City. For the next year, we spent designing, creating and planning art and media-related projects for other businesses, corporations and major groups that had asked us for our help.

But then...THAT happened. February 24th 2018, two hijacked planes crashed into the building our business was based in. 9/11 2 – The Sequel, newspapers and the public called it alike. I still remember watching it on TV – the building collapsing and...OH GOD...all those people...choosing to die hitting solid paved round below than burning to a crisp trapped inside. And it was one of the things that relates to the thing that I mentioned before – the fact that America admitted that they let their guard and defensed down. They let them down because they were too busy protecting their supposed strong army in other countries that the war was taking place in. PATHETIC...and do you want to know why?! Fortunately, I hadn't started my work shift by the time the two planes I had hit. But UNFORTUNAELY, it was the same time the other six members were in the building. All six felt the planes collide...and all six...DIED. There's a tear trickling down my face as I recall those harsh memories of only a few years ago.

And you still wonder why I have a large nasty taste in my mouth whenever I hear the words 'American Government'?

I found myself turning back to the drugs and the alcohol. I tried to ease my emotions by finding someone...BIG MISTAKE – that made it even worse. I tried loads of people to be with...men, women, women who were actually men...I was never satisfied being my fake straight self...nor my real gay self. No...I'm not gunna use that word to describe my differently-thinking emotions and feelings...it's too harsh a word. I'll just homo-sexual instead. Yeh.

Anyway, after my second round of drugs and alcohol and countless failed relationships with both genders, I found myself sliding down the spiral of inner destruction once more.

'Coz it's money or stop.

It's the money or stop.

It's the MONEY OR STOP!

It's the MONEY or stop.

It's the……(MONEY OR STOP)

But I didn't let that get in the way of who I'd been reborn as...an emotional artist. By the end of the year, I'd created over 80 pieces of art – Fine, Abstract, Expressionistic, Graphic, Digital – the list of Art genres and sub-genres goes on forever. I set up an art studio in my Nw York flat and I'd work on new creations every night whenever I found the time – away from...easing my pain THE OTHER way. And then, like some mentally shining star, the answer came to me...start up your own business – make an art and media empire to call your own. I did so...what happened next was the best result any newbie to the whole business thing could have asked for.

Within those two years, my business' net-worth went from $800 to a mammoth $3.8 billion. I don't know what happened, but people seemed to really love my work and my business' work. In fact, some of my 'OPEN to public awareness' art went up for auction. The record sale was a piece I called 'Blue, Green & Love' – an abstract expressionism piece raised just over 800,000 dollars. I had firmly set myself in the World as a successful artist...and businessman. I moved my company, KBSM's headquarters to Los Angeles and I bought a brand new LA mansion-sized home in one of those glorious sun-drenched avenues that you see only on channels like MTV.

But that was all just a brave face I gave to the public and whole World. Deep down, I was still as upset and as depressed as I was twp years previously. The continuing worry of that one lad...my friend...the friend that I loved so much...was still not by my side. I wanted him here so that I could share this waiting life happiness with him. But he was still gone – away with his forcing army to help America fight the continuing war that was taking place in other countries as well. God knows how many torcherous trials that poor lad had to put up with during all those years.

I guess that's why I have a huge half-dozen collection of sketchbook and canvas art that no one has ever seen except myself, still locked away in my enormous art studio. All thise emotions in my head had been the fuel behind those 100 or so...how should I put it...'Me and Stan' works of art. Whether it was fine art or abstract art, the messages were always the same. It didn't take no Da Broflovski Code to work out the messages behind my art – I missed Stan, I loved Stan, I didn't want to spend another day without Stan by my side. I had to do something...I'd had enough of just sitting around...worrying and hoping everything was OK.

And it was only a few weeks ago while I was watching the TV that I heard a report that something 'terrible' had occured back in our old hometown of South Park. Luckily, Stan had kept in touch with me every three months or so whenever he got the chance to talk – that always made my day hearing his sweet little voice down the crackling and static phoneline wherever I was...and wherever HE was. Before I heard that news report, he said his army group were moving into the Central America region to do battle with a set-up base the enemy had created within the Colorado region.

It must have been – it was the only logical explanation for why he hadn't rung up about three months after that. Something terrible had happened and I wasn't going to just sit around and wait for the hopeless media to report about it. Not only was Stan in that area, but he needed help – MY help...and MY love to make him feel better. I always wondered why I'd bought a helicopter...I never used it and it seemed to be just collecting dust whilst it was sitting their in my LA crib's garden. Thankfully, after calling up my helpful pilot friend, Tom for assistance in this, I wasted no time in setting off from the comfort and protection of sunny LA...and into the cold, dark destruction of South Park, Colorado.

"Sir, we're approaching the Los Angeles National Hospital. We should be there within the next ten minutes."

Tom's voice drags my thoughts back to the present – the here and now. Thankfully, the Los Angeles council and society had upgraded its hospital to A++ class in my eyes – they were now seen as one of the best hospitals in not just America, but ANYWHERE. I look out the window again – the hospital's out-stretched, super tall structure is starting to become more than just a horizon blur. Finally, we're here – home...safety, security, warmth, peace...(I look back down at Stan)...and hopefully complete love.

"I'll radio the hospital's communication line. I'm sure they'll help us to the best of their abilities...especially since a celebrity and his friend are about to enter the building." Tom jokes – picking up the communicater whilst smiling back at us two.

"Yeh...I hope so Tom...I hope so."

My head lowers slightly so that it's level with Stan's again. I whisper gently to him. "Like I said Stan...you're going to be fine. We're finally here...hopefully...you can call this new place...home...with me."

Author's Comments: So there we go...they've made it back to the hospital. I really love the song this chapter focuses on (Re-Hash) and I immediately knew it was the perfect tune to describe and detail Kyle's feelings over the years. I'd definately advise anyone to listen to it. So then, how will the story develop onwards? Find out in the next chapter...