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friendlyfrat-boy · 3 years ago

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Kyle Dies Chapter 5

Big Plane For Big Landing

TW - Major character death, gore.

Characters: Stan Marsh, Butters/Victor Chaos, Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman, etc.

Summary:

He was supposed to be saved. Stan was supposed to stop Clyde and everything would have gone back to the way it was always supposed to be. But reality was a cruel mistress, and with the twitch of a finger, everything ended.

With Stan still in the past, a paradox in time was created, forcing him to merge with his younger self in order to continue existing. But the cost was steep, and he wakes up forty years in the future, in a place that no longer resembles anything he has ever known. Faced with a world that could best be described as a dystopia, Stan has no choice but to attempt to return to the past once more in order to set things right, once and for all. But with Kenny on the run from a fascistic theocracy led by guess-who, he has no choice but to become a fugitive to avoid those he used to call his friends. At his side, his only real ally appears to be a certain Butters who can't make up his mind on who he's supposed to be.

Will they ever succeed in making the world right again, or should they just give up, even if it means dooming everything and everyone they once held dear?

Getting there had taken less time than expected since the city was rather close to the chosen airport. The matter of actually getting there had been troublingly complex. They had considered taking a taxi at first, or even hiring bikes, but they had no money, nor did their desire to swindle another poor sod.

Or, rather, Stan didn’t want Butters fucking over the lives of anyone unnecessarily. Understanding that the world and its inhabitants would come to disappear was one thing, but using thas as an excuse to treat people like shit was another.

And so, although it was practically begging for them to get discovered, they soldiered on and walked all the way there. That was despite the great desire Stan felt to strangle Butters.

“-You’d kinda think that if a war was goin’ on people wouldn’t like to travel and especially not to countries we were warring against but a few years into the war those airport business guys came up to me an’ they asked all about what was goin’ on and I told them, I said, ‘If you are under the assumption that this war is to end promptly if only for your own gain, you are sorely mistaken.’ They seemed kinda bummed about it, ‘cuz they told me that without their business the economy would go an’ stagnate and stuff, so I let them know that, ‘Hey! If you wanna go make some fuckin’ money, you can just do your business stuff anyways. Haven’t you got propaganda-guys for this purpose?’ Well, I didn’t say it exactly like that, but they seemed to get the point, so-,”

Silently, Stan let his eyes wander about the surroundings. Faraway, a few solitary aeroplanes soared by. He hadn’t really considered it before since their absence had gone mostly unnoticed, but there were much fewer aeroplanes to be seen. It was almost to the point where he’d jolt anytime a distant whoosh made him remember their destination.

The only good thing about Butters blabbering like a manic nickelodeon was the fact that it let Stan spend a lot of time thinking, in part about where they were going. A single thought plagued him.

Why the fuck were airports still open? Wasn’t it wartime?

Then again, the war had been ongoing for over two decades, it wasn’t as though they could just close down completely. Much like when their old teacher Garrison had tried to thwart their business, the airports had their ways of staying alive, no matter the cost.

Stan glanced at his companion.

There was always the chance that Butters had something to do with it, though Stan couldn’t bother asking him, lest he might go off on another stupid tangent Stan couldn’t bother to listen to.

“-But I really don’t understand how they can send tourists to countries we’re actively at war with, I mean, isn’t that kind of silly? Like sure we did make a sort of alliance for the sake of tourism and that it would be able to continue uninterrupted and we would consider it a war crime to bomb or otherwise destroy centres for tourism, but I still think it’s kinda weird. Personally, I’d only rub elbows with one of them Euro-pee-ans if it was to stab ‘em in the back later!”

“That’s great, Butters,” Stan said idly. Then he blinked two times and made a grimace. “Why-, um…” For a few minutes, Stan tried to find the right words to express his thoughts, but in the end, nothing came. “You won’t do anything weird like that to the Canadians, will you?”

“Huh? Why would I go ‘an stab them blokes?” Butters asked with what seemed like genuine confusion. That was a good sign, at least.

“Nevermind,” Stan replied. He glanced up at the building that now stood before them. “This is the place, isn’t it?”

Butters turned towards the airport. “Yup, that’s it right there! They had to close for a few years until we had to go in an’ bail ‘em out. A little pathetic, but it did let us use their stuff to move soldiers and supplies.”

With nothing to say in response, Stan went ahead.

The first area of the airport was almost dead silent, and not because it was a small or remote one. It was large and grand, with splendid glass windows facing the runways to show off the massive metal birds that were the pride and glory of the company. Likewise, the building was clearly designed to not only hold several thousand customers but to also shock and awe each and every one of them. Statues, murals and a prize-worthy fountain in the Logue met them in a state of meek disarray. And yet, for all this grandeur, there was nary a soul about.

If one ran their finger over the marble counters that held metal pieces of modern art, one would find a small layer of dust on their finger.

The main Logue held several shop-faces, but only one was open, starring a single, young attendant who watched them with squinting eyes. Stan ignored them and moved through, letting his eyes instead fall on the digital board of arriving and departing flights. For the entire day, there were a total of three. During the night, a single one would pass through and move onto Mexico.

Today, a plane would fly to Quebec in only 4 hours.

Stan sighed. The typical airport situation, then?

“Gee, Stan, we got here just in time! Imagine if we got here a while later - they might’a flown off without us!”

“You’re right about that one,” Stan deadpanned. He glanced at the times and gates. “Gate 3… Let’s go.”

“Okay!”

Finding Gate 3 took more than half an hour simply because the airport was huge. For the incredible size of it, one would have expected a similarly large population of customers, but there were few to be found. Stan could count the people they saw on two hands, and more than half of those were staff members holding up the fort in the few open restaurants. Around 80% of all shop spaces had been closed entirely, with the few open being extremely typical border shops or fast foods.

Stan almost wanted to stop by one such fast food place, but they still didn’t have any money.

And thus, they had no choice but to straight-forwardly walk to their destination all the while sneakily avoiding the rare assemblies of soldiers and military cargo. Of course, if they met, they could probably just give some excuse that they’re on a secret mission, but if the fact that ‘Future-man Stan has kidnapped General Chaos’ had been transmitted even to the lower-ranked officers and footmen, then it certainly wouldn’t help. Going only by the way he was acting, they might even assume Butters was being brainwashed or something, which he obviously wasn’t(?).

But, in the end, they were able to find their way to Gate 3.

Surprisingly, there were quite a few people sitting there, enough to at least half-fill a Boeing 747. Stan might almost have been surprised if more than a half hadn’t been pureblooded Canadians.

“When the war first went an’ broke out, Canada kinda had to fight us an’ stuff ‘cuz NATO and all that, but I mean-, it’s Canada, yanno? Sure, they had their wall and all that, but a few rounds of bombardment and they let their French blood speak for ‘em. Nowadays they’re kinda our bitch, but before all that, we couldn’t just let all these Canadians mosey on home, so we, uh, detained ‘em a little. But now that’s over so they’re going home! Ain’t that swell?”

“Yeah, sure is,” Stan said absently as he took a seat and resigned himself to his fate. As a kid, listening to Butters ramble for more than five minutes was mind-numbing, so who knew what three-and-a-half hours might do? Only one way to find out.

And he couldn’t even buy snacks for it, either.

“It’s a shame we can’t do the same with Mexico cuz most Mexicans left when I crossed the border and did all that cool stuff. You remember that time, Stan?”

“Sure I do.”

Butters grinned at him. “I knew ya would! That whole deal was really weird, I remember…”

Slowly, carefully, to the humming drone of Butters’ words, Stan closed his eyes and fell asleep.

In the endlessness of sleep, he dreamt that he met Kyle again, but not as he was as an adult, but rather his kid self, the kid Stan had known all those years past.

Kyle told him he got fat and in retaliation, Stan kicked him across the room.

He woke up in a cold sweat.

“Well, is it?”

“Sure it-,” Stan shook his head. “No, uh, what is what?”

Butters looked at him strangely. “Have you been sleeping?” Stan somehow kept himself from nodding. “Well, uh, people started boarding a while ago, I was wondering if it was time to do it? On that note, we don’t even have tickets. How are we going to-,”

Stan held up a finger and smirked. “I’ve got a plan.”

Back when Cartman had done it, it had been an annoyance at best. If it hadn’t been for Kyle’s quick thinking, that would probably have been the end of their adventures. But now, he would be able to do the same thing to a poor innocent victim whom he had no choice but to leave in the dust. It was for the sake of a better future, so it was okay.

“Hello sirs, how may I help you?” a relatively young woman dressed smartly asked. With her sunken eyes and flaking mascara, she certainly gave the impression of being overworked to the max. With this, at least, she probably wouldn’t have to work for the near future.

Stan bumped Butters on the arm. “Hey. Distract her.”

Butters jerked at the touch before turning to Stan. “Wh-, what? Like…” His brows furrowed. “Like that?”

Rolling his eyes, Stan replied, “Yeah, like that, now come on. Board the plane once you’re done, and, uh… Make sure she won’t have any reason to report us or anything, okay?”

Butters scratched his cheek. “Ah. Yeah, okay.” And then, in a matter of seconds, he underwent a small transformation too subtle for most to see. He straightened his back, let his face fall into a relaxed smirk, and a glint appeared in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He gave off an image of relaxed confidence, and Stan knew the moment he saw it that it was time to bail before he too was hit by the AOE spell about to ensure.

“Sir? Your friend is-,”

“Miss, you don’t gotta worry about him, ‘cuz I know about something that’s sure to blow your mind wide open.” He grinned. “Don’t ya wanna make some motherfuckin’ money?”

And that was the last thing Stan heard before he moved through the slightly terrifying tunnel and boarded the plane. A stewardess welcomed him warmly even though he didn’t have a ticket. Back in his ówn future, this kind of tactic would probably not have worked since the airport would have required a blood test and a facial sign-in before letting him on, but it seemed that having technology stagnate for 40 years wasn’t an entirely bad thing.

Since the plane was barely half-full, it took Stan no time at all to find a good seat on an empty row. He even got a window seat, too!

After a few minutes of reading the aeroplane safety manual, Butters entered the plane with large steps and a surefire swagger. He came to a stop at Stan’s row and they both looked each other up and down. “Uh, Butters?”

For a few seconds, it almost seemed as though the man in front of him was about to disagree with him, but then the facial expression of a scammer slipped and Butters smiled meekly at him. “Stan, could I have the window seat? Pretty please-?”

Stan sighed and stood up. A minute later and Butters was staring expectantly out the window, practically trembling in excitement.

Meanwhile, Stan leaned back in relaxation, assured that nobody would have the time to check their non-existent boarding passes. They were going to be just alright. But before Stan could get quite settled in, Butters opened his trap.

“Yeah, it kind of felt like she wouldn’t buy anything at first, but then she found a nifty picture of one of her favourite characters and she said she just had to get it. But then she realised there were loads of cool little guys just like it, and she wanted them all, but she sort of ran out of money. Well, I told her I could help her out, so I got her to do all kinds of interesting stuff. It probably wouldn’t have worked if I hadn’t had direct access to loads of banks and stuff, but in the end, she was able to use the airline company as collateral to buy NFT’s which was pretty fun ‘cuz it meant she could buy loads of them without having to use a single one of her own sheckles! It got pretty complicated after that with all the banks and stocks, but I was able to make a pretty penny off of it before the boarding started closing. I’m not sure why, but she looked kinda upset about the whole company getting claimed by the banks?”

“That’s nice, Butters,” Stan said absently, rereading the lifevest manual for the fifteenth time. One Butters monologue down, five hundred and three more to go. You can do it, Stan.

Silently, Butters watched Stan.

“Okay, Butters,” Stan said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh,” Stan said. “Okay.”

For a hot second, it seemed like Butters was about to go into another ramble, but he stopped himself, crossed his arms and turned towards the window. Stan didn’t even notice.

Now, let's see, what would happen if the plane crashed? The guide helpful answered. Ah, of course! The oxygen masks would drop from the ceiling! How useful.

For once, Stan was excited to hear the stewardess's speech, if only to get some relief from Butters' incessant rambling. Hm. Now that Stan thought about it, he couldn’t hear Butters’ usual rabble. Turning to his side, he found the blonde staring out the window like a pouting child. Well, that was sure to change soon enough. No need to dwell on it.

And at that very moment, the long-awaited stewardess stepped onto the runway. For some reason, she looked just a shade paler than when Stan had seen her last.

“L-, ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to say that due to the unexpected seizure of Kosher Flying Inc., this flight has been cancelled to deal with the sudden… Situation.” A near-impenetrable silence befell the entire cabin. “I’m sorry, I’m sure many of you have very important places to get to, but for now, we cannot grant any refunds or reschedulings. As a matter of fact, since we no longer own these planes, we are all trespassing on bank property and should probably get out of here.”

Stan felt a numbness overtake him.

It… It what?

Around forty stunned gazes turned on her. She began fidgeting with her way-too-short skirt. “I-, I’m sorry, I’ll translate to Canadian, so, err… No flight today, yeh?”

Gasps resounded.

Stan felt his body lock up.

Slowly, while families and Canadians left their seats and milled out of the plane, Stan turned to Butters. “Butters, what the fuck did you do?”

“What?”

Stan resisted the urge to strangle him. “You know damn well what I’m talking about! Why-, how did the airport get seized?! I know you had something to do with this, so just-,”

“Well of course I had something to do with it, Stan! I just told ya, didn’t I?”

Stan unbuckled his belt and ground his teeth. “Told me what, Butters?”

Apparently, going by the look on Butters’ face, he had things on his mind other than the fact that their one logical way out of the country had just been fucked over. “If you didn’t listen then, why should I go an’ expect you ta listen now?”

“Because now,” Stan enunciated strongly, “you’re actually saying things that matter instead of whatever drivel it is you usually give.”

Butters’ eyes flared open, and in them, Stan saw what appeared to be genuine hurt. “You-,” he stopped himself, clamped his mouth shut, and spent a few seconds gathering his words. “I swore that I’d come with you. You got me ungrounded, so I’m okay with doin’ what you want me to. All I want is to help you, Stan. But how’m I s’posed to help ya when you won’t even listen to what I have ta say?”

The fire inside Stan begged him to tell Butters to fuck off, or to say any other witty, speedy remark. But no such words reached his lips. Maybe if he’d still been a kid, maybe if he still saw Butters as a pathetic little kid who couldn’t do anything, he might have said that. But he was an adult, and so was Butters. Treating Butters like a kid and still expecting him to act like a capable and useful adult made Stan a hypocrite at best.

“...I’m sorry.” For some reason, hearing Stan say that made Butters’ eyes widen. “I’m sorry, Butters. I… Next time, I’ll listen to what you have to say, alright? You… You don’t have to keep quiet.” He almost smiled. “It’s not like I would’ve gotten this far without you, you know?”

The grin Butters gave him was refreshingly large. “Apology accepted! Now, uh…” Butters smiled wryly. “How do we get to Canada?...”

Stan closed his eyes. Somewhere in his head, he knew there was an answer, just waiting to be remembered. A thought struck him and he opened his eyes and turned to Butters. “Didn’t you say you could fly?”

Butters frowned slightly. “Well, sure, I flew a little for a bit, but nothing big.”

“Think you could fly a Boeing?”

A wild glint found its way into Butters’ one good eye. “...I’m not sure, but…” A grin. “I could always try?”

Stan smiled back at him.

Left alone on the plane, all they had to do to get started was to close all doors and take their seats in the cockpit. As might be expected, Stan as a co-pilot was mostly for show and company, since Butters was the only one of them who actually knew how to get it off the ground. On that note, Butters had certainly understated his own abilities. The way he operated the plane was with stunning efficiency and expertise.

Before he so much as got the plane rolling, he even went so far as to contact the watchtower (or, what remained of it) and get an all-clear on takeoff. It wasn’t as though the skies weren’t clear or that they could have stopped them, but knowing that the path was free was apparently important enough to warrant possible detection.

“Alright, we’re all clear for take-off, so if we just nose out into the runway we should be alright. From there-on out, the path is pretty straight and simple. If we wanted to, we could probably go down at an airport closer to Kenny, but I kinda don’t know where we might find one of those, so going towards the pre-installed destination will be simpler for all of us. Most of the luggage got removed too, so we’re thankfully not pullin’ along any stragglers. I’m not sure how things’re gonna go once we get there, but it should be OK.” In the brief lull in conversation, Butters glanced at Stan suspiciously. He wasn’t even looking at him, but…

“Even if they object to our arrival, it’s not like we can’t just park someplace else. At an actual airport would be preferred, but even that isn’t actually important. If nothing else, we can just give them the plane in return, right?” Stan said in reply.

