South Park - The Voices Beneath

Disclaimer: South Park and all related characters and ideas are (c) Matt Stone and Trey Parker; other copyrighted characters and ideas are property of their respective license holders. Any original content, plot ideas, etc. are of my own work and not being used for profit.

The following story will contain strong language, adult themes, bad puns and copious amounts of unadulterated insanity.

Enter at your own risk.

Arc 2 - MENDACIUM ET VERITAS

I still remember the first case we worked as the EAL. It feels like it was a lifetime ago by now, but it really affected me. It still does. Not because it was traumatizing, or violent, or tragic even. If anything it was amazing and life-changing. It was just... defining. It was about five weeks after the Cthulhu incident. The Coon had come crawling back, and our newly-named leader, Mysterion, had let him back in. Begrudgingly, sure, but we were all a team. It was our very first case, and the only reason we were allowed to work it was because the police force at the time was just entertaining the notion of having "child heroes" give the force a better image to the rest of the city. Something about that small-town charm or some shit like that.

Anyway, it was a tougher assignment than the cops really realized. There was a drug ring in town that had just moved in, peddling coke actually. Weed had been around for awhile, but there hadn't been a major coke or meth business since the cops had put Kenny's parents out of business and the gang they used to make it for. These guys were bad though. I'm talking the kind of bad-to-the-bone, no witnesses, not afraid to kill a child kind of bad. There were about fifteen of them, and a few murders later, they ended up on the cops' radar.

So, naturally, they ended up on ours too.

We investigated them for a month before we figured out who the kingpin was. The cops had put us out just as informants, but we took it to the next step. After all, that was what being a vigilante was about, right? Anyway, so we go in and right away we're making trouble. Honestly, when I look back I'm surprised that none of us were fucking killed. A group of seven kids, none of which actually had super powers, all trying to bring down an experienced drug ring. That right there is a recipe for a lot of dead kids. We're lucky these guys were the most incompetent drug peddlers of all fucking time.

The minute we arrived, the gunfight started. They spotted the Coon first, because his fat ass wasn't fast enough to get up into the rafters of the warehouse, and suddenly there's bullets flying. And you know what? They missed every shot. Mysterion jumped first. He always does. They were out of bullets, and they knew it, but they weren't ready to back down. Why should they? We were just kids. Except that the first guy found himself with a knife in his leg, and the second guy was nailed in the chest by half a dozen drill bits. Honestly? It was an accident on my part. The drill malfunctioned, and instead of just spinning, it fired them off.

It didn't take us long to clean them up. They knocked us around a bit, but we managed to somehow take them down. A bunch of nine-year-old kids actually kicked the shit out of a bunch of these hardened asshole criminals. We felt stellar.

And then the cops took the credit. It was a bit of a slap in the face, to be totally truthful. But we didn't really care. We had brought down a drug ring, by ourselves, by working together. That was something the cops couldn't take from us, even if they could take the credit and the reward. We didn't care. They couldn't take our team away. And from there, we just kept getting better. We've added new members, we've changed our name, we've actually grown. We're not just kids in masks playing superhero anymore.

We are Superheroes.

Road Trip

The trek back to the base was silent, save for the sounds of footfalls echoing against brick and concrete. The sun was still rising, painting the eastern horizon, and despite the presence of summer and a rising sun, no birds seemed to be present to sing them along their way. Eerie was probably a better way to describe the atmosphere around them, but Stan didn't seem to mind it. Without talk, he was free to be lost inside his own head and alone with his own thoughts. There was time for talk later.

Mysterion was still fuming, though his rage had lessened somewhat since Murphy had shoved whatever it was into his hands and then vanished into the crowd. The presence of South Park's Chief of Police at a simple break-in and robbery was perturbing to say the least. Didn't Yates have anything better to do?

He let that thought drift into the next, revolving silently around what they already knew, and how much, he was beginning to realize, they were completely in the dark about. He'd been shot at, chased across town, seen blood and death in unquantifiable proportions, and now a woman who could throw a car as though it were a basket ball. Too much at once.

The base loomed into view through the morning mist. "Meeting," Mysterion broke the silence with a curt growl, and led the way in through the back. They descended the stairs, piled into the meeting room, and clustered around the table, a hush still over each of them.

"So," he broke the silence again. "Torrid now. And that breakdown."

"Seems like a lot of shit all happening at once lately," voiced Mosquito from behind the massive point of his mask. "I don't leave fucking anything to coincidence." A murmur of agreement buzzed around the room. Mysterion didn't seem to be paying attention, though. Instead, his attention was held in rapture by the thing in his hand, which he held up to examine carefully in the light over the table. Stan would have to guess that he hadn't really been able to assess it properly, due to the low light of the pre-dawn twilight when the incident had taken place, but now they were all able to get a clear look at what it was that Murphy had shoved into his hand.

