What, people? Comparing the amount of reviews between the last chapter and the one before it, do I have to plead in every author's note for you guys to review? Urk. Still, great appreciation to what seem to be my four faithful reviewers. Thanks guys, I love reading your thoughts and insight so much! It really is inspiring for future chapters and ideas! Keep it up, I love reading and responding to your feedback! See how I'm on time with this update? Isn't that awesome?

You know, there was a time when I seriously preferred writing about knives as the chosen weapon, but, see… I finally started playing Starfox Assault recently. And holy mother of god. There's a bunch of spider-like enemies there that really, really freaking freak me out, but you have the blaster. And I just shoot like mad. And now I'm in love with futuristic gun technology and oh god I really want to go back to playing that game. It's a wonder I got this written out with that thing sitting right next to me, you know!

Anyway. On to this chapter. The content here was actually supposed to appear in the last one, but, ehh, you know, I got distracted in the last one and just had fun with it. Good news here, though. It clears up one big event in this fic quite a bit, and it was much more fun to write than I thought it was going to be. It contains the second scene I ever thought up for this fic (a necessity considering that if it never happened I never would've had any place to start at). I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!


Since when is snow red? I'm seething. Some kind of bloodlust. I'd really love to spill somebody, anybody's blood. I am going to be in all sorts of shit when I get home. If only I had a weapon… Something I could just use to crush and kill and maim and destroy. Blow shit up, blow brains out, and that like.

Rage is a powerful weapon, and combined with a killing instinct, things just simply aren't going to go well for anybody. Most, if not all, humans are sadistic in one way or another. It's everywhere around you. Death, suffering, and pain. And something is always causing it, and quite frequently, it's a human. And if you can't beat it, then why not join it? Become a part of the cause, because there will never be a solution, and at least if you're a part of the cause you'll get something productive done.

Sure, people will feel compassion. When some huge natural disaster or blown out of proportion terrorist attack is shown, people go, "Oh my god, that's horrible." Yet people enjoy seeing it. It's all around us. How often does the news display something positive? Not very, and usually when it does, it's way in the back of the report. Terror drags in higher ratings, because people are more interested in terror. It's just so much more fascinating than people standing around, helping each other, giving, and sharing. You can only say, "Oh, that's great!" for so long without losing interest.

Besides, people get over the bad shit eventually, and it's usually good for a laugh or two. There are bigger things in the world to worry about. What difference did the death of some guy who just sat around all day make, anyway? Did he help make the world a better place? Did he do anything useful? No? Then get over it and move on.

It's also great when people get so pissed off that they vow revenge on some part of society and dedicate the rest of their lives to getting back at it. The sheer hypocrisy there is amazing and baffling at the same time. What a waste of time and life. It accomplishes nothing, as the one you're after more than likely doesn't really care that they pissed you off. And then when you die people will only remember you as some angry guy who couldn't get over something.

But me? I don't have much of a good reason. I just don't really care. People are normally selfish, right? And as such they'd rather spend time doing what they find to be entertaining. And as evident from society today, suffering is what's entertaining. So I'm only giving back to the community, right? And in a place where being entertained is so highly valued, it should only make sense that it covers all forms of entertainment, right? Otherwise that would just be contradicting yourself.

Except I haven't really done anything yet, nor has it counted. Which is why I need something other than my hands.

I have always been freaking oppressed and had my views stamped down upon by my elders. Constantly silenced and told that "it doesn't matter, dear," "you're wrong," or they're the ones with the violent murderous life-threatening weapons and they're the ones who get to use them. And sure, they're adequately punished, but I'm a minor. So I can get away with a lot more stuff.

But that dick that initially slashed my arm… it's all his fault. He started it off and it's because he had to go and commit crimes that I, in turn, end up getting the crap end of the stick. So if I ever meet that guy again I swear I'll mutilate his body and make him completely unrecognizable to everybody. And at least I'll be able to get back at something, since I doubt I could do anything like that to my "best friend." I hate Stan, too.

