Gregory
I heal faster than the normal man, so the I shed the flu faster than anyone at the base. Christophe and Kenny are on a mission at the current time, so I'm trapped in the base with my fellow revolutionists.
"Have you picked a date?" Ike looks up at me, with curiosity in his eyes. I smile down at him, and walk over to the only laptop in the base. I have no idea how Christophe charges it. I don't want to.
"I have, my young friend. A few dates shall be significant to us. July 8th, we shall strike against Cartman. We will kill him as planned," I wonder if I should explain the full meaning of the plan, and what the outcome will most likely be, but I don't. Strong as he is, he's only six years old. I don't want to place such a burden on his shoulders. He shouldn't be having any of this happening to him, but I don't want him to know the full extent of our problems. "On July 9th Damien will step up the playing field. On August 14th, we will raid them with groups of three to weaken them. Many of them will die, and hopefully we will come out unscathed. September 11th, 2015 will mark the end of a war that has gone on for too long. Either we lose, or they do. That's why I'm having Stan and Kyle step up the training."
"Why those dates?"
"Everything will occur in the hot months, when soldiers are too hot to move comfortably in their bulletproof vests that Cartman has them wear. They won't be the best guards. We'll be able to stop them easily. July 8th symbolizes America's freedom. July 4th, plus four. August 14 is when I believe that they'll calm down and think that we're still in hiding, waiting for the next year to come. September 11th, well enough has happened to your country on that date. How about we add the final battle to that list?"
"That's not just it." The Canadian says, reading my eyes and glaring. I knew he'd know. I smile.
"The soldiers have probably lost loved ones on that date. Some will be grieving inside, remembering the loss of so many 14 years ago. Don't forget, Cartman's base is in New York." He nods, understanding.
"Stan and Christophe are gonna die aren't they?" I freeze in place from the shock of his statement, giving him the answer that he needs. "Why not make someone else prisoner? Christophe's important."
"Because we need them both to know their way around, in case one escapes. Trust me kid, I wish neither of them have to die."
"Then why did you plan it so they have to."
"I have to. It's the way that it's meant to be. I've thought it over since the day that I put that plan on paper, but there's absolutely no other way. But who knows, Stan and Christo' are the best trained soldiers in the base. They'll probably escape."
"That's true." And he dismisses the matter. I should have known that I'd never get anything past that kid. He's smarter than everyone, except Dr. Doctor, and I. Mophesto isn't that clever. "So, you going on the next mission?"
"I'm planning on skipping the next few actually. The plan can use some tweaking."
"GAH! What do you want?"
"It's a word Tweek."
"Oh."
"I guess that can be seen as important, but I heard that Chris keeps getting into extremely close calls without you to watch over him."
"Christo' and Kenny always get into trouble. I've had close calls."
"Chris says that Kenny was captured, and they killed him, but apparently he's an immortal so he's back."
"And you believe that?"
"Crazier stuff has happened in South Park." I'm starting to like this kid.
"I'm not sending you, or any little kids on a mission. Token can't do it, because he and Kenny are constantly fighting. Kyle and Stan are busy training. I'm not putting any girls in the line of fire. Tweek, Craig, and Clyde are obviously busy. I'm not sending any of the Harrisons since they'll get themselves killed. Who, pray tell should I send?"
"Me."
"I already said no."
"I'll be able to get into small spaces, and I'm really fast. I can take apart any technology, and I have no qualms with killing people. What's the big deal?" I want to tell him that he's a kid, he shouldn't have to do this, but what's the use? He'll just sneak out and join them saying that I ordered it."
"Tell Stan and Kyle to give you extra training. You're going to need it, Canadian." He smirks.
"Doesn't that give away a little too much?"
"There are mill… thousands of Canadians. Only Cartman will know who you are."
"They're going to miss their swordsman."
"They'll have to live without him."
"On a second thought, tell Stan to give you extra training. Don't tell Kyle. And use guns. The team needs guns. They need long distance. Kenny's shruiken only go so far."
"True. But about the Kyle thing, he's gonna figure it out soon. He's not that stupid." I laugh. This kid isn't too bad to hang around with. He's actually pretty ingenious. None of the other kids have figured out that Stan and Christo's mission is practically suicidal. Not even Stan. Christo' has. He's not that stupid.
"Well? Are you going to train?" I ask him.
"Oh yeah." His black eyes glaze over Kyle, before he runs to Stan's side, to tell him of my request. The raven haired boy gives me an odd look, before leading Ike away from Kyle completely.
Smart move, Stan.
My eyes widen, as the realization comes to my mind. I just lost the only assistant for planning this mission. Gary could work. He may be a Mormon (Read overly enthusiastic), but he's the only one that can help me. I call out his name, and his smiling face locks onto me. "What'cha need Grego?" He says. Mormons can be annoying.
"Can you help me plan?"