"Is that a flash drive?" Strikeforce asked with an eyebrow quirked, just visible behind her half-mask. Mysterion nodded his affirmation wordlessly, then tossed it over to Sentinel, who caught it mid-air and plugged it into the laptop he'd placed before him at the round table.

"Files," he confirmed a few moments later after a series of taps and clicks on the keyboard. "Tons of them! Holy shit, he must have risked a lot to get this for us."

"Yeah, but why?" Stan asked aloud, finally voicing the skepticism evident on everyone's face. "We get stonewalled by the cops for ages and now suddenly he wants to play nice? What's his fucking game?"

Mysterion shook his head. "I don't know, but it's the only lead we've had so far. We've been grasping at straws here, and I'm tired of being in the fuckin' dark about everything going on around here."

"Agreed, but it's not as easy as it looks," Sentinel said, his brow furrowed in concern and slight annoyance. "The files are all totally encrypted. He didn't want just anyone getting their hands on this. Did he give you a tell? A key? Anything?"

Mysterion shook his head, drawing back the hood of his cape and rubbing his temples. "So you can't crack it?"

"Not easily. It's going to take time. I've probably got an algorithm I can run to try and crack the key but there may be a trap process ready. I think... yeah, that's exactly what it is. It's a digital cryptex."

"Wanna share that in English for the class?"

"What, did no one watch the DaVinci code?" Sentinel posited to the room, but the blank stares he received in response were answer enough. He sighed his resignation and turned to doodle something on a board - a long, cylindrical scroll from the looks of it. "A cryptex was an old way to keep information safe from any except who you wanted to be able to see it. It was a small, cylindrical sort of prism with letters like a combination lock. You'd keep a papyrus scroll inside a glass tube, and around it you would have vinegar. If someone tried to force their way in, the glass tube would break and the papyrus would dissolve in the vinegar and your message would be lost forever. But," he said and paused to doodle something else on the board, "if the correct key was entered, then the cryptex would open and give you the scroll inside."

"Great, so essentially, it can't be cracked."

"I didn't say it can't be cracked, it just can't be forced. I can try to run an algorithm to guess what the key is but honestly, if it's an eight-letter word, it could take forever to find it."

"Maybe the password is 'password'," the Coon put forward, and was immediately met with stares of incredulity and annoyance. "What? It's the password for everything else."

"Murphy might be almost as thick as the rest of the adults in South Park but he can't be that fucking stupid," Human Kite said with two fingers pressed to his temple. "Work on it as much as you can, Sentinel, let us know what you find."

"And in the meantime," Mysterion interjected, "the rest of us have a lot of work to do, so let's do assignments and get some shit done." He stood from his chair and crossed to the whiteboard, then proceeded to pick up the black pen and write down the varying assignments beside their respective heroes, the only sounds in the room the squeaking of the pen against the board. "Sentinel and Iron Maiden, do what you can to crack the key, keep monitoring chatter for any mention of cult activity or this fucking Torrid bitch. Mole, keep your ear to the ground, I want to know who else is involved in this, and start tapping contacts in the Police force. See what you can worm out of them, make sure we know whenever the fuck they so much as sneeze. Biotic, Mosquito, Coon and StrikeForce, start working through students. I want to know who's been acting funny. She can't have been much older than us, see if anyone's recently picked up fucking super strength. Kite, ToolShed, and I are going to step up patrols. We need to increase visibility, try and lure out whoever the fuck is doing this. If we get lucky, maybe can pick up a lead and finally get these fuckers once and for all."

-x-0-x-

Quiet seemed to follow the Torrid incident the day after, and then the day after that. No robberies, no break-ins, no crimes of any kind. It was a weird kind of quiet that made every single League member (save the Coon) uneasy, but it did make it a little easier to focus on the task at hand without any other problems coming to light. Since the week prior, Kenny, that is, Mysterion, had been on a rampage. If Stan had to take a guess, he would surmise that Kenny hadn't really slept much over the last several days, instead spending his time either out on Patrol or poring over the notes and files they already had to try and help Sentinel come up with the right key word to get into the cryptex on the flash drive.

So far, they'd come up empty handed.

But the week hadn't been a total bust. The Mole had picked up some sketchy behavior in the police force, and one particular officer who had been unwilling to talk out of fear of his own safety had let slip a few key notes about another incident that was going to take place. He'd been glib on the details but a known, upcoming incident was the best break they could ask for. The task of interviewing students, though, had proved to be more challenging than originally anticipated. Without incentive, few of them were willing to talk and those that were had proven totally unhelpful in even the slightest way. After days of trying to pry information out of summer-addled teenage brains, the four tasked with the chore had nearly given up.

It wasn't until a full week had passed that they finally caught another break in the form of another burglary downtown. It was, just as before, the small hours of the morning, and Stan, Kyle, and Kenny had been awake all night in the meeting room, going over papers and notes from the past few weeks, when the alarm on the console began its shrill cry and rattled all three of them out of the half-functioning stupor they'd been entrenched in all night.