I wonder if I could really go through with any of this. That's something I have to find out before I start talking big again, just… If I could honestly and full of conscious thought kill anything in cold blood. If. My conscience usually gets the best of me but this time I'm just all screwed up, which is why I've got to find that guy and get my revenge on him in some way. At least then I'll be satisfied, and if I end up going to juvie or prison or whatever, I'll have something to do with my life and my future will be pretty clear to me.

And if I find that I can't kill somebody, if I end up feeling great guilt afterwards, then maybe, just maybe, I can get all of this settled, I can patch things up with Stan, and I can hate Cartman to a less of an extremity. Funny how Kenny has nothing to do with any of this—

Wait. This isn't my house.

This is Kenny's. How the hell did I end up over here? My house is in the opposite direction. Is school over yet…? It probably will be by now. I wonder if Kenny's even still around.

Because if he is, I've got a huge favour to ask of him.

Not wanting to deal with any parents or siblings, I wander over to the back to about where his room would be, pull the piece of crap window open, and hop right in. That's typically how we go to meet up with him. It's better than walking in on a drunken brawl between his parents, or accidentally setting one off just because you want to see your friend. And I might as well see him, because there's no doubt that whatever punishment I may get when I go back home is going to be extremely severe already.

"Kenny? You here?" I call out. It's not like his family would be able to afford more than one clock, which would naturally be in some place the whole family could have easy access to it; probably the kitchen, so for all I know, school may still be in. Then again, it's not like he would have to stay there. Kenny skips for absolutely no reason all the time.

His door creaks open and there I see my one normal friend in our group of four. No clingy best friend who you do everything with, no "friend" whom you hate and despise. Just a normal friend. Who happens to be poor. And die. A lot. Completely normal.

"Oh, hey, Kyle," says Normal Guy. "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you—"

"I was wandering around and ended up here," I cut him off, shrugging. I'm really not in the mood for pointless chitchat. I have something I need to clarify, and I need Kenny for this.

"Oh," he says simply. Not much of the talker. He likes to hang around in the back scenes too much, content with just following us around and putting a word in here or there. "So then…"

I cut him off again. "Look, Kenny, I know this is going to sound totally out of the blue, but I need a favour from you. A huge favour."

"How huge?"

"… Huge. You see, I—"

"Well why me?"

"If you'd let me get to it—"

Now he's the one cutting me off. "No deal," he says. "I want something in return. Tell me just what the hell happened today."

I sigh. "Kenny, come on. You haven't even heard my favour!"

"I'll take it, now talk."

"But you don't know—"

Kenny stops me there. "Kyle. I've been through all sorts of crap; I'm sure that whatever it is can't be any worse than that." Oh, if only you would let me get to it. "Now come on. What the hell was that about in English?"

It looks like I'm not going to be able to simply do my test and get out. Gah. "Look, um… you know after New Years'?" He nods. "Well, Stan and I spent the day together, and we had a bit of a confession session. He, uh…" Why the fuck am I stuttering around this? Who really cares? I don't. "Stan's a faggot."

Kenny just looks at me. "… So? Kyle, you're open-minded. I don't see why it matters—"

"He's gay for me."

Blue eyes and blond hair stops. "Oh, well, uh… That still doesn't explain… You would just accept it and move on, wouldn't you?" Confusion is evident in his expression, and I don't blame him. I'd be confused if I was in his position, too. I wonder how confused Stan was. Is. Still is. Both tenses, really.

"But… that's not the point!" I sputter. "It's… I've been… Kenny, I don't know what's going on with me, but I am so fucking lost and confused… I need this favour from you, so badly! Please!"

He crosses his arms sternly. "No way, dude. I'm not letting you rip me out of something just like that. Finish talking."

Once again, I sigh. "Look, it's just… I… I can't explain it without treading into bad territory, but… I've felt like… Stan is my best friend, dude. Best FRIEND. And I don't want that to change, I don't want shit disrupting it, and not now, not now, not now! Not ever but NOT NOW!"

Kenny grabs my shoulders and shakes me. "Dude, Kyle!" he says. "I feel like I'm not getting the full story here. Come on. Finish."

