Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Desde que tiene memoria, la vida le ha dado una bofetada en la cara cada vez que ha tenido oportunidad.

Su familia siempre estuvo marcada por la violencia, que se intensificó aún más con la llegada de un nuevo miembro.

Desde el momento en que llegó al mundo, supo perfectamente que no era bienvenido. Sus padres llevaron una vida miserable y llena de vicios para olvidar su propia vida miserable, lo que a su vez envenenó la vida de sus hijos.

El primero fue Kevin, su hermano de puños, ya que esa era la única interacción que compartían con Kenny. Sabía desde que eran niños que siempre provocaba una mirada de desprecio venenoso en los ojos cansados ​​del hombre mayor.

Kenny nunca tuvo una relación cercana con su hermano. Tras su llegada, se convirtió en una boca más que alimentar, y el dinero no era algo que abundara en la casa; era lo que más se necesitaba, la razón de muchos intentos de asesinato.

Las peleas y los gritos se intensificaron con los años. Desafortunadamente, los dos hermanos nunca lograron entenderse. Ambos tuvieron que valerse por sí mismos para sobrevivir en un hogar tan caótico. No había miradas reconfortantes, ni palabras de aliento para soportar los golpes de papá, ni nadie que curara sus heridas y le prometiera que todo estaría bien, y mucho menos el "Te quiero " que, según él, Kevin le diría.

El rubio siempre aparecía con algún moretón nuevo en alguna parte del cuerpo, que solía cubrir con ropa abrigada y una máscara. Al fin y al cabo, solo quería divertirse con sus amigos sin que le preguntaran qué le había pasado.

Nunca preguntaron por el infierno que vivía su amigo en casa.

Nunca le preguntaron por los moretones en su cuerpo. Por supuesto, esto solo aumentó el resentimiento de Kevin hacia él por desaparecer de casa durante largos periodos. Esto provocó la furia de sus padres, quienes, sin que Kenny estuviera cerca, descargaron toda su frustración sobre el severo Kevin.

Pero no importaba; Kenny solo quería divertirse y disfrutar de la inocencia de la infancia. Aunque aprendió cosas terribles en casa, nunca dejó que le afectaran. Eso fue hasta su trágico final, cuando su madre, por descuido o intencionalmente, quedó embarazada de su futura hermana Karen.

Cuando él y su hermano se enteraron, reaccionaron con furia. ¿Por qué traer otro niño al mundo que sufriría igual que ellos? ¿Por qué, sabiendo que el dinero no alcanzaba ni para vivir un día?

¿Eran realmente demonios que querían hacer sufrir a otra alma inocente?

¿Sería ella igual que su hermano?

Pero al igual que la sorpresa de la primera vez que su hermano le levantó la mano, al igual que en aquellas ocasiones en que estuvo al borde de la muerte y se salvó milagrosamente, al igual que en todas las sorpresas que la vida le deparó, su asombro radicaba en que él amaba a su hermana.

Un sentimiento que no había experimentado con ningún miembro de su familia.

La primera vez que vio a Karen, sintió el deseo de protegerla, incluso si eso significaba enfrentarse a sus padres. Para su sorpresa, su hermano, que se había convertido en un maltratador y un matón debido a la dura vida que había llevado, se convirtió en un verdadero hermano para la niña. La esperanza y la alegría se reflejaban en los ojos de Karen al ver a su bondadoso hermano mayor, algo que Kenneth no podía sentir.

Pero no dolió. Todo el dolor que pudo haber sentido fue reemplazado y llenado por el amor incondicional que le brindaba su hermana pequeña. Fue como si toda la maldad que había acumulado durante todos esos años, tanto en su mente como en su cuerpo, todos los pensamientos pecaminosos que había tenido y cometido con su grupo de amigos, todo eso fuera bendecido y perdonado por la dulzura que su hermana le traía.

Su vida ya tenía un propósito, y ese propósito era ver la cálida sonrisa de su hermana pequeña.

No importaba lo que tuviera que hacer para verla feliz.

Sin importar los golpes, la humillación y el miedo que sintiera, cuidar de Karen siempre fue lo primero.

Siempre...

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"¡Me voy con el viejo, mamá!", gritó, con medio cuerpo fuera de la pequeña casa mientras esperaba a que la mujer de dentro se despidiera.

—¡Que tengas un buen día, hijo mío! —suplicó la rubia adulta mientras servía un sencillo desayuno a su otra hija, que estaba sentada mirando al vacío—. Despídete tú también, Tricia. No seas descortés.

El adolescente pelirrojo, que solo había escuchado la escena con el ceño fruncido, le hizo el típico gesto obsceno de Tucker. "¡Adiós, Kenny! ¡No aumentes ni disminuyas la población!"

Cerró la puerta de la modesta casa, donde aún se oían los regaños de su madre a su hermana adolescente. Se dirigió a un callejón contiguo para sacar su bicicleta, ya bastante gastada. Al subirse, oyó un chirrido que parecía indicar que se iba a romper; sin embargo, Kenny confiaba plenamente en que no pasaría nada y que, con la suerte milagrosa que lo acompañaba, haría todo lo posible por mantenerla en buen estado.

Así que comenzó su camino al trabajo. Observó a su alrededor. Su barrio era agradable; era pequeño y todos se conocían. Gracias a ellos, ahora saludaba a cualquiera que veía y era recibido con calidez. El paisaje era urbano, lleno de casas y establecimientos públicos, típico de una zona dentro de la gran ciudad de Seúl. Al rubio le gustaba ver esos paisajes suburbanos, pero nada se comparaba con su ciudad natal, un lugar de tantos recuerdos que lo inundaban de nostalgia. Ssangmun-dong era un barrio acogedor, por no hablar de la gigantesca Seúl, pero aún no había descubierto cada rincón como Southpark, que conocía cada parte.

Pronto llegó a la única cancha de baloncesto del parque de su lado. Al verla, recordó su infancia en ese mismo parque de South Park, cuando solo tenía 7 años. Por aquel entonces, disfrutaba de cualquier plan para escapar de su antigua casa; los juegos tampoco estaban nada mal. Su grupo de amigos, Stan Marsh, Kyle Bloflovski y Eric Cartman, eran los que más tiempo pasaban allí jugando a juegos como el escondite, que afortunadamente siempre ganaba gracias a su delgadez y su habilidad para esconderse en los huecos más pequeños; y el juego de la luz roja, el peor para él. Consistía en que uno de ellos se daba la vuelta sin mirar a los demás que se acercaban al puesto, y si los pillaban moviéndose, quedaban "eliminados". Sus nervios y sus ganas de reír se intensificaban aún más al ver las caras exageradas de sus amigos, que lo hacían moverse y perder. Recordó que el que era bueno en ese juego era Kyle, porque era muy rápido y serio.

Había muchos más juegos que jugaban, recuerdos entrañables que le dibujaban una sonrisa radiante. Aunque eran juegos que todos los niños conocían, su grupo inventaba nuevas reglas y trucos para ganar. Nada superaba la satisfacción de ganar un juego con su equipo; para él era glorioso.

Un reflejo de la inocencia de una época sin prejuicios, donde, independientemente del género, la raza o cualquier otra diferencia, comenzaron a verse reflejados el uno en el otro en los años siguientes. Fueron años puros, anhelados, a los que deseaban regresar, un tiempo que jamás se repetiría.

La preadolescencia y los años siguientes fueron duros y trágicos para ellos, incluso para el pueblo, si se puede decir así. Ocurrieron cosas inimaginables, dejando el querido parque abandonado, hasta donde él sabía, y solo lleno de recuerdos en la mente de quienes disfrutaron del espacio.

Se secó las lágrimas al recordar el parque del pueblo donde creció. Comparado con el que veía ahora en el barrio, era evidente que no era lo mismo; nada lo era. Volvió a subirse a su bicicleta y pedaleó hacia el trabajo, donde seguramente lo estarían esperando.

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"¡Muévete, idiota, no te estoy pagando para que holgazanees!", espetó el hombre corpulento y de aspecto desagradable mientras contaba el dinero de sus manos sudorosas.

Su trabajo consistía en cargar y descargar cajas o mercancía para varios negocios. A veces solo tenía que cargar objetos ligeros, otras veces su complexión le dificultaba cargar mercancía pesada. El largo trayecto diario hacía que la tarea fuera agotadora para cualquiera; sin embargo, no podía quejarse porque era el único trabajo que había conseguido sin estudios superiores después del instituto, lo cual era frustrante porque el sueldo no era muy bueno. El viejo era un oportunista de primera; cuando veía el más mínimo error, descontaba todo lo que podía; no había días libres porque también los descontaba; les gritaba a los que no hacían bien su trabajo; si no estaban de buen humor, también los golpeaba, y lo peor de todo era que ni siquiera era posible renunciar porque el miserable tenía contactos con todas las tiendas de la ciudad, lo que hacía casi imposible conseguir otro trabajo porque ya estaban etiquetados como "problemáticos".

Aunque, si lo decía correctamente, el único problema era el viejo gruñón.

«¡¿Qué miras, idiota?! ¡Muévete si quieres cobrar!», gritó furioso el hombre, fulminando con la mirada al rubio, quien solo le devolvió una mirada desafiante y furiosa. Si no podía golpearlo ni insultarlo, al menos quería que supiera de su descontento.

Lo cual resultaba gracioso, sabiendo que, dada su trayectoria, Kenny Tucker nunca se callaba; siempre tenía algo que decir, y muchos ya le habían comentado que su excesiva charla era divertidísima.

Así que volvió a su trabajo y, como era de esperar, no le gustó. Lo odiaba tanto como detestaba los lunes por la mañana. ¿ Quién no, en realidad?

Pero al menos era honesto; eso le decía su madre, Laura, y solo porque necesitaba el dinero para mantener a su familia. Por esa simple razón, y porque necesitaba el dinero para mantener a su familia, Kenny iba a soportar al viejo cascarrabias solo por el trabajo.

Hace años, cuando su vida era un desastre y su única luz era su hermana Karen, su mundo dio un giro de 360 ​​grados, algo que él mismo provocó debido a su "actitud rebelde" de aquel entonces, lo que le llevó a buscar un hogar, algo que nunca tuvo con los McCormick, y fue entonces cuando la familia Tucker se convirtió en su salvación.

Era un niño cuando todo sucedió; una serie de eventos se desarrollaron que llevaron al final infeliz, comenzando desde el principio, si me permiten la redundancia . Kenny siempre fue protector con Karen, cuando ella nació fue su inspiración y se convirtió en una obligación querer protegerla de todo mal, ese mal estaba en su casa, a pesar de tener a Kevin para protegerla de sus padres, a veces no era suficiente y como Kenny, aparentemente odiado en esa casa, no dejaba que se aprovecharan de ella y siempre terminaba golpeado, humillado y en estado grave. Los McCormick adultos estaban furiosos con él porque, según ellos, era un desagradecido y un traidor, todavía recuerda los golpes e insultos de ese día pero nada le dolió más que las lágrimas de Karen cuando vio a su hermano gravemente herido, diría que ese día casi muere pero desafortunadamente no fue así, Kevin terminó el maltrato con una propuesta aún más desalentadora: que lo echaran de la casa por ser un traidor, para finalmente deshacerse de ese error. Sus padres accedieron y, por una vez, decidieron escuchar la sabia voz de su hijo mayor. Kenny no se resistió; le dolía lo poco que se preocupaban por él y simplemente se marchó.

Karen le rogó que no se fuera, pero él no lo había previsto. Kenny jamás dejaría sola a Karen y sabía que Kevin la protegería mientras tanto. Pero haría todo lo posible por seguir presente en la vida de su hermana. Sin importar la distancia, sin importar cuánto dinero le pidiera Kevin para poder verla, pagaría lo que fuera porque su amor fraternal por Karen era más fuerte que cualquier otra cosa.

Incluso con el castigo económico que Kevin le impuso para que estuviera al lado de Karen, eso no importaba.

Kenny le prometió estar cerca, y si cumplía su promesa, cuando la noticia aún estaba reciente, el rubio ya sabía dónde sería recibido, en la única casa donde las puertas siempre estaban abiertas para él.

Aparte de los chicos, tenía otro amigo que no formaba parte del grupo porque "no les caía bien", pero para él era el chico más interesante del mundo. Craig Tucker, el chico nerd del pueblo, que se podría decir que eran polos opuestos, Kenny era entusiasta, aventurero y distraído, mientras que Craig era tranquilo, calculador y extremadamente inteligente en los estudios. Craig era un niño solitario y para un niño sociable como Kenny era fácil acercarse a él a pesar de las advertencias de los demás, el rubio no iba bien académicamente y teniendo un genio como amigo, no desaprovechó la oportunidad, el resultado fue que Kenny siempre le pedía ir a clases con él, autoinvitándose solo a su casa donde, sin saberlo, conocería a su futura familia; el tiempo que pasaban juntos era incalculable porque el rubio se quedaba en casa todos los días sin falta, incluso comía con los Tucker, llegó al punto en que salía con ellos como si fueran familia. Lo que hizo que su amistad con Craig creciera aún más fue que llegó un punto en que parecían hermanos inseparables; No había nada que Kenny no supiera de él, y viceversa. En la casa de los Tucker, Kenny encontró el amor familiar que le faltaba; encontró padres que lo amaban incondicionalmente y hermanos con quienes podía discutir sin rencor. Sabía que era egoísta ignorar su antiguo hogar y a Karen, pero...

¿Cómo podría yo querer abandonar mi hogar celestial y regresar al infierno? ¿Acaso era piadoso pedir algo de amor?

La noche en que le negaron la entrada a la casa de los McCormick, Kenny, de once años, fue directamente a la casa de los Tucker, confiando plenamente en que lo dejarían quedarse unos días, sin saber que su vida estaba a punto de cambiar por completo. Cuando Kenny llamó a la puerta y los primeros rayos de luz de la casa finalmente lo cegaron en la oscuridad de la noche, fue entonces cuando dejó atrás su antiguo apellido.

Kenny Tucker finalmente había llegado a casa.

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Al regresar al barrio, decidió visitar la zona comercial, un mercado donde las cosas eran más baratas pero la inseguridad era generalizada. Se detuvo cerca de un puesto de pescado atendido nada menos que por el más joven de la familia.

"Llegas tarde, hueles mal. ¿Has visto la cara que tienes?", exclamó Tricia, que parecía estar en uno de esos momentos de amargura adolescente.

"Buenas noches, antes que nada, querida. En segundo lugar, ¿por qué estás tan amargada? ¿Te dejó tu novio? Ja...", se burló del estilo descarado de Kenny para hacerla sonreír, solo para recibir un rubor intenso de Tricia, lo que divirtió a la rubia.

"¿Dónde está mamá? No me digas que mi querida anciana se fue a descansar..." Sonrió con picardía, recordando que si su madre lo oía llamándola por ese apodo, seguramente lo regañaría por ser grosero.

"Mamá dijo que estaba cansada, así que le dije que se fuera a casa", dijo mientras hacía un pedido a domicilio. "Creo que está enferma otra vez, así que será mejor que no la hagas enojar, o te golpearé yo mismo y me aseguraré de que no vuelvas a caminar jamás".

Se le encogió el corazón, pero reunió fuerzas para mostrarse tan entusiasta como siempre. "No te preocupes, hermanita. Seré una verdadera ama de casa para que mamá tenga menos trabajo, y verás que se recuperará pronto..." Se aseguró de suavizar sus palabras para que sonaran despreocupadas y aligeraran el ambiente.

—¡Idiota! —siseó—. Toma estas hierbas y dáselas a mamá. Volveré después de la hora de cierre… —dijo, dándole algunas hierbas medicinales para aliviar el dolor.

"¡Oki doki!"

Estaba a punto de irse a casa, pero se detuvo en medio de la calle y se giró para mirar a la mujer pelirroja, que seguía mirándolo fijamente.

"...¿Llamó?"

"...No."

Kenny se dio la vuelta y reanudó su camino.

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El camino a casa fue gélido; incluso con el cambio de estación, el frío le calaba hasta los huesos. Las calles estaban heladas y la vegetación era innegable. Llegó a la entrada de la casa y, al abrirla, sintió cómo la cálida brisa de la chimenea lo envolvía. La luz cegadora, con sus tonos naranjas y amarillos que recordaban a una puesta de sol, fue recibida por un relámpago, y oyó pasos que se acercaban.

"Bienvenida a casa, querida."

Juraría que solo la tenue pero singular sonrisa de la mayor lo envolvía, incluso desde la distancia. Era un encanto que solo su madre, Laura, podía poseer.

Cerró la puerta tras de sí y se sentaron en el modesto comedor. Sonrió al ver la comida ya servida, de la que emanaba un exquisito humo, lo que significaba que iba a estar deliciosa. Le encantaba la cocina de su madre; cada plato parecía estar hecho con inmenso cariño. Le dio las gracias por el plato y empezaron a comer, cuando sintió que sus músculos se tensaban ante la mirada indiscreta de la rubia con cada bocado. Esa mirada que solo una madre podía dedicarle a su hijo que había hecho una travesura, aunque Kenny no sabía cuál era.

—Kenny, cuéntame cómo te va en el trabajo. ¿Todo bien? ¿Tienes algún problema con tus jefes? —preguntó de repente, para su sorpresa.

"Todo va de maravilla, mami, no tienes de qué preocuparte...", dijo juguetonamente, casi sin poder hablar. "De hecho, me pagarán mañana si eso es lo que te preocupa... ¡Esta vez no me descontarán nada, lo juro!"

La mayor lo miró fijamente durante un largo rato, hasta que su rostro se tensó y su voz se quebró.

"Hoy volví a llamar a Craig para averiguar cuándo llegaría a casa..." Hizo una pausa, "pero no contestó de nuevo."

Kenny sintió que el ambiente se volvía tenso; su madre estaba a punto de llorar. Recordó lo difícil que fue para ella que su hermano la "abandonara", porque después de irse con su marido, nunca más volvió al barrio, ni dejó un solo mensaje. El tema de Craig era delicado porque la rubia sentía nostalgia por su hijo, y los dos hermanos que quedaban no sabían cómo animarla. Cuando surgió el tema de su hermano "el empollón", con el paso de los años se convirtió simplemente en un tema tabú.

"Seguro que está trabajando, mamá. Ya sabes cómo son los trabajos en California, y encima es astrólogo. ¡No creo que tenga mucho tiempo!", afirmó. "En cuanto a mi cuñado, ¡seguro que los dos están bien! Te lo digo, ya hablé con él; ¡ambos llevan una vida muy ajetreada!"

Una mentira piadosa, pero era la única manera de tranquilizar a su madre, algo que lamentaba en secreto.

"..."

"..."

"Todavía no es demasiado tarde para ir a la universidad, Kenny..."

" ¿Qué?"

" Escucha, si estudias una carrera como la de Craig, puedes conseguir un buen trabajo y ganar un buen sueldo, más del que ganas ahora. Tú y tus hermanas ya no tendrían que trabajar y tendrían un buen futuro... Incluso podrías tener a Karen como tu tutora."

Quedó atónito por toda la información que había recibido, pero en cuanto su cerebro colapsó, sintió un profundo dolor en el corazón.

"Mamá... ¿Por qué dices eso?", preguntó tenso. "Parece que tienes planes para el futuro... Estamos bien como estamos, mamá..."

"Hablo en serio, Kenneth. Ya no eres un niño que puede jugar en el parque. Ahora eres un adulto y tienes que sentar cabeza. Dime, ¿qué harás cuando yo ya no esté?"

Como un balde de agua fría .

Donde más duele. —No digas eso, vieja. ¿Estás enfadada conmigo? Si es por el descuento de hace unos meses, te aseguro que no fue culpa mía...

Le vino a la mente el recuerdo de cómo el mes pasado le descontaron parte del sueldo simplemente por estar ausente, porque había una fiesta de cumpleaños en el parque para uno de los niños del vecindario; casi no era culpa suya que los vecinos lo consideraran un buen payaso.

Un largo suspiro llenó la habitación.

Las luces estaban perdiendo su color .

"You spend all your time playing with the neighborhood kids in the park, hanging out with your friends during work hours, and you even leave Karen alone..." She took the blond boy's hands, highlighting the passage of time in the worn hands of both the woman and her son. "You need to grow up, Kenny. You have to be a role model as an older brother and the man of the house..." And the absence of a man of the house was certainly felt, because he wasn't one. "This world is full of adversity, and when I have to go, I want to be sure you can survive it and take care of your family..."

He felt his eyes sting with the tears that were coming, his throat close as he tried to answer, and his mind grow more fragile. Like a child being told his mother wouldn't be around forever.

The feeling of a soft hand cupping his cheeks in a maternal way.

A gesture his mother always made whenever his world was falling apart.

"I worry about you, son, that's all. I want you to be okay even when I'm gone. Can I trust you?"...

And that was the hardest thing to answer, because Kenny never had an answer, not in moments like these.

Not when the world stopped being so easy when he still had the eyes of a child; now the childlike filter was being removed, and he didn't know how or when, but his life was more complicated.

Although it always had been.

"..."

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The darkness of his room made it the perfect setting to unleash his mind, filled with insecurities that devoured every memory that crossed his path.

His mother was right.

Normally, if a scolding struck a nerve, he would exaggerate it, slam the door in his face, and act like a pampered pet because, according to him, he always thought she worried too much; his teenage experiences justified it.

However, he couldn't replicate that immature, pubescent behavior because, although Kenny didn't yet consider himself a "mature man for his age," society had unfortunately already labeled him as such.

So, all that was left was to reflect instead of having fun and believing the world belonged to him.

Let's see, how fun to drown in the same stagnant water.

Kenny continued living in the past instead of focusing on the future. He was no longer a child who enjoyed playing in the parks with his friends; no, now he was an adult with responsibilities, in charge of his actions, something he didn't seem to know how to do. Many said it jokingly, but at this moment he approves, he seemed like a child in a man's shoes.

He remembered Craig and how, surely, right now, he was living his life like an adult with a stable job and a wonderful marriage. Successfully managing whatever it takes to be an astrologer, he never understood when his brother tried to explain things to him.

He didn't think that listening to his explanations of how NASA works would help him through one of his quarter-life crises—don't expect too much!

Volviendo a Craig, era un adulto hecho y derecho, a diferencia de Kenny; tal vez era tan inteligente como él, tal vez tenía un buen trabajo sin preocupaciones económicas, tal vez podía brindarles todos los lujos a las mujeres que quería. Tricia ya no tendría que trabajar todos los días con mamá, Karen podría verlo a diario, y su madre finalmente podría descansar tranquila sin tener que esforzarse tanto a su avanzada edad.

Tal vez, tal vez, tal vez... solo suposiciones, porque parecían sueños lejanos. La expectativa del mundo de que fuera funcional lo aterraba; las exigencias de su edad actual lo hacían añorar su infancia, cuando su única preocupación era ganar ese maldito juego de luz roja y luz verde.

Se llevó la mano a la barbilla, intentando recordar si alguna vez había ganado aquel juego con sus amigos en su antiguo pueblo. Lo cual era devastador, una mala idea, porque recordar cualquier cosa del pasado en el pueblo y con su grupo lo debilitaba y lo llenaba de nostalgia. Era como reabrir una herida que sangraba porque no la dejaba cicatrizar, y peor aún con momentos de angustia como este.

Cuando su mente se llenaba de pensamientos que no podía resolver, siempre se giraba hacia el otro lado de la habitación para consultar a su hermano, una costumbre que había adquirido al tener al chico de cabello oscuro como compañero de cuarto durante toda su adolescencia. Sin embargo, Craig ahora solo veía una cama que nadie había tocado en muchos años; estaba solitaria.

Estaba solo.

Tras tanto pensar, dar vueltas en la cama sin hacer y ver pasar las horas en su viejo reloj de escritorio, llegó a una conclusión. Una conclusión que no parecía resolver el problema que su madre le había planteado.

Sí, lo estaba evitando, como un niño, pero en serio, no estaba preparado para afrontarlo...

El mundo nunca lo esperó, y siempre lo castigó por hacer lo que le daba la gana.

Necesitaba dinero desesperadamente. Quizás no fuera el más listo, pero conocía algunos negocios poco conocidos que ofrecían préstamos fiables con reembolso inmediato. ¡Y no! No era una estafa ni nada por el estilo. Kenny se había convertido en una figura conocida en su barrio, tras años dedicándose a labrarse una reputación allí. Era imposible que lo engañaran. ¡Había estado en todos los establecimientos! ¡ Conocía a esa gente! ¡Jamás le harían daño!

¡No estaba condenado!

Trabajaría como un burro para pagarlo. Lo haría. Estaba listo. Nada podía salir mal si la empresa era de confianza .

De nuevo, conocía a todos en el vecindario y sabía qué matones habían sido neutralizados hacía mucho tiempo. Si era presuntuoso, ¡él mismo había ayudado a librar al vecindario de esa plaga!

¡Ja! ¡Al final no era tan débil como pensaba! ¿Verdad?

Ah...

Craig me había explicado cómo funcionaban las prestaciones sociales hacía mucho tiempo, incluso demostrando con su propio ejemplo que eran una fuente de ingresos fiable gracias al préstamo que obtuvo para comprar un apartamento en California. Muchos contratos, firmas, autorizaciones, bla, bla... ¡Lo entendí, no era tan tonto después de todo!

Estaba decidido. Iría por la mañana a informarse sobre un préstamo y cumpliría todos los deseos de su familia, ¡como un buen proveedor!

Incluso podría pedir un aumento de sueldo. ¡Es pura psicología! Ven que tienes dinero y ¡zas! De repente eres el jefe de algo...

¡Todo saldrá bien!

Satisfecho, volvió a la cama para dormir, aunque un demonio aún se lo impedía; la culpa se manifestaba como insomnio. No quería admitir que estaba evitando el problema que había provocado la reprimenda de Laura.

No quieres crecer.

¿Por qué?

Porque tengo miedo...

Because I'm scared

Porque

El mundo cambió demasiadas veces para él, rápida y violentamente, tanto que el tiempo se convirtió en su verdugo, y por mucho que corriera, siempre lo encontraría, y él siempre lo encontraría.

Ten cuidado con lo que deseas, Kenny. ¿Quieres volver a cuando los tiempos eran más fáciles?

Que así sea...

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Chapter Text

Sunbeams bathed every corner of the park, and the sound of birds sweetened the atmosphere of the bustling place. It was soon filled with a group of children and a striking boy who, strangely enough, excitedly awaited his orders as he traced some chalk drawings on the floor to, according to him, play a little game from his childhood.

The children were already eager to play and tried to understand the older boy's calculated strokes, but their innocence and lack of knowledge of traditional games prevented them. According to the blond boy, what he was tracing on the floor was a squid. Amidst jokes and shrill voices, they mocked him for such an absurd and silly game. Kenny acted outraged that he was offended, but he loved how those curious children waited for him to finish.

"Good! As you can see, it's a squid! And I assure you, it's the most fun game you'll ever play!"

I heard screams and squeals of joy. Ready to play, they listened attentively to the explanation.

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"Ugh! No, I'm already dead, go on without me!" It was already the fifth round they were playing, and he was exhausted. Being practically superior in every way to those kids playing the squid game, he let them lose most of the time so his team could win and have fun. After all, he brought that game for them, just so they'd have memories like he had with his old friends from hometown.

Unfortunately for him, he was already sore from all the shoving and fake falls he'd caused himself against the cold, hard floor. Not to mention his dramatic "elimination" scenes, hiding the bleeding and dying.

It was one of the activities he enjoyed most, although it was unusual for his neighbors to see children playing with a young adult unsupervised. It was what he most longed to do with his friends again. It made him feel nostalgic. Each game he played took him back to a bygone reality where the world was easier, where his only concern was not letting any of his friends beat him and guessing what food awaited him at home after a long day of pure fun. Their game continued while the laughter intensified until he spotted a teenager in the distance enthusiastically approaching the blond boy.

"Kenny!" She raised her arm in greeting and ran with great joy. Karen had arrived without fail to meet her beloved older brother every morning. Kenny flashed a loving smile and ran toward her.

Now they were sitting on the sidewalk, right at the uneven road. The blond wanted to treat her to breakfast for both of them. Although Karen was already fed, Kenny ignored her annoyances and bought some cookies they were selling in the park anyway. Cookies that were another traditional game called Dalgona. He really didn't have much money to buy anything more elaborate.

"Why aren't you coming over to our house anymore? Yesterday I waited for you until Kevin told me to go to sleep..." he said, moving his feet against the asphalt as if it were the most entertaining thing in the world.

"Double shift, shorty, you'll understand when you're older, dear Karen," he said with feigned sadness while hiding a fake whimper, which caused the brunette to laugh and pout at the nickname and the clear sarcasm her brother displayed. At her age, she was already a full-fledged teenager, but Kenny still saw her as the same innocent girl who understood nothing about the world.

Karen continued telling him typical teenage things, and Kenny listened as if she were just another friend of his sister's. He reacted dramatically, gave wise but mischievous advice, and, most importantly, made Karen feel good with all the jokes and antics he made to cheer her up during the difficult time she was going through. In the end, it was the same feeling he felt in his time, only, for him, it was a very traumatic experience.

Talking to Karen was as if his world had frozen and turned to color. His spirits had lifted, making him the happiest person in the world. His sister was very trustworthy and kind. She spoke with overwhelming sweetness and was wise when it came to speaking, very different from her older siblings.

He loved her so much that it even hurt him over the "betrayal" that had happened with the McCormicks. After that incident, Kevin became very overprotective of her, to the point where they would even fight due to the pent-up anger between them. Kenny wanted to see Karen and even take her to the Tuckers so they could be a complete family, but Kevin was ferocious, a violent adult who would kill with words and "bite" anyone who came near Karen.

When Kenny and his new family moved to Ssangmun-dong after his father's death, he was very afraid of leaving his old life behind, as he would be leaving everything behind in South Park, where his friends and beloved sister were. It was a great relief when Kevin decided to move with Karen in a few months to a district near his own. They would finally leave the hostile and wild environment their "parents" had given them. When they finally achieved this, it was a great victory; he had never felt so glorious in his life.

It was as if life had given him all the Christmas presents he'd been missing up until that moment. He had a family who loved him, siblings who loved him, and Karen was there with him. But it wasn't going to be easy. The favor Kevin was giving him by letting her see her wasn't that he regretted all the abuse he had caused her when he was a child. No, Kevin worked every day without time to be with his sister, leaving Kenny with her. He didn't do this willingly; he had to beg Kevin to let her see him. Karen didn't know it, but the blond man paid a monthly stipend so he could be near her, which, according to the older man, was for Karen's expenses. Which was true, given the teenager's sincerity, although it sounded cruel; it was the only option to keep things calm between the two "savages" when it came to her little sister.

From that day on, he'd been paying Kevin for years to let him watch Karen grow up until now, when she was already a young lady. Kenny avoided saying it, but he wasn't going to admit that after so many misfortunes that had happened during those years, he had grossly neglected Karen by putting other priorities before her.

"Will Kevin be mad at you for being here? You know he doesn't like you seeing me without his permission, and especially not skipping school..." she murmured, her fingers intertwined with her blonde locks.

"Mmmm, I don't think he'll find out anyway... He's been really busy making calls all week, and he won't even tell me what it's about. It's very strange, they don't even call him that because of his job..." she took a bite of her cookie. "Which is good, so I can see you whenever I want, little brother!"

"Calls, you say? Ha! Don't be a girl! Karen, be careful with your brother, he'll get away from you." A few words later, this amused them both to the point of laughing together. Their imitation games and teasing filled the room with laughter, unaware of the time passing.

They both got up and started walking until they left the neighborhood, reaching the corner where their paths would separate: she to school and he to work.

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After a few arduous hours of work, it was finally time to collect their paychecks. He was leaning against a wall, waiting in the long line outside his boss's office, wondering how much his pay would be this month. According to him, he'd attended every shift, and it was only fair that it be a good amount.

That had to be the case, because otherwise, he wouldn't know how to pay the lenders.

He had that conversation with his mother months ago and had already contacted a company that gave him a substantial cash loan—perhaps one of the most tentative options. Without questioning the dubious origin of the money, he signed every agreement they offered him. As I said, the idea of putting the money in front of him made him so dizzy that, strangely, he signed one last contract with his own blood.

Money is definitely tempting and blinding to anyone, a pleasure to perhaps gamble to accumulate more profit, perhaps to meet up with old acquaintances and go out to party wildly, perhaps to bet large amounts of money to get other absurd amounts of the same back. After all, he always won when it came to gambling, that's how it was when he was little, he always won.

A month passed after the loan he took out, and he'd even forgotten everything he'd done with the money he'd borrowed. One day, dangerous people came looking for him for not paying on time. He was at work, and as soon as he heard his name, he ran away as if they were going to kill him. That night, he returned and saw a note in his locker that was a cold-blooded threat.

"Your decision: pay up or your head will roll. We know where you live. If you don't pay, we'll take your nice little house... You have one week."

Shit

He needed the money now. Otherwise, those scammers and probably gang members would take over his house if he didn't do something now. He hadn't even told his mother about his foolish decision, and he couldn't leave her without a home that had cost them so much after his father's death. Maybe, with the payment for his job, he could calm the gang members' angry dogs and have time to get money and pay them.

Why are you so stupid?

His turn finally arrived, and he was face to face with his idiot boss. With a look that didn't sound very friendly, he sized him up as if he recognized him. He began to take out bills, then threw a wad of them at him, which fell to the floor. Angry and humiliated, he picked up the wad, and as soon as the blond man counted his pay, his frown immediately appeared and his face turned a furious red.

"What's this?" a harsh voice came from his lips. He swore that if it were knives, his boss wouldn't count it.

"Your pay for the days worked." Anyone who heard those words could swear they were full of venom that only seemed to reward himself like the viper he was.

"This! This isn't even half of what I'm entitled to. I want my money!" he spat, shamelessly waving the bills in front of the scoundrel.

"What? You wanted me to pay for your mistakes?! Don't fuck with me! Weeks ago you brought those gang members here and you weren't even at your post, idiot! If you want some help for yourself and your stupid family, grab a few cents there, I'm sure you'll need them...

"You're a-!"

Without hesitation, with his hand clenched in pent-up anger scraping the weak tissues of his already bloodied skin, he savagely struck the boss in front of him, who, without warning, fell, giving Kenny a chance to vent his anger.

Blow after blow, kick after kick, and the crimson fluid staining the blond's knuckles; the riot began. People crowded together, their minds clouded by primitive hatred, and the simple, insolent sliver of money that was the cause of all the chaos in the place, something so simple yet tempting that it could provoke the most daunting war.

It was incredible how those same hands that had embraced the fragility of his sister, that had played with the innocent children of heavenly laughter, those same hands were disfiguring the face of another human being.

Blinded by helplessness, hatred, and frustration at the misfortune that accompanied him, he was separated by other workers to avoid further violence. After a tense silence with long, deep sighs, he heard a low voice barely audible over the moans and broken words.

"You're fired, you'll never work again... Tucker."

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The clouds closed off any trace of the sky as lightning approached, heralding a storm.

Kenny, after being practically fired from his old job, had no choice but to "quit" if that was still possible and head to the park, unconcerned that the people passing by looked at him in horror and disgust. He didn't even have time, or care, to see the state of his face. But now, in the silence of the park, with the faint creaking of the swings and the birds strutting their songs, all he could do was recap everything that had happened.

Why did he explode like that? At what point did his anger reach such a level that even he couldn't bear it?

He never liked fights. In all the years he lived with the Tuckers, he hadn't started or gotten involved in a teenage fight. Although he wouldn't say it out loud, he was afraid of conflict. Every time there was even the slightest disagreement between friends or family, it always ended badly.

Now this was the result: no job, no pay, no way to pay the enormous debt he'd incurred, and above all, no one to complain to about the misfortunes that befell him. Now he was in the park. Why did he end up there? He doesn't know; maybe it's just habit.

As if the universe saw him as miserable as the day he came into the world. His cell phone rang.

As if everything was crashing down on him, the voice through the speaker was desperate, sad, and pleading. It was Karen calling him.

It took only a few seconds of the call for Kenny to change direction and run as if there were no tomorrow, because maybe there wouldn't be one anymore.

Life was slapping him in the face again. Every time she saw him happy, all her natural forces worked to ruin everything and leave him dry with tears of helplessness for the life he had chosen for himself. His skin burned, and his labored breathing was all he heard now. He looked like a madman, he knew that. His throat burned, begging for rest, but just thinking about it only brought one thought to his mind.

"If I stop, I'll lose her forever..."

He crossed the suburbs of Ssangmun-dong and left until he reached the district where Karen lived. He entered the neighborhood until he reached a dire part of it. The neglected dogs greeted him with barking as the first drops of torrential rain fell. The place was discouraging and neglected. Unfortunately, Kevin couldn't find anything safer for two young people escaping extreme poverty after moving: the home of the McCormick children.

He barely touched the house when a brunette teenager charged at Kenny, with Kevin trailing behind him, completely unrecognizable to the blond. She had a distressed expression as if the news hadn't gone down well with Karen, but as soon as their eyes met, his gaze turned hostile and filled with hate.

"What the hell are you doing here, idiot?!" he raised his voice, pure venom as he spat. "The last time you were here, I made it very clear I didn't want to see you again! Go back to your family and don't come back! Tucker..."

He was about to answer, with the anger built up throughout the day; for some strange reason, Kevin made him so primitive with his emotions. He was about to answer with the same venom with which Kevin insinuated himself. But Karen's grip on his waist tightened, stopping any movement. Her glassy gaze brought him back to reality, away from the crimson of hatred that enveloped his vision. There he understood, and like the person the Tuckers raised, he began to talk.

"Why the hell are they leaving here?" Her voice sounded determined, but weak, leaving a trace of pain on her part. "Y-you can live in any house in any district... Why go to another country?!"

Her voice cracked, and the lump in her throat made it impossible to form any words.

Kevin refused to lift his head to finally look his former brother in the eyes. He refused to see Kenny's pleading eyes, capable of speaking, that clearly said:

"Don't take her away from me, for God's sake, don't take her away from me..."

Minutes passed, and all they could hear was the teenager hiccuping while crying and clinging to the blond, Kenny trying to hide his sobs with his glassy eyes, unwilling to stop crying, and finally Kevin, who stood firm like a wall of ice, someone who had already made the decision about their future. The future of both of them.

"Karen will have more opportunities elsewhere than here. I will take her in as her legal guardian and make sure that her environment is the best she has here..." His harsh voice destroyed the fragile atmosphere that had been created.

"You just want to separate her from me! Why won't you admit it? You hate me so much that you don't even want to see her with me anymore, don't you?" He snapped, trying to get rid of the lump in his gut. "Well, I don't care! J-just tell me how much you want for them to stay... just tell me the amount you want."

"Can't you see our sister is crying without one of us?"

"...Why should I listen to a stranger? You're nobody to me, and I shouldn't have to receive something from a stranger in exchange for my sister. That's all-"

"Kevin, please!" He interrupted with a scream that he was sure had alerted the surrounding neighbors. "Please... just tell me."

An absurd deal they'd already made years ago, but now Kevin denied it, as if he were the devil himself for proposing such a tremendous idea: money in exchange for his sister. But that was all there was to it. Money was what was needed, what adults needed to support their loved ones. In his mind, it was only fair.

— If you want to see her, your "debt" will be greater... I'll make sure Karen goes to the best schools, dresses her best, and lives without any needs. If you want to see her one more time, your debt will be greater than you think... Because if I take her and you can't see her with everything I'm asking for, it's simple.

My heart ached as soon as Kevin coughed up the amount of money needed to see his little sister, it was more than I could afford.

— Then... Then I'll fight for her! I'm better off than you! I can easily take her away from you and become her legal guardian! — a ridiculously long silence that only allowed the drizzle to be heard.

—You can't even control yourself... Do you think those idiots will give you custody?...

His words fell like a bucket of cold water. Kevin was right, and it hurt.

His sister cried when she saw Kenny stunned. Was that it? Was this the last time he would see her? Would he not see her at school every day anymore? Would they no longer play in the park with other children? Would he no longer see her beautiful smile that brightened his day? Was he really so bad as to deserve such a punishment?

A discouraging hug was the last thing that happened. Kenny was gone, unable to utter a word, his eyes worthy of growing trauma. Another loved one was about to leave...

He doesn't know how long it took, but when he felt the coldness of being cruelly separated from Karen by Kevin, who simply carried her into the house without any resistance, leaving him there on the icy floor with the rain soaking everything that remained of him, he felt like his other half had been taken away from him...

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His head was spinning and his eyes burned just from looking at the lamppost in front of him. He didn't know how he'd gotten there, or why his feet had carried him to the bus stop where the bus was waiting to return to his distant neighborhood. Now he had a shelter at the stop, awaiting him from the torrential rain.

His gaze was fixed on nothingness; he felt cold, and everything in him was a walking disaster. He wanted to cry and let out all the pent-up frustration, but he was too tired to do so. He stared at the violent rain that fell rapidly, and he was left behind, alone and depressed.

He doesn't know when it happened or how he didn't feel the other presence that sat next to him, but there it was, admiring the rain falling next to him in an eerie silence.

What the f-

"Good evening, sir. Do you have a minute?" the redhead finally spoke with a disgustingly friendly smile that seemed more deranged than genuinely peaceful.

"I'm not interested in what you're selling, thank you..."

"It's not what you think, sir. This is a great opportunity that-..."

"Didn't you hear me? I'm not interested in any of your products or anything you're selling. Just leave me alone, or I swear I'll call the police to arrest you and make you rot in jail!" he exploded.

He was so irritated that the last thing he needed was to spend it on something else. He turned away, ignoring the other man as if he'd never existed and ruining his moment of bankruptcy.

"Sir, do you want to play a game with me?" asked the man with dark eyes and freckles.

"Don't you have anyone else to bother?" he said, not thinking about the deserted place they were in. "Look, I understand that your situation is unfortunate enough to beg for money, but I'm the same!" So you're wasting your time with me...

His gaze fell on the suitcase the redhead pulled out between them, which, to his surprise, contained two squares of blue and red paper, and of course, a lot of bills that caught the blond's attention.

"Sir, do you know Ddakji? If so, play with me. Every time I win, I'll give you 100 won, okay?"

"Excuse me?"

"And every time I win, you'll give me one hundred won... I'll let you start. Is that okay?" he concluded, offering the two red and blue envelopes in front of him face.

At this point, everything around him didn't matter to him; the situation was so unreal that she couldn't think of a sensible response at the moment.

"I swear, if this is a damn scam, I'll kill him..." he sighed. "Give me the blue one."