Butters smiled and turned back to the runway. “Yeah, sure! And if not that, I’ve got loads of bargaining chips in the form of like information an’ stuff. It’s not like Canada enjoys being our bitch, so if we gave them a few juicy bits of information, they’d probably kowtow or something.”

Stan couldn’t help but agree.

And so, they set off on their 4-hour-flight to Quebec. It took its fair time, but with the plane stocked with as many peanuts and as much city aeroplane food as they could possibly want, they had no reason to go hungry. The only thing that separates what Stan ate from what Butters ate was that Stan refused to give Butters any coffee. Sure, normally on a flight of that length, a cup ‘a Joe would do most any adult good, but to a man who became hypomanic only from a few scoops of ice cream? The effects could only be drastic.

And since Stan could hardly be expected to care for the plane should Butters leave for anything longer than a piss-break, giving him coffee was out of the question.

Hell, even without any stimulants, Butters spent almost the entire time either singing or talking, a true testament to his impressive vocal cords.

And after only a few hours, Quebec reared on the horizon. At that point, it only took a few minutes before their communicator buzzed and a Canadian voice spoke. “What’s all this aboot, eh? Goin’ to glorious Canada, are ye?”

“Stan, what’s he sayin’?” Butters asked anxiously.

Stan held a finger in front of his lips. “Shh. I know some Canadian since Kyle taught me, but be quiet.” He held the comm unit to his lips. “We’re, uh, normal plane people, eh. Come to visit good country, yeah.”

“Identify yaselves, eh!”

Stan shot a look at Butters. “This is big plane goin’ fer a big landing, eh.”

“...”

Stan gripped the comm tighter. Had it not worked? He knew his Canadian was a bit rusty, but-,

“Well arrite, permission granted, eh.”

“We gottem.”

Butters grinned at him. “We sure did!”

They landed safely, and once they left the place, they were instantly met by a crowd of people headed by someone who carried suspicious authority.

Butters stopped in his tracks, making Stan bump into his back.

“Hey, what’s the matter, Butters?” Stan asked, leaning over his shoulder to get a look at the odd crowd. Had these people never seen a pair of Americans before or something? Or maybe all tourists were received with this much grace? Either way, the way they were looking at them certainly wasn’t kosher.

“President Beach?...” Butters muttered.

“Huh?” Stan said. “What are you-,”

From below, the man at the head of the crowd spoke broadly. “You are aware that your country is searching for you, eh, General Chaos?”

Stan blanched. Ah. So that was it.

#south park #south park fanfiction #south park post covid #stan marsh #butters stotch #victor chaos

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friendlyfrat-boy · 4 years ago

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Kyle Dies Chapter 4

Sugar? Sugar!

TW - Major character death, gore.

Characters: Stan Marsh, Butters/Victor Chaos, Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman, etc.

Summary:

Will they ever succeed in making the world right again, or should they just give up, even if it means dooming everything and everyone they once held dear?

“Yeah, I’d like a kosher burger with some kosher fries, and then a glass of kosher milk with it. And-, and can we get some desserts? Yea? Okay, okay, ummm…” Butters squinted hard at the menu in his hands, poking his tongue out thoughtfully. “...Ice cream? Kosher ice cream? Y-, yeah, two of those! You want one, right Stan?”

Absently, Stan nodded back at him. “Sure.”

The waitress at their side nervously scribbled down their orders, her eyes constantly glancing at Butters. “Will that be all, sirs?” Something in her voice made it very clear that she had many questions to ask.

“Yeah,” Stan replied. “Thank you.”

She gave a curt bow and then disappeared. Stan watched her as she went. Who designed that uniform? Not only was the shirt just on the edge of bursting open, but the skirt was both way too tight and way too short to possibly be comfortable. It wasnät like the restaurant was of that sort either. There were plenty of kids and families, even including a small play area for children.

Hell, if Stan just focused a little on one of the many fathers, it was clear that they weren’t paying attention to the waitresses. Their attention was placed firmly on the food.

Chastity. What a strange thing.

Following that line of thought, could it be that the waitresses were purposefully dressed seductively, all in order to test the patrons?

…No, that couldn’t be it. It was much more likely that it was just an ineffective marketing scheme that had fallen flat but they couldn’t afford or bother to change the outfits.

“Can you believe it, Stan? She didn’t recognize me at all! Oh boy, I can’t wait for that burger. Last time I had me a good burger was back when I was a kid. Same with ice cream, now that I think about it. An’ also milk. Man, there sure are a lot of things I haven’t tried in a while, huh?”

Stan couldn’t bring himself to tell Butters that she had probably recognized him but chosen not to say anything out of fear. Butters was, by all means, one of the most recognizable faces around, and not because he didn’t look somewhat plain (characteristic scar barred), but rather because his face was plastered on almost every building in the city. Whether it be proverbs, quotes or calls to join the military, he was practically everywhere. Removing his uniform had done a lot to change his aura of authority, but it didn’t change his face in the least.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Stan glanced at the nearby tables. People were chatting and talking relatively pleasantly, only stopping to look nervously at Butters. By the looks of it, nobody dared pay too much attention to them. “Okay, listen. Before we do anything else, I need you to tell me where Kenny is.”

“Kenny?”

“Kenny’s the one who invented the time machine that sent me back in time to begin with. I was going to save Kyle, but…” Stan shook his head. “It isn’t important. What is important is that we find Kenny again. He-, he doesn’t work for Cartman, does he?...”

Butters smiled sheepishly and waved his hand. “Nah, Kenny left ages ago. After Kyle died, Kenny went away pretty quickly. I think I remember he went to Nebraska or something? Once Eric heard about it he went to go fetch him, but Kenny didn’t like what Eric was doin’, so he left for Canada. But that was loads of years ago, yanno?”

“Do you know where he is now?”

Butters pulled his lips tight. Right as he was about to say something, the waitress arrived to place their drinks on the table. “Oh, thank ya.” Carefully, he sipped his milk before looking back up at Stan. “I think I do, yeah. But Eric doesn’t. Cuz, like I said, Kenny didn’t like, well, any of this, but he left me a lil’ note on the promise that I don’t show anybody else. I wasn’t even supposed to tell anyone else, but I don’t think you count, right?”

“Of course I don’t, I’m his friend!” Stan said with as much conviction as he could muster.

Again, Butters smiled at him. “Well, gee, that’s good to hear. It’s kinda hard to trust people nowadays, but you’re real neat, Stan.” Still smiling to himself, Butters grabbed the knife he’d been given. Then, while Stan stared at him, he began poking around the upper part of his right arm, until he arbitrarily chose a spot and stabbed himself.

Before Stan could tell Butters to stop, the man had cut through his own skin, placed his knife to the side, and then began digging through the hole. “Let’s see here, I remember putting it… Ah, there it is!”

He pulled out a small, blood-stained plastic bag, barely bigger than a matchbook.

“God fucking damnit Butters, what the hell are you-,”

Carefully, Butters opened the small bag and removed a little piece of paper from within. “Here ya go! Now, you’d better make sure not to get that revealed to any-,”

Stan grabbed Butters’ arm and pressed a napkin against the bleeding wound. “Fucking hell Butters, why would you do that?! Waitress? Waitress!” A curly-haired waitress turned to them with harelike eyes. “Yeah, you. Go get us some bandages, will you?”

Grumbling, Stan turned back to Butters, who watched him owlishly. “What is it, Butters?”

“No, I just…” Butters glanced off.

Well, that wasn’t an answer. Damn Butters. Couldn’t he just keep his all-important notes in like a normal bag or something? Did he really have to be so dramatic?

After less than a minute, the waitress returned with a small first-aid kit in hand. Stan took it from her and fixed up Butters. Sure, it was only skin-deep, but even such a small wound could easily become infected under the right conditions. Considering that he had cut himself with a fucking restaurant knife, there could really be anything in there.

By the time he had finished with the wound, the food had arrived.

They dug in.

And it was…

“What the fuck? How is this so good?!” Stan exclaimed. Sure, he hadn’t had anything to eat in several days, but that didn’t explain how tasty this damn food was. Glancing up, he found Butters in the throes of a similar delight, eating his burger sloppily with both hands. He grinned broadly at him.

“Yeah! Eric set really high standards for food cuz he likes it so much. I remember him telling me once that he’d like to be able to enter any restaurant in the country and exit with a smile on his face. Though, he hasn’t left his house in like thirty years, so I don’t think he really cared about it all that much.”

Stan scoffed. “That’s two good things about this future, then.”

Butters stared at him strangely. “Well, that’s kind of harsh, Stan.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that, well, things aren’t all bad, you know? And it’s not like I’m just saying it ‘cuz I’ve been in charge of a little too much ‘round here, but sustaining authority over an entire country needs a bit more than just threats and murder. Like-, well, we haven’t been in those parts of town, but poverty is next-to erased cuz it isn’t very profitable in the long run. People work better and harder if they’re happy and healthy. It also makes our occupation seem cooler to surrounding countries.”

For some reason, Stan wanted to disagree with him. The proxy-leader of a fascistic empire was eating burgers and trying to convince him that it wasn’t all bad, and yet, Stan found himself unable to muster any words.

“There’s also very little criminality,” Butters said with a resolute nod. “Ah, well, I mean, there kinda is, but it’s all state-regulated, you know? Like, if someone’s gonna die, we decide who and how.” His eyebrows squished together. “Gee, that didn’t sound all that nice… B-, but it’s true! Drugs are also legal for the most part, though they’re as heavily regulated as any other addictive substances.” A strange smile found itself onto his lips. “See? It isn’t all that bad!”

Stan turned away. Over by the play area, kids jumped over each other, running up and down stairs and tumbling down slides.

“I’ve only been here for like a day, Butters. I don’t know all that much, but can you really say this is a good future considering what happened to South Park?” Finding his footing, Stan puffed out his chest. “And what about that war, huh? There was nothing like that in my timeline. Sure, things might look a bit nice on the surface, but who’s to tell what’s going on beneath it all? How many people a year are quieted, all to ensure the ‘safety’ of the country? How about corporal punishments? Conscriptions?”

“There are faults to every country-,”

“Sure, but at least they accept that they do have them,” Stan argued hotly. “What about this place? Can you give one real critique of its actions? What about its laws? Think about the wars you’re currently entrapped in and tell me they aren’t a waste of time.”

“It’s a very complex issue-,”

“Then make it simple!” Stan cried. “Aren’t you supposed to know all about these kinds of things? About all the armies and what good comes from the wars?” A fire churned in the pit of his stomach. “Tell me, Butters, how many years have you been in a state of war so far? How many battles have you won or lost?” He glared at Butters. “How many good men have you lost so far?”

Butters faced him bravely. “The war has been going on in greater or lesser forms for twenty-two years, ever since public unrest grew too great to ignore. In order to handle them, Eric made the decision to avert attention. We had intended to wait a little longer, but there really was no choice. Since then, we have directly waged battle in seven countries, including France, Germany, Canada-,”

“Q-, quiet!” Stan said. “Just-, just be quiet, okay?” Butter’s jaw clamped shut. “You… ‘had no choice’?”

With sudden uncertainty, Butters nodded. “Y-, yes, that’s right.”

“You’re telling me there was no fucking way you could just step down and let the country govern itself again? You’d rather send soldiers to die in some stupid diversion-tactic than let the people exercise their right to choose their leader?”

Again, Butters nodded. But a thought clearly passed through him. “Well, the war really isn’t too bad.”

Stan could feel the sweltering fire in his stomach bristle. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“Most of them weren’t Jewish.” The way Butters said it, with such complete, total apathy made the fire in Stan’s chest lurch painfully. “Eric was really quite clever about it, cuz we had this huge population of really stalwart Christians and agnostics and atheists and all that, so he made the neat little choice that those people would get shipped off first. If you were a real honest believer of the true faith, or if you had some other family situation to handle, you’d get a pass. But not the non-Jewish. It’s almost a little funny, cuz we make this whole game about how we’re getting back at Germany, but at the same time, most people on the front really don’t wanna be there.”

Stan watched Butters for a few seconds, feeling how the heat in him gently died. Faced with a moment of silence, Butters continued.

“Yeah, that’s also a funny thing, cuz Eric didn’t like how I was acting at first, he said I was ‘way too fucking toasty,�� so he sent me off to the front lines. We were kinda currying up favours with Israel there at the beginning, so I helped around with subjugating Palestine once and for all. I really wanted to go home after that, but Eric told me I could only get home once I ‘achieved some authoritah’, so I worked my damn hardest at getting it. It took a couple ‘o years, but here I am!”

Stan swallowed dryly. He took a sip of his drink. “That’s great, Butters.”

An awkward silence fell over the table as neither of them could bring themselves to say anything else.

In the heat of a dark fire, Stan asked, “Tell me, Butters, if this place is so cool and awesome, how come you’re helping me at all?”

“Didn’t I tell ya? I owe you one for getting me ungrounded,” Butters stated simply.

“Yeah, I heard you.” He spoke as though possessed - as though he wasn’t confronting his only ally in the world. “But how can I even know if that’s true? You changed awfully quickly, even for you. With your background, how can I know you’re not fooling me by pretending to be Butters in order to make me drop my guard and tell me all my plans and secrets? How can I know you’re Butters and not Victor Chaos?”

Butters stared at him with a black, soulless gaze, and for once, his right eye was as dead as his left one was. “I guess you just can’t, huh?”

A shiver tore across Stan’s back.

And then the waitress arrived with a plate full of ice cream and Butters’ face lit up in such unbridled, childish glee that all tension just melted. If you simply looked at what information Stan knew about Victor, there was no chance in hell that such a fascistic war-veteran could possibly act at being Butters. When it came to Butters, there was no pretending.

Butters shoved a large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and squealed in joy. Stan gently face-palmed at his previous thoughts.

“...You don’t mind if I’ve committed a few war crimes, do you?” Butters asked through a mouthful of ice cream and chocolate sauce.

Stan’s mind went blank. “...Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure why or how, but anytime I shoot somebody, no matter where I aim, I always hit them in the weenie. That wasn’t really a crime in and of itself, but a few years before the war started, Eric went out of the way to make it a war crime to shoot people directly in the willie. I’m not really sure why he did that - d’ya think he’s ever been shot in the weewee?”

Slowly, carefully, with utmost methodology, Stan took a sip of his drink. It was all he could do to keep himself from showing his emotions violently. “Listen, Butters, no matter what you’ve done, it’ll all get erased when we’re done anyways. It’s okay. Just… Just try not to do it again, alright?”

Butters practically lit up. “Wowee, thanks, Stan! I was kinda worried about the destruction of Christian and Islamic holy houses using modern napalm, but it’s neat to hear you’re so open-minded. In war times, do as the warrers do, right?”

“Yeah, of course, Butters.” Stan silently got back to eating the ice cream, chanting in his mind that it didn’t matter since this future would anyways be changed.

…But what if it didn’t change? What if the Kenny of this world had never made a time machine or Cartman found them first? If the latter happened, Stan seriously doubted he’d get off on account of sentimentality. More likely, Cartman would demand whatever he wanted from him and he wouldn’t have any choice but to give it. And Butters…

The man in front of Stan happily licked his plate clean.

-Butters was, despite everything, just a man.

They could probably get to Kenny somehow, but even then there was a chance that he wouldn’t even help them, or he might already be dead.

Sighing, Stan let his gaze fall to the table, where he once again noticed the little note Butters had kept within his arm. He’d forgotten all about it, hadn’t he? Well, no time like the present. Stan reached out and grabbed it. But right as he was about to unfold it, he noticed Butters looking forlornly at Stan’s almost-full plate of ice cream. Wordlessly, Stan slid it over to him.

As the other man went at the ice cream with the vigour of a sugar-frenzied kid, Stan unfolded the small note.

‘Going to Canada. Dn’t tell Cartman. Fatass’ gonna have me killed. Come if you wanna do good.

PS, be nice to Stan

-Kenny’

Stan glanced across the table. Be nice to Stan, yeah, alright.

Turning over the note, Stan found an address to somewhere - hopefully where Kenny was staying. But it really was just as Butters had said. Kenny had, for apparently no specific reason, gone to Canada of all places.

“Hey, Butters?”