"Well of course! What'cha planning?"
"The attack." His smile doesn't fade.
"Of course I'll help you! My goodness, it'd be a sin not to!" Annoying, but helpful. Whatever, I need him.
"Good to hear, Gary. I prefer to do the planning up above ground, so would you mind?" He smiles.
"Of course we can!"
"How come you like being above ground?"
"To be honest, they can be very annoying down there." I explain to the blonde haired boy. "They're not that clever are they?"
"Sure aren't! But what's the real reason?" Maybe he's not that stupid after all.
"It reminds me of my past. I lived underground since I was six years old. I try to remember my family when I'm up here. I suppose that it won't do me any good anymore."
"How come?"
"Knowing Cartman? He beat them to death savagely, and fed their bodies to wolves. They're dead by now. As is the rest of my family, most likely." I say, laying the files in front of us. "They'd be proud of me. They always were ones for revenge plans. My father joined the army, so that he could be shipped off to France, so he could kill a man who he got into a bar fight with. My sister was the result of a one night stand, and so my mother murdered the man who poked a hole in the condom. And my sister want to join the army so we can attack France because when I took her there a fly landed on her croissant." Gary gives me a terrified look for a second, before catching himself.
"That's cool. My parents are dead too!" He says, enthusiastically. My research proves correct. Gary Harrison and the Harrison family is insane.
I'm taken aback for a second, and I take in a breath of air to catch myself, just as he did not minutes ago. "We should get to planning."
"What's the plan so far?"
"Christophe leads Stan, and I to the base through the ground. When he climbs through, we split up. They kill a guard and Stan dresses in their uniform. Christophe is put in handcuffs and shackles, and led to Cartman. Stan shoots Cartman with a gun that he keeps concealed in his sleeve. Meanwhile, I track down Stan and Christo' and free them from Damien. I give Christo' his shovel, and he digs us out." Not a bad idea. At first the plan was for me to let them sacrifice themselves, but this is pretty good of an idea.
"And why do you need help planning?"
"I have no idea how to track him down or conceal the gun."
"Oh dear, maybe you do need me." His smile disappears, replaced by a blank expression. I think back to a play that I saw, that I had to stop because a Mormon was offended, and willing to pay us 10,000. It was fairly simple. Shoot the main actor. I remember the song that I came in at "Turn It Off." Something about how Mormons turn off their emotions, in favor of happiness or nothing.
I believe that that's a true quality in Mormon's. I've never seen any Harrison (Save for the little one, who I think is being raised Catholic) ever show any emotion other than happiness or nothing.
Sometimes they can just feel nothing. I've seen Gary just sit back and stare at the wall, not responding to anyone. A blank expression on his voice. His words hollow, monotone. It's funny how religion changes the character of a person. In the Mormon religion it's happiness or nothing.
I don't know my religion. I believe in God, I believe that he watches us (Christophe, Damien, and I in particular) but I don't believe any of the religions are true. Sometimes it's best to just say 'I don't know' and move on with your life. That's what I've done in the subject of religion. I never cared.
"Look, inject them with a tracking device. My parents put one into my arm once I was born! It's in my arm. The rest of my family has it too!" Not a bad idea. We have enough money in the savings. 50,000 American dollars that we saved from the missions. We could probably use one of those microchips that they have in dogs.
"And the weapons? We can't leave any imprint on the shirt." Any imprint, and imprint. Kenny. "We're going to need Kenny to train Stan and Christo' in the art of the shruiken." I say, and he nods.
"That'd be a great idea! They have to hit a vital point though, it's best to hit the carotid artery if you want to make it a one hit death!" Only he could say that so happily. Maybe there's something to that religion. Even if it's completely insane, and meant for only the gullible. Never mind.
"That's true. I'll send Kenny with them, just in case they both miss."
"Good idea. What else do you want to talk about Gregory?"
"Something big is coming. Warn the others. We need to prepare for both outcomes. Either we die, or he does."
"Oh Jesus!" The blonde yells, dropping the blade onto the ground with a shriek. I bend down, and grab it. My first act is to check for any nicks or scratches. I give it back to him, and glare at him.
"Tweek, keep it steady. You need to get used to it," My gaze turns to find Ike reloading Kenny's 45. "Ike, be gentle with it. It won't fire if positioned wrong. Remember, it's the only thing standing between you and the scythe."
"Shut up with this cryptic shit." Craig mutters, sending a quick left hook at the practice dummy.
"Straight jabs are harder to avoid than hooks. Try more of those." I say, turning back to my own dummy. "Tweek, like this." I fish the sword out of its scabbard, and send an underhand swing towards the human-shaped creature. The blade hits it at the perfect angle (160 degrees), ripping through it as if it's paper.
Without waiting a second to recover, I bring it over my head and smash it down (80 degrees), cutting through what should be the brain. My last move is a straight jab through the throat (180 degrees), severing the head. Tweek watches in awe for a second, shivering and screaming every few seconds. "Try it." I offer.
