Authors Note: As always, major thanks to Mizuni-no-neko, Itachi. Oh Enka, Chels and Andatariel.x for the reviews! This chapter's a bit lighter than some of the others, so review and let me know what you thought of it!

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Trouble seems to always wanna follow me.

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It wasn't the first time that Kenny had woken up in a bodybag, but usually people had the decency to check he was dead first.

As it happened, death was becoming a lot more likely, thanks to the scant oxygen remaining in the bag and he hurriedly dug in his pocket, finding a pen knife and flicking it open. The damn thing had belonged to his brother at one point and was dull as shit, but it was better than nothing and eventually did the job, ripping a small hole in the plastic. Kenny used his hands to tear the hole further open, taking in a lungful of sweet fresh air before taking stock of the situation.

People often assumed he was dead when he wasn't, just one of the many problems with being terminally unlucky and frequently reanimated. The last time it happened, he had nodded out in an alley and come to on the back of a garbage truck; since it was only Kenny McCormick, the driver had suggested they just take him with them rather than fill in the paperwork.

Speaking of which, Kenny had been in the bathroom planning to fill his veins full of sweet poison and let it take him where it may, sick of death, of life, of everything. So, a bad batch maybe? Cut with something? It was just the kind of sick joke that certain dealers got off on – but no, he hadn't taken anything, he was sure.

Thinking back, he suddenly remembered. Pip. Only it hadn't been Pip, there had been someone else with Pip, in Pip. Someone who at least knew of him, so certainly a denizen of Hell. Not a benign one either, there had been blood, he was almost sure he could remember blood.

He sighed. Dying was a bitch, but it didn't screw up his memory nearly as much.

Looking around, he realised he had been dumped into the back of an ambulance, but the doors were still open and he could see the carelessly maintained gardens and forbidding walls of Park High, so he hadn't gone too far. Damn, he wished people would check for a pulse but no, they saw the parka and hauled him off to the morgue.

Checking the back of his head and wincing as he felt a good-sized lump there, he climbed off the stretcher and out of the ambulance, taking in the scene. There was yellow police tape everywhere, sectioning off the school. Police crews were everywhere and in the distance, he could see a camera crew setting up, bringing the action live to the living room. And a crowd was gathering. Some, mostly those of an age to be parents of the pupils, were wearing their anxiety on every line in their face, firing questions at anyone close enough to hear them, shouting at the people trying to hold them back. Others, teenagers for the most part, were huddled together and whispering, not willing to admit they had no idea what was going on. But for the most part, the crowd was of one face, curious yet bored, expectant of a little street theatre, something out of the norm, their faces occasionally illuminated by the flashing blue police lights. It reminded Kenny of the times his parents would get into it on the front lawn, the neighbours gathering outside to watch although they had seen it all before.

Whatever had happened was already over, the police presence displayed that, but he doubted whatever had possession of Pip had stuck around to wait for the aftermath.

Kenny checked the crowd for any sign of his friends, but there were too many teenagers milling around and he couldn't see them. The only person he did recognise was a strident Sheila Broflovski, demanding to know what had happened and to see her son. Glad he wasn't Kyle, Kenny used the ambulance for cover, slipping out of sight. If anyone realised he wasn't dead, the next thing would be questions and he wasn't sure sure how to answer them, or even if he should.

And then he caught sight of a figure standing alone, regarding the scene suspiciously from the shelter of a grove of trees that was supposed to make the school appear more picturesque, smoking a safe distance from prying eyes – Kenny had only managed to see him because of his attempts at escape. Finally, some good luck. If something was using Pip's body, then Kenny wouldn't feel right about letting the British boy walk the town without someone to watch over him.

His traditional anonymity had its good points; if he took off his jacket he wasn't Kenny McCormick any more, he was just another kid that might look a little familiar. Just another way of remaining unknown, hiding in plain view. Pulling off the coat, he tucked it under his arm and hurried away from the school, unnoticed and not stopped.

Reaching the lone man, he stopped and replaced the parka, figuring he was distant enough for him to be unseen. The man regarded him with cool amusement as he zipped himself back up.