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And that's how Kenny had to remember his greatest exploits with his childhood game. Precisely remembering how terrible he was at it.

As soon as he stood up and slammed the envelope against the floor to make it spin, and then to make it stop spinning, he knew he must have practiced more in the past, especially when the man in a suit moved it inches away and then did it perfectly, to Kenny's surprise and horror.

"You don't have anything to pay me with, do you?" he asked, under the other's nervous gaze. "You can pay me with your body, you know?"

"Hey, listen, what do you mean..." he was interrupted by the subtle slap he could swear to. Not even the blows that day would have been as strong as the one the redhead had just given him.

A normal person would be offended, walk away, or maybe slap him back, but he was stubborn and excessive, so much so that he asked for more chances just to win.

What only left

Another slap

Two more slaps

Another one wouldn't hurt

After all, no one was watching, right?

He'd already had two fights that day; five slaps were nothing to him.

Another one and...

I win?

I win!

As if everything around him was in slow motion, he swore he could hear melodies of triumph. He raised his arms and, just like a toddler, began to jump while enjoying his great victory, ignoring the applause of the other. A feeling as warm as when you win a game...

"I did it! I did it! See, I could do it! Let's go!" He cackled, a sign of his happiness that relieved any pain in his body. But his immense happiness was overshadowed by the arm extended to him with a juicy amount of bills, bringing him back to reality.

"Congratulations."

He couldn't remember the exact time he had so many bills in his hand, aside from the loan, nor did he remember feeling that sensation you only get when you receive money without much effort. Right now, Kenny was feeling it, and he liked it. However, a feeling of unease washed over him when the redhead interrupted his gambling celebration to tell him about the money. It had been a long time since he'd felt this way while playing. It made him... nostalgic.

"You can make even more money playing simple games, sir..." he commented, putting the entire game back into his briefcase. "From what I see... You seem to be quite good at playing."

"Tch, whatever... " He rolled his eyes and then prepared to leave. " Thanks for the money, bye bye..."

He was about to leave when he heard the guy make some unwanted revelations.

" Kenny Tucker... High school graduate, former multi-jobber, currently unemployed from his job as a porter; he owes lenders over a thousand won with collateral on all his belongings, including his house, and has a large debt due to family matters."

The blond man was stunned by the information revealed that was supposed to be private only to him. Who the hell was this guy?

" Ha, why are you following me? Is he some kind of extortionist? I'm warning you, if you are, I'll call the police and-..."

He was standing face to face with the man in a suit when the other pulled out a card with some notable figures of a circle, triangle, and square, and a phone number.

"We'd be delighted to have you at the games, think about it." Without further ado, the man took an umbrella out of his briefcase and began to walk away until he disappeared into the distance, leaving Kenny holding the card.

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The return home was encouraging. The money in his hands made him so happy that he jumped every time he remembered his great triumph. He was happy and ready to get home to show his mother and Tricia the juicy prize he had won.

However, his pace slowed when he saw his house in the distance, Laura apologizing, clearly scared, in the doorway, while in front of her stood five remarkably robust and strong men capable of destroying anyone with a couple of blows. Those men were looking for him...

He immediately slipped through his neighbor's yard and then climbed the fences separating both houses. As soon as he reached the ground, he mentally strained not to make a sound that would alert the "hitmen" at the front door. He took small steps until he reached the back of the house where, thanks to his brother Craig, there was a homemade ladder he had built some time ago to clearly sneak his then-boyfriend inside without his mother finding out. With great difficulty, he climbed the stairs until he reached the empty room he had shared with the black man years ago, and there he had to wait in silence until he heard his mother close the door.

He was about to leave to explain everything to the blonde until he heard two people coming up the stairs into the hallway, and then she heard the orange-haired woman.

"Mom, please stay calm... My brother will fix this, you'll see..."

A muffled voice appeared. "You saw those men, daughter. As soon as they find Kenny, they'll beat him up, or maybe worse! I need to talk to him..."

"Mom, please calm down, you're getting upset..."

"It's just that he can't be so... Ugh! I don't know what he's getting into, my God, they'll kill him as soon as they see him, and from what he said, if he doesn't pay his debt, they'll take the house and his person as collateral..."

What?

Suddenly, he heard Laura's heartbreaking cry that crushed any happiness she felt, a sharp, painful pain in her heart, already worn out by the horrible feeling. He collapsed and huddled behind the door to continue listening.

— Not even Craig shows up to help us... Maybe he doesn't even care about us anymore, that's why he never came back and doesn't even dare to answer...

He heard two women wailing, which ended up devastating him. What would he have to do to fix this mess? Why had he been so stupid to fall for that scam? Was there a way to fix it?

At that moment, he remembered the money stashed inside his jacket and instinctively reached for the invitation the strange man had given him.

Easy money...

Without thinking and without making much noise, he called the number on the card. Without waiting, a man answered, asking for his name and date of birth, and finally, telling him certain rules he would have to follow if he wanted to play the games.

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It was already past midnight, and the bus stop was deserted. He waited a few minutes before spotting a single white van approaching him. He approached the driver's window, who was wearing an eccentric pink suit and a mask that hid his face.

"Password..."

"Um, red light, green light..."

The van doors slid open to allow Kenny to get in. He hesitated to board such a strange van, but he looked up, unconcerned about the distrust the whole thing emanated. He got in and sat next to two people who were fast asleep.

"Everyone seems tired, huh..." he tried to chat with the driver. "And how long will it take us to get there..."

Blinding smoke sprayed throughout the van. His eyelids grew heavy, his muscles weakened, and he succumbed to the exhaustion that made him fall asleep immediately, ignoring the horrible fate that had just befallen them.

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Chapter Text

A starry glow shattered any dreams the blond man might have harbored. The sudden flicker of lights jolted his eyes open, revealing a black metal bunk bed and the rumbling sounds of a crowd waking with lazy sighs and whatever other noises one might make after a long sleep.

He sat up on what appeared to be his bed, his curious eyes immediately scanning the room. Letters were piled up all over the white walls, and any drawings visible to the keen observer were scattered about. Before him was a raised platform leading to large metal doors and a smaller one beside them.

He was very confused. He looked around, only to find more people in the same situation, just as disoriented as he was. He immediately noticed the obvious, bright turquoise athletic uniform they all seemed to be wearing. He lowered his head and saw the same people, only each wearing a noticeable number.

456

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The crowd began to stir, hesitant after the apparent mass kidnapping they had just endured, all while listening to a simple yet cheerful melody, a stark contrast to his current feelings.

He moved cautiously down the iron steps, each footstep creaking, each step resonating with the sound of the ironwork. Memories swirled through his mind.

Was he kidnapped? Clearly, he was. He wasn't that stupid. Unlike the others, he didn't seem particularly frightened. It wasn't that he was used to it, not at all. Everything felt so unreal, so absurd, it seemed like a dream.

Despite the bizarre situation, he smiled slyly. "Did they really have the nerve to kidnap all the riffraff now wandering around the room? Any criminal group that had orchestrated this would know it was madness. If I had the fool who planned this in front of me, I'd tell him so to his face, no fear.

"What idiot would think of kidnapping half of Korea? The police will be looking for us, if they weren't already..."

He jumped from the third-to-last step to the floor. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his ears sharpened and he picked up a voice. His body was curious to turn around to see where the chatter was coming from; not that he was interested, but the incessant murmur was nagging at his brain with sheer curiosity.

He saw a pale, hairless young man kneeling on his bunk, completely relaxed and unconcerned by the unexpected kidnapping. His blond hair was shiny and noticeably softer than his own, and his features were innocent and friendly at first glance, except for a striking vertical scar that adorned the area around his left eye.

"Um... Excuse me, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice more timid than he expected, so much so that the young man turned around, startled by the interruption of his involuntary murmurs. The moment his eyes met a pair of blue ones, a senseless fear gripped him, leaving him completely disoriented. That fixed gaze was making him unnerving.

A moment that seemed to stretch into eternity passed. Kenny was getting nervous about the stranger's reaction, seriously considering leaving before he answered, until the other man finally replied.

Suddenly, he returned to his cheerful demeanor. "Oh! Hi! I was just repeating a tongue twister to calm myself down... Being here gives me the creeps, hamburgers..." The blue-eyed man stood up so quickly that the disheveled blond didn't have time to think. "Sorry for being rude, my name is Leopold Stotch, nice to meet you! What's your name?"

"Me? Um, my name is Kenny... Kenny Tucker! Nice to meet you too." He shook his hand in an enthusiastic greeting. He hadn't expected such a warm welcome after seeing him so serious, but he was pleased by the boy's enthusiasm. As soon as they separated, he looked him up and down, noticing his number 003. "Heh, isn't that something? I think we're in a possible crematorium, haha. And you, why are you here? Did they make you play Dkaji too?" he asked, clearly wanting to strike up a conversation.

Leo smiled again, carefree, and turned to look at the center of the room, which was gradually filling up with people. "Oh... The truth is, I didn't have anything more interesting to do! And I really like playing kids' games, so I saw it as... a sign!" He chuckled softly. "It's silly, isn't it?"

"Hey! You say you like games?" He nodded. "Tell me, what are your favorite games? Maybe we can figure some out! I like games too." Kenny was really excited to find someone who shared his tastes. There weren't many young people his age who still enjoyed playing children's games; in fact, they made fun of him for it. But this new friend, if you could even call him that, was naming all his favorite games! He was bursting with joy.

Leo just smiled slightly while Kenny's eyes sparkled like stars.

He was about to answer when suddenly shouts erupted from the crowd gathered around the circle in the center of the room. In the middle of it all, two boys were fighting.

It captured his full attention, and a shiver ran down his spine. A flashback, similar to that same situation, flashed through his mind. Like a spasm, he walked as if he were back in elementary school, down a hallway lined with lockers and smelling of sweat; in the middle of it all, the same expectant crowd of children fighting.

With a clear distortion of reality, he began to move forward. One second he was in the cold room full of strangers anxious about the kidnapping situation, while the next he was in the heated school, surrounded by boos.

Both of them in the same fight, conveniently with the same people from the present and the past, starring in that blissful brawl.

As soon as he made his way to see if his hopes were true, stepping between a past reality and the present, he saw his friends punching each other until the blood mingled with the red of Kyle's hair and Cartman's reddish sweater. For a minute, he was back again—same boys, same rage—except now they were kidnapped somewhere in the world, not in the school hallways.

He was convinced his mind wasn't playing tricks on him anymore, driven by nostalgia. No. This time it was real.

It was Kyle Bloflovski and Eric Cartman, two friends from the past whose rivalry had apparently escalated into a much more violent battle.

I was still far away, but it was clear the two men were arguing between blows.

From that distance, I could only hear a few alarming accusations.

"You're broke again, you useless Jew?! Didn't even a brothel give you a discount?! Hahaha!" Eric taunted the redhead as he caught his breath after the exchange of blows.

"At least I'm not drowning in debt... Tell me, are you still your boss's mangy dog?" the redhead seemed intent on provoking the other.

"Stupid Jew!"

They clashed again, exchanging blows and kicks that were already splattering blood everywhere, both like rabid dogs barking.

As if by reflex, in the intervals between the school fight and this one, Kenny acted and approached the redhead from behind, trapping Kyle's outstretched arms with his own before he could knock out Eric, who was lying on the ground after being pushed by Kyle. He noticed Kyle's surprise, and without realizing who had restrained him, he simply elbowed whoever was behind him, pushing with such force that he lost his balance and the blond boy fell.

However, emerald eyes turned to look at him, and when they met Kenny's violet ones, like a stunned child, Kyle lowered his guard, his eyes, once filled with anger, softening as he recognized the blond hair, the features, and those distinctive eyes of his old childhood friend, Kenny. His suspicions were correct; it was him.

Time seemed to stand still for the blond boy, for he, and perhaps the other onlookers watching the scene, were simply stunned by the long moment of shock. Kyle stared at his friend, whom he hadn't seen in years, while Kenny gazed at that teenager who had disappeared years ago, now a grown man, whom they had once presumed dead.

Kyle Bloflovski was there, alive.

"Kenny?"

The loop ended when the freckled boy lowered his guard, and the other took advantage, and they resumed fighting, returning to their rabid state, like animals that wouldn't stop until the other was dead. He could swear that if it were possible, Eric and Kyle would be foaming at the mouth with rage.

He was still stunned, but he knew he had to stop both men before blood stained the other's face. He remembered his teenage years when he was responsible for separating them before a principal arrived and took them to detention, but now, whoever came wouldn't be the principal, but an even more lethal authority figure.

Meanwhile, I overheard the heated accusations being exchanged between the brunette and the redhead, which left me more than confused, but I was still there, amidst the pushing, shoving, and the occasional punch thrown my way.

The bedroom door opened, revealing a group of people in red suits and strange, geometrically shaped masks. Kenny took advantage of everyone's attention, including that of both fighters, to grab Kyle's arm and drag him away from Cartman.

The group of red-clad individuals entered the room, drawing the attention of the crowd. Their thunderous footsteps made the one with the square mask stand out, and without further ado, he began to speak.

"We warmly welcome everyone here. Each of you will play eight games over eight days. Those who win all the games will receive a handsome cash prize."

Amidst the cold, commanding words, doubts began to surface.

"You expect us to trust you, even though you kidnapped us?"

"How can you expect us to trust you? You took our belongings and took us to a mysterious place!"

"Excuse me! You know it's illegal to take someone's clothes without their consent, right? I can sue you!"

The complaints came and went as they increased, some serious, like the strangeness of the situation, others ridiculous, like a certain person asking for a room change because it seemed so small and, in their words, like a fucking public toilet.

With the same icy voice, the square guard replied.

"Every single one of our actions was taken out of pure caution and confidentiality to ensure fair and memorable games for everyone. The moment your adventure in the games ends, your belongings will be returned..."

"I don't believe a damn thing he's saying..."

As soon as the guard's robotic voice ended, it was interrupted by a deep, harsh voice that drew the audience's attention with its audacity and hostility. Kenny recognized the voice, but his mind couldn't seem to reconcile its owner with the person he saw; it was unsettling.

"They tricked us, sedated us, kidnapped us, and took us to a place that doesn't allow us to communicate with the outside world... How do we know the prize is real?"

He was definitely unprepared for the information that was about to come...

"Player 218, Craig Tucker, former NASA astrologer, exposed and mismanaged money earned for personal investments and failed. Current loss: 6,000,000,000 won."

He definitely wasn't...

"Heidi Turner, current debt: 2,400,000 won"

"Scott Malkinson, current debt: 5,600,800 won"

"Jimmy Valmer, current debt: 7,200,800 won"

"Eric Cartman, current debt: 1,000,000,000 won"

The videos of each court appearance were played on the large television in front of the court. His skin prickled with each familiar name and the absurd amount of money owed, but nothing surpassed the murmurs of the crowd upon hearing Cartman's hilarious debt. How could anyone possibly owe so much?

"What are you looking at, you damn bastards! I bet you all have more stolen money than you can count! Like you're some stupid, saintly faggots!" the judge spat furiously, his glare fixed on everyone.

The square spoke again.

"You all live life on the edge, burdened with debts you simply can't pay.

"When we first came to see you, none of you trusted us."

"But, as you know, we played an innocent game and gave you the promised money when you won."

"So you all trusted us and volunteered to participate in this game of your own free will."

"Then I'll give you one last chance to choose... Do you want to return to your old, miserable lives, hunted by your creditors, or will you take advantage of this last opportunity we're giving you here?"

A deathly silence fell.

"Any further questions?"

A hoarse voice rose from the crowd.

"How much is the prize money?"

The square-jawed guard pulled out a remote control, and when pressed, a pig-shaped piggy bank descended from the ceiling like a chandelier. Illuminated like a lantern, what was most striking was how each person shuddered at the sight, like mosquitoes swarming to their deaths.

"The prize money will accumulate in that sphere after each game. We will announce the amount to everyone after each game ends."

"If you do not wish to participate in the games, please let us know now."

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.

.

Four lines formed to sign a contract that would contain information about the game and ask if we agreed to continue playing it—or so I thought.

I stood in line, watching as it moved forward relatively quickly. Behind him was Leo, who seemed calmer than before. Kyle had disappeared. When the guards entered the room, he hadn't noticed the redhead manage to break free and slip away. Kenny really wanted to talk to him, and to be honest, he had mixed feelings at that moment.

Not only because Kyle, his friend who had disappeared after a great tragedy in town, was now there in this strange kind of reality show, complete with kidnapping.

But hearing his brother's name on that large screen, displaying the debtors' faces and the amounts they owed, also worried him. He was stunned when he heard all that information. How could his brother, a graduate of a prestigious university, working at a company like NASA, and in a stable relationship, have ended up in this kind of place?

Was that the reason he wasn't coming home?

When it was his turn to sign, he thought it was the strangest contract he had ever seen. He had learned a few months ago to read the entire contract before signing; if he had done so earlier, he definitely wouldn't be in this mess. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he read the terms and conditions.

"A player cannot stop playing."

"A player who refuses to play will be eliminated."

"Games can be terminated if a majority of the players agree."

"Is that it? Is that all?" I looked at the hooded figure, who seemed to be nothing more than a mannequin, saying nothing that could clarify things. Somewhat suspicious, I signed without a word.

As I returned to my bed next to Leo and looked around for my acquaintances, something caught my attention. As I was passing through the line of people, I saw Eric, whom I hadn't paid much attention to during the fight, cutting in line simply with his presence and a hostile look. Kenny stared at him. The guy had grown enormously, and he wasn't talking about being fat like he used to.

Eric was now wider and taller, with a robust and muscular physique, almost unrecognizable if it weren't for his voice and face, which remained the same as before he fled the town.

I hadn't seen him in years, just like Kyle when they were preteens. Eric disappeared after his mother was found dead under strange circumstances, forcing Cartman to fend for himself. He remembered Eric telling them once that no one in his family wanted to take care of him, and then one day, he just vanished. No one in town cared, except for Cartman, the only one looking for him. But because of the limitations imposed by the move, he wasn't much help.

What kind of life had he been involved in to end up like this, so unrecognizable?

I heard a bit about a fight between him and Kyle, but it didn't quite fit with the rest of the story. But I was sure the two of them had been in contact all those years...

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The 500 players advanced in a line leading out of the room, a gentle female voice explaining the rules of the next game over the loudspeakers.

If the room seemed too narrow, the space outside, filled with pink stairs, was a different story. The structure was tall and spacious, like a pastel maze decorated with cheerful drawings and shapes—a fitting theme for children's games. However, the sheer number of paths, stairs, and doors would drive anyone crazy.

Before going up, they had to pass through a barrier with a screen that asked them to smile for a photo. It was Kenny's turn, and he was excited. He loved photos, and this one in particular reminded him of the pictures taken on a roller coaster or other ride. The blond boy grinned from ear to ear, obsessed with striking a cool pose, but remembering his mother telling him that those kinds of poses were rude.

A simple smile, crinkled eyes, and the confidence that came from reliving the games of his cherished childhood—he was ready.

They climbed the endless steps until they reached the first game room, a large room decorated with a landscape simulating a wheat field on the walls. The floor was completely flattened with dirt, and a striking little girl doll stood at the end of the long space between it and the players.

Kenny had advanced a few meters when a man he clearly knew crossed his path. As soon as he realized who it was, he ran to catch up. It still felt unreal that this person was there, but he had to confirm that he wasn't confusing reality with the past again; indeed, it was his brother, Craig Tucker.

"Craig! Craig! Hey—Is that you?" he shouted, running after him like a lost child. The raven-haired man recognized the voice and turned, stunned, to see the blond boy.

"Kenny..."

"Hey, what the hell? Why did that guy say you owed over 6 billion? You're... You're the pride of the neighborhood! There's a reason they called you the genius of Ssangmun-dong!" he chattered like never before, bombarding the poor raven-haired man who just stared at him uncomfortably. "Idiot, why didn't you call home? Mom and Tricia were worried sick." And so was he, in his own way.

Craig remained silent, trying to ignore the blond's endless chatter, but it didn't last long.

"Even Tweek wasn't answering his phone, and he promised to always call us if you couldn't because of work. Did something happen..." He was finally interrupted by Craig, who seemed to react upon hearing his husband's name.

"We moved and changed phones," a hoarse, tired voice said, as if he hadn't slept in days, still with his distinctive nasal twang, much to Kenny's intrigue. At this point, he sounded like a child, asking inappropriate questions.

"What?! Why? You had a house like a mansion! You had more than two bedrooms, Craig!" he squealed like a child, complaining so loudly it made Kenny's head ache. "Hey... can I keep your old house?"

"What? No."

"But you must have moved to a bigger one, right? Come on... We haven't seen each other in years. We should have a family reunion at your new house, don't you think?"

Suddenly, the blond boy raised his hands, excited by the idea, and wrapped the tall man in a brotherly hug—Kenny's favorite activity, but not Craig's.

"Ugh, let go of me! You're still a kid..."

"Come on! I'd like to see my brother-in-law too... Speaking of which."

"Where's Tweek? Did you come into these games with him?"

He felt Craig's body stiffen and he stopped resisting the hug. Kenny heard a warning flash through his mind; he knew he'd crossed a line. An unwritten rule, but one he knew all too well.

And he let go in a silent agreement between them.

A female voice echoed through the room.

"Welcome to Green Light and Red Light."

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Chapter Text

"The first game is: Green Light and Red Light."

"You can move forward as long as she yells 'Green Light.' If she detects you moving, you're out."

"Green Light? Like the one we played as kids?"

"It seems so..."

"Green Light? What kind of game is that?"

"Everyone who crosses the finish line without being caught in 5 minutes advances to the next round..."

"Let the games begin!"

The sound of a systematic gear clicked, and a child's voice echoed through the room, mingling with the calls of shorebirds.

"We'll play 'move, green light...'"

The doll with pigtails turned to face the tree behind her, while the participants seized their opportunity to race toward the finish line. The atmosphere was tense; any misstep had to be coldly calculated for everyone. This wasn't just any game; it was for money—glittering, luxurious money, a delicious treat for all those souls destined for misfortune. For whom was this morbid fate?

A strict rule for everyone else, but for them at that moment, an intrigue. The situation was surreal: 500 people for money.

The sound of trampled earth and dust everywhere filled the air. Two players, 324 and 250, were in the lead. Some might say it was because of a foolish bet, but the truth is, those are just empty words.

The player turned her head, her gaze fixed on the players about to hunt down those whose bodies had betrayed them, moving at her sharp eye. Her system obeyed and marked 324, the first eliminated.

"Player 324 eliminated."

Without a blink, without a group of guards to escort him out of the game, as many had expected. Without a word of protest.

A deafening, lethal sound rang out, a terrifying and violent noise from those who recognized him. A gunshot, and immediately the eliminated player fell to the ground like a worthless sack.

What was happening?

The doll turned again; it was time to act and move, but it was very strange and gnawed at everyone's nerves, the simple feeling that something was very palpable.

A boy with the number 250 approached, but nothing could be heard of his conversation. They waited expectantly for a reaction, but there was nothing.

Oh God, is that blood?

Run.

"We'll play, move, green light."

That plastic face reappeared, and not with a good omen. Everyone stopped, but why was that boy running away in terror? What was he doing? That's not how you play. It's wrong.

There was nowhere to run; this was the end of his miserable life.

A second gunshot rang out. Unfortunately for everyone, the players were focused on the fearful offender—a grave mistake.

The impact caused his limp body to fall at the feet of another player, bathed in the crimson liquid from the fallen man now dying beneath her.

You just saw someone die in front of you. How do you react?

A heart-wrenching scream that shakes everyone is immediately silenced by gunfire for breaking the rules.

A warning, a siren wailed, and the lights flashed.

Everyone started running in terror from the imminent gunfire that drew closer with every movement, poor humans who only wanted one more minute of life and begged for the doors to open, a total avalanche of fear.

Many pushed each other, a selfish instinct for survival regardless of whether they had condemned the other person; others moved out of fear.

Fear of dying, fear of seeing people begging, fear of being pushed, fear of dying unrecognized. Fear.

The avalanche of violence is sweltering, many bodies trampled and disfigured by the very people who cried for help; their own powerlessness and desire to survive did this.

"Remember that."

The unpleasant gunfire ceases, and the metallic smell of blood permeates every corner of the game.

"We'll play, move, green light."

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Kenny couldn't breathe. He felt like he was drowning, like his lungs would burst from the fleeting air that kept going in and out.

What the hell?!

What the fuck was that?

People just died... Why isn't anyone doing anything?!

Oh my God.

Is this man still alive?...

He stared in horror at the bloody body that was crushing his feet. During the terrifying stampede, a man came hurtling in front of him, colliding with him and causing them both to fall. The poor man was shot, but not Kenny.

Fortunately, the man had acted as a shield...

He lay facing forward, but no matter how intense his morbid curiosity, he didn't turn around. He could still hear the hell the players were enduring behind him, and he couldn't stop his imagination from running wild, conjuring up the worst possible scenarios.

Screams begging for help, cries, and desperate insults trying to escape.

His eyes were so wide open he was afraid to close them and make a fatal movement. Their screeching, almost aesthetically pleasing sound prevented him from hearing any instructions from the doll. His mind reeled, and his vision grew increasingly blurred with each passing minute. He felt the uncomfortable sensation of cold sweat all over his body; he was terrified.

After the extreme carnage, there was a terrifying silence.

No one dared to move. The female voice returned, reiterating the rules of the game and emphasizing the short time they had left to reach the finish line.

However, only one person emerged from the crowd of people who remained like a statue. Number 003 took long strides like a rabbit, closing the gap with each step. When the doll turned, he froze like a stone, and the cycle repeated itself. The rest copied him, and now, with their lives hanging by a thread, if they wanted to survive they had to avoid moving; even the slightest blink counted.

Kenny, still lying down, adjusted his arms to get a better look at the landscape ahead. He immediately recognized Leopold taking the lead, showing the others how the game was played, leading the group.

The blond man remained motionless, glancing at his watch. Half the time had passed, and he was still lying beneath a dead body. If he stayed there, he would die. Even so, he was terrified to move and free himself, lest the doll shoot him.

How could a doll have a kind of gaze that could shoot? That was strange.

"Kenny!"

He heard his name and instinctively wanted to turn around, but thankfully his body was tense and he couldn't.

"It's Craig. Don't turn around, just listen. That doll has motion sensors. As long as you're hiding behind someone, it won't be able to find you." A deep, husky voice froze the blond's brain and brought him back to reality.

Was that his brother's voice? Craig himself, with that nasal, funny voice?

Honestly, it sent a shiver down his spine, which woke his already numb leg from the bulge on top of him.

The raven-haired boy advanced until the blond saw him. Red light flashed. Craig was behind another player, avoiding being seen, and turned to look at Kenny. Green and purple lights met. Craig was looking at him with a sharp, attentive gaze. He noticed that Kenny was also scared, but his intense gaze also carried a calculating coldness. If those eyes could transmit anything, they would clearly be knives, he thought.

Green light, Craig moved away and Kenny knew he had to act now, if he didn't, he was sure his guardian angel wouldn't save him from death this time; Red light, he kicked the body on top of him and stood up as fast as he could, green light, now he was in the game.

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Games, discord, and morbid fascination.

Somewhere hidden within the facilities, there was a room illuminated by gleaming, golden stones, an aphrodisiac light creating a warm yet mysterious atmosphere.

A man in a white suit that covered his entire body sat in an armchair, staring at a large screen displaying live footage from the playing field: Green Light and Red Light.

He intently observed every movement of each participant, their faces, their expressions, and their profound fear of these games.

"How fitting," he thought.

"It's about time. The games have just begun."

The man in the white mask made a few calls and then activated a mini-stage for a musical performance. When he did, a melodious orchestra appeared, a soothing and perfect symphony accompanied by an angelic voice singing the song for the remedies.

A song to dream and escape reality.

To imagine and not let go.

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Time ticked by mercilessly, the wrist spun as its system dictated, and the poor, unfortunate players who dared to move were mercilessly riddled with bullets.

Kenny was finally on his feet and tried to do what Craig had told him. He was incredibly nervous, his whole body trembling like jelly. He was sweating profusely, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and his mind racing. Red light flashed. He froze behind a player, his eyes darting up, searching for someone, any of his friends.

Please, let none of them be dead...

Luckily, they were still alive.

Fly me to the moon~

Let me play among the stars~

Green light. He advanced cautiously, his eyes drawn to a curious sight a few meters away. Eric and Kyle, the latter trailing behind the burly brunette.

Let me see what spring is like~

On a, Jupiter and Mars~

The redhead's malicious hand tangled in Eric's hair, sending a shiver through the giant. Kyle finally had the upper hand between them.

Red light.

In other words, hold my hand~

In other words, baby, kiss me~

—W-who the hell are you?

—Relax, it's me...

The brunette seemed to tremble upon recognizing that cold, malicious voice. He could swear he heard it cursing a thousand hells for having been captured by Kyle, the very man who was his downfall.

Green light.

Fill my heart with song~

And let me sing forevermore~

— H-hey, d-don't do anything stupid... please

— Huh? This is the first time I've heard you beg me... —words laden with wicked mischief.

"Maybe I'm thinking of betraying you again, remember?"

"No way, Kyle."

Red Light

You are all I long for~

All I worship and adore~

Kyle yanked Eric's hair, causing him to fall clumsily. The jerk propelled him a few meters further away from the brunette, who was now on the ground.

Green Light

The redhead moved away from everyone around him. If he could easily grab his enemy by the hair and throw him down, who was to say someone else couldn't do the same to him? He was safe; after all, he always won this game. He was very serious about freezing.

Red light

In other words, please be true~

In other words, I love you~

Kenny watched the scene in amazement, seeing them exchange words, which filled him with curiosity. But it wasn't the time for curiosity; time was ticking, and he was still far behind the finish line.

His body certainly wasn't helping him. In fact, it seemed as if he wanted to die right then and there. He was trembling and breathing with difficulty; his throat felt like it was going to burst. He felt his feet wobbly, which made him move slower than everyone else.

If he continued like this, he wouldn't be able to move forward, and he would die.

Fill my heart with song~

Let me sing forevermore~

A defense mechanism, the memories he had stored deep within his being, which eased any sorrow in his life and made him smile again, surfaced.

His deceptive mind took him to another place, a space where he couldn't be hurt as the world constantly did. The park in his town.

He and his friends played in the same old tree, the gigantic wooden behemoth. The four of them would choose who would stay in the tree and eliminate the others with rock, paper, scissors. A simple game, but fun.

He remembers he wasn't good at it, but he enjoyed it. He was always eliminated for moving due to some distraction, for trying to strike poses, or, most frequently, for laughing.

Because it was fun.

Seeing his friends taking the game seriously, standing still in funny positions, or the strange expression the hunter made when he saw every little movement his victims made.

You are all I long for~

All I worship and adore~

He remembers Kyle always won. He was serious and didn't let himself be intimidated by the others' piercing gaze, unlike him.

His world began to shift, subtle glitches between past and present. Kenny moved forward and stopped carelessly, but suddenly someone else was shot, snapping the blond man out of his trance before those memories could be poisoned...

Incredibly, he had advanced a considerable distance and was getting closer to the finish line, though time was pressing him more as the final seconds ticked by.

In other words, please be true~

In other words, in other words~

Kenny looked ahead. He was close and could savor a new day. He glanced at Craig, who had already crossed and was looking at him with a mixture of fear and disappointment. On the other side, he could see Eric arriving. Kyle had been one of the first to arrive, but he couldn't surpass Leo, who was nervous and anxious after all the madness they had just experienced. He was the first to arrive.

Red light

He was close. He could see him. Craig was waiting for him. He wouldn't die today. No, he would go home, and everything would be alright, like before.

Green light

Life always delivers a brutal blow when he gets his hopes up, always disappoints him. The moment he took a step, he didn't notice the arm of a dead participant and tripped over him.

He felt himself losing his balance and couldn't avoid his infernal fate.

Craig stared at him, shocked by the idiocy of his actions. Was this the end?

He felt the wrist slowly turn, finally ready to detect him and kill him.

However, death didn't want him yet.

A strong grip on his shirt prevented him from falling to the ground and being eliminated.

Someone caught him before he hit the ground.

He could only breathe with difficulty; he felt the other person sweating with fear as well. One slight movement and it would be over for both of them. The angel holding him trembled and tried not to move, a hellish resistance.

Green light

I love you~

In a burst of energy, both men ran and jumped in the last second. Gravity did its work, and they both landed clumsily at the finish line.

For the poor souls who couldn't make it through, they were met with lead and blood in their final breath.

The game was over.

The roof hatches activated and slowly closed, as if announcing the beginning of a nightmare. They would no longer be in contact with the outside world; everything was about to change.

Kenny tried to catch his breath. Those were the most agonizing minutes of his life. If it hadn't been for his savior, he would have died.

He turned to look at him, still lying on the ground, but he was immediately shocked. A mix of emotions swirled in his head.

"Stan?!"

The group was reunited.

In the worst place imaginable, with stories ready to tell about how they arrived at this long-awaited, deadly reunion.

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Chapter Text

"Suck my balls, Kyle!"

"You lost, fatso, accept it!"

It was one of those long, merciless winters that viciously battered the town, where a thousand and one things happened at once, and one of them was seeing four kids in the familiar park where you could see them almost every day; it was like a ritual, same people, same games.

Kenny watched from the same distance as the hunter, having lost because he couldn't resist the temptation to laugh. Now, like a good loser, he watched the two remaining kids still competing in the green and red light games. He wouldn't make it easy for them. The blond boy was making ridiculous and funny faces and poses, which caused tension for Eric and Stan, who were doing their best not to burst out laughing. However, now, under Kyle's intense and attentive eyes, the hunter meticulously saw how his overweight friend had moved while trying to sabotage the dark-haired boy. Now Eric was loudly arguing with the other boy that he hadn't actually moved and was just trying to lie so he would lose.

"Guys, this is ridiculous. Kyle, just get Cartman back in the game and let's resume..." Stan said calmly.

"No, Stan! He has to follow the rules! Just like Kenny lost without saying a word, Cartman should accept it, he lost..." Kyle snapped, already irritated.

"Go to hell, Kyle! Screw it, I'm going home..."

"You can't leave, fatty, we have the park all to ourselves..."

"Screw it, home," he repeated, gesturing with his hands in the direction of his house.

Kenny saw nothing wrong with leaving the park; in fact, he happily chased after the brunette after mumbling something unintelligible, but the other two understood perfectly, and the dark-haired boy replied:

"Well, it's about to start snowing, we can go to Cartman's house and play video games. You coming?"

"I'm coming?" —...Ugh, whatever...

Now the duo followed the ones in front who were excitedly talking about the new game Eric had gotten and how they could play it alone, while the other two just watched. Kenny smiled innocently, his eyes crinkling.

It was a normal afternoon. The group was going about their usual routine: going to the park and then to one of their houses. Nothing out of the ordinary, everything as usual...

He noted how things would unfold.

Somewhat far from the group of children, hidden among the accumulated trash, amidst the filth and everything else that doesn't matter, hidden in the corners and the darkness, he meticulously observed every movement of the boys, especially the brightest among them, the most angelic and purest beyond the word innocent.

Everything around him shone and burned away his darkness.

That, for him, was love...

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The atmosphere was desolate; the darkened lights did nothing to alleviate the despair of each player. Adding to this, the cold permeated every corner despite everyone's steady breathing. An unwritten rule quickly formed: no talking until given permission.

This rule lasted for many minutes until, unconsciously, he decided to break the ice among his impromptu group.

"Hey Stan, thanks for saving me at the last minute, buddy... Th-that was awesome!" he tried to sound as calm as possible until his own hand betrayed him, trembling as he formed an excited fist.

"You told me so the whole way here, Kenny. Relax, it was nothing..." he emphasized, fidgeting nervously with his hands.

"Stan, you just held up an entire body with one hand, and you're still saying it was nothing? If it weren't for you, Kenny would have died, and I wouldn't be here right now..." Craig argued, sitting next to Stan, who cracked his knuckles at the slight reprimand—which wasn't really a reprimand, but every word Craig said seemed to carry one almost every time.

He stopped looking up and crouched down again. He couldn't believe what had happened and tried to close his eyes repeatedly to verify that this was just a dream, a strange reunion like the ones he always dreamed of, though all that effort was in vain; this was reality.

Still shaken, he turned his head to the side to see Leo, who was hiding his face in his arms, which were resting on his legs. He looked exhausted, and understandably so. He had literally run during the brief intervals when the doll turned around, which was quite an achievement, keeping his cool, but it was understandable why he seemed about to collapse at that moment.

"Leo, hey," the blond boy said, and as soon as he spoke, he looked up at him intently. "Dude, you really shone in that game! You were the fastest of them all!"

"Oh wow... Do you really think so, Kenny? The truth is, I was really nervous, you know? There were times when I lost my balance and wanted to fall... But I didn't!" Leo was sweating profusely and muttering unintelligible words. "I'm glad we survived. When they killed those people, I was really scared and wanted to run... I didn't expect them to..."

Kenny smiled warmly at his anxiety. "Lucky you weren't too scared, buddy..." he said, nudging Leo, who was now even calmer.

In a long-awaited entrance, the main doors opened, letting in a group of guards—triangles and a square—who arrived to issue orders.

"Congratulations to all of you for completing the game."

"Hey, sir! Please... Please forgive me... I-I swear I'll pay all my debts, just let me out, okay? Please let me go," a girl pleaded, kneeling and begging for mercy, another chance.

This act was mirrored by the rest of the players. The fear and desperation of them all was palpable, a suffocating feeling.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding. We're not trying to collect your debts."

"I remind you that we're here to give you a chance."

"A chance?! Are you serious? So many people just died! How can you see that as a game?!"

"People who were eliminated for breaking the rules of the game, if you follow the rules, you can leave this place with the prize money we promised you."

But faced with a phantom prize, a tacit sum of money, no one would risk their life for an alibi. So the pleas grew even more merciful, begging for one more chance.

"Clause No. 1: The player will not be allowed to quit." Cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Clause No. 2: Any player who refuses to play will be eliminated."

"Clause No. 3: The games can end if the majority agrees, right?" It was a stupid surprise for Kenny that his Craig, the same one whose voice sometimes snorted when he spoke loudly, stood up resolutely to protest against the uniformed officers. He felt his heart was going to explode with excitement and fear at the same time. "It's our turn to vote. If the majority decides to leave this place, you'll let us out immediately. It's only fair."

Uncertainty reigned after the silence, nerves on edge awaiting the square guard's final decision.

"As you wish, we will vote to decide whether to end the game. But before the vote, let me announce the amount you were promised for playing the game..."

The lights went out, leaving only the large, gleaming piggy bank above them as illumination. As bundles of bills began pouring from a tube in the ceiling, any fear they felt vanished, and need took shape in various forms. Ambition was one of them, like moths hypnotized by that alluring yet lethal beacon of light. And he wasn't the only one caught in this perpetual illusion; everyone seemed thirsty for that paper. That's why they were there, isn't it? Simply put, paper necessary for survival. It was so disgusting how far humans would go to possess so much of it; it was lamentable.

The accumulated amount was unreal. Too much money that could easily be a lie, and that was what drew attention.

And so, after the demonstration of a dangerous reward, the voting began.

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Kenny was going to have the first vote. They'd brought two buttons embedded in what looked like some kind of stand. The red button was for quitting the games and giving up the money, while the green button was for staying and continuing to play; it was simple.

When they called his number and everyone turned to look at him, he got nervous. It was like that feeling of unease when you're about to present at the board and you don't know a damn thing, plus the urge to crack a completely unfunny joke to lighten the mood, but he risked getting shot between the eyes, so no thanks.

He saw both options, each button glowing as if they were calling him, but he wasn't going to be as stupid as usual and voted for the green one to leave.

And so on, each player voted. Every vote was a heart attack because of the disparity at every moment. For a moment it seemed like the red group was winning, and that was a relief, but seconds later, twice as many green buttons would appear, and it was so maddening; he hated this mental torture. Even though he wasn't doing anything other than standing still, he could feel the sweat running down his forehead to his chin.

It was Craig's turn, number 218. With a firm, confident stride, he stood before the podium, seemingly hesitating over which ballot to vote. He glanced at the glittering money hanging above him. Obviously, before he did something stupid—uncharacteristic of his brother—he tried to get his attention with ridiculous gestures, flapping his arms to make sure he was noticed, and clearly saying "No." Craig glared at him, looking none too pleased.

Perhaps the idiot thought it was a fight between them and that the vote that would determine the life or death of everyone here was personal; because the complete moron voted to stay. Craig stood with his head held high as he settled himself among the green group, while Kenny stared at him from the other side, his face and pose as exaggerated as he could muster to show his anger and surprise.

"You damn idiot! I know you can see me, stop pretending you can't!"

It was number 067's turn, and to his astonishment, it was none other than Kyle. He sighed with relief that Kyle hadn't been hit by gunfire in the first game. Even so, he hoped Kyle would vote to leave so he could join his group and they could at least talk for a bit. Then he wondered, what could be the reason Kyle was here? He didn't think it was debts; Kyle had always been very intelligent. He thought this when he looked at Craig, who was just as intelligent and was here, and on top of that, in the group of idiots. Ugh, he mentally slapped himself.

To his bewilderment and growing anxiety, the redhead voted to stay, going to the other group.

Perhaps he was being too dramatic, but he felt like he was about to cry.

They continued voting until they got to Stan. He arrived, voted to leave, and stood next to him. Upon finally seeing someone he knew, he simply burst into squeals while hugging him as if they weren't attracting much attention and the guards weren't watching. Despite the little scene unfolding in the background, the voting continued as normal.

"They're traitors, Stan, waaaaa!" he squealed as the dark-haired boy tried to comfort him from his whining, while Kenny pointed at the three "traitors" on the green team—because yes, Cartman had also voted to stay; the same ones who were giving Kenny strange looks for his tantrum. Even Craig had to close his eyes to ignore him. "You're so mean, Craig!"

It was certainly a surprise that none of the guards approached to quiet Kenny's drama or even ask them to be quiet. Sometimes he thought it was his guardian angel protecting him from death.

Finally, it was 003's turn, Leo; who apparently was the last one left to vote. They looked at the counter, which was halfway through, meaning that the blond boy would make the final decision: whether they stayed or went. Kenny's tantrum finally subsided, and now, he was just as nervous as he had been at the beginning, he felt his stomach about to explode, praying that Leo would decide to end this and leave the games.