He picks up the sword, and attempts the underhand swing (At 120 degrees) taking a minute to rip it out of the body. He lifts it over his head, struggling with its weight and brings it down, almost dropping it in the process (90 degrees). It jams into the head, and when he tries to take it out, stays put no matter how much pressure he places on it. I sigh, and walk over to his side, shoving my sword into the scabbard.
"I'll try to get you a lighter one." I reach for the handle, and cut through the rest of its head with one hand. "Work on this one in the meantime. And start lifting weights." Craig rolls his eyes, and kicks upwards, into a place no dummy should be hit. That's just wrong. Even Christophe wouldn't do that in battle. Ok, yes he would, but that is Christophe DeLorne. He is mentally unstable. Craig is just ruthless, for lack of a better word.
"Ike, not the left shoulder. If you want to take them alive, hit the right. Even if the bullet doesn't hit the heart, it can cause major damage to it." He nods, taking aim of the other shoulder.
Stan watches with laughter in his eyes. "Why the sudden need to train?" He asks me, aiming his dad's old gun. And before that, the same gun that P. Ditty used to kill the whole of the P.E.T.A. organization.
"Big things in the works, Marsh." There's always been a rivalry between us. It is understandable from the way that we met. I was planning on dating his old girlfriend. Not my fault. She wanted me.
"The end coming?"'
"No, the beginning."
"Why is everyone who's planning this shit cryptic as fuck?" Stan says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Because, not everyone knows what's coming. Not everyone can know." I admit, now I'm doing this cryptic speaking just to annoy him. The enemy of your enemy is still an enemy. Stanley Marsh is still an enemy.
I normally don't assign titles like 'Ally' or 'Enemy' very much, but when a man slips poison into your drink, so they can get their girlfriend away from you, I don't think that man is much of an ally nor a friend. I can never imagine him apologizing for attempting to murder me, so I will just consider him an enemy. After the war, I'll get my vengeance. After the war, life will resume.
"Turds!" Stan winces, as his sister hits two octaves. I laugh. "Meeting!" Shelley screams through the base. I feel the walls shake from the volume of her voice.
"We're coming you fat lump of shit."
"What did you say?"
"I said my mouth is full of spit."
"No shit, Turd." As much as she can be cruel, evil, loud, and obnoxious ,she is a valuable soldier.
"What's the meeting for Shelley?"
"Something about that other Turd." She mutters, walking into the other room. It's amazing how much Christophe can dig. He's built an underground cave the size of a house (Yes there is a staircase).
"Craig, Ike get the others. Tweek call Christophe and tell him to get over here. Meeting in two hours. Have him kill Kenny and go full speed over here."
"What?" Tweek screams.
"Just do it."
"AHH! You're in cahoots with Nike! They know that I stole a pair of shoes. Oh Jesus, you've been trying to get close to me so you can kidnap me. Cartman and Damien are in on it. And the Queen of England. Ngh."
"Tweek, I'm not trying to get close to you. In fact, you annoy me. I would like to throw you outside, and give you to Cartman."
"You're just saying that!"
"Go."
"Ach! Yes sir." I stick my sword back into the scabbard, and hang Tweeks on the wall. In one of the built in scabbards.
"Stan, tell Shelley to wait for Christophe and Kenny."
"Where are you going to go?" Craig asks.
"I'm going to wait for Kenny." I say.
"I'm guessing that you died."
"Mole brained me with his shovel." Kenny laughs, rubbing his hand against his head. "He wiped my blood on my jacket. It was a really nice, painless death." He pushes off of the ground, and approaches the stairs. "Coming?"
"Of course, Immortal."
"Don't push it, British Faggot." My smirk turns into a scowl within the second. He laughs even harder, and starts taking the stairs down to the ground level, two at a time. I growl, and follow him (albeit much slower).
I have no idea how Christophe used a shovel to carve a staircase out of rock. I don't want to know.
"'Ow are you Breeteesh Faggot."
"Not here Mole."
"Aww, 'hy not? Embarrassed?"
"You made my codename British Faggot," I state, causing him to smirk. "Of course I'm going to be embarrassed."
"Hey, you were just fine with it." Kenny points out. "And, Mole why did you feel the need to kill me?"
"'E asked me to." The brunette states, jamming his shovel into my chest lightly. "Eef you point ze blame at anyone eet should eizer be 'im, ze Marsh beetch, or zat cocaine addeect, Tweek."
"Which Marsh bitch?"
"Ze female one."
"Are you calling Shelley a dog?" Kenny asks, raising his voice so that the entire base can hear him. "Because, that's very rude of you to say Christophe. Shelley is not a dog. She is a very kind, sweet lady. I can't believe you think that way!" I stifle a laugh, at the sight of Christophe's face.