Butters looked up from where he was gorging himself on way too much ice cream. “Yeah? Yeah? Yeah? Wassup?”

Stan paused for a few seconds before speaking. “Uh, yeah, any idea how we’ll get to Canada? We should probably leave as soon as possible before Cartman tries anything fucking stupid.”

“Canada? We’re going there? Oh, boy! Yeah! Yeah! That’s gonna be so fun! I haven’t seen Kenny in like a million years! Holy moly! Gosh! Man! We can take my private jet, yeah? I drive planes sometimes! Eric told me it might come into use so I made sure to do it and also drop loads of bombs everywhere which was pretty neat!”

Now that Stan was actually looking at Butters, he was able to notice that the man was, indeed, trembling. Eyes wide, grin on full display, he looked about ready to explode.

“We-, erm, if we use your private plane, we’ll get noticed, and Canada will probably not let us in. If we’re lucky, depending on national relations, we might not get shot down. We’ll need to get in there at least semi-legally. If we have two separate governments after us, our chances are even slimmer than they already are.”

Butters blinked slowly at him, like a drunk frog. “Oh. Uhhh. Yeah! I mean, I feel like you’re wrong, but since you’re saying it, I’m sure you’re right. Yeah, yeah. Yeah!” Butters nodded broadly. “Plane go fast. Yes.”

“...Sounds great. Say, where’s the nearest airport?”

“Very near, yeah. We can go fast. Yup.”

A waitress carefully approached them, noticing how their plates were empty. “...Would you like your receipt?”

Stan turned to her, removing his attention from his sugarfrezied friend. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great, um, that’ll be 759 sheckles.”

A small slip of paper was placed between them, listing what they’d eaten. Stan removed his wallet from his pocket, opening it wide. As expected, it was only filled with American holo-dollars. He removed one and held it up to her. “I’ll assume you don’t take these?”

She froze in place, eyes quickly darting around before finally falling on Butters. Her voice fell to a hushed whisper. “Sir, I’d recommend you remove that from view or I’m sure you’ll get in trouble.” A strange fear found its way into her voice. “Please.”

“...Of course.” Quietly, Stan placed his dollars back in his wallet. He turned to Butters. “I guess you’ll pay for this one.”

Butters blinked at him, apparently only now brought back to reality. “My turn for what-now?”

“To pay,” Stan said simply.

“...Pay?” He glanced at the waitress and then down to the table, where the receipt lay easy. “Oh! Pay! Right, gotcha!” He stared at the receipt for a few seconds. “Um, pay - how?”

Stan felt his brows knit together. “Dude, you’re fucking-, just pay, man.”

Butters shook his head back and forth. “I ain’t got no money, Stan. Well, if ya think about it, what use would I have fer money anyways?”

“To-, to buy things?”

“Don’t get me wrong or nuthin’, that all sounds neat, but other people could just get that stuff for me, you follow?”

Stan burrowed his face in his hands. Great, just great. Now they’d have to spend all their damn time washing dishes all because Butters is a fucking hermit. Goddamnit.

“...So you two can’t pay?” the waitress said with suspicion.

“N-,”

“Yup, that’s right!” Butters said brightly.

Gently, Stan placed his forehead on the table and began banging his skull against it. Great. Great. Great. Just awesome.

“Then, I’m afraid I’ll have to-,”

“Say, missy, how ‘bout I give you something of equal value?”

Stan glanced up and found Butters giving him a strange, lopsided smile, as if to tell him ‘it’ll all be alright. Don’t worry.’ Somehow, Stan couldn’t really believe him.

“...Equal value?”

Butters leaned back casually. “Yeah! Most people don’t know nothin’ about it, but I’ll let you in on it.” He smiled in a way Stan had only seen him smile a few times before. “Have you ever heard of NFTs?”

A strange sensation of hopelessness gripped Stan’s heart and he felt oddly resigned to his fate.

“NFTs? What’s that?”

“You’re tired of this job, aren’t you? Always servin’ people, never gettin’ served yourself or anythin’. But that can all change! If you just listen to me, I can get you some good motherfuckin’ money.” What happened after that point was a blur, and Stan decided pretty early on that he’d better plug his ears, lest he should suddenly get an urge to lose what little money he had. Even then, by the end of it, he felt an extraordinary urge to make money and invest it in sketchy schemes.

Looking at the starry-eyed waitress, it was clear that she was far worse off. “Hang-, hang on, I need to do some stuff.”

And with that, she ran off, probably to unwillingly relinquish all her earthly possessions in exchange for a wiener-dog dressed as a Swiss yodeler.

“Alright, let’s go!” Butters said after it all, taking to his feet and stepping away from the table with a confident swagger that certainly wasn’t there before. Lost in the reverie you might have after watching a family home burn down, it took a few seconds before Stan stood up and scampered after Butters.

And off they went to the airport.

#south park #south park fanfiction #stan marsh #butters stotch #victor chaos #south park post covid

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friendlyfrat-boy · 4 years ago

Text

Kyle Dies Chapter 3

Sorry About That

TW - Major character death, gore.

Characters: Stan Marsh, Butters/Victor Chaos, Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman, etc.

Summary:

Will they ever succeed in making the world right again, or should they just give up, even if it means dooming everything and everyone they once held dear?

“W-, well, gee, that sure surprised me! Hey, Stan, are you okay? You seem kind of-,” Absently, Stan held Butters tighter. “Oh, okay.” Someone patted Stan on his back. “There, there. It’ll all be okay. How’d you like some hot chocolate, huh?”

That was enough to pull Stan out of it. Dislodging himself from Butters, he stood back up, wiping ruefully at his face. “Yeah, I’m alright. I just…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them again, he found Butters looking at him strangely. Seeing such a typical expression on such an old face felt weird. Since the man in front of him was supposedly middle-aged, one would have expected his face to be marred with plenty of infant wrinkles, but little such things could be seen.

Then again, wrinkles usually only appeared if one had the presence of mind to actually express emotions.

“You just what, Stan?” Butters asked with a tilt of the head. He was still sitting on the floor, too. Wearing a uniform. Talking like a child.

The very image felt so jarringly surreal that Stan almost staggered back. “Listen, Butters. We don’t have a lot of time before someone’s bound to notice that things in here have taken a turn for the strange, so I need you to tell me everything you know. Everything.”

After looking at him for a few seconds, Butters carefully stood back up again. Just as Stan was about to wonder if he’d ‘turned back’ again, Butters poked his fingers together and glanced at one of the walls. “Well, uh, that’s quite a lot of stuff. So, um… What kind of stuff do you need to know? I may not know as much as The Heart, but I was in the know on a lot of cool stuff!”

Searching his mind, Stan eventually grabbed a hold of the nearest question. “Let’s start with that one - who is The Heart? You’ve gotta know, right? You said he met you himself, so-,”

“It’s Eric.”

Stan blinked. “...Eric Cartman?”

Butters nodded. “Eric Cartman.”

“...Cartman.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. Fucking hell. “Goddamnit Cartman.”

“B-, but I’m sure he’s doing it for a good reason!” Butters said.

Stan resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, he settled on just massaging his temples and taking a very, very deep breath. “Alright, shoot. Tell me what good Cartman is doing for the world.”

“Uh, well, that’s…” Butters rubbed at his neck. “Wh-, why else would he go and take over the nation? I mean, yeah, he’s always been talking about how important your arrival will be, but there’s gotta be more to it than that. I think. I’m actually not all that sure, but he seemed so sure of it that I couldn’t really disagree or anythin’.” He paused for a few seconds, brows furrowing. “...He wouldn’t make all of America Jewish just ‘cuz, would he?...”

The worst part was that Stan couldn’t say for certain that that was indeed the case.

Cartman was, for all his evil, not exactly one-dimensional. Hell, even in his own timeline, Cartman had chosen to become Jewish. Maybe the religion just beckoned to him or something? Either that, or it had something to do with Kyle.

Scratch that, it definitely had something to do with Kyle. According to what Kyle had been trying to say in the other timeline, Cartman had only gone Jewish and assembled a lovely family in order to fuck with him. Whether that was actually the case or not was uncertain, and Stan was absolutely not about to assume he knew enough about his childhood friend to judge his adult personality. It could be either way.

But it was absolutely about Kyle. Somehow.

“Okay, okay. Great. Cartman is in charge of the entire country. Perfect. Just perfect.” Something in his chest burnt strangely as he began to pace around the room, only barely noticing how Butters seemed to want to say something. Maybe to comfort him, but there really wasn’t much that could be said. “Next question. I need to know-,” his breath hitched. “I really need to know what happened to South Park. Why did-... Please. Tell me why Cartman would do that.”

Butters’ eye shone brighter but quickly dulled, probably from realising that the answer he knew so well would likely not go over well with Stan. “W-, well, that’s…”

Stan couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice as he said, “Well? Out with it, Butters.”

The man gulped. “This was all of 34 years ago, so I might not remember all too well, but-,” Stan glared at him, making him jump in his skin. “You-, you remember how Eric came to visit me, right? Cuz I was out sellin’ and investin’ and makin’ all kinds of motherfucking money and it interfered with his business of converting the whole country into Judaism? But-, but when he came to visit, well…”

“People recognized him, you know? First the kids, but then also loads of adults said hi to him. I’m not sure why, but that made him real upset. So he told everyone, he said: ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ and since it was his word, they had to do it. Sure, he didn’t have the kind of power he has now, but he had enough followers and stuff to make it happen. So everyone had to leave South Park. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I remember him saying something about how since a country lived through its citizens, if he just got rid of all the South Park residents, South Park too would die. Pretty gruesome stuff, huh?”

“...Yeah.”

“B-, but he didn’t have ‘em all leave! I don’t know if it was ‘cuz I seemed so useful, but he decided that us kids were more malleable than the adults. Handy.” A thoughtful look passed over his face. “I kind of think he was just bein’ all sentimental though, ‘cuz he only took people from our class. The ones in South Park, at least. Everyone else, however…” Suddenly, as though a thought struck him unexpectedly, his eyes widened in realisation. “Oh! Uh… Sorry about your family, Stan. They wouldn’t leave your farm, and lots of other people were starting to rile behind them, so we decided to just…”

Stan was on top of him before he had any idea of what he was doing, hands wrapped firmly around Butters' throat. A pair of eyes stared up at him with little surprise.

He breathed heavily. His chest was burning again, the fire snaking out of his arms and into his hands, hoping to burn the man he was now on top of to a crisp. Somewhere deep inside him, Stan wanted Butters to react like a child - to have him scream or beg for mercy or cry or holler excuses Stan wouldn’t believe. But he didn’t. Butters simply looked up at him, his eyes - one dead and one alive - filled with nothing but resignation.

He tightened his grip. And yet, there was no response.

The fire erupted through his throat as an immense sob. “-Why?”

“They had to-,”

“Why!?”

Through his fingers, Stan felt how Butters gulped. His eyes were cool and calm but the fire in Stan’s throat was still spreading, going up and into his head and pressing out of his eyes. Large, heavy drops of molten lava dropped onto Butters’ face so far below.

He said nothing.

Stan’s hands trembled. “...Why won’t you make excuses?...”

Butters simply watched him with a maturity Stan had thought banished. “I’ve got none to give. If you want me dead, then it’s ‘cuz I deserve it. I’ve done loads of stuff that’d get me in this situation. Whether it’s you or some other guy doesn’t matter all that much, does it?”

His breaths rattled through him like burning smoke.

Slowly, he released his grip. And still, Butters wouldn’t move. His eyes remained stoic.

Stan stood up, feeling way too tired to do any of this. “...Stand up, dude.”

Moving solemnly, Butters once more returned to his feet. Stan let his eyes fall on him. It was Butters, but it wasn’t the Butters he had once been. Shaking his head, Stan sighed. Forty years were forty years.

“...What happened to everyone else? All the adults?”

Butters averted his gaze.

“...Alright. It’s… It’s okay.” Stan glanced at the man who might be his only ally in the world. “If we do the thing we need to do, it won’t matter. If we succeed in turning back the clock and making sure none of this happens, none of this will exist anyways. None of the death, none of the suffering… Nothing.”

“Well, gee, that sure sounds neat!”

Stan grimaced at him. “Butters, I’m talking about going back in time to save Kyle. You know what that means, right? If we do it, neither of us will exist. We’ll die.”

Butters blinked at him. “Yeah, so?”

“Dude, do you really want to go through that? You’ll literally lose everything you have! Are you seriously going to help me erase this entire world and everything in it? Why?”

Seeing the way Butters was looking at him, Stan felt as though he’d asked him why the planet was round. “I owe you one, don’t I? I mean-, you got me ungrounded, so it’s really the least I can do, right?”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Stan could remember someone once telling him not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Uh, well, okay.” If Butters wanted to help him, it made all of this far easier. Not to mention the physical assistance this would definitely bring, it also happened to be so that it was much more doable to save the world when you weren’t alone. “Then, since we’re planning on time travelling, there’s one thing I really need to ask you-,”

Brring brring.

“General Chaos? Am I still to send in The Two? We decided to wait, but there’s been quite a bit of shouting in there-,”

The look Stan and Butters shared was practically telepathic.

For a few seconds, they both just ran in circles, flailing their arms until Stan finally calmed down enough to grab Butters by the shoulders and shake him hard enough to give him a concussion. Then, before Butters could do something stupid, he slapped his face twice and pointed to the phone. Do something! he mouthed as clearly as he could. Butters blinked at him before giving a salute and scampering to the phone.

He brought it to his ear. “H-, hi? No, erm… Greetings, Bebe.” The faux-deep voice he gave assured Stan that they were already fucked.

Silence. “...General? Is everything alright?”

“N-, no! Well, yes, erm…” Butters glanced over at Stan to find him slashing his thumb over his neck threateningly. “Everything is okay. Yup. Me an’ Stan were just havin’ a good ‘ol time, so there’s no need to worry there.” As it turned out, not even making a giant X with his arms would make Butters say the right thing. “So, uh, no need to send in Tweek and Craig or anything, ‘cuz we’re totally cool in here. Yessir.”

“...I’ll send them in.”

Stan and Butters shared a glance.

This was it then? Well, it’d been a pretty good run. At least he made Butters into Butters. Whatever Cartman had in store for them, it surely couldn’t be all that ba-,

A pair of hands grabbed his and he looked up to find Butters’ serious eyes staring into his. With no words said, Butters pulled Stan across the room and towards a wall. With a pull of a stereotypical candlestick, a piece of the wall opened into a dimly lit corridor. In a movement so swift Stan could barely perceive it, Butters dragged him inside the doorway and closed the hidden door behind him just as the door inside the office opened.

On the other side, Stan heard Craig say, “...Where are they?”

Throat filled with questions, Stan turned back to Butters only to find a finger pressed against his lips. “Shh.” Stan obliged.

Outside their little hiding place, Craig and Tweek argued back and forth for a few seconds before Tweek left to ask Bebe if there were any hidden exits.

In that brief moment before their discovery, Butters once again took his hands and began to run down the hallway, pulling Stan with him. As said before, Stan was by no accounts an athletic man. You couldn’t even say he was in shape, much less slim. He was, by all measures, a man who reviewed alcohol for a living. It took barely three minutes until he was out of breath and had to lean against a wall to catch it.

“Gee Stan, that’s kinda pathetic,” Butters mumbled. If Stan hadn’t already been at death’s door, he might have given a quip of some sort. Instead, he just panted as Butters trained his attention on the long hallway behind them. Far back, the echoes of footsteps could be heard. “Hey, Stan? How much do you weigh?”

Stan furrowed his brows. “Eighty-four. Why?” He sincerely hoped Butters wasn’t about to do what he thought he was.

Butters bent down and presented his back. “Alright, hop on, buddy!”

He was. Stan wanted to get a piggyback ride from Butters about as much as a lobster wanted to be cooked, but it wasn’t as though he had a choice in the matter. All he could do was hop on board and hope Butters knew what he was doing. His own weight aside, there was no feasible way that Butters could properly run with a man of Stan’s weight on his back. Was there?...

Butters didn’t seem chuffed in the least by any of Stan’s worries. Instead, he just grabbed Stan’s legs, said “Hupp!” and stood up. And then, he started running.

It was nowhere near as quickly as he’d been running before, but compared to Stan’s speed, it was almost overwhelming. If only Butters would stop saying “Hupp! Hupp! Hupp!” with every step he took.