All eyes turned to the blond man as he approached. When he arrived, the crowd began to murmur about which candidate he should choose; the tension was palpable. Kenny was worried. From the short time they had known each other, he could tell that Leo was somewhat nervous, and this decision could put hundreds of lives at risk. Even he felt it was torture to decide. He saw Leo clutch his head on the lectern as if he were despairing from the constant chatter, and he was clearly trembling. He worried about him.

A considerable amount of time passed before the guard asked him to vote, and he did. Red, the games are over.

The snorts of frustration and the cheers of celebration filled the air. Kenny sighed in relief.

"With this vote, the games are over."

"However, we will give you another chance to return to the games. The prize can still be yours... With nothing more to add, I bid you farewell."

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The white van stopped briefly to unload two bundles of bodies bound together by ropes and blindfolded with a piece of cloth. The bodies gasped from the pain of the impact against the icy asphalt. The van quickly continued on its way at a considerable speed, but not before leaving a backpack containing clothing belonging to both men inside.

He shuddered as his left side touched the cold ground while trying to remove the blindfold. As soon as he felt the other body moving, his curiosity grew. They were back to back, and he could tell it was a muscular person, judging by the broad, thick back.

"Hey! Who's there?! Who are you? Were you at the games?!" Kenny shouted, as if the other person wasn't even beside him, already tired from his shouting and from tightening the ropes with each desperate movement the blond man made.

"Stay still, a-agh."

"Huh? That voice..." It took him a moment to recall the person who owned that voice, which the other used to untie his bonds and remove the blindfold. "...Tweek?"

He didn't know how fast he did it, or if it was just him taking a while to fire up the neurons to remember that shrill voice, now sharp and drawn out. Even so, he felt delicate, cold fingers tear the blindfold off his eyes. When he adjusted to the harsh glare of the lamppost's artificial light, the new surroundings—which seemed to be a central park—and the person squatting in front of him, his brain simply froze. He didn't want to react, and even with his mouth open, trying to find a suitable word, Tweek untied his bonds and, after setting him free, began walking toward an unknown destination.

Kenny, now free, still lying on the sidewalk, reacted by running at an impressive speed that startled the pale blond. Unlike Tweek, Kenny was still missing his clothes, wearing only his underwear. This prompted him to return for his clothes in a shameless act.

After freezing in the Seoul wind, trying to get dressed as fast as he could to catch up with his brother-in-law, his parka askew and boots loosely tied, he ran as fast as he could toward the man in the green jacket.

"Tweek!"

He could have sworn he was practically smoking during that cartoonish chase.

"Hey, Tweek! W-what? Wait a sec..." he managed, his breath ragged from the marathon, resting his head on the other man's shoulder. After a while, he spoke normally again.

"Hey... What are you doing here? Why did you go to those games? I didn't even see you! Damn. Are you okay?" he asked desperately. He hadn't seen him in years, and like Craig, the couple hadn't contacted the family in a long time.

The sound of the wind erased his words and carried them away. Tweek stood like a statue, unable to move or speak, as if he wanted to say so much, but something prevented him. Kenny waited, patiently, but the answer did not satisfy him.

"I-I really need to leave, p-please," her words were weaker than the wind, with each utterance her voice trailing off until it was almost silent.

"But! What happened? Why did you move and not tell us you were changing your phone number? Do you know how many missed calls we made?!"

"Ugh," a tic.

"You should have visited us! Mom asked about you every night, and we even had to lie to her a few times, all because neither of you answered..."

"Kenny, I-"

"Oh, by the way! Did you go into that place together? I didn't see Craig with you! Hey, he's thinner, hasn't he?"

"..."

"That doesn't matter... We haven't spoken in ages! You know... I called your old house months ago, and they just said you were too busy to answer! That Craig, as if a phone call would be such a big deal, I mean, you were in the middle of moving! But he's family!" —at some point it became hilarious, Kenny leaned on Tweek while complaining about the rude disappearance of years of marriage.

He kept rambling into the air because Tweek, Tweek was lost, painfully lost.

"Kenny."

"I mean, his house now must be even bigger than the old one, right? I mean, the old one even had a pool! And you know, I'm having a hard time financially, and I was wondering if maybe you could..."

"Kenny, Craig and I aren't together anymore."

"..."

"What?"

"Please let me go..."

Like a bucket of cold water in the dead of winter, like when your body tingles but your brain doesn't react, can't quite process the information. No matter how clear the news was, it was simply impossible for him to fit all the variables together.

His mouth didn't move, as if he'd forgotten how to speak or make a sound. How could a couple who had sworn to love each other to the death simply vanish?

How was that possible?

A flurry of memories flashed through his mind, fleeting images of Craig and Tweek's most tender and disgustingly loving moments, days when they unfortunately shared a room and he had to witness the couple's strange dynamic.

Adolescent days when they shared their sweet, cloying love with the tenderest words of support, acceptance, and absolute devotion. At one point, Kenny saw how happy they were, intertwined physically and spiritually, that someone could love you with all your flaws and qualities. It was unreal.

Just as it was unreal now that they had separated. So strange.

In his mental fog, he didn't realize he was now alone, staring into the abyss. He looked around, but couldn't find the other blond boy. A final scream, and the wind erased the memory of that disastrous encounter.

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In a place on the other side of Korea, with the same wind whipping at the frigid skins newly covered in clothing, after they had untied the ropes that held them captive, Craig finished adjusting his navy blue jacket in deathly silence. He glanced briefly at the other man who had been staring into space for a long time. The pale man in front of him was Stan Marsh, an old acquaintance.

He hadn't intended to speak to him, nor even look at the person with whom he had been thrown out onto the street like any other sack. However, when he heard the other man's dull, distinctive voice behind him, he immediately remembered Kenny's rather subdued friend, Stan Marsh. He really just wanted to ignore him after getting dressed and acting as if nothing had happened, as if none of that absurd massacre had occurred, nor the ludicrous encounter with his brother's friends. He had no interest in knowing what happened to this individual, but it was almost impossible to ignore his unsettling presence.

Stan seemed lost and withdrawn, his gaze fixed on the void ahead as if he, too, wanted to ignore it. Craig detested the other dark-haired man's attitude. When they were children, Stan had been far too skeptical and annoying for Craig's liking. If he had known the term back then, he would have labeled him a nihilist in the making, though now, he just seemed like a depressed, washed-up man.

He couldn't offer an opinion because he probably looked the same, or even worse.

"Craig... Do you know where we are?" A raspy, subdued voice spoke. To Craig's surprise, the other man deigned to ask for help; he didn't have the strength to ask the obvious.

"...We're in Seoul."

A long sigh. "That's far from South Park, isn't it? Shit..." Head bowed and weary, he gave one last sigh before turning to leave. "It was nice seeing you. Goodbye..."

He looked the man up and down. He was a mess from every angle. His clothes were worn and torn in places, and he could clearly see from his dark circles that he hadn't slept much. Besides that, everything about him made him feel sorry for him. He'd never been his friend, but he wasn't about to criticize him either.

They were both exhausted. Completely exhausted.

"Stan, come here." It didn't matter anymore. No one was watching. Luckily for him, a 24/7 store was right next door, and he really needed a cigarette too, so he could anxiously check his phone for an important message. "Don't stand there like an idiot, come in."

The dark-haired man entered the store without looking back. Stan finally showed some excitement, his hands in his pockets, standing still, unsure whether to go in or not. His eyes flickered for a moment, but he was still confused. Between the hesitation, he decided to follow the other man.

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A puff of smoke escaped his mouth and vanished with the gentle breeze.

He didn't understand why he'd called Stan over. As soon as they entered the store, the other man just followed silently, and he could tell he seemed even more "alive" than before, his gaze fixed on him. It was unsettling. When he finished paying for his purchases, he went outside to take a drag on his cigarette, gazing at the cloudless sky, cleared only by the infernal wind. At that moment, no one noticed him, no one saw him, because Craig Tucker was on the verge of giving it all up. After reviving his phone with a charger provided by the store, a flood of ephemeral messages appeared and disappeared while new ones arrived; all of them were for the same reason he'd entered the games, and another reason so pathetic and painful that even he couldn't conceive of it, but there it was, growing into a monster.

No one saw that this man was crying for love.

No one was there to judge him, and that was his greatest comfort.

No one saw those bitter tears fall, for the wind did its work and erased any trace of them, not even Stan, who was now leaving the store after finishing the ramen he'd been offered.

"Uh, thanks for the food and stuff, man," Stan said, almost in a whisper that the wind nearly swallowed the words. "Tell me how much it was, I'll pay you right now..."

He tossed away his finished cigarette and stepped on the small, burning ash that remained. "Leave it, it's no problem..."

"Man, I'll pay it, I'd feel like crap if I didn't..."

"It doesn't matter, actually, you said you were going to South Park, right?" To Stan's dismay, the man pulled out his wallet again and took out a couple of bills. "Here, if you walk from here to town, you'll get there in days."

"Craig, seriously, it's not necessary. I don't want any trouble with you. I can walk, you don't have to bother..." He shook his head, clearly worried.

"It doesn't bother me, but it would if you keep making me beg. I don't know if you know this, but the town is hours away, and if you don't take the subway, you'll never get there... Take it." The distance from the town was immense. He didn't know if Stan remembered or if he'd never left like them, but he was sure that when his brother moved to Ssangmun-dong, he'd had a period of back-and-forth travel between his current residence and South Park because of an incident with one of his friends. From that, he knew the trip was long and tiring; and this man wanted to do it on foot? No way. "I'm helping you..."

Stan had no choice. He nervously grabbed the bills in front of him, a detail Craig didn't notice because he turned to leave. Stan stared at him and tucked the money away as if it were a gift, a sign that he was nobody, still noticed, not hated. The wind picked up again, dispersing the smoke from Craig's new cigarette into the distance, while Stan wiped his teary eyes, on the verge of tears, before leaving as well.

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“I’m telling you, I’m not lying! What I saw was more real than I was! They killed like 200 people there!”

“Sir, stop spitting, speak normally.”

“What?! Don’t focus on that! Did you hear what I said? They killed people! Do you want me to spell it for you?”

“Don’t shout, sir.”

Kenny exploded in anger, clutching his head in his hands as he paced in circles. He’d been at the police station since dawn, hoping they’d get the investigation into those deadly games underway. Being the first to arrive hadn’t helped at all; the officers just laughed at his wildly unrealistic account, and his reactions weren’t helping matters. He had to confess. The police mocked him for throwing a tantrum like a child who wasn’t getting any attention, but Kenny had had enough and wanted them to take him seriously.

"Listen to me one last time, and I want you to listen! Okay?"—now patting the desk with one hand and pointing at it with the other—"I'm telling you, they gave us a card and drugged us. I hear you? Drugged us! And kidnapped us! To an island where they made us play games to win money... And if that's not too much, they killed a lot of people, maybe 200! Now do you understand?"

"Let's look at it this way. You're saying they gave you a card to go to these games, right? How did you get it?"

"By playing games, of course. What else? You know Ddakji? You know, with a guy who beat you up if you lost. Do you understand?"

"...Well, and they made you sign some kind of agreement to participate in that reality show?"

"Yes! But what does that have to do with anything? I'm telling you, people died ..."

"Sir, if you agreed to their terms and conditions, there's not much we can do. Maybe they were just faking it to boost the show's ratings and you don't even know it. Have you ever watched TV?"

"This is bullshit! You know what?" The blond guy ripped a piece of paper from the desk, violently grabbed a pen from somewhere, and started scribbling like crazy. "When you feel like solving a case, you can call me, and if not, well, screw you!" He stood up furiously and stormed out of the station, flipping the bird out the window as he disappeared.

"Ha, what a crazy guy. Should I throw this in the trash?"

"Nah, it'll be a good reminder of that guy's stupidity. No drunk makes up something like that! Keep it in the files."

"I don't think they'll say anything to us, it's just a minor thing..."

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Chapter Text

The crispy smell of toast and the sweet aroma of freshly squeezed orange juice filled the house, just like any other morning in the Tucker home. Laura enthusiastically prepared breakfast and snacks for her children for school, only this time there weren't just two lunchboxes anymore; they had recently become three, affectionately known as three siblings.

As always, the first to wake up was her faithful son, eager to stay with her until her children came downstairs for lunch. They heard the doorbell rattle, signaling that Kenny was already hurrying downstairs, even though it wasn't time for school yet.

It had become a habit since they adopted him; the blond boy was always the first of his siblings to wake up and go downstairs to share breakfast with his new parents, the first ones who truly were his parents. Perhaps it was a way of expressing gratitude or genuine affection, going to chat with his mother while she finished serving the food or helping his father with anything he needed, even though he didn't know how to do it. Or perhaps he was simply awakened by the crunchy smell of pancakes, but he was always there to provoke his parents' first laughs in the morning.

After months of living with the Tuckers, it was safe to say that Kenny had developed a strong connection with Craig, especially with his brother.

And it wasn't anything bad, nothing with ulterior motives or hidden violence; no, it was special. They had to share a room, so their closeness grew even stronger. Even though his friends rejected Craig, he never understood their hatred. Craig pretended to be quiet and proud, but Kenny gradually discovered why he was that way. During those long, sleepless nights, neither dared to look at the other, only staring at the ceiling decorated with phosphorescent stars—a simple yet significant setting because they both dropped the masks they wore for the public and revealed their vulnerability, their insecurities, fears, and the truth behind their actions. Neither saw the other's tears as they opened up, and that was okay.

The new Tucker family made themselves known to the townspeople, who retaliated against the McCormicks, leaving Kevin in Karen's care. Soon after, they left town, separating her from the blond boy. However, life would grant Kenny his long-awaited wish to be with his sister again, but as always, by choosing the option that hurt him the most.

Tragedy struck the Tucker family one day when Thomas was killed in a car accident, leaving Laura alone with her children and a deep wound that would never heal. The daily expenses, the anxiety of caring for her children, and mounting debts led Laura to the decision to find work in another district, forcing the family to relocate. The boys had to continue their studies in the district called Ssangmun-dong. This decision affected Kenny the most, as he still didn't want to part ways with his fractured friendships.

Leaving them when things were bad? It wasn't an option, but he had no choice. He had to be with his family and leave behind another that was already fading away...

With all the pain in the world from grief and longing, he had to leave South Park.

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Ssangmun-dong was a very small neighborhood. What he meant was that since they moved there, they knew every single neighbor living in those tightly packed houses. Despite being new to the neighborhood at the time, they became very well-known to every member of their family, especially him. He became so popular that every young person and child befriended him after just one conversation. His mother became known and loved for her hard work supporting her family with her humble fish stand. Tricia was simply herself, but the one who became even more popular in the neighborhood was none other than her brother, Craig.

"The genius born in Ssangmun-dong," that's what they called him. His intelligence was enviable; what he lacked in social skills, he more than made up for in wit.

But having Kenny as a brother, the best friend of the entire damn district, he obviously had to help his little brother make at least one friend who wasn't himself.

High school was no different; he easily made several friends and belonged to many groups, but it was never quite the same as his South Park group. In one of those groups, he wanted to choose someone "nice" for his brother. He knew his preferences and tastes and didn't want to mess things up by introducing him to someone who would provoke Craig's silent anger. So one day, having found the best option for the new friend, he introduced him to a friend of his, Tweek Tweak.

He didn't know it that day, but he was Cupid, because it was a huge surprise that there was chemistry between those two lovebirds. Thanks to his help, he gave Craig the most beautiful gift of his life, as Craig himself said. Years passed, from friends to boyfriends, from boyfriends to husbands, and so on, until now.

He finally reached the neighborhood after walking from the police station, his mind racing with thoughts of the Red Light and Green Light massacre and Craig and Tweek's divorce. With every step, he formed theories about why they broke up, all the while grappling with the elephant in the room: why his brother was involved in those gambling dens like his.

"What the hell was going on?"

He kept walking, ignoring the judgmental stares of his neighbors, focusing on the rock he kicked each time he got close. He was almost at his mom's stall; maybe he'd get a scolding for disappearing, but what he really wanted was a hug. He gave the rock one last kick, and it hit someone's shoe. When he looked up, he was stunned. Apparently, someone had been watching his sister from the shadows. That person was none other than the one he longed to see walking around the neighborhood again.

"Craig?"

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"Are you telling me you didn't investigate the company that was going to give you the loan, and therefore, you got scammed?"

He nodded.

"And I suppose you didn't check the collateral you were going to put up either. Otherwise, extortionists wouldn't be showing up at the house, right?"

He nodded again.

"Damn—that's exactly what I wanted to avoid..." Craig ran his fingers through the strands of his hair as he let out a tired, heavy sigh, staring at the pavement. The blond boy mimicked him, sucking on the last drops of the soda they had bought together to talk about, well, almost everything that had happened and what kind of trouble they'd gotten themselves into to owe so much money. He told him about the brilliant idea of indebting the whole family, without thinking that they would take his house as collateral and seize all his belongings until he paid, not to mention the daily extortion.

"Yeah, well... It was with good intentions, right?"

"Didn't you suspect a thing when they made you sign in your own blood, idiot?"

"I mean, it was a loan! I thought it made sense... You know, so they'd have another way to track you down with your blood or something, I don't know."

When Craig turned to look at him, he could swear he'd never looked at him with such anger, not even when he was spouting the most ridiculous nonsense.

"Sorry, sorry, but hey! I'm not the only one who owes a fortune to thugs!" He stood up and pointed at the green-eyed boy as if he were accusing him. "You're hiding from Mom for a reason. Did you quit your job and you're ashamed? Idiot! Besides, why weren't you answering our calls? Do you know how many calls we made?!" —pause— ...Well, many.

—...Kenny, I...—I noticed how he wanted to speak, but it seemed he couldn't find the right words to begin, leaving only an awkward silence.

He knew Craig wasn't one to ask for help much, he remembered that, but he hoped his brother would remember that he had a knack for getting him to talk.

"I mean, there was a time when Tweek would answer us and tell us you were busy working"—he knew his weak spot—"But it wasn't the same, we wanted to talk to you..."

The dark-haired man's neutral expression shifted to one of heightened alertness, as if a thousand furious alarms had been triggered throughout his body; if it was suffocating for him to see him like this, he couldn't imagine what it was like for Craig.

He was worried; he'd never seen him so withdrawn. He knew what he did when he mentioned that name; maybe he was letting himself be carried away again by his damned memories, but the dark-haired man's face always lit up when Kenny mentioned Tweek. It was so sweet to watch. Craig always had a serious and standoffish demeanor around everyone, but when his star appeared, the tension simply vanished, the raging noise inside him transformed into simple symphonies, and everything became gentle.

His star also seemed to have gone out, and there was no way to make it shine again.

"Because of my position as boss, I started to surround myself with influential people, I think you already know that." His voice was hoarse; I sensed it wasn't easy to talk about, and I simply listened. "I spent a lot of time with them, in fact, I was so immersed in that circle that I didn't go home and..."

Kenny was starting to despair. He was listening intently, yes, but it was maddening to see Craig fall silent again. Looking at him, he seemed to be rethinking what he was going to say, as if he were putting up a wall between them once more and reverting to his hostile state.

"I invested in nonexistent stock exchanges with loans from the executives, besides working with futures for the same bosses—unpayable contracts—that and other expenses, I'd owe 7,000,000,000," he seemed to read Kenny's mind, interrupting the blond man's attempt to speak again. "Before you ask, yes, after so many years working there, they could give me some time off to pay off my entire debt, if it weren't for the collateral I left: the house here, my mother's business, my own land, and my house in California. Plus, the fact that I'm here in Korea is interpreted as me fleeing from the law."

As soon as I finished explaining, I was simply stunned. The situation was so funny and so desperate that I didn't know how to react. — So... if it hadn't been for my idiocy, we'd still be screwed because of you, Astronaut Craig?

A sharp glare—"You're a damn idiot."

"Don't worry, Craig! We'll find a way to fix this! With your wit and my social skills, I know we can work it out! Let's talk to Mom so she can guide us on how to fix it..." This was his way of ignoring bad moments; maybe it was absurd, but it worked.

"I didn't come here to talk to her."

"Huh?"

"But... So you're running away?"

"I came because Tweek is here. I have to find him."

"So it was true? You two aren't together anymore? It would be wise to ask, or..."

"Oh, right! Tweek was with us at the games. In fact, we were kicked out together when we were freed!"

He loved seeing how he was changing his brother's expression in such a short time, now pale and desperate to ask him what he knew about their encounter. Unfortunately for him, Kenny's cell phone rang, leaving the other frozen in place after being scolded by the blond boy to be quiet.

However, neither of them was prepared for the blow life was about to deal them, this time together, because if Kenny had been alone, he would have had a heart attack.

Laura is hospitalized in serious condition and they required the presence of an adult to deliver the news.

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"Type 2 diabetes, due to the already infected wounds and the long period without follow-up, and because of the degree to which the wound became infected, the most advisable course of action would be to amputate the affected limb to prevent the infection of other healthy tissues. As those responsible, you have the final say."

The doctor left, and in the ensuing silence, neither dared to say a word. As soon as they heard the devastating news, they didn't hesitate to leave their hiding place and run to the hospital at superhuman speed, just as they had when they went to see Karen that night. Neither of them cared if their neighbors saw them. Kenny didn't care if the thugs saw him, nor did Craig care about ruining his image in the neighborhood. Their mother needed them.

"W-what will we do now?" the blond man asked, his gaze fixed on Laura, dozing on the gurney in front of him. He didn't know if it was the cold of the hospital or if uncertainty was taking hold of his mind, but he was trembling, waiting for Craig's answer.

With each confession, one thing was certain: none of them had the money to treat their mother.

He turned to look at the man beside her, her chest tightening at the sight. Craig, head bowed, stared at the ground, pain in his eyes. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced in the light, and everything about him was disheveled. It was heartbreaking to see such a child bring tears to his eyes.

They kept their gaze fixed on their mother's weathered face. So many years of sacrifice to give them a better future, waking up before dawn to sell things, regardless of rain or exhaustion. She neglected her appearance. Her once soft and delicate hands were now calloused and rough, and her face was etched with wrinkles, especially those around her mouth and between her eyebrows. Despite being young, Laura looked older than she was.

All so they would have three meals a day, a warm roof over their heads, and a loving mother who would do anything for them, even sacrifice her ethereal image.

Their mother was magnificent; seeing her so vulnerable simply brought tears to their eyes.

He collapsed, squatting beside the cot, weeping uncontrollably; his chest rose and fell, feeling like he was running out of air with each gasp, his mind betraying him with every memory they shared: when he was welcomed into the family, his first birthday, an ordinary day when she cooked his favorite meal, and those nights when his mind wandered and his insecurities surfaced in his sea of tears. Laura comforted him with the wisest and most accurate words only a mother could offer.

Kenny tried not to think about it, but the mere thought of forgetting it only made him sadder.

He remained like that for a while, lost in his own world of memories and nostalgia, so lost in thought that he didn't realize hours had passed.

He got up and looked around for his brother, who had clearly left, perhaps some time ago. Kenny didn't have time to go and ask at reception if they had seen him leave because a faint female voice stopped him in his tracks. His mother lay awake, getting ready to leave, her expression a mystery to the blond boy.

"Let's go,Kenny."

He felt fear, shame, and something else, a kind of churning in his stomach. He tried to get her to stay on the stretcher, repeating to her in the hallway that she should stay, but Laura seemed to be on autopilot. She didn't turn to look at him, and they both rushed out of the hospital.

"Mom! You have to stay! What if you faint or get an even bigger infection! Mom!" He followed behind the woman, who was just walking quickly, still not looking at him.

"I'll be fine, let's go home."

"B-but, you have to stay! I can pay for the treatment if you want, I swear! Come on, Mom, don't be stubborn!"

"Let's go, I said."

"No, we're leaving! It's about the money, isn't it? The three of us can scrape it together! Don't worry, just stay, for God's sake, and let us take care of it!" I-I can take care of the store, and... Mom, come on!

"Kenneth, that's enough!" she snapped. The blond boy was startled by the change in her voice, which became more authoritarian. He knew he must have been so scared by his mother's reaction that he sighed resignedly. "Please stop... son, where have you been? I-I thought those guys had found you and..."

Laura started to cry. She didn't know what to do, what to say. She just tried to swallow the unbearable lump in her throat. She wouldn't wish that pain of seeing her mother cry because of her on anyone.

"I-I don't understand what's happening to you. You didn't come home. Those men are looking for you to do something bad to you, and the neighbors already told me you were fired from your job... Son, what's wrong?" She placed her hands on his cheek. "How do you plan to take care of me and your sisters when your problems are even bigger?... Kenny, you're an adult now. You should think before you act! I don't understand where I went wrong..."

"Mom..."

"This morning some police officers came looking for Craig. They said he owes a lot of money and that if he didn't pay, he'd go to jail... If only he had told me, I would have helped him, but he never answered a single call." He spoke between sobs.

-Mom, please...

-Let's not argue anymore, Kenny.

He couldn't stop her from leaving. The heartbroken woman walked away while he was left utterly alone. His eyes burned from crying, but he couldn't stop; it was the helplessness of not being able to do anything, of not having the money, of not being a good brother, a good son, a good friend, nothing. He wished, longed to fix everything, but solutions came at a price. He couldn't solve any of his problems because they all had a cost, and it was maddening. He was fed up.

He watched as the blond man collapsed in the middle of the street, not caring that people saw him. He had been watching ever since his mother left the hospital and the scolding she gave them both. Craig thought his problems wouldn't reach Korea, but they had, and in the worst way. Knowing that he had indirectly hurt his mother by going to the hospital with the news of his debt simply shattered him. Knowing that if only he had answered, everything would have been different, everything.

He was hidden in the shadows of the night, and no one could see him vulnerable. He could still maintain a semblance of his perfect image, a stark contrast to Kenny a few meters ahead, who was still weeping for his mother. But while Craig remained composed in his emotions, Kenny had been able to talk to her, to be comforted and loved.

Meanwhile, Craig received nothing. Nothing.

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That same morning, hours earlier, where others had had a depressing family reunion, others eagerly awaited their return that afternoon.

Kyle kept a serious expression as he watched the children play in the orphanage courtyard from the benches outside. He wasn't reminiscing about his own childhood or simply enjoying watching them play; rather, behind the small playground, the supervising nun kept a watchful eye on the children. She, too, regarded him with the same suspicion, surely anxiously awaiting the monthly payment she provided for her brother's stay.

The woman seemed exasperated, as if she intended to approach him aggressively to demand a reprimand, but the redhead didn't back down. With a single, sharp glance, the nun retreated.

Anyone who saw him wouldn't think of approaching him, Kyle was aware of that. He'd been told before, but he still didn't believe it; he was frightening. His gaze was stern, his expressions devoid of any emotion. That had certainly helped in his old job, mainly because it prevented anyone from taking advantage of him, not after that fateful accident. He didn't care if others were afraid of him; in fact, it was for the best. Thanks to his cold demeanor, he'd been able to persuade those nuns to take care of Ike until he could leave the country and find a place to take him.

He was alone, and he'd get through this mess on his own.

However, as soon as he heard an innocent voice from the boy who had just arrived beside him, his expression changed drastically. His gaze softened, and a faint smile appeared. His Achilles' heel was right there, and nothing was more endearing than a drawing in his hand.

"Kyle!" The little boy jumped into his older brother's arms, who welcomed him with open arms. Finally, he could let go of the mask he wore for everyone, lower his guard, because now he was with the only family he had left, Ike, who was searching his jacket pockets for a gift for him, and sure enough, he found the cookies he loved so much. "Are these for me?"

"Of course they are."

They spent a good while chatting and eating their snack. The younger boy showed him the drawing he had made for him, and yes, it was a house with vibrant colors, a yard full of flowers, and of course, him and his little brother happy. Kyle couldn't help but break into a playful smile, despite the pressure in his chest; he smiled for Ike.

"Is this how you want our house to be? Isn't it a bit big for just the two of us?"

"That's what I want! The biggest one! I'd like to have a whole room to myself and another for all the games I'll have! I'd also like to have a dog and..."

"Wait, wait, didn't you enjoy sharing a room with me? And I already told you we couldn't have a pet yet..."

Ike became shy, which Kyle didn't like. He somehow knew a complaint from the orphanage was coming, and it did.

"It's not that, it's that I have to share the bed with the other children, and the food too, so I wish I could have what I want at least in our future house..." And that was the last straw for Kyle, who had to hide his enormous anger from the nuns. He was supposed to be paying a lot of money so that Ike could have a better life than the one he was providing, but remembering the supervisor's look, it all clicked immediately. They had raised the price of dealing with his brother, and if he didn't pay, they wouldn't hesitate to throw out a poor kid and call social services.

Besides, they had cooperated to keep his secret from the police and protect Ike, thanks to the little-known establishment, not even his worst enemy would find him or the boy.

So there was no other option but to do what those damned women wanted.

"I want to go with you, Kyle. Can I come home with you?"

And that was what hurt him the most. He no longer had a home, not after the incident with the mafia. He had left the place where they lived after escaping from South Park. Now he lived on the streets, running from the enemies he had made in order to survive in the big city at such a young age.

Every penny he earned went straight to Ike's needs or to the future he wanted for them both, far from Korea, far from the burning history that still haunted him. He needed money to provide for his small family. It didn't matter what he had to do; he'd already worn his body and hands to the bone for it. One more time was nothing.

"Listen, little one," he said, "I have a job out of town. I won't be able to see you for a while, but rest assured that when I finish, we'll get out of this place, together."

"Really?! You promise?"

"Of course I will. I'll come back."

A farewell hug, as long as it was longing, Kyle embraced the small body. He hated saying goodbye and returning to the chaotic world outside, but he was sure it would be the last time he felt anything like this. They would leave together and finally live free.

Kyle walked away as he left the orphanage. He would return to the games, while Ike watched him go sadly, unaware that it would be the last time he would see him.

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The moment he set foot in town, bad news rained down.

Since South Park was so small, everyone knew him and his deplorable situation. He didn't know how, but the neighbors had already informed him that he'd been fired for missing a day of work and that his sister, Shelly, was searching for him like he was a thief all over town for leaving her and their mother alone.

It seemed like this cursed place had eyes everywhere, but when it was a real emergency, they turned a blind eye.

"When a teenager ran away from home after his mother was murdered, nobody said a word; when the worst crime in town happened, a family was massacred, supposedly nobody saw anything. Ah, but now that he was hiding in the alleys where the worst of the worst of the town hid to vent his frustrations, that's when everyone suddenly worried about him."

He hurled the bottle violently at the wall in front of him, lucky that no shards embedded themselves in him; he was truly exhausted, but it didn't matter whether he was or not, he had to get money for his mother's medicine as soon as possible, since she was a day late and he knew her health might have worsened.

As the man of the house, his only duty was to bring home money and food. But how could he do that if no one in town wanted to hire him anymore? He really tried; he'd had too many jobs to start his own business. With what money? No one wanted to hire him! He felt a pang of envy for his old friends who had managed to leave South Park, while he was stuck there, all alone.

He remembered the games. When he saw Kyle alive, after searching for him for so many years, incredibly, he didn't feel like greeting him, like he so desperately wanted to apologize. He felt nothing. He saw Eric, but it was the same feeling. However, when he saw Kenny, he felt excited, though he couldn't say why.

When he saw someone fall in front of him, he didn't hesitate. He didn't recognize who it was; he simply acted to save the stranger because it was the right thing to do. The fact that it was Kenny surprised him. The reunion, and the fact that Kenny had accepted him again, filled him with emotion, and he felt that feeling he hadn't felt in years.

But when Craig offered to help him, he felt that finally someone truly cared about him. He thought Craig would be indifferent, like he had been in childhood, but he wasn't. A sense of peace washed over him, and strangely, he missed feeling accompanied, missed being with him.

The murmurs coming from deeper into the alley snapped him out of it. Apparently, one of the gangs was fighting over money. He knew this from the wads of bills flying with every blow they exchanged. Like a moth to a flame, he crept closer as discreetly as possible to grab one of the loose bills. He knew it was wrong, but the need was immense. If he didn't bring home at least 100 won for his family, he knew they wouldn't survive the week, and he would never forgive himself for that.

He told himself repeatedly that he was doing something for the greater good, because he was truly afraid. He was terrified that those guys would see him and beat him up. No one would be as kind as Craig and give them money. He mustered his courage and grabbed a considerable amount.

Fleeing from there and praying that those thugs wouldn't recognize him and send someone to look for him or his family.

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Chapter Text

"This stage really sucks."

He'd always been warned about how incredibly difficult this stage was going to be. Going from being a kid to a teenager is a fucking nightmare. Your body changes, becoming more uncomfortable, you don't understand your own thoughts or attitudes, which become unbearable, and everything around you sucks. He wasn't just referring to the distinct, characteristic smell of a teenager; everything became a festival of overstimulation from the smallest things that happened around them. Feelings that used to vanish in seconds now turned into resentments that lasted for days, all because of simple pride or shame or some other bullshit.

At least that's how Craig explained it to him in their late-night conversations, when they were leaving childhood behind and entering the limbo of pre-adolescence.

Both of them lay in their respective beds, staring at the ceiling decorated with phosphorescent stars, their typical sleepless nights spent talking unfiltered about any intrusive thought or simply recounting their day.

"Seriously, you never stop studying, do you? Bro, the last thing I need right now is for you to be a walking encyclopedia and actually listen to me, okay?" Kenny felt the urge to tell Craig to go to hell when he acted so nerdy, so completely unempathetic, when he was also going through this teenage hormonal mess.

"I swear, if this is another one of your complaints about your friends, I'll kick you out of the room."

"It's just getting really complicated being with them..."

"Good night."

"Hey, don't be mean, you damn nerd!"

After a barrage of pillow fights from Kenny, the dark-haired boy had no choice but to listen to the blond.

"I don't really know how to say it, you know, it's like I just don't want to be around when they're arguing. Like, it's normal for us to argue when we disagree or when someone does something stupid; it's usually between Kyle and Eric or Stan and Kyle, but we always go back to being okay like before. A simple game was enough to fix everything." Kenny was now huddled next to Craig's bed, despite the cold floor. He really wanted to be close so the green-eyed boy could hear him clearly. "Now they don't even want to go to the park... I mean, I know we're not little kids anymore! I know, but I was hoping we could go back to normal. It's exhausting being with them when they fight. Now we can't even have a normal outing because Kyle and Eric started fighting again over the most insignificant thing in the world. Stan got mad at Kyle because they couldn't agree on what to do in the afternoon. They get unbearable, they make me the last resort, and boom!" In the end we don't do anything because Kyle gets irritating, Stan gets arrogant, and I'm left alone.

Wow, I told you they were jerks and you didn't listen. Why don't you just ditch them and find some less stupid idiots? It's easy for you to make friends.

"It's not that simple. They're my friends, actually, they're more than just friends... I want to be with them until we're older and always be together, play video games at someone's house, have crazy nights out, have adventures just the two of us; I don't know, I wish things could go back to how they were, easier..."

"Whatever you say. You have your reasons for not wanting to let them go, so I have no say in what you decide. Now, can I have my pillow back?"

"Heh, are you jealous of them, little brother? You've finally shown me you're not a block of ice!" He smacked the other's face with his own pillow again. "Don't worry, little brother, we'll spend all day together tomorrow!"

"Those idiots aren't going to need you? This is the third time this week you've avoided them."

"Nah, they can manage without me. I don't think anything serious will happen that I'm not around, and I'm not avoiding them. Think of it as a vacation away from the chaos of war to be with my scholarly brother."

"Idiot."

It was a shame that his little escapes had consequences, because everyone has problems, situations they can't escape, and the only way to release it all is through anger, the fine line between sanity, despair, and self-care. Nobody knows what will happen tomorrow, just as Kenny never imagined that months later, Cartman would be orphaned and then disappear, nor did he imagine that the Bloflovski family would be tainted by a murder, leaving Kyle and his brother missing; nor that Stan would stop speaking to him.

Nobody knows what will happen tomorrow, if today's promises will be kept, if today's friends will become our enemies, or if the tomorrow we dream of will end with just the flapping of a butterfly's wings.

With just one action, we can change our entire future and the future of others...

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The room was a complete mess. What had once been an elegant and dignified bedroom befitting someone of his social standing was now filled with filth and squalor, the complete opposite of its former appearance. There was a neat row of empty liquor bottles, and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts and grime. Anyone who entered would feel a sense of unease due to the depressing atmosphere, made even worse by the miserable man in the bathtub.

The entire place was shrouded in darkness; the only light illuminating it was coming from the bathroom. The door was open, so Craig couldn't ignore the mess he had made just a few hours earlier.

When Kenny left the place where he'd argued with his mother, he could finally emerge from his shadowy hiding place and go back to his hotel room to make a scene—what he might call "an outburst of his emotions," because that's exactly what it was. He wouldn't say it out loud; even thinking about it seemed like the worst thing he could imagine. He hated being scolded.

He was a grown man, working for one of the world's leading companies, happily married, and owning vast tracts of land—the life of his dreams. So, he couldn't understand why he felt such anger when Laura didn't notice and only comforted her brother.

When he had achieved so much more and received nothing in return.

He was still submerged in the water, the sink still dripping so much that the liquid threatened to overflow the bathroom. It had already overflowed the bathtub quite some time ago. Craig simply turned on the tap and, without further ado, sank into the watery grave, suit and all. He didn't know how, but his cigarette had survived after long hours of lying there staring into space. Somehow, it had been his lifeline, preventing him from falling asleep.

He was tired, too tired, more than he could say. His eyelids felt heavy, his head was spinning, and his joints had gone numb from the sudden change in temperature. Everything was numb from the icy water that still pressed against his tense body. The cigarette was getting smaller and smaller, and he felt it sinking.

The water had already soaked through the carpeting in the room, which would leave a damp stain, but it didn't matter. Maybe the staff would call him about the dampness on the ceiling downstairs, but as he said, it didn't matter. Staying at that hotel wasn't a pretentious whim or an excuse to avoid going to his mother's house, no, because his mission in Korea was more important than that.

He knew Tweek had returned to Korea after checking his credit card statement, and also because he didn't know anyone else in California besides him. He wanted to find him, see him again, and tell him how much he missed him. He wanted him to forgive him for everything he'd said that night and for things to go back to normal. He just wanted him back. He longed for him.

But Kenny did it first and told him what wasn't true, because they weren't getting divorced; they were still married, and that was all.

He would have loved to see him again, to see his beautiful, crystal-blue eyes and lose herself in them until she reached the bottom and faded away.

To caress his soft blond locks until they reached his smooth, pale skin, pale as the moon, to kiss each freckle adorning his face like a constellation, and even with that infinity, she would never tire of doing it.

He missed the warmth her star gave her, her beloved star, unique among all others.

Now he felt like he was in utter nothingness, floating as his light faded and went out. He tried to return, to fight against the force pulling him away, but he couldn't. He was adrift, his surroundings growing ever darker until they consumed him too, and he let himself drift. The cigarette finally burned out, and his body no longer had any reason to be on the surface. He finally let himself sink as the last bubbles of his breath rose to the surface.

For a few seconds, the water remained calm, his body still as he suffocated. In another second, the doorbell rang. In another, there was repeated pounding on the door. And in a few final seconds, the sequence repeated itself. Something inside his head, with the last moments of lucidity due to the lack of air reaching his brain and the near fainting spell, made Craig wake up.

He grabbed the sides of the bathtub to sit up abruptly. As soon as he was seated, a violent burst of water splashed around him, startled by his sudden awakening. He struggled to catch his breath; his lungs worked hard as he felt a splitting headache. His senses sharpened, and he quickly turned toward the source of the noise.

Maybe, just maybe, he was back...

He didn't care about being soaked and having marks all over his body, or looking like a desperate dog, anxious to know who was behind the door, like in a soap opera where his beloved was waiting to be with him, only to reconcile later, with an idyllic melody playing in the background.

"Are you here, Tweek?" he said, his voice softer than he cared to admit.

However, life slapped him in the face, even as he saw how miserable he was. After a long silence and the urge to open the door to finally see who it was, a card slipped under the door, bearing the same geometric symbols as those creepy games. A wave of disappointment and shame washed over him. Whoever had left the card had heard his pleas, and that was more painful than drowning.

He flipped the card over; sure enough, there was a number to call, to get back into the games, he guessed. He glanced back at the gloomy apartment and again at the chance to return to those games and win that juicy prize. It was tempting, and he knew it. That's why he would do it again, because he knew he was capable of taking the prize. He always won, and this time would be no exception.

"He would have that coveted cash prize and be back on top, as he always should have been. Everyone knew it. That's how his life was meant to be: full of success and stupidly swimming in his own money, not in his misery like now. He was Craig Tucker, the only one in the neighborhood working in the big leagues, with the perfect life, and that's how it was going to stay."

He would return to the games and win, to go back where he always belonged, with the predators of business; he would pay off his debts and return to his high-society life, that's how it would be.

He put on his best suit even though he knew he wouldn't wear it, but always with his best image before the world. He was about to leave when he looked out his window one last time. It reflected the clear sky with the moon in its full splendor, the stars twinkling before his eyes, and he remembered.

He would also do it to look for his Tweek. He would find him, and they would be happy like they once were.

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The moon marked the beginning of the night, and the stars adorned the darkness of the streets, revealing the alluring nightlife. The avenues were theirs, and any crime could occur if you knew which places were red-light districts—the side no one wants to show, the filth of society, as they were considered. But you don't give a damn when that's how you make a living, when this lifestyle is the driving force and the drug that keeps you living on the edge every day.

The nights were theirs, and Eric knew exactly how to take advantage of them.

Adrenaline was a daily staple, ironic considering the nightlife, but that's how it was. Belonging to one of the major Korean mafias, every morning was like Russian roulette; you never know when your turn will come, but you know you'll die that way.

Right now, his adrenaline was pumping after a thrilling car race, but it was ridiculous that he hadn't even been able to drive his own old car, now being driven by his idiot coworker who was reveling in being behind the wheel. All because of some stupid punishment from the boss.

"Dude, your car's a freaking monster! God, you must be seething with rage at losing it!" the man laughed loudly as he accelerated, much to the brunette's anger. "Damn, that was fast! I feel sorry for you, you bastard! Hahaha! And all because you messed with that redhead—"

"Shut up or I swear I'll kill you right now!" Even though he wasn't joking, the other guy couldn't stop laughing at the "pathetic" situation his former leader was in.

Because even though he didn't like to admit it, Kyle screwed him over, and not in a good way. For letting him into his gang, for letting his guard down, and for many intense things from his past. Eric was screwed, for trusting the damn Jew and for letting him seduce him. Thanks to that, he now saw his modern car being used by another man. Who had already slowed down to drive closer to the coast.