"Look, well, during the whole confession thing, I kinda… I got so messed up and I felt like everything was crashing around with me, and, well, I didn't mean to, but my initial reaction was attacking him. So he fought back. And we fought. And hateful things were said. So I was really pissed, right?" Kenny blinks. "Right. I wanted him to die. Which reminds me, Kenny, that favour—"

"Finish."

I am so on edge about this. What if he says no? "Okay, okay," I respond, holding up my hands in defence. "So anyway, I got back, and I was in a really murderous mood, so I sketched out a bunch of gory pictures and made plans for killing people and stuff. Because I was pissed.

"So come school I brought my sketchbook with me because I was still pissed and Stan was there which would make me more pissed. And he just acted so cocky and I hated him for it so I attacked him, and I don't really recall much other than our fight during that. What the hell were you people doing, not breaking it up? Even the teacher?"

Kenny thinks back on the moment. "Well, most of us were too stunned by the initial reaction. Especially because it was you, Kyle. You never pull shit like that with an authoritative figure around. And the fact that you were attacking Stan was just so mind blowing. And after we got over the initial shock, both of you were bleeding in some place and were still ferociously going at each other, so I guess you could say that we were just really, really scared. We were scared of getting hurt ourselves so we just didn't move. So teach took the time to see what it had been that had distracted your attention from her lesson, and when you guys finally got worn out… yeah. What happened to you two afterwards?"

I'm getting impatient here. "Kenny," I whine, "my favour? Remember it?"

"We'll get to that later, now talk, damnit!"

Recalling that scene from only a few hours before is getting me even more riled up now. "Stan acted fucking smug, again. The administrative staff treated my thoughts like they were their own to play with and gave me no respect nor privacy. They're all a bunch of little fucks, and I hate them so goddamn much. I wish that they would all just go fucking die. You know what, Kenny? I'm really all for anarchy right now. Sure, it would be too chaotic and a bunch of shit would go down, but really, at least there wouldn't be snooty power head figures around thinking that they can just sift through anything that they damn well please. They just… who do they think they are?"

My friend remains silent. "Well, Ken? You got to hear what you wanted, didn't you?"

"Yeah… I guess," he replies. "Yeah, I did. So, uh, what's your huge favour, Kyle?"

Here goes. "Kenny. You know how you die all of the time, right?"

"Um. Yeah?"

"Yeah. And, um, well, see, there's something I need to find out. I need to know if I could kill somebody."

He remains silent.

"Kenny. Could I…?"

He remains silent, further processing the information in his head. The silence makes me continue to blubber like an idiot.

"I mean, you already die all of the time, right? And it'd be nicer to know if I really could do it or not, and it's not like I would cause any permanent damage, right? I mean you die all the time! You could handle it, right? I mean, Kenny? Kenny?"

"… What?"

"Look, I really, really need to do this… I told you what happened earlier… You owe me!"

Kenny makes some little unintelligent sound. "I… I've got a gun. Typical poor redneck family, right? Yeah. It's in here. I'll let you use it, but, uh… I want to know something else, Kyle. This is kinda big."

"What?"

"I want you to… I want you to tell me what happened a few weeks ago. What got you in the hospital. Tell me about that."

Now this throws me completely off. On one hand, I really need to know if I could kill someone. I mean, this could determine a lot, a lot of things for me. However, on the other hand, this information is threatening to people—

Then again. Who exactly am I trying to protect? My mom is an over-controlling bitch. My dad doesn't do anything. Ike? Whatever. Stan sucks. Cartman sucks. Kenny dies all the time anyway. What do I really have to lose here?

And besides, if I find out that I hold no regrets after murdering someone, then I should be fine for my own life, too. And if not, well, what is there out there, anyway?

I turn and give him direct eye contact. "You're absolutely sure? I mean, it is threatening—"

"You're asking me if I'll let you kill me. I don't think it really matters if it's threatening, right?"

"You're sure you've got a gun?"

"Yes."

"… Alright."


"What do you want now, fatass?"

"Jew, shut up. Algebra is fucking gay. Help me out here," came the annoyed and demanding response. I shook my head and pulled my cell phone away from my ear for a second just to glare at it.