"Fuck!" Kenny snarled, clutching his chest. "As if I need to die of a heart attack."

Stan, who found the statement odd, didn't respond, instead opting to allow the comment to pass, though in his mind he found it was still swirling around in the back of his head, unable to let go of the odd sentiment. "What's up?" he asked as Kyle hopped up from his chair and half walked, half jogged over to the console and peered at the flashing message on the screen.

"Robbery, downtown," he replied after a moment. "Silent alarm, just like the last one. Looks like one of the boutiques in the mall this time."

"Sounds like we're on," Stan said with a grin to match the smirk that spread across Kenny's face. The pair stood and made their way up the stairs, where Wendy and Cartman had already woken and were both setting to work dressing. Of the League, only the five of them had remained at the base that night. Token and Clyde had opted to stay home to waylay suspicion from parents and classmates, Ike and Timmy were both with their respective parents, and Chrisophe was fuck-knows where. The five of them dressed quickly, geared up and blazed out of the base with almost no talk at all, except for the brief rundown given by Mysterion as soon as the mask came down over his eyes.

Just as before, downtown was a veritable ghost town. The stores were all closed, and not a single car or pedestrian braved the streets, so the team was free to flit like shadows down the empty sidewalk, sprinting with all the speed they could muster, towards the mall. Kite had gone airborne the moment he was able to scale a building and leap off of it, while below, Mysterion, StrikeForce and the Coon sprinted down the dark alley behind the buildings lining the main street. That left ToolShed to vault from rooftop to rooftop, hurdling over the gaps between the buildings and carrying himself to the end of the street. The mall was just ahead.

The team met up at the shattered glass dome, which was now covered in ply wood and paper, and they were able to see quickly where the thief had broken in; there was a small tear in the paper between two of the large slabs of plywood, where she would have easily slipped in. They each moved through as well, though the Coon had a harder time than the others on account of his girth. Still, they were each able to rappel themselves down into the empty mall below, where they slipped into the darkness and crept along like a breeze.

Silent hand-signals from Mysterion told them what to do: Don't draw attention. Surround and apprehend. No blood.

"Only five of you this time?" a voice shattered the silence like spun glass hitting the ground. "Damn, you guys must think you're hot shit to bring fewer to the party. Or maybe you're just really ballsy?"

Inwardly, ToolShed cursed. Of course she was waiting, why the fuck wouldn't she be waiting? She had been so willing to engage them last time that actually luring them out was the next logical step inside the realm of obvious probability. Torrid stood just a few yards ahead, perched on the base of the escsalator's moving railing and looking thoroughly pleased with herself. She was still wearing the bright red catsuit, heeled boots and half-mask, and her hair was still in that pretentious red bob that Stan couldn't help but believe was probably a wig.

"Game's over, Torrid," Mysterion growled, standing at his full measure and striding towards her, every step filled with righteous purpose. The others followed him closely. "Drop the stuff and come quietly. We can help you."

Torrid threw back her head and laughed, and ToolShed found himself marveling at how well the wig was secured to her head. "Help me? I can help myself, thanks."

"We noticed you've been helping yourself, with stuff that doesn't belong to you. Just put it down, and we'll work something out."

That seemed to be enough for Torrid. She did drop the sack of goods she was carrying, but far from giving herself up, instead she launched herself off of the railing and attempted to slam her fist down into Mysterion's head. He slid back like a shadow from the sunlight, and her fist instead collided hard with the ground; it cracked beneath the force. The other four leaped into action. Kite was there first, leaping over Mysterion as he moved backwards and using a bit of his kite wire to wrap around her fist, then twist her arm back and secure it behind her back. She jerked hard and he, still attached to the wire, was sent sailing back over Mysterion again and into a potted plant several yards away.

ToolShed moved next. Stan wasn't really the fastest of them, but he could take and deal out a lot of damage. A large hammer had found its way into his gloved hands and he swung up, colliding the end of it with her fist to deflect the coming blow that would have otherwise crushed the side of his head. The blow glanced off the head of the hammer but the hammer was thrown back, ripped out of his hands by the sudden reintroduction of inertia, and suddenly he found himself ducking and dodging with speed he wasn't used to keeping up to avoid the next several blows.

StrikeForce was there next. She hurled herself past ToolShed and caught Torrid in a hard tackle, and as the two women went sailing to the ground, ToolShed heard the Wire crackle to life in his ear.

"What's going on?" the voice of Sentinel asked.

He put two fingers to his ear and replied, "Robbery in the mall, Torrid's back."

"Need backup?"

"Maybe, we're trying to-" he stopped abruptly and found himself bending himself as far backwards as his spine would allow, where Torrid and StrikeForce sailed just over him; StrikeForce's hair brushed his cheek and the two girls smashed into the ground again. StrikeForce was up first, but it only served to play into Torrid's advantage, as she leaped up and punched her straight in the gut.

