October 12, 3644

It was raining again. I hadn't seen the sun for almost two weeks, maybe more. Even when the sky stopped pouring water, the weather was still white and gray. It's funny how the weather reflected in people. Everyone around us also looked like rain, they all looked sad and tired, bothered by the hem of their pants always being wet and their shoes muddy, but the spirit remained. It was strange to find my rebel comrades in college ground, where everyone still found a way to pretend they were following the path that had been assigned to them.

The University has become such a secondary environment in our lives at that time. The school was funded by the government, of course, not everyone had access to equal education of quality, but to keep the population under control, they chose which role everyone in our youth would play in society. That was why the poor studied alongside the rich, only certain groups were assigned to professions considered noble; I myself was the designated to study Law and follow my father's career, as it was common, but that would have never been my choice - if any had been given to me. Kenny, who came from an extremely poor family and whose parents were seen as a burden to society, was studying construction work to obtain the proper technical knowledge, just enough to be a good pawn. Not to be confused with those who studied Engineering. College was just a basic school decorated for whatever role you were playing most effectively, based on where you lived, who your parents were, what qualifies you to have voice or not. The Academy shaped us and sucked all of our primitive impulse and self-will. All men in the classrooms were government men. That was the most dangerous environment for our group to gather. We tried not to even greet each other when we were there, at least the people who we didn't usually speak before. I continued eating with Stan, Kenny, Cartman and also Gregory. It was natural, we lived together (or very close), had other subjects to talk about, we were friends. But when Craig, Clyde or Tweek passed by, we tried not to make eye contact. Especially because they preserved a close relationship with Token, son of the richer family in South Park. As long as we've been friends or known each other, Token was the kind of person who could never suspect what we did. His family was one of the most influential in South Park, his parents had very close relations with Colorado politicians.

But out of that miserable environment, it was amazing how we all became closer by spending so much time together. I think nothing approaches you of another human more than a secret. Do something dirty together and you have no choice but to trust that person. I didn't particularly like Craig, for instance, but I still caught myself looking out for him when we spent the whole afternoon in that tiny apartment. I worried when he went hours without eating. I often made tea for him. And he covered me with his coat one night I fell asleep on the floor. I woke up just as he was standing up. We rarely talked, but the attachment was happening in one way or another. Clyde and Tweek were much easier to handle; I can even say that I considered them my friends. Clyde was a little slow and Tweek seemed constantly terrified of the whole thing – of anything, in fact - but those two were so pure at heart. Too pure; sometimes I wondered what they were doing there, being part of a clandestine group. Clyde and Stan got along very well. They were always talking about other amenities while working, just like Kenny. They brought a lighter tone to the environment.

We were going to find them for a meeting in Gregory's father's restaurant in the middle of that rainy afternoon. Stan and I were coming out of the university right after lunch when we met Christophe about to walk the same way as us. He didn't have an umbrella. He tried to light a cigarette under a marquee, but the wind wouldn't let him. Finally, he gave up. He walked quietly under the rain with both hands in the pockets of a leather jacket full of buckles and straps on the sleeves. His hair soon got wet, but it was a short walk and the rain wasn't as sharp as well, so he didn't seem to mind. Stan and I shared the same umbrella as he held with his arm around my torso. The two of them rarely talked. I exchanged a few words with Christophe and, for some reason I just can't recall, he ended up telling us that his middle name was Javert.

I started to laugh.

"My mother always liked Victor Hugo, I'm glad she didn't call me fucking Enjolras or some shit."

"You can not be serious."

"You have a problem with that?" He replied with a smile flirting in the corner of his lips. How beautiful he was when he smiled. It was rare.

"No problem. But I would be extremely offended if my mother gave me the villain's name."

He looked at me contemptuously, snorting.

"What villain? He's not the villain."