"You know, Cartman, you should really work on this stuff before Sunday night."

Groaning comes from the other end. "Kyle, I'm not interested, okay? Just tell me the answer to this and I'll leave you alone, alright? I've got better things to do here than waste my time talking to some greedy grubbing snake, got it?"

"You're not going to get anywhere if you talk to me like that, Cartman," I replied, teeth clenched. "Give me one good reason as to why I should bother helping you.

The other end is silent.

"Exactly. Good luck, fatboy," I said, and about to shut the thing, but a screaming, "wait, wait!" stopped me from doing so.

Cartman took a deep breath and continued. "Okay, Kyle, look, I'm sorry, okay?"

"No you're not."

"Kyle, come on! Please?"

"No, Cartman! Here's the answer: I won't help you! Got it?"

Hissing sounds came from the other end, more than likely from clenched teeth. "Yeah, alright, you stupid fucking Jew. You pull that. So sorry for keeping you away from butt sex with Stan. I'm sure you'll be able to make up for the lost time, you worthless prick."

"What the fuck, Cartman?" I shouted into the phone, nostrils flaring at that remark. "What the—why—fuck you, you asshole! Go to hell!"

It was almost possible to just see the smirk Cartman had on his face. "Yeah, right. I'm not going to hell, I'm not a gay little homosexual, and at least my people didn't kill Jesus!"

"Jesus was a Jew, you retard!"

"Mmhmm, right, Kyle. But since you're here, I think there's something else you should know. You're completely fucking worthless, dude. Your parents hate you and your mom is a stupid bitch, and your brother is a fucking Canadian. Stan's your gay little homo lover but I'm sure that one day soon he'll come to his senses and turn straight, like normal people. You, on the other hand, are simply fucked for life. You wouldn't be able to defend yourself from a spit wad—"

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman! This is a load of crap! What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the truth, dumbass!" the reply came scorching back, and it enraged me. Sure, it was evident that the things Cartman was saying was a load of crap, but then he continued pouring the ammunition on me. "You think you're going to make it anywhere in life? Wrong! Nobody's going to want to hire some stupid Jew, one who can't even stand up for himself and lets people walk all over him! Hey, Kyle, can I come over? I feel like stepping on somebody's worthless face right now, and you fill the position perfectly! Maybe afterwards you could kill yourself and stop being a waste of life!"

"Cartman, you—" And then he hung up. Just like that. He insulted me, pulled the most retarded things out of his ass, and didn't even let me retaliate; evidently because what I would have to say would actually make sense.

And although I should have been used to that shit by then, and by now, I wasn't and I'm not. I sat there stupidly on my bed for a bit before shutting my phone and pacing around in my room. I thought of every insult that came to mind, just swearing, swearing, cussing and punching inanimate objects at random. Finally I got bored of doing all that and exited my room, slamming the door hard, and stomping down the stairs, still cursing.

Ike approached me when I got to the bottom. "Kyle, wha—"

"Ike," I interrupted him harshly, voice level barely above a whisper, "I'm only going to say this once, and I'm completely serious here. Fuck. Off. Now." Gawking, my little brother did so and walked backwards, out into the living room, unsure of what he was to do next. That's when my mother came up.

"Kyle, boobaleh," she started; calm enough, "what's wrong? Come here, and tell me all ab—"

Fists clenched and voice ready to rip out, I shouted, "NO! Fuck off! I'm not, I repeat, not in the fucking mood for this sort of—I'm so—fuck! Fuck I'm pissed! You're not helping matters, shut up! Go away, leave me alone, and fuck off!"

"KYLE!" she shouted. "You, mister, march right back up to your room! I'll be up there in a minute to deal with you—"

I growled at this point. People don't growl, but I sure did. And starting out in a quiet voice that slowly but surely gained volume as I went along, I replied, "No, and make me, you stupid fucking BITCHCUNT!" And with that, I slammed the door, figuring that being outside in the cold weather and away from my family would help me cool off and calm down. I knew that then I'd have to do a lot of talking to get my way out of this, but considering the anti-Semitic things Cartman was saying, I was sure that I'd be understood.