"NO!" Stan found himself screaming, voice unaltered, as StrikeForce was sent sailing through the air. In a move that was impressive by even Olympiad standards, Kite sprinted towards the wall, kicked himself off of it, and caught her mid-air, expanding his prism kite and slowing their descent before the pair landed on the ground. Torrid didn't move.

"W-Wendy?" she said, her voice suddenly terrified. Her eyes were wild and fear spread from her pupils to the rest of her face. "No no no NO NO!" she screamed, and gripped the sides of her head again. And then she bolted, sprinting down the empty mall, vaulting over tables and benches as she went

"Don't let her get away!" Mysterion shouted, finally recovered from his sudden thrust backwards, and he dashed after her, the Coon in tow just behind him.

ToolShed bent down and helped up Kite and StrikeForce, and after assessing both of them quickly to ensure they were mostly unharmed, the three took off after their companions.

-x-0-x-

"I can't believe we fucking lost her," Kenny said some time later, after all five had first chased her around the mall, taking care to avoid where the blood of Heidi had spread across the ground less than a month prior, and then attempted to follow her into the busying streets, where the people of South Park had begun to make their way to their various occupations for the day. They'd eventually lost her when she'd led them through a construction site, and none of them had managed to spot where she'd gone after.

Sentinel had sent the word out during the fight, and by the time the rest of the team had piled into the base and suited up, the others had returned empty handed. They all sat around the table in the meeting room now, while Kenny sat in his seat and fumed and Stan took up Kenny's usual place at the whiteboard.

"We'll get her next time. She was drawing us out, she wasn't just going to fucking dip out and drop off the face of the planet," Stan said, trying to sound comforting and authoritative all at once, a feat proving to be more difficult than originally anticipated. Instead he ended up sounding like, he would have to admit, a bit of an asshole, so he cleared his throat in an attempt to diffuse the anger from the room and turned to write on the board. "So why don't we get down to business. What do we know about what's going on?"

"Well, we know that Torrid is really into designer shoes," Kyle said from his seat, leaning back in his chair and balancing a pencil on the bridge of his nose. "Both of her little shopping trips so far have been to boutiques. I checked the bag before we left, it was full of shoe boxes."

"Hm, that's... wow that's really weird."

"Well obviously it's because she's a chick - OW!" Cartman started, and was swiftly silenced by a hard punch in the arm from Wendy, who shot him a scathing glare and then turned her attention on the board. "What? I'm just saying, she's being really obvious! I mean, if you're gonna steal something, why steal huge shoe boxes? Why not take the shoes out of the boxes?"

Kenny sighed heavily. "As much as I hate to admit this, Cartman has a point. She's being really, really obvious. Like... she's taking the whole cat-burgler thing way too literally."

"Reminds me of programming," Ike bemused, and was suddenly quite alarmed when all eyes in the room turned on him at once. "What? She acts like she's been programmed."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked with an eyebrow raised, pen hovering just an inch off the whiteboard, stopped before he'd had a moment to write the notes down.

"Well, look at it like this. She has no deviation to her pattern, no normal extrapolations from her behavior. Like she's not acting like a normal thief would, even one with super strength. She has the ability to break into a bank vault by tearing the door off and hefting out a bag of gold bricks, why is she going after shoes?"

His hypothetical was met with curious, uncertain silence.

"I think I know who it is," Wendy said at length, chewing the words slowly. "But I can't say anything yet. I need to be sure."

"Then the task is yours," Kenny said, and leaned back. "So, Wendy will figure out Torrid. In the meantime, I'm sure nothing else has stood still, what else do we have?"

"Still haven't cracked the key," Ike said ruefully. "But I did pick up something else that might be useful." With that, he pushed off from the table and slid his wheeled chair over to the command CPU, where he punched in a series of keystrokes that eventually caused the projector to flicker to life. "I intercepted some encrypted emails and a few transmissions from the Cult. They're getting antsy again lately so I figured I'd keep an eye on them. They didn't disappoint, either. Turns out, they and this 'Travelers of Nightmare' group are at odds with each other right now, so that would suggest that they aren't really working together... at least I hope not. Anyway, they're getting ready for something they call the Nightmare Festival."

"Sounds an awful lot like the Cthulhu Cult and the Travelers of Nightmare might be working together, considering it's the Nightmare festival," Kenny said dourly, but Ike simply shrugged.

"No idea, but the Cult was talking about the Travelers having a book they thought was blasphemy. Something about violating the sacred text. They were pretty thrilled when the book went missing from the museum. McElroy was talking to someone in the Police Department, asked him to make sure the book doesn't make it back to certain hands."

"That could mean they're at odds... or they could be talking about us," Stan pointed out, but Ike shrugged again.

"In either case, it's a lead."

"Better than nothing," Token conceded. "What about Henrietta? She's still not doing well."

"But she's not doing terribly, either," Clyde replied, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "She's been calmer since Wendy talked her down. Haven't heard her scream or anything in the last few days. I was monitoring her vitals, she's starting to normalize." Of them, Clyde was the one most fascinated with human health. He had mentioned wanting to be a doctor someday when the boys had started high school, but it hadn't come up much since, except for when Clyde would jump at the chance to stitch someone up.