I untangled my body from Stan's to stop walking and turned to face the Mole. Stan was eerily quiet; usually he was even more communicative than I, but I knew how he and Christophe still had their suspicions with one another for ideological reasons. Stan still wasn't entirely sure about his methods and I could understand that. Christophe also stopped walking, randomly taking a toothpick out of his pocket to start picking his teeth, looking at me with eyebrows raised as if nothing was the matter.

"He's not the villain?"

"Of course not. Have you even read the fucking book?"

Stan - who knew me better than myself sometimes – couldn't help but laugh, covering his own mouth. My face must have been really entertaining, because Christophe continued to look at me with that damn smile that wasn't enough to sprout on his face, it just kept insinuating itself.

"Please. Respect me." It was all I said, crossing my arms, smirking.

"So." He gesticulated with that toothpick between his fingers, running his tongue over his teeth. His French accent seemed so soft when he wasn't scowling. "Javert is as much a victim as any other character. Blame the system they lived in, he is not a villain."

"He's a fucking psycho! Don't give me that shit about how sad his story was, that character is all that is disgusting in this world. Thousands of years have passed and the world is still the same shit because of people like him."

"Kyle, you better keep it down." Stan said, about three or four steps ahead, protected by the umbrella. I hadn't realized that I was getting all wet. I didn't pay him much attention; something that really pissed me off was to be told to keep it down.

"You missed the whole point." Christophe casually said, spitting on the cobblestones on the ground. "Some people never had a chance to think differently. Yes, he is a fucking psycho, that does not mean that he is the villain of the story. He's just a result."

"He tormented an innocent man for twenty years because he stole bread. As if the law were minimally fair. It wasn't fair back then and it isn't now, not here and not in fucking France."

"Yes, and when he realized that he spent his entire life condemning a good man, everything he had ever believed was destroyed and he couldn't live with himself. He had his redemption too."

"After an entire story being a fucking son of a bitch to everyone, what's the point?!"

"Guys." Stan timidly called. We were just a feet away from the restaurant, I hadn't even realized that. "The rain. Can we get inside?"

The rain was just getting stronger. I looked up for a moment, staring at that dark gray sky, random heavy drops running down my face. My hair was very wet by then. The feeling was almost hot, if it weren't so cold. Christophe put the toothpick in his pocket again and walked toward the door, teasingly saying:

"They shouldn't let Americans read French literature."

"Oh, shut the fuck up." I said, trying to hold back my laugh as he turned around to go inside, apparently ending the discussion.

Stan reached out to put me under the umbrella, careful as always. I smiled at him, still involved by the desire to laugh, but his expression remained serious. He also made no mention of walking to the door, even after Christophe had already entered.

"What is it?" I asked, frowning.

Stan always told me things with his face before telling me in words. I felt that he was uncomfortable and it want's something from just that day. I got closer to him so that both of us were squeezed under the umbrella. He licked his lips, awkwardly playing with his hair with his free hand. Whatever he had to say, he did not want to say aloud.

"That guy is into you."

I felt so strange when he threw that sentence at me. As if I had been caught doing something very wrong, but hadn't realized it until now. I may even have blushed when it happened, I'm pretty sure of it, but my face was red from the cold anyway. I held my breath for a few seconds and just stared at him with a blank expression.

"What are you talking about?"

"Please Kyle, don't. Don't act like you don't understand." He looked genuinely nervous, which made me want to hug him. But I did not move. "You know damn well how he looks at you, how he talks to you. He was teasing you just now."

"We were just talking... Stan." I soberly called him, holding him by the arm. I waited for him to look at me, trying to offer a smile as I said in a sweet voice. "You've never been the jealous kind."

"It's not like that. I'm not trying to treat you like an object. But it kinda worries me that you won't even recognize that... That there's something weird about the way he talks to you."

I put my hands inside my heavy coat and offered a weak smile, full of love. Even when he was bothered by something, Stan was very careful not to say the wrong thing and not to hurt anyone. He was too good for that world. I shrugged, somewhat awkwardly, not sure what to say. I sighed deeply and reached out slowly to remove a few strands of hair that fell over his eyes. Stan didn't pull away, so I stepped forward.