I'm not really all that sure what I did out there, I just know that I wandered around quite a bit, kicking at the snow and collapsing into it every now and then. I was really fucking pissed off, and I wanted to let the world now, so I did scream out a few times and lash out at a couple of trees in my way, going to the point of ripping off a branch from one of them and throwing it at the others.

However, it didn't take too long for me to calm down out of exhaustion. Sweating, I looked around at my surroundings, and found the town easily visible below me, the few lights remaining (it was late at night) looking only like tiny little glimmers instead of the bright obnoxious man-made contraptions that they really are. I kicked up a bit more snow and then flopped down, leaning my back against one evergreen. There were quite a few in the area.

I took complete note of my surroundings as I rested. I was definitely up on one of the taller foothills, the mountains looking much, much taller than the way they do from South Park. There were trees scattered around, but for the most part, the area was still pretty open. Deep snow covered the ground; hell, from my sitting position, knees brought upright, it almost consumed them. However, standing up, it was just a bit deeper than ankle-deep. I must have been pretty tired, flopping down that low. The night sky was pitch black, with plenty of stars visible in it. Small towns don't provide much in the way of light pollution. I gazed up at the sky and the stars as I rested and calmed down, the physical exertion of my outburst catching up to me.

As my heavy breathing became less heavy, and my senses returned to me, they became more acute and picked something up. I could feel my hair standing on end, and my hearing came back. Initially all that I had heard was some garbled crap, but a piercing shriek came and shattered my calmness that I had just obtained. Had I had the energy, I would've stood up straight in shock. Rather, I settled for leaning further back into the evergreen's trunk and cowering as I heard more talking.

"Wh—wh—"

"And now, it's your turn. How does it feel to stare death in the face?" Something about this voice sounded familiar, but I'm not too sure why…

"It—I—err…"

"Oh, no matter." Again, I just couldn't place my finger on it, and I still can't. "It's not like whatever you say will have any effect, now will it?"

At this point I peeked around from the tree's edge. There were two men standing there, both in shadows. One was so terrified you could see the beads of sweat on him, despite his own physical features not being visible. The other held a knife. The same knife that was used to slash my arm. I watched and my eyes widened as without further hesitation, the knife-wielding silhouette plunged the weapon straight into the other's gut. They were still no more than shadows; however, the blood that spurted and flowed out was clear enough. It sprayed and drained into the snow, turning it to a pink. The murderer's silhouette was no longer very perfect in itself, specked with red all over the place, as the other simply fell down.

It was gruesome as it all flowed out in a dark red mess, seeping, seeping, until gradually it stopped coming. The murderer's silhouette smiled. I couldn't feel the strength to turn away, my eyes were glued on the spot, and I was thoroughly disturbed. I still had absolutely no idea of what was going on, who had just been killed, or who was just killing people. All that I knew was that this was a bad situation and I was hyperventilating. Shakily I stood up, using the evergreen for support, and still totally incredulous to the fact that I had been so close to that scene and yet I was still okay.

I thought that I was being quiet, but as I moved out of the way, I was suddenly grabbed. Oh, shit, I thought. Oh, shit. This can't be good. It's amazing that my thoughts were that calm at that time considering the circumstances, but I was probably panicking too much to even be able to form panicky thoughts. My neck had been taken a hold of.

"Not so fast, kid," whispered the killer's voice. "What did you see?"

I decided that keeping silent would be the best move, but that didn't seem to be the case as the already bloodied knife dug into my neck, threatening to break the skin. "I asked you a question."

"… I… I saw… blood. Lots of blood…" I was standing stock-still, eyes wide with fear, and wishing to god that I was back at home simply swearing at Cartman.

The knife broke the skin and I could feel a bit of hot blood oozing out. "Be specific, kid."

"I saw you kill that one guy!" I shouted out, and the knife pressed further.

"Not. So. Loud," the voice hissed, and it took me all the strength I had to not wince so I wouldn't make the wound any worse. "Only one, you say?"