"What are you talking about Turds!" The soldier screams.
"Christophe called you a bitch, Shelley."
"Which one of you turds is Christophe?" She asks, storming into the room. Christo' tenses, growling at her. He may hate guard dogs, but he can definitely relate to one.
"I beleeeve zat ees me."
"Oh, that's okay. You Turds, don't fuck with Christophe, got it?" She orders, turning to us. Kenny nods vigourosly.
"I fuck with Christophe all the time. He's really fun to annoy, wouldn't you say?" Her eyes widen, and she nods.
"Turd! You stay away from these two!" Kenny glares at us as she walks away, muttering something about Kenny being a turd.
"What the hell?"
"Foreegn accents. Ze cheecks love zem."
"It's not my fault that I'm American!"
"No, but eet ees your fault zat you don't 'ave a cool accent. Sorry, Kenny. France weell always keeck you ass."
"No, England will kick America's ass. France will just cower like children until the war is over."
"At least France eesn't Cartman's property!"
"At least England is well respected!"
"At least France ees free!"
"At least England is safe!"
"At least France made me!"
"And England, I!"
Kenny stands, leaning against the wall smirking at us. "Nationality war everybody!" He screamed. "We need you Ike!"
"Fuck off!" The child screams.
"Ike!" His older brother snaps.
"Sorry, did I say fuck?"
"Ike!"
"You sound like mom." He dismisses, laughing to himself. His footsteps warn me that he's coming near, and I pull my sword out of its scabbard. It shoots out, aiming halfway across the door, directly in front of the neck of Ike Brofloski. He shrieks like a child, leaning backwards and falling. Kenny laughs, but I silence him with a deathly serious glare.
"Always be prepared for anything Ike. An enemy can be waiting anywhere. And you can quiet down those footsteps. You're making it easy for them." I explain, dropping the sword to my side.
"'Hy are you traineeng 'im wiz suck eentanseety."
"Because, my young idiot. Ike will follow you on your next mission. He needs training." I almost laugh at Christophe's face. His expression is priceless. It changes from confusion, to anger, to worry, to hatred. I'm going to guess who that hatred is directed towards (Yours truly). Kenny just shrugs.
"I am not takeeng on a seex year old, just so zat 'e can die." Christophe snarls, clenching his fists at his side. For a second, I'm thankful that his shovel us on the table, across the room. Then I remember that there's a wall of shovels behind him. I set myself into a fighting stance, gripping the sword with as much intensity as I can, without seeming as if I'm bluffing. His hand grabs for a shovel.
My sword cuts through the wood, right next to his hand. It goes right through, leaving behind two separate pieces. Christo' glares at me, and bursts into a run, grabbing his metal shovel and holding it at a sparing position. "What ze fuck ees 'rong wiz you, you fuckeeng eediot! Zat 'as my favoreete wood shovel!"
"And I care oh so much," I say sarcastically. "Ike wants to join. I'm letting him join. If you have a problem with that, good for you."
"'At's 'is code name?"
"The Canadian."
"Zat ees too obvious."
"So is The Mole. Everyone knows who The Mole is. And everyone knows who the Swordsman is. The Immortal is really the one no one understands. The Canadian is fine. Besides, he's smarter than you are. Maybe he won't trigger every alarm. He's fast on his feet, he's smart, he's good with a gun. Everything you aren't."
"Fuck you."
"I think he'd make a good edition. Since Gregory's been out of it for a while, we need the help. I mean, we did get captured last week." Kenny says, and I raise an eyebrow.
"You were captured?"
"I escaped, and zey keelled Kenny."
"You bastards!" Ike says.
"Zat's 'at Kyle said 'en I told 'im of ze deaz. Stanny 'as muttering somezing about God. Faggot." I believe that with Christophe, it is biologically impossible to not call God some form of a faggot when reminded of him.
"'Hy are you 'ere Canadian faggot?"
"Oh yeah, Shelley called a meeting."
"Shelley called a meeting?"
"Yeah, but we can't wait for the ninth graders. They're in America on a mission, so we have to do it without them."
"Mozzaire fuckaire."
"What's this meeting about?" Mophesto asks.
"SHUT UP TURD!" She definitely doesn't respect her elders. Then again, neither do I. My elders respect me, to the point that they'd allow me to throw them to Cartman without asking questions. I give them nothing in return, but a promise for a chance to win the war and their country back. "This morning the big Turd and the Demon Turd decided to control all the Turds in France. The French Turds decided to surrender immediately, and gave him their country." Oh no. I glance at Christo' wincing waiting for his outburst.
"Zey 'ave France?" Christophe demands, clenching his fists. I've only seen that expression in his eyes once, and that was when he met God. Pure, and utter hatred. Not the joking hatred he uses around me, but true hatred.
"That's what I said." She snorts. The Frenchman's eyes widen.