"Look. Even If that's true, it doesn't matter." I said, letting the back of my hand caress his cheek. "He knows that there's no chance. He never did anything disrespectful to me, so it doesn't matter how he feels." I took advantage of his guard down to press my body to him, wrapping my arms around him from inside his coat, approaching our faces. Stan was considerably taller than me. I let my nose brushed against his neck as I whispered. "You trust me, don't you?"

He didn't come to hug me back, but rested his hands on my back and didn't try to contain a weak smile that was born against his will, probably because of my hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, tickling.

"Of course I trust you."

"Then stop this nonsense." I put my hands over his chest, feeling the soft texture of the wool sweater he wore, sliding them up to his face, holding it in my hands. "There's nothing in this world that can come between us." I told him with all the truth that was in my heart.

I wasn't being dishonest when those words came out of my mouth. But it is remarkable how well human beings can lie to themselves.

The hunting season had ceased earlier that year due to the wretched cold that hit South Park in the middle of October. It was usually open until the end of fall, but not anymore. In other words, it was a very appropriate time to use the mountain forests and do whatever it was that we had to do and wouldn't want anyone to find out. We were deep enough in the woods not to be bothering to be on watch all the time, waiting for sapper or an officer to appear. We were all kids from the Colorado mountains (except, of course, for Gregory and Christophe, who also knew very well what cold meant, coming from Europe) and had no serious issue in walking in the woods in negative temperatures, especially that one in particular where we used play at throughout our childhood and teenage years because it was isolated enough to smoke every kind of herb without a care. Very rarely, Token would get us some expensive synthetic drug. Heavens, most of us were only nineteen when we returned to the area to train our shooting skills, but there seemed to be a huge gap of time between our adolescence and that moment. I didn't feel as young as I really was. And I could see the lines of concern in the tired faces around me, lines that didn't live there before. Not because we had an easy life before, but because we were so used to things that no human being should be used to. Indignation can suck someone's life very quickly.

Anyway, it was really fucking cold out there. Wendy wore such a lovely cream-colored fluffy ear warmer which had little to do with her. Her hair was loose, so beautiful and shiny, with a healthy look that seemed to match the aesthetics of this scenario. But her thick dark blue cape and high waist trousers which had four large buttons on the front, matched very well with her strong female identity. She was the kind of person anyone liked to look at, to admire. The leaves were already fallen and the trees had ghostly appearance with their dark twisted branches. The orange color of autumn were still vibrant and present, even though the weather announced an early winter.

Butters's cheeks were very rosy from the cold, too. He kept his hands in his pockets because of the wind, even though he was wearing gloves. His coat was huge, had no buttons and was fuzzy inside, revealing the baggy clothes in earth tone he wore underneath. His family didn't have much money for clothes that properly warmed him, or maybe they did, but didn't chose to prioritize their son in any situation. I'd known Butters since childhood and I could quietly say that I would crush his father's skull with a stick if I was ever given the chance. He was one of the most despicable people I hd ever had the misfortune to meet. A fucking profiteer who had nowhere to drop dead, but found a way to squeeze money out of his companions who also had nothing. He was drunk and violent, he constantly assaulted Butters when we were younger. When Butters turned eighteen, I was relieved that he could get out of this horrible house. But at the same time, as a consequence, he was completely abandoned by his parents who saw the opportunity to get rid of one more mouth to support now that the child was considered an adult.

Anyway, Cartman tried to teach him a thing or two about aim and weapons. Their relationship was fascinating. Cartman didn't treat him well at all, but Butters had a devotion to Eric that was simply inexplicable. It had always been like that. It wasn't anything like "passion", I couldn't find a word better than "devotion" to explain the huge eyes of a child or a dog that stared at Cartman handling the weapon. He was so eager to learn anything that Eric had to teach, as rude and impatient as he was. I think it's easy to understand when you consider that Cartman, as full of flaws as he was, didn't take shit from anybody. He was everything that Butters could never be and vice versa. Cartman wore an unnecessarily extravagant bearskin coat. He always dressed like he wanted to be a fucking Viking or something.