"Yes, but I did hear a piercing scream before that… like… THI—" Instantly a bloodied hand covered my mouth. I was planning on screaming to hopefully get some attention, somebody, anybody, because my life was sorely being threatened here, but I was silenced. Pissed about this, I started struggling, biting into the hand that was covering my mouth and kicking out with my legs. The knife dug further into my neck.

"Keep that up, kid, and you won't have a head on your shoulders anymore." The searing white-hot pain made me stop instantly, and I forced my body to relax itself. "Good boy. Now, you pose a problem…"

My mouth still covered, all I could do was look up fearfully. The murderer's features were still so unclear to me, it was extremely frustrating. I was so desperate to just get out of there, but it wasn't going to happen, and I was already bleeding with a nice gash in a fairly vital area…

"Tell you what, kid," the voice started up again, and I wanted to do nothing more than rip mine out from my throat. It was impossible under the circumstances, though. "I'll let you off with a warning. You can't tell anybody what you saw here, anybody, you understand? Nothing about what you saw, what you heard. If you do, I'll come after your family and friends, and anybody you tell this too. I'll cut them up so bad and torture them so much that they die from pain. And here's a little sample; mind you, this is hardly anything."

And with that, he whirled me around and slashed my left arm. He started at about halfway between my shoulder and my elbow and slid it down, neat, clean, and fast, to my wrist. Blood gushed out immediately, and with that, he pushed me, sending me off down the hill. I finally got the chance to scream from all of the pain and fear before my face plunged down into the snow. Blood flew from both my neck and arm, I know this much, leaving a trail, and I heard somebody trudging their way through the snow at a high speed in the opposite direction. I rolled down that hill, painfully, painfully conscious for a fair amount of time. I passed out when I was still rolling, though, most likely from loss of blood, although I may have hit a rock or something. I really don't know, how could I? Anyway, from that point on, I had no idea what happened. I guess somebody found me, but the next thing that I knew, I was hallucinating about the moment in my mind, and when I came to, I was in the hospital.


"And that's it, Kenny… That's it. No backing out now. You owe me this much at least. Please, Ken."

My friend stares blankly at me. "You mean… that was it? That's what got this whole thing started? That's why you were in the hospital?"

"Yeah. That's why." Just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. "Kenny, I haven't spoken a word of it, I've barely even thought of that incident since it happened. Please. Give me the gun. I told you, now it's time for you to fulfill your part of the bargain."

Kenny looks sceptical, though. "But… how would he know if you told anyone? Would he be monitoring you night and day? What?"

"I… I don't know! Maybe! But the whole thing in itself was enough to make me believe him, and I just didn't want to go through with any possible consequences." I take a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the area where the blood stains are on my hat. "Now Kenny. Give me the gun."

"You seem a bit too eager for this…"

"I need to find out, Ken. I have to know if I can kill somebody just like that. You'll come back soon enough. Just let me do it."

He hesitates even further. "I… I really don't know about this, man… Kyle… I have a bad feeling about this."

I growl. "Kenny. You fucking owe me. Get the freaking gun. You said you were sure before I told you what happened around a month ago, where's that confidence now?"

I glare at him until Kenny stands up from his crappy little mattress where we had been seated, and walks over to his dresser. Reaching underneath it, he pulls it out. "H-here, Kyle. Let's just get this over with." He sits back down next to me, and I stand up, walking further out, and aiming it at him. My hands shake and I don't feel as certain about this any more, but I know that it has to be done.

Aiming it for right between his eyes, I look at my friend's face, and notice the blankness remaining there. Locking eyes with him, I pull the trigger, and hit a bullseye. He flops back immediately from the force of the blow and blood seeps through, reminding me all too much of the murder I had witnessed (especially for having just told it for the first time… ever), except instead of the gut, it's the head.

And as I look upon the site, I know that I'm fucked. Tucking the gun into my pocket, I hop out of the window again, leaving the death site as is. I know that I should at least keep some kind of weapon handy with me now, because killing Kenny felt right. It felt good.

I don't know what I'm going to do now, but two things remain certain.

Oh my god, I killed Kenny.

I feel like such a bastard.

… And feeling like a bastard feels good.