"Oh hamburgers. This is real bad fellas. He has France. I don't think we stand a chance, no we don't."
"SHUT UP!"
"Madame, you shouldn't yell at poor Butters. He hasn't done anything wrong, but state the truth." Pip says.
"I SAID SHUT UP TURD."
"I thought you said girls like accents." Kenny whispers.
"They do. Unless the accent wielder is Pip." I explain.
"Oh. That actually does make sense," He says, watching the stereotypical (Meaning, even I hate him, and I'm the same nationality) British boy run around, screaming as Shelley follows him screaming that she's going to kill him.
"Shelley we need him." I say, stopping her. "How else are we going to distract Cartman with the art of annoyance."
"Ma mère est morte! Ce salaud l'a tuée! Je vais arracher la tête hors de ses épaules. Faire foutre! Il n'a pas la France. Il ne peut pas avoir en France. Et nous ne sommes pas stéréotypée! Nous n'avons pas abandonner!" Christophe mutters, a look of horror on his face. I know the translation, but I don't think he'd like it if I shared him breaking down to whoever finds his sadness interesting (Yes, I'm meaning you you sick bastard).
"Christo' calm the fuck down man." Kenny says.
"Tais-toi Kenny."
"What?"
"When he's extremely shocked, and angry he'll do this. Just don't talk to him and all will be fine, and less annoying."
"La te faire foutre, bâtard britannique."
"I think he called you a bastard."
"He told me 'fuck off, British bastard'."
"Nice job Turd!" She screams, punching Marsh in the face. The impact sends him flying back into the wall, head first. She's definitely our best soldier.
He groans, as Kyle and Wendy pull him off of the floor, and I smirk at him. "Shelley, we can't harm him. He needs to stay safe for July 8th. If he even has one bruise, it will seem odd to Cartman, and he will probably figure it out."
"How?"
"Cartman ne ecchymose. Il meurtres. Rien de plus. Rien de moins."
"He said 'Cartman doesn't bruise. He murders. Nothing more. Nothing less'." I translate, for the shocked boy.
"Can't he just speak English?"
"Va te faire foutre sucke coq. Je vais parler en français si je veux le faire."
"He said 'Fuck off cocksucker. I will speak French if I want to'. And just shut up Christo'. I'm not translating for you anymore, so start speaking English like a good little Frenchman."
"Zere ar' non more Frenchman left. Zey ar' Cart'an's puppeets."
"There are Frenchman left, Christo'. They'll fight back." He takes in a deep breath and sighs.
"Zen 'hy deed zey non feeght back?" He says, his accent thick.
"Because, they're planning on taking him down from the inside, just like we are." I lie. He knows I'm lying, but he doesn't seem to care. I don't know whether or not that's to my advantage. His mother is probably dead. His father's corpse has probably been burned. And his younger brother, slaughtered.
Christophe and I know a lot about each other. We know what makes the other tick. We know of our emotions, and how to combat them. We know how we fight. We know our families. We know who we used to be, and the person that replaced them.
I used to be perfect. The best swordsman on earth. 4.0 grade average at Yardale. Civil rights activists. I made my family proud.
He used to be a mercenary for hire (Still is, but what can you do). A criminal across the globe, who'd take on any case (for the right price). His only friend was a shovel. His only ally, a fellow criminal.
He taught me that perfection doesn't mean happiness. He showed me the wonders of talking back. He taught me that stupidity can also mean a large amount of common sense, something that I lacked. That a sword isn't the only thing that could save someone.
I taught him the wonders of heroism. That being a criminal isn't something to be bragged of. To fight only for justice, even if one's a mercenary. To know how to have friends. To know what an ally really is. To know that emotions aren't a weakness. I taught him the difference between living and surviving.
We stayed allies, and then friends since we were six years old. I was on a case from the French government. When I found him, he was pissed. He fought me immediately for killing his allies. He kept screaming something about a shadow. I knew from instinct that he was Heaven enhanced. His fighting abilities alone proved that. I told him that I suffered the same curse, and he pushed me to the ground, and pushed his shovel against my throat. He asked me to repeat. I did. He asked if I was lying. I said that I wasn't. we went on our first mission together a week later. I paid him a thousand dollars.
"What's the death toll?"
"Two. Someone named Pierre DeLorne, and Karen DeLorne. Not very French." Shelley says, snorting. "In a press statement that Turd, Damien said that they'll burn forever in the lake of fire, suffering at his father's hand, their crimes taken personally as a warning against him. There's a quote at the bottom of the page. 'We'll find you, and we will torture and kill you DeLorne. Fear us. Fear me. Fear Hell'."
"SHEET!" Christophe screams, tugging his shovel off of its strap at his back, and stabbing it into the wall. "Fuck!" The dirt crumbles around it, probably at his will
"Stop!" Fillmore warns, walking towards him. Ike stops him, with one arm held out. "He's gonna collapse it on us!" Really, even the eight year olds have the minds of thirteen year olds.