"Very well." Christophe said to Craig, who was holding the gun with intimacy, as if he had been born with it in his hand. The Mole slapped him twice on the back, then stepped back. Kenny was close to the two of them and carefully listened to everything Christophe explained as if it were meant for him as well. "Hit the bottle."

Craig didn't like being taught. He liked to know things. He made two attempts, hitting his target in the second. The green bottle of wine broke into a thousand pieces, the sound was almost worse than the firing itself. I was still uneasy with the loud bangs that we produced, as if someone was in there listening from the city and discovered all the terrible things we were doing. The noise itself no longer frightened me, but Tweek jumped and groaned every time someone pulled the trigger. It was painful to see how scared he was. I tried hard not to underestimate him and to believe that he was as able to fight as any of us, but in the end, no one seemed to have faith in that. Anyone who knew Tweek was worried for him.

Except maybe for Craig. He was the one who didn't seem to be particularly concerned with Tweek or to treat him as one more fragile, helpless even. Nor was he touched by Tweek's dread. There was something very beautiful in this kind of friendship. Clyde, on the contrary, was always trying to protect Tweek from everything, but not like a fierce dog or anything. He treated him gently, he was concerned about taking care of him before attacking others.

Craig wore a brown and red wool poncho, with dark brown leather gloves and a bluish green hat protecting his ears. Clyde celebrated his success by punching his arm in his cheerful clumsy way, laughing like a child.

"Very good, Tucker." The Mole encouraged, pressing his hand around Craig's shoulder. And while Craig tried to hide it, there was a small smile of pride crept in the corner of his lips.

Tweek stood right behind them, afraid of approaching weapons. He covered his ears with his cold bare hands. Christophe began to approach him and I slowly lowered the rifle as I watched them, feeling nervous. That didn't look good.

The Mole had a gun in his hand. He reached it out for Tweek to grab it. Christophe was wearing only an open military jacket over a black shirt, which made him look fucking gorgeous. He must have been terribly accustomed to the cold. I couldn't hear exactly what he said to Tweek, because he spoke quietly and I was a little away, along with Wendy and Stan. The three of us stopped to observe them, but Butters and Cartman kept entertained with their guns like they were new toys. Tweek responded loudly, screechy, retreating back and almost tripping over his own legs. He was shaking as if Christophe had hurt him, even though they hadn't even touched from where I was standing. Clyde watched everything closely, frowning. Kenny looked over his shoulder from time to time, but did not seem to want to get involved.

"No, I don't want that! Stay away from me!" Tweek shouted.

Stan hadn't shot any bottles yet, he hadn't even held a gun. He was standing next to me with his arms crossed over his chest, steam coming out of his mouth as he breathed, looking very pale. We exchanged a worried look, but I could see that he was angry with whatever was going on. Gregory and Craig continued shooting as if nothing was happening. Gregory's aim was fucking enviable. He went on to explain everything about weapons and safety to some other guys I didn't know. The sound of the shots also made it hard to listen. There was a buzz in my ears.

I left the gun on a fallen tree trunk I was supporting my foot on, watching while Christophe grabbed Tweek by the arm and yanked him. Tweek fell to the floor, mostly throwing himself, and then started to scream "no" several times, but Christophe was holding him firmly by the arm so that he could hardly move. Stan ran to them.

"You're putting all of our lives in danger when you act like a fucking out of control brat." Christophe said through gritted teeth, visibly pissed off, waving the gun in his free hand. "Get your shit together. When the sappers catch you, what do you think will happen? You think someone here will get back and save your sorry ass?! How many times will that work for you, huh?"

At this point, Tweek said nothing. He just grunting and cowered on the ground, covering his own head, keeping his eyes closed. Clyde did mention to intervene, but retreated when Stan came very close. I could see the relief in Clyde's eyes. He was fucking terrified of Christophe.