"You know, Cartman... I can't help but thank Kyle, wherever he is, for helping us so much. That guy finally brought you down to earth, and now you're like this! Ha!"

"What the hell do you care? When I get my money back, you and your damn lackeys can go to hell, and you'll give me back my fucking car!"

"Calm down, ex-boss. Remember, my car was a gift from the boss as punishment for letting Kyle steal all the money from the safe, remember? The fact that I demoted you, that your reputation was tarnished, and that you're saddled with a million-dollar debt isn't my comrades' fault, or mine. I didn't think with my lower head instead of my upper one." A loud laugh erupted again, making him seethe with anger. He clenched his fist, ready to punch him, but it wasn't time. He needed help.

"Anyway, I already told you what that place is like. Those bastards have tons of money, more than my debt to the boss and everything. They only have a few guards, and we can massacre them if you call everyone."

The car had already stopped right on a bridge near the coast, which gave him a bad feeling, but he wanted to see how she would react now. "Aha, so you're saying there's some kind of organization that kills people when you fail one of the games, and that's how they make more money? That's how you told me, right? I'm not forgetting any details."

"That's right. Call all the men you can. We'll need enough to invade them. I already have the card to call those masked guys. As soon as we have the money, we'll split it among ourselves!"

"All of us, you say? Cartman, you're forgetting all the money you owe us? Dude, you literally convinced everyone to be indebted to you to find Red, and then you'd pay us back for what he stole. Did it work? No, not in a thousand lifetimes could you pay us back... But I think there's a way you can do it without stupid plans about invading some idiotic video games..." In a serious and arrogant tone, he pressed his phone to get a signal.

Suddenly, several men emerged from their hiding places to surround the car, armed with guns and spiked bats. They were there to take his life.

"What the hell?!" The man began to laugh maniacally. "This is what I always wanted! How does it feel that you're now a piece of shit—"

He was interrupted by Eric's heavy blow; he was already bracing himself, and his blows always knocked one out, as was the case now with his former comrade sprawled in the driver's seat.

He hurriedly got out of the vehicle only to find himself surrounded from all sides on the bridge. Men who had once been under his command now awaited him with every imaginable weapon, ready to make him pay for the money one way or another, with his life.

"Traitors"

But now he was the one cornered; there was no escape, no begging for mercy, which he wouldn't do. This was his chance to get away. His boss had ruined his life, and he wasn't about to wait for him to lay back all the stolen money. And these hypocritical rats were only now going to obey his orders after so many years of fighting side by side.

The men on either side of him began to approach ferociously, brandishing their torture devices amid laughter and insults—a stark reminder of his great sin, of the demon he'd let into his life, believing him to be just a fallen angel, who had turned out to be nothing but his punishment. It was all Kyle's fault.

"Come on, you idiots! Remember who put you in the positions you're in now." Eric took small steps backward so the hitmen wouldn't see his intentions. "All thanks to me! Without me, you'd still be the fucking scum of the country!"

The first resentful one appeared, trying to hit Eric with the nail-studded bat. Aiming for the head was a basic mistake, as he was able to kick him in the ribs and, taking advantage of the opening, apply a hold to disarm him and attack him with the same force he'd dared to use against him.

There was a reason he was the right-hand man of this damned gang; he was the strongest, the most capable, and a fallen, furious leader.

His surroundings grew bolder, and at any moment they would attack him en masse. They would. With the new weapon, he tempted them, but he had other plans. If no one would follow him now, then he would go it alone and win that money.

He would kill Kyle for ruining him.

Without another word, in a decision that left his audience bewildered, he ran toward the bridge's safety railing, climbed over it, and leaped into the void. Although the mob of men went after him, Eric already had other plans, and he would carry them out. He would return to those games and be the damned winner.

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The ringing sound of the call was torture, a burning inferno that left his lungs breathless and a painful lump in his throat. Kenny ran a hand through his hair to make it look more presentable as he held his phone out on the table so that when Karen answered the video call, she would see him looking as "sane" as possible.

After so many, too many unexpected news stories in just one damn day, some so depressing he wanted to jump off a bridge, others so unexpected he thought his whole life had been a lie—well, there was one or two, just one "good" piece of news.

His friends were alive, yay! His family was "reunited" again, double yay!

But would that solve her problems? Money? Hell no.

The phone finally stopped vibrating, and the young brunette appeared on the screen in a well-lit area that seemed to be outside her house. Her face showed exhaustion, but upon seeing her older brother, she immediately seemed to glow.

"Hey, shorty! How are you? What are you doing? Are you working? Hmm, too bad for Kevin. I think I'll go tell him off again!" he said in his usual tone, a great effort considering the reason for the call and the burden he'd been carrying since morning.

"Hey! Little brother, what happened? Why did you disappear?" Karen seemed to be hiding and speaking in a low voice. She'd always been like that, but now it was odd.

"Hehe, I've been working, you know. I had to explain something that happened, yeah..."

He was never good at lying, so why even try?

"Karen, listen, I'm actually kind of desperate, hehe." He laughed to avoid worrying her, but it didn't work. "Look, I know I'm not on the best of terms with Kevin. I think after what happened that day, he must hate me even more than before, right? The point is... I need him to lend me some money." He knew it sounded bad. His body was reacting to the discomfort of what he was saying and asking for; he unconsciously started to tremble.

"Money? Did something bad happen? Kenny, tell me, please!" Even Karen knew how serious the situation was if Kenny was talking to Kevin, and on top of that, it was about money.

With great effort and a trembling voice, he spoke, "W-well, the problem is... M-my mom is very sick and needs to be in the hospital, b-but we can't afford the stay and we need... I need money." He hated appearing so vulnerable in front of Karen, to whom he always showed his best side, but the situation was overwhelming him. His world was falling apart, and he was powerless to do anything. "C-could you call Kevin? Please."

The brunette complied and turned off her camera for a moment, allowing Kenny to do the same and cry freely. He lay down on the table, trying to hide, hoping no one would see him and that the shop owner wouldn't come out to check on him, because he clearly didn't have the strength to fake another smile or anything. However, the audio was still audible during the call, and Kenny could hear what happened on the other end.

Apparently, Karen approached Kevin to talk to him. She couldn't see him clearly, but she could tell he was happy with how she was speaking to his little sister and how calmly he was responding. It seemed he was asking if she had packed everything she'd mentioned. She felt a tightness in her chest at that statement, but she also felt a glimmer of hope seeing Kevin so happy and that perhaps he would accept her loan.

Foolish hope.

As soon as Karen mentioned Kenny, who was on her cell phone, about the loan she needed, he exploded. She heard his reaction change instantly, becoming furious and violent. She heard his voice rise to shouts, not directed at Karen, just random shouts hurling insults at him. The teenager tried to calm him down while he only denigrated her further, unaware that the blond boy was listening to everything, but he didn't react. Karen's pleas grew longer, with explanations that she shouldn't get angry and that it was just a suggestion, not a fact; however, she accidentally reminded him that Kenny was still on a call, and in a fit of rage, Kevin snatched the phone from her to finally confront his former brother.

"You're a stupid bastard, you know it! I don't give a damn that you're desperate, if your mother's sick it's your damn fault, and don't drag me into your shitty decisions! She did a good job raising a fucking scoundrel only for you to not even bother coming here and just use Karen for your own benefit!" She screamed so loudly she felt like she could jump out of the screen and hit him. He wouldn't defend himself because she was right. "This is my last warning, Tucker! Either you pay me everything you owe me or I'll tell you to fuck off and disappear from our lives, I don't care if your fucking family dies! You pay me and stop messing with me, you sick stupid bastard!"

"I don't care if your fucking family dies! You pay me and stop fucking with me, you sick stupid bastard!"

"I don't care if your fucking family dies!" That was the last thing he heard, ending with Karen's heartbreaking sobs on the call, as he hung up. Kevin continued to berate and insult him about everything, about how he had ruined their lives from the moment he was born and how much he hated him, but Kenny wasn't listening. Their voices echoed as they disappeared, awakening fears he had tried hard to erase, insecurities that surfaced because of all those hurtful, but true, words.

He was right, it hurt, but he agreed. He was nothing but a damned cancer that rots everything he touches, no matter where he is, he always, always ends up ruining everything. Absolutely everything that made him happy, he himself rotted it, and that hurt so much it burned him.

He didn't know when he started crying, or when he started trembling, only when his breathing became ragged and the agonizing suffocation was driving him to despair. He threw down the phone that was still playing the poem of insults about how miserable he was. The world was becoming hectic and noisy; those voices were tormenting him.

He felt like he was going to explode, but before it was a disaster, he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. He was terrified. His mind played a trick on him, and in a reflex, he violently pushed the other person's arm away.

When he opened his eyes and sat up, he deeply regretted it. Dogpoo was there, expectant and worried. Kenny recognized him and without hesitation jumped into his arms and cried.

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He was supposed to have only gone to Dogpoo's supermarket to pay a visit and check on the job situation, and see if his former boss had really retaliated against him and his friend, but only Kenny was blamed; he was supposed to call Karen and then go home to his mom and Tricia, who were hoping for some good news.

But now he was lying comfortably with his head on her shoulder, staring into the utter void.

They had moved because Dogpoo's mother, the real owner of the supermarket, had kicked them out to put away her tables and chairs, as always angry at their presence and giving them all too obvious hints about not bothering her son and leaving; which didn't work, despite his own son's objections, since now they were sitting right in front of him on a railing. As always, earning the hatred of his friend's mother, but now he wasn't in the mood for that; he was devastated, too tired to smile and pretend that all these blows from the day hadn't hurt.

He simply snuggled up to him, and they stayed like that for a while until the gray-haired one broke the silence between them.

"At least you did it, Ken. You were very brave to stand up to Kevin, even knowing it was impossible for him to help you. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah..." His voice was weak and hoarse, but it didn't matter because Dog would never let him know that. He was truly grateful that he was there and that he'd appeared at just the right moment. He knew that the other knew it; that's how they'd always been. Ever since he moved in, they'd become friends. There was this connection; he didn't know how to describe it, but it was like he was his brother, his best friend.

"You know, you were really brave these past few days..." he said, holding up his hand to count things off. "Okay, first you stood up to our boss and gave him the beating we all wanted to give him. Second, when you found out about your mom, you came and started calling everyone you knew and you didn't give up. And third, you called that idiot Kevin; but you never gave up!"

He sighed in defeat. "But it was all for nothing. I have nowhere to die. I'm screwed."

It took me a few seconds to reply. "You never give up... In all the time I've known you, you've always found a solution to everything, and you do it by being yourself. It's impressive, Ken." The blond turned to look at him intently. "I don't know how you do it, but you bring out the best in everyone. You give them confidence and security. You're like a damn lucky little elf, you know? And you even look like one." Kenny laughed, now a little more cheerful. "What I'm trying to say is, Kevin doesn't know you and doesn't know how amazing you are and how happy you've made so many people... You're a really good person."

I felt like I was going to cry, but for a different, more beautiful, comforting, and happy reason. I was about to reply when the warm atmosphere they had created was cruelly shattered by a woman's scream.

"Dogpoo Petuski, get back here right now or I'll kick that flea-ridden wretch out!" yelled the woman peeking out of the now-closed shop.

"Mom!" the named boy complained, embarrassed by the blond boy's mischievous giggles. "Sorry about that..."

"Your mom still hates me, right?"

"You know she's just stressed! Yeah..." he replied nervously as Ken raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Kenny... You know I'd help you if I could. We've been having some trouble lately—"

"Shhh, be quiet, I know." He wasn't going to ask for money because he knew how hard things were for them too; just having comforted him was enough, because he was so happy that someone saw him like this. "Actually, come here."

Kenny hugged him, and Dog immediately returned the embrace. The closeness was warm and just what they needed to keep going. They never knew when the last time would be, so every little hug like this one was like comforting their souls and bringing them peace. That's how it felt for each of them, following a path of no return, because they would never again be as close as they were that night.

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The streets were empty, and the neighborhood had finally fallen silent, quieting the daily clamor.

Kenny walked slowly, lost in his memories and wondering how he would get home without a solution to this hurricane of problems. He didn't know how he'd gotten to this point. Somehow, he always got his way, just like Dog had told him. Nothing could stop him. If there was a problem, he squeezed every last drop of opportunity to achieve what he wanted.

He was the restless one of the neighborhood. Everyone knew him that way because he was always on the move. If he wasn't working on something with his friend, he was playing in the park with the neighborhood kids, or, by default, getting into some innocent trouble.

Just like now, only his problems were no longer simple at all. They had increased in difficulty, and he hadn't realized it all this time. It was like an intruder that had taken up residence in every aspect of his life and his perception of everything. He felt that nothing would ever be as easy as it once was, as if simply asking for forgiveness and making amends with childish treatment were enough. No, now it wasn't enough to apologize for taking out that loan to keep those thugs from killing him, it wasn't enough for Kevin to let him see his sister, and of course, it wasn't enough for the hospital to admit his mother.

Once again, his mind wanted to take him back to his happy place, but that memory became distant and blurred by the worries of the present. He felt guilty for wanting to dissociate, because that's what he had gotten himself into, this tangled web of anxieties that were suffocating and consuming him.

While he was lost in his own little world of trying to figure out how to solve his mess, he hadn't noticed that he'd stumbled into a completely unfamiliar 24/7 store. The moment he realized, he mentally slapped himself, seeing his feet carry him away from Ssangmun-dong. Just as he resignedly prepared to head home, something caught his eye.

That pale blond hair, that soft, endless murmur, and a light blue sweater; as if he didn't belong in that environment, sitting on the tables outside the store, like he was from another world.

By inertia, his feet moved on their own, bringing him face to face with the unreal figure, who lifted his head upon sensing his presence. Their eyes met for a moment, violet and light blue, until one finally spoke. "Leo?" he said, still stunned by the incongruity of the scene.

"Oh, Kenny! H-hi! I didn't think I'd see you again, you know, with everything that's happened... I mean! How are you?" He took a long time to answer, seeming nervous after being on hold for so long.

"Me? I'm fine. I was just about to head home after, you know, a long day! But I think, I think I got lost. I don't know how that's possible, but if..." I didn't know what was wrong with him. He was nervous, and I didn't know why. One reason could be that those glassy eyes were watching my every move. Weird. "Hey, can I ask you something? Do you live around here? I don't remember ever seeing you here, well, not in my life here."

"Oh, yeah, that's right! No, I don't live around here... I was just sorting out some problems I have in the area, hehe." He scratched his cheek as he finally looked away. "Being gone for a whole day really annoyed them! Heh, I think my problems got a little worse..."

Kenny couldn't quite decipher what he meant, but he sensed it was some kind of money issue, judging by how nervous he was and the place where they'd met. "Yeah, I think I understand. It's a hellhole out here..." Without being invited, he sat down across from him. Leo didn't seem bothered; rather, seeing him so vulnerable, he pulled some candy from his pocket and offered it to him like a happy child. Kenny simply loved it and tried it. "Hey, these are my favorite candies! Ah, they're so sour!"

The violet-eyed boy playfully rubbed his hands on his cheeks at the sour taste of the candy, while the blue-eyed boy chuckled softly at his reaction. "Are they really? They're mine too! I love the jelly inside!"

"No way! You like them?! I thought I was the only lunatic they liked!"

Somehow, they ended up talking and laughing like they were lifelong friends, chatting and giggling at their similarities. It was crazy, it was like he was his own friend, which made it even more special and comforting. He discovered that Leo was from a different class; his fine but simple clothes already gave him away. He explained that he wasn't usually in this part of town and that financial turmoil had forced him to be here now. He also discovered that Leo had had a terrible day. It didn't seem like it because his face reflected no enthusiasm, but he simply said it was because Kenny had brightened his evening and that just a few seconds ago he had been very worried about how he was going to solve his problem.

"You know, Kenny? I feel kind of guilty about what I'm about to tell you. Being on the playground... I felt good, free, and happy." As soon as he spoke, Kenny was stunned by the declaration. Perhaps he felt the same way. "I know you're going to tell me I'm crazy! But when I played Green and Red Light, I felt... I felt like I was back in my childhood... I was back in the park near my house, and I remembered when I used to play with the other kids. It was easier, you know?"

And he played it perfectly, more than he cared to admit. He didn't know how to explain it, but this feeling of wanting to return to that time when everything was easier and more beautiful was constant. And feeling so close to it, so close to being with his old friends again, was so peaceful. He wanted to go back, but the small voice reminded him that it was something dangerous and deadly, casting a shadow over everything.

"I'm going back," I declared. "I need to resolve all my gambling-related problems... If I don't do it, no one else will..."

Will you come back?

No one asks if you want to go to the slaughterhouse, just as no one will solve your problems. We all pay for what we do; the consequences haunt us, and you're alone. No one will give you the answer to how to quit.

We all make decisions with consequences that we're willing to pay for because of the ego we carry; we believe we'll win.

Some do it out of necessity, love, ambition, or because there's no other choice. Of all the options, they all lead to the same situation.

Coming back.

The van arrives at each stop for each person. Kenny gets in while he's dozing off. The same thing happens at other stops with his former friends. The need was simply stronger than them. Leo gave him the push he needed, and here he was, back in hell.

Where the precious reunion was about to begin.

My gift from me to you. Dear Kenny. Welcome back.

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Chapter Text

Risks are tempting for those accustomed to avoiding them. In psychology, this could be explained as a malleable "withdrawal syndrome." Some are simply used to not being power-hungry, but no one tells us when we can break through that veneer of morality; only our ambition does.

So it was obvious that something like this would happen. He studied so much for this outcome, to see the gears fit together and move until he achieved perfect engineering. Every insignificant reaction was learned, every experience remembered, to ensure a perfect meeting. It seemed as if it was luck, that the stars aligned, and the devil took pity on him, bringing the actors and the stage together for his grand spectacle—so convenient.

He didn't touch anything, he didn't intervene as if by divine intervention. It was as if destiny wanted everything to be divinely constructed. He was merely an omnipotent God, observing how each of his actors sank into hell with every sin and misdeed committed in their past—decisions that led them down this path of no return.

Because we were just children who were friends before everything, before growing up and discovering that not everything could be achieved with empty apologies or fake hugs.

Asking permission to bite? No.

No one would accept it. The quickest way was to slip in unseen and unheard, like a parasite, infect the open wound, and that's what he did with his angel, to be with him, deep inside him, until he was as pure as snow.

There can't be two, not in their Perfect Reunion.

He loved the blond boy with a bitterness, too much, so much that he could break his own bones and offer them to him as a reward for his unworthy existence.

But there can't be two.

So...

How beautiful it would be to be an angel. Very soon he will be.

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The tide crashed against the ship, and the movement made her steps dizzy. The sea brought back bad memories, disgusting, ferocious moments; the combination of both made her gag and her insides churn, threatening to burst from her mouth.

"Begin the search," came the announcement over the cabin loudspeakers.

From a considerable distance, she watched the guards in circles, crudely checking the players who had returned to see if they had been knocked unconscious after inhaling the smoke. There wasn't much to do; her job as a triangular guard was to prevent disturbances from both the staff and the players, including her role as the executioner of those who failed at the games. Just yesterday, she had already taken many of them to their deaths with a precise, but lethal, shot to the head.

He saw no point in prolonging their suffering. He didn't know them, that was true, but nothing could dissuade him from the idea that not all of them were lost souls, and that somehow soothed his conscience, and he killed without any remorse. Without hesitation, without thinking too much, just like that, simple, too simple.

Wendy stood motionless when suddenly the ship lurched from the impact of a large wave, causing everything above her to tremble and slide. It was enough to make her stomach churn, and she felt everything inside pressing against her chest as it rose. Vomit threatened to spill out. She ran to the deck, grabbed the safety railings—disobeying the rules—removed her gas mask from the triangle, and finally, expelled all that foul, disgusting substance.

The worst of the worst, she thought. She leaned against the railing for a while, enjoying the night air on her face. However, as soon as she stood still for a considerable time, she heard footsteps approaching violently.

"Guard 011, what do you think you're doing?" It sounded more like a warning than a question.

Wiping the remaining filth from her mouth, she replied, "I got seasick. I needed to take it off," referring to the gas mask, which seemed to convince him.

"Let's not let it happen again." Without another word, he left, leaving the dark-haired woman alone once more.

She was about to put on her mask when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that the van next to her was still open, unlike the others that had already finished their inspection. Seeing no guards around, she assumed they had forgotten to close the door. She approached, still with her face uncovered, to close it, but as she got closer, she accidentally peeked inside.

People were asleep in all the seats, normal, but the one right next to the door caught her attention.

It was a boy, maybe her age, with coal-black hair, pale skin that stood out even in the night, and an expression that was too peaceful, serene in his last conscious moments. His lips were slightly parted, emitting a soft hiss. The boy she admired as if he were a modern-day Adonis—she didn't know it then—but the person she was watching with a certain longing was Stan Marsh.

She immediately felt impure from this feeling, from this closeness. She closed the door and put her mask back on.

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His eyes blinked instinctively at the noise of the crowd talking. He sat up reflexively, and this careless act resulted in him taking a hard blow from the metal frame of the bed above him, which hit his still-dazed head.

"Ow, ow, ow! Idiot, stupid..." He rubbed his forehead, reddened from the blow that stunned him more than it woke him up. Now aware of the situation, he looked around. He was definitely back in the large public bathroom with bunk beds, that is, The Games.

Now the atmosphere was different from the first time. People were no longer bewildered by the sudden kidnapping. No, now it seemed like a typical graduation trip, everyone talking as if they had known each other forever and laughing as they spoke; this was the case in each of the groups scattered throughout the room.

Kenny felt warm imagining his own senior year trip; remembering the crazy and illegal things he did just filled him with life, and even Craig being a rebel alongside his lover was amazing.

Looking beyond his own memories, he jumped up, thinking about his friends. Had they returned like he had? I mean, he hadn't even intended to ask them how their lives had been or why they wanted so much money. From Eric and Kyle's little fight, he knew they had a heated past. As for Stan, he knew nothing, and that saddened him. He hadn't even asked about the time Stan had saved him from death. He still had doubts. He wanted to fill in the blanks of the story, and of course, be with them again and maybe talk, like in the old days.

He would look for them, just like with Leo and Craig, who would be easy to recognize. Maybe he would run into Tweek, but now, knowing what he knew. It was strange, strange, and awkward.

Should he comfort him, ask for explanations, or just not say a damn thing?

He climbed down from the bunk beds to the ground floor, and then his adventure of finding his friends began. He was ready, he even took a big breath to begin his search as if it were a game, but that illusion ended the moment he took a step and was called by someone behind him.

"Kenny!"

"Huh?" He turned around, and it was none other than the friend he'd recently made standing near him, Leo. "Hey! Butters! I'm so glad to see you, bro! Give me five!" Kenny was always like that; he didn't wait to build up enough confidence to act like himself with others, he just did it, like now, when he was so excited.

The blond boy smiled as they high-fived, though the blue-eyed boy rubbed his hand afterward. Maybe Kenny didn't know when to control his strength.

"Oh, Burgers... I honestly thought you weren't coming anymore... B-but I'm so happy we're together again! Dude..."

"Hahaha, yeah." He really liked Leo. He was shy, but nice when he opened up. He was grateful to have someone who understood him. When they talked in that store, he felt very comfortable and safe. He didn't need to hide his embarrassment at that moment because Leo was there, giving him candy and laughing with him. At his age, it was very difficult to meet other people who truly connected with him. "If you notice, most of them came back! Look at everyone, it even seems like there are more of us than before! You know? It's like a graduation trip, don't you think? Hahaha."

"Graduation trip?" He shook his head slightly, confused. Leo was very expressive.

"Um, yeah... you know, the one you take after finishing your last year of high school. You go with all your friends and have an amazing time! You had one, right?" he asked without malice.

 "Uh, I don't think so... I don't like to remember my school life..." he confessed nervously, his hand on the back of his neck. "But tell me, how was yours? From what you're saying, it sounds like you had a lot of fun!" He returned to his cheerful state.

"It was totally crazy! You know," he said, pulling Leo closer and putting his arm around his shoulder, their heads tilted close enough to whisper a secret. "Don't tell anyone, but my brother Craig proposed to my brother-in-law on that trip! It was unbelievable! Nobody saw it coming! We only found out after they were married, right after graduation!"

Leo chuckled, and Kenny joined in, remembering his mother's exasperated reaction to finding her nerdy son married before he'd even graduated. He burst out laughing, recalling the scolding he got for being so reckless—not even his brother-in-law was spared. "Hahaha! Should I tell you what he said at the ceremony? It was the cheesiest thing ever!" He was about to let the laughter build, but a raspy voice interrupted the funny moment.

"I'm going to tell you what he said at the ceremony!" "What the hell are you doing telling that?" Craig appeared beside him, he hadn't even realized how long he had been standing there like a ghost, something he had always done for as long as he could remember, approaching stealthily and standing there until he gave someone a fright, like now to Kenny who screamed when he heard his voice, almost tripping if it weren't for Leo, who grabbed him by the waist, also scared.

"Craig! Hey, are you still doing that thing where you just show up like nothing happened?! And no, I wasn't telling her about it..." She pouted, crossing her arms, feigning anger. This made Leo giggle and Craig roll his eyes, clearly annoyed.

"Okay, okay, sorry," he emphasized. "So you're back..." he said, now more serious. "I thought you'd left, again..."

"Why did you go to the hospital? With Mom, she wanted to see you," she thought about asking, but making Craig angry wasn't a good idea if she didn't want him to run away and ignore them again.

"Yeah, well, I had things to take care of, the debts and all..." he confessed softly, almost in a whisper. "You came back too, because you know..."

Of course he did; he couldn't ignore that heaviness in his chest. "Well... you know!" We have to fix the mess we made, right? Together. -He offers to punch him, Craig hesitates for a few seconds but does it, Kenny explodes and ruffles his hair -That's my little brother~ Together again on an adventure!

"Don't touch me."

"Little brother!" It was almost perfect. Kenny was trying to hug the dark-haired boy while the latter struggled to block his arms and try to back away miserably. It was quite a show for Leo, who watched the scene, trying his best not to laugh.

Maybe they were trying to get attention, it didn't matter. He was enjoying teasing his brother. So much so that he ignored everything around him as he lunged at Craig. He heard Leo finally calm down and turn to look at someone approaching them. He could finally pay attention to the newcomer.

To Craig's relief, Kenny stopped circling him and focused on the man in front of them. Black hair as black as coal and blue eyes.

"Hey guys, it's good to see you again..." Stan said, somewhat embarrassed for interrupting the brotherly scene, out of place in that atmosphere, and nervous.

This couldn't have been a good day, not to mention he was trapped in some deadly games. When he saw Stan approaching of his own accord and greeting them, he erupted with excitement at having one of the original gang there with him, in the flesh. He truly felt pure joy seeing his friend again, maybe not in the best condition, but he was here! I repeat, with him!

"Stan!!" He jumped to hug him effusively. Stan returned the embrace after a while, clearly taken aback by the blond's energy. "Dude, it's so good to have you here! I mean, no, but yes? You know what I mean... I can't believe it, we're finally reunited!"

He had many strange, happy moments in his life, and he considered this one the winner of them all. Even jumping up and down was inevitable; he looked like a child, a very happy child with his ridiculous hat and his lollipop.

"Yeah..." the dark-haired man replied, catching Craig's eye. Craig was just straightening his jacket from the earlier hurricane, then pulled away from the hug and walked over. "I wanted to thank you again for the subway ride. It really was a long way from Seoul to South Park." His voice softened as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck in thanks.

"I already told you it was nothing, so stop it," the other dark-haired man replied curtly.

"What?! Craig, you helped Stan get back to town?" Kenny interrupted, completely taken aback. His throat was about to burst from shouting. Both men nodded. "That... That's good! Oh, Craig! I thought you'd never make a friend without me having to help. And Stan, no less! Oh my god! I'm going to explode!" -She is bursting with emotion, she feels her whole body trembling, the only way to release some of the feeling is to rush towards them and hug them both with each one on a different arm.

One was happy and surprised by the blond guy's acceptance, and the other was about to rip his head off.

"This is incredible, guys! You know what this reminds me of? It's like we're soldiers reuniting after a war! How exciting! Stan, you'd be the strong soldier protecting everyone! Craig would be the one making the plans, and me, of course, the leader of the troop!" he squealed with excitement, striking cartoonish poses as he spoke, first pretending to be someone big and muscular, then someone with glasses, and finally striking a firm military stance.

"We could team up!" Leo chimed in, and the three men turned to look. After being relegated to the background for quite some time, he was still his usual smiling self.

"Hey, it's true! Leo and I are experts at these games!" He extends his arm to Stan, pulling him closer for a hug, and does the same with Craig. "With our knowledge, Stan's strength, and Craig's wit, I'm sure we'll win!" "What do you say?" A moment passes, and Stan nods. Although Craig doesn't react, he knows he agrees. "That's it! Let's put our hands up, just like in the movies!" He releases the arm holding his brother, who leaps forward, inches away from him. Everyone puts their hand up, except for grumpy Craig. "Come on, Criki, just put your little hand up, like this," he grabs his stiff hand in denial, but Kenny is stronger and gets his way. "Ready! On three. One, two, three, Army Team!"

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In every corner of the room, similar situations were unfolding. People who had never crossed paths before were now pawns, mere lambs to be sacrificed to advance in the game.

Kyle saw it this way: everyone was now desperate and scrutinized every interaction with another human, even feigning qualities they didn't possess to belong to a group and thus survive another day.

He had already witnessed it; their weak, nervous voices betrayed them. He, too, should logically be part of a team. Those unfortunate souls without one would be easy prey for the bigger fish, those who weren't just in it for money, but for a twisted kind of fun.

Kyle was watching that owl lurk in the shadows, hidden in the small space that was his entire bed. He sat watching as groups formed, some boasting of their physical and mental feats, others simply accepting people on a whim, knowing that if they were alone, a certain team would massacre them.

And that's what he was mainly doing instead of leaving his space: staring at that disastrous group that was growing larger with each person they recruited as they wandered around the room.

There was a curious pattern, a funny coincidence. As soon as he woke up, he looked around for Eric. He knew what would happen if they met again. That time it was unavoidable. As soon as Kyle left his space, Eric found him, and the dramatic fight from before ensued. But now, he knew the risk. He wanted to keep an eye on him, analyze his next moves, and plan his counterattacks.

They had worked together for many years. She knew Eric wouldn't sit idly by and wait for fate to take its course. No, much to her chagrin, deep down, she recognized that the damned man was a great leader, and it didn't surprise her that he was doing the same in this competition, because that's what he was.

She watched him move. First, he went through the corridors behind the bunks. In one turn, he had four men, clearly matching the image she'd imagined: tall, with impressive muscles honed by fights, and the characteristic demeanor of someone from the underworld. Then, in no time, they were strolling through the middle of it all, in plain sight, with a clear, unspoken message.

That there were predators willing to kill to win. The strongest.

It was only a matter of time before they found him; it was predictable that the chestnut-haired man's first victim would be him. And he was waiting for it, rolling up his sleeve slightly to check the knife he had hidden in his forearm. Kyle hadn't come without a plan either; he wasn't going to leave things to chance. He had more important reasons to win, no matter the cost.

He covered his nose and mouth to try to sleep from the car exhaust, pretending to be unconscious while they dressed him in clothes to switch his weapon with the guard, who then kept it until this moment.

He stared intently at the blade's edge, that same edge that would one day be stained with the vital crimson liquid; it had to be that way.

For a moment, he was mesmerized by the lethal point, the killer of many, the weapon of years of defense; he had never, ever hesitated, at least not in recent years, to kill someone.

So many lives taken by his own hands, some fleeting, others too personal, the blood of his blood; so why was he hesitating now? Why couldn't he tear his gaze away from that sinful blade? It didn't matter, he would go to hell for his sins, there was no salvation for him...

He was interrupted by the repeated, thunderous sound of the stairwell. Someone was approaching, not just one person, but many. He lowered his guard, searching his radar for the ferocious group that had been keeping watch, but he couldn't find them. Or rather, they had found him.

"Khaaal, buddy, how's it going? Could you leave your gothic prison? We want to make you a proposition..." referring to the dozen men behind him.

Kyle was finally listening to the script. That he was special, that they'd already seen him, and that he had potential to be in their group—the same crap he'd probably told his lackeys. They were playing at being strangers, fine, fine, then he'd play along. But he sensed that he was holding back. Suffice it to say, the reason was that there was a considerable group of men behind him, preventing Eric from saying what he really wanted to say to Kyle. He knew this: the brunette wouldn't reveal anything about their past together, nor would he be the beggar he always was in front of his audience. Although nothing could erase the hunger in Eric's eyes when they looked at each other. Pathetic.

"So, what do you say? Are you coming with us?" His voice was feigned, concealing something deeper. Kyle wanted to have a little fun; if they were playing this game, he'd take advantage.

"Well, I don't think so. I don't trust strangers who pick a fight with me just by looking at me," he replied simply, in a languid tone. "You tell me, how do you know my name if we've never met?"

He remained neutral, satisfied to hear the doubtful murmurs from his audience behind him. "How does he know his name? Why did the boss come looking for him specifically? Do they know each other and Eric was playing dumb?" Just as he'd predicted, sabotaging his "boss's" already low self-respect and Eric's face, now a picture of anger. Amusing.

"Don't play dumb, Kyle," he whispered through gritted teeth, desperate to avoid being overheard. The closer he got to the redhead, the more dangerous he was. He was going to lose his temper if he kept approaching. They both knew it, and Eric seemed to realize it. He was losing to Kyle again. He composed himself and continued the game. "I mean, of course, it's clear you're a tough nut to crack. I was testing you to make sure I wasn't wrong, and I wasn't. You're strong, cunning, and you have potential; just what we're looking for on our team."

He smiled slightly, too small to be noticeable, though his gaze remained sharp and bored. "You think so? I've never been flattered like this before... Thank you." His voice was as peaceful and languid as possible, just to give him what he wanted, to hear it from him in his own words; and then to humiliate him again, just the way he liked it.

"Hehehe, yeah... You always were," he strutted, flattered by Kyle's words, oblivious to the bucket of cold water that was about to be poured over him. "So, are we in this together?"

“No, I wouldn’t do it knowing that a dog like you doesn’t recognize me after working side by side for so many years.” He adopted a mocking tone, leaning slightly toward the brunette before turning to his lackeys, who, it seemed, were engaged in a chatter of suppositions about their boss and a few chuckles at this insinuating humiliation of the one who appeared to be the strongest in the group. “Hey, you! Don’t trust this charlatan… He stole all his boss’s money and then tricked his comrades into paying him back, all because he wanted what wasn’t his…”—clearly referring to something other than money.

He turned to look at him, and could see him clearly mutter, “Don’t lie,” but he had already done so. “You can deduce whether his scheme worked out.”

The group erupted in laughter at their superior’s lie and Eric’s insinuation.

He knows what's coming, Eric's furious impulse. He lets himself be grabbed by the shirt, forced face to face with him. He's enraged by the violent steam escaping from Eric's mouth and hitting his face. The brunette is pulling him closer and closer, dangerously close. He can feel the pressure of Eric's grip and the heat rising.

Eric is trying to rekindle the embers that remain, to show him that something still exists, the desperation to have him back, that he hasn't forgotten him, despite him being the reason he's here. He misses him and wants to see if Eric does too. If he, too, is about to lose control and get closer than he should, to destroy everything. However, Kyle doesn't respond. He won't, not to spite him, but because that's the truth: he loathes being so close to his former comrade.

Eric's eyes expressed longing, but Kyle's only genuine hatred. He could stop pretending; this was the truth. Repulsion.

Kyle held those hunters' gaze, sharp green eyes that didn't matter if he was looking at the most important person in his life or, on the contrary, the one he hated most. They were proof of everything he had lived through, a reminder that the man before him was his worst mistake.

A mistake that, if he were to describe it, devoured him with his gaze, with a dangerous longing, the thread of sanity tearing at him. He could assure him that they were now in their world of hot, yearning glances, but as soon as it was over, they would return to reality, at least for Eric, because Kyle was already too focused to fall again into the disgust he felt.

He loved that suffocating redhead so much.

Dangerously close, just before the brunette accepted defeat in the staring contest and succumbed to his carnal desire to pounce on the redhead. Someone interrupted them.

Suddenly, unfamiliar hands touched their faces, forcing them apart and loosening their grip. The hands had nails so colorful, a mix of fuchsia and black patterns, cruelly and happily separated.

The owner of those extravagant nails appeared, brimming with confidence. A girl with short, grayish-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a playful expression, her voice more than suggestive and flirtatious.

"Ahem! You men! You can't go a minute without giving in to your primal instincts, can you?" she laughed, leaning her arms on the shoulders of the men who stared at her as if she were something otherworldly. "What, are you going to lie to me? Are you going to fight like macho men just like last time? What a primitive spectacle."

Eric hissed, annoyed by the interruption. "Get lost, bitch. Can't you see we're having a serious conversation? Do us a favor and get the hell out of here."

Incredibly, the woman wasn't offended and maintained her mischievous expression.

"Hmm... I don't know, I don't think Velvet sees it that way... Isn't that right, handsome?" She moved considerably closer to the redhead, who rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname she'd given him and the obvious, daring insinuation. The sway of her hips gave her away.

"What's your name, gorgeous?" My name is Heidi, in case you were wondering. You seem like a very strong guy; that's why this big guy is begging you. Or am I wrong?

He felt more impressed than uncomfortable. He sensed that Heidi's words weren't random and that they carried a double meaning. Perhaps she was thinking about something else regarding his connection to Cartman. Perhaps she was right, perhaps not, but what mattered was that he didn't know how to react to the abrupt movements the brunette was making to get closer to him—precise movements, because she was getting what she wanted: Cartman's attention, not his. Because when he looked away, Eric saw them with faces as red as tomatoes and expressions so furrowed that he swore, from experience, that if he could, he'd decapitate Heidi right then and there.

"Enough," he said, his voice thick with anger. "Why would you want to team up with him? He can't even survive on his own."

"Am I hearing this right? Are you inviting me to your super cool group? How charming! So cute!" she said in a seductive tone, closing the distance between the two brunettes. "I can guess someone here is jealous... Who could it be, who could it be~" Insinuating giggles escaped, contrasting sharply with the stiff atmosphere between the former friends, perhaps something more.

He stifled a laugh with all his might. This girl was actually getting at something, and he was finding it entertaining to watch them both pretending to be clever cats, playing and deceiving the poor mouse who thought he was another cat. He didn't know if the woman saw it that way, but they were both confusing Cartman, and it was glorious to watch. Their eyes met again. He couldn't tell what face he was wearing right now, but whatever it was, it short-circuited the little guy's brain, leaving him in a humiliating babble.

One way or another, he had to recover, and there was only one way: the path the two felines had torn.

"O-of course, of course, beautiful," he coughed, regaining his attractive, commanding voice as he addressed his confused group. "I thought better of it. If these games are varied, we need the skill that only a beauty like—" "Your name, beautiful...?"

"My name is Heidi~ Nice to meet you all, guys!" Her sweet, cloying voice was the icing on the cake, leaving these poor men stunned by the rapid succession of events: from a guaranteed fight to a strange, seductive exchange between this impromptu couple, and the transformation of the tallest from an abusive fighter into an apparent gentleman who even offered his hand to the maiden to approach the group and relegate Kyle to the background.

As soon as Eric exposed his gang, his new companion, taking advantage of their turning their backs, silently vanished. He'd said what he needed to say; now, he needed to think about how he would survive this battlefield disguised as children's games, and for that, he needed absolute silence, no one else around, completely alone.

The redhead disappeared from the path of beds. Eric glanced sideways and, sure enough, he had vanished. He cursed silently; having the bastard loose was dangerous, and that's why he wanted to keep him under his control, to watch out for a surprise attack. That was it, but this damn bitch came along and ruined everything.

Although it wasn't going to be a problem; sooner or later, they would meet again.

He just had to wait.

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.

.

The plan was simple: the request from the supposed "general" of the provisional team. But Craig didn't see it that way.

He didn't like Kenny giving orders to the whole group; he was clumsy and careless, and surely he had no idea what to do when his request was fulfilled. What was he thinking? That asking them to split up to find the rest of their friends and bring them into the group would work?

Craig didn't know much about their history as a group of friends. The only thing he was barely interested in, simply because it involved his brother, was that they had a fight—one of those fights that leaves you with a lump in your throat and a general feeling of unease. After that fight, they all stopped talking for different reasons: some disappeared, like Kyle; others were kidnapped (according to what Craig theorized at the time), like Eric; and still others simply stopped hanging out, like Stan.

He didn't believe that his beloved brother's great kindness and innocence would be enough to bring them back together. It was like trying to reunite dogs and cats where they had once been a litter of puppies. Kenny didn't see that; the years had passed, and their differences had only grown.

Now he saw it. Kenny had simply gone out to search, excitedly skipping and walking. Leo, this unknown and untrustworthy person in his opinion, followed him, seemingly asking about the people they were looking for. But Stan, the same Stan who had been so vulnerable when Kenny invited him to eat and so disoriented about his life, stood still. He had walked a certain distance, seemingly pretending to look for his old friends, with the same joy as his brother. After all, Kyle was his best friend, as far as he remembered from their days in South Park.

However, he watched him from a distance, standing in front of her, motionless and staring at what seemed to be nothingness. She couldn't see his expression; he had neither the desire nor the time to let that be him main concern, what the dark-haired man was thinking.

He had more important things to look for than fixing Kenny's damn friends...

But he put it to rest. Before continuing him own eager search, he lied. Yes, he agreed to Kenny's idea to take advantage of the situation to look for him husband, Tweek. They were still him husband. He didn't know why he had told Kenny they weren't anymore, why they still were. A simple fight couldn't, shouldn't, be a reason to end years of marriage. It was the logical thing to do, but when he thought about that little word, he stopped and fell silent.

"The logic in this didn't make any sense. I had to remember that not all rules were written to be obeyed and followed. I still hadn't learned that. When would I? When would I understand?"

Understanding Tweek was always my biggest puzzle, and that wasn't a bad thing. But it wasn't like that. That wasn't the "protocol."

Again,

There was no logic in this.

He snapped out of his thoughts. He'd been adrift in his own mental fog for too long, which would only fuel doubt in those around him, and doubt was something Craig Tucker didn't inspire; quite the opposite. Before cautiously resuming his search, he glanced back to see if anyone had witnessed his trance. If so, he'd have to force himself to suppress the urge to erase all traces of such an embarrassing moment. His image had to remain spotless, even in situations like this.