"He'll stop soon. Or rather it will." The Canadian points at the ceiling, where a shovel is hanging by a rope. Every smash Christo' takes with the shovel crumbles the ceiling further and further. Until the rope falls and the metal shovel smashes down onto his head. I catch his pupil going deep inside of his head, before he smashes onto the ground.
"It's his fault." Kenny mutters, walking out of the room. I stay, until everyone else leaves. Butters is the last to go 'wishing him well'.
I glare at him, muttering obscenities. "'At? Did zthe beig bad Chreistophe curse much?" He mutters, slurring his accent, until it's unrecognizable. I laugh for a second, before regaining my character. I flip my camera on in my pocket. I keep it there, for reasons that even I don't know. It seems like it will have a use now.
"Because Christophe's a fool, of course. Isn't he?"
"Oui 'e 'is. 'E ees ze beiggest deick on Earzth." I smirk. I'm going to hold this over his head until the end of both of our lives. I'll have to blackmail him of course.
"And he's gay, stupid, horrible, and moronic."
"Oui. He's a terreeble person. Bastard. And 'e's an 'or." He agrees. I have to stifle my laughter, and he groans. "'Here ze fuck am I?" His accent informs me that he (Christophe) is back. I moan, earning a confused look.
"You're an arse." I mutter.
"Fuck you beetch." He responds, almost enthusiastically. "'Here am I?"
"You kept smashing your shovel into the wall, and one of the others," The many, many shovels in his base. "Smashed onto your head, knocking you unconscious, fool." I say, earning a scowl and a glare.
"And why, pray-tell, 'as I smasheeng my shovel eento ze wall? And why, pray-tell are we een my second base? Damn, you've gotteen beeg. 'Ow long 'as I out. Ten 'ears? 'Ow beeg am I now?" He doesn't sound surprised. He's rambling. For a second, I think that he's joking with me. The expression on his face is too serious to mean any joke. I sigh.
"You're joking. Right?" I ask. I know the answer.
"About what, cocksuckairre?"
"I'm getting the doctor."
"'At?"
"It's selective amnesia. It chooses certain memories to hide, leaving him with only certain memories. He can't remember the past four years of his life." The man explains, biting his bottom lip. He confirms what I already knew. I've always questioned the need for doctors. They'll tell you you have a cold if you're sneezing. They'll tell you you have cancer if you have a tumor. It's quite obvious. I'd prefer if they just give us the cure. "He shouldn't go on any missions. He'll get himself killed if he remembers." I scowl.
"'En deed we get a doctor?" Christophe says finding that the most important information. He always has not cared about anything deeper than the first thought in his head. He's lucky that I'm here.
"Remembers?" I say, shooting a glare at the brunette mercenary.
"Some patients get their memories back at any random time. If he's on a mission, he'll be too absorbed in memories to see a knife aiming for his throat. No missions for him." Dr. Doctor says.
"But we need the money!"
"Tweek, Craig, Kenny, and you can do them. Clyde and Christophe are in no shape for anything life threatening."
"How long till they're better?" Ike asks.
"I'm right 'ere, you know. Zis ees extremely annoyeeng."
"Clyde should get better in a week, maybe two. Christophe, on the other hands can take from minutes to years. He won't remember Cartman's base. There's no point sending him on this mission if he doesn't remember anything by July."
""E's ze one zat killed me oui? And ze one zat owns ze world?"
"Definitely selective." The doctor feels the need to add in.
"IKE!" Someone screams. The Canadian sighs, and walks out of the room. I watch him leave, as Kenny continues speaking.
"Just America, England, Canada, Mexico, and France." He doesn't seem like he cares very much.
"'Ere's my shovel?" He demands.
"We took it off you, so you wouldn't brain us when you woke up."
'Seems like zat was a retardeed plan. So, 'ow are you Kenny?"
"You two knew each other before the war?" I demand.
"Of course. 'En I died, I met 'im een 'Ell. 'E's an eemortal, you know. No one else seems to remembairre, right Kenny? Only I do, because of my deaz." He gives a rough laugh.
"I know. You told me. You vowed that you'd rip his head off."
"No he vowed that he'd use a spoon to rip out his eyes, and pull his brains out through the empty sockets." Kenny says.
"I was hoping you'd go along with it, so it would be less gory." I scowl at him.
"But that's no fun!" He whines, reminding me of (And this is not me writing obscenities, so do not worry. It's his codename in the base. I am still Gregory Adams, not another faking my name. And yes, that has happened before.) the Fatass.
"Greg?" Kenny smirks.
"We are all thirteen years old now. Eric Theodore Cartman has taken over America, Canada, Mexico, England, and France. You were a spy that made sure none of his movements worked. We (La Resistance) were hidden in your first base in America. Damien send Hell Hounds to find us. We took the plane that you hid in Mexico to Turkey and hitch hiked all the way to Russia. We've been doing jobs in an attempt to bring in money. Ike Brofloski, Kenny, you, and I are one team. Craig, Tweek, and Clyde are another team."
