ecrounox: ... *dies*

I didn't mean to take so long to write this. Enjoy anyways. Stay tuned for some fun facts at the end.

tophatgirl: I really have nothing to say except that APPRECIATE THIS CHAPTER OF EFFING AWESOMENESS. Seriously. Reviews are our crack. We have problems.

ecrounox (edit): Did some minor editing based on THG's recommendations. Christophe should sound more French now.

(Ike's POV)

My old soccer coach always told us to know our enemies and understand their actions. We would have to plan ahead and expect surprise attacks. The funny thing about that is that I never really paid any attention during those lectures. I was being forced to partake in these sports against my will, after all.

I never imagined that I would have to take the coach's lessons and apply them to the real world, namely, to use them on my parents. They came with a complete coup de fucking grace. An ambush.

I nearly slammed the door in their faces, like any normal person would if their parents just randomly showed up at their doorstep. I glanced between them, hoping neither of them processed the look of peril on my face, and muttered, "Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?"

"We just had to stop by and say hello! Oh, Ikey, it's so good to see you." my mother smiled and reached out to hug me.

Before she could, though, I turned my head to look at Shift in the kitchen doorway. He mouthed the words, "why are they here?" I shrugged and told him that I didn't have the slightest clue.

"Hold on a second, guys." I told my parents before closing the door on them. Without a word, I rushed past Shift and into the kitchen, mumbling unintelligible things about hiding the barbecue pork as I tossed my dinner into the fridge.

"Ike?"

"You might want to hide." I suggested.

He looked at me quizzically. "Like hell I will. I've been meaning to tell you that some police officer should be coming by any minute for-"

"What? Why?"

He rolled his eyes, unfazed. "You know that murder that happened this morning? The one a few doors down? The freaking cop that I talked to said he would come down to interview me... maybe the both of us."

"Crap, what am I going to do? My parents are going to freak out and think you're a serial killer! Shit, they're going to think I'm living with a serial killer!"

Now at this point I admit that I was being a little irrational. Then again, I'm not used to stressing over more than just homework, so this was all a little bit far fetched. Shift tried his best to calm me down by putting his hands on my shoulders, which had been pacing back and forth moments ago.

"Ike!" he yelled, "It's going to be okay. As far as I know, neither of us is under suspicion for any crime." He then looked down for a second to think. "We can just tell your parents now about what's going on and that someone will be showing up to ask a few questions. So just cool it, or I'm going to summon a demonic entity from the night to knock some sense into you."

I shook free of his hold and took a deep breath. "Okay, but Shift…"

"What is it now?"

"My parents don't even know about you yet. I'm worried that they'll get the wrong impression from you." Not that they haven't seen him before, they just haven't been introduced...

"Don't sweat it. I'll act natural."

I looked towards the door, which stood in the way of my mom and dad. My mother must have been trying desperately to hold back one of her maternal hugs. "Actually," I said, walking forward to grab the doorknob, "you shouldn't act like yourself at all."

"What?"

"You heard me. Be as polite as possible. No snide comments, 'hellish beings from the darkness,' or smoking around them."

"So you want me to be as conformist as possible? Like that's going to happen."

"I've had to play charades with them most of my life. You're going to have to deal with it." I confided. "Just do this once. Please?"

He stared at me blankly for a few seconds, very seriously, like he was on the verge of bursting at any moment because pretending that he's an adequate human being was so goddamn unnatural. When he didn't reply, I opened the door.

My parents were standing with their backs facing me, staring past the apartment's front entry way.

"Guys?" I tried to catch their attention.

"Ike, I think I just saw a man dressed in women's clothes walk out of the front door." my father mumbled, dumbstruck.

"Oh, that must have been Sapphire. She lives upstairs."

"Are you sure that was a 'she'?" mom asked, clutching her purse.

"Mom, it's San Francisco. You're going to see a lot of cross dressers."

Her face twisted with a bit with repulsion, but she turned back to me. "Oh, never mind that. I've missed you so much!" she finally reached out and embraced me, smacking my temple with her wet lips.