His gaze fell upon Stan, the dark-haired boy returning after advancing only a few tiny meters from the group's rendezvous point, the same spot where they had split up to begin the search. Now he was just slinking back with his tail between his legs. Craig was lying too, yes, but it wasn't a lie that he had gone to look for someone; unlike Stan. He eyed him suspiciously, wondering what had made him decide to desert and avoid the reunion. This made him anxious, but he hid it well, his expression remaining unchanged, just in case someone noticed. Without further ado, he continued his search for Tweek, and would question Stan later. If his hunch was right.

Neither Stan nor he wanted the "group reunited." It would be detrimental to the game; their strategy depended on having their comrades under their trust and control.

And Stan was perfect for manipulation. The man without pride or guilt, without the effort to try, without the desire to fix what perhaps he himself broke in the past.

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.

.

The room was locked, so the only way the players knew it was nighttime was through the female voice over the loudspeakers, announcing that the lights would be turned off in a few minutes.

Kenny was ecstatic; the spell still held. He paced back and forth, wishing each member of the group "Goodnight." Despite failing the search, his smile never faded. Stan was furthest away, not saying much, but still surprised and grateful that Kenny had done that for him. Craig, upon receiving a kiss on the forehead from Kenny, kicked him out, and Kenny ran off, barely containing his laughter. Finally, there was Leo, at the back of his bunk. They didn't know each other very well, but he was Kenny's new friend, so he would be the best.

"Goodnight, Leo! Hey, can I give you a nickname?" he said playfully. It was a good way to build trust, he thought.

The man in question, already seated and wrapped up to his waist, took a moment to respond, as if his brain had short-circuited—or perhaps it was the effect Kenny had on others because of his overly familiar nature. "A nickname? How fun! Tell me, what were you thinking?" he said cheerfully, seemingly infected by the blond's enthusiasm.

"Hmm, let's see, I usually give them nicknames for funny situations. For example, we used to call a guy from my neighborhood 'Mega Forehead' because he had a really big forehead! Hahaha!" he said, barely holding back laughter as Leo looked at him expectantly, adoringly. Enough! He had to concentrate on Leo without letting his mind wander. "Let's see, you're white and blond, like butter! And a piece of toast, and some juice... Oh, damn, I'm craving a sandwich so badly! I could eat a whole one!" Blame his stomach; he can't concentrate on an empty stomach, but at least he made Leo laugh! And a very contagious and beautiful laugh! From there, looking at each of his features, his mental lightbulb went off.

"Maybe, Butters?" he blurted out, now having the other's attention. "I mean, no offense, don't get me wrong, it sounds cute! And it goes with your shiny hair!" Kenny hoped he saw the clever comparison and wouldn't make fun of him.

Inexplicably, Leo's eyes lit up and he spoke up. "...So I'd be, like, a butter sandwich... Because of my hair?" Kenny exploded.

"Yeah, that's right! Then I'd be a... Ha! I don't know, I'd be a butter sandwich too, I mean, we're both blond!" It was an absurd comparison, he knew, but he felt a warmth in his chest. Not many people understood him; he was too young for most. Now he felt free, being with someone who understood. "But I think... I'd be a little sunburned. My hair is more orange, you see? Although... mine looks cooler, don't you think? Heh."

Butters stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He wondered if there was something about him that made him freeze up so suddenly. He'd ask Craig in the morning, but now that he was back to normal, he replied with his usual cheerful demeanor, "...Yes, you're right!" He looked at the strands of hair for a long moment, then gave him a wide smile. "Goodnight, Kenny."

The blond boy headed back to his bunk. Most of the others were settling in to finally go to sleep. The robotic female voice returned, reminding everyone that the lights would be out soon, and so it was. Complete darkness fell, with the only bright light illuminating the piggy bank of the much-desired prize from above. All for everything.

However, for Kyle, the fact that the lights were off gave him an advantage. Despite the darkness, his bed overlooked a hallway, and if he tilted his head, he could see a clear air conditioning duct—a trapdoor that a slender body like his could easily slip through. He couldn't get all the way up there; even if he could, it wasn't safe. There were cameras everywhere, specifically in every corner of the room and in the hallways leading to the games. He had already memorized every nook and cranny of the room, everything seemingly secure but concealing a lie behind walls that promised death. He needed a plan, an excuse.

"Just like a prison," he thought. If he'd gotten in and out once, it would be easy to do it again.

It was funny to imagine it as a prison; I expected to see guys like Eric and his new gang, and even women like that Heidi girl. But seeing Kenny and Craig? It was a fever dream. While keeping an eye on Eric, I also saw the pair walk by a few times. Somehow, they both stood out as they passed, and not just to me. Craig was still the same as always, only more cocky, it seemed, maintaining his neat appearance but quickening his pace, as if he were looking for something.

They were rivals in terms of intellectual competition, of course. Tucker never liked sports, but he did; he loved playing basketball, well, at least when he could, which was many years ago.

Kenny practically skipped every time he walked, just like a kid, still with his smile despite his missing teeth, his characteristic eyes, and a better physique, not malnourished like when they lived in the village, when they were friends.

Would they still be friends?

Maybe.

He saw him too, his former best friend. He was still the same as always, tall and pale. From what he could see, Stan just turned around after taking a few steps forward, as if he were giving up. Stan and he had fought in the past and never made up because he had disappeared from town, so they could never end things amicably, remaining silent and dead. He didn't blame him; it had been many years ago, and he didn't hold a grudge. Like the Tucker brothers, he was seeing him after many years. He didn't even remember the reason they had fought; that was in the past. A past he decided to forget and move on from, because there were promises that hurt, but he couldn't, he couldn't dwell on them.

"Open the damn door, for crying out loud!"

A shrill female voice caught his attention. He half sat up, scanned the place, all dark with people already asleep lying there, everything dead except for the light from the small door that led to the bathroom. There, a person standing, a girl, Heidi.

Bingo.

"That damn bathroom is for a reason! To use it, yeah right," she said, extending her arms and exaggerating her tone even more. "It's a fe-me-ni-ne emergency!"

"Go to sleep." The guard's cold voice came from the other side of the door with the window.

"Can't you see I can't because I need to use the damn bathroom? Please, handsome~ I won't be long! I'll give you a naughty little present if you open that door!" She tried to seduce him with a suggestive pose, her hands on her waist, accentuating it, her chest lifted, and her neck stretched provocatively, showing off her curvaceous body.

"..." A smack extinguished the only light coming through the window that had been illuminating her. This idiot had rejected her.

"Fine! Fine, fine, so that's how it is, huh? I was going to reward you! Really! For a good time! Or are you scared, pinky?" Perhaps... Are you going the other way? Don't be ashamed, handsome! Here, we're all free to like it long! -He makes a suggestive gesture, more of an obscene movement with his mouth and tongue, invisible to the guard. Waiting and receiving no response, he continues banging, more persistently and loudly than before -Open the damn door!

And it opens. Leaving her hanging, almost falling from the movement.

"Huh? Changed your mind, handsome? So if you want..."

"Come in, quickly."

"Ah?" She turned, sensing a presence approaching. It was Kyle, who, somehow, had been nearby when she'd made that whole scene. So quiet, yet so endearing. Her cheeks fluttered at the thought, the value the redhead in front of her held for being so desired by the giant.

"How interesting and fun!"

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Chapter Text

The days in South Park were cold, weather-wise, but even colder when it came to its people. They always say small towns are the most welcoming because of their inhabitants. That they're warm, everyone knows each other, and there's a strange familiarity among them all. But South Park wasn't like that.

Small town, big hell.

Hidden among the mountains of Korea, any serial killer could camouflage himself and no one would ever notice.

However, Kenny loved his town, mostly because of the people who lived there. Twelve years living in the snow had been the most fun of his life, up to that point; while it had its ugly side, like his former McCormick family, except for his little sister, everything else was perfect.

He had a family that loved him, even though they had adopted him a year ago. He felt like he had always belonged there, the missing piece. He lived with a brother who loved him and helped him understand his chaotic pre-teen mind, and finally, he had his other, other family. The Boys, Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. Obviously changed by this new world of hormones.

They were no longer children oblivious to everything happening around them. Now there were important issues they ignored because they were too busy playing in the iconic park. No, now the hell they'd always been told the town was was affecting them too—the town they'd ignored.

Add to that the fact that their minds were so overstimulated by this hormonal limbo. An overload of exaggerated reactions, hypersensitivity to words, and an uncomfortable mix of childishness and supposed maturity—like I said, a limbo. But Kenny wasn't going to look for a psychological reason like his brother did; instead, he summed it up as a fucking pain in the ass.

Emphasis on pain because he never imagined that the promises they'd once made in their world of innocence and their boundless friendship would be broken so easily by a silly, stupid, and damned argument.

"Do you have anything else to say?! Are you just going to stay quiet?! Say something, for God's sake!" the young man in the blue and red beret yelled at the redhead in front of him.

Kyle remained silent, his eyes darkened for a young man, his head bowed. "What do you want me to say, Stan?" he asked firmly.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, you have a problem with me! Spit it out, come on! Why are you acting like an idiot with me?!" Stan seemed on the verge of exploding; he was never like this. Kenny was so shocked by the sudden argument that it gave him a bad feeling.

They were just in the park, passing the time and trying to escape the overwhelming town, when suddenly Kyle made a comment that the others saw as outrageous, but Stan took it as worrying. Those dark circles under his eyes, those raw scratches on his hands, desperately trying to hide them, betrayed something more, but Kyle said nothing. That's when Stan exploded. It had been weeks like this, the tension simmering beneath the surface, the malicious undertones. It all came to a head; it was too much. Then they started arguing, dredging up things he'd decided to forget because of the anguish they caused him. But there were his two friends, airing the dirty laundry of the past few days.

"What's happening to me has nothing to do with you! So get off your high horse, will you?" Kyle declared, a mere shadow of his former self.

"There it is! Am I lying? What the hell did I do to deserve this? Say something, for God's sake!"

"I'll be damned!" Eric, who was watching from next to Kenny, joined the discussion - "It's the sand in her vagina, Stan! It's her true Jew face!" - he burst into shameless laughter.

"Stay out of this, you fat piece of shit! I don't have a damn problem with you, Stan, so stop this stupid drama!"

"Cartman's right! You're being a pain in the ass with us all the time and you don't even apologize! What the hell is wrong with you, idiot?!"

"Shut up, Stan! You're a piece of shit too, you were ignoring me for days!"

"You know I have things to do! I'm not here for your crap!"

"Guys, stop it!" Kenny stepped between the two, too close to fight. "Listen, I know we've had problems! But this isn't the way—"

"Shut up, Kenny!" the best friends said in unison, pushing him away.

"Hey, idiots! Kenny has nothing to do with your gay drama, don't yell at him!"

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman! You're being an idiot, bothering us all day long like a total jerk!" Kyle yelled.

"Excuse me? Say it to my face, you stupid moron!"

And so it was, an endless barrage of insults, revelations, and accusations: whether Kyle or Stan started it, whether Eric had been making fun of them the whole time, whether Stan had betrayed Kyle—a lot of hurtful things.

Kenny couldn't stop the punches, the shoving, and the pushing. He tried to separate them, but inevitably took some blows himself. Finally, the nightmare was over, the end of it.

"Well, let's not be friends anymore, not with idiots like you guys!" Stan declared, his lip and eyebrow split and bloody.

"Whatever! I'm sick of you guys, I never want to see you again!" Kyle blurted out, his cheeks red from the punches and his knuckles bruised and bloody.

"Go to hell, you bastards!" Cartman spat out hatefully, his eye black and his fists splattered with red.

The three of them were bruised, disheveled, hurt; the only sound afterward was breathing, until they left, never to be together again as before.

Leaving Kenny alone.

Is this how it all ended? Hell no, we're friends, best friends, we've known each other since we were born. Is this how it all ends? Don't they care about what we've been through together? What we still have to experience together? The promise to be friends forever?

In that same park, the same worn rainbow-colored swings where each of them chose their favorite, the faded blue slide with their signatures at the top, the basketball court, the seesaws, the carousel, and the tree—the very place where I had seen their friendship blossom—now witnessed their separation.

His emotions were also running high, but with anguish. A lump in his throat prevented him from breathing or shouting for them to come back as they walked away. His legs trembled, and his breath came in short gasps. Tears streamed down his face, for this was the second time life had slapped him in the face, a particularly painful one.

Because when the McCormicks scorned him, they, his family, brought a smile to his face and beautiful memories of his childhood, his true treasure and love. They were his family, the most fun family he could have chosen, the only people in his life.

No, it can't end like this. After everything we'd been through, just like this? Over a stupid complaint? Why were they like this? Why did they become so stupid? Didn't they care how he felt?

I hate them! Damn it! It's all their fault! Your fault!

Kenny stood there, devastated, in the park that had become a martyr in his life. Ignoring what the future held. Because nobody knows, nobody knows what will happen, if that fight today could be the last time you speak to that person, because of something truly tragic: death.

Months later, Cartman was kidnapped. First, his mother was murdered by a gang because of her work in prostitution. Then, Eric was orphaned, but nobody wanted him or claimed him. Only Kenny visited him occasionally. He was the only one who did and witnessed Eric's mental decline, his growing violence, his increasing criminality. The town didn't want him, and when news broke that his house had been raided, supposedly by a gang, with no trace of Eric, the town breathed a sigh of relief. One less problem of a future criminal on their streets. That made his blood boil. How could they hate him so much when he was just a teenager? Kenny was the only one who searched for him without success; they told him it was a lost cause, but he was his best friend. How could he abandon him?

Until another tragedy struck South Park, one that, hypocritically, they did care about, but Kenny wasn't in the mood to complain because it involved another of his friends, his family.

Kyle Bloflovski and his little brother had disappeared after the massacre of their parents; they were presumed dead as well. The case was deduced to have involved a serial killer who entered the Bloflovski home and murdered the mother in cold blood. Then, the father, trying to defend his children, ended up being murdered as well. It was believed that the children had escaped into the woods because, conveniently, no one had seen what happened that night; everyone turned a blind eye, and there were no witnesses to that fateful night.

That was just a theory; no one knew exactly what happened in that house. The serial killer was never found, nor were the Bloflovski brothers. It didn't matter how many neighbors searched, or Kenny and Stan, who were desperate and regretful because of that stupid fight that took their best friends from them. Maybe they would be with them now.

Then came the tragedy of his father, Thomas. With the immense pain of grief and the disappearances, he had to leave South Park, returning every weekend to continue the search. His exhaustion during that time was overwhelming, with all the train journeys, for a noble cause. Finally, his mother had to put a stop to it because of the chaos it was creating with all those trips and the fact that he couldn't even begin to grieve for his father and his friends. She didn't want to accept it, according to her, but it was the most reasonable thing to do at that moment. His friends were dead, and so he stopped searching and finally began to feel.

The case was closed, much to Tucker and Marsh's outrage, with the official declaration that Kyle and Ike Bloflovski were murdered by the same invisible serial killer, whose body was never found. And that was that.

Life went on. Many things were taken from him at the beginning of his adolescence. He was separated from that town and all the good things there. This left a mark that still hadn't healed, a wound that continued to bleed, soaking his future and...

Feeding someone else.

.

.

.

"Ah~ Damn it~".

Heidi finally pulled her "lucky charm" out of an unconventional place, though that hardly mattered. The point was, she was now satisfied, sitting on the most hidden toilet in the bathroom, careful not to make any indecent noise as she took out her little gift with a surprise inside.

A cigarette and a lighter. Her faithful companions.

A spark, smoke, and we're done. A puff of smoke could finally relax her body and allow her to breathe, ironically.

"Aah, what a problem... I think you two are really funny! Seriously!" she said, barely hearing her own voice, in such a peaceful state that she didn't realize she was talking, not thinking.

"I mean... Okay, you guys put on a great show, Grr, we're enemies who hate each other, I need you for my group! Haha!" She cackled as she spoke. One more puff. There can't be a fire alarm here, can there? "You were so easy to manipulate, big guy! I see why Velvet likes to bother you. Hehehe, thanks to both of you! I'm safe!" she squealed.

As soon as she finished, she played with the lighter and the remaining cigarette, one in each hand, acting out the two men she had just "bothered" a little while ago. As if they were dolls.

"Hey~ My love~ Why did you run away from my arms and leave me so alone?" he said while swinging the lighter with a firm grip on his fingers, doing a raspy voice imitating Cartman.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I can't answer you. You, out of all men, are the worst catch, honey..." Now it was Kyle's turn, the cigarette already burned by the other. This time, he was feigning a high-pitched voice.

"Oh yeah! How about we start getting hot and heavy while these perverts watch, my love?" She teased.

"No way! Can't you see we're being so obvious that a very intellectual girl would see this and think we're a couple of broken lovers from the past, now rekindling the embers we swore we'd never rekindle!" Maybe she was creating a Korean drama in her head, but hey! What if she was right? She was an expert at reading people's emotions. She stood still, the objects in her hand motionless to the sound of the falling raindrops. She was alone. "How interesting, really! I always saw these kinds of scenes at my job, but my God! It's so exasperating!" "They're burning each other up! How sexy!" — a laugh from the depths of her being appeared followed by a squeal.

Heidi was a girl who spoke her mind without thinking, which often got her into serious trouble. Luckily, she always got away with it. "Thanks to your stupid fight, I'm now r-e-s-g-u-r-e-r-d! Hahaha!"—a total success. She was about to strike a triumphant pose when she was interrupted by the violent slam of the door in front of her cubicle. As soon as she looked up, she met the most inexplicable gaze of her life, the kind you get when you witness something so ridiculous and absurd.

Heidi hadn't expected Kyle to force his way into her cubicle, nor had Kyle expected this woman to speak so freely about what was taboo for him—just a piece of gossip. She didn't know how long they stood there, Heidi frozen mid-pose, her eyes wide as saucers, staring at Velvet, while the taller man looked so fed up that he pinched the bridge of his nose. Utterly disappointed with the whole thing.

Certainly amusing.

"...Want some?" He extended the lighter and cigarette to within half a centimeter, a tempting offer to a potential stalker, right? She didn't answer. "Hehe, I swear everything you thought you heard was because of this marvel! It makes you see stars! Hehe... Everything I said was a lie!"

...There wasn't time for this.

"Get out of the way."

"What?"

He forced his way in and closed the door of the small cubicle, which surprised the brunette greatly. She didn't think this guy was like that...

"Hey, hey, calm down! If you wanted to do it, you just had to ask without being so stubborn..." She couldn't finish because the moment the redhead turned around, he pulled a sharp knife from his pocket, now pointing it at her. "Hey, dude! Let's calm down, okay?! Listen, I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to offend you or pry into your relationship if that's what bothers you! I swear, I'm not going to get involved with your man! I-I'm just using him to protect myself, understand? I-it's not my fault he's the strongest one here! I mean! Oh, I'm really sorry! Don't kill me, okay?!" she shouted quickly without thinking, her hands exhausted as she tried to back away. If this "Lucifer" was going to kill her, he should at least listen to the survival strategies of a defenseless woman. "Please don't tell Cartman on me!"

Kyle approached slowly, his hunter's gaze unchanged, devoid of any noticeable emotion, just a murderous green iris, a dull gleam.

"Get out of the way."

The push on her shoulder was gentle, but hurried. Was she safe then? Or was this guy going to strike a new pose on top of the toilet?

"H-Hey, you're..."

Kyle stood firmly on the toilet seat, focused on the vent directly above the stall. He checked the entire bathroom, every stall; they were all the same, without any ventilation. He tried not to make too much noise because of the guards and Heidi, who was in another stall talking about him and Eric. It was unpleasant. He wanted to go and tell her to mind her own business, but his mission was more important than a childish tantrum. He tried to ignore the babble until he saw that the only stall with ventilation was hers, the only one that was closed. He had to swallow his pride and stand in front of her door. He couldn't disconnect from all the nonsense this woman was spouting. How presumptuous.

Finally, he managed to unscrew the screws with the knife, with great precision, avoiding the brunette's shrill pleas that would distract him. When the lid loosened and fell by mere inertia, being caught by him, he saw what was up there; it was nothing but dark nothingness, cold and nonexistent.

"A-are you going up?"

"I have to—" However, they had taken too long, which was a problem. Having wasted time looking for a ventilation duct, plus listening to Heidi's nonsense and the awkward revelation, there was no time left. "I need you to distract them. I'll find out what the next game is. Understand?"

Without giving him time to answer, he tried to brace himself against the wall tiles, unsuccessfully because they were so slippery. He tried again against the sides of the cubicle, again without success. There was no way up.

"Lean on me." Heidi, who had only seen the failed attempts, now positioned herself between the walls and then patted his shoulders like a ladder for Kyle. "Come on, there's no time!"

With suspicion, I accepted the help, though the moment he added his weight, they both nearly fell due to the imbalance. Heidi, having stood up, hadn't considered the fact that the redhead was far too heavy for her. Tired sighs and uncomfortable hisses followed. Finally, she managed to climb to the ducts, two dark passages, and little time.

"Hurry up, eh! Tell me what you see!" The clock was ticking, and she had to do it in a few minutes if they wanted the plan to succeed, if not for the subtle knocks on the front door.

"Open the door."

Oh no.

The passage was narrow. With great difficulty, she tried to move, her arms twisted and her legs bent. She was grateful that the metal walls were clean, almost new, because otherwise, it would have been a sea of allergies and sneezing.

However, his movement was limited, tiring. The space seemed to shrink with each step he took, very hot, but he had to keep going. There was a penetrating, sweet smell that guided him along a path, calling to him and reminding him of something hidden in his mind, a characteristic scent evoking a certain peaceful time, the smell of nostalgia.

"Oh, oh! My God! Agh! What on earth did they put in the food?! You wretches! Ouch!" Heidi remained hidden behind the door, screaming and feigning a stomach ache. She didn't consider herself a great actress, but she sensed she was doing a decent job; at least the pinkies weren't coming in. "Don't come in!" she pretended to sob. "Please, how embarrassing! It's full of filth, I'll clean it, don't worry! Ah, that hurts!"

Of course, any humiliation to protect that damn redhead, I looked at the conduit, hoping he would hurry back.

As he approached the source of the caramelized scent, he felt overwhelmed. It was an aroma so sweet it made the air feel cloying, more like burnt steam than air. They were cooking something. But what?

As he drew closer, he felt he had to remember. This smell was stored in him memory, evoking him childhood or adolescence—he couldn't tell which—but somehow, it brought him peace, something he hadn't felt in a long time, until he escaped.

Finally, he reached some vents that revealed a room that appeared to be a large, brightly lit kitchen. The heat was infernal; whatever they were cooking there had surely been burned or evaporated. The air was humid.

"I'm going in."

No!

"No! Please, please!"—I mean—"Oh, the pain is awful! And on top of that, I'm on my period and the cramps are killing me! Ow, ow! Why do these misfortunes always happen to me? Oh my God!"—she shrieked desperately. Velvet still hadn't come downstairs and the guard was threatening to enter. She didn't know what else to say; she was about to explode.

"Wait! I haven't finished cleaning yet!"—she bolted out of the stall, unable to stop herself from putting her hands to her head, looking around for an excuse. "This can't be happening! Why the hell don't you have mops?! Ow, ow, the pain! I'll have to clean with the sink!"—she started sobbing. She didn't even know if she was acting or if she was really getting desperate. "And on top of that, there's no toilet paper!" Oh no, how embarrassing... W-why are you like this?! Don't come in, I'm cleaning up!

The squealing of sorrow and the tears were definitely no longer an act.

He couldn't see very well. Guards circled back and forth carrying white sacks, while others stirred large, heavy pots of water—or rather, sugar. The sweetest, burnt smell he'd ever encountered was as intoxicating as it was sharp.

He didn't know if his mind was already rotting from the infernal aroma or if he was simply straining to search for what he couldn't remember, what he'd desperately tried to forget in order to face the new, hostile world that had been cruelly thrust upon him.

Suddenly he was in the village, then in the park, playing. Then he was home, and there he saw it: the killer's face, then blood splattered across the kitchen. He wanted to run, but he was missing Ike, then…

Shit.

"Velvet!"

Heidi's voice called out; she was in trouble. He had to go back, fast.

He hurried back, still dazed by the scent, perhaps by something else. However, he heard a melody. There was another path, and from it came a delicate, almost inaudible, perfect symphony. He turned down that path, drawn not only by the angelic singing but also by the succession of numbers recited by a deeper, more audible voice.

Inexplicably, he froze, something he never showed, but there he was, still and frightened.

"Don't go in, for crying out loud!" Heidi didn't know what to do anymore. She tried to be subtle, she really did, but as soon as she saw the door threatening to open, she didn't have time to think of anything better than to throw herself against it and block it. "Listen! I really need you to stay out of here! It's embarrassing! It's a damned mess of women in here!" —Oh shit— I'll call my partner for help! Is he okay? Oh, Velvet!— I tried to sound harmonious, but the desperation was real.

Receiving no response and with her heart in her throat, she had no choice but to sacrifice her jacket, which hung around her waist, tied in a makeshift knot around the handle, effective against the guard's insistent pushing. "At least I kept him busy for a few seconds," she thought, running into the cubicle. She accidentally tripped over the overflowing water from the faucet she'd left there as a distraction, but she didn't care and took refuge inside.

"For God's sake, Velvet! They're going to kill us!" she whispered, screaming into the abyss of the drain.

Suddenly, the sound disappeared and the world slowed down. The only thing she heard was the handle turning.

...

The door finally opened, the triangular guard entered, 212's jacket lay scattered on the floor, the faucet gushed aggressively, creating a puddle. Of the cubicles, only one appeared to be occupied.

The movement was constant, as if something was happening inside, something suspicious and deadly.

When the door opened...

It turned out to be nothing more than an indecent act.

Inside lay the boy, his face red and sweaty, his hair disheveled; while the girl, shirtless, wearing only her bra, her eyes brimming with tears. They were locked in an embrace.

The guard hurriedly closed the door.

"Hey!" a screeching voice shouted. "I told you not to come in! I told you! Now you're screwed! As soon as we get out of here, we're going to sue you, you stupid little triangle! You're a damn fetishistic stalker!"

The brunette immediately grabbed the redhead's hand, and they both left the bathroom, ignoring the rattling of the drain cover.

.

.

.

He couldn't sleep, he couldn't find a comfortable position. Him mind raced, preventing him from relaxing. There were so many possibilities, thoughts, things he had to resolve if he wanted to end this torment.

What would he do when he found Tweek? What game would they play next, and how would he survive? How could he make the whole group trust him? Why had Tweek run away? Why had he said they were divorced? How was Tweek right now? Could he sleep? How would he win? What did he have to do?

A myriad of questions flooded him mind, leaving him already exhausted, and they would have continued to do so if it weren't for the chatter of, he assumed, two people, a man and a woman, growing closer as they moved from a distance. They were getting closer.

"Hey, hey, did you see how that pinky-haired guy reacted? He was terrified! Tell me, wasn't it a good idea to take off my shirt the moment you jumped in?" There was a pause, but unfortunately, she couldn't see it. Maybe a grimace. "Ugh, at least thank me for distracting him. I had to sacrifice my femininity so you could go investigate..." Investigate? "By the way, what did you see? Tell me~"

A second voice appeared, a very familiar and detestable one. "I can't tell you now."

"Oh, why? I helped you distract the guard! Now tell me what you saw..."

"Not now, I'll tell you in the morning."

"Oh, fine, let's get back to talking about the great performance we gave! It was fantastic!" As they continued talking, their voices grew lower and finally, absolute silence.

Craig thought it over, analyzed it, and finally came up with an answer—not to his own convoluted questions, but to what he would do tomorrow. A plan was being created, one that would lead him to victory in the second game.

.

.

.

The pink guards marched in uniform step, none straying from the established line. Markings on the floor indicated where they should stand and walk, especially in the area around their quarters. Although they had been doing this since the first day of the Games, it was still something new.

Wendy felt this way. After watching the Circle Guards cook the sugar for the next game, it was all very ordinary, even boring, to say the least. Just imagining it felt like a curse, knowing that her role there was anything but boring; she was a killer.

She had been recruited for this, to kill and nothing else. You know what she's made of, the mental burden, and how easy it is for her to do it. It's not meant to be scary; it's just the way things are. Her military training had conditioned her to be this: a weapon, without sentimentality or trembling when it came to firing at the enemy.

Except here, there were no enemies, no reason to be angry. They were simply desperate people who made bad decisions; perhaps some had fallen for scams, manipulations, or deceptions, their trust abused. It was a fight over money, something not so different from the outside world. But she had to consider all the possibilities. It wasn't just that; there's always another side to every story.

There were people of the worst kind, disgusting individuals who abused their power over the weak and committed the most abhorrent acts a human can do, things that could plunge them into the most deformed hell. If she believed in divine judgment, she hoped—she truly hoped—that justice would be served.

That somehow made it easy: pull the trigger and shoot. She saw no point in the endless suffering. When she had to snipe high above what seemed to be the first game, her role was to kill the unfortunate souls who failed to move under the Red Light. There were many, and she killed as many as she could, steady and precise, a shot to the forehead, instant death. She didn't control justice, so she didn't know if the wretches got what they deserved or if she had earned herself more space in hell by killing innocent people with bad decisions.

She had something to say about it. Here, no one is innocent, no one is pure, everyone has a stain, some bigger than others, but they all have one. Even her.

There was a reason she was in these seedy games and not where she should be.

"The review is complete."

She stood at her assigned door, 011, as soon as the robotic words echoed in the corridor and all the guards turned to go into their rooms. She was about to do the same, to follow the rules, when she felt a push from behind her, a body more robust than hers, and another that had closed the door, silently, without witnesses. She was alone.

"What a surprise we have here!" the first voice, hoarse and wicked. "Show us your pretty face! They say North Korean women are exquisite~"

"Take off that damn mask, no one's watching anymore!" a second voice, shriller and younger.

It was like a tinkling sound. She had no time to react other than to struggle as soon as she was thrown to the floor. An intense pain shot through her spine from the impact. She tried to break free, to hit, to tear, but her body tightened under the weight of the other man on top of her, suffocating and... terrifying.

"Let me go." She managed to utter, her voice barely audible, fueled by the rage that had taken hold. She hated feeling so vulnerable, so weak. Finally, her mask was pulled off, revealing her face.

"Oh, look what we have here~" The words of the larger man above her were like poison, sweet yet dangerous. "Such lovely eyes. I wonder if they'll look just as beautiful when they're underground..."

The laughter of both men echoed through the room. She felt herself losing control, and she was losing.

"What do you want?" She tried to keep her voice neutral, fearless, as if she had the upper hand. This wasn't a competition, but she couldn't let her guard down. That's how they all were. "Whatever you try to do, I'll report it to the boss."

"The boss says so! Ha!" The man above her moved so close to her face that she could almost smell his unpleasant odor. Disgusting. "Don't think that just because you're his favorite you'll get away with what you did."

Suddenly, the atmosphere turned hostile, more tempting. These men were determined to hurt her and manipulate her in the most horrific way. Her arms were bound and her legs numb; there was no escape.

Suddenly, the shorter one, who had been watching the whole scene, passed a knife to the other, who held it dangerously close.

Wendy turned away, trying to free herself some other way, but there was nothing she could use to attack. She felt a violent grip on her cheeks from the man's hand. It was strong, showing his true power and demonstrating that she didn't stand a chance.

"Listen to me, if you screw us over again by killing our merchandise, you'll be going straight to them. Do you understand?" he threatened. "I don't care if you're special to the boss, I'd still rip out all those valuable organs inside you and nobody would care, nobody."

Nobody would care.

"At least your body would make a nice souvenir," a diabolical laugh erupted from the putrid depths of his being, utterly disgusting.

A demonic cackle that threatened to strip her bare, to attack her until nothing remained, and that was going to be her training. The strongest always found pleasure in torturing the weak. And so it began. The blade traced a thin but menacing cut across her cheek, then moved down to her right hand, the hand that had caused her own sins. Her index finger was attacked with a deep cut at the tip.

Throughout all that physical and mental torture, she didn't scream, didn't raise the alarm, didn't call for help, because she knew it wouldn't come. It never did, not in this game, not out there. Again, as always, she had no one.

Finally, the men grew tired, without resorting to anything more macabre. They simply left, leaving her alone once more with the warning dripping from her blood: she shouldn't meddle where she wasn't wanted. And so it was going to be. Confident in her work of adding more sins to her judgment and lengthening her list of punishments in hell.

.

.

.

A new day was beginning, though it was uncertain how. Some were already waking up to the routine of the schedule, others to the lights illuminating the scene, announcing the start of morning.

Some greeted each other, others prayed, went to the bathroom, like any other morning. For a few quiet hours, it seemed as if these weren't the same games they had escaped from earlier; everything was perfect.

Breakfast was announced. About four tables were set up in front of them, and four guards were distributing the snacks so they could start the day with full stomachs.

It was finally Kenny's turn. "Thank God this time has come, I was starving," he thought. After his chat with Butters, he couldn't sleep a wink that night, his mind racing with thoughts of a butter sandwich and some citrus juice. Just imagining it made his stomach rumble and growl for food. Now he was about to get it, and he was the happiest man in the world. Hunger!

Finally, he stood face to face with the food and the guard. The guard handed him two things: a carton of milk and something wrapped in aluminum foil. He would take it, of course he would. He was starving, he swore he was going to become malnourished like before. But when he saw the milk, he simply had to explain why he couldn't accept it.

"Excuse me, do you happen to have any lactose-free milk?" he asked innocently. "The thing is, I'm lactose intolerant... You know, they used to give it to us at school, and since I couldn't exchange it, I'd take it home in my backpack! And then it would explode with everything inside! I couldn't waste it, but it would 'expire' my notebooks! Hahaha." Incredibly, after that scene, the security guard didn't interrupt or ignore him. On the contrary, he bent down to grab a fresh carton of lactose-free milk, as he had requested, and exchanged it. Kenny was surprised and left the line, but his silence was short-lived, as he realized that with so many people, they had to be careful with the food.

A laugh approached him; it was Butters.

"So you're lactose intolerant? I imagine you must have been a real headache for your parents!" he asked, laughing alongside the blond boy.

"And you're right! Let me tell you, back when my life was a mess and before I was adopted, I'd eat anything, anything that would fill my poor little tummy..." He feigned sadness before returning to his usual tone. "When I finally lived with my family, I started eating healthily, and well... I discovered I'd become fragile when it came to food! I lost my immortality powers! And I turned into this boring lactose intolerant guy! Boo!"

Butters let out another laugh, not mocking, but knowing, comfortable, and comforting. Kenny watched him and simply liked that sound; it was a nice feeling. If he could describe it, his being felt peaceful. Without realizing it, his eyes shone with happiness.

They returned to the group's meeting point, right under Kenny's bunk, where the whole group was eating breakfast. The atmosphere was relaxed, a normal meal among friends. Kenny made comments, Butters picked up on them and added details, and Stan responded calmly, but contentedly. Craig, on the other hand, seemed lost in thought, staring at a fixed point he couldn't quite make out. He was absorbed in his own world, barely having touched his hotteok, which was certainly too sweet and delicious.

"Are you going to eat your breakfast, Craig?" Stan asked gently in his characteristic raspy voice.

Their attention shifted to the two dark-haired boys.

As soon as he reacted, he offered his hotteok to the blue-eyed boy, who was surprised by the gesture. "You eat it," he said. "I don't usually eat store-bought dough unless it's homemade."

Stan gave thanks, his gaze fixed on the hot dog, as if it held profound meaning.

"Oh, you're right, Criki! A genius like you has to take really good care of his brain so it doesn't rot, right?" Kenny muttered, still with food in his mouth, wanting to give his brother a good old-fashioned morning teasing. "That's why he thinks he's better than us, Butters..."

He nudged the blond boy next to him, eliciting knowing chuckles from them. This resulted in the annoyance and bitterness of the teased dark-haired boy, who lightly kicked his childish brother's leg. However, for Kenny, it was never enough.

"Ow! What's wrong, little brother? Are you still traumatized by your braces?" he said, adding more spice to the soup. "Did you get used to not eating sweets because of that nonsense? Hahaha—" His mocking laughter was interrupted by Craig's sharp smack on his head. —Oh, oh, oh! Hey, it wasn't that big of a deal!

"You're an idiot..."

Luckily, he had Butters on his side, who was taken aback by this "brotherly affection" and stood there rubbing Kenny's head, very worried about a simple bump, although the blond wasn't helping matters by "crying dramatically." Birds of a feather.

However, Craig couldn't stop to watch the martyr-like scene; he wouldn't because there were more important things to keep an eye on, for example, Kyle, who remained hidden in his bunk. It was difficult to find him, but the excuse of breakfast helped a lot. From then on, he didn't stop watching him, every movement, everything. He didn't miss a single breath, because he was trying to find some clue.

Something that would give him away—he knew which game was coming next. It was like having the biggest secret in the White House, maybe in the world, of all people. It had to be Kyle, and it was a total disgrace. Not only could he not approach him casually because they had a history, but he could tell that of all his friends, the redhead was the one who annoyed him the most. He was intelligent, and that bothered him. Ever since they were kids, he'd always bragged about being better than him, about how Kyle had friends who loved him, how Kyle had a perfect family where he was recognized, how he was always recognized for being better than Craig.

But who could have had a better life? Him. Who managed to reach one of the most important companies on the planet? Him. Who had the perfect life? Him, Craig Tucker. Not just anyone, because that's what he was seeing.

A gang member, not even in a thousand realities could compare to his job; he worked with space, planets, and stars.

The divine stars, the light of the dark infinity, unique and irreplaceable celestial bodies; the guiding light in his life, he had his own star. The light of his life.

The splendor that brought him down when he rose too high, that carried him into a dream and at the same time kept him grounded, reminding him that the inexplicable didn't need logic, but only to be felt.

An inexplicable peace washed over him, but he knew very well that this wasn't all his star could evoke in him; now it was lost, and he needed to find it, to give it an explanation.

Craig stood up, ignored the boys' anxious questions, and simply walked away, a discreet search, but as necessary as the air he breathed.

As soon as he could no longer see the redhead, a brunette approached him, just in time to talk about the next game.

.

.

.

For some time now, he'd felt eyes fixed on him. No matter how much he tried to look around to see who was bothering him, without being too obvious, whoever was watching him knew it wasn't by chance.

Kyle was still analyzing the situation, what he'd seen in the vents and what he'd heard. No matter how much mental effort he put into searching his painful memories for something similar to the games of his childhood, he found nothing. He remembered some things: the park, the court, but beyond that, only the people, not the games themselves.

But the other situation was preventing him from thinking clearly enough to concentrate on the game. The numbers—numbers he knew very well because one of them was his own, 067. In fact, he'd once been friends with the people who had the others.

"Red Velvet! Hi!" A shrill voice interrupted his thoughts.

It was Heidi.

"Aww, why are you looking at me like that? Move over!" the brunette snapped, making room for herself on the shocked man's bed. "...Well, I'm here now, so it's your turn to talk."

He knew what she meant by what he'd seen up there. He'd promised he'd tell her; he owed her the favor, of course. But... He turned to look at her. She was eager, with a smile too wide for the early hour, expectant. If they were in a different situation, perhaps she'd consider it. The information he had was valuable for survival, especially given his suspicions about the game he believed it was. However, if he shared something with her, it would be like giving Eric a chance to keep living.

The last thing he wanted, quite the opposite, in fact.

So, he hoped she would forgive him.

"Hello? Earth to Velvet?"

"I heard you."

"So? Are you going to talk or not?" she clarified. "Don't forget I helped you. I had to make a huge scene like I wasn't a lady! How awful! Oh, please tell me what's wrong! What did you see?"

Unfortunately, it was only fair. "They were cooking something."

She made a face that said it was obvious. "Yeah, right, obviously they were cooking for today's lunch, which is so meager considering all the money they have. I mean, did you see that piggy bank on the ceiling? Anyway, what else, what else?"

No matter how many years and unfair experiences he'd endured, he couldn't be unfair to someone who had helped him so much. "No. They were melting something, I think it was sugar."

"Sugar? Hmmm." He seemed to find something in that statement, but apparently it didn't lead anywhere. "Bah! That doesn't get me anywhere... Did I humiliate myself all that way for just 'sugar'?! You must be joking."

He wouldn't tell her about the numbers; that was too personal and chilling, even for him. He still had to connect the dots.

"He won't be satisfied with just that," the brunette murmured unconsciously, something he heard very well and understood what she meant. Eric up to his old tricks again.

"You must stay away from him." Again, he assumed she would know who he was referring to. "He's not to be trusted. What I said about him stealing from his henchmen and betraying his boss is true. He won't hesitate to turn his back on you if he needs to."

Her eyes flashed with amusement. "Oh, so..." She paused for a long time. "Is that what happened between you two?" "What?" I mean, all that hatred and repulsion she has for you must be for a reason, right?

He didn't know how, but now he was being interrogated, with no control whatsoever over the direction of this conversation. Then came the embarrassing question.

"Were you two a couple or something in the past?" She was clearly enjoying it. "Eric keeps talking about you like you're... a bitter ex! How cute!"

That's when he knew the conversation was over. Without answering or saying anything, he got up and left, anywhere within these four walls, but far away from that woman.

He had been precise, clever in his moves; making Heidi believe he cared about her and gain her trust, so he could find out what Cartman's plans were and if he would attack him. But now, this woman had been rude, incredibly vulgar to ask something like that.

Did she strike a nerve? Well, maybe, but with very good reason.

.

.

.

He'd been running away all this time, and no, it wasn't just now, his whole life. Tweek was hiding in his bunk, lying down so his unruly blond hair wouldn't give him away to the outside world.

But it didn't help at all. That man kept searching for him, which confused him, bothered him even more than his head, which wouldn't stop screaming like a rabid dog. A thousand possibilities if he decided to leave his hiding place, infamous memories that only pulled the imaginary trigger in his mind.

It was inevitable, but all he could remember were that man's hilarious and desperate words when his mind was drowning him.

"Just think about something else."

What nonsense. Do you think I haven't tried?

I could no longer distinguish between reality and illusion. Was that the metallic sound of the stairs turning into footsteps approaching him? Or was it just a memory of the door being violently slammed open while the entire bedroom was a mess? Which was right?

"Tweek," almost a whisper, inaudible.

The first option, with a touch of the other; the disheartening reality.

He prayed that the familiar voice was a figment of his imagination. He didn't want to open his eyes and come face to face with the man who had promised him the stars, who had been his star, but who had left him adrift and drowning.

"Tweek, is that you?" the dark-haired boy asked, his voice strangely soft and relieved. "It really is you..."