"It's progress, anyway," Kenny admitted, and stood, taking a place beside Stan and reading over the notes on the board. Stan watched him silently a moment, wondering what it was that was churning through Kenny's mind. "So, I think the museum is the next stop."

"...why?" Stan asked with an eyebrow quirked.

"Well, if we know what book was stolen, maybe we can get a copy of it and see what the buzz is about. We need more info, I'm tired of walking blindly into this bullshit. So let's figure out what the book is, find out what it does and why they want it, and maybe for once we'll have an edge instead of playing catch-up the whole way."

"But the museum is clear the fuck out in Fort Collins, dude," Token said, chewing the words as he spoke them. "That's a bit of a drive."

"We'll go," Stan said suddenly, and all eyes shifted to him. "Me, Kyle and Kenny. We'll go to Fort Collins and check out the break-in. Then, we have the majority of the team here and if anything comes up, we're not royally fucked."

"Hope not, anyway," Clyde conceded, and nodded his head in approval. "Let's do it then."

-x-0-x-

The boys had run the sudden road trip by their parents shortly after the meeting had concluded. Stan's parents had no trouble giving him permission, his mother fully trusting him and his driving abilities and his father too stupid to understand. Kenny's father didn't really give much of a fuck about anything, let alone Kenny's sudden departure, so it didn't require any convincing for him to be allowed to leave for the weekend. Kyle's mother was another story. It took over an hour of convincing from Kyle, Stan, and even Kyle's father Gerald, before she finally, begrudgingly, consented.

Finally free to leave, the boys woke early in the morning that Saturday, piled into Stan's car and set off for Fort Collins.

Silence filled the car for the first half hour, save for the sounds of the engine and the steady humming of wind whipping at the car as it flew along the blacktop. Occasionally one of them would try to turn the radio on, and sometimes it would work for a few minutes before whatever song was playing devolved into a mess of static and hissing, and they would turn it off and succumb once again to the silence.

That left Stan alone, again, with his thoughts. Always they turned to the matter at hand, finding the events of the last month circling each other in his head, chasing themselves around and becoming grander and more elaborate as each theory passed, connected with each thought until finally, he decided that he'd be better off leaping out of the moving car than continuing the dismal line of thought it brought him; end of the world, death, chaos, destruction. Not happy thoughts. The silence was maddening, deafening. He needed to say something to kill the tension.

It was Kenny that broke the silence though. "So," he started awkwardly, seeming to mull the words over for several moments. "Shit hasn't been going well."

"Not really," Kyle confirmed with a nod from the passenger seat, shifting in his chair to see both of his friends as he spoke. "I've had a bad feeling about it for awhile."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked, not taking his eyes off the road but his eyebrows raising in curiosity none the less.

Kyle pursed his lips and, at length, replied, "I think I saw it coming."

"Saw it coming?" Kenny voiced.

"I think I saw it coming ages ago. I uh..." Kyle struggled with the words for several long moments, before at last he went on, "I've been having dreams."

"Dreams?"

"Yeah... okay so hear me out. I'm not crazy. Do you guys remember back in fourth grade when Cartman started that bullshit pretending to be psychic and-"

"You jumped off a roof? Yeah I remember," Stan interjected, chuckling. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"That. Ever since then it's just... weird stuff happens. I get mad, things move. Shelves fall down, electronics fail, lights explode. I... it helps me fly." They didn't respond immediately, instead allowing him to pause to collect his thoughts, and he went on. "If it wasn't for... for the stuff going on in my head, I would have hit the ground after that first test run. I can push myself up and keep myself there for ages. And... and then there's the dreams. I've been seeing..."

He took a shuddering breath.

"So you're a psychic?" Kenny posited. Kyle looked taken aback, and Stan turned his head quickly, glancing at Kenny's face in the mirror. He looked attentive, not a drop of irony on his face or his voice, and he was staring at Kyle with a sort of intensity reserved for Mysterion. It amazed Stan how fast Kenny could become his alter-ego. They were mirrors of each other, but they were so much the same person that sometimes, he forgot where one ended and the other began. It became harder and harder to remember as time passed, and that was truer than ever right now. Kenny was in the back seat, but it was Mysterion they were talking to.

"I... no I didn't say that," Kyle back-peddled, exasperation entering his voice. "I just mean-"

"Kyle, you have no idea how glad I am to hear that," Kenny said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Seriously man."

"...huh? Why?"

Stan glanced at Kenny in the rear-view mirror again. He was leaning back, head reclined against the top of the back seat, eyes fixed on the roof of the car. "Kenny?"

He leaned his head forward again. "I've really been worried that I was the only... unique one around here, you know. Problem is, if I tell you why, you're going to forget in about twenty minutes anyway."