"I've missed you, too." I lied, squeezing her back. She seemed so small compared to me.

"How has your transition into San Fran been, son?" dad asked.

"It's been alright."

Once my mom finally pulled away from her hugging and kissing, Shift coughed behind the door. It wasn't a cough caused by years of smoking, but a signal to let me know that it was time for the inevitable. I stepped back, allowing my parents to get through the door. With a gulp, I was able to utter, "There's someone that I'd like you to meet."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister and Misses Broflovski." Shift introduces himself with less emotion than a machine. He extended his hand, but neither of my parents seemed too intent on shaking it. In fact, my mother seemed intimidated.

I put my hand on his shoulder, like I was claiming him. Stupid, I know. "This is Charlie. He's my roommate." Shift tapped my shin with the tip of his boot, glaring. "Fine. Boyfriend, actually... Kinda."

No use going the safe route. There will be shit to pay for this eventually.

When my mother doesn't make an effort to shake his gloved hand, my father does. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Charlie." I think he knew the drill, considering how he had done the same thing with a couple of Kyle's old dates. Dad has always been the more rational one, and I guess I could say that I was thankful to have him. When my mom saw that he had shaken Shift's hand without catching some kind of contagious goth disease, she willingly shook it as well.

"Why don't you guys make yourself at home?"

I must have been kidding myself. My parents probably thought I was living in a home for the mentally ill, with a goth and a transgendered man. My new world was far from the normal one that was once forced upon me growing up.

But who cares what they think anymore.

(Jeff's POV)

Christophe and I drove through the streets of Haight Ashubury, trying to track down the two college kids. We're a little later than I would have liked, but Frenchie apparently needed a pack of cigarettes from a drug store. He's been chain smoking ever since. Once he's done with one cigarette, he tosses it out the window and goes back for another one.

When I finally parked the police car across the street from this morning's crime scene, I whipped out my pen and a pad of paper, hoping to jot down a few things during these interviews.

"Would you mind not smoking in here while I'm gone?" I turned to the ever-so-compliant partner of mine. He snorted and slumped back into his chair. If you ask me, he should have still been handcuffed in the backseat.

"Thiz iz a part of working with ze Mole, Jeff. If we are not compatible, then you can go fuck yourzelf while your shithead God watches. And nothing you can write down will 'elp in our pursuit of zis killer, or killers." He lit up another cigarette and leaned against the window.

"You don't make any sense. Are you saying that I'm not doing my job the right way, kid?"

"Yes, you American cocksucker. And for ze last time, I'm not a kid." he replied, rubbing the stubble on his chin as evidence. "But what I am saying is zat you must be more induztrious. Instead of lying in wait like the pussy you are, I zuggest you use a tape recorder and rape theze fellows for eenformation. More efficient zat way." he then blows smoke into my face, snorting once again when I let out a cough, and gets out of the car.

Rape them for information? Metaphorically, I hope. "If you want me to do my job correctly, then stay in the car like I told you to."

"Ha, like I was ever going to listen to you in ze first place. Monsier, while you talk to zis Charlie, or Ike or 'oever, I am going over zere to investigate that crime zeen."

"Good. Maybe while you're over there you'll pick up on something that we Americans never found." I tried my best to mock his awful accent, but I'm not too educated in different dialects. They never taught us this sort of thing in police training.

Christophe found no amusement. "Zis is good, no? Maybe I will." He went into the trunk and pulled out his shovel, rope and a beaten up tape recorder from his bag. He tossed the device to me from the window. "'Here, bitch, use eet."

I looked down at the hunk of plastic, feeling pathetic that I was actually considering taking his advice. "Just go. You're going to get in the way." I waved him off.

There is the chance that I may die because of this case, but if I do, I hope it is not because this French ass led me to shoot myself.

If I'm going to be a cop in this God forsaken city, I need to at least die with honor.