This close, Stan was furthermore made privy to another piece of information he hadn’t quite been able to notice before. With Butters dressed in an extravagant suit that jingled like a glockenspiel with every movement big and small, Stan hadn’t been able to tell what Butters’ body was like beneath it. Now on his back, Stan was able to tell that he was built like a veteran soldier. His back was strong and hard as steel. There was nary a piece of body fat to be found.

On his back, Stan couldn’t help but feel somewhat outgunned. Even worse, how in the hell had Butters been able to get such a body? This wasn’t the type of physique achieved with training and weight-lifting alone. And his reaction to facing death…

The conclusion of all of these facts was not one Stan wanted to pull.

“Everythin’ alright back there? You’ve been kinda quiet,” Butters said. Even after running for several minutes straight, his breathing remained easy and stable.

“Huh? Oh, no, I… I was just thinking.” A short pause. “Does this corridor end soon? We’ve been going for like, ten minutes or something.”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve never actually had to go through here, but it shouldn’t be much further. You know, once we get out there, I know just the place to go! I’ve been seein’ it for like six years now, but I always knew if I tried to go there people would get real upset with me,” Butters said hopefully. Then, before Stan could reasonably enough ask what kind of place it was, Butters began to softly sing to himself. “All kosher meats and salads~ Tasty burgers and pancakes~ Come get it all~”

Stan was starting to doubt if making Butters into Butters had been a good idea.

A few minutes later, after passing through another door, they arrived outside. With the sky painted orange and pink against the cityscape, it was clear that evening had arrived. Knowing what time of day it was made Stan just a little happier, though it was marred by the realisation that he hadn’t had any food in more than a day. It was tough to find time for food when time travelling.

How lucky it was that Butters knew just where to get food. It took a while for them to truly make certain that they were no longer pursued, but once that passed, Butters wasted no time leading him down a well-populated street.

“I usually have my own private chef guy make all kinds of tasty foods for me, but it’s not like you can ask him to go buy food from some other restaurant, right? It’d be a betrayal or something, and it would make me seem like a traitor for making him betray his passion. You catch me? Sure, I could maybe have him make like the foods they sell there, but if I did that he’d probably go an’ see me as a lesser person. General Chaos can’t just go an’ lower his standards right down to what any ol’ peasant eats.” Butters squinted. “...Can he?”

And as with every other rhetorical question Butters had asked in the past half-an-hour since he began inanely rambling about nothing and everything, Stan chose not to answer.

Indeed, going to where they were going was taking way too much time and was attracting even more attention. It seemed that Butters wasn’t called the ‘Proxy Leader of the Nation’ for nothing, as almost every pedestrian walking the crowded city streets gave them a wide-eyed stare before hurriedly looking away and scampering off. At first, Stan was assured this would get them discovered some way or another, but that was pretty clearly not the case.

It seemed that, with Butters’ rank, people were simply not going to risk pointing him out. If he’d been any less prominent, people would have called the authorities by now. But since it was General Chaos, people had made the decision to turn a blind eye.

Regardless, the sight of a person in military garb walking next to a kippah-less man in cuffs was probably strange enough all on its own.

“Gee, in all honesty, just walkin’ around here like this is pretty cool, ‘cuz anytime I’d want to do something like this, they’d all just-,”

“Butters,” Stan said, cutting him off mid-sentence. “We need to get you dressed in something less…” He looked Butters up and down. “Conspicuous.”

Butters blinked at him before looking down at his overly extravagant uniform and its approximately gazillion medals. “-You really think so? Well, er, what’s wrong with a few medals? Or is it more like the green that’s wrong?”

Stan gestured at the whole outfit. “All of it. It’s not like it’s bad or anything, it’s just…” He nodded at the staring crowd around them. But as soon as Butters turned to look at them, they all turned away, unable to meet his gaze.

“-Just what?”

Stan frowned. “Nothing against a nice hot meal, Butters, but how about we go to your house first and have you put on some more regular clothes?”

Butters tilted his head like a confused puppy. “...My house?” His blond brows furrowed. “Regular clothes-?”

Stan couldn’t honestly believe he was actually hearing this. “Please tell me you have a house. You don’t sleep in your fucking office, do you?”

“W-, well, no, but-,” Butters gave a strange smile and glanced over at a nearby building with his own face on it. “I-, I have my own room! That’s something, right? Eric once told me that if I spent all day workin’ and all night sleepin’, I’d be a better leader. So I don’t really do anything else…” He poked his fingers together and Stan remembered that this was Butters he was talking to.

“But you’ve at least got a wardrobe, right? Nobody can live their whole lives in one outfit.”

“-pair of PJs…”

Stan turned back to Butters. “What did you say?”

Butters’ face grew tight and flushed. “I’ve-, I’ve only got a pair of PJs. My uniform gets washed every night, and Eric said I should present a militaristic image so that-,”

“Well, fuck Cartman! How can he just-, fucking asshole, I bet you a thousand dollars he’s lazing away in a goddamn mansion this very second! Does he actually do anything at all? The Heart this and The Heart that, I bet he’s just hiding behind that name to get out of ruling this fucking empire himself!” Stan threw his hands in the air before realising that he was still cuffed, causing him to bring them back down with a grumble. “A pair of lousy PJs. What an ass.”

And only now did Stan realise that Butters was looking at him with perfect befuddlement. “...What is it?”

“N-, no, I just…” Butters frowned and scratched his cheek. “Well, I just wasn’t expecting you to get all heated about me only having two outfits.”

“I’m not! It’s just that Cartman-,”

Butters crossed his arms. “Well, now you’re just lyin’ to yourself!”

“I-,” Stan clamped his mouth shut. Damn it, when did Butters get so persuasive? “...Let’s just find some clothes. Having you walk around like that is practically begging for someone to notice you.”

For a few seconds, Butters just looked at him. No, not at him. More like right through him. “If you wanna repress this all, that’s fine too, I guess.” He uncrossed his arms and placed them on his hips. “...Can I get a turquoise shirt?”

“Let me guess, you haven’t worn that colour in thirty-four years?”

Butters smiled sheepishly.

Stan sighed. “You’re the one who’s gonna wear it, dude.”

Silently, they stepped inside the nearest clothes shop. As might be expected from an office-dwelling caveman, Butters gawked at pretty much everything he could see, ogling every piece of fabric and metal as though it was made of solid gold.

“Welcome to 100% Kosher Clothatopia, how may I-,” The shopkeep who so graciously appeared before them paled in an instant, his eyes flaring wide open at the two of them. Or, rather, at Butters. It was almost funny to see, if it didn’t present so many issues for their future endeavours. “Y-, you are…” It almost looked like his heart was about to stop. Once Butters brought himself out of his reverie enough to look at the shopkeep, he paled enough to suggest cardiac arrest as a realistic possibility.

Mind clearly running at five hundred miles per hour, he quickly bowed down, showing the ornate kippah crowning the back of his head. “M-, my liege! This is a most unexpected visit, I wasn’t aware that-,” Butters looked at him oddly and he visibly shrunk back even more. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m sorry, I will never again question your motives! I just-,”

Recognizing that he was about to go on some grovelling ramble, Stan cut straight to the chase. “Uh, hi, we’re here to buy just normal clothes. Hopefully in turquoise. You got any like that?”

The shopkeep nodded with his whole body, bowing in a bobbing motion. “Yes! Yes! For the exalted General, we have anything!”

A few minutes later and Butters was dressed like the newly-crowned regent of Oceania. “Buddy, this is a bit…”

“Ah, I see it is too tottery for a man such as yourself! Forgive me, please, our assortment is a bit… This is but a plain store. In truth, there is nothing we own that could possibly clothe our dear ruler. If-, if you only go to the store on the other side of the street - Fully Kosher Kippahs and More - I am assured that they will give you everything you need. I assure you. Yes, fully.”

Stan placed a hand on the shopkeep’s shoulder, feeling how he twitched at the mere touch. “Listen, if you just let us look for things ourselves, I’m sure we can-,”

“N-, no! How can I possibly let the sublime ruler choose for himself? I-, I must-,”

“Now listen here, I’m right about sick of being treated like some sort of dress-up toy!” Butters said with surprisingly strong annoyance. “Maybe-, maybe for once, I’d like to clothe myself, huh?”

The shopkeep looked as though he’d died on two feet. Then, rigidly, he bowed down. “Yes, of course, sopleasesparemeIhaveawifeandfourkids.” While saying that last nigh-incomprehensible bit, he shuffled back and out of sight - still bowed down - with stunning agility. Stan almost wanted to applaud him, but not with Butters looking so chuffed.

Removing the extravagantly gold-and-pink patterned shirt from his body, Butters gave a huff. “Stupid people always puttin’ stupid clothes on me…”

It was just as Stan had thought while on Butters’ back. Butters was, by all means, absolutely ripped. He looked strong enough to chest press a horse, if not a bull. But that wasn’t what really got his attention. Beyond the scar across his eye, countless similar mutilations persisted across his body in the forms of burns, frostbites and simple cuts and bruises. Nothing recent, thankfully, but it all seemed to have stung pretty harshly at the time.

Stan couldn’t bring himself to ask about it. Rather, he simply trailed after Butters as he picked out a pair of simple season-appropriate pants, a turquoise shirt and everything else he might need. And then, finally, he spent a few minutes in the kippah section, looking at the little ornate hats with a strange confusion before finally leaving without taking any one of them.

“Will-, will that be all, my liege?” the shopkeep asked, wringing his hands nervously behind the register.

Butters glanced at Stan. In turn, Stan shook his head. He was content. “Nah, we’re good.”

Nodding, the shopkeep began nervously poking buttons on the register before finally reaching an amount. He paled considerably. “W-, well, normally we’d take around 2 799 shekels for the outfit, and together with the cost of returning your liege’s uniform to the proper authorities, it would be-,” Butters stared at him - slowly blinking. The shopkeep began to tremble even more. “But of course, since it is the ruler of this nation, how can we possibly ask you to pay for what we have already received plenty of? P-, please, take it. I beg of you.”

“Whoa, really?” Butters broke into an innocent smile. “Well, gee! That’s real swell of you! Thanks!”

“Yes, yes, sopleasesparemyfamily.”

With the chime of a bell, they stepped out. “That sure went well! What a nice guy, though it was kinda weird that he was calling me tonnes of weird stuff.”

Stan glanced at Butters. “Yeah, sure was.”

“So we can go there now, right? You promised, didn’t you?”

Stan wasn’t sure what counted as a promise or not, but his stomach told him that he needed it. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

And go they did.

Soon enough, Kosher Denny’s Applebee’s reared on the horizon and Stan couldn’t remember ever seeing Butters so excited.

#stan marsh #south park #south park post covid #victor chaos #butters stotch #south park fanfiction

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friendlyfrat-boy · 4 years ago

Text

Kyle Dies Chapter 2

Grounded For Life

TW - Major character death, gore.

Characters: Stan Marsh, Butters/Victor Chaos, Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman, etc.

Summary:

Will they ever succeed in making the world right again, or should they just give up, even if it means dooming everything and everyone they once held dear?

They wouldn’t speak to him.

After they tackled him to the floor, they wasted no time slapping a pair of cuffs on him and bringing him over to one of the many helicopters they had arrived in. The flying vehicles seemed a bit old in design and make, but it could really just be that this world hadn’t developed as far as it would’ve without Kyle’s death.

Stan pulled his lips tight. Even now, it didn’t feel real.

Kyle was dead, and yet, it felt like it was just some unrelated kid. If it could even be called that. Stan had been torn out of the world before even a minute had passed since Kyle’s death. It felt unreal, just like this entire situation. Logically, he knew that he should have been more terrified. The fact that these black-ops people arrived only with the death of the Rabbi couldn’t have been a coincidence.

That Rabbi, Kyle’s monument…

Stan shook his head. And still, the thoughts lingered. Slowly, he shut his eyes, letting his thoughts drift to the feeling of the helicopter humming outside and the static of the Tzadik members’ comms. He tried to filter through the whirring and understand what was being said and copied and recounted, but all he got was more questions and more uncertainty. At least they hadn’t blindfolded or gagged him.

Opening his eyes again, Stan found his gaze moving to watch the outside. From high above, he could clearly see that the entirety of South Park was run-down. The mayor’s office, the school, the main street… Out of instinct, Stan turned his attention to the suburban streets he had grown up on.

…Not even his old house had been spared.

The helicopter quickly moved over the town, sparing no interest in the no-longer quaint place. The outskirts of the town were no different. Where cows had once grazed and crops had once grown, massive bustling brushes clawed and dominated. The houses stood empty - abandoned.

Absently, Stan recounted the names of the farmers who had lived in certain places. He hadn’t known them for long, but he had known them well enough. Once, his dad had taken him to a dance thing with all the other rural farmers since it was ‘good for business’ and that ‘maybe if you pick up some farmer chick we can get her dad’s land and do some expanding.’ That was obviously a bust - the farmers kicked them both out the second they set foot in the barn.

Just as a smile almost touched Stan’s lips, he noticed the house of their former neighbours, standing tall and proud. That would mean that Tegrity Farms should be nearby. Against all odds, Stan felt a small burst of hope run through his chest. After all, in this timeline, wasn’t there a fair chance that the barn hadn’t burned down? After all, he set fire to it, and in this world, he had been time-warped into the future.

Maybe Shelly was alive and mum was-,

Tegrity Farms reared on the horizon. At a mere glance, any such notions were quickly turned to ash.

The barn was burnt, leaving only charred beams standing like the skeleton of an ashen carcass. But it wasn’t just the barn. The fields were burnt black, the house likewise turned from loving home into dead ash. The only thing that still stood was the sign outside, though the wooden ornament had been hacked into two pieces.

But through it all, Stan found his eyes transfixed on a single spot. Just outside the doorway, all placed in a cluster, were three little black things. From so high up, they looked like ants, or stickmen. One large, clutching two smaller ones in its burnt arms. All three on their knees.

Stan could feel his heart stop, his chest growing tight and burning and frozen and horrible. Something in the back of his head screamed but nothing came out of his throat. Nothing but a single, pathetic whimper.

Across the helicopter, the eyes of an agent drilled into Stan even from behind his visor. Stan gulped, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat.

“Those who refuse The Heart,” the agent said smoothly, “meet only a swift end.”

The blood in his body froze to ice. Nothing would leave his throat - no sharp retort, no quick jab, and no easy breaths. He could barely breathe at all. The metal walls swam in his vision and he hadn’t noticed before how itchy and tight his cuffs were.

“Wh-, why…” He took a deep, ragged breath. With all the energy he had to muster, he locked eye contact with the agent in front of him. He had to keep his voice steady. Steeling his heart, he said, “Why?”

The agent stared at him blankly. “The will of The Heart is not to be ignored. Denying him for the simple reason of sentimentality…” A rare show of emotion; a sneer. “Some are better used as examples than pawns.”

A fire flared in Stan’s chest. He suppressed the need to strangle the man that sat before him. Instead, he said, “What about everyone else? What happened to-,”

A shake of the head stopped him from asking anything else. “It is not my place to know, nor is it yours.” Behind the visor, something gleamed. “Only know that you are not necessarily spared such a fate.”

Goosebumps spread across Stan’s back. Inside, he felt his meagre conviction stagger and crumble. His chest felt so hollow.

Moving with stunning quickness, the helicopter flew over South Park and through the nearby regions. At least they remained alive. It wasn’t all that much to look like, but there were at least people buzzing around. Unlike South Park. Damnit.

Why? Why spare these stupid-ass nameless towns only to leave South Park a shrivelling husk? If these bastards were to destroy, could they not do so equally?

On that note, who even were these people? The Heart this and The Heart that, unless Stan knew who he was actually dealing with, how could he possibly react with anything but horror and confusion?

At least, from so high up, he could get some sense of what the world was like.

Compared to the future he had arrived from, it was a lot more run-down. There were little bright colours on anything or anyone. Shops stood reserved and careful - billboards showing quotes and war posters rather than advertisements.

…War posters?

Hoping that he had finally gone cuckoo, Stan squinted at the nearest billboard.

“The Heart commands all able young men to stand their ground and give to Germany what they took from Us.”

He felt like rubbing his eyes. Instead, he glanced at the next one he could see.

“Loyalty makes a man.” This statement seemed to be a quote rather than a direct plea to join ’The War’, but it nonetheless suggested that being loyal to your country was key to being masculine. How outdated. Stan almost rolled his eyes, but if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to catch the name of the supposed man who had said it.