Kyle's look of resigned exasperation evaporated and left alarm in its wake. "Wait, what?"

Kenny leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor of the car, which was littered with empty paper coffee cups and three or four different black aprons. "I'm not even going to make you promise not to tell, because honestly even if you do, they'll forget pretty much instantly. I want you guys to try and remember something for me." He thought a moment, chewing the inside of his mouth, and finally settled on, "Do you remember back in fourth grade, the Cthulhu Incident?"

"Of course we remember," Stan replied, almost affronted by the question, but Kenny held up a hand.

"No, something specific. Do you remember when Cartman had us banished to R'lyeh?"

"It's hard to forget man," Kyle murmured. For the brief period they spent in the hell dimension, the boys would never forget the horrors. The monsters that chased them to the ends of their respective ropes, that threatened to swallow each of them in unending oblivion until their serendipitous rescue.

"Who was banished? Name all of us that went in."

Stan sighed, but entertained the question anyway. "You, me, Kyle, Clyde, Token, and Timmy."

"Right, and when Mintberry Fuckin' Crunch got there, who got out?"

"Y-y uh... me, Kyle, Clyde, Token, and Timmy. Wait, how the fuck did you get out?"

A wry, somewhat sad smile spread across Kenny's face. "Think harder. We were running, we came to a cliff. We needed a place to hide."

"But we didn't have a way out, so..." Stan trailed off, brow furrowed. The line of thought was there, but it was like he was trying to push a straw through a brick wall. What had happened? How, even?

Kyle picked up the thought and said, "You were going to try and get us out. You jumped... dude, you fucking died! You fucking died Kenny, what the fuck!?" Eyes alight with sudden realization and horror, Kyle spun to face Kenny entirely, mouth agape. "Dude! DUDE!"

Relief spread over Kenny's face. The smile plastered there was still sad, but there was something else, too. Comfort? Stan wasn't sure, and he was trying not to think about it. But... why? Why didn't he want to think about it? He remembered very clearly the events of the hell that was R'lyeh. Sometimes they forgot that they'd been to the place the Cult was trying to bring to South Park, and that it was nothing but madness and horror on a level he couldn't fathom without falling into his own psychosis. Forgetting was a matter of necessity. Up to the point where Kenny had taken a running leap off of the cliff and told them all to hide, everything was perfectly crystal, whenever he really wanted to recall it (and he often didn't). After that... what had happened? They'd hid, talked about what they would do or give up if they ever made it home, and after awhile, Bradley had arrived and brought them all back.

But he remembered the cliff. It was like... something in his mind pushed him away from it. Every time he tried to bring his thoughts to that cliff, tried to will himself to, in his memory, peer over the edge of that cliff at whatever lay at the bottom below it, he found himself entertaining another thought. But for the briefest moment, something flashed into his mind; blood, spikes, organs. Kenny's cry of pain, his gurgling, final-yet-not-so-final breath. And then it was gone.

He reached for it, grasped onto it, the one thread in thousands he had left to cling to, and as he struggled to keep it in his mind, he glanced right and saw Kyle struggling just the same, only it seemed to come easier for him.

But that was it, wasn't it? That truth that they were hiding from, that their minds refused to accept. That was the truth. Kenny couldn't die.

Stan had to stop the car. There was too much to process, and even if Kenny really couldn't stay dead, he sure as fuck could. He slowed to a halt, pulling over to the side of the highway, and turned off the engine.

They didn't speak for awhile. Kenny sat silently in the back seat, and Stan assumed that he was just letting them process what must be something heavier than they'd ever had to deal with. Harder than R'lyeh, harder than the dark god Cthulhu, even harder than trying to save the world. Their best friend... what even was he?

"So... how does it happen?" Kyle finally broke the silence. "I mean like... you're... human, right?"

"Human as you are. It's... I dunno, I guess it's a curse? Not really sure."

"But I mean... your body was fucking... ruined when you jumped. It's..."

"To be totally honest man, I have no idea. Back when it started happening, I always just wound up in my bed. Now... sometimes I wake up where I fell, sometimes in bed, sometimes in a hospital. Haven't really figured out the pattern."

"How... often?" Stan was finding it more and more difficult to focus on the conversation, but he had to. He needed to. Kenny needed this, that much was obvious from the relief that seemed to radiate from his every word and breath. They all needed this. Truth was the only thing they had in a world where lies were the currency and deception was the norm. That was the world they were finding. They needed this.

"Used to be almost every day. Being death-proof makes you death-prone I guess. It's less frequent now." Stan started the car again. "But... you guys believe me?"

"Of course we believe you," Stan said dismissively. "Dude, we remember it... sort of. For the most part. It's still... fuzzy. Even concentrating on it is fucking hard."

"I can imagine."

"So... what does it mean?" Kyle asked after a period of silence. "What do you know about it?"