(Ike's POV)

"There's something that I need to tell you before we all get settled." I informed my mom and dad, offering them glasses of water. "Did you notice the apartment a few doors down that's surrounded with yellow police tape?"

They both nodded from their spots on the couch. Shift continued explaining everything from then on, still in his state of monotone (I figured that he would rather be emotionless than nice and cheery). "There was a murder there this morning. Someone's coming down from the police station to talk to us since we live so close by."

"A murder? Really?" my mom almost choked on her water.

"Is it even safe for you boys to be living here?" dad asked.

"Don't worry, we'll lock our windows and everything." I assured him. "Still, it would have been nice to get a head's up before you came down."

The door buzzer rang and Shift immediately shot up to answer it. He opened the door and stepped outside and, within a moment, returned to tell me, "I'll be outside with the officer. I'll come and get you whenever."

When he was gone, I was left alone with my parents for the first time in weeks. I smiled, they smiled back, then everything was silent.

"You have such a cute little living room, Ike." my mom said after a while.

"Yeah, it's nice." I mentally groaned. "Is there anything else you want to eat or drink?"

"Some wine would be nice." my father replied, sipping his water.

"Dad, I'm 18. I can't buy wine."

"Then is there any place where I can go and get some?"

My mom scoffed. "Gerald, do you really need a drink right now?"

"No, it's okay mom. I'm sure the landlords have a few bottles. Do you want me to go and ask?"

"We'll go with you."

And somehow I ended up upstairs in the Baptiste's apartment, with my mother scolding me for any number of reasons (mainly because she wanted me to go to Yardale, Shift was also one of her complaints), and my dad laughing and sharing a drink with Paul and June (whom he had just met) and not protecting me from my mother's wrath.

(Jeff's POV)

"I just want you to know before I ask you anything, kid. I'm here to get leads on this case, not to interrogate you or anything." I tell him. He's a smoker, sucking in lung cancer just like Christophe. "I'm a cop, but part of my jurisdiction is investigation work."

"Yeah, yeah, I don't need your whole life story." he stabs his cigarette into an ashtray set out on the porch table. The tape recorder is on 'record' besides it.

"Tell me first what your real name is. That little alias you gave me made you a bit more suspicious than you should be."

"My name is Charlie." he replies. "My last name is Hunter. Sometimes I go by 'Shift.' Happy now?"

Well, at least he's being more agreeable than I had expected. "And you're how old?" I would know this if I had any files on him.

"18."

"Okay... and you've been living here for about a day. Do you have any proof of this?"

"Ike has the paperwork. If you wanna talk to the landlord about it, you can."

"Where did you live before?"

"A redneck mountain town called South Park. It's in Colorado."

"Right, so you wouldn't know anything about the recent reign of homicides, would you?"

"I probably know less than most people. I mean, this might be related, but the moment we got into the city from the Golden Gate bridge we saw a huge police commotion over one of these murders. This has all been happening before we got here, so I don't see why you need to talk to me."

"It's because we know more than a few people are doing this. It's all over the media. Everyone thinks it's a Satanic cult."

"Do I look like I would be in one of those? Is this some kind of goth stereotype?" he took a drag of his cigarette and blew it in my face, which has happened quite a few times today. "You cops are all the same. Stereotyping assholes."

Teenagers are so disrespectful these days. "I never said you were a part of it. There's a possibility that you might be related in some way, or maybe you know something about it. Maybe you know someone who might be in it."

"The only people I know here are the tenants in my building. I don't even know all of them yet."

I took a second to scribble something down on the pad of paper. "Uh-huh. Charlie, let me ask you something. What do you think about people who shop at Abercrombie & Fitch? Or Hollister?"

"What the hell does that have to do with the case?"

"It's just a question."

"I don't think much of them. I used to hate them with a burning passion, but then again most of them hated me, too. To me they're conformist ass lickers, but if they didn't exist then I wouldn't have anything to non-conform to." He seemed to have put a bit of thought into his response, idly blowing smoke out of this nose. "I don't know what this has to do with anything still."