"Tweek? Ze one from Souz Park? Why ze 'ell would 'e be doeeng meessions?"
"He's paranoid. That can save his life one day."
"Good point. So, I'm guesseeng Marsh, and Brofloski are 'ere too? Lots of sheet 'appened een Souz Park, and zey were always at ze 'ead of eet." Christophe says, ripping one of his shovels off of the wall. I'm guessing it's more instinctive than anything.
"Obviously. And most of the other South Park children have also become invested in our cause." I say.
"And zat cause ees?"
"Freedom. Democracy. Life without a dictator to rule it. We are La Resistance. And we fight against Cartman himself." I explain.
"And… 'ow deed Cartman succeed een conveencing Damien to work for 'im? 'Ave you feegured zat out yet, or are you just a fuckeeng eediot?"
"It's quite obvious, Mole. He promised him power."
"Non. Damien 'ould nevairre vouch for power. 'E can gain an 'old on ze planet een ten seconds flat. Somezing conveenced 'im to 'elp ze Fatass take over ze world." This is… new information.
"And what's that?"
"Eet's quite obvious eesn't eet? Or are you zat fuckeeng stupid?"
"What?"
""E's going to wait unteell Cartman dies before 'e strikes."
"Why?" I demand. My partner laughs, and rolls his eyes. The shovel goes back onto the wall.
"You can wait and see, Swordsman," He reminds me of six year old Christophe (Or as he went by constantly 'Mole'). Cryptic, cruel, hates the world. Just like when I first met him, on a mission by the English government to take down a gang of mercenaries. When I met him, I thought he was being held hostage by the leader (A man named Sal Myers), and I went to help him. I was, at the very least, surprised by the next step that he took. "Now, important matters oui. Like where ze fuck ees ze rest of your perfect leettle rag-tag group of cheeldren?"
Honestly, a good question. Tweek, Craig, and Clyde (Now completely healed from his flu and back on missions) are off god-knows-where doing god-knows-what.
"Stan and Kyle are probably teaching the others to fight and hack into computers," It's really the only thing those two do anymore. "And the others are probably sleeping."
"'At time ees eet?"
"13 hours." I've always found standard military time a much easier method than the American way of telling time. Maybe that's because I worked for the British military from the time that I was five to when I was seven. Old habits die hard.
"You sleep durreeng ze day?"
"Yes."
"Let me guess. 'Ou whined about 'ow zey can attack us at any moment, but most likely weell do so during ze day."
"I wouldn't say whined…"
"Are you kidding? Even that little Mormon kid started crying from the volume of your whining." Kenny feels the need to say. Christophe smirks. I sigh. I sometimes wonder how these two are still alive, and not dead by my own hand.
"So Kenny. 'Ow as your life treated you seence La Resistance." The blonde smiles.
"Perfect! I've been kidnapped by an evil dictator and then killed by the Anti-Christ. I've been mauled by a wild bear that somehow found its way into the base. I've been killed by you. Greg dropped his sword in my eye. It's been a pretty good time!" I glance at the sword for a second, wondering if I really killed him.
Then again, why would he lie?
"Great to 'ear." I'm actually not surprised that he met Kenny in Hell. The situation just makes sense to me. And I don't doubt for a second that Christophe went to Hell. The Frenchman and I have been cursed to the flame since we were born. All of La Resistance will most likely meet Satan himself first hand after we die.
I look to my right, to find one man missing in the room. Dr. Doctor must have slipped out while we were telling him of the events of the last three (Maybe four. I haven't actually been counting for what seems like more than a year, because of the plan. I'll get a calendar soon) years.
"'Hy 'ould Cartman take ovairre ze world?" Christophe says after a moment of silence.
"Power?"
"Makes sense, but 'ow."
"Damien." Kenny says.
"Non. Zere ees somezing else."
"What is it?" The Immortal asks. He opens his mouth to continue, before we hear footsteps. Kenny groans, and face-palms.
"Kenny!" A voice screams. I stop and try to put a name to it. "They're calling you out!" Kevin says, bursting into the room.
"What?" Kenny asks.
"Wait. What's going on?" The raven haired boy stops for a second, looking at the blood stains on the wall.
"Eet ees not eemportant. What ees eemportant ees figuring out what ze fuck 'our talkeeng about." Christophe glares at the other boy.
"I-I can't remember." He mutters. The Frenchman groans, and Kenny has to hold him back before he slams his head against the wall.
"Something about Damien calling Kenny out." I sigh, rolling my eyes. Maybe Christophe is right about God. He does seem very cruel to the citizens of the world that he created. He doesn't even treat Gary well (Kenny told me the truth about religion).