Kenny chewed on his answer for a moment. "I know it's a curse. I know that I'm linked with Cthulhu somehow, but I don't know how. My parents attended a cult meeting while I was... still inside my mom. Probably connected but I don't know how or why. I know that I've died almost every way known to man and it never sticks. I died for a really long time once, but... I dunno. Never makes any sense and no one ever remembers."

"Why didn't you tell us before?"

"I have. Several times now."

Kyle opened his mouth to protest, then realization dawned on him and he settled instead to say simply, "Oh... oh shit. I'm sorry dude."

Kenny waved him off and the conversation ended there. When they arrived at last, pulling into the parking lot beside the museum, the air in the car was considerably lighter, and for an instant, Stan couldn't remember why. Kenny died he reminded himself, set his jaw, and the three walked into the large building. Outside the door, a large sign labeled NEW! SUMERIAN EXHIBIT UNTIL 7/1, SEE IT NOW! was posted, with an arrow pointing towards the museum's front door. Stan quirked an eyebrow, and Kenny beside him rolled his eyes.

"Obviously it's inside," he said and led the way through the doors.

Aside from a few staff-members and the odd early-morning exhibit-goer, the museum was largely empty. Right in front was a large exhibit of King Tut's grave goods, with a replica of the dead pharaoh displayed out in front. They browsed a moment and moved on, passing through The Wonders of the Lewis and Clarke Journey, The Trappers of the North-West, and Wonders of a Lost Time before finally coming to the Sumerian exhibit on the far side of the west-wing of the museum, labeled Treasures of Ancient Sumer. Kenny peered through the glass cases, while Stan read off of some of the plaques and Kyle busied himself with a pamphlet of the display.

"Looking for anything specific?" an ancient voice inquired, and all three turned to see what they could only assume by the look of him was the museum's curator; he was a withered old man who was probably as old as the museum itself was, wearing a tweed suit, polka-dotted bow-tie, and had his prim mustache and bright white hair cut and trimmed to sure perfection. Stan had a sudden thought that the man must have been born to curate a museum, but the thought fled and he didn't pursue it.

"Just looking-" Stan started, but Kenny cut him off.

"Actually we heard there was an old book here that was on loan from the National Gallery in London," Kenny said, hands shoved into his pockets in a convincing, nonchalant gesture.

The curator's face fell somewhat. "Ah, I see. Did you boys come from too far to see it?"

"Just from Park County," Kyle supplied, catching onto the act Kenny was putting down.

"Well I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news then boys, but that particular piece was stolen about a week ago," the man said solemnly. Stan marveled at the obvious distress in his voice. "Such a beautiful piece, too."

"Stolen? That's terrible!"

"Indeed."

Kenny glanced down at the pamphlet in Kyle's hand. "The... Adi Mītu Malṭuru?"

"Roughly translates to The Script of the Dead. It's one of the older texts discovered in the Mesopotamian region some years ago. It's referenced a few times in some of the legible Dead Sea Scrolls. We believe it's written in a dialect of Akkadian, probably a holy language in the same family, but so far it hasn't been translated. A few words here and there, but mostly it's unreadable."

"Mostly?"

"Well some passages have been translated with the help of references and the scrolls. The original script itself was taken from some charcoal imprints done by the excavation team, it's rather impressive to see the actual render."

Kenny whistled, reading the plaque where the book's empty display case was. "I'll bet. So, you mentioned that it's just a rubbing?"

"Yes and no," the man said. "The original script itself is a series of tablets and were left inside the ruins of the temple they were found in. The rubbings taken by the team were sent back for study to London before their untimely demise."

Kyle's attention was suddenly pulled quite rapidly away from the pamphlet. "Demise?"

"Oh not to fret," the old man chuckled. "No mummy's curses. See, archaeology can be dangerous. Many don't bother to get vaccinations, especially not in the days of the explorer. The excavation team contracted a highly-contagious and virulent strain of tuberculosis and most perished soon after. A few made it back to London, but were quarantined and succumbed to their illness shortly after."

"Sounds rough," Stan commented. "So, a book?"

"One of the men who returned to London brought with him the various rubbings and imprints made by the team. Those rubbings, coupled with the translation notes, several sketches, and the journals of each of the men, were combined and bound into a book. Essentially, what we had was a middle-age copy of a millenia-old manuscript."

"Do you know what the translations said?"

"A bit of it," the man admitted, and closed his eyes to aid in his recollection. "Largely, what was translated was an old legend. Likely a prophecy made by the holy men of the temple. There was a hero, many many eons ago, who the people called Dariu. This hero was beloved by the people, and protected them against the coming darkness with his impossible power. The legend says that Dariu, blessed by the weapon Darutu, was the only man capable of standing against the darkness that fell from the stars that threatened to rule all of Dadmu, or what they called the world. Using his mightly weapon, Dariu banished the Stars' Seven Darkness to an unending slumber deep beneath the sea, one that could only end when the stars themselves reshaped."

"That sounds pretty... old-age Gilgamesh-y," Kenny said.