“-Victor Chaos?...” Oh, no. Oh god no. That had to be a coincidence. Closing his eyes, Stan absently rubbed the bridge of his nose. If Butters had gone that bad by the regular timeline, how bad could he have gotten with this? Right as Stan’s thoughts began to spiral into hopelessness, a voice chimed in.

“You’ve heard of the exalted General?” Stan barely had enough energy to open his eyes and glare ruefully at the agent. The man shook his head. “Of course. It is only a matter of time before you’re brought before him. After all, he is the one that decides whether you live or die. His words weigh as heavy as The Heart’s, for he is his throat.”

Stan had the feeling that if he made an indecent joke, it might be the last thing he ever did.

Wisely, he chose not to say anything.

The helicopter continued, leaving him with his own thoughts.

The Heart seemed to be the person with power here. Somehow, someway, Butters was on the same level. The real question here was whether that was a good or a bad thing.

Of all people Stan knew or had once known, Butters was probably the easiest to manipulate. He was naive and he was foolish and even innocent. Even as Victor Chaos, he still found himself manipulated by Cartman. It seemed it was Butters’ lot in life to always find himself ruled by another. First his parents, then Cartman, and now ‘The Heart’.

He was a pushover. It was as simple as that.

…Hopefully.

In truth, it was more of a delusion than anything. If Butters was as foolish as always, Stan might actually have a chance to get out of this with his life and freedom intact. Not that he’d even know what to do with the latter. What was there he could do? The whole world had gone to hell. Kyle was dead. His family was dead.

Was there even anything left to live for?

He shook his head dismissively.

Everything may have gone to hell, but that didn’t mean he had nothing left to live for! They’d gone back in time once, hadn’t they? If he could only go back again, then he could change it again. For the better. He could make sure Kyle and his family lived. Covid and everything else was just secondary. It didn’t matter. Not in the face of the world Stan saw so far below.

He just had to time travel again.

…All on his own?

Face it, on his lonesome, Stan had absolutely no chance. If Kenny had made a time machine in this reality as well he would already have gone back to set things right. But he hadn’t. Or was it because he couldn’t? For all he knew, Kenny might have already gotten killed by some bastards who wanted to keep the world as it was, no matter the price. And if not that, then Kenny might be on their side already, working for them.

Without Kenny, Stan didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of succeeding. And even with Kenny, it wasn’t as though he just made up the whole idea out of nowhere. It took years of research and tonnes of money.

There was no guarantee that this would work.

But he didn’t have any other choice.

Oh, assuming Butters didn’t stupidly decide he should die. But it was Butters. No matter the reality, he should stay about the same, right?

The flight continued for a few more hours, the majority of which Stan spent watching the cities as they passed below. He made out buildings and companies and billboards and everything in-between, and through it all, he came to a very strange realisation.

The Rabbi had said the right thing. This place, this country…

Somehow, in a mere forty years, it had become Jewish. Synagogues dotted cities and towns alike, easily beating out typical Christian churches, of which only singular examples could be found. It felt wrong. Such a change in nationwide religion should take hundreds of years, not to mention the intense societal backlash that ought to follow. It wasn’t as though all the millions of Christians in the country would just sit idle while synagogues replaced their churches.

…Or would they?

The Hebrew Theocracy. The title would suggest a fascistic country ruled by religion.

And that was exactly what he saw. From a bird’s eye perspective, Stan saw it all.

And then they reached Washington D.C.

With their descent, it was all-too-obvious that it wasn’t just part of the country, or a single state, but rather the entire nation that had been overtaken. Stan might have been more impressed if the idea didn’t frighten him so much. Could the death of a single child truly change so much? Was this the butterfly effect in place?

Lost in thought, Stan barely noticed how the helicopter touched down and the agents led him out of it. A group of men in military garb met him, led by two men clearly dressed as officers, distinguished from the others. Those two… Stan recognized them the instant he saw them. “Tweek? Craig?”

They somehow looked much older than they had been even in his present. Their eyes were hollow and empty, devoid of that spark the two used to share. Most eerie of all, Tweek wasn’t even trembling a little. Not only did the two share the same pair of world-weary eyes, but so too did they both carry a similar medal adorning their chests. If he’d been a bit more relaxed, Stan might have leaned in to see what they said.

Craig took a step towards him, looking him up and down and clearly finding him lacking. “Stan Marsh,” he greeted, though it seemed more out of formality than familiarity.

Stan nodded at him. “Craig.”

“The Heart has long awaited you.”

Stan shrugged. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.” Was exactly everyone going to tell him that? It was starting to get repetitive. “What does he even-,”

“You do not have the right to speak of him.” With that said, Craig turned around, showing his back. “Come. Your fate has yet to be decided.” Clearly leaving no room for debate. Just looking at the other officers and soldiers, it was clear that if he didn’t choose to join them, they’d simply force them to.

Mutely, he followed behind them.

Moving with militant swiftness, they brought him into the building that stood right in front of them. Stan had never seen it in his life, and the appearance of it brought Stan no questions. It really just looked like an odd cross between a bunker and a synagogue, with thick concrete walls and strange out-of-place religious decorations here and there. It was almost perverse in its worship, and now that he was actually on the ground, he was able to see many more of these strange examples.

Almost all men who walked by wore a kippah. Those that didn’t carried a pin showing some other religious affinity, though these people were few and far between. There were more billboards too, though they were too far away for Stan to read. Posters, flyers and murals all stoically implored the people to join the war.

Just before they entered the oppressive building, Stan caught a glimpse of a large banner flying outside. A banner of a yellow-haired man with a scar over his left eye.

He looked more serious than Stan had ever seen him.

That didn’t bode well.

The door before them was opened by a pair of guards, even though they should have been automated. Well inside, each of the officers touched a little post to the side of the door. It was similar to the one Stan could remember Kyle had in his home, but at the same time, it was far more extravagant in both design and make. Beyond the doorpost were more guards. It almost seemed as though the entire building was populated entirely by them in the form of squadrons patrolling hallways or standing outside individual rooms looking intimidating. Stan tried counting each guard as they passed at first, but he lost count around the 100 mark. And yet, the hallway just kept going.

Further and further inside, until the steel and concrete walls grew colour and the floor found itself a fancy carpet and all of a sudden they weren’t moving through a military semi-bunker, but instead what almost seemed like a presidential suite. Lit with crystal chandeliers probably worth more than anything Stan had ever owned, the walls that now carried apathetic landscape paintings held an almost angelic glow. There were just as many guards as there had always been if not more, but they carried themselves with a regality that couldn’t be found before.

It was a strange shift, made all the more obvious as they finally - after far too long - entered a room.

With this, all officers apart from Tweek and Craig left, leaving the three of them alone in the room. Well, not quite.

“You’re here to meet General Chaos, I assume?” He wasn’t even surprised to see Bebe sitting all posh and proper behind a desk fancy enough for the pope to use as a barstool. The room itself seemed to be a mixture of a waiting room and a secretary’s office, though the luxury of it all made both comparisons feel next to futile. Returning his eyes to Bebe, he found her cool eyes trained squarely on him. “Stan Marsh, I see. Well, better late than never. Colonel O’Connell is already there, but he’s always there, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

There was something about her eyes that Stan didn’t like. Time had its toll on everyone, but something in her gaze - something formerly hidden behind the icy blue irises was gone.

She poked a few buttons on her desk. After a few seconds, a beep resounded. “You’re welcome inside.” A soulless smile usually reserved for customers you didn’t like spread across her lips and Stan realised what she was missing.

All joy for life.

“Thank you,” Craig replied blandly as he opened the door. His eyes turned on Stan. “Enter.”

“You’re not-?”

He shook his head. “It is not our place.”

“Uh… Okay.” Warily, he stepped through the door and into the office. Compared to the waiting room outside, it was far more extravagant. And yet, somehow, it felt even more soulless. The portraits and bland landscape paintings that decorated the walls seemed more so picked by a designer than by anyone who actually cared. Chairs, desk and cupboards were all made of finest wood and craftsmanship, adorning the room with a pleasant humble smell.

It was oppressively ornate in the dullest way possible.

“Have you finished internally criticising my office, Marsh?” A voice as smooth as cyanide made Stan’s attention snap back to the desk. There sat Butters. The desk itself was clearly made of some fancy wood, its surface polished to the point where it almost looked like a liquid. Otherwise, the desk was rather simple, holding stacks of folders and papers and pencils and a phone, and… And now that Stan truly looked at it, there wasn’t a computer of any kind. The phone was old fashioned even by the standards of Stan’s childhood. Even the facility around them as a whole was more modern than this.

“I despise technology.” The voice cut through Stan like a knife rending flesh and Stan turned his eyes to the man who had spoken them. He had been unable to bear looking at him before, but there he was. Their eyes met and Stan felt as though a thousand needles were pressing into his body. Behind him, a red stained-glass window painted the room bloody.

If Bebe’s eyes had been lifeless, Butters’ were beyond dead. Neither interest, care nor presence shone in them - only an everlasting apathy. Struck by a sudden weightlessness, Stan stared at Butters’ left eye. A scar ran across it, leaving the pupil a pale, lifeless blue. Stan never had found out whether he was blind in that eye or not. He sure as hell wasn’t asking now.

“You are in the presence of General Chaos and you dare remain silent?!” someone shouted and Stan dragged his eyes over to finally notice the other person in the room - Colonel O’Connell. Or Dougie, as they had called him all those years ago. Now, such a tawdry nickname would do him no service. He was not an especially tall or powerful presence by any means, but something in his stance and face beckoned obedience. “Speak your-,”

Butters held up one hand. With only that, the colonel quieted. All authority melted from his face as he retreated into being little more than a simple background detail.

Stan gulped. “B-, Butters, I-,”

A single gaze shut him up as well. Silently, the man in front of him turned to regard one of the many portraits on the wall. “It’s Chaos.” He glanced back at Stan. “Victor Chaos.” Slowly, he shook his head. “Or do you truly believe me to be the same man you knew forty years ago?”

Stan felt a shiver take hold of his left hand. “No,” he said. “Of-, of course not.” Keeping the trembling out of his voice was harder than sustaining eye contact with the man before him.

Stan may just have critically underestimated his opponent.

Victor gazed keenly at him for a few moments before letting his eyes close. He breathed a sigh. “Your arrival was foretold by The Heart. With your presence, this glorious theocracy will enter a new era of rule, finally ending this feeble war with NATO as our wings unfurl.” Somehow, although the words he spoke were filled with passion and faith, the way he said it was much more like a kid reciting a speech their parents wrote for them than anything honest. “But surely the Rabbi already told you of this?”

Shaking his head, Stan tried to recall if the Rabbi had ever actually told him anything useful. “No, he just-, he…” The feeling of holding a body rapidly losing warmth and life filled his hands and he frowned at himself.

“...I see. That is only to be expected. His only purpose was to welcome you and toll the bell for Kyle.” Again, the words he spoke felt rehearsed. Like a formality rather than anything he actually believed. “For the moment, The Heart has deigned not to speak with you. He is a very busy man, I’m sure you understand. In the meantime, you will be kept-,”

His grasp on the situation was slipping. Much like the speech Victor was making, Stan was only there to listen. The situation felt artificial and unless Stan did something, this would be the end of it. Going along with the script was not possible if he wanted to get out of this unscathed.

And so, he did the most arguably stupid thing he could.

“-Butters, listen, you’ve gotta cut that out!”

The colonel bristled, but before he could shout something, Victor stopped him. In his right eye, something akin to amusement shone. “Indeed?” His upper lip twitched. “Don’t quiet now, Marsh. Do continue.”

“You-, you…” Suddenly speechless, Stan shook his head. He had to pull himself together! He curled his hands into fists. “This isn’t you. You’re acting really weirdly, but this is… You’re just acting! Did Cartman put you up to this or something? This is-,” Filled with feeble bravado, Stan gestured at the office with his cuffed hands. “-This room! All of this is just decorations, useless, needless decorations! What, did you look at military movies and copy one of them? None of this is-,”

Stan’s gaze returned to Victor and found that the meek glint of entertainment in his right eye had died, leaving behind only boredom. “Are you done, Marsh? Perhaps I had expected too much of someone like you.” He stood up, turning his back on Stan as though he had no reason to care.

“G-, General Chaos, how can you let him-,”

“Colonel, will you please leave the room?”

O’Connell blinked at him. “S-, sir? Please, I just-,”

The room grew three degrees cooler. “Leave us.” His words dripped with cold venom. The colonel began to tremble before finally pulling himself together and giving a hasty, feeble salute before scampering out of the room. Leaving the two of them alone. Well and truly alone. Stan’s heart pounded in his ears. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Wh-, what?”

Victor turned his head, letting his one good eye wash over Stan like a bucket of ice water. “Or are you simply ignorant?” In a movement that oozed authority, Victor turned around fully. Stan hadn’t seen it while he was sitting, but his uniform - ignoring all the frivolous details and extravagant designs - was absolutely covered with medals. From the smaller, simpler ones to the larger ones that tattled of military accomplishments impossible to fulfil from behind a desk, they all came together to form a bundle of clinking, jingling instruments of power.

“Why would I-,”

“I’m not an idiot. We both know all-too-well the kind of person ‘Butters’ was.” His eyes, now brimming with life and fire, turned distant. “He was the kind of kid picked on by everyone, but too stupid to realise it himself. No, not stupid… Naive. Yes, he was naive, and for that, he was punished. A poor little child whom nobody loved, not even his parents. Isn’t that tragic?”

Stan couldn’t bear answering.

Victor watched him for a few seconds, eyes seething. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t see it that way, Marsh.” With assured steps, he moved closer to Stan. He wasn’t much taller than him, but there was an air about him, a way in which he moved, that made Stan absolutely certain that he was far from a simple office-pusher. “Neither do you understand that people can, indeed, improve. Tell me, Marsh. Have you improved?”

His throat felt so dry. “I-, I have done-,”

“We have all done our best, Marsh. There is nothing special in doing what you can. But did you ever try to go beyond that? To put your past behind you and become more than anyone had ever expected you? To break the confines you made for yourself - to expand at any cost?” He was so much more than Stan had ever been. “Tell me, Marsh - are you willing to kill?”

“I-, I…” Silently, thoughtlessly, Stan slumped to his knees. His eyes fell to the wooden floor and the booted feet of the man before him.

Victor turned away from him. “I thought so.” Then, quietly, with a non-saying dejection only barely hidden, he moved over to his desk and pressed a button on his comm system. “Mrs Stevens, will you call in The Two to escort Marsh to-,”

A fire burned in the back of his head. Shame, anger, despair, sorrow, uselessness all coalesced into a black sludge that filled his brain and his skull and almost spilt out of his eyes. But in that muddy swamp of memories, he remembered something. Something about a time beyond this one, of a world wherein Victor Chaos was a very different person. A person who likewise had not been loved. A person who, after the pandemic, had found himself in a situation comparable only to a death sentence.

Had this timeline been different? How had this version taken it? Would it work? Was it true?

And yet, somehow, Stan found himself taking the chance.

“Butters,” he whispered. The ever-stoic face of Victor Chaos turned to him, ready to sneer, ready to say something derogatory, anything, but… “You’re not grounded anymore.”

And for once, Victor was at a loss. “...What?”

More certain of himself, Stan lifted his face, affixing Victor with a gaze brimming with the fire of life. “You’re not grounded.”

The man before him began to breathe faster. “What are you saying? Be quiet before I-,”

Stan stood up, placing himself on Victor’s eye level. “You’re not grounded.”

A sneer dragged itself across Victor’s face. “Ridiculous. You think I’ll be fooled by some pathetic attempt to-,”

“Forty years ago, a little kid got grounded, even though he hadn’t done anything.”

“Shut up,” Victor breathed, his eyes growing frantic.

“His parents left to go to the movies. They were only supposed to be gone a few hours, but-,”

“Shut up!” Victor crossed the room in three large strides, his hands grabbing a hold of Stan’s collar like an iron vice. But Stan wouldn’t back down now.

“They-, they didn’t return, did they?”

Mere inches from his face, Stan saw how Victor’s eyes trembled. He swallowed. “N-, no,” he said in a small voice. “They didn’t.”

Stan nodded. “How long did they leave you there, Butters?”

Slowly, gently, Victor’s eyes fell to the ground, to some undefined spot far away, in a time much different than this one. “Six years. To survive, I had to… At first, I considered leaving my room. There was food downstairs, but I was grounded, so I couldn’t go there. Not while my parents were out. So I ordered food via Uber. But I ran out of money, so I had to… I made people buy NFT’s. Made some money that way. And-, and for some reason, even when I had all the money I could ever want, I just kept going.”