"Oh yeah, I remember!"
"Zank zat cocksuckeeng beetch een ze sky." Christophe mutters, playing off of my thoughts. He always seems to know what's on my mind. It's strange. Even Reuti and Turgh (The best, most famous, mercenary team on Earth) don't do that. Or should I say didn't. They were attacked by ninjas the year before last. Turgh died, and Reuti was killed by a group of ten Demons.
The entire world of mercenary's still mourns them, but I believe that we're better off. Since their deaths, we get even better jobs. Pola and Jonas are the new major mercenary's. Christophe and I are a close second (I hope. We haven't really met with the others since about a year and a half ago, but when we were rated in 2009 we were third best.)
I have no idea why I'm talking about this, but it must be important if I am. Christophe's insanity is rubbing off on me.
"Damien, like, came on CNN international which Wendy was watching. He said something like 'Kenny McCormick. We have your sister.' And the camera moved to show a tied up girl with a knife pressed against her throat. She was like 'Help!' Cartman came and flipped off the camera. He punched her in the throat, right here," He points at the back of his neck. "She shut up, and like… what's the word… uh… whimpered that's it! Yeah she whimpered." I have an extreme dislike for Kevin.
Kenny's eyes widened. I know what he thinks. He knew that they'd do this. It's rather simple to realize.
"Ees not eemportant. Zey 'on't keell 'er."
"Why not?"
"Because she's betrayeeng you." He definitely reminds me of six year old Mole.
"Who isn't a fool here?" Half of the hands go up. Only in South Park.
"Why?" Marsh demands.
"Who recorded the threat? I need to see it." The Mole (That's the only thing I can call him. He's not himself) laughs at my angry expression. Only one hand goes up. I have an extreme dislike for these people.
The hand belongs to Kyle. Thank God there's someone who has an ounce of logic. He holds up the remote and smiles. "I did it the second I saw his face."
Before I know it, the recording plays. It starts halfway through his first sentence.
"-End, listeners of CNN. I am Damien Thorn. Second in command of The United Federation Under Cartman. Do not fear. This is no attempt to take your country, but only a warning to Kenny McCormick. We have your sister, Karen," Kevin screams about that being her name. The screen cuts to a girl in a gag, with her arms and legs tied to a chair. Her screams are muffled, and I recognize the fact that it started immediately after the camera pans to her. The Mole laughs.
Cartman's voice screams at her to shut up. She doesn't listen. He walks over and his hand curls into a fist. She screams even louder, a second before he 'hits her'. It's quite simple to see that she wasn't injured. Immediately after she stops screaming, and resorts to whimpers. The Mole catches my eye and smirks.
These are things I wouldn't have seen had he not pointed it out to me. Maybe he has lost his skills with age.
"It's your decision. Allow her to suffer, or give us what we want." The screen goes black, before the bewildered face of a reporter shows up. Kyle pauses it.
"'At does 'e want?" The Mole breaks the silence that takes the room after it stops.
"You." Kenny answers.
"Eet doesn't mattairre. She 'as fakeeng eet. 'E won't 'urt 'er." The Mole laughs again. It doesn't sound like it's a humorous laugh. It's rough and angry. I wonder how much he remembers, before I realize that it doesn't matter.
"How do you know?" The Immortal commands.
"No 'un shuts up after beeeng 'it een ze zroat. Mostly a mere child. Zey'll just scream louder. And ze Fatass nevairre 'it 'er. 'E meessed completely. The screams started when ze camera moved to 'er. Dameeen would nevairre tell people not to fear on a recordeeng. Zat entire zing was set up by your leettle seester. She's one of zem now."
"How would you know? You don't even remember any of this." Ike says.
"So 'at?"
"You don't know Damien." The Mole gives him a 'what-the-hell' look, before looking at the rest of our confused expressions. I'm the only one with a blank face.
"Deed I not tell 'ou? Dameeen worked wiz me for two 'ears."
"Oh hamburgers." I hear Butters mumble.
"Quiet ol' chap. We're having a nice awkward silence, that we are!" Pip whispers back to him.
"You know Damien?" Marsh's expression is priceless. I expect mine to be almost exactly the same.
"I already said zat. I zought you were supposed to be clever. Or ees zat your fuck buddy Brofloski?" He smirks, lighting another cigarette and throwing his old one in the direction of a certain twelve year old Mormon.
Maybe someday, just maybe, Christophe DeLorne will make actual sense to me.
A/N
Welcome back! So yeah. New update. And lot of things that will be returned to soon. Some that you may not notice. We'll explore more of their lies.
As for Christophe, well everything is not as it seems.
I have a new project that I'm working on, and with school I'm also extremely screwed. I'm going into a major grade and my parents are forcing me to study from now on. Updates will officially be random. But this story will not, and I repeat not be going on HAITUS. I am going to work on this, I promise.
RK