The blond boy composed himself and, without answering, stared into the distance, not looking at Craig, not at anyone or anything.

"A-are you okay? I mean," he coughed, "Where have you been?"

Nothing. An overwhelming, expectant silence fell, with no response from Tweek.

The other boy sighed deeply. "What are you doing here? Do you need money?" Still no answer. "You could have taken money from my bank account... You know the password and everything. You didn't need to play these games."

No one said anything. The dark-haired boy seemed lost in thought, but the words never came out. He nervously glanced around, making sure no one was watching. Tweek knew him so well.

He didn't know how many minutes he stood beside the bunk, waiting for some reaction from him, at least for him to look at him. To his annoyance, it was a long wait. Tweek didn't respond or say anything; it seemed he was about to give up.

"We have a group strong enough to survive this... You can come if you prefer." Craig waited for some reaction, even the slightest. He received nothing but zero interest; he didn't even look at him.

Without another word, he left, giving him space to let his mind explode again.

There wasn't a single apology, not a single expression that showed remorse. In all these years, he had learned to read him, to know what he was thinking, but so much had changed that he no longer recognized the man in front of him, the man he had married. Even though he didn't recognize him, even though this person who had just spoken to him was a "stranger," then why did his heart feel like it was dying? Why did his lungs feel so exhausted from such a marathon? Why did his eyelids sting with torturous, hot, infernal tears?

This person was new, but it felt like I'd been through so much with them before—so much, too much.

Where there had once been warm, comforting love, now only ashes remained, ashes that Tweek fanned out to keep from reigniting the flame.

Suddenly, a perfectly familiar and sinister voice reappeared, accompanied by an old-fashioned melody.

"The second game is about to begin. Please follow the staff's instructions."

"I repeat."

The second game is about to begin...

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Chapter Text

So, Craig didn't know what to do.

The alarm blared, and everyone started to mobilize. The second massacre was about to begin, and he didn't have a plan in mind.

He wanted to turn around, warn Tweek, convince him that he knew how to survive this game, even though he didn't. As long as they were together, he could protect him. Maybe they'd have a chance to be alone and talk about what they couldn't before. When he turned around, he only found the solitary bunk bed. Tweek was gone.

Perhaps he was disappointed by this lackluster encounter, but there was no time to waste on it. As soon as he could, he had to find Kyle, get what he knew from him, and win the game.

But he didn't know how he would do it, how he would approach him.

The doors swung open, and the players began to mingle with the next room, filled with stairs and walls painted in pink and pastel colors, with almost childlike decorations in various light shades. Little by little, the stairs began to fill with people.

This was his last chance; beyond this point, there was only death. Finding the redhead was easy, sifting through the uniformly possessed crowd, and judging by his larger physical characteristics, he was only a few people away. If he moved forward and pushed past a few, he could reach Kyle and ask him.

But appearing out of nowhere like that didn't guarantee Kyle would trust him. From what little he knew, the man was reserved, taciturn, and he wouldn't share such a huge secret with someone like him, his childhood enemy. Much less now, when a life meant too much money.

So how would he do it? Could he simply assume he already knew what game it was and follow him? If so, how would he do it with the team? With Tweek? How could he trust him?

If Kenny found Kyle, he would undoubtedly bring him onto the team, which was unacceptable. But there was no other option, no matter how much he thought about it. There were constants: he lost in every scenario, and everyone else won. It was unfair, not when this was his discovery and others would benefit from his effort. Nevertheless, he had to swallow his pride.

"Kenny," he said, his voice not too quiet for the blond boy behind him to hear. "I need to tell you something."

Kenny, who had been talking to the other blond boy, finished his whisper and turned his attention to him. "What's up, Craig? Do you have a plan yet?"

"Not yet. I found one of your friends."

The violet-eyed boy's face lit up, as excited as a puppy. "Really?! Who? Where is he?"

He had to juggle not falling on the stairs with pointing to the redhead several meters ahead of him. "That's Kyle, right? The one and only. Maybe he knows how to help us... He was first in school, so he must have an idea, you know, because of the games you guys used to play."

He didn't know how to describe it; his brother's expression changed radically. It was as if he were seeing something long awaited, something so longed for, hidden in time, like when you finally find something you've been searching for for a long time, someone you thought was dead. A lot of emotion and happiness. All in a violent jumble.

He wasn't going to think about it much.

"We should go ask him. I'm sure he knows something about the next game."

He didn't have to convince him any further. Kenny grabbed his arm, much to his annoyance, and started pulling him along as they clumsily made their way up the remaining stairs to Kyle. He was definitely playing with fire right now.

"Kyle!" the blond called out to the person in front of him, breathless from the marathon he'd just completed.

The redhead turned around, just like their first encounter. They were both stunned; as if it were a big deal, though Craig didn't care much. For the blond, this encounter meant everything. Kenny had searched tirelessly for Kyle, cried during every search, fought, and given up for his own mental well-being. There was that emptiness in his chest knowing that one of his best friends had disappeared and was perhaps dead. It was an uncertainty he wouldn't wish on anyone. Not even his worst enemy. Something Craig didn't understand at that moment. The relief of finding his missing friend.

He could see it. Kyle was confused, excited, maybe even scared, but he could see how somehow his expression relaxed. He could also see him cut across the perfectly aligned line, earning a reprimand from a triangular guard. Obeying orders because of the threatening weapon, without time for a proper exchange, they continued climbing.

They could only talk while looking at each other's backs.

"Kyle, it's so amazing to see you again, man!" The blond's nervousness was evident. "I mean, it's not the best situation, but damn, it's so reassuring to see you again! Ah, I'm so happy!"

The redhead simply replied, unsure of his expression, happy or not. "It's good to see you too, Kenny," he said, almost in a whisper.

"Man, this is crazy! I really want to hug you! Hahaha!" Kenny looked like an excited puppy. "I have so many questions! How did you get here? Where have you been all these years?" He stopped when Craig nudged him from behind, straying from the topic they'd come for in the first place. "Okay, okay, I understand. Forget my questions for now. Actually, I wanted to ask you, do you have any ideas about the next game? Honestly, I'm kind of worried about it..."

They continued climbing, it seemed endless. Kyle was quiet for a considerable time, which worried him. Maybe he didn't trust Kenny enough to tell him the secret. Now everything depended on his silly brother, and it didn't seem to be working out.

He was about to intervene and save the conversation when the green-eyed boy finally deigned to answer.

"They were melting sugar."

"What? Sugar, you say? What kind of game involves sugar?" "Mmmh," Kenny replied, his hand on his chin, hesitant. "Hey, how do you know that? Did you sneak in? Wow, that's amazing!"

"Focus for once in your life, Kenny! The games!" Craig grumbled.

"Oh, okay, okay... Well... I think it could be something with food, you know, it could be anything. There are so many games! Let's see, it could be 'Yut Nori' or 'Hot Potato'..." he counted on his fingers. "We should talk it over with the team!"

He turned to go back to the rest of the group, but unfortunately for Craig, the blond boy stopped and walked over to Kyle, presumably to propose something to him.

"You should come with us! We already have a team, and I assure you it's a very strong team!"—or so he believed. "Even Stan's with us!"

If it was awkward for Craig, even though he hadn't been in that fight back in his childhood, he couldn't imagine how it must have felt for Kyle. Kenny simply ignored the many years that had passed and how everything was different now—everything. Stan and Kyle weren't the friends they once were; perhaps there wouldn't be any excitement left for this reunion.

Kyle didn't respond. Kenny seemed to want to ask something, unaware that they had already arrived at the place where the second game was about to take place.

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.

.

The crowd spread out through the large entrance, their gaze sweeping over the surroundings.

It was a room, not very big, just enough for the current number of players. Everything was enclosed, with no view of the outside world, replaced by four bluish walls decorated with a cloud pattern. If you were very observant, you could see the detail of snowflakes on each drawn cloud. Around it were brown benches, with the play equipment in the center: a blue slide, rainbow-colored swings, seesaws, a sandbox, and a carousel, all gleaming from disuse, charming at first glance. Finally, there was a striking detail in the middle of it all: a medium-sized artificial tree that added a warm touch to the mini-park.

As soon as Kenny entered and feasted his eyes on the view, he couldn't help but squeal with pure excitement. His cheeks ached from the huge smile on his face, his hands trembled, and his heart was bursting with joy. It was just like the town park.

"Oh! Stan!" She searched for the dark-haired boy and gave him a half-hug, just so he could appreciate the scenery. "Hey, doesn't it remind you of the town park? It's identical! It even has the tree where we used to play Green and Red Light!"

He sighed. "Kenny, all parks are the same, they always have the same things..." he said, knowing he hadn't left town until he entered the playground.

He wanted to tell Kyle too, if he was still there like a little while ago. Looking around, he realized Kyle had disappeared again.

"The next game will be played in four teams," a female voice announced.

"Before we start the second game, please choose one of the four shapes in front of you and stand in front of it."

"Shapes? What game is this?" He looked at his team, just as confused as he was. Further ahead, Craig looked stunned. "Craig? Craig, what do you think? Hey, are you okay?"

Finally, Craig's brain connected the dots: shapes, sugar, a game. Inevitably, a memory surfaced without his permission.

-They were both children, the purest age of innocence. He didn't go out much because he had no friends in South Park. He disliked everyone and thought they were all too stupid for someone like him. That was why he was always alone at home, playing board games, all by himself.

At least that's how it was for a few hours, because suddenly a small, disheveled blond boy would appear at his door. His mother would open it and let him in; after all, he was the boy who helped out at school.

Except that most of the time he came with a present: a small bag full of cookies made of melted sugar, the kind they sold at the park. As always, he'd just come from playing with his own friends.

"Craig! Look what I brought! We can play with it!"

"But I already have my own board games."

"I know! But since you never go out to play at the park, I decided to bring you a game from there! It's fun; I play it with my friends!"

"Really? What's it called?"

"It's Dalgona! You play with a needle! I'm going to ask your mom, Mrs. Tucker!"

That's how he spent his afternoons with Kenny, back when they were just friends, his only friend in South Park, not brothers. Sometimes he'd get annoyed because Kenny would eat the whole cookie instead of keeping the figure he'd taken out. After all, it was the prize of the game, and he would keep his as a reminder of his victory. Despite the blond boy's constant hunger, Craig was happy.

He appreciated that Kenny remembered him. Despite having his own friends, Kenny was always there for him, seeking him out when he was alone and making him laugh. Maybe that's why he didn't need any other friends in childhood, because Kenny was all the friend he could ever want.-

"Earth to Craig! Which one do we choose?"

He heard Kenny's voice pull him from his reverie. Now the group seemed to be debating what game it was and which figure they should choose together.

"Maybe it's Frozen? Although the place isn't very big..." Kenny babbled.

"I don't think so. It must be some kind of group game. That explains the elaborate decorations," Stan said.

"Ugh, so what is it then? "you bringing them"?"

"Maybe it's a scavenger hunt! Like searching for figures all over the park!" Leo's third voice chimed in.

"Ah, maybe! Butters, you're right! That explains the figures, ahh!" He turned to look at his brother.

"So... which one do we choose? You lead the way!" his brother declared, confidence shining in his eyes.

It could be Dalgona, no, it was definitely Dalgona. The evidence spoke for itself. The safest bet, then, was the triangular shape. That would be his answer for the team. He was about to speak, even about to raise his arm to point to the option they would choose, but... but...

Didn't they tell him the shapes were limited? There was already a considerable line in the triangle, four more and others approaching—there were many. The cookies could run out, and then they'd send the team, including him, to another shape.

He couldn't risk it; it was dangerous. He could die. Not after humiliating himself by begging for help to fail and sink with the others.

This is a competition. The only thing that matters now is himself. I repeat.

It's a competition.

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.

“I think Leo’s right,” Craig affirmed. “The shapes must represent painted markings hidden throughout the park. Maybe we have to find them and put them together… We should split up to search and let each other know if we find the one we’re missing.”

He sighed, his chest swelling with pride. That was his brother—so smart, so capable.

“See, guys!” And he went back to hugging his brother. “Craig is the smartest person I know. Listen, there’s a reason he studied abroad to become a great boss at NASA! In the neighborhood where he lived, he was a real prodigy! My little brother!”

“Wow, that’s incredible!” Leo declared.

“It’s good to have someone you can trust…” The trust Stan was developing in Craig was a good sign, according to Kenny. They were finally getting along!

The former NASA employee interrupted the exchange of compliments because of the little time they had left. “I’ll choose the triangle. Which one do you choose, Stan?”

The person named was surprised by the pleasant recognition - "Me? Well, I think I'll choose the circle, it'll be easier to look for and find, I suppose..."

Finally, the last decision fell to the two blond members of the team. Kenny was racking his brain trying to decide which of the remaining figures to choose, while Butters, well, he was just being Butters, analyzing his decision just like Kenny.

The blond was about to explode; he didn't know which one to choose, and the remaining seconds were ticking away. He was nervous; any decision he made would doom his team. He was so clumsy, absentminded, and had the attention span of a baby—he was going to hurt the group.

His jiggling hands betrayed him; he was anxious, until Butters's handshake solved everything.

Going from looking at the figures, already surrounded by lines of people, to looking into Butters's playful, crystalline eyes was a radical shift in mood—a peaceful, warm change. It was like a ray of sunshine in the face of the coldness of doubt.

"I'll help you, Kenny! Let's look together!" Leo's sweet voice rang out.

"Oh, really?" "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him again. She loved hugging people she cared about.

Butters didn't mind the eager, affectionate gesture and simply pointed to the umbrella figure. "Let's choose that one! I'm sure it'll be our lifesaver!"

"Oh, okay! Let's go!" However, he forgot something. "Um, Craig... We can do that, right?"

Kenny waited for his answer, given the short time. His brother's expression was incomprehensible. In all the years they'd grown up together, he'd never seen him so pale and worried.

"No problem, anyone can find the star..." he said in a devastated tone.

And without another word, the two blond boys ran toward the umbrella. Stan said goodbye with a sincere "good luck" as he walked toward the triangle. He didn't realize that someone behind him had seen the whole scene, hidden, stealthily watching Craig's deceptive move.

Kyle followed Craig, hoping his selfishness would save him too. And no, he wasn't the only one who replicated this action. A certain blond man with unruly hair followed in their footsteps, also hoping that once again the selfishness of the "Genius of Ssangmun-dong" would save him.

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"The time to choose your figure is over. Now, it's time to reveal the rules of the game..." the chilling voice said again.

The doors of each figure swung wide open. Inside, mysterious flat jars sat on movable tables.

"Each player must take one of the containers in front of you. Please open your jar to begin the game."

Each jar was handed out, light and fragile, weighing next to nothing. No one would risk damaging it, as the slightest mistake would be costly.

So, each lid was uncovered, and each player strategically positioned themselves. Some sat on the swings if they had to move, others on the slide to avoid being tagged, some on the carousel for protection, and still others perched on the plastic tree. Everyone thought they would have to move, but no, quite the opposite.

The contents inside finally faced the artificial light, and in every perspective were the blessed shapes: triangle, circle, star, and umbrella. From each one, you could hear hisses, snorts, disappointments, reliefs, and curses. A hilarious show ensued. The deceptive game we have here is:

"Dalgona."

"The shape you chose is the one you must detach."

"The time limit is 10 minutes. You'll advance to the next round if you detach the shape within that time."

Ten minutes, not thirty, not an hour like it usually took, ten damn minutes.

It was over.

Removing the umbrella, in ten stupid minutes. Bullshit.

"Let the game begin."

Immediately the surroundings lost their volume; there was no noise like moments before. If there had ever been human sighs and groans expressing frustration at being unable to make a choice, they had vanished as soon as the robotic squeak echoed through the room.

Now, only worried sighs remained, interspersed with grateful breaths as the damned cookie broke, just as the figure demanded.

That longing, that hope of being able to live one more day, depending only on the snap of a needle.

Did that happen to Kenny? No, of course not, he can never be happy, right? Kenny always suffers, right? Something always happens to him, and he plays with death! Yes, his guardian angel seems to have gone on sabbatical and abandoned him to his fate! Damn it!

As soon as the voice said what game it was, he couldn't help but look up and mentally curse all the saints who had abandoned him. They could all go to hell, just because. He wanted to cry, and he blamed them.

Butters was also beside him. As soon as he heard the terrible truth, God, he felt guilty seeing his expression, for giving him that burden of choosing. The blue-eyed boy was terrified, ashamed, and apologizing to Kenny with just a look. He could clearly hear the typical "Oh, burgers, I think I messed up, sorry." There was nothing to forgive; the fault here was his.

Now they stood in deathly silence, facing each other, mute, trying to keep the tapping of their hands from affecting the tracing of the umbrella handle, trying to keep every muscle from tense, trying to silence their minds with the terrifying assertion of their surroundings.

"I'm going to die."

It's impossible not to think about it; your life depends on trusting that your fingers will obey, that your whole body won't tremble knowing that your executioner is inches away.

He's lurking there, waiting for your slightest mistake, just one centimeter, one more minuscule movement, and your life, the one you've been fighting for all this time, will be extinguished.

All for one damned extra movement.

"I'm going to die."

Craig may have chosen the simplest way, the triangle, three movements and the consistency of the pull; he's sure he'll win, but he's nervous. Why? The nagging of his conscience punishes him, showing it with the trembling in his body.

The other two men may have copied him and are in the same situation. Especially the blond one, whose fingers are now his worst enemies.

No one can silence their heads, that wise, irritating little voice that warns of all your possible deaths in everyday life—that same voice was now screaming. Concentration is what's needed, but my God, why can't it be silenced? Why can't I focus on this damned figure? Why is my body sweating, my feet moving erratically? I can't control it.

It's not a marathon, so why are we all sweating and trembling?

Why won't their hands stop shaking?!

"We're going to die."

Of course, there are calm minds. The noise of stillness doesn't torment their inner voice. Perhaps because they've learned to freeze in moments like this, that death can come at any time, or that fate will decide if their time has come.

Kyle is calm. He knows the risk, what he'll lose if he deviates from the plan, but thinking about it is useless. Not when what mattered was in the metal box, the cookie. Because in this game, the most important thing is not to lose focus, to let your mind wander. If he wanted to survive, he had to kill his senses.

Others are calm, because of the trap.

The lovers, Heidi and Eric, hidden, with the fire of salvation in their hands. The needle is even more effective when cut with a firm grip. But each cut takes time; between two, it can take up all ten minutes.

Desperate, they have no patience. The lighter passes from hand to hand so abruptly that it's a surprise no guard or player notices the trap.

In the face of ignorance, or perhaps innocence, there is calm. If so, then Stan is in no hurry; he is afraid, terribly so. The trembling in his leg betrays him, and the constant twisting of his neck reveals his stress. But his figure is curvilinear, without sharp edges, perfect, and already cut. He only needs to pinch it, and it will come out on its own.

Even so, he is very afraid.

There is regret, fear, shame, deceit, and concentration. All for a minute.

Suddenly, the tacit silence is shattered, violated. A gunshot enters without permission, only increasing the anxiety in their minds, provoking the forbidden movement of their muscles.

The first dead body appears, then another, another, another, and another.

Blood stains each of the games. No one, no one wants to see blood in a park, a place meant for children, their homes, where their innocent rituals flourish. That such an idyllic place should be stained with crimson is so diabolical, perverse, and forbidden.

Innocence is stolen. Forced into a perverse world.

Kenny can't stop trembling, even more than before. He can't control his breathing, his body, his mind, his throat—everything.

Did someone just die? God, this can't be happening. Not this. The park, no. Why? No. Blood. It's the cookie. Why? No. He can't. It hurts. He can't breathe.

He can't control his mouth, his thoughts. Everything is a whirlwind, so many things. He's going to die. No.

Leo looks at him, but he can't see him again. His vision is blurry. He doesn't know if it's the tears coming or if his mind is giving out. He doesn't understand. Is Leo too close? Is he losing consciousness? Is he dying? What? He was so scared, too scared.

Without warning, ignoring Kenny's panic attack—or perhaps not—Butters gets too close to Kenny. He crouches down closer than anyone worried should or should—the limits of what's safe. Tearing at the sanity of someone who is about to lose their mind without knowing what is real or not.

He didn't know if his mind was playing tricks on him, if his imagined fears were surfacing, but... why was her gaze so empty? Was she looking at him with such lifeless eyes, or was it his fixed stare that made her uncomfortable? Perhaps it wasn't like that; the blood reminded him of massacres in movies, of monsters caged in his mind under the pretense that they weren't real.

Mostly fictional aberrations, never human. To him, it was impossible that someone could be so evil, committing such acts of wickedness. It was inhuman, so abhorrent. But then he remembered that someone had stained the park with blood. Whoever had orchestrated this, he wanted them to know that he was very, very scared, even more so because it was real. Someone had been so perverse as to orchestrate this depraved situation.

...

Why is he thinking about that?

That fixed, empty gaze was sending chills down his spine; the curious closeness made him uncomfortable.

His throat felt like it was going to burst. Butters was so close, looking at him. He was probably worrying him, yes, maybe, he didn't know. Why? So close, he was getting scared...

Are their foreheads touching?

What's happening? Is this real? What is he murmuring? He can't hear him. Their foreheads are touching, and all he can see are those piercing blue eyes, sharp enough to kill. It's not real; it's his mind punishing him. If this is how it had to be...

Suddenly, he feels like he's going to collapse, and his mind offers one last resort. If this doesn't work, then they will die.

When the world becomes too hostile, all he wants is to go back, to go back to before.

-They were in the park, not this one, the one in town. There was the original group, children, tired and with scraped knees from playing so much, always laughing, always happy, teasing each other as they walked toward a candy stand.

Before the Tuckers, he had nothing to eat. His family had no money, and the only thing he had to eat was those sweets, more specifically, Dalgona cookies.

It was a game. The boys bought it when they were tired of playing games that required a lot of energy and just wanted to rest. This game was their salvation. They had fun teasing each other, nudging, kicking, hitting each other's arms to try and break their shape.

There was laughter, insults, teasing, and harmless squabbles. You had to be patient, something impossible for a small child, so the competitions to see who could finally break the shape were their game. Kenny never won; he was clumsy and impatient, always ending up breaking the cookie. But he didn't get angry; on the contrary, he enjoyed eating what the others discarded when they drew the figure. They teased him about it, about him eating their leftover cookies when they drew the next one, but it was just a few innocent smiles and playful teasing among friends.

"Ew! That's disgusting, Kenny! How can you eat that..."

"It's pure sugar."

"So what? Sugar is the most delicious thing in the world, you idiots! Kenny, don't eat all the cookies, damn it!"

"They're mine, all mine! Hahaha! I'm the Cookie King!"

They were so happy, they laughed a lot, they had fun, it was beautiful.

The bad thing was that when it rained, they couldn't play; the cookie melted, it fell apart, and the game was over.

The memory ended in a bittersweet way.-

"Player 218, go."

"Player 067, go."

The first to go, Kenny turned around excitedly upon hearing his friend and brother's number. They both successfully made it out. Craig looked at him for a second; he seemed worried. It was a nightmare come true.

Turning back, he looked ahead. Butters was there, completely absorbed, not even noticing the guard behind him, utterly lost in his own world trying to get the umbrella out. There was no way he could have gotten so close, so terrifying. Then he saw it, Butters closing in so menacingly, leaving him no room. It was just his imagination, stressed out by the need to survive. That's how his mind was; it conjured up the worst-case scenario when it got like this. It must have been him.

Six minutes. There was no time to lose. He had to keep going to live another day.

Some lost, some won; some died, some lived. The figures began to appear, some perfect, flawless, and well-aimed. Others broken, imperfect, shattered. Black and white, that's how it was.

"Player 212, pass."

"Player 101, pass."

Both chestnut-haired, freed by the same merciful candle, both stars, winners. As if they were a perfect match, they simultaneously showed off their feat to the guard—two stars, two winners. Needless to say, the cookies were delicious.

To avoid leaving even a trace of suspicion on the burnt edges of both cookies, they ate them, each one as crisp as it was sweet.

Another death, then another. If he turned around, he knew what lay behind him would be red paint and motionless bodies, all in a more macabre way. He tried to deceive his mind. The park stained with tragedy—it shouldn't be like this. This was supposed to be fun. We should be laughing, eating the cookies! Why, why, why?

Why were they destroying something as idyllic as this game? So warm, so fun, the center of his best memories.

And the park, God, the park, a symbol of what was right, of what he loved.

A place where his sorrows faded, laughter lingered, and peace reigned in his memories, where his best moments resided. Now stained, ruined. To imagine those playful laughs with the games stained with blood was so perverse, so illegal. It hurt, because now the memory of that park he loved so much was replaced by this scene: death, pain, pleas, and blood. So much blood.

"Shit."

Break the unwritten rule, the forbidden norm.

"Player 199, pass."

"Player 240, pass."

All their friends had already left; only the two of them remained. Butters raised his head, his spell broken, and they stared at each other. They were horrified.

Violet and light blue, staring, devastated.

Kenny saw Butters; he was stunned, terrified. His eyes conveyed absolute fear, as if he were looking at death itself. He seemed to want to run, maybe hide. Kenny didn't blame him; he would do the same if he could. He seemed to want to speak, but he couldn't; perhaps it was the terror stuck in his throat.

And he didn't know what he looked like in Butters' eyes.

He knew he was a mess, broken, desperate. Her eyes were burning, so they must have been red like the crimson liquid behind her, glassy with tears threatening to spill out, her cheeks stiff from the torrent of tears that came out a while ago, her skin reddened by the hurricane of emotions and the anguish that she would not get out of this, her forehead pearled with the sweat that kept coming out of her pores, soaking her entire uniform and hair.

He was afraid.

Very afraid.

He didn't want to die.

He didn't want to die.

He didn't want to die.

I don't want to.

Please, no.

Then he cried. Kenny cried.

In front of Leo, it didn't matter anymore, not anymore.

It didn't matter if Leo was looking at him with pity or disappointment at the image he once projected, now crumbling from the anguish of knowing he was going to die. He couldn't see his expression; as soon as he knew he couldn't hold back the tears any longer, he hid his downcast face.

2 minutes.

He didn't even have the handle fully open.

This was the end. He didn't want to.

And then, the first drops fell on the umbrella.

Just like that day in the past, lacking an umbrella, the cookies got wet and the boys cried over their lost game.

Just like now, the cookie was dissolving, coming out, perfectly.

He opened his eyes one last time to the culprit of his "death," the cookie, and looked at what was happening to it. The cookie needed a little more water; the figure was already breaking free from its prison.

He picked up the cookie, still with its face a mess, and held it up to a spotlight. It was working! The cookie was dissolving!

Once again, luck, fate, or his guardian angel arriving at just the right moment had saved him.

But he couldn't force himself to cry. Nothing was going to come out now, and there wasn't time.

He remembered that once, he had enjoyed eating cookies, especially licking them.

So that's what he would do; he began to lick the thin layer that was missing, against all odds. As if his life depended on it, because he was doing it.

It didn't matter to him if the outside players saw him as a weirdo, a weirdo with a plan. Functional, his irrational and crazy act was replicated. The souls who thought all was lost now clung to the effectiveness of his tongue and saliva.

A crazy, improbable, outlandish act; a normal person wouldn't think of that in this situation, but there was Kenny, the boy who never grew up. The most un-plagiarizable kid in the world.

Everyone replicated the action, even Butters, who had stood frozen in place for a long moment, surely without hope like him, but now, he desperately clung to his cookie, tongue and all.

The minutes dissolved and the seconds ticked by.

Everything depended on his salivary glands being active enough to make that cookie salivate, to cling to the last hope, and so, amidst the desperation, the seconds ended.

5 seconds.

Just a little longer.

3 seconds.

A little longer.

1 second.

...

.

.

.

"Player 003, pass."

"Player 456, pass."

A perfect umbrella made of cookie was spotted; he swore he hadn't seen anything so valuable in a long time. That damn umbrella had just given him the biggest scare and the best feeling.

"My God."

He looked at the other blond guy, satisfied, with his characteristic smile. They both stood up before the shooting started for the poor souls who hadn't made it. They hugged each other; the scare had been intense.

As soon as they were dispatched, the real hell was about to begin, the punishment.

There were a considerable number of players; some were in shock upon hearing the clock beep, others were disappointed and downcast, and others, well, they refused to leave this world without a fight.

The triangle guards were about to carry out their duties when one of them, while checking on a disgruntled player, was attacked with the same weapon he'd used to slash the cookie, wounding him and leaving him writhing in pain on the ground.

A scandal erupted.

He took the square guard, the authority figure, hostage.

He pointed his weapon like the others, all of them cornering the unfortunate man, with no escape, only one demand, the golden rule.

"Take off your mask."

He shouldn't have done it; it was forbidden. There was no way out either; it was the bullet of the wretch or of the highest authority. It was forbidden. That's what their rules said. Their identities, unknown to everyone until these games ended, only had to do their jobs, and they would get what they wanted. Wendy confirms it: those are the rules. No one can live with the guilt of being a killer; that's why they hide.

Without wasting a moment, the remaining guards finished off the rest of the losers—their job.

The square guard obeyed, condemning his life. To the man's surprise, this was just a young man. Like many here, a boy with his whole life ahead of him, here, in this cursed cemetery.

No one can bear it, few can. Carrying the weight of a murdered life stirs your brain and rots you; there's nothing left but discontent, so for others, the easiest thing is suicide.

The man shot himself.

However, a rule was broken: there's no punishment with pleasure. That's for the greats; they weren't great, and they never would be.

Like an imposing and lethal figure, the gates swung open again. Firm footsteps echoed violently against the floor. The boss was here. The weapons were lowered, and a tall figure emerged from the line of triangular soldiers with a formidable stride.

He was quick, aiming perfectly at the young man's head, and fired without hesitation. Blood spurted out, staining his pristine white suit. He seemed otherworldly, with a light-colored hood that completely concealed his head, and his mask, angular and faceted, triangular in shape, was so pure white it seemed otherworldly. Unfortunately, this pristine design was stained with the scarlet of death.

"Remember, if they discover your identity, you will die." His tone was firm and menacing. The blood spattered on his mask lent weight to his words.

And so, the formidable masked man departed, leaving behind a warning and a clear message with his image.

This was her job: to take people from the world, to decide their fates with threats. No god would forgive her, would grant her blessings if she chose to continue her life. She wasn't a believer, not after everything she had endured and blaming "divine grace," but she knew she would never find peace in this world. She was condemned, impure for years.

Undeserving of love, vulnerable to the need to feel loved.

Wendy was stained, now burdened by these deaths. She was worthless; only hatred awaited her as the worst of punishments, repulsion and rejection.

She could never be happy; that was her punishment.

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Chapter Text

It turns out Kenny isn't very good at calming the skies after a disastrous storm. In other words, given his current state as a dejected preteen—his best friends having broken up and the world seemingly having lost all meaning—it's hard to think about how to fix things. Even though he wasn't to blame for what happened, the guilt still weighed heavily on him. That feeling of loss haunted him; he didn't like the good times being lost over a stupid fight. He'd figured it out.

He tried talking to the boys, starting with Stan, who, in his opinion, was the biggest idiot of them all for starting the fight. Was he angry? Yes, but again, he didn't want their friendship to vanish over some baseless grudge. And by God, he tried to approach him and talk about anything to keep him from getting bitter like he always did, as if nothing mattered to him. Kenny also discovered that Stan wasn't angry with him directly; he even apologized for hitting him in the fight. The conversations were normal, typical between the two of them. However, as soon as he mentioned the boys or made an obvious decision to want to accompany them, he simply reverted to his apathetic state and left while complaining that Kyle was the one to blame for this, not him.

In part, he did understand. Stan was very driven by his emotions, still harboring resentment, he supposed, though sometimes he came across as a "bitch" (according to many). Kenny didn't see it that way; they were friends, and he knew what his friend was carrying. The town was still steeped in old traditions, so when Stan was old enough, he was considered the man of the family, given the absence of a father figure since birth. Lately, he'd been overwhelmed by this new responsibility created by the townspeople's whims. He'd come home tired and with a gaunt face from the unfair work. To his friends' surprise, they discovered the hard way, during another minor argument that would later have repercussions, that Stan was drinking alcohol to cope.

For a while, Kenny and Kyle, especially the redhead, tried to help him. One day he seemed to be doing well and putting in a clean effort, the next he would decline and the cycle would repeat itself. Kyle spent more time with him than he did, and many things happened between them, things he doesn't know about, so the words spoken in that fight weighed more between the two of them than what Kenny believed, which to him was ridiculous.

As for Kyle, his reasoning was somewhat more reasonable, though not entirely, because like Stan, he blamed the other for the breakup and claimed he was merely defending himself as the victim. In part, he was right; both had started with arguments rooted in indifference to each other's situations until they finally erupted into their fight that led to their separation. During the time he spent with Kyle in the months before the tragedy struck and then subsided, he learned about his situation and why he acted the way he did. He knew his parents argued frequently. He didn't elaborate, but the cuts on his knuckles showed the severity of the violence in his home, perhaps not unlike what he himself experienced with the McCormicks. Kyle didn't elaborate much on the subject and remained silent when Kenny tried to ask more.

Kyle was isolated in the months leading up to the chaos. He spoke only to Kenny, and sometimes not even then. He'd arrive at school and go straight home as if he were in a terrible hurry. Beyond those brief encounters, he never spoke to Stan again, and they didn't even cross paths when their paths crossed, as if they were complete strangers with a rich history—a beautiful history of brotherly friendship that had been erased, leaving them as strangers. With Cartman, it was violent. Every time they met or bumped into each other, a fight would break out in the hallways. He didn't understand how, but they knew how to drive each other crazy. Occasionally, Kenny had to separate them.

Speaking of Eric, his friendship with him didn't change much, though he was unaware of how violent and bloodthirsty Eric had become after the tragic news that his mother had been murdered, presumably in a settling of scores. Almost no one knew this, except Kenny. The brunette trusted him too much and considered him a partner in crime, getting into mischief that was once innocent but now illegal. Kenny also tried to get him involved with the other boys, but it didn't work because of Eric's new behavior. His decline was brutal; he stole and caused scenes by getting into fights. The whole town was afraid he would become a criminal, and no one bothered to help him get back on the right path. Kenny was the only one who visited him until he disappeared, and no one cared more than Kenny himself.

Things ended so bitterly. He cried a lot during those years and blamed himself for not doing more when he should have. He could have apologized for not finding out sooner what was happening in their homes and in their minds, perhaps for not saying a proper goodbye.

He carried that feeling with him for years. Even during his best days in Ssangmun-dong, he always remembered them. Were they okay? Were they having fun right now? Kenny knew about the moments that tormented his friends and their insecurities, so the question lingered and pounded in his head when he was completely silent. Were they happy? Because he hoped so. Despite the good times and the bad, the feeling of affection remained, and it was impossible for him not to continue loving them, even though they were no longer in his life.

Leaving South Park was difficult, a decision he didn't want, but a force greater than himself pulled the almost-teenage Kenny away from the place he called home. The houses, the people, the park, and of course, someone; Kenny didn't realize it during that whole period of anguish, didn't realize that someone else was tearing him apart, being destroyed by the reality that had been snatched away, an observer, a spectator of his favorite show that ended the moment Kenny left town.

An omnipotent god, a mere spectator, someone broken, like a child whose candy has just been taken away, only this time, the prize had just been taken from the insects and the rotten.

Perhaps Kenny did the right thing by leaving as soon as he could, before the rotten stain spread and corrupted him, like a disease, insufficient for the blond boy's good nature.

Tell me, Kenny, what would have happened if they hadn't cruelly separated us so easily? Would you be as devastated as I am? I will await your answer with great longing and fervor, even if I have to rot away...

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.

The door behind them closed. Kenny and Butters were back in the large central room, still processing the disastrous emotional rollercoaster they'd experienced in the fake park. Truthfully, it was impossible for them to think of anything other than moving forward—at least, that was the case for Kenny. Good heavens, he'd been on the verge of death, of kicking the bucket, of going to heaven to be scolded by the saints he'd insulted for punishing him with that exhilarating anxiety. After feeling so much and nearly dying for it, the walk back felt astonishing, almost unreal. Only when he looked up and saw the letters and the other players moving about as if nothing had happened did he feel true peace. He was alive, and he could tell the tale as just another memory.

He unconsciously let out a big sigh, releasing the stress that was killing his throat; he let go of his gaze, concentrating on nothing. He saw some players sitting on their beds while others walked from one end to the other, perhaps to kill time. He was looking around for Craig and Stan when suddenly his gaze focused on a particular man.

He stood there, surrounded by a considerable number of men who seemed to be talking to him, while he merely answered them, more focused on the girl next to him who was also laughing with the brunette. Kenny squinted as if that would help him focus on the face of the man he believed to be Eric, and indeed he wasn't wrong; that man was his former best friend.

"It's him..." Kenny blurted out without realizing how loud his voice was, startling Butters, who wasn't understanding the blond's delusion.

"Is something wrong, Kenny?"

He couldn't miss this opportunity. Who knew if there would be another one? "Um, yeah, everything's fine. Listen, Butters, I think you should go with the rest of the team. I have things to do, okay?"

With a simple shoulder squeeze, he said goodbye to the confused blond and ran in Cartman's direction, fully confident that he would explain to Stan and Craig that he was alive, but he'd just felt like following his impulses and following his old friend without any fear. Maybe he was being even more stupid than Craig was letting on? Maybe he even cared at this moment? Hell no, give him some understanding, please! He almost died and he's not ready to just call it another joke!

He approached as cautiously as possible, waiting for the wall of men to part so he could get to his friend, and they did. As soon as they spotted a blond guy speeding toward them, they looked at him like he was some crazy guy from the corner, out of this world. He was used to being stared at, so he didn't feel that intimidation that scares everyone and makes them want to run away.

Maybe that's why it was so easy for him to entrust all his savings to those thugs who wanted his head out there. Unbelievable.

Kenny approached, drawing the attention of the leader of that small gang and the woman beside him. Finally, the two friends saw each other, their expressions shifting to one of surprise and anticipation. The best friends of the past were reunited.

"Now we're going to show the results of the second game." The robotic voice returned, interrupting anything he expected from its lips. A casino sound filled the air as the numbers on the large television screen climbed, the amount of money increasing, and the number of players dwindling alarmingly. Each death was one less number; that fact was so chilling it made his stomach churn. Being reduced to just a number was devastating.

"Eighty-five of your players were eliminated..."

Suddenly, the luminous piggy bank descended from some hatch in the ceiling, just as mesmerizing as before, ridiculously mesmerizing. He, too, couldn't help but look up with a magnetic curiosity, whether out of sheer morbid fascination at seeing so many bills together, or because that glittering trap captured everyone's attention like moths to a flame, without them realizing they were staring at the culprit of their future demise.

"The prize amounts to 7,900,000,000 won."

The amount was absurd. Such a large sum of money was something he had never seen or heard of. Just thinking about it was ludicrous. But even remembering that this entire amount was thanks to the bloodbath of the wretches who hadn't succeeded, recalling that traumatic event from just moments before made his stomach churn, especially the idea that his life was going to be reduced to a simple wad of bills. That was what was disturbing. Here, it didn't matter what you had done, good or bad, whether you went straight to hell or heaven, whether you had a name or an empire you ruled. It was all gone now, because the only proof in this place that you had ever existed was a simple wad of bills.

Kenny sighed. That pessimistic thought surprised him; it wasn't typical of his chaotic, childlike mind. He tried to clear that bitter feeling by looking down at the chestnut-haired boy in front of him, who was still in that trance-like state the piggy bank had induced. Kenny felt excluded. If he tried to describe this emotion bubbling up in his chest right now, he noticed something in Cartman's pupils: that arrogant ambition, a venomous, dazzling greed oozing from every pore. It wasn't like before. Eric had always had this envy, wanting everything others had. Back then, he was innocent and capricious, common traits in a normal child, but now, he felt different, dangerous, very risky.

He didn't know if it was the way he looked with a harmful longing at the money overflowing in the piggy bank or the way he vulgarly pulled the chestnut-haired girl closer to him as she settled in like a prize for his grasp. No, I had no idea how to start the conversation, but I knew that the girl being so close to my friend was going to give me some trouble in wanting to express what I really wanted to say.

As soon as the piggy bank returned to its hiding place on the ceiling, the spell broke and everyone reverted to their normal state. At the same time, Eric flashed a quick smile at his laughing companion before turning his full attention to the blond boy who remained an invisible presence to the rest of the gang.

"So it's none other than my friend Kenny! What's up, dude? You show up when you least expect it!" he said vehemently, surprising even Kenny with his overflowing confidence. Eric energetically approached Kenny to give him a friendly hug and pats on the back. The sudden change in attitude left Kenny speechless. "What, cat got your tongue?"

The gang laughed, anticipating the curious encounter. He was getting uncomfortable but wouldn't admit it. "H-hey, Cartman! Hey! It's crazy to see you again, man. I mean, I thought I'd never see you again! How are you?" Where have you been all this time?— the questions came and went quickly, she wanted to know everything.

"Ha, yeah! I'll tell you everything right now, in excruciating detail, Kenny, of course I will..." His voice turned into a mocking one, typical of Cartman. He was about to laugh too, but the men and the woman behind him beat him to it. Either they were laughing conspiratorially, or they were making fun of him. "Tell me about yourself, then. What's become of Kenny McCorm—I mean, Kenny Tucker—all these years? Don't tell me you're poor again!"

A cacophony of laughter erupted, as if this encounter were a comedy film. These men were enjoying Kenny's frozen expression, unsure how to respond. I mean, he used to be an "expert" at receiving the brunette's teasing; it was enough to just insult his appearance or ignore him. Now he didn't know how to respond to this mockery. He hadn't even offended him, yet he couldn't help feeling out of place.

"Relax, Kenny, you know I was just joking." I really want to know why you're here, friend. Tell me, are you alone? —He grabbed Kenny by the shoulders, who was surprised by the immense strength he had with just a small grip. He didn't want to imagine what would happen if he made the brunette angry.

"Eh, no! I'm already on a team with Craig! I was just about to tell you that, we also found Stan and he's on our team! It's like a class reunion! Don't you think?"

Kenny laughed at the thought, never imagining that the reunion he'd been so eagerly anticipating would happen this way, but he didn't notice Cartman's change in mood. He was still processing the information about Kenny's brother, about Stan, and that encounter, especially the latter. He immediately remembered the devilish redhead who still haunted her mind. He thought that perhaps Kenny knew his whereabouts. All this time, he had been searching for Kyle without neglecting his position as leader and attending to the whims of the annoying Heidi. It had become impossible. In the game, he saw him, wanted to approach him, but the fatality of that action spoke with a trigger and a shot that closed all doors to the redhead. Now that Kenny was giving him the key to unlock the door between them, he knew it was only a matter of time before he saw Kyle again.