“And one day, The Heart realised it. He hadn’t converted the whole nation yet, just a few nearby states, but his reach was enough to notice the countless people losing their money. So he came for me. When he realised it was me, he decided not to kill me, but instead to-, to recruit me. But I was still grounded. And he told me-, I remember it like yesterday, he said, ‘Dude, only Butters is grounded. If you aren’t Butters, you’re free to go.’” He gave a hoarse, weak laugh. “S-, so, I became not-Butters, because not-Butters was free!”

Stan stared at him. “But you aren’t grounded anymore.”

Victor blinked at him. “How-, how can you say that? My parents are-, by this point, they’re both probably dead! Butters is grounded for life, you hear me?!”

Shaking his head, Stan resisted the urge to smirk. “Butters, have you ever seen an adult ground another adult?”

“N-, no?”

This time, Stan really did smile. “You’re an adult, Butters. Only a judge and jury can ground you at this point.” The grip on his collar loosened as Victor staggered back. “You’re free, Butters. You don’t have to be Victor Chaos anymore.”

“I-, I…” Stumbling back, Victor collapsed to the ground, his wide eyes staring out into the nothingness. Then, slowly, his eyes fell close. When they opened, they were full of life and seemed approximately forty years younger.

“Huh?” Butters blinked and glanced around the room. “What is…?” Then his eyes fell on Stan. “Oh, hi Stan! What’re you doin’ in here?”

Unable to restrain himself, Stan threw his arms around Butters.

#stan marsh #south park #south park fanfiction #south park post covid #victor chaos #butters stotch #tweek #tweak tweek #south park craig #bebe stevens

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friendlyfrat-boy · 4 years ago

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Kyle Dies Chapter 1

The Death of Kyle Broflovski

TW - Major character death, gore.

Characters: Stan Marsh, Butters/Victor Chaos, Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman, etc.

Summary:

Will they ever succeed in making the world right again, or should they just give up, even if it means dooming everything and everyone they once held dear?

A shot rang out.

In the jarring blueness of the still South Park midday, it brought everything to a standstill. Clyde’s hands hadn’t been trembling before, but now they shook, the firearm in his hands weighing heavier than it ever did when he held it as a child. He took a step back, the aluminium foil covering his arms crinkling.

Before him, a small child staggered back. Kyle.

On such a small body, the bullet did far more damage than it normally would. Clyde hadn’t thought about it before, but Kyle looked much younger now than he ever did in his memories. He was so… small.

But his eyes were big and wide and they turned from the hole in his chest to Clyde with amazing care. It felt as though he was staring through him, like he couldn’t even see him at all. Clyde felt his breathing grow faster and faster as the world around him gave a painful whine. Reality itself seemed upset and pained. But hadn’t he done the right thing? He had, hadn’t he?

Then why were the other kids looking at him like that?

Cartman, Stan and Kenny were all looking at him as though the world had been irreparably changed for the worse. But Cartman was there. Cartman would understand. He was the one who told Clyde to do this. For his family. Yes, although Cartman was looking at him like that right now, in some years he would understand why he did it. He would come to terms with it, and-,

“Clyde!” Stan shouted, but it wasn’t the little Stan who was now trying to keep little Kyle from falling over, rather, it was the present Stan. “Clyde, the plan’s been changed, you don’t have to-,”

But he did, and he had. Stan’s wide eyes fell on the boy that now crumpled down on the bridge in front of them. Slowly, he turned back to Clyde. In his eyes, a great deal of hope and desperation died. He didn’t say anything.

“Heh, Kyle, that isn’t funny,” Cartman said. “What, did you hire that fat fuck to teach me a lesson or something? To-, to tell me not to fuck with you?” Pathetically, he bowed down before Kyle. “These special effects are really good, kind of a waste on you, though. Who made them? Your girlfrie-,”

Kyle grasped his hand. His eyes grew dim - entering a fog there was no returning from. “M-, mommy…”

Cartman slapped it away. “C-, cut that fucking out dude! It’s not fucking-,”

But Kyle didn’t answer him. Rather, he couldn’t.

At seeing this, the older Stan moved. “You fucking bastard!” He lunged towards Clyde, but Clyde still held the upper hand.

He brought up his gun. “Stop right there, Stan! If-, if you don’t, I’ll shoot you too!”

Stan grit his teeth. “Do you realise what you’ve done?!”

“I’ve saved the-,”

The world shifted. There was a flash of black, then one of red and everything in Clyde hurt. The eyes of thousands seemed to stare down on him as though he’d personally killed one of their brethren. His innards twisted and he felt like he was a wrongness that needed to be cleansed. Shadows danced and fluttered about him. “Stay away! D-, don’t fucking-,” but they did. Claws of purging black tore into him and he screamed. But he was not alone in the void of pain and misery.

A few feet away and a thousand miles away, Stan, too, screamed. Both of them.

He’d been too late. He hadn’t been able to stop Clyde, and now, the future was too different to support their existence. They would die, erased without a trace to make place for a stunning and brave future where Kyle was dead. Goddamnit Cartman.

Everything was going to hell, and it was all his fucking fault.

But that wasn’t exactly what the world had in store for him. His ears rang with a peal of screams he recognized as his own. But not his, no, they were too bright. They hadn’t reached puberty yet. He tried to open his eyes - it was painful, nigh impossible as reality and time ripped and tore at him, but once he pried his own eyes open, he was finally able to see how he - Stan - was also there in the vortex of wrong. His younger self.

Reality could not contain two of the same, and therefore, it had decided to destroy them both. His very existence, young and old, dead and alive, would all disappear simply because Cartman was a fucking idiot. Stan felt his innards seethe with hot fire.

“Please, please, please, I don’t want to die, mommy, please, mommy help me,” his younger self sobbed, drawing in his shrivelling and dying arms. He was so small. Was this really who Stan had once been? He was just a kid. Tears streaming down cheeks still pudgy with baby-fat, he drew himself into a foetal position, all the while begging for his mommy, or his daddy, or anyone to come to save him.

Stan’s mind was on fire.

He’d been ready to die - to face the nothingness of nonexistence. But not like this. A child shouldn’t have to be brought into this mess. It was entirely unfair, and at the same time, Stan could feel the back of his head throb and pound with memories of this very event happening.

But there was nothing he could do. The void awaited the both of them. There was no way of changing that.

But if they were to die, there was no reason they should not go well into that good night.

Reaching out, Stan took a gentle hold of his younger self and brought him into his arms. The child’s sobs grew softer and tears stained Stan’s shirt. But it was okay. It would all be okay.

There, in the void of a crumbling existence, Stan embraced himself and awaited death.

No such thing arrived.

There was a flash of white and all of a sudden he was no longer holding his younger self. The world around him was so bright and for just a moment there was a sensation of flight, of weightlessness - of falling.

He dropped to his knees and promptly fell over. “God damn fuck shit-,” he cursed as he tried futilely to massage his now bruised knees. Just his luck. This always happened, he’d never had any luck in everything, and now-, now…

Stan blinked at his surroundings. It was dark, yes, but it was. For one, he was lying beside a small stream. Not nothingness. Not impending death. Not-,

A pang of pain crippled his skull and he groaned, buckling over even further. It felt like something was pressing against the inside of his skull in an attempt to make his eyes pop out. But if he stopped focusing on the pain for just one moment and he instead tried to think about what was actually happening, he found his childhood memories a smidgen different. They seemed doubled, both in intensity and quantity. He remembered what he did yesterday, forty years ago. He remembered what he had for dinner and he remembered how young his dad used to look and he remembered that stupid idea about the vaccinations.

Most of all, he remembered watching his childhood friend get gunned down.

He remembered it twice, in fact. From two different perspectives, in two different places.

It was almost as though he’d merged with his younger self.

The very idea brought Stan’s racing thoughts to a perfect standstill. Slowly, carefully, he brought himself onto his feet and staggered towards the stream. There, reflected in the water, he saw his own face. He was 50, as he’d been for a while now. Not 10. Not anything in between.

The double-memories ended with the gunshot and the void.

There was only him. There was only one Stan Marsh.

Then, did that mean that the time stream had somehow righted itself? That with his merging with himself, he was able to survive?

He stared down at his hands. Slowly, they curled into fists.

No, not quite. His younger self had merged with him, but he was not alive. That was the price he had to pay for his life. A child - dead so that he may live. It felt wrong.

But not any worse than the fact that Kyle was dead.

Stan glanced around at the environment. Heavy, dark clouds hung overhead. Beside him, the bridge he’d been on only minutes ago lay destroyed and crushed, completely useless.

The future had been changed. But in what ways? For now, Stan knew nothing. The only thing he could tell was that he was still in South Park, considering everything. But he didn’t know anything else. Who knew, maybe this future was better than the one he’d arrived from. At the moment, he couldn’t possibly-,

There was a distortion in space.

One moment, Stan had been looking at the ground, assured that he was alone. In the next moment, a mangled, smoking, half-cooked corpse was there. “Aaah!” Stan stumbled back, falling again. The pile of meat and bone in front of him didn’t react. “Wh-, what the fucking-,”

A preserved contusion of bones, flesh and sinew moved. Flesh twitched.

Stan scrambled back further.

It was alive. It was alive? How was it alive? What the fuck was that thing? How had he not seen it before? Why-,

There, hidden between the crevices of meat and broiled skin, Stan noticed crumpled aluminium foil. A meaty skull stared at him.

Stan promptly emptied the contents of his stomach on the snowy ground.

Standing on shaking legs and aching knees, he turned away from the body he had once known and ran. His breath wheezed in his throat as he moved over piles of dying snow and paths he had once known but could no longer recognize. Had he really left South Park for so long? Had he already forgotten these forest paths he used to know by heart?

The cold air clawed at his lungs and his breath grew whispy and white. If he was only a child, he might have thought to pretend to be a dragon, but he wasn’t. He was an adult, and he was terrified. The sky was dark but his heart felt darker. The air tasted wrong. Stale. Unbreathed.

He couldn’t tell what, why or how, but South Park was wrong.

In a final burst of motion, he escaped from within the bushes to where he knew the town streets would be, and where shops would surely be open, brimming with people buying things and gossiping amongst each other and talking about this or that or here or there. That was what should be there. But it wasn’t there.

Stan Marsh found himself faced with the image of a wasteland.

Stores had collapsed into dilapidated ruins, overrun with snow and destroyed wares. The road was cracked and useless. It was only barely that he was able to so much as recognize that this was supposed to be the main street. Tom’s Rhinoplasty, Unplanned Adulthood, the bank… It was all destroyed.

But not by any active hand. Nothing in the small mountain town so much as hinted at the idea that this was consciously done by human hand. Rather, it was the claws of time that seemed to have ravaged the formerly busy street, tearing it apart with negligence and apathy. Cars, bikes, canned goods and cracked televisions all left topsy-turvy without even the slightest indication that anybody had once tried to keep them.

It was as though every human in the town had simply disappeared, leaving an empty husk of concrete and asphalt behind. It was, in every sense of the word, dead.

Walking through it, Stan felt more like a spectre of the past than a man. Everything was dreary and grey, yet he wore bright colours and… Aluminium foil. Suddenly disgusted, Stan tore the accursed metal from his body and crumpled it into a ball before throwing it across the street. It bounced on the side of a half-crushed rubbish bin, joining the myriad of trash that littered the snowy ground.

Huffing, Stan shoved his cold hands in his pockets.

Useless. It had all been useless.

Was the whole world like this? Had Kyle’s death somehow altered time to such an extent that every man on Earth had simply ceased to exist?

He didn’t want to consider it, but the eerie silence that permeated the former mountain town seemed to scream at him that he was alone. There was nothing and there was no one. Everything had gone to hell, with him as the lone sovereign of dead rubble.

And then, he heard a bell toll.

Face snapping to where the sound emanated from, he found his gaze drawn to the very topmost tower of the church, just off in the distance. Ding, dong. Ding, dong. It chimed nine times. Mouth floundering open and chest filling with a dull hope, Stan felt his legs begin to move beneath him. Walking turned into a trot which quickly turned into an all-out sprint.

Stan had only ever been the athletic type as a child, but he’d really let go as of lately. He was in no shape to run with all his might, and yet, he did. Mind blaring with white static, he flew across the silent pavement and through the dead streets.

The only sound apart from the patter of his hectic feet was the dying echo of the bells.

He ran by heart rather than memory.

And in the end, he found himself faced not with a church, but with a synagogue. Stan felt his brows knit together.

He rubbed at his eyes, but the fact remained the same. The church was no longer the one he had grown up with, nor was it the one he had been to Kenny’s service in. It was, for all intents and purposes, a synagogue. The very concept that time would ravage the whole town only to then transform the church into a Jewish house of prayer felt ridiculous.

It was made of brick and juvenile limestone, coloured in both brown and white, with glass windows sporting a sky-blue palette. The spiralling towers were rounded in design. The stained glass window that faced the street featured a star of David. All and all, considering everything, it was a very typical synagogue, neither futuristic nor ancient.

But for all his desperation, all his obvious interest in whoever tolled the bell, Stan found his eyes drawn towards the cemetery just behind the church. Somehow, something about it felt off. And not in the same way that the town was off the church was off, no, it was something else entirely.

Here, Stan made no conscious decision to inspect the cemetery. Rather, he simply did. Something in the back of his mind simply nagged at him that it was more important than anything the synagogue held.

Moving silently and thoughtlessly, he entered the cemetery.

It was untouched. No, rather, it had been cared for.

The gravel paths that led from grave to grave were raked. The flowers that grew on certain mounds were well kept and in full bloom. In the entire town, only this place bore traces of human effort.

Apart from his own, there was only one set of footprints moving through the cemetery. These footprints moved with certainty. Eyes on the ground, Stan followed them.

He only raised them when he found himself in front of a monument. That was the only word that properly described it. Tomb or mausoleum was simply too dead. Covered with clinging snow and surrounded by countless flowers, all fresh and blooming, Stan felt his breath fail him. This… this was alive.

It was a statue, first and foremost. A statue of a child Stan recognized all too well. “...Kyle?”

Something moved. Eyes transfixed on the statue of his childhood friend, Stan had almost missed the two figures that sat before the statue, both in prayer. No, not two. Only one was alive, made all the more clear when this person turned towards Stan and stood up.

He was thin. Thinner than he had ever been. Eyes sunken in, beard long enough to reach the ground should he stand on his knees. Stan hadn’t seen him in many years, and yet, he recognized him. “...Mister Broflovski? Is that you?”

The man, older than many, silently closed his eyes and nodded. “Please, call me Rabbi. I no longer have any right to go by that name.”

Something knotted itself in Stan’s stomach. “You’re…” Looking him up and down, Stan found him dressed in a long black overcoat, something Stan was pretty sure Kyle had once called a rekel. Seeing the normally frivolous and glib man in such traditional clothing felt strange. Even worse, he gave off the impression of a serious and stoic man. “What happened here?”

The Rabbi closed his eyes for a moment before turning back to the monument. After a few seconds, he returned his gaze to Stan. “Let us talk inside. Come.”

But Stan wouldn’t move just yet. His gaze was transfixed on the other praying figure on the ground. It was, much like the replica of Kyle, a small statue carved out of rock. And much like Kyle, it was a figure Stan recognized all too well. “Why is Cartman-?”

The Rabbi gave him no response, save for a gaze that said nothing and everything. Mutely, Stan followed him.

Much like the exterior, the inside of the synagogue was quite regular as far as churches went. Stan had hardly been in all that many churches, especially not synagogues, but it had all the regular hallmarks of a place of worship. Stan silently took it all in. In the back of his mind, he wondered what had happened to the old church - to father Maxi and everything else. Why had it been torn down just to make space for a synagogue?

With movements that almost seemed rehearsed, the Rabbi took his seat on the first row. Stan sat down next to him. And for a little while, the two just sat there, staring straight ahead.

“Rabbi-,”

“Quiet, my child. There is much you do not know.” Idly, the Rabbi began to fiddle with his long beard. “Many years have passed since your ascent. There is much you do not know.” Finally, the Rabbi turned to peer Stan right in the eye. “Your coming was foretold by The Heart.”

“The who?”

He shook his head. “No, The Heart. The Who disbanded long since.”