"Hey." Stan said, pulling the Mole's shoulder. "What the fuck you think you're doing?"

Christophe sharply dropped Tweek and turned to Stan like a pit bull, but to my surprise, when he realized who it was, he just stared at Stan and reached out with the hand holding the gun, like he was giving it to Stan. The two studied each other for a while, steam coming out of their mouths by the warmth of breath meeting cold air.

"You too, Marsh. Your morality won't defend you when the time comes. There's shit you need to learn."

"Oh, come on, you're just terrorizing him! That shit isn't teaching! He doesn't want any weapons near him, can't you fucking see that? Some of us don't want to kill anyone!" At this point, Stan was already shouting, gesturing with his hands covered by fingerless gray gloves.

Craig licked his upper lip and briefly watched the commotion over his shoulder, but keeping the gun on his hand. Butters, closer to us, came to literally hide behind Wendy, joining his sweaty hands out of nervousness. Cartman laughed. He made some ironic comment that I, thankfully, couldn't even listen. Tweek hugged his own knees, crawling right next to Clyde, who caressed his head as if he were a dog. It bothered me a little. Gregory sighed, taking off the hat that protected his head to rub his sweaty forehead.

"God, this is such a waste valuable time." It was all that Gregory said, as a teacher trying to discipline his students, but not really making an effort.

I walked toward them. So Christophe looked me, pointed at me with the gun; not with the barrel facing me, but it was a little intimidating anyway.

"And when one of those sons of bitches have a rifle pointed right at his face, then what? Will you still not want to kill anyone?" Christophe asked Stan, his arm still extended toward me, spitting while speaking with that heavy French accent. "Because you can choose to die as a very worthy hero, but you can't choose that for us. This shit right here, this is a group. They already fuck us up every day and I would not even blink for a second before putting a bullet in one of their heads to defend any of you fuckers. That's how it has to be. So just fucking choose which side you're on, no one here has the condition to carry dead weight."

"You're completely fucking crazy." It was all Stan said, but that did not seem to reach Christophe in any profound manner. He was probably used to hearing this kind of statement.

I gently put my hand on Stan's shoulder. Christophe had his back to us, putting the gun in the holster and then pulling out a cigarette from his pocket to light it with a match. It took him a few attempts because it was windy that day.

"Stan..." I softly called, but he turned aggressively to face me.

"No, Kyle, I'm not the one you should be using that fucking tone with. I'm not the one being fucking unreasonable."

And with that, he started to walk away. I was grateful, somehow. All those eyes on him - on us - were making me nervous. I didn't hesitate to follow him, but stopped to turn back for a moment, and there was Christophe staring right at me with his chin up, inhaling the cigarette slowly; the orange tip burning and illuminating part of his scarred face. God, he was beautiful. Disturbingly beautiful. I had time to see Gregory approach him and whisper something in his ear, but I never knew what it was that he said. What I know is that Christophe just turned his eyes to see him, holding the cigarette next to his face, looking uneasy. As if he had been exposed without realizing it. So I turned and ran to find Stanley.

"Hey! Stan, wait." I shouted from afar. He was not running. In fact, he was almost standing still. We were far enough from the others, deeper into the woods. It was so cold up there, for Christ's sake. I stopped running when I got close enough, then I closed the buttons of my jacket and straightened my scarf, breathing deeply. The cold air stung my nostrils and throat. My lungs hurt.

Stan had his back to me, one hand resting on a tree and the other covering his mouth. I didn't have to see his face to know that his eyes were closed, because that was what he did when he was upset for any reason and lost control of himself. Stan was always turning inward, always trying to analyze his own feelings and reasons before attacking others and he felt terrible when he could not contain his own anger. I wished I was a little more like him in that sense. His respect for others is incredible. That's why it scared me whenever he yelled.

"Hey." I said, putting a hand on his back. Stan turned to me like a frightened animal, touching his own forehead, brushing away the hair that fell over his mesmerizing blue eyes. "Are you alright?"