"Ha, yeah, sure, I get it! A meeting, you say? You've already found Stan and me, I imagine you haven't found the Jew yet, am I right?"

"Actually, I did find him! I wanted to ask him to join our team! But he vanished, again..."

"Bah! So he tricked you! Don't worry, Kenny, that's how all Jews are. In fact, I wanted you to let me know when you find him. Could you? You know, so we can meet up again!"

Kenny felt an inexplicable fear. Promising such a request set all his senses on high alert. Last time, the two of them had gotten into a fight and yelled a few things at each other that still intrigued him. Who could guarantee that Eric wouldn't start fighting with Kyle again as soon as he saw him? No one, so he couldn't promise anything with that fear choking him.

"Oh, you could join our team too!" I know Kyle will join us as soon as we find him...

I was being optimistic, okay? I was fully trusting the bond we'd built in the past, hoping Eric wasn't a bully and was just putting on a mask for the outside world, that his best friend, the teasing but good-hearted one at heart, would still be there.

It wasn't so.

The symphony of taunts returned, louder than before—"Kenny, don't be an idiot! Hahaha! You think you can survive with your team? Hell no! Oh God, that's hilarious!"

He was exhausted; please, someone get him out of here. He felt his eyes welling up.

"Although we can be on the same team—" "What?" "Yeah, what do you say, Kenny? I'm offering you a spot on my team, just you. You'll easily win every game. I know you're an expert at that. We'll find Kyle too, and we'll have that meeting! What do you say?"

The offer convinced him; it was tempting. Ignoring his failed attempt at drama and shrieking, he reconsidered the proposal. Although Cartman's team was the most awful and ridiculous bunch, which hurt his fragile heart, they were strong and muscular men. Eric had already exerted his minimum strength on Kenny when he hugged him; his bulky arms certainly looked threatening.

But...

It meant abandoning his team, and although he was desperate to survive, he knew it wasn't worth it. What would they say? He couldn't do that to them. He was going to refuse and apologize, until the memory of the game sent shivers down his spine. He'd almost died, he'd been on the verge of falling to earth until the forces of the universe helped him survive. He'd barely made it. What if it was going to be the same in the remaining games? He was afraid, he wanted to survive, the trembling in his mouth betrayed his anxiety.

What did he have to do now?

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.

.

The swirling air in his throat was killing him.

A few minutes ago, Leo returned to the team's base, and with no one following him, Craig saw him and almost felt like he was going to die. He felt his legs weaken and his lungs gasp for air, and although he managed to hide it, he knew Stan, who was standing next to him at that moment, had noticed. He resented the attention Stan was giving him.

However, it was all fake news. Leo did return alone, but he explained that the two of them had survived by the last second thanks to a "fun" technique his brother had used, according to the blond boy, and that Kenny had just gone to greet an acquaintance, leaving them with this flimsy explanation. All this information was delivered with Leo's cloying smile.

He felt exposed and humiliated, as if they had mocked him to make him feel this way, a whirlwind of emotions that, though he wouldn't admit it, were shame and regret—feelings he would never openly voice. Even though his body responded in another way, with sighs of relief and his throat deflating, his expression didn't change, and he became alert. Could that acquaintance be Kyle? What would he do if it were him? If Kyle approached, it wouldn't just be his greatest displeasure, but it would also disrupt the group's "peace," starting with Stan. Now he was meek and docile, but if the redhead showed his face, the badly dyed hair would reveal its true colors. The filth they had hidden under the rug, mostly Stan, Craig could clearly see. No matter how hard the blue-eyed boy tried, he didn't realize that the whole house was a mess.

"Craig?"

He was pulled from his thoughts by Stan's call; now they were alone again. Apparently, Leo went to his bed to sit and wait happily for Kenny's return; now the two of them were a little away from him.

"What?"

"Um, I wanted to thank you for letting me choose the shape..." he said somewhat shyly, which caused the dark-haired man to look confused. "What I mean is... I could have chosen the circle, and it was easier to take it out, and... That's it, thanks, Craig..."

Stan fidgeted with his fingers, looking at them as if they were foreign to him, completely absorbed, something that annoyed Craig a little because of how he ignored him without even looking him in the eye as he spoke to him—the least bit of courtesy, one might say. At least that indifferent action made him focus his attention on the man next to him.

The boy with the blue and red beret had changed. Although he never paid much attention to him, mostly because he was the person he disliked most in elementary school for his early nihilism and how emotional he was in every situation, from Kenny's stories and his own experience, Stan used to take things very personally. The slightest insult could break him, and he would break even more because he couldn't accept that he himself had caused the fracture. But now it felt as if those pieces were covered in cobwebs and dusted by time, with no one having bothered to even look at them or fix them. Completely forgotten.

Although his muscles had increased (which is why he was able to save Kenny in the first game), he still maintained his tall, slender build. Despite these physical attributes, his sad expression betrayed the opposite and weakened his image. The dark circles under his eyes contrasted sharply with his pale skin, and everything about him screamed exhaustion. If he started talking about his hair, he'd spend the entire game cursing it; it was imperfect, unkempt, and disgustingly badly dyed. You could only see it up close, as Craig was now. His strands had a yellow tint at the ends, vestiges of what had once been a blond Stan, now obliterated by his natural dark hair. His scalp looked brittle, perhaps the result of the chemicals from the botched dye job damaging his scalp. As I said, a walking, disheveled mess.

"Why do you dye your hair?" Craig blurted out suddenly, interrupting the blue-eyed boy's ordeal of being stared at.

He stopped fidgeting with him fingers to strike a pose that wouldn't betray her obvious nervousness. "Me? Oh, it's just... I don't know. Like it, maybe? I think it looks good, yeah..." he said in a somewhat unconvinced tone, much to Craig's dismay.

"Blonde doesn't suit you. It looks like something you'd see on the streets." He wasn't going to lie to save face; the best way to build trust with someone is to be brutally honest, even if the other person doesn't like it.

He could see the comment hit him hard. He opened his mouth to protest, but immediately regretted it. Perhaps, on reflection, it was progress, definitely, too bad he wasn't interested in it right now. He hoped the badly dyed man would say something else so he could continue whatever he was doing with Stan, but nothing came out.

He positioned himself in front of him, physically gaining control. "I have a question for you. It's something that's been confusing me, you know, and I think it would be appropriate for us to trust each other if we want to win and continue as a team. Do you agree?"

The other man took a step back, surprised by the closeness and the unsettling statement. "Yes, of course, we should trust each other, shouldn't we?"

"Okay, I hope you're not mad, Stan, but can I ask? Why did you give up so quickly when we were looking for the boys? Why did you lie to Kenny afterward, saying you hadn't found any of them?" The accusation made the blue-eyed boy uncomfortable; it had clearly struck a nerve. "I saw you. You didn't even look more than two steps away, and then you came back and lied to my brother, saying you hadn't found Kyle or Cartman. Why?"

That was the moment the whole charade crumbled—the good Samaritan act, the unconditional friend act. Craig dropped, but not entirely, his mask of fake concern, and Stan let his victim disguise fall away, even if only a small part. A silence reigned between them. The accused seemed to be formulating and discarding possible answers, none of which sounded innocent.

"It's because," he finally said. "I didn't want to do it."

So lacking.

"And why didn't you want to do it?" You could have told Kenny you didn't want to look for them and he would have let you— he said, him mouth full of hypocrisy, knowing the decision he had made at that moment.

"Maybe... But Kenny would have asked me why and all that." Craig grimaced, remembering how cloying his brother could be. He was about to respond to Stan's excuse when something more like a murmur, but almost inaudible, escaped his lips. "I still don't understand why he doesn't hate me."

Hate? From Kenny? It was impossible. His brother was a kind idiot to everyone; very rarely, very rarely, did he explode in anger. But with a friend he considered a pillar in his life? One of the friends he cried so many times over their falling out? Kenny hated Stan? It was confusing; simply put, "hate" and "Kenny" didn't belong in the same sentence.

Or perhaps Stan knew something no one else did, some dark side of Kenny.

"Why would he hate you? Because you two broke up? That happened years ago. He should have gotten over whatever nonsense you had between you two." —pure lies came out of his tongue— Something so banal should already be overcome.

Once again, silence settled over the atmosphere they had created, ignoring the outside world. Stan lowered his gaze, still lost in thought, worried sighs escaping his lips. Craig had touched on a very sensitive subject for him, though he hadn't realized it, and his eyes moistened at the thought. Something so trivial should be moved past. Craig was referring to his brother, but those words weighed heavily on him. So many years had passed, each of them had gone their separate ways and left—left him—in South Park, so why continue to lament? Why did he feel cursed every time he walked down those streets? Why did he have to be the bad guy? He just wanted an explanation, not for things to unfold the way they had; now it was too late. He still wanted an explanation, from him more than anything, so that perhaps he could move on.

But when he saw Kyle after so many years, he simply couldn't. It wasn't shame; it was something else, perhaps resentment, anything. He didn't feel ready. He remembered what he'd felt so long ago, the reason for the fight that had torn them apart.

He wanted forgiveness.

...

"I don't want to see Kyle."

Stan's words came out like a bullet, so sharply determined that they even frightened Craig. Without letting Craig see his terrified face, he lifted his head and, with a change in his demeanor, asked, "So that's it. You don't want to see Kyle... I understand."

"What?" Craig replied, returning to his usual tone, much to Craig's relief.

“Listen, Stan, whatever happened between you two is none of my business, but you must have had your reasons, and it’s understandable. You’re not the type to start fights; you’re a reliable guy. If you had to react like that, it’s because Kyle had something to do with it, and you couldn’t stand it. Am I wrong?” he spoke from a place of ignorance, and his fake tone convinced the man in front of him.

“If you think Kyle was wrong, then accept that. I know Kyle too, and no, don’t go looking for him. If he really wants to fix things, he’ll come and apologize. If not, then forget about him.”

Once again, Stan’s eyes shone like they had that time in the store when Craig had saved him in different ways. He felt seen and validated, a guide who gave him peace, a wisdom that even his pathetic decisions seemed to offer.

"Trust me, Stan," he said, "I'm telling you this as a friend."

And the world regained its color, the color that had been stolen from him when his trust was shattered by immature, pre-adolescent insults. After a long time, he finally had a friend.

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Of course it was a Dalgona. How hadn't he thought of that before?

Kyle was walking down the hallway behind the bunk beds, hiding from Eric, who unfortunately was still alive after the second game. It wasn't that he'd been keeping an eye on him in the park; he'd been too focused on his own cookie and surviving. But Eric's boisterous presence in the dorm room had made him wince at the mere sight of him, and he'd crawled out of his hiding place under his bed to avoid being seen. And it wasn't just him. Heidi, who was clinging to his arm like a koala as they walked back, confirmed his suspicions. The girl was taking advantage of Cartman's weakness, feeding her ego. He was going to admit it; it was a clever move. But knowing how fickle the gang member's patience was, he knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

Avoiding straining him mind by thinking about what might happen when Eric's patience ran out and Heidi tore more than was allowed in her attempt to save herself, he decided to focus all him attention on the drawings painted on the walls.

The height of the bunk beds obscured the brick wall behind them; the wall would have been completely white like the ones above if it weren't for the dark, abstract drawings decorating the three walls around the room. He noticed them after turning the second corner of the room. At first, he thought it was some kind of pattern, but then it became harder to read as he continued him exploration. Immediately, as he passed the two corners, him mind traced a sequence, an unconventional pattern.

He turned around to retrace his steps and confirm his suspicions. The view from the ground was tricky considering the scale of the drawings; the perspective was simply working against him. He thought it would be easier to make the journey along the bunk beds themselves, but that was risky. He was hiding from the gang, another group that wasn't ready to engage, and the rest of the players. Although there weren't many people in the narrow alleyways—just a couple talking, probably to form a team or, conversely, threatening each other—he still risked retracing those paths repeatedly to confirm his theory. There was bound to be some paranoid lunatic who would accuse him of spying. He had his knife to defend himself if necessary.

Each step was counted silently, each meter from one drawing to the next. After a turn, he realized that the distance between drawings was exact. Taking that into account, there were eight drawings distributed across each wall. Within these areas of drawings, there was a situation, if one could call it that. When he reached the last wall with a drawing, already turning onto a diagonal wall, he stopped.

He looked up and carefully examined the first drawing that rose up on the imposing wall in front of him. The strokes were imperfect and irregular; the lines of what appeared to be a stick figure were jagged, and if he tried to describe the heads, it would be difficult to piece together the clues. The supposed heads weren't just a simple dot, which is what these kinds of figures usually represent. No, this was... specific?

The first drawing seemed to depict a plain; there was a ground and violent scribbles embedded in what I thought was meant to be grass. Above it was a tree, or what I assumed was a tree. Its leaves looked like a poorly drawn explosion, and the trunk was made up of aggressive vertical scratches, as if a child had drawn it—a very angry child. Below the tree was a "doll" staring at the trunk with its eyes covered, very difficult to understand because of the senselessness of the drawings. Behind the doll, a few meters back, were three other dolls, unique in their design, standing in a line with a cautious air, approaching the doll in the tree. Their designs were incomprehensible. The first one in line had something on its head that made it difficult to discern where its head began and what was on top of it. Let's just say the scribbles and the single black color of the drawing didn't help. The second one was larger than the others, although it could easily be just another accessory and you wouldn't notice because of the scratches around it. Finally, there was the last doll. Its design was clearer; the scribbles remained, but it was understandable. Its clothes were designed to look like squares around the sticks of its body, while its face was a simple two dots and a curved line, simulating a happy face, laughing with a playful expression.

The contrast between the sparse design of the other dolls and the detailed last doll was immense, yet he didn't focus on that now. Instead, he considered what the eight drawings represented. Looking closely at the first drawing and the scene it depicted, he instantly understood its meaning.

Green light and red light.

Eight drawings, eight games.

Ignoring his caution, he rushed to the second drawing to confirm his theory. The drawing shared the same pattern of irregular lines, scribbles, and the characteristic of being drawn by a child, but the scene was different: four dolls, each with a Dalgona figure, one standing out more than the others...

Kyle breathed a sigh of relief at his discovery. If he had noticed the walls earlier, he wouldn't have had to go on the expedition through the fans. Although, without that, he wouldn't have known about the sequence of numbers whose meaning he still couldn't decipher. But now, he had this advantage on the walls; without realizing it, he smiled contentedly at his effort.

He walked to the other wall, concealing his true enthusiasm from the others. The third image rose before him, but the drawing discouraged him. The scribble conveyed so disappointingly that he didn't pay much attention to it, concluding that it depicted a fight between the figures, or so he deduced from the explosion of violent lines intertwined with each other.

The fourth drawing did leave him with doubts; this one was more difficult to decipher. It seemed that with each step he took, the drawings became more aggressive and confusing. In this one, there was a tiny but considerable slope in the ground, simulating a small mountain. At the top lay a tree and two figures, while at the bottom were the remaining figures holding what appeared to be a bucket. Behind them was an indecipherable structure; it had an arch, but the rest was just a scribbled mess.

He stared at the drawing, frustrated that he wasn't even close to a conclusion. He didn't know which game it was referencing, and that was a real headache. He tried to remember and rummage through the door he kept closed as a precaution, but he found nothing. A mountain, a bucket, and a strange structure meant nothing to him. The green-eyed boy stood there for a while, his gaze fixed and his hand on his chin. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't connect the dots and couldn't help but hiss in frustration. It was like having a voice in a world without ears—that useless.

However, just as he was about to move on to the next drawing, he was interrupted by a scream.

"Agh!"

Kyle searched for the source of the sound, carefully watching to ensure no one was paying attention to his search, listening intently to every whisper. Instinctively, he glanced up at the bunk beds and met a pair of curious emerald eyes. The moment they met, the boy hid miserably, his blond hair making him stand out. Realizing this, Kyle turned to face him again.

"Aagh! I-I'm sorry, I wasn't looking! You just walked right in front of me and stood there for ages, and... Agh! S-sorry!" the boy with the unruly hair shouted, trying to hide his obvious nervousness as anxious tics gripped him.

Kyle watched as the guy frantically moved his hands while trying to hide in the comfort of his bed. He didn't say a word or move an inch. Perhaps his immobility and lack of reaction were making the blond boy, who was still trying to justify himself, even more anxious.

"I-I swear I wasn't spying on you! I-I was just looking at the drawings and you appeared—" Ugh!

A mental click clicked. He finally abandoned his indifferent demeanor to show some interest in the words of the man on the verge of exploding with stress. With wide eyes and his mouth hanging open, he spoke.

"Do you know what they mean?" he asked in a serious and eager tone, hoping the walking disaster would understand what he meant.

It was a jolt of reality for the blond man. After interrupting his endless monologue of desperate apologies, he calmed down at the question, even if only a little. "T-the drawings? Oh, that's what they are, right? I-I've been looking at them since we got here, I think... They're the games, although I couldn't say for sure, I mean, they're really complicated!" The blond man was slowly returning to his nervous state, probably due to new possibilities forming in his mind.

He snorted, knowing he wouldn't be the only one to solve the riddle. However, he had to be prepared for this fourth puzzle. He refocused on deciphering it, ignoring the expectant blond man two beds above him, probably having another meltdown from the incessant murmuring he could barely hear.

They continued in this strange atmosphere. Kyle strained his ears, so all the blond man's nervous musings were audible. He was about to explode at the interruption when he heard a possible game among the blond man's whispers.

"It could be Jack and Jill."

He turned quickly. "What did you say?"

"Ugh! Sorry, I didn't realize—"

"It doesn't matter. You said something, a game."

"A-ah, yeah, I said maybe, could it be Jack and Jill? I don't know..."

He turned his gaze back to the wall: a steep hill, two couples, the bucket, the strange arched structure. Everything fell into place; the gears started turning, and new possibilities began to form in his mind. Of course, it was this game. The euphoric sensation began to rise in his throat, causing an uncontrollable curve to form around his lips. Kyle smiled contentedly, his eyes fixed on the wall, the one responsible for another day of life.

Tweek continued watching the redhead below from his vantage point. Just a few minutes ago, he'd been anxious because the guy had been circling the hallways a few times, firmly believing he was a thug. It turned out his fears were unfounded, at least, that's what he thought now, seeing the boy smile hopefully. Maybe he was like him, he surmised. Perhaps he was just looking for clues in the drawings on the wall, like him, and maybe he wasn't as intimidating as he'd thought. Just seeing the peaceful expression on his face, he could deduce that.

Although there was also the possibility of being wrong and helping his future executioner, because what if he was a murderer, or a thug, or just because—

"Ugh, what's your name?" Tweek blurted out, trying to quiet his insecure mind. When he realized what he'd said, the tangle of bad thoughts attacked his head again.

The green-eyed boy took a while to turn around. His gentle expression vanished, replaced by a harsh one, the kind that always waits to strike. Tweek was about to retort and apologize for his arrogance, but firm words interrupted them.

"Why?"

"I-I just wanted to know! I mean, you must be alone and without a team! A-although there's nothing wrong with that! God, if you don't want to tell me, fine! But if—"

"Kyle."

"Huh?"

"W-what did you say?" he asked, a hint of longing in his voice.

"My name is Kyle."

Green met green. The two men stared at each other, perhaps for different reasons, neither intimidated by the staring. One reason was that they needed trust between them. The wall behind the redhead demonstrated this, the duality that would be at play in the next game, and for that, they needed trust—to build it and solidify it.

That was the logistical reason, but we couldn't know for sure the emotional need. Perhaps they didn't notice, they forgot it amidst the shared words, but we all deserve someone we can trust.

The certainty of jumping and being caught.

He only hoped he wouldn't be misled and fall into the abyssal ravine where we all will one day find ourselves.

Where each of them had been and now emerged, shielded by protective masks, from the filth of the outside world.

With the most painstaking lesson: Trust is earned with sweat and blood.

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Chapter Text

"No."

The brunette's expression hardened. "What, Kenny, are you turning down my offer?"

Maybe he'd regret his words, maybe he was making another stupid decision as usual, but something in the atmosphere, in the group's actions and in Cartman's own, made refusing to be part of that team seem like a minor decision. Just the uncomfortable feeling of his tense muscles already gave him a bad feeling.

He sighed and returned to his usual tone. "Well, I'm already on a team with the guys and... You know, I don't want them to get mad and stuff..." Their eyes were fixed on him, the memory of the first vote came back to him, and that annoying pressure settled in his throat again. "Come on, man, I don't want Craig to yell at me!... W-we're good, right?"

Using his brother as an excuse was the usual tactic because most of them, including Eric, knew Craig's unique personality was quite bitter, but now he saw no other reason to escape the murderous glares the group was giving him and surrounding him; what had once been a feast of laughter was now a suffocating interrogation where not a word was spoken, but the feeling that he was doing something very wrong was still there. Kenny was refusing a friend's request, that's how he saw it, but now it seemed he had refused to cooperate with an extremely dangerous gang that threatened to kill him with a single look.

It was all in his head! Yes! That's it. Just a few minutes ago he was in a life-or-death situation and practically on top of the world, so his brain was still reeling from that, of course. Now he was just talking to his best friend, and that was it. Maybe he'd give him a little jab about his financial situation or his body type, like he usually did, and not plotting how to get rid of him for refusing to join in, of course... Of course, that had to be Kenny! What the hell are you imagining?

If he were to make an absurd comparison, as is his specialty, he would say that he was a rabbit, his favorite animal, surrounded by wolves hungry for violence and not for appetite; Kenny took a minimal step back, the fear of the unknown attitude of these new people terrified him and that regret finally emerged, and yes, the blond was learning the hard way to judge a person by the past, ignoring the years in between their non-communication, believing hopefully that the chubby friend with his malice that did not go beyond cruel taunts had not changed and was still there in front of him.

Unfortunately, not all his wishes could be granted, and no matter how much nostalgia poisoned him to the very core of his being, he couldn't ask for people to stay the way he knew them; that would be selfish. But Kenny hoped that, at least deep down, it would be so. He wished it.

To his growing anxiety, Eric moved violently closer to the blond man, who was nearly breathless from the onslaught of nerves. He couldn't tell what kind of expression he was wearing, whether it was anxious or a "cheerful" mask to hide the surge of emotions; either way, he felt sweat trickling down his forehead. When had his body reacted to the danger before his mind?

He felt small, his shoulders bulging, even worse, when suddenly a strong squeeze on both shoulders startled him to the point of almost screaming. He couldn't tell if Cartman was using his strength unconsciously or if that violent grip was actually intentional.

"Hahaha! Don't worry, Kenny, we're not going to force you! It was just a request, nothing more, relax! You look like you almost peed yourself!" The older boy's laughter changed the gloomy atmosphere to a more festive one, contrasting sharply with the violet-eyed boy who felt like he was going to die at any moment.

"Ha, yeah... S-so, we're good! R-right?" he managed, enduring the sharp pain that the brunette's hands were exerting on his shoulder; that was sure to leave bruises.

"Of course, Kenny! Don't get the wrong idea, man. I was just messing around, and you acted like a wimp." The squeeze was replaced by a light tap that felt like a sack of cement, making Kenny stumble back. He could do nothing but laugh awkwardly along with Cartman's annoying laughter. "...But, I hope you remember our agreement, you know, a favor between friends..."

His Achilles' heel, the key word, the one that made him look even more of a fool when certain people repeated it. "What?"

"Kenny! Don't play dumb, you idiot!" he dragged, hiding his annoyance. A sickening memory churned in his gut, making him lose his mind. That feeling had a face, a name, and a devilish hair color. "You said you'd let me know when you found Kyle, you promised, Kenny..."

Do this favor for your best friend.

A guilty fear coursed through his veins, as if his petty whim to reconnect with his old best friend had somehow doomed another friend; only now these weren't harmless fights or accusations like in his childhood, no, now this "favor" seemed tainted and dangerously sadistic, a simmering fury and the rage of a predator.

But... It was a favor to a friend, one he cared for deeply, and he would do anything, anything at all, to be together again like before, all four of them. To be the family they were and finish the story they hadn't completed.

—... O-okay.

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.

.

He still found it difficult to do this; the simple act of sitting and talking without any knowledge of what would happen next or the uncertainty of how to continue without seeming like a social misfit was very complicated; for Kyle, the simple task of conversing with someone without having to be attentive to any movement in order to then defend himself and attack, was difficult, especially considering all the years he had to be constantly alert because of the type of work he had.

However, things had to be different now. If he wanted this kid named "Tweek" to trust him, he had to be as pleasant as humanly possible—no threats, no excuses, just nice. But lying and deceiving had never been his strong suits, which was why talking to him wasn't "nice." If he had something to say, he'd blurt it out, no matter how harsh or cruel it was. That was the plain truth.

An eager silence fell; he sensed the blond boy was anxious for him to start the conversation. After their tentative introductions, he decided he needed at least someone he could trust, even if only out of obligation, if he wanted to survive these games. If the boy's assumptions were correct, then the next game would be "Jack and Jill," and from what he knew and the drawings, he knew that game was played by two people. Although it still seemed strange to him that it was considered a game, he didn't have time to investigate it, so he decided to put his faith in Tweek and try to form an alliance.

For greater comfort, he suggested speaking even closer, not so much out of caution, but close enough to feel safe. Since Tweek was on the second-to-last bunk, Kyle decided to climb the steps, still risking being seen, but hoping the deal would hold. However, he couldn't climb any higher, not for any physical reason, but because it was strange. Tweek was now sitting on the top step, waiting for him to do something, a quiet curiosity. Kyle wasn't scared; he never showed it, and even less so if it was just a guy he was only going to use for his own benefit. So, if this cold exchange was the norm, then why was he so overwhelmed? Perhaps it was from years of not getting to know someone new, someone he could get to know, someone he could trust. Having to feign interest also weighed on him; having to share a part of his life to solidify the relationship worried him. As he said, he never admitted when he felt afraid, and this was no exception.

The silence and the fixed stares created an uncomfortable atmosphere. Kyle was about to give up, but necessity overwhelmed his emotions, and, as usual, he decided to shut them down and act on autopilot. He sat on the third-to-last step, avoiding the blond man's gaze. Perhaps this position would interfere with their supposedly normal and "pleasant" conversation; but the proximity, not just physical, unsettled him, and he prioritized his own comfort. If the blond man above him didn't accept him, then he would fail his first test of confidentiality.

However, he was surprised when the blond man accepted him and began to speak without questioning his unusual initiative.

"S-so, w-what did you want to talk about?" Tweek stammered, his voice thick with his characteristic stutter.

Still staring down the hallway, he answered without speaking. "You figured out what the third game would be really fast, which means you know about some of the games, right?"

"Ugh! I mean, yes! I do, but I don't understand. What are you getting at?" His voice trembled, anxious about the vicious cycle Kyle had inadvertently started.

With great difficulty and annoyance at not getting straight to the point, he continued, softening his monologue. "What I'm saying is, I..." A tortuous pause followed; this was getting more complicated than it needed to be. "...I got confused trying to... decipher them."

He was grateful that Tweek couldn't see his frustrated face, ashamed of his inability to express his true feelings, all for a little bit of stupid trust. Everyone says that to gain it, you have to tear down your own walls and let the stranger into your kingdom and get to know you. For Kyle, that was violent, humiliating, and disgusting. He didn't want a friend; he wanted loyalty for convenience, but that was impossible because everyone wants something in return. Who could guarantee that he wouldn't be betrayed? He needed this guy to trust him to be sure of that. It would have been easy for him to directly explain the terms of their cold alliance—not friendship, just loyalty between them for survival—but he couldn't risk the guy betraying him in the middle of a game simply because there was no trust involved.

Even if obtaining that relic meant emotionally stripping himself bare, much to his displeasure. Kyle sighed resignedly; he'd done this many times before, and for a deadly test like this, he wouldn't be able to escape it. He needed to humiliate himself again.

He just had to shut down and wait for the storm to pass.

The redhead was about to open his mouth, lie with the truth, and utter some plastic but true words—a humiliation of his own space for a benefit. Until a voice, once nervous, sounded firm and hoarse.

"Kyle, there's no need to lie. I know you're here to forge an alliance, and I agree with that, but please, don't try to avoid the issue or sugarcoat it."

The blunt words surprised him, not enough to change his expression. Most people don't accept harsh reality; in fact, they detest it. They hate when we point out their mistakes and prefer that hatred remain silent rather than reveal the reason for that resentment. They become enraged when someone claims they're being used, even though they already knew they were being used. The fact that someone tells them so and acknowledges it only makes them burn with fury.

Kyle knows this psychology very well; he's been with these kinds of people for years.

So, the idea that someone would prefer harsh reality to a loving facade was hard for him to believe.

"What am I avoiding, according to you?"

"That... You want to team up with me for future games, maybe? And you don't want me to betray you?"

"That's the obvious."

"Ah, then, just say it. I won't mind if you're direct, I just don't like it when people avoid the topic and lie to me." Him voice was distant despite their proximity; those words were no longer directed solely at him. "U-ugh! I mean, no pressure! Don't say anything you don't mean! Y-yes, you do! I'll listen and then tell you what I think, okay..."

Kyle finally turned to look at him with a skeptical, somewhat distrustful expression. He wanted to see some false sign on Tweek's face. No one could be that kind without wanting something in return; he himself had been proof of that moments before. But all he found was a relieved face with an embarrassed smile and closed eyes, as if he had managed to shatter that false atmosphere.

And Kyle was grateful. He didn't show it, but he was relieved not to have to violate Tweek's personal space, to open up when he wasn't yet ready for a stranger; and clearly, for having permission to express himself freely with his icy, yet functional, plan.

"Most of the upcoming games are for duos or more people. I didn't pay much attention to them, so I don't know what the next ones will be, but I can tell you that you'll need at least one partner to survive, just like me." Kyle couldn't see him, but Tweek was listening intently. "If it weren't for that, I wouldn't look for someone to team up with. I work better on my own. But the upcoming games definitely require it. You saw how serious the challenges are; people already have teams and they blindly trust the leader. They don't question anything, even if they're strangers. They're guided by emotion..." He couldn't help but remember when he was spying on Craig in Dalgona. He guessed that the dark-haired boy figured out what the game was, because of how he sent Kenny to ask him and how he sent the others to each shape. How he didn't stop his own brother from going to the most difficult shape without even warning him, blindly trusting his brother Craig.

"The reason I'm here now is because I want to propose an alliance, one where we don't betray each other and we work together to get out of here with the money. I don't care if we're friends or not; see it as a business proposition. I win, you win. I won't betray you, and neither will you. It's that simple. I only ask for your loyalty."

That was the absolute truth, the whole truth, unfiltered and clear. He was relieved to have made the terms of their alliance clear and only hoped the blond would accept them. A silence enveloped the scene. Not everyone is ready for such bluntness, but Tweek, Tweek appreciated that he had been clear and concise with his requests.

"Why did you choose me?" he blurted out.

Again, he spoke the absolute truth and turned to look at him, giving his words more weight. "Because you figured out what the next game would be. It would help me a lot in helping you decipher the following ones."

Brutal, demanding. True.

Once again, green and emerald met, just glances, no touches, no words. They spoke with the raw, pure truth, and that—that calmed anyone, even the most volatile mind and the heaviest heart. For them, it was an eternity. There was silence and calm, thanks to the respect for the comfortable distance they had sworn to maintain. An understanding that needed neither words nor handshakes; the alliance was already sealed.

"Thanks for telling me the truth, Kyle," Tweek said, offering him a genuine smile.

However, Kyle couldn't do the same. He didn't smile sincerely at strangers, only at the one family member he had left, and he wasn't there. He was grateful, though, that Tweek didn't force him to do the same.

"You're welcome."

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The bad taste still lingered in his mouth, and how awful it was. Kenny was back at the Army Team's meeting point, as they'd dubbed themselves; and he could barely manage a smile for his group. He was preoccupied with the encounter with Cartman, since he didn't think he'd be intimidated by his former best friend. He'd be lying if he said it didn't cause him emotional turmoil.

He wanted to have his long-awaited reunion with his whole family, but imagining it with Eric's new personality and his awkward need to be with Kyle... well, let's just say it wasn't very appealing, and he was disappointed by the dreadful imagined reunion.

His mind was a jumble of thoughts and insecurities, and to his misfortune, he could already see his friends waiting for him in the stands. He tried his best to fake a carefree smile and greet them with his characteristic cheerfulness.

"Guys! Guys!" he exclaimed, waving his arm enthusiastically to greet the group. "I'm back! What happened? Why the long faces? You must have missed me, right?"

The first to react, predictably, was Butters, who, upon seeing him arrive, stood up and jumped to hug him like an excited puppy. Kenny couldn't help but feel happy too; he'd said it before, but since he adored hugs filled with affection and memories, it meant so much to him. And finding someone who enjoyed such affection as he did... God, he'd be a complete idiot if he let Butters go for any reason. He was earning his genuine affection, to tell the truth.

"Kenny," Craig's voice sounded like a sigh. He was probably worried (that's what he wanted to believe) as he trotted over until he was face to face with the violet-eyed boy, behind him Stan, who maintained his rigid expression.

Reading Craig was always a complicated task. Ever since they met, he'd been their great mystery to solve. The guy could wear the most neutral expression imaginable and you'd think he was actually happy; however, right now, standing in front of him, he couldn't even decipher the mask. His eyebrows were subtly tense, as were the corners of his eyes, which betrayed a worried expression. Was he worried, or was something heavier on his mind?

"Hey... I'm alive! Yay!" he could have said with a joke, something like, "You're not getting rid of me yet! You'll have to keep putting up with me, Criki!" But it felt out of place. Maybe it would help break the ice that was forming between them, but it didn't feel right.

He raised his arms to the other man's chest, his hand clenched into a fist, a sign that it was just another victory, as he always did to show that everything was alright now. That's what he wanted to show, but the trembling of his wrist betrayed his turmoil. The memory of the silent massacre in the park of lies, and how close he'd come to death, that reminder of his greatest fear, tingled in his brain, turning it to jelly, trembling and fearful. He tried to act normal, but damn it, this acidity in his body wasn't going to be easy to shake off without a good old-fashioned fist, one of them made of stone.

The dark-haired man ignored the gesture, but the trembling didn't go unnoticed. He quickly reverted to his usual coldness, the strict employee of one of the most important companies in the world. "It's good to have you back."

Everything was back to normal. He could, he should, go back to being himself, right? —Oh, don't worry! After all, we didn't know what game it was going to be. We bet and we lost. What does it matter!

His shameless attitude seemed to lift the group's spirits, seeing as Stan apparently stopped hiding and Butters was simply calm as usual. However, his fixed gaze on the blond boy seemed to suspect what Kenny was trying so hard to conceal. The trembling in his fingers and his clumsy speech revealed it: fear.

“I should have figured it out much sooner, then we wouldn’t have split up and it would have been easier for everyone,” Craig concluded, almost dragging his voice, taking advantage of the team’s impromptu reunion.

“Bah! Don’t play the modest one, Criki, in the end we all survived! Although, yes, my great friend Butters and I almost broke a leg, like I said, we survived and we’re here now!” Instinctively, he leaned on Butters, gesturing wildly with his hands as he explained the minor details of the previous game. His movements were erratic and clumsy; there were a couple of times when he almost hit his brother, who was already getting irritated, or nearly gave Stan a heart attack when he suddenly leaned in to act out what it felt like to see bodies fall after being shot, all punctuated by eager self-deprecating laughter.

He performed his comedic/fatalistic act for the three men. Two of them were amazed by the sheer energy he possessed, moving as fast as a hummingbird despite being extremely stressed, while the third man was already accustomed to these tedious bursts of energy the blond man displayed whenever he was stressed.

He continued recounting his experience until he recalled the memory that had flooded his mind due to his extreme stress, the time when he thought he was going to die. It was a memory of those days when everything was easier and rosier, when they were children in a mountain village, playing every day without a care in the world.

Kenny slowed down as memories flooded his mind: the laughter, the lighthearted teasing, the fun, the sheer quality of those moments; when his friends were close-knit and like family, where hugs and joy reigned without ever becoming tiresome. Promises from the past fluttered through his thoughts, and the stark contrast with the present made his throat ache.

Perhaps they could never return to those times...

One of his best friends was no longer the same. With the scant information he'd gathered, the reunion he so desperately longed for seemed uncertain.

Simply put, nothing was the same. It wasn't like it used to be.

It never would be again.

Maybe he should abandon that silly dream and not dwell on this, which is a trivial problem compared to the games. He should listen to his common sense and focus on something else. Maybe surviving, Kenny—I don't know, that sounds interesting, thanks. But he was stupid and eager, so his restless mind decided not to be an ordinary human, but someone who would chase after ashes that didn't want to be found.

"Guys!" the group reacted with alarm. "Earlier, on the stairs, Craig and I ran into Kyle. He practically helped us crack the game! We have to find him and get him on the team. Let's split up again and bring him back!"

He was convinced, even happy. Kyle didn't seem to have changed that much over the years. He'd always been this serious when he didn't trust someone, so it was a bit of a relief, unlike with Eric. He wanted to be with his friend again and, at least, have a reunion with his two friends.

It was a good idea! Stan would be happy to see his best friend again! It would be nice to have a reunion hug with his friends again. He hoped it would be like that.

Besides, he had to do it before Cartman did...

"Kenny, I don't think—"

"That's a great idea!" the blue-eyed boy suddenly squealed, ignoring Craig's unnoticed fury. "It would be good to have more people on the team to survive longer!"

He grinned, threw his arms around Craig's shoulders, and pointed at him in a brotherly gesture. "See, Craig, Butters gets me! The more the merrier!"

A few knowing laughs fluttered between the two blond boys. "I think we should go in pairs! For extra safety! What do you think, Kenny?"

"Hey, that's not a bad idea! You're a genius, Butters. I think you'll give my little brother some competition~ Hahaha!"

As usual, the purple-eyed boy earned a light punch on the shoulder from his brother, which provoked more laughter and lifted the mood of "Team Army."

Everyone ignoring the elephant in the room.

"Okay! I think we're ready. I'll go with Butters. Ah, I think we'll look... on the left! Yes, that whole area while you guys check the right side"—he gestured to each part of the room, decorated with people passing by and static bunk beds—"If we find him, then we'll come right back to this spot! Got it?"

The two dark-haired boys nodded, neither excited, simply there, following orders without question, even though neither was happy about the search for the "precious" redhead.

"Alright! See you soon!" Kenny turned in the opposite direction, followed by Butters. He was about to follow the path he'd mapped out for the search, starting in the small hallways and checking each bunk. He knew exactly what he wanted. With the other blond's help, finding Kyle would be easy, he was sure of it. However, he hadn't even taken a step when a loose grip wrapped around his arm. As soon as he turned around, startled, the grip dissolved and returned to its owner. Stan was behind him, his mouth itching to talk to Kenny.

Perhaps because he'd grown accustomed to that burning sensation over the years, a sensation that slowly but surely scalded his tongue.

"Huh? Stan, what's wrong?"

A wintry silence, just like the one from years ago, the day Stan Marsh was forgotten and the burning pain consumed him from within.

A silence only the two of them knew, but it seemed one had already forgotten what, for the other, was a daily nightmare.

"Um, don't worry! You'll be safe with Craig! Besides, it seems you two became really good friends. That's so cool, Stan!"

He'd grown accustomed to this burning pain, to not being able to speak it out and let it go, to the poison flooding his brain. He didn't want to be the bad guy.

Why...

"Relax! We'll find Kyle and we'll be a whole group again!"

Because sometimes it's better to die burned alive than to talk.

"That's it, that's what I expected..." He didn't say anything more, gave a light pat on his shoulder, and returned to his new friend, who was watching the scene with disinterest.

Both pairs were walking away from each other, one more so than the other, but the reality was different. They were all engaged in an internal struggle, hidden behind layers of fabric and insecurities. Anxious, fearful, regretful, and, something more disappointing than the fury of being choked by words, Stan wanted to talk, not ignore what had been happening with them, his old group, and make Kenny understand that they weren't the same anymore and that being the same as before, a reality where they were friends again, was a distant prospect.

I wanted to talk about the elephant in the room, the one Kenny had been ignoring, his gaze escaping through a window, distracted, while Stan stared in terror at the sheer scale of it all, unable to believe anything, just like Kenny. Looking at it was terrifying, and it haunted him every night. Now I wanted Kenny to turn around and face the reality he'd been ignoring.

The reality where he lived.

.

.

.

Time flew by. Unfair, as always.

Kenny was defeated; he and Leo had spent their time searching high and low, on the bunks, and to top it all off, interrupting everyone who was resting in their own bunk. They earned themselves a few insults—he had to admit some were funnier than others—but he couldn't just laugh or pretend everything was fine. Something about him just wasn't quite right.

His clumsy gait, which had already caused him to fall a couple of times, requiring Butters to help him up, the funny stutter he made when he asked a player if they'd seen anyone with red hair, and above all, the incessant sweat pouring from his forehead and pooling in his palms. A walking disaster.

He tried to be a normal human being, but his mind decided to fail him as usual. He didn't know what he looked like, but judging by the reactions of the people he interviewed, he probably looked like the crazy guy on the corner everyone judges, but they certainly enjoyed being with him over a couple of cold beers.

Isn't it curious that he knows what it's like to be a crazy guy on the corner?

Don't judge him, though. His brain is fried and his whole body is exhausted. His ribs are monstrously strained while the rumbling of his stomach announces his ravenous hunger. Plus, the overstimulation of everything that happened in just a few hours... yeah, you definitely can't expect much from the man.

"That's it, I give up!" Kenny shouted, his hands behind his head in exasperation. Fortunately, or perhaps not, they were back at the meeting point, and Butters' bed was right there, almost calling to him, or so he thought, because his legs were giving out. Without asking permission, he collapsed face down under the single sheet.

"Relax, I'm sure the guys found him. Let's not get discouraged!" Leo said cheerfully, sitting on the step by the bed, not a hint of anger at someone else taking his place.

"I'm a disaster, Butters, I'm useless. I might as well stay here forever and curl up in a ball..." The blond boy's words were muffled as he spoke with his face buried in a pillow, trying to appear dramatic, though a hint of cheerfulness still lingered in his voice. Those words concealed a true, and worrying, confession.

"...Curly up? I don't understand... And, no, it's not true! You're very important to the team, Kenny! Y-you're our leader! Without you, we'd be lost..."