"More than you would expect." I quickly jotted down the word 'conformist,' something that keeps appearing in each of the homicides.

"Is there anything else that you want from me?"

"I also wanted to know," going back to the Satanic cult topic, "if you've ever been involved in an underground group of any kind, in your home town perhaps." I was careful not to use 'cult' since it made him a bit touchy.

"You could say I have. So much shit has happened in South Park that it's easy to understand why." he says. "There's been a few. I was only a part of them in elementary school, and they've disbanded since."

"Elementary school is pretty young for that kind of thing."

"Hey, it wasn't my idea."

"That doesn't matter. Go on and tell me about these groups."

"Fine. Whatever. There was a cult, you could say. Cults have something to do with religion, I think. We worshiped some stupid Cthulhu thing as a deity, which was bullshit since he never pulled through with our expectations. Most people only came to that for the free beer. It disbanded a really long time ago." he inhaled more smoke. "I shouldn't be telling you any of this. Whatever. It's for my own benefit. Ike's too."

"The more information I get from this interview, the closer we get to catching these bastards."

"Really? Huh, didn't think I'd be saving mankind just by talking."

"Were there any other groups?"

"Yeah. There was another. I don't remember what it was called, something in Gaelic, I think. It was apparently pretty ancient, and it branched out from Europe to America. I don't remember much about it at all. We met in graveyards and cemeteries, drank wine... um, listened to music, chanted about some nameless God. Shit like that." he crushes his cancer stick into the ashtray. "Oh, it's also where I got my name. Shift."

"Interesting. Did that group have a purpose?"

"As far as I'm concerned, yes. I was too young to understand a fucking thing, though."

I let out a thoughtful grunt and scribbled a few more things into a web chart. "That should be good. I'm going to believe all of this for now, but if I do some research and none of this adds up, then you're going to be in trouble."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, officer, I've been telling you the truth. It's for mine and my partner's own safety, there's no reason why I should lie."

"You lied about your name before."

"It was instinctual."

I clicked the 'stop' button on the tape recorder and put it away in my chest pocket. "Anyways, thank you for complying. Have a nice evening."

"You're welcome, I guess. You too." he slid back inside of the apartment. Good kid, too bad he's so unmannerly.

I closed the note pad and stowed it with the recorder, all the while crossing the street to the car. Christophe is waiting impatiently, apparently done with whatever he was doing at the crime scene.

"Find anything?" I ask him.

"You do not 'ave enough faith in me, Jeff. Zere was a sheetload of sheet zat you polize never took notice of. Ze forced entry, for example. Ze lock was broken and everything with a crow bar. I would 'ave done a better job myself getting into zat apartment. And zere was a few pieces of furniture out of place, where ze filthy dust did not match up. Posseebly moved during a struggle. I found aspestos on ze floor and foreein dirt in ze backyard, and eet did not look like eet was from around 'ere." he throws me a couple of plastic bags with some soil samples in it. Overall, a good job on his part.

"Well done, Christophe. I'm surprised."

"You better be, you son of a beetch." he mutters and stares out the window. "'Ey, I'm out of zigarettes. Can we-"

"Fine. But I'm not paying for them this time." I start the engine and get onto the road, right behind a line of traffic.

"Did you get any good eenformation from zat Charlie guy?"

"Yeah. I have a few ideas on where we should look next." I smile to myself. Mission accomplished with no major setbacks. I offer my hand in the air for a high five.

Christophe stares at me. "No, you American cocksucker. Just no."

I put my hand back on the wheel. "Have you ever heard of South Park, Colorado?" I ask him.

"Yes, and let me tell you zomething, Jeff. You do not want to live zere, ever. I almost got my ass keelled in South Park. Zey're a bunch of crazy faggots."

"Oh, I believe you." I say, driving into the night.

(Ike's POV)

Soon after saying good-bye to my parents and giving them hugs, even though I really didn't want to, I found a few twenty dollar bills left on our kitchen counter with a note on top. I thought it might be Shift's until I read the note.