"No." He answered me with raw honesty, shrugging. He kept his lips parted, licked the top one and shook his head as if he didn't know exactly what to say. ""This shit is wrong. This is all so wrong, Kyle. And you seem so comfortable with all of this... Holding a fucking gun?! Talking about killing people?" He paused briefly, taking a step back. He stepped on a branch that broke in half. He gestured with his hand, pointing the index finger at me for a second. "I mean… Who the hell are you right now?! I don't even recognize you anymore."

I didn't know immediately what to say to him. We were both immersed in a strange silence until the sounds of shots recommenced, which startled some birds that flew away, rattling the leaves of the trees that surrounded us. I licked my lips with an uncertain expression, feeling they were a little chapped from the cold. I covered my face with my hands and massaged my temples, breathing deeply.

"Stan... This is not for attack, this is defense. You know what the sappers are capable of, I just want us to be prepared."

"And you're letting that fucking maniac terrorize your friends! That sick extremist bastard will end up hurting one of us and you simply never disagree with anything he does. What is this shit, Kyle?"

"Because maybe I think he's right!" I unwittingly shouted, opening my arms and then slamming my hands on the sides of my body, feeling defensive. "I hate to see Tweek feeling sick like that, but if he can't learn to defend himself, maybe he shouldn't even be here. I want to protect him from all of this too."

"Protect him? What you want is to keep on licking that asshole. You think I'm fucking blind?!"

"Oh. So that's the problem then? I don't know what we are discussing here, if it's our ideology or your jealousy of him."

He didn't answer me immediately. Stan turned aside and ran his hand under nose to dry it since it was running, sniffling abruptly. He shook his head as if he felt the need to refute me and didn't know how to exactly. I didn't see often see him like that, even having known him my whole life. I had been with Stan at the worst point of his life and it was so rare that he handled any situation with anger and aggression; It freaked me out how pissed off he was. Even in the cold, I could feel my hands starting to sweat. That subject made me nervous. I had to fill my lungs with piercing cold air a good couple of times during this silent pause he made, trying not to say anything stupid.

When he looked back at me, I could see that the anger was already rammed deep into his chest, but it still shone in the way he pointed his finger at me and controlled his voice so hard it winced.

"Look me in the eyes and say you have no feelings for him."

I frowned and looked away, my gaze running down his chest for a moment before returning to his face.

"What?"

"Look right into my eyes, Kyle." He said quietly now, approaching me. "And you tell me that you feel nothing for the Mole."

'You're… You're confusing things, Stan." I firmly said, doing exactly what he asked of me. "I believe in his method, in his passion, it's the first time since we started all of this that I really feel like we have chance to win. What moves me is... It's being a part of this giant thing we're doing here. I know it's aggressive, I know it's not how you wanted to fight, but it is efficient."

"Stop avoiding my question."

"I have respect for him. And admiration. And you're right, he changed me. His experience has changed me, being here has changed me. And how could it be any different?! Wendy was a pacifist before, but she's denying anything. This isn't how any of us would like to live."

"And that's it?"

My heart was beating so fast in my chest that I thought for a second that he was able to hear it, revealing how anxious I was. I believed what I was saying, but at some level, I knew there was something inexplicable going on. I couldn't say I felt for Christophe anything similar to what I felt for Stan, that was very explicit to me. The more I looked at the man in front of me, the more sure I was that he was the most genuinely kind person that existed on this planet, and the more crazy about him I became. Because Stan was an extension of myself. I had no desire to leave him to go and live something with Christophe; I never wanted him to think that. But there was something being born between us, something so strong and so strange, so undeniably powerful... I knew that Stan wouldn't understand if I tried to explain it, because I myself could not understand what it was. I think neither did Christophe.

"Yeah, Stan. That's it. How many more times do you want to have this conversation?"

"Alright. I believe you."

For some reason, hearing that from him made me want to cry.