"Christophe," said Kenny urgently, his voice becoming muffled as he replaced the hood. "I need your help."

"Oui, you need 'elp all right," replied the man, unsmiling.

"I need to, y'know, hire you."

"You can't afford me."

"I'll find a way. This is important."

Christophe frowned and Kenny crossed his fingers, hoping. He and Christophe weren't friends, barely knew each other aside from the acquaintance that being of the same age in a small town allowed, since Christophe didn't attend school with the rest of the teenagers. But Kenny was well aware of Christophe's other name; The Mole had assisted his friends in the past and his identity was one of the secrets they had kept all these years – except from Kenny, who knew a lot more of the towns secrets than most.

"You 'ad better start saving," said Christophe eventually and Kenny sagged in relief. "What is ze problem?"

"I need you to find someone and then tail him until I get back to you."

"Who?"

"A kid in my class, Pip Pirrup."

Christophe waved a hand in the direction of the school, indicating to the confusion. "Does 'e 'ave something to do with zis?"

"Yeah. I'll explain it better later."

"What does 'e look like? I don't suppose you 'ave a picture?"

"No. Uh, he's about five ten, he's got really long blonde hair, kinda skinny and pale. He was wearing jeans today, faded blue, um, and the last time I saw him he had on a white shirt, only he might have changed because it was kinda... bloody. He usually has on this red jacket that's too short and thin. Oh, and he's British."

"British," said Christophe with deep scorn.

"Mole," said Kenny urgently. "Find him, tail him, watch him. But don't go near him, not unless you absolutely have to. He's – dangerous."

"Is 'e armed?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. But he's dangerous anyway."

"Okay." Christophe dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. "Give me your phone number and I will find 'im for you and tell you where 'e is. But I 'ope you 'ave a plan once 'e is found."

"I'm working on it," muttered Kenny, accepting a pen off the Mole and scribbling his cell number on a flyer he found in his back pocket. The cell used to belong to Kyle until he got an upgrade, Kenny could receive calls but never had any credit to dial out, so taking Christophe's number was pointless. "Just find him. And try to stop him hurting anyone else."

Christophe nodded and left without another word. Kenny glanced back over at the school, frowning. Step one was finding Pip, but he had no idea what step two might entail. An exorcism? A priest? Perhaps he should just leave it up to the police to deal with Pip – but no, they would never believe that he wasn't himself. If only Jesus still lived in town, or he could contact Satan between deaths, then maybe he would have some options. Dammit. Kyle would know what to do, but Kyle was about to be locked away by his mom and Stan wouldn't know any more than Kenny himself. And Cartman would just sit back and enjoy the mayhem.

Kenny was on his own with this one.

There was a sudden crazed twittering from the sky above him and he glanced up in time to see a flock of birds rise into the air and scatter, making panicked sounds. Kenny blinked, surprised. He'd never seen that happen before – but couldn't animals sense evil presences?

Whirling around, suddenly sure that Pip had been waiting around all this time and had decided to kill him off after all, Kenny saw a man stepping out from between the trees. Taller even than Kenny, with unruly blue-black hair and an unhealthy translucence to his skin, he was dressed in black jeans and a black button shirt that only emphasised his pallor. He might have been one of the Goth kids, except that Kenny knew that his eyes were a red that wasn't offered by contact lenses, the surprisingly expressive orbs currently hidden from view by shades.

"Hey Damien," he said, striving to sound casual.

"Kenny." Damien approached, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans.

"I guess you're not here on a sightseeing trip."

"Nope. Dad sent me. I'm supposed to find a demon." Damien glanced down at the busy school, noting the police and activity. "It's already been busy then?"

Kenny snorted. "You could say that."

"I'm supposed to find you first, since you know the town better than me." A slight trace of bitterness found its way into Damien's voice. "And the mortal world."

Kenny refrained from making a crack about babysitting – Damien wasn't known for his good temper and there was nothing fun about suddenly growing a beak – instead just nodding. "I think I've found it already. It possessed someone, I've got a guy looking for him now."

Damien nodded absently. "That makes things quicker. All we have to do is track him down and kill him. The demon should goes off to the afterlife at the same time as the soul."