I figured a college kid might be in need of some money.
Sorry about your mother. You know how she is.
We both love you.
-Dad.

Well that was nice of him. Still, it's funny how he thinks money will make up for my mom's tongue lashings. I gotta love it though, free money is a wonderful thing when you're broke.

I stuffed the bills in my back pocket and leisurely made my way into the living room where Shift was sitting on the couch. He was scribbling things in his writing notebook under the light of one of Mrs. Tucker's side table lamps. When he noticed my presence, he smirked. "Damn, your mom is a huge bitch."

"Tell me about it." I rubbed my arm. "She got a little better once Kyle moved away entirely. I guess he was the source of all of her inner turmoil."

"Ouch." he replied, though still writing. His ability to multitask astounds me.

I slumped down onto the opposite side of him on the ugly green couch, kicking my legs up and resting them on top of his own. He glanced up but didn't do anything about it.

"So, tell me mister soccer stud. What's it like to be a total let down to your overly ambitious mother?"

"Hey, don't state the obvious. I should be the one wearing black and complaining about life here." I replied. That makes him chuckle, or something like that, and I had to laugh."You wanna know what she told me this time in our little argument? She told me that I was supposed to go to Yardale for a psychology major, not move to the capitol of the gay community with my 'ex-convict partner.' Blah blah blah, I'm too naive to know how to live without her. Yadda yadda. I don't live up to her expectations, big whup."

"What a complete bitch, I can see why you'd be scared of her coming. What about your dad?"

"My dad's more of a pansy than I am. He doesn't stand up for himself or anyone else." I rested my head against the sofa cushions. "He's still pretty cool about everything though."

He nodded, thoughtfully, and went back to his notebook.

"What happened with the cop? He didn't need to talk to me, did he?"

"Nope. I don't think he suspects me of anything, and if that's the case then you're safe. I didn't know much about the murders going around, so he asked me stuff about," he waved his hand around, "you know, goth stuff. Everyone's under the impression that a Satanic cult is killing people. And I apparently look like I would know a thing or two about those." I nodded, agreeing with him sarcastically. "It sounds strange to me. I mean, goths are really harmless. You could say we're peaceful and don't do anything but whine and bitch about the world sucking. I don't know any goth activists who are willing to jump into action for what they believe in."

"Except for you." I nudged his leg with my foot. "Dude, don't you remember everything you did about the fucking vampires last year?"

"Yeah, well I'm not your typical goth now, am I? I like freaking Katy Perry, as proof."

"You sure look like one, though." I teased.

"Fuck you."

I leaned forward and pecked his forehead, though most of it was covered by his thick bangs. He glared at me, and within seconds my cheeks were feeling flushed. Crap.

"Sorry." I said and looked every which way to avoid the fact that I just did something completely cheesy.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him smiling. Genuinely, in fact. But eventually he rubbed his forehead clean with his shirt sleeve to hide the evidence.

"Shouldn't you be looking through the papers for a job?" I asked him.

"Shouldn't you?" he shot back.

"I already looked while I was waiting for you to get home. I'll probably need to get two jobs, just so that we have enough money to survive. But I was thinking about that pee wee soccer coaching position, accompanied by a little league assistant coach gig. Both should rake in about $500 a month." I did the math on a piece of paper earlier since I'm not too great with spontaneous equations. "Is that enough to cover my half of our expenses?"

"$1000 should be enough for your half. Set aside some for tuition and everything else." he said. "I hope I can make that amount writing articles. If not, there's always prostitution..." He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.

"You are not selling your body." I retorted.

"Who knows? Maybe I'll lure one of those Satanic cultists in with my charm and report them to the police."

"And risk having your ass skinned or being decapitated? I don't think so."

"You're no fun." he mumbled in response.

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. There was a water stain a few feet away where the upstairs pipes must have been leaking. No wonder the rent is so cheap here. "Hey," I muttered, "you got any homework to do?"

"On the first day? Fuck no. Nothing's due until Wednesday for me."