"It would, they are of the same region. But the legend then becomes a prophecy, stating that when the stars change their shape and become the Nine Darkness, a new Dariu must stand and wield the power of Darutu to return the darkness to sleep until the next unstoppable force falls to the world."

"What about the rest of it? Sounds an awful lot like a cult book by the name."

The man chuckled again. "It would, but I assure you it's not. At least, not in the modern sense of the word. In the days the script was carved, religion was less a fanatical devotion and more a way to cope with the stress of living in a desert with limited water, food and resources. The stories men told their offspring were to prepare them from the harshness of life ahead and to give them something to look forward to. I personally believe that much of the script was originally intended to be the burial rites of the honored dead."

"Burial rites? Why?" Kenny asked, gently tugging the pamphlet out of Kyle's hand, who was so enraptured by the man's monologue that he hardly seemed to notice.

"There are several sections that reference the passage of life and death, and that one must prepare themselves for life after death."

"Makes sense."

"Unfortunately, without that book, we'll never really know."

-x-0-x-

The car ride back passed infinitely faster than the ride to the museum, and it was spent almost entirely on speculation, one wild idea after the next. As they pulled into the subterranean garage and closed the door behind them, Stan finally voiced what had been swirling around his head for hours.

"So, that legend. It sounds really familiar to me."

"Familiar how?"

"Think about it. Evil from the stars, banished beneath a sea to sleep for all eternity? Ring a bell?" He glanced at the other two, and the realization on their faces was his answer.

"On the bright side, we know it's not the Necronomicon," Kyle said.

"Maybe not, but I'd be willing to bet that the Necronomicon came after. I'd bet that it references the script all over the fucking place and then some. 'Slumbering beneath the sea', it's R'lyeh. Has to be," Kenny murmured, staring ahead pensively as the words came; he closed the car door and made for the door, where he punched in the code and held the door open for the other two to enter the base.

"Right, so does that mean the script actually explains how they got there in the first place?" Kyle asked cautiously. "And... oh shit guys, a book. Fuck I feel stupid."

"Eh?" Stan closed the door behind him. He could hear the sounds of chatter from the meeting room below, so he dumped his backpack on the ground beside the door and led the way down into the room."Chaos and Disarray. They got their hands on a book. They were going to read from a book they had to acquire. They stole the fucking book."

"'Oo stole a book?" Christophe asked as they passed through the door, his signature unlit cigar held between his teeth.

"So we've got some things to discuss," Kenny said as he entered in behind Stan. "Namely, the thing we went to find."

"And?"

"And someone stole it," Kyle confirmed. "The book we were hoping to find was the one that was stolen from the museum. And fuck, if only we coulda gotten our hands on it."

"There is loads of useful shit in it... except that it's all written in... Akkadian I think?" Kenny posited to Kyle, who nodded in affirmation. "Anyway, it's gone, but Kyle thinks it might be the book that Butters got his hands on."

Kenny spent the next several minutes giving the others a recap of what they'd learned from the old curator, and theories began to fly around the room.

"So. Necronomicon?"

"Negative. It's way older, but I'm betting the Necronomicon mentions it at least once."

"Well you guys will be thrilled to know that it wasn't a complete waste of time," Ike said, sounding particularly pleased with himself. "As it so happens, you picked up some useful details that'll help us figure out what's going on."

Kenny glanced at him, Stan and Kyle exchanged dubious looks. "Share with the class?" Kenny prompted.

"You said it was on loan from the National Museum in London, right?"

"Get to the point, Ike," Kenny replied irritably.

"The National Museum of London does scans and photocopies of every exhibit they get and every single one they loan out. That means that someone would have had to take a digital photo or scan of every single page of the book. I can access that data and get a copy of it and boom! We have a book."

Kenny stared, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape, but it was Stan who said, "That's pretty impressive, can you actually do that?"

"Well I'm running the key cracker in the background so I don't see why not."

"Perfect. Get ahold of that book. This might be our first actual break since this shit started."

Author's Notes: So. It's been awhile. A very long while. I've been going through quite a bit here trying to play catch-up, and trying to find time to write between boyfriend, 60-hour work weeks, taking new classes and moving put pretty much all of my projects on the back-burner.

And then my hard drive literally shit itself. Okay not literally, but it did go completely dead. I've replaced it finally so here we are!

I'm not going to promise totally regular updates. BUT! I am going to be updating more frequently than once a year. I promise. More than twice a year too! I really wanted to finish this story, and since being gone, I've been able to make some really cool changes that I hope everyone will like. I'll probably put in a "spoofs" and "outtakes" section at the end to show what I cut out or changed just for fun.

But anyway, I digress. This chapter had been written once back before my sudden hiatus, but I've since re-written the entire thing. It's pretty dialogue-heavy but hopefully it wasn't too bad. The story will be taking a somewhat different turn from its original machinations so I'm hoping it will be that much more enjoyable. Thanks to those of you who are still sticking around, I really appreciate the reviews that pushed me into writing again. See everyone soon!