“Oh,” Stan said. “Well… that’s a shame, I guess.” He pulled his lips tight, unsure what to say. “So, uh, did this Heart guy say anything about what I’m supposed to do? Or…” His hands balled into fists on his lap. “Can you at least tell me what the hell happened to this town?”

The Rabbi held up his hand. “These years have been very long. Some of us fared better than others. In the wake of the pandemic, much changed. Things were done to make certain that it never happened again.” A strange light shone in his dim eyes and he locked his eyes with Stan’s. “Tell me, are you a believer?”

Stan blinked at him. “Well… Yeah, I suppose so.”

He shook his weary head. “No, not like that. Are you a believer?”

Stan glanced around the synagogue. Ah. It was like that. “No, I don’t think I am. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything,” the Rabbi said. “And nothing, should you wish it. However, I feel it is only fair if I warn you that without true faith, you may fail in aiding the Hebrew Theocracy in whichever way it is that you are to assist.”

Stan felt the room reeling. “The Hebrew what-now-?”

Standing up, the Rabbi shook his head. “No, I do believe it’s time. Whether you are ready or not is for The Heart to decide. I am nothing but a messenger; and one who has spent much too long waiting for your arrival. With this…” He closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, they were filled with a strange determination.

Stan took to his feet, approaching the older man. “I don’t understand, what are you trying to-,”

He was only barely able to catch the glint of metal before the sharp instrument was shoved deep inside the Rabbi’s gut. He grunted and Stan was too shocked to say anything. Eyes burning, the Rabbi twisted the knife before removing it fully and throwing it across the synagogue. The only sound that reverberated inside the holy walls was the soft panting of the Rabbi.

“M-, Mister Broflovski!” Stan cried, deftly catching the man before he was able to fall. “Wh-, why would-, what the hell are you-,”

A bloodied hand drew a line across his left eye. “Quiet. All regrets I hold will be solved with this. With this, I can finally join my family. So do not grieve for me. You can yet change it all…”

Chest heaving, Stan watched as the Rabbi slumped in his arms. What the hell did that mean? That didn’t tell him anything! How was it supposed to-,

Something started beeping. Somewhere in the synagogue, a distinct beeping erupted at the same time that the Rabbi died. “Wh-, what?” Stan croaked.

With his ears focused, Stan heard how sounds approached the deathly quiet mountain town. Something was approaching. Something large.

It got closer and closer to the point that the whirr of blades and electronics was pretty much deafening. And yet, Stan couldn’t bring himself to release the corpse in his arms. And then, suddenly, as soon as the loudness had come, silence overtook. It was quiet. The only sound Stan could hear was his own breathing and the rhythmic drumming of his own heart.

The silence died with a mighty crash as every window in the synagogue burst and fifteen armoured, gun-wielding men entered. Their faces were hidden by visor shields, but Stan was pretty sure that even if he saw their faces, he wouldn’t recognize them. They all started shouting things, telling him to get down on his knees and drop the Rabbi, all of which Stan only did because his head was too empty not to.

As two men tackled and pressed him down to the wooden floor, he was only barely able to notice how each and every one of them had a patch on their shoulder, one that said Tzadik and featured a pair of olive branches around a sword.

In the background, the star of David shone brilliantly.

#south park #south park fanfiction #stan marsh #butters #victor chaos #south park post covid #kyle broflovski

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friendlyfrat-boy · 4 years ago

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I forgot the glasses

#victor chaos #butters stotch #south park #post covid

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friendlyfrat-boy · 5 years ago

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The Straw-Hat Among Us, Ch.10 (Final Chapter)

Blue: Buggy

It felt perverse, leaving his body there in the snow.

Tradition would dictate he let the magma break him down, let his body and soul join the other unfortunate souls that died here, but he chose not to. Buggy let his body be where it lay. The cold enveloped it, snow blanketing his stiff limbs, a final embrace of death.

Maybe in time, in a few months or years, he’d be discovered. He wouldn’t be a lone survivor, but he’d be someone. People he knew and loved would have a body to bury.

Buggy trudged through the snow. His limbs felt heavy. Heavy and wrong. Keeping up that human form had been hard, but somehow, he preferred it to this. He preferred hanging around in O2 with Usopp, trading stories and facts and information about this and that.

There wasn’t anything else to it.

His mission was complete, and that was it.

He walked off into the darkness.

Alone, and empty.

#one piece #among us #fanfic #usopp #kizaru #buggy the clown #caesar clown #doflamingo #smoker #zoro #marshall d teach #marco the phoenix #shanks

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friendlyfrat-boy · 5 years ago

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The Straw-Hat Among Us, Ch.9

Orange: Usopp

That body, that alien body that had lived for too long, it made such an odd sound when it died, Usopp thought. Like a whistling teakettle. Or the screams of a million mice. Trapped air-bubbles screeching for release. It was an odd sound.

Usopp fell into the snow. It felt like falling into a world of pillows. Soft, white pillows that accepted him with open arms. He wished to sleep.

His arm was gone. He wasn’t sure where it went, but he knew Smoker took it, perhaps to his fiery grave. It felt right. That man being dead. But it felt wrong, knowing what it had cost. Nobody was going to win like this. Not the bad guys and not the good guys either. His chest felt light and open and free. He’d been down under so deep before. Pressure building and pumping his lungs full with sludge and water and bad things he didn’t like. But he’d escaped all that. His chest was free now. Free and open and breathless.

A smile settled on Usopp’s bloody face. He watched happily as Buggy fell down in his knees and crawled over to where Usopp laid. He was so worried. Parts of his face seemed to be falling off.

Such an odd man. He was nice. Back before things went wrong, Usopp hadn’t really trusted him. Who’d trust a man who looked weird, talked weird and knew weird things? It turns out, Usopp would. He’d trust such an odd man. Maybe it was a silly idea, sharing his little enjoyments with him, giving him little parts of his mind and soul and green fluffy leaves that he couldn’t appreciate. Or maybe he did appreciate him? Usopp appreciated what Buggy gave him, at least. And maybe that was enough.

The features on Buggy’s face seemed to convulse and move in irregular, inhuman ways, expressing emotions beyond the human spectrum. Usopp giggled, and the movements stopped. “You look weird,” he said.

His face relaxed somewhat. In a very strange way, that face seemed to be both less Buggy and more Buggy. His mouth and eyes seemed more expressive, soul on full display, and yet, there was something hidden, restrained. Usopp quickly realized what it was. Smoker had done it, too. They’d done it almost completely when they fought. Buggy wasn’t human. This form wasn’t truly him. He must’ve been straining just to keep up the illusion that he was human in some form.

“It’s okay,” Usopp cooed. “You can show me.”

Buggy hesitated. His human shell stiffened. Trembled.

And was shed.

Usopp had always loved movie monsters. The kind with lots of teeth and horrible flesh and eyes here and there that didn’t many any sense on a Darwinian basis. Maybe he should have been scared. He felt like he should have been terrified, but his heart wouldn’t beat any faster. If anything, it seemed to slow down, growing fainter with every beat. Usopp smiled. That was okay, too. He didn’t want to be scared of Buggy. Because Buggy seemed sad. He seemed so sad, amidst those gaping mouths and hanging tongues and inhuman features. Amidst those terrible horrible things, there was a tangible sense of loss to him.

“What’s wrong, Buggy?” Usopp asked, reaching up to touch Buggy’s face. His hand trembled. It was pale and odd and he wasn’t used to using this arm for anything, but he had to touch him. Had to feel what he truly felt like. “You look sad.”

A gurgle emerged from Buggy’s throat. He shook his head, and spoke again. “Sorry, I-, I’m sorry, I…”

In those many eyes of his, heavy fluids pooled. He swiped at his eyes with one of his many limbs, the tears dissolving parts of his flesh. He didn’t react to it. It was interesting, Usopp thought. It was a very interesting sight to see. Acidic tears. He’d save that for his next story. He never did finish telling Buggy about the land of Nevermore.

“Don’t be sorry, I’ll finish the story some other time, okay?” Usopp said, but for some reason, Buggy didn’t seem too happy to hear it. “And then, when I do, I’ll tell it to you.”

Buggy nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. You’ll do that?”

“Yeah,” Usopp said. He felt warm. The snow felt warm, too. And Buggy felt the warmest of all. Like a fireplace in a person. It was cosy. The snow was a bed and Buggy was there to wish him goodnight. The stars twinkled so pretty above them, singing little lullabies. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“...” Buggy paused for a moment. He slowly took Usopp’s body into his arms, and burrowed his head in the boy’s chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Buggy.”

Usopp slept there, in a bed made of snow and blood.

#usopp #kizaru #marshall d teach #doflamingo #zoro #smoker #buggy the clown #caesar clown #shanks #marco the phoenix #fanfic #one piece #among us

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friendlyfrat-boy · 5 years ago

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The Straw-Hat Among Us, Ch.8

White: Smoker

This was it, then.

Smoker had actually insisted that they just do a double-kill once he picked off that slow-talking fellow, but apparently the Red-nose wanted to do this in a… different way. “Let’s get the second last guy voted off,” he’d said. “Having only one guy left to kill would be much easier than two.” Smoker never should’a taken advice from that clown. He was the sneaky sort, not the… murdering kind.

He’d done a good enough job on Sheep-horn, perhaps a bit too emotional, but it had certainly been a close one. If Green-hair hadn’t outed himself…

Oh well. That was over now. A single human left.

Judging by how Long-nose’s human face paled, he must have understood his situation quite well. “I-, uh, um… P-, please…”

Smoker really didn't care for talking to his victim. “Be quiet and you won’t suffer.” As Smoker reached for a hidden pocket in his own flesh, he soon realized he’d left the knife in the monkey-man. Damn it, Flamingo had really taken him by surprise there. Left with no other choice, Smoker let parts of his human form dissolve. After all, keeping up this form was… draining.

It was like holding your breath for a very long time, going beyond that moment where your chest hurt and your head started pounding. It felt natural, to simply release that breath, let his right arm open up into fleshy tendrils of teeth and claws and whatnot. If he were human in any way, this is the point where his white suit would get ripped apart, but not so, especially since the suit is also part of his body. In human terms, he was naked. But also not.

Bah, humans and their arbitrary terms.

The Long-nose quivered, eyes widening at the sight of Smoker’s arm opening up like a blooming flower of teeth and flesh. Unlike Red-nose, Smoker wasn’t about to go around biting people. Well, he was about to bite the Long-nose, but using his arm. As confusing as human terms were, their own terms were hardly any better.

“H-, hiiiii!” Long-nose whimpered, taking a step back from Smoker and the pool of lava. A rational move, according to Smoker himse-,

A hand was placed on his shoulder. Turning his head only slightly, he saw Red-nose, an odd look in his eye. “Smoker,” he said, voice distorted somewhat as his human form changed slightly. “Hold on a moment.”

“The hell do you want?” Smoker asked back, his own vocal cords deepening as he no longer cared to keep his human form entirely maintained.

Red-nose glanced away, every facet of his human face showcasing doubt and confliction. “I just think-”

And then, Long-nose ran. He turned his back on the two killers, turned tail, and sprinted off into the darkness. Smoker cursed under his breath. He only had so much vision, he was only so fast, and right now, Long-nose had almost gotten too far. “Shit, Buggy, get to the cams, find him!”

Smoker couldn’t catch if Red-nose nodded or not, but he had to assume that he did. Left with no other choice, Smoker dove into a nearby tunnel, right beside a weather node and a forgotten snowman, letting the majority of his human form dissolve. Small, bony protrusions blossomed across his body, digging into the rocky tunnel, forcing his compressed body forwards at speeds far quicker than human running would allow.

His first destination was also the closest one. The chances of Long-nose running in here were low, but even then, he popped out into the Laboratory. Right in the stalls. Going by the placement, it seems one of the toilets collapsed into the tunnel.

The tunnel he was using.

...He’d chosen to ignore that long ago. A quick peek into the rest of the Laboratory ensured that the young boy hadn’t emerged here.

He hopped back into the tunnel. This trip would take a bit longer, but not enough to be a detriment.

Less than a minute later and he crawled out of the Tunnel inside the Office, the southern one through a little hallway of bookshelves. He couldn’t remember using this one. No, wait, he’d used it back then, to kill the Chief. It almost felt like a lifetime ago. It would all be over soon.

Smoker quickly made his way through the Office, barely stopping to check anything before he hopped into the tunnel right in front of the Meeting room.

Although this hadn’t been the primary vent he’d used a mere hour ago to kill monkey-man, he’d used it in combination with another tunnel and Red-nose’s expert distraction to complete the kill. Flamingo had been an unexpected but somewhat welcome change in plans. To Smoker, it didn’t really matter if the final human was Flamingo or Long-nose. It shouldn’t matter to Red-nose either, but somehow, Smoker could tell things weren’t quite so simple.

Either way, Smoker popped out of the tunnel beside Communications, took a quick look inside the mentioned cabin as well as Weapons and promptly returned to the tunnel.

His final stop for this tunnel would be the Storage. He didn’t expect Long-nose to be in here, and he wasn’t. Just a bunch of useless human trinkets. Smoker quickly exited the room. He’d assume for the moment that Long-nose hadn’t chosen to hang about in the Specimen room, meaning that he just had to check the West Wing.

Electrical was empty. Blood littered the floor in various places, most obviously in the Security Room, where blood still splattered the screen. Green-hair had left a rather impressive trail from O2 to the outside of Electrical. Smoker followed it into O2, but before he could open the door leading to (Red-nose really liked keeping all the doors closed for some damn reason), he noticed that he could hear something.

“I-, I don’t want to die-,”

“Shh, keep it down, idiot! He’ll hear us!”

“I-, um, sorry.”

“Look. We can just-, I’ll get you out of this. You don’t deserve this, okay? You’re a good kid. I’ve done bad things, I don’t care if you hate me for it, but I don’t want you to die for it. I want you to live. Our species might never get along, but we two, you and me, we can get along. If only for tonight.”

“Buggy, that’s… you are Buggy, right? I can’t-, I just-,” There was a quick sniffle.

“Hey, hey, cool it! Don’t cry now, man!” A slap. “Keep it together! I’m going to need you to-,”

Smoker stepped through the door. “To do what, exactly?” The two scheming bastards jerked around, Long-nose growing paler yet, his eyes as white and terrified as a rabbit could be, while Red-nose obviously struggled to keep his human form in the best shape it could be. Making an effort to look normal in front of the human. Pah. “Buggy, why don’t you dispose of the final human?”

He didn’t move. Neither did Long-nose for that matter.

Very well. If he wouldn’t, then Smoker had no choice but to do it himself. He bared his biological weapon of choice.

Red-nose grit his teeth, grabbed Long-nose and ran for it. Is that how they’d do it? Very well. Smoker didn’t mind being the last man standing. If winning meant taking out his fellow imposter, so be it. With that vow in mind, Smoker pursued.

It was a rather short run, ending where it had started. Right by that pool of magma.

Usopp stood huddled by it, Buggy situated right in front of him, clawed, alien arms stretched out to protect him. A pathetic display of solidarity between opposing species. He’d always been the emotional sort. He simply wasn’t suited for this sort of situation. Not to murder, and not to pretend, either.

Apparently, he couldn’t even pretend to like a human. He had to go and get personal about it. “If you do not step aside, I will assume you have chosen to betray me.”

“N-, no, I haven’t chosen to betray you! I just-, we can figure something out! We don’t have to kill all of them, do we?” Red-nose weakly defended.

Smoker let his human form dissolve fully. “So you have chosen death.” His voice was a bellow. A gravelly, inhuman sound that he couldn’t imagine the human could understand at all. His body, fleshy and restless with energy, heaving and moving and barely resembling anything human as he prepared to do away with a truly unwelcome surprise.

Red-nose growled. It wasn’t a human sound, but it didn’t quite line up with anything Smoker could understand either. It was simply a sound.

The right side of Red-nose’s body opened up, revealing jagged teeth and bloody bone. Long-nose whimpered, and in that short moment where Red-nosed glanced back, concerned and foolish, Smoker struck. A tendril, the tip of it crowned with a sharp tooth, shot out at Red-nose’s face, missing it by a mere inch when the face parted. Smoker pulled back his arm.

It started. The battle was no longer between human and alien. Smoker knew this and had to adjust his strategy accordingly. Flesh no longer bled, instead twisting and changing to avoid his projectiles, malleable as clay. The moon stood high, their battle painted red with both the little wounds they took and the luminous magma they battled beside. Their prize, the one to be spared or slain by the winner stood aside, watching with trembling limbs and trembling gaze as two monsters fought.