"My dad left me a nice amount of spending money. And we haven't actually indulged in any non-home-improvement shopping. Want to hit the streets?"

"Go shopping? At 8 PM on a Monday night? Thrift stores? That Amoeba Records place? You bet your Canadian ass I do." he replied too enthusiastically for his character.

"Then quit writing poetry about how awesome I am and let's go."

Both of us anxiously hopped off of the couch to get our shoes on. With the premise of work in the future, I didn't think we would be having any night time ventures like this for a long time. It was best to make it fun while it lasted, and pray to the god that neither of us believed in that we wouldn't be the next victims of that weird group of mass murderers.

(Unkown POV)

Sanguine waters crash up against the jagged rocks. I can only wish that this were a shoreline in Hades, where savage flames rise up and grasp at the flesh of our fellow man. It's a shame that I am earthbound with all of these pathetic followers of bandwagons. I am amongst a sea of phonies, above them, like I am on top of the cliffs where I stand now, staring at the blood red ocean below me.

Tonight several people will be announced missing, and we will be the only ones to know where they might be - at the bottom of the bay. We made sure that there could be no survivors. Each person met a merciless fate... blood spilling out of wounds and mingling with the ocean's tide, limbs shredded off and fed to rats, guts charred to a crisp and ready for... the sacrifice.

Though they may be human, they're all still simpleminded conformists. They deserve this gory demise. Every last one of them.

I turn around, having just watched the last few lifeless bodies flung into the abyss, to observe as my underlings prepare for their decent into the hellish city across the expanse of unforgiving water. Around us are the demolished cement walls of a once godforsaken establishment. Ruins. Candles stand on every flat surface with their flames licking at the cool midnight breeze.

My subordinates await my command. The ones who have been torturing the conformists (and are now tired) rest quietly and listen to the Fields Of The Nephilim and the Cocteau Twins on a hidden record player. Some rouse themselves for the night ahead with enthusiasm and cheers of "exterminate the trend zombies!" A few come forth with a delivery of information, or seeking my wisdom.

"Who are the next scum on the list?" one asks me in Gaelic. I tell them, for it wouldn't help if we go about this unorganized.

"Here are some reports from the media. They're all about the work that we've been doing." I accept papers from another.

One of the younger inferiors approaches me, cautiously, with ebony silk robes wrapped around their tiny frame. A woman. "Madam, I have found a goth at the university who is not of our society. Or at least I do not believe that he is with us."

This piques my interest. "A traitor?"

"I do not believe so. He would have recognized me and the others. He appeared to be ignorant to everything."

"Did you look into who he was? Where he came from?"

"Yes. Though I did not catch his first name, he goes by his surname, 'Broflovski.' He is from Colorado, that I know."

Strange. It was very outlandish for someone of our kind to not be among our ranks. And I had once believed that the Colorado branch was strong. Nonetheless, I returned to my post. "Thank you, Jezabel. I'll see to it that he joins us."

...

A/N(2): Here are some Goth Fun Facts:

#1: "Goth" and "Fun" should never be used in the same sentence, unless you want to be ironic.

#2: The likeliness of there being a Gothic cult anywhere outside of the town of Leeds, England is HIGHLY unlikely. And if there just so happens to be one in your area, it's also highly unlikely for them to go on a mass killing spree. The worst that could happen could be another Columbine incident, but the kids who attempted murder at their school and then shot themselves were not Goth. They were just really... sad, or something.

#3: Fields of the Nephilim and the Cocteau Twins are both very obscure Gothic bands. The Cocteau Twins are actually a trio of unrelated creepers, and the singer has a really nice soprano voice.

#4: There is a huge misconception about what makes a Goth a Goth. If you really give a shit, just watch the Goth Kids' speech at the end of "The Ungroundable" episode.

#5: There really is no purpose for this list, and I am just sharing my knowledge with the yuppies who can't get their facts straight.

Thank you for reading, and make sure you leave a review on your way out. We're not not paid for nothing, you know!