"Uh... we have to kill him?"

"How else would we get the demon back to hell?"

"Exorcism?"

"Takes too long. Too unreliable. Don't panic Kenny, I'll do the actual killing, you don't even have to get blood on your parka."

Kenny scowled at Damien's mocking tone. "I don't think it's fair is all."

"If you want fair, you have to talk to the other guy. Who was it got possessed?"

"Do you remember Pip Pirrup?"

Damien stared. "Yeah, sure I do. Blonde kid, British. Stupidly nice. All the other kids thought he was a puke."

"They still do."

"He was the only kid in South Park who bothered with me."

"That's because you were a puke too. Self important, snotty, superiority complex... come to think of it, you haven't changed either."

"I'm the Antichrist. I'm not supposed to be nice." Damien frowned. "Pip's possessed? Huh. Well, let's go put him out of his misery. Where is he?"

"Uh... I kinda lost him after he knocked me out. I've got someone looking for him now."

"Please tell me it's not those three imbeciles you usually hang out with."

Kenny felt a flash of irritation at the casual dismissal of his friends and quashed it. It was rare that Damien didn't automatically hate everyone and even though Kenny was probably the closest thing he had to a friend, he still treated the boy with an amused but reluctant respect, more like a pet than a person.

"No, not them. I hired a mercenary."

"A mercenary?" Damien's voice was unmistakably amused.

"Yeah, and he's gonna want paying, if you could take care of that."

"Sure. I like mercenaries. You always know where you are with them." Damien looked away from the school. "I've got a car supplied. You coming with?"

"Yeah," said Kenny, resignedly. Any time he was asked for help by the agents of the afterlife, they usually waited until he was deceased. He hoped this wasn't the start of a trend.

The pair walked away, Damien leading them to where the car was. "So, you know about the demon. Did it talk to you? What happened?"

"I was going into the bathroom and I ran into Pip. He was acting really weird and he did that thing with the eyes, where they change? They kept switching to red. And there was blood all over the floor. Not his, he didn't look hurt and there was too much of it. As soon as he knew I saw it, he grabbed me and said he'd heard about me in Hell. And – damn, I can't really remember. Something about how it was too soon and he couldn't kill me because I'd tell Satan where he was. Then he knocked me out."

"Uh-huh."

"I think I might be brain damaged."

"So what's new?"

"You could show a little sympathy."

"I don't do sympathy." They had reached the road and Damien stopped beside one of the vehicles lining it. "This is our ride."

"Sweet!" Kenny broke into a wide grin as he took in the car. It was no make he had ever seen before and he suspected that it didn't actually exist on earth. Something about the shape and the lines put him in mind of a sports car, perhaps a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, but it was far bigger, the design harking back to the nineteen-fifties. Trying to work out the dynamics was almost headache inducing.

It was also jet-black, factory perfect (although it was unlikely to have been made in any factory) and absolutely the best looking car Kenny had ever seen, in real life or on TV. There were no numberplate's, the chrome gleamed, the grille giving it an almost sinister look. If he had to pick out a perfect car for the Antichrist, this would have been it.

"We can get four corpses in the trunk if we need to," said Damien casually, getting into the drivers side as Kenny enthusiastically leapt into the passenger seat. "And it can't be picked up by speed cameras or police interceptors."

"Awesome!" Kenny leant over and started fiddling with the radio. "When you go back to Hell, can I keep it?"

Damien snorted. "You'd be lucky. When I go back, the car just kinda fades out after a few hours. And when I go somewhere new, it's just there. I usually sell it before I go back."

"Why, if it just fades – oh."

"Yeah."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the ringing from Kenny's pocket, a functional, all-purpose tone since he couldn't download anything better. Kenny grabbed for the phone, checked the unknown ID and answered it. "Yeah?"

"It's me," said a heavily accented voice.

"Mole." Kenny leant back against the seat. "You found him?"

"Oui. You may 'ave a problem."

"Like what?"

"Ze target 'as just car-jacked someone. With extreme force."

"Oh shit. How bad were they hurt?"