Smoker hated to admit it, but it was a standstill.

Smoker had the upper hand in strength and defence, but Red-nose was quicker. He easily evaded Smoker’s strong attacks, landing little ones that left Smoker with the tiniest of scratches. In turn, Smoker gave Red-nose a few wounds of his own, nothing big, nothing that could end this battle once and for all.

No, Smoker knew that if he wished to win, he would need to do something new. Something unexpected. Something… cunning.

He glanced at Long-nose, an idea flitting through his head. It was his only choice.

Red-nose seemed too absorbed in the battle to even consider the possibility. Smoker’s eyes sharpened. He watched for a misstep, a stumble, a moment of respite where he couldn’t act. It didn’t come naturally. And so, Smoker chose to create it.

He let Red-nose get a hit in. A row of sharp teeth sunk into his back, surprise painting Red-nose’s features.

In this moment of surprise, Smoker struck.

Long-nose hadn’t seen it coming, either.

One moment he’d been standing in front of the lava, and the next…

He was missing an arm and a good part of his chest. Smoker grinned. A fatal wound. With this, Red-nose would be forced to submit himself, to agree to the death of the human, to-,

Something sharp punctured Smoker’s chest. He looked down, and found a bony spear lodged deep in his heart. Blood seeped from it. Was it human, or alien? Smoker couldn’t know. He coughed, red blood staining his white suit. Stumbled a bit. Passed by the stunned-silent Long-nose.

And fell into the lava.

His last thoughts lingered on the irony of it all.

#one piece #fanfic #among us #kizaru #smoker #buggy the clown #marco the phoenix #shanks #zoro #caesar clown #marshall d teach #usopp #doflamingo

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friendlyfrat-boy · 5 years ago

Text

The Straw-Hat Among Us Ch.7

Pink: Doflamingo Donquixote

Someone scuttled into the tunnel. Someone wearing a lightly-coloured suit. Might have been yellow, might have been white, might have been orange, Doflamingo simply didn’t catch it.

But he did catch someone in the act. Goddamn everything.

Doflamingo threw himself towards the security room, if it was Kizaru he must have left the other imposter in there, and if it wasn’t Kizaru-,

His body laid slumped over his chair, arms flailed out at the side, singular drops of blood running down his arms like snakes, dripping onto the floor where a puddle had already formed. His head, neck severed almost completely by a clean slide, was arched so far back that had his throat not been gouged open, it would have had to have been broken. Empty eyes stared back at Doflamingo who stood transfixed and silent at the sight.

What blood didn’t pool at the floor had splattered all across the monitor, painting the world in red.

The monitors. Doflamingo’s mind and raced at the thought. That man-, whoever it had been, had used the tunnels to escape. He had to be somewhere. He had to be on the cameras. The only one out and running right now should-, no, had to be the killer.

Camera one, nothing. Camera two, nothing. Camera three-,

Someone popped out of the vent. And, finally, Doflamingo got a clear view of the colour of his suit.

After all this damn time.

Orange.

Doflamingo cursed bitterly. Kizaru’s body steadily grew cold. Doflamingo hated to ignore it, but he had to. The man in orange, Usopp, ran inside the Office, and-,

Don’t tell me-,

A red light started flashing in the corner of Doflamingo’s helmet. The killer had called for a damn emergency meeting, most likely to accuse him of the murder. Damn it. Damn it all! He should have reported it the moment he saw it, but… At least, now he knew who did it. Usopp. The name felt off on his tongue. That wimpy little kid… Doflamingo should have recognized the signs of the liar the second he laid eyes on him.

He was a proficient liar himself, after all. But Usopp was more than proficient. He was… inhumanly proficient.

All he could do now was enter the Office and try to get Buggy and Smoker on his side. He had to. Otherwise, they were as good as dead.

Tonight, he picked up a body for the second time in his life, but before he fully exited, he noticed something. A little notebook, opened on a half-blank page, notes about this or that scribbled in a scratchy chicken-scrawl. Evidence. Doflamingo swiped it without a thought, placing it in his pocket.

When he came into the office, Kizaru’s lukewarm body cradled in his arms, he was last to arrive. Buggy, Usopp and Smoker were all there, staring at the corpse he held with a wide range of emotion.

Usopp pretended to almost pass out, Smoker’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Buggy gulped, eyes flicking between Doflamingo and the body without pause.

Somehow, Doflamingo really felt like walking into the Meeting-room and dumping the body onto the table to show his irritation, but Kizaru didn’t deserve that. Instead, he trailed through the hallway, still warm blood dripping from Kizaru’s body onto the floor, leaving a little trail. Doflamingo stared out over that red bubbling pool, haunted by the spirits of too many. He let Kizaru fall, and that was that.

He returned inside, and prepared himself for what was about to come.

For a moment, he simply surveyed the Meeting room, taking in how absurdly simple it was. An old-school projector, an equally outdated water dispenser, stale coffee and wood-like doughnuts that nobody had even attempted to eat (god only knew when Marco had the time to make them, but by the looks of it all, Shanks probably helped him. They seemed to have gotten along), and a little tree in the corner. Doflamingo could only assume Usopp had planted it before he was made a victim.

Doflamingo turned around and glared at the one man he knew for a fact did it. He let his eyes, his animosity, the honesty of his soul pour into him. “You,” he growled, leaning in further towards him. Usopp recoiled the closer Doflamingo got, eventually finding himself entirely leaned back in his chair, yet still having Doflamingo’s dark, scowling face mere inches from him. “You did it.”

Usopp’s eyes widened considerably, fear and incomprehension filling them with all the emotions of a fawn. Such a good actor. Such a fantastically good actor. “Wh-, wha-,”

Doflamingo bared his teeth, preparing to jab a finger into Usopp’s chest when suddenly Buggy stood between them. Every single facet of his face and body radiated hostility, a bear protecting their cub. Doflamingo had never seen anything fiercer than those eyes, and the air grew hot with the tension around them. “Don’t you fucking dare accuse him. Don’t you dare tell me he did anything.”

“Did anything?” Doflamingo leaned back out, face contorting into a grimace of disbelief and amusement. “He didn’t just do something, he killed someone!”

“I-, um, what-,,” Usopp stammered, apparently trying to collect his thoughts. Doflamingo wouldn’t let him.

“Oh, yes. Surprised, are you? I’m surprised inhuman beasts such as yourself hold that emotional capacity.” Doflamingo, the only man standing at the moment, took this time to stroll around the table, bloodied boots hitting the tacky, carpeted floor until he stood right behind Usopp. He placed both hands on his shoulders, keeping him sitting. “I did more than see you, too.” He grinned, assuredness and confidence radiating from his form. “I saw you jump into a tunnel. You must have thought I came to Kizaru’s shabby office for no reason. Not so.” He chuckled. “Although thinking you could evade me was a clever decision…” he grinned, “thinking you could evade the cameras was anything but.”

Colour drained from Usopp’s face. “H-, hey! I didn’t do anything like that! What are you-,”

“Usopp, don’t say anything,” Buggy said. “He’s throwing out baseless accusations since he knows he can’t win us over some other way.”

Hah! The gullible bastard! Doflamingo almost wanted to laugh at him for being so stupidly foolish. Sadly, laughing at the person he’s trying to convince certainly won’t do. “I’ll take it from the beginning then. Perhaps that will jog your memory, killer?” Seeing Usopp frown like that set Doflamingo’s heart alight. What startling malice. “I left the Laboratory, and sought out Kizaru. When I got there, he was very much alive and kicking, calling me… not-so fanciful names, but still-,”

“Why did you leave the Laboratory?” Smoker asked. He’d been quiet until now, perhaps trusting in Doflamingo’s assessment, but now…

Doflamingo froze. He couldn’t tell them why he left. He couldn’t tell them that he felt haunted, that the silence, previously so warmly filled by Caesar’s incessant chattering, was suffocating. A deep dark abyss in which he choked and drowned, cold silent water freezing his lungs. “I… had my reasons. It is entirely beside the point.”

Buggy glared at him. “And what exactly is the point, then? To accuse Usopp of a crime he couldn’t have done?” he spat out.

Usopp himself didn’t say anything. He seemed almost too silent, too comfortable in saying nothing. His teeth were gritted, eyes dark. It was enough for Doflamingo to know he was on the right track, no matter what Buggy and Smoker thought.

“I left him for a moment. When I returned, mere moments later, I saw someone in a light suit hop into the tunnel behind the security room, escaping before I could even find the body.” For some reason, at this moment, Usopp turned and stared at Smoker, wide-eyed and disbelieving. “It wasn’t him,” Doflamingo growled. “I looked at the cameras, that’s why I didn’t report the body immediately. On the cameras, I saw someone run out of a tunnel.” He let his sharp eyes fall down on Usopp, who cowered and squirmed. “And that someone was you.”

Buggy jumped to his feet, pointed his index at the taller man, practically frothing at the mouth. “Listen here, you flashy fool, that isn’t possible for two very damn good reasons! If he was an imposter, which he sure as shit isn’t, how the hell did he do all those other murders?? He was with me this entire time!”

Before Doflamingo could answer, Smoker did it for him. “If we assume Zoro was the killer, or even better, Teach, we can assume that there’s a difference here. Clearly, the one who killed Caesar wasn’t the same as the one who did in Shanks and the Chief. It would explain this sudden sloppiness.”

“But now how he was able to kill with me in the same damn room!?”

“Unless,” Smoker said, a sharp edge giving his words a certain accusatory tone. “You are an imposter, too.”

Buggy bristled. “Oh, really now? Really?? And all this without Kizaru so much as noticing one of us leave?!”

“The tunnels,” Doflamingo added. “There’s a tunnel in O2. Wouldn’t have to be a genius to figure that one out.”

Usopp made a few odd, choppy movements. “Well, um, okay, so it could be one of us, but… How do we know it isn’t, like, Smoker? Or-, or you! We can’t know what Kizaru saw before he-, before someone took him, r-, right?” A clever question for a murderer. Oh, well, he had been meaning to present it sometime.

He placed the little notebook on the table. It was worn and yellow in colour, decorated with happy monkeys eating all sorts of fruits. For some reason, it really fitted Kizaru. “-This notebook should tell us a thing or two.” He didn’t even wait for anyone to ask anything before he flipped it open to the latest scribbled note.

The first thing he noticed was a note that said: “Pinky left WW upper door”. For some reason, beside the “Pinky”, there was a scribbled-out word that seemed to say… Birdy.

Doflamingo flipped back a few pages, and sure as shit, every single place where he did something, it said “Pinky” instead of his actual name, usually right next to a scribbled-out “Birdy”. That is… Unimportant! Let’s not think about it. Doflamingo went back to the latest few dates, starting out at the “Zoro was voted off :c” part. The first part that it documented was where everyone was; “Pinky” in the Laboratory, Buggy and Usopp in O2, Smoker in Office.

There was a little question-mark next to Usopp’s name. Something Doflamingo simply couldn’t miss. Looking at the rest of this, Kizaru’s suspicions toward Usopp was a recurring theme. If Usopp happened to learn of this…

He sent the killer a dark glance. Usopp looked away.

After the first few notes, it recorded the time that Doflamingo left the Laboratory, but it never did record when he entered the West Wing. A quick look at what came between these two events ensured why this was. “Buggy and Usopp in Boiler Room, keeping eye out.” Apparently, at some point, the two had entered the Boiler Room, and since Kizaru was already suspicious of Usopp…

The next entry read that Doflamingo left the West Wing, and the very last entry, was “Usopp suspicious in-”, cut off by a splotch of still-wet blood.

This… told him very little. But it told him enough.

“-It was Usopp. It had to have been.”

“Why?” Smoker asked, obviously not above suspecting anyone but himself.

Doflamingo rightfully scoffed. “If we’ll do that little thing that you did the first time around, let’s assume Usopp did it, for the sake of it all. Knowing Kizaru suspected him, he killed him, but when attempting to use the tunnel to escape, I noticed him. He escaped through one of the other tunnels, and ran to the Office, all while I saw him. Then, he called for an emergency meeting, and here we all are. It’s an open-shut case!”

“W-, wait, hold on, I didn’t-, I didn’t call for an emergency meeting?”

Doflamingo’s jaw snapped shut. “-Don’t even try lying about it. I know you-,”

“When we arrived at the Office,” Buggy interrupted, “the meeting had already been called for. Both I and Usopp arrived after it had already been called for. Call me an imposter if you so want, but I was with Usopp the entire time since we voted off Zoro!”

Smoker raised his hand. “Doflamingo, this has gone on for too long.” Doflamingo, already at a loss for words, now froze in place. “I called for the emergency meeting.”

“Y-, you did?...” Doflamingo asked, his voice a trembling, uncertain vibrato.

“Yes. Because while I was keeping an eye on where everyone was, you left the Laboratory. And then, you appeared in the Security Office. I didn’t find it odd. Not until Kizaru disappeared.” Doflamingo gulped. Something here was wrong. Something here was very, very wrong. “I checked vitals, and found him dead. So I called for a meeting.” His eyes were cold. “Because now we knew who the killer was.”

“You…” Doflamingo snarled. “How the hell didn’t you see him in Admin? How didn’t you see how Usopp-,”

“Because he didn’t leave O2, damn it!” Buggy exclaimed. “He was with me!”

Smoker chuckled. “Never thought you’d be bold enough to try something like this, though.”

He wasn’t bold. He wasn’t being bold to tell the truth! He wasn’t bold to dispose of Kizaru’s body in the proper way, to point his finger at the man he knew did it! Smoker must have seen it. He must have seen Usopp leave O2 to kill Kizaru! Or Buggy. Buggy must know as well. Why won’t they stand on his side? Why do they defend that fucking killer? Why-,

“I’ve heard enough,” Buggy said. “Let’s vote.”

Smoker nodded. The voting mechanism popped up, and in that moment, Doflamingo suddenly knew exactly how Zoro and Teach felt. That single moment of calm, frozen panic, body like dark, burning ice. Enveloped in thoughts and feelings he couldn’t possibly show on his face. Teach and Zoro had both had that expression on their faces. A deer in the headlights. Drowning panic. Burning panic.

Frozen panic.

He knew he did it. He just knew it.

He pressed the button to vote for Usopp.

Buggy and Smoker were quick to vote, but Usopp’s hand stalled. “I-, I can’t do it,” he said, eyes on the cusp of overflowing. “Was it you, Doflamingo? Did you kill them?”

“No,” Doflamingo said softly.

A hand was placed on Usopp’s shoulder. “Usopp, we have to end it. We’ve gotta do it.”

Usopp swallowed his tears, shaking his head robotically, thoughtlessly. “I-, I don’t-,”

“Usopp.” Buggy grabbed the sides of Usopp’s face, turning it to look into his eyes. Eye-to-eye. “We don’t have a choice.” He glanced away. “Just-, just trust me, okay? Just this once.”

Usopp stopped in his tracks. Smiled a soft, trembling smile. And nodded.

The votes were counted.

Three against Doflamingo, one against Usopp.

...Shit.

They led him outside. Soon, he stood there, above that vast pool of hot death staring at the three people left. Usopp, Buggy, and Smoker.

Who’d think that not reporting the body at once would be the death of him? He just had to check those cameras. Know who did it. He just had to check those blood-soaked cameras, view the world through a bloody lens, the snow all red and fleshy…

...Hm?

No, wait. It was wrong. It was all wrong.

If the blood had truly stained that monitor, if it had truly been Usopp…

Wouldn’t the blood have coloured his suit red?

Then-, then why had it been orange? Why had the blood not changed the colour? Why-,

Oh.

Doflamingo turned to Smoker.

Oh. So that was how it was.

He’d been stupid. A flashy fool, as Buggy so eloquently put it. Oh well. Now, it was time to join the one person he’d trusted on this whole damn mission. “Guess this is it. You were intelligent, perhaps a little bit more than me. I’ll see you on the other side, Usopp.”

And with that, he fell willingly. The seventh victim.

“Is-, is that it?...” Usopp asked timidly, a desperate, hopeful smile on his face. “Did we win?”

Smoker didn’t meet his gaze. “S-, Smoker?... What’s wrong, why won’t you-,”

Buggy glanced away. Teeth gritted, arms crossed.

“B-, Buggy?...”

And in that moment, Usopp realized that he was alone.

Well and truly alone.

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