He lifted his face to face his friend, his expression as pathetic as a whining puppy's. "I'm not even good enough to be a leader, waah! You'd better choose Craig and use me as bait for the next game, let's see if I'm any good for that..." The tone, somewhere between amused and sad, confused anyone with the blond boy's true feelings.

But Butters knew how to read him, and thanks to that, he was able to prevent him from sinking into his own sea of ​​despair.

"Mmmh, I think you did well. You brought us together as a team and helped us discover the second game!" His voice sounded very cheerful, contrasting sharply with the other guy's. "Besides, you let me join the group. I'm very grateful for that, and above all, you listened to me! And you let me be your friend! That, that means a lot to me..."

His words were as sweet as honey on bread rolls. "Heh, at least I was a good friend to you... Ugh! Why am I so stupid?! I didn't even fall that many times as a kid! Or is it from the bumps and bruises? Ugh!" He crashed back onto the pillow.

"Oh... Is it because of what happened with your friend from 101 that you're acting like this? Or at least I think so. You must have flown after him for a reason, huh? Sorry for being so nosy..."

"Yeah... And don't worry, Butters, I think I need to get all this crap out of my head or I won't be 'the cool guy' in the group anymore. I'm not going to let Craig beat me, damn it!" He clenched his fist, still amused but hiding his face. "It's just that I'm scared..."

"Scared?"

"It's just that I always thought this would heal my wound, you know? I wouldn't have to think about what it would have been like if only we had been together..."

"You mean your friends?"

"Yeah! Exactly, I mean, damn it, I don't know!" He finally lifted his face, revealing a glimpse of the internal struggle. "I wanted this!" I mean, not these games exactly, but I did want to, how to put it, recapture that feeling we had as kids? With them? Well, I don't know...

"I just wanted to talk to them again, find them, finish our story, and feel like I did before, before everything went wrong, so wrong, Butters... I-I just want to feel really happy again, like when I was playing with them in the park in our town."

Without warning, tears streamed unashamedly from Kenny's teary eyes.

"I know it's selfish, I mean, everyone seems to have moved on with their lives and doesn't see this reunion the way I do... Am I the fool who can't accept that we're not the kids we used to be?

Am I stupid for clinging to a past that's gone?"

"Kenny, no..."

A sob interrupted them. "B-but when I saw the park... God, I couldn't accept it, Butters, I couldn't. I felt so disgusted. It was so horrible to see that park covered in blood, those people, they... they died, their blood stained the whole park..."

The swings, benches, slides, the tree—everything; every corner of the artificial playground reminded him of South Park, his favorite place as a child, a guardian of a thousand memories with his beloved family and friends, a witness to laughter as well as cruel separations. This playground was so similar to the one with these cursed games. And it was impossible not to think about the past.

To compare it, to sabotage it. As if a parasite had entered without consent and rotted every memory. The playground was the victim. Kenny tried, he fought, he breathed heavily, and he tried to focus on the fabric of the pillow in front of him. Would he be able to dissociate? Was it so bad that they even had to shut down his senses? He was desperate; at one point, he stopped talking and hyperventilated.

He was in the park, playing Dalgona with the boys, all happy and excited for a new game, playfully teasing each other. Everything was beautiful; he was laughing, and they were all cheering. Nothing could interrupt this moment, a memory that calmed him on the darkest nights. Suddenly, the storm arrived. Kenny alarmed him because his cookie was crumbling like cardboard. He tried to protect it, to keep it from changing. But he couldn't, and when he looked up...

It was a massacre.

His friends were gone. Now he saw the bodies of the uniformed players bleeding profusely, begging for mercy for having chosen the worst shape. Forgiveness, screams, and the unbearable wailing of children crying.

Crying because their cookie broke.

He clutched his head with both hands, hating his brain for conjuring up that mental scene. He hated it even more because he couldn't clear the memory without the grotesque images of the bodies flooding back. Like a parasite, infecting everything in its path.

He was about to explode. The air was thin, his mind raced, and the bells rang even louder, deafening him. He was afraid.

"Kenny."

A gentle grip rested on his shoulder. He turned instinctively, only to find himself face to face with a pair of blue eyes, so gentle, so understanding, so loving. An uncertain sea within two sockets. A confident gaze that could soothe even the most broken madman.

"Don't be afraid, Kenny. I understand that was terrifying for everyone. I was terrified too... But you gave me hope! You helped me, and I'm so grateful..." Without warning, though he didn't need it, she hugged him. "I know this is scary. I'm terrified too, and every time someone dies... it sends shivers down my spine. But seeing you so cheerful and brave! I know I can trust you, Kenny. You're very special to me..."

The friendly warmth of closeness, the purest love. Friendship.

"Maybe I can't help with your friends, but you know you can count on me for anything... I really want to understand and help you because I care about you so much... I can help you have the better reunion you've been wanting. I'd like to help..."

Friend...

In such a short time, Butters had become someone very close. He thought of him as just another friend, like the ones he'd collected throughout his life. Few of his true friends had ever been there for him, like Butters was now. The blue-eyed boy was gently slipping through the armor Kenny had created over the years, barriers that kept him safe, and facing it with a smile, protecting the child inside—the same child who was now being gently embraced by Leo and Kenny. He was truly, truly grateful.

—...Thank you.

.

.

.

So, he already had a "team." If that was how he could describe the only person who approached him to form an alliance of pure, cunning, and meticulous survival.

And they had to choose him, of all people, the most nervous person, the one who couldn't focus on a single point without constantly worrying about whether he might explode or, on the contrary, just become an ordinary, unremarkable point.

He had to be honest. Was he capable of being a good teammate to guarantee survival? The answer was simple: no.

He couldn't even survive his own mind, and he was going to cooperate with the most cunning person, from what he'd seen, and the one who seemed incapable of making mistakes?

This was madness! Why had they chosen him?! Maybe they were going to use him as bait? No! He shouldn't think about that; they'd made a pact of trust with the redhead for a reason.

But, my God! Would he be able to keep his promise?

Tweek was visibly overwhelmed. Just a few minutes ago, he'd made an alliance with the owner of the red mane, Kyle. Their rules were simple: help each other out and survive. There was no affection or false promises involved. It was something solid, cold, but stable.

He had no problem with it; in fact, he was relieved that Kyle was honest. No false promises.

However, it hit him about 30 minutes later when he remembered that being calm and steady wasn't something he was used to, since, maybe, since he was born. He started to remember that Tweek Tweak wasn't the best person to entrust with a meticulous strategy.

Excellent!

In other words, he had no other excuse than to say he was going to the bathroom so his new partner wouldn't see him and regret choosing him when he saw him in such an electrifying mess. He felt his neurons heating up and exploding because of the demanding fate he'd happily condemned himself to, all under the pretext of talking to someone again. And yes, he was right.

For a long time, years you could say, he hadn't had anyone he could talk to comfortably.

Someone apart, outside his daily life in another country.

Someone other than "him"...

As soon as the small door opened, he was guided by the triangular guard to the bathroom. Without much thought, he grabbed the handle and discovered the spacious room behind it. A normal bathroom; perhaps there were two or more people inside the stalls. A woman was washing her hands and then looked at him with the usual indifference between strangers; another player was just coming out of the pink doors and heading to the sink.

Why was he noticing the actions of these unknown people? He didn't know.

Perhaps it was because his eyes didn't deceive him, and he saw something that, for the sake of his heart and mind, he decided to focus on—the other players in the room. However, his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the man in the corner near the mirrors, staring at him as if he'd seen a ghost, and Tweek feeling the same way, failed, much to his dismay.

Because that was the effect this man had on his body and soul, a man he once knew, but now it was hard to be certain he knew him.

The same man who made him a star and then let him fade into oblivion.

His husband, Craig Tucker.

That same man now, face to face, as silence consumed them.

His throat tightened, his heart pounding a thousand times faster, not from excitement but from anxiety about what was to come: the confrontation. Why had what they'd said before not even been a conversation, but now it would be? Painfully, the room erupted, and the few people inside left, walking past him. Finally, they were alone, him and Craig, finally alone.

An imaginary switch finally flipped, the same one that had been the consent to the truth between them for years.

Why, apparently, shouting love in public is something that doesn't exist in Craig Tucker's dictionary, and never will.

"Tweek..." he said almost in a whisper, his tone softer, huskier; finally, he could be gentle.

Now, could he be? When there was no one around, in the privacy of these four walls, without any soul wandering and judging? Now?

Only now?

Now that no one's watching, now that no one's judging you, now that you don't have to pretend, now that no one can talk about the medals you wear, now, in this very moment, in a seedy bathroom. Now you want to talk?

No, no, it's not fair, he couldn't believe it, it was so, so unreal, no, he couldn't believe it, that's how it's been for the last few years, no, he wasn't ready, he couldn't, his brain simply decided that at this moment all his memories would go into overdrive and explode. He was never ready for Craig's demanding desires.

Tweek turned as rudely as he could to leave and leave the man speechless behind him, with lightning speed, he ran the way he'd come toward the door, the escape from this prison that threatened to burn him alive. He wasn't ready to fulfill his desires, this person's desires...

God, how well she knew the man behind her.

Then the dark-haired man decided to break an invisible rule, decided to strike the match in the gas-filled room, decided to ignore what was boiling and about to explode. Craig violated all the rules they had built up over the years.

Suddenly, he felt his pleading hand pressing urgently against his own. Craig was gripping his hand, a hand that, at this moment, was a button to activate the demonstrative hell left over from past experiences. A taste of what their married life had been.

An exhilarating hell.

Tweek angrily yanked the man's hand away; his touch was unbearable. "D-don't touch me! Stay away! Don't come any closer! No, no."

No, he can't come any closer.

Stay away, he can't.

Not him.

No. No. No.

And he decides again, to commit war crimes, to cross the trenches between them.

He defends himself, pushes back as best he can, Craig is like a plague, closing in on him, never ceasing to stalk him. The proximity becomes unbearable, no matter how many tics appear one after another, how his limbs tremble trying to escape the danger, how his nerves threaten to explode—they will, none of it matters. Because Craig keeps coming closer.

"You can't! Stay away! You can't—" Agh! No! No! Her voice trembles, the imperfect dance of her hands is muffled by the intrusion of others. Intrusive, without permission.

"Tweek, it's me!" The blanket of hands tightens, it doesn't help, it doesn't calm, he still doesn't understand, he never understands. He mustn't come near him!

He pushes him away urgently again, trying to move in the other direction. "Don't touch me, you can't! Don't you understand that you make me feel like, like—" Agh! Stay away!

It's too much, too much pressure. He feels like he's suffocating and wants to scream. He will. Him hands instinctively search for him blond hair and, still trembling, begin to violently pull at each strand until innocent hairs are ripped out. The tug is unnerving, but it's the only way to keep from exploding.

God, it's going to explode. It's too much—

He can't.

There's no air.

No.

His breathing is rapid, alarmingly fast. He can't control his hands, clenched from the sudden burst of energy, nor his trembling. His tics become unbearable, and he simply wants to tear himself apart, too much.

The fire alarms seem to have worked; the explosion was inevitable, and Craig, thank God, understood. He slowly backs away from the nervous wreck that is his husband, but he doesn't leave. They still need to talk.

And there will be no escape. The dark-haired man stands guard at the door, blocking it so the blond man can't leave, and so no one else can enter. It should just be the two of them.

Now, yes, they had to talk.

"Tweek, let's talk. We need to talk."

The room distorts, shatters, and goes dark. They're no longer in the bathroom of the death games. No, now everything boils down to nothingness. Craig is there, in an awkward position, trying to block an invisible door in this reality. He's not rigid, he's not prepared.

If anyone else saw him in that state, so desperate, they would die. They would die from the unbearable itch in their brain, reminding them how humiliating they look.

But that's not the case now.

They're face to face in the void. Tweek is still the stormy mess he was. Everything about him is disheveled. The little sanity he had left is abandoning him with the itch in his eyes. Everything about him is erratic, from the tips of his toes to his brain, which is racing from lack of air.

They'd been through this pattern countless times. So why was it so difficult?

Craig felt the weight of his tongue; he knew he should start the conversation. Tweek's eyes were pleading for it, he knew it. Yet, he couldn't. He felt a knot in his stomach and his throat threatened to choke him. Words felt like the heaviest weights on the planet. Starting this had become a war against his brain because he couldn't even form a single damn sentence.

And perhaps Tweek noticed this in his own mental turmoil.

He didn't know what his expression was like right now. All his effort was focused on figuring out where to begin this conversation, but seeing how Tweek's stumbles calmed (a little) and the attention shifted to him, he knew Tweek was understanding how hard he was trying to...

"Apologize?"

...

No

"...Tweek, w-why did you l-leave?"

His voice, his damned voice, sounded fragmented. The lump in his throat cursed him and made him speak like this. Another traitor was his eyes, because they began to cry as soon as the torturous words left his lips.

He felt his forehead furrow, his cheeks flush and slick with tears, the weak sob that began to form and escape his lips, and the tedious feeling of being vulnerablely humiliated by love.

The owner of his tears had always been his star.

And only he would decide if his torture would end or if he would die for beautiful love.

All was silent. The humiliating sound of sobs filled the void, and the blond was stunned, frozen. Never, in all these years, had anything like this happened. They had never broken this routine. Craig was never the one who broke down, he was never the disaster, he didn't beg, he didn't cry, he didn't plead.

But still, something was missing, something remained the same. He waited, but he didn't come, so...

The routine continued...

There was no forgiveness.

"I want a divorce."

...

Something breaks, the world shatters, and shards of glass fall like deadly glass, killing everything around them. It can't be like this.

Craig despairs and leaps toward the blond man, trying to cling to him for dear life, but the other's shoves prevent him.

"W-why are you s-saying that?" His groans and strained voice make him almost inaudible.

"L-let me go! A-agh!" Tweek tries to push him away, but his husband's desperation makes it difficult and painful.

Craig doesn't obey; his intimate personal space is violated once again. The man desperately tries to find the other's lips, a terrible decision, as the difference in strength becomes apparent, and in pure anger, Tweek manages to break free with a powerful shove, sending him flying.

A sharp thud echoes, the dark-haired man falls, but despair still gnaws at every sense, every thought of reason. He kneels miserably, crawling and clinging to the legs of the weary blond.

They were both so tired...

The sobs and sighs formed a painful melody. Tweek collapsed, leaning against the wall, which allowed Craig to climb up and rest his defeated face against the blond's abdomen. He was too tired of trying to push him away now.

—P-please, d-don't say that to me. D-don't try to hurt me...

Because you won't be able to make me stop loving you.

My star, don't leave me, please...

Tweek's jacket began to dampen. Craig was crying, his voice hoarse, and his cries became painful.

—I-I'll fix everything, I-I promised, I'll win this, I'll f-fix it, my love... J-just don't leave me, please, my life...

Please...

The man's cries were heartbreaking. Tweek had never seen him so devastated, and a feeling of pity blossomed within him. More than anything, it was the ashes of a love that began like a blazing fire and ended like this, the curse of a broken heart. The enigma of empathy. The great love of mercy.

His trembling arms reach out to the sorrowful man, and as soon as he reaches him, he places them on his back. Like a machine, Craig reacts with lightning speed and clings to the welcoming embrace. The two men sit intertwined on the floor.

"Ask me for anything, anything at all, except to leave you..."

He takes advantage of the proximity of Craig's neck and mouth, planting small kisses.

"I'll buy a bigger house. I'll spend more time with you..."

"I'll do anything you ask, my love, just come back to me..."

"Come with me, I'll protect you at night, you'll be safe by my side..."

Promises, so idyllic and dreamy, it's a relief to hear them, to dream and believe in a promising future, a happy one. Perhaps if they could heal, maybe it would be a true fairy tale. Hopeful and flirtatious, the happy ending they deserved after drowning in the swamp, a pond they both built.

However, it's impossible; it's a wish for another reality, one that didn't suffer as much as this one.

Because, because here...

Here is the damn reality.

"Don't let this end over something stupid..."

...

They're still following the routine.

Maybe Craig was letting the gas dissipate, but he never learns and let it out again, and if that wasn't enough, he lit a fire inside the house and everything exploded, even the ashes...

Tweek goes berserk, violently shoving Craig. The bubble bursts, and anxiety consumes them again. The bewilderment and humiliation of having believed things would be different.

"N-never! Agh! Y-you'll never! Shit! You'll never change-! What an idiot I am-! Stay away, don't come near me! Stay away!"

The tics are even more violent than before, his scalp burns from the sharp tugs, and his tremors—everything—turn him into a veritable explosion. He feels fear, disappointment, anger, fury, stress; yet the still bewildered man tries to approach, invading, violating the golden rule. One framed by flashing lights, but the dark-haired man decides to disregard it and destroy it.

It's too much, he can't...

He can't.

And then.

The door opens, revealing two other players escorted by the guard, and there, right there, is where everything changes.

The door opens, revealing two other players escorted by the guard, and right there, everything changes.

Craig, who was approaching him again, goes through the tedious process once more, hoping and pleading to return to his previous position and that closeness. The same man who moments before swore eternal love, the same man, as if by magic or simply narcissistic theater, becomes Craig Tucker again, the most important person at NASA.

Everything about him changes; his voice becomes decent, his posture rigid, and his speech, his speech, becomes unbearably empty.

The same man who only appears when other eyes are watching, the plastic man who cannot love.

"My offer still stands. I'll wait for you."

And as if nothing had happened, the dark-haired man slipped away, still with his elegant bearing, as if he hadn't left everything behind in that bathroom.

As if he hadn't left everything behind.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

His ribs were digging in and devouring the flesh around them, his stomach begging for food.

For his safety, because otherwise his organs would be his own killers; the doors swung open, revealing guards with carts overflowing with food. Thank God it was so.

Some time had passed since all the mental chaos; the roars sounded like an orchestra pleading for food. At least that calmed the pain in his chest, directing all the heaviness and ache to his gut.

Because.

Kenny had to swallow the bitterness of it all: the change, the longing to return, and the fear that was flooding his entire life. Even so, his heart ached more than his stomach.

Craig had to swallow everything, absolutely everything, because other eyes had arrived and his image was in danger, so he had to swallow all his flowers that were withering and he hadn't even realized it yet; With the firmness of the world, I returned to where I had left Stan waiting for me, who showed no improvement whatsoever.

Like him, Stan was swallowing the words and the wave of information from all these years; his mind weighed more than his heart and his empty stomach. He was drowning, and no one seemed to notice he didn't even have a life preserver.

The same situation was happening to Tweek, because again his mind was racing and exploding with every blink. His heart ached along with his mind, and he couldn't help but run for cover next to his comrade, who, seeing him a wandering wreck, took pity on him and covered him with the only sheet on the bunk.

Emotions were being torn apart; soon a roar of violence was about to erupt, the worst of humanity, the fragment that, before divine judgment, would condemn even the holiest, the right hand of the greatest deity.

Violence.

The worst sin of all, accompanied by its voracious sibling.

Gluttony.

...

"Your lunch break begins now. All players, line up and collect your food," the robotic voice announced.

Human lines began to form behind the four carts laden with the most precious commodity at that moment: food. There was anticipation and eagerness; the uncomfortable rumbling of stomachs begging for mercy was constant and tedious, but finally, their glory was before them.

At a snail's pace, much to their annoyance, their turn finally arrived to receive their ration.

Great anticipation, knowing how, literally, their stomachs were growing teeth and chewing everything.

They stood face to face with the guard, and when mercy was finally shown...

It was a great disappointment.

"Is that all?" Cartman asked incredulously, holding only a bottle of what appeared to be worthless soda and a single boiled egg—a colossal insult to the hunger he was feeling.

The guard at the checkpoint ignored him, clearly uninterested in the request due to the lack of movement.

With nothing else to do, since asking for more, as was his custom, would only get him a bullet in the head, and unfortunately, he still had some scores to settle with certain people, he left the line, still frowning. The anger born of this ravenous emptiness was evident in the eggshell he cracked with a fraction of the strength of his hand.

Because at this moment, with all the deprivation he was experiencing, not just from the hunger, fury was rising to the top of his psyche, and he felt that any obstacle would trigger a violent outburst of anger.

It's one thing to not have enough food to function properly—I mean, those roars are incredibly annoying, and that monstrous gaping hole in his stomach is a real kick in the teeth.

But it's quite another thing to be frustrated when nothing goes the way it should, the way he wanted, to have it come out with all the ingredients for a bloodbath.

Once again, nothing was going as he'd hoped.

And even worse, those devilish emerald eyes were laughing at him somewhere hidden in his mind, in some secret place between them, their place. It was so loud and…

"Boo-hoo! What a terrible buffet, darling~" a shrill voice snapped him out of the haze those eyes created. Heidi, without a shred of shame, crossed her arms, still holding her bottle, and with her other hand, she held him like a rag doll.

"I mean, it's not fair!" Her childish voice was about to snap a nerve, if that were even possible. "I'm hungry! I don't get full from cheap snacks..."

Stupid bitch.

He was angry, and this bitch was pushing things to the limit. He wasn't going to tolerate another slip-up. He'd had enough of this woman. Just as he was about to give in to his basest impulses and probably get rid of the brunette, his arm tightened under her grip. A calmer, colder whisper escaped her lips, causing a tremor at its sudden proximity to his ear.

"I think we can have more than we can handle—that would be fun!"

Then a series of mysterious whispers came from Heidi's mouth, words only Eric could understand, as they were directed solely at him. The more he listened, the more he understood, and the hatred dissipated, replaced by the burning excitement, the anticipation of something impetuous and satisfying.

The adrenaline.

Remembering the feeling of superiority, the adrenaline rush of winning a fight, of being the one who isn't defeated and dominating. Being the god who decides who lives and who dies. Getting his hands dirty again for mere fun sounds tempting, and honestly, with all the tension in his muscles, he needs a break.

The brunette looked at him conspiratorially, as if the plan had been made by both of them and ingrained in their very souls. Only, it failed, because this feeling, of closeness and complicity, already belonged to another demon. The owner of the furtive emerald gaze.

And that memory filled his veins with emotion and... something more.

.

.

.

The series of events is as childish as it is entertaining.

If someone were to compare it to an ambiguous television series, where you can somehow predict how the actors will perform, then they would be amused by the human comedy of the situation.

It was as simple as watching a prank by mischievous children, sensitive to the implications behind the insatiable desire for more and more.

From the right child's perspective, it looked like a fussy adventure to take what wasn't allowed, a worthy prank deserving of a mother's scolding; because, comparatively, one is taught to share from the womb, and the fact that it's for the same reason as for the same tempting food adds further parallel.

However...

What happens when he grew up surrounded by poison instead of normal amniotic fluid?

What happens when you want to take more and more until you have control over a body that isn't yours? That isn't yours...

What happens when that ability to share what's meant for you isn't practiced, not even in the worst famine? When something in your brain is radioactive...

He couldn't answer himself, even though the answers were as clear as the celestial boy before him, even though the toxicity was about to spill over, he couldn't, because, because everything inside him...

Was rotten.

...

The third row moved forward with a slow, steady pace; each step meant a player had received their turn. Everything was systematic, uninterrupted, under a veil of tranquility. Without any disturbance, a woman, her face serene in the face of the reliable organization, moved forward stiffly, seemingly at peace. Perhaps she thought that within these four walls, one would be safe, unlike out there in the bloody games.

As soon as she lost track of time in the line, another player appeared in front of her, effectively cutting in.

"Excuse me~" boasted player 212 in a voice so playful it wouldn't convince anyone with its insolence. The swaying of her shoulders revealed her childish stubbornness.

However, she could not defend himself; as if it were a bad joke, mountains of men stood one after another in such a complicit manner that the threat given to him by the last of them with a finger to his lips with a mocking expression was enough to make him accept the injustice of the everyday life of the outside world.

Where the strong always won, and the weak died...

The line continued to move, no longer with the normality they had expected. Finally, the inevitable arrived, the result of an entertaining prank.

"There's enough food for the exact number of players," the guard's voice echoed throughout the room.

Five people still lay expectantly in the agonizing line, waiting for a meal that would never come, because it had already been claimed by other mouths. Arrogant desperation and impending rage were evident on their hungry faces, hungry for answers and sustenance. One demand was enough to grab the attention of all the players: "Where is your food?" A roar from the depths of their being. A forbidden approach was enough to silence those rabid cries as soon as the guard, in exasperation, drew his weapon. Hungry for what was right.

Unfortunately, there were still people who believed in justice.

"Those people, they lined up twice, I saw them..." The first judgmental finger was pointed at selfishness, and eyes soon fell on the group being judged, who were happily devouring their shameless second portion.

You can't ignore the elephant in the room, was the last thing he thought before launching into his act of violence. "What are you looking at, idiots! Have you never seen a person eat or what, you cowards..."

Eric took a sip of the exquisite drink in his hands. Suddenly, there was a roar that not even the sharpest ear could hear, the screams of a stomach, the fury rising to his brain and boiling it.

'As you said, a funny series of events...'

"Who do you think you are? Why are you stealing my food!" The unleashed man approached the group of predators without fear.

"Huh? What are you saying? I didn't hear you. What's yours, you say? I don't see 'imbecile' anywhere! Ha!" Laughter accompanied him, and without a trace of remorse, his second act of mockery was to quench his thirst with the fantastic, hydrating, bubbly drink, so coveted for his rage.

Then a commotion erupted. The furious man lunged at Eric to reclaim his bottle. Amidst the struggle and shoves, the precious, juicy beverage was violently knocked to the ground. The gift he had received with such effort, a delicacy for the demon in his stomach, wasted.

Suddenly, alarm bells went off in his brain. Evil seized his senses, and his hands trembled, eager for explosive rage. Nothing was going as planned.

Without anyone summoning her, something as vicious as the resentment that clouded and heated every pore, a rage as dangerous as it was divinely punished, was about to manifest itself in the most violent way man could have created.

"You damned son of a bitch," words poisoned by the furious heat that spat from his mouth. Eric yanked the man's clothes around his neck to deliver a blow so severe that it caused a sharp thud that sent him sprawling to the ground. A single punch, and the man looked as if a hundred had been struck. However, the demon in his head felt it wasn't enough. With a terrifying silence, the chestnut-haired man continued kicking the dead weight that had once been a man.

Each kick looked painful; the man writhed weakly, and inaudible whimpers escaped him. Cartman's violence was chilling because, even with dozens of kicks, he seemed tireless, as if feeding off the player's last few seconds of life. The horrifying force was like a wake-up call to the onlookers, a message that if things didn't go his way, they might be next.

A certain red-haired spectator could confirm this. Even he, the only one with the power to stand up to the violent behemoth, couldn't stop his hand from trembling at the threat of angering the brunette.

Eric stopped until he was relatively tired. His once-white shoes were now stained crimson. Without a care in the world, he retraced his steps to find the broken bottle and drink its remaining liquid.

...

It was like watching a horror movie, when the killer finishes his work and continues with his facade of normalcy to face the public; only now, it wasn't fiction, no, now it was right in front of him and it was terrifying. Kenny had been stunned since it all started, from the intimidation, the struggle, and the fatal outcome. All in that order, and his body hadn't moved an inch until now. He felt the color draining from his face and his movements becoming clumsy every time he tried to move forward.

Nobody was asking him to do it, damn it, nobody wanted to get close for fear of being next, and yet he went and got involved. Maybe it was reflex; he was used to getting involved where he wasn't wanted, especially in the fights Eric got into at elementary school. He was the angel who separated them, taking a few blows and preventing the teacher from sending them to detention. Only now he didn't feel very energetic; instead, fear loomed over him.

Finally, he crawled to the body. It was swollen with bruises and covered in blood. All traces of life had vanished. With even greater fear, he touched the man's neck to confirm the obvious: he was dead.

As if a curse had been cast upon Kenny, he jumped and fell, his feet tumbling from the general tremor. Fear seeped into every pore of his skin.

"H-Hey, h-he's d-dead..." His stutter was a testament to his terror; he no longer cared if he was heard or not.

He felt as if all the air inside him were being suffocated, his breathing becoming more ragged. The trembling didn't stop, and all his senses screamed danger in every direction. His vision blurred again. The same sensation he'd felt a few hours earlier—that same one—was suffocating him, torturing him, killing him...

He just killed someone.

How was that possible? Can he? Is it allowed?

He just killed someone. This... this is wrong.

Why isn't anyone doing anything?!

And as if it were a cruel joke, given how much he was feeling at that moment, the casino's sound system returned, along with the beeping of the television in front of him. The player counter decreased, and the money counter increased. Soon, the mesmerizing piggy bank emerged from its hiding place, and the coveted wad of bills was lowered.

As the robotic voice announced that the prize had increased, guards entered the room carrying an unusual black coffin decorated with pink ribbon, as if it were a gift—a very macabre one. They stood before Kenny, who remained with a desperate, stunned expression. The coldness with which they handled a murder among the players, even with the guards inside the room when it happened, simply set off all the alarm bells in his head:

They weren't even safe during the downtime in this room...

With the torturous stiffness in his neck, he instinctively turned to where Cartman was, and the look on his face made his brain, for once, quiet down from its fears and the siren blaring furiously at the mere sight of him.

Eric Cartman wore a wide grin, his eyes beaming with excitement, as if what he had just done had been a harmless children's game...

.

.

.

"Tonight will be dangerous... We don't know what will happen."

The Army Group was now gathered at their meeting point. Craig was talking about what they had to do if they wanted to survive, how alert they needed to be, and so on. Stan listened intently to every word. The same could be said of Butters, if it weren't for Kenny, who was... devastated.

"Kenny," Craig called. Somehow, the fixed point on the floor was holding his attention more than the survival explanation. Incredible.

"Y-yes?"

"Focus. Tonight we have to be aware of our surroundings..." Craig planned, as always being a strategist considering all the variables. "That group over there will give us a lot of trouble. Cartman took the strongest ones to his side. Their attack will be lethal."

All eyes turned toward the group. Indeed, the largest of them all, Eric, was speaking to his comrades, deeply focused and excited. Kenny, seeing him like this, felt weak—scared? He didn't quite know what he felt. Was it the fear of violence, though he shouldn't have to fear given his past, or because the executioner had been one of his best friends, the one he'd spoken to just minutes before, the same one who had hugged him? Now, someone had died.

The shaky sigh added more anguish to his mind; anxiety was gnawing at him.

"We have to stay together. It'll be harder for them to attack us if we're together. Gang members always go after lone wolves. If we stick together, we'll be okay." His brother's words were firm, certainly inspiring at least one of them. "Stan, you're strong. If we make a defense plan together, it'll be easier for us to come out on top..."

The once-so-badly-haired boy nodded with palpable certainty, as if this understanding had awakened something within him without permission. Kenny would make a funny comment about it, perhaps about how soft and kind his brother was becoming, and how endearing it was. But now, even speaking felt like a burden, and he felt that if he tried, his throat would explode from the tedious knot forming in it.

"Kenny, I need you to understand something if you haven't already," his brother's voice turned more serious. The blond boy turned, and the words shattered the effort he was making to avoid falling, to avoid falling into some abyss of his mind. "Understand that Cartman isn't the same anymore. If he attacks us and you hesitate, then you won't be much help to me."

Although Craig's words sounded cold, he knew they were right. If the situation arose and he had to choose, he'd be in trouble because this wound was now open. If the time came to defend and attack, it would be very painful for him. Right now, even seeing how brutal his former best friend was, deep down, he still believed there was a chance to see his friend again. It was something he longed for desperately.

But fear pressed down on him and made him cry. He didn't want to choose, he couldn't. He just wanted, he wanted...

"You two better come up with a plan, guys..." Butters' voice finally chimed in, much to his relief because he didn't think he could formulate an answer for Craig. "Kenny and I will go find something to defend ourselves with. Let's go, Kenny!" He stretched out his arm and pulled him running alongside.

Once again, he owed his life to Butters.

They ran without looking back, Kenny being led by the other blond, as if there were no anxiety in the air about the imminent danger, as if the clock on the wall didn't warn that there were only 30 minutes left before the nightmare began, as if now it was just the two of them running without a care in the world... Free and together.

Finally, they stopped near a corner, both catching their breath after the run. The violet-eyed boy was about to ask why they had run away, although he was grateful for helping him escape the pressure his brother was putting on him. He still felt there was something to talk about. The blond wanted to speak, and he was about to open his mouth when Butters spoke first.

"Don't be afraid, Kenny... Everything will be alright, I promise you! Don't worry anymore about what might happen. If you need me, you know I'll always be by your side!"

It seemed Butters always knew how he felt, and he was deeply grateful. Because at that moment, he felt like the world was crashing down on him and he was being buried alive.

Then the demons in his head quieted down, and he smiled, a completely genuine smile. Very soon, it became much easier to breathe.

Thank you, Butters...

.

.

.

Even with the faint violence still hanging in the air, even with the mask of feigned passivity, Kyle knew it was only a matter of time before everything crumbled and chaos reigned once again.

Although he had foreseen the worst possible scenario, which was this, it was still hard to accept. Now it was just him and Tweek in their makeshift "hideout," though he hadn't planned to call it that; there was no other way to describe the last few steps near his bunk bed since, apparently, the redhead and the blond were hiding.

In his case, it was out of caution and strategy, though deep down the reason had a face, a name, and a very distinctive laugh; however, Tweek was a worthy subject for social study.

Once their deal was agreed upon and a few more conditions imposed, the blond man went to the bathroom and returned a few minutes later a disheveled mess. As a partner, he simply covered him with the only sheet he had. He wasn't interested in what ghost he'd seen in the bathroom, because that's what it looked like: Tweek had seen the devil himself.

At least, for the smallest shred of empathy he had left, or for some modest reason, whatever. The important thing here and now was to devise a plan to survive the darkness that was already taking its time.

And it was true, he expected it from the others, but not from Eric. It was just a matter of time and small things to penetrate to his most primal being. Although he'd been preparing himself since the first moment he saw him again, the first drop of blood always surprised him, and it would continue to do so.

"W-what are we going to do?" Tweek finally managed to speak. He hadn't expected him to recover so quickly. He could blame it on the tedious rumbling of hunger.

Although he wished he could answer that question more easily than he was supposed to, the truth was he didn't have a plan. The provisional answer was simple: survive, because not doing so was forbidden in this arrangement. They had to try to avoid the group of beasts as much as possible, as sooner or later they would spread their rage, and above all, not succumb to it.

His gaze fell to his hands dangling between his knees. There lay the now-empty bottle and an eggshell, the only food of the day and the sentence that would condemn them to kill each other. They had been given little food so they would fight amongst themselves. With the fatigue and exhaustion from the games, he was certain that their desperation wasn't just due to the meager rations, but to something more macabre.

They wanted them to know they weren't safe even in their own hiding places.

"We won't do anything."

"W-what?! B-but they'll kill us! A-agh!"

"I know, that's why we'll hide, and that's it."

"A-gh! Where will we hide?! What if they find us and kill us?! How will we defend ourselves?! Gah!"

Tweek's hands searched for his own hair, then he started throwing it as more "possibilities" were shouted into the sea. Some were correct; there was the possibility they'd be found and it would all be over, plus the suffocating detail that it was very likely they'd come for him. Cartman taking advantage of the night to finally get rid of him was a very convincing option, to be honest. Then there was the option Kyle believed in: that they would emerge victorious hiding under the bunk beds, an option as convincing as a gift of money every weekend.

Sure, very convincing.

"If we're lucky, no one will find us." The blond's mouth seemed to want to echo his comment. "So no one suspects anything, we'll have to move as soon as the chaos erupts; it'll be difficult, but we have to do it quickly, like you said, they might kill us before we even manage to get down..."

Faced with the stark reality, somehow, the hair-pulling stopped, and the only traces of Tweek's anxiety attack were a slight trembling in his legs.

"W-will we be safe if we get to the hideout?" Fear welled up in his voice.

Would they be safe? The truth was, he wasn't entirely convinced. There wouldn't be a plan here, no step to follow, no strategy to calculate how many flurries of knife blows it would take for one of them to die, or how fast he'd need to draw his knife if some wretch approached him—not to ask for advice, mind you. Everything was improbable, difficult to predict, and that was frightening. Too frightening.

"Do you know how to fight?"

"What?"

"I have a certain advantage in defending myself. Defending someone else would leave me exposed, that's why I'm asking," he wanted to make sure his trusted partner wasn't a burden at all.

The blond seemed to think about it carefully and took a few seconds to organize his thoughts and answer.

"There was a time when I had to know how to defend myself, I-I mean with punches and stuff, yeah..." he clarified, seeing Kyle's ambiguous expression; he could tell from the blond's clear musculature hidden beneath the greenish jacket.

"Will that help you take care of yourself?"

"W-well... We never lost, so I guess so..." A slight, embarrassed smile formed on Tweek's face. It seemed the memory he was projecting in his mind brought him some peace as he noticed the trembling in his legs stop. He decided to ignore the other people Tweek mentioned in the mental movie.

"Good."

So that was it. As soon as the lights went out and chaos erupted, they would slip under all the bunk beds and wait until the massacre was over. If some unforeseen and unfortunate event occurred, they would defend themselves with their bare fists. That was it, the expected plan. However, the turmoil in his mind wouldn't go away, wouldn't be silenced. There was a gurgling in his gut, not caused by food, but by something more primal: the fear he tried to hide.

The fear he had felt these past few years of being found after escaping, the dread that gripped him every time he felt watched and stalked, the thought that he was the man who had made the worst mistake of his life. Despite always confronting him and baring his teeth in self-defense, he knew for certain that playing games and pushing Eric Cartman's patience to its breaking point was lethally dangerous. He had learned this the hard way, and even so, he wouldn't be spared tonight. Of that he was certain.

And the worst part now was that it wasn't just about him anymore, like it always had been during the years he spent with Eric working in the underworld; now he had his teammate by his side, a man who knew nothing of his past or his crime for accompanying Cartman all these years. He would never understand the gravity of what Kyle meant to the brunette's life and how it drove him mad. No one would understand his story with the man at first glance.

Kyle still didn't understand Tweek's sorrows. He saw some stirrups, and that was enough for him to understand that perhaps it was as complicated as everything else between them, as it was not at first glance. In any case, he felt terrible, because his own personal hell was now shared with the blond man through their cold alliance.

"I have to confess something..." The blond turned to look at him. "There are people looking for me, people who want me dead. Because you're with me, they might want to kill you too."

That's how the color drained from the blond's face.

"I'm sorry."

A few seconds passed before Tweek's voice cleared and his thoughts stopped exploding. "U-uh, it's n-no problem, in fact... Y-you said it yourself."

"What?"

He continued, "Our alliance is nothing more than for surviving together, not for getting to know each other and becoming good friends like you said... I mean, I'm not going to back down just because of some problems I know you could solve, maybe even come up with more ideas so I don't interfere, n-no?"

"" In Tweek's mind—because it never seemed to stay still—he was thinking about an escape, not one that would only benefit him. No, he wanted him and Kyle to survive this, and if his partner was in trouble, then it was his responsibility to help him. That's what being a team is all about, and he would help in any way he could. But something Kyle had taught him in these few hours of knowing each other was that, yes, it was necessary to consider all the possibilities and, above all, to envision the worst-case scenario, if possible, and plan something about it. If the redhead's problems were going to be stronger than they were, then he would have to copy the emerald-eyed boy's ability.

Only it was harder and more painful than he'd imagined, he realized. If they both lost, they'd have to run, run toward the most hurtful proposition for Tweek. Just remembering those fatal green eyes and dark hair made his chest ache and his breath catch in his throat, killing him in every way imaginable.

But there was no other choice but to be strong; life demanded it. He wouldn't abandon Kyle, even though he was the most wanted man.

.

.

.

The snorts and swear words were like the air between her and the beasts around her.

Because, even though the brute force and the man's stupidity had ended, Heidi knew that those measly 30 minutes remaining before the lights went out wouldn't be enough to calm these primitive brutes before her.

Her situation was this: naturally, acting like the most luxurious trophy in the room, she sat with her elbows on her knees, her hands supporting her cheeks puffed out with boredom. She watched the only comical scene—if you could even call it that—of the men on her team "planning," again, if you could even call the nonsense they were spouting into thin air a "plan," because if she was honest, nobody was paying attention and they were just like dogs excited for a cheap steak.

"Those pinkies didn't do anything..." muttered one with long, unpleasant hair, in his humble opinion.

"That's probably what they wanted, ha! They all thought they'd be their guardians... pure bullshit," chimed in the one next to him. He seemed like the typical guy who politely asks for a few cents, and if you don't lend him one, he'll badmouth you.

"Did you see how the money increased? We can win even more without even trying in the next game!" said Ricky. Yes, "Ricky," that's what she decided to call him because of how funny he looked and how he spoke with such a funny nasal voice. Ricky sounded like a real cheeky guy.

"We have to kill the competition."

Finally, the biggest beast spoke, the burly man who wore other people's blood like war medals. If she had to describe his demeanor—because it was more interesting than listening to Ricky spout nonsense—she could say that Eric was unrestrained, the typical man who breaks things and doesn't apologize, the one who decides to enter even if every "No Entry" sign is interpreted as the worst sin he could commit, a stubborn man.

She decided to put to the test the power she had earned after so many years of experience understanding men; her job required it, and at least that mental catalog she had studied for years had saved her countless times.

Well, if she checked her planner, specifically page 4, between the subheading "Spurned Man" and going down to the third entry—Aha! She already had her opinion. Thanks for waiting.

Eric was desperate, desperate, too desperate. It seemed the murder he'd committed himself had triggered some kind of switch, unleashing all that adrenaline hidden inside that mass he called a brain. That thirst shone in his eyes, and his ragged breathing wasn't just for show. No, no, no, this guy, with his sharp gaze and frenzied speech, was out of control.

Let's learn from her, come on. Doing this for as long as she could remember had become one of her favorite pastimes. No wonder she was here with these brainless behemoths!

Eric seemed like one of those young people who thought they were invincible and believed the world always owed them something, so they deserved everything and everyone. Their whims had to be fulfilled, or the big baby would cry and cause an illegal mess. Although, I couldn't really blame him. Let's see, let's see.

That bastard is huge! And kind of handsome, no wonder this girl goes for the best of the best, at least when it comes to looks. That one's for you, Ricky!

Back to 101, he was big and strong, the muscles he was flexing right now made him intolerable, especially with the accessory of the lethal weapon, the shattered glass bottle. It gave him a menacing and dangerous look; he had the power of the situation. Plus that rotten pride... Damn it! She didn't want to be his enemy.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, inexplicably, her skin prickled with goosebumps.

"No matter how smart you were, or how many plans you made, that brusqueness, the dirty trick of a weapon, everything could end with just one move from the brunette, no matter how hard you tried..."