"Well, 'e won't be feeling any pain, put it zat way. And someone tried to stop 'im taking ze car. You 'ave two bodies lying in ze middle of Main Street and whatever 'appened at ze school. I would say zis Pip 'as fucked up, but ze British 'ave always been unstable."

Kenny closed his eyes. "I don't believe this. So where is he now?"

"I told you, 'e took ze car. Probably 'eading out of town."

"Fuck!" Kenny slammed his fist against the car door, causing a flurry of protests from Damien. "How are we supposed to catch up to him now?"

"Zat's easy. I planted a tracker on ze car."

"You did? Damn Mole, I think I love you."

"Faggot."

"How did you manage that?"

"Palmed it and acted as if I was running after ze car. Got it on zere before 'e drove off. Easy."

"We'll come and get you. Where are you?"

"Outside ze Photo Dojo. And 'urry up. I don't need to answer ze cops questions."

Kenny ended the call and pointed dramatically out of the front window. "We gotta get to the Photo Dojo, it's on Main Street."

Nodding, Damien narrowed his eyes and started the car, pressing down the accelerator and driving down the road.

After a moment, Kenny cleared his throat. "Uh, Damien?"

"What?"

"Any chance we could do more than fifteen miles an hour?"

"Why?"

"Duh, because otherwise there's no chance of catching up to Pip! Come on, step on it! I bet this car can do two hundred, easy!"

"Yeah, it can." Damien increased the speed until they reached an amber light, upon which he slowed to a halt, ignoring the annoyed horns behind him.

Kenny groaned. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Damien had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "There's nothing more evil and potentially fatal than overly cautious drivers."

"What about speeding?"

"Going too slow is worse."

"How about you get out and let me drive?"

"Yeah, that'll happen. How many fatal accidents have you been in?"

"I lost count, but that's not the point! You just said driving too slow is dangerous!"

"For the people around you, yeah." Damien flipped on the indicators, even though the turning was far away. Kenny began banging his head against the back of the seat, only remembering his recent injury after a bolt of pain spiked through him.

Eventually, they got to the Photo Dojo, driving past when they realised there was a police car and two ambulances parked outside, dealing with the aftermath of Pip's car-jacking. Damien parked up carefully some distance down the road, while Kenny scanned the area for any sign of Christophe.

The mercenary emerged from an alley beside a gift shop, cigarette lodged in his mouth and a scowl on his face. He slammed a hand against the passenger window and Kenny rolled it down.

"And 'ow long did you expect me to wait 'ere for you? Fuck, you could 'ave walked faster zan zis!"

"Bitch at the driver," growled Kenny. Damien glared at Christophe, daring him to say something.

"Who is zis?"

"This is Damien," said Kenny. "He's the Antichrist. Damien, this is the Mole. He's a mercenary."

"Anywhere else in ze world, zis would be weird." Christophe removed the cigarette from his mouth, regarding Damien. "We 'ave met before, oui?"

"Canadian war. You got mauled by guard dogs."

"I fucking 'ate guard dogs." Christophe removed what looked like a miniature sat-nav from his pocket and showed it them. "Zere is a tracker on ze car, but it is only useful as long as 'e doesn't ditch it and get another."

"You always carry trackers around with you?" asked Kenny curiously.

"Non, I was on my way 'ome when you saw me. I 'ave already 'ad enough for one day, so if you want me to 'elp you find zis man, I suggest you 'urry."

Kenny shook his head slowly. "We're screwed. Damien doesn't think speed is evil enough."

"I haven't turned anyone into anything for hours now," snapped Damien. "You want to grow a tail?"

Christophe closed his eyes briefly, looking weary. "I will drive. Move over."

Damien glanced over at Kenny. "Get in the back."

"What? Why me? Why don't you get in the back?"

"My car! Move!"

Grumbling, Kenny got out of the car and Damien claimed shotgun, the Mole getting behind the wheel and grinning slightly as he revved the engine.

"You know what side of the road to drive on, right?" asked Damien.

"Zat's ze British," retorted Christophe irritably. "Speaking of which, let's get after 'im."

"Yeah," said Kenny quietly. "Before anyone else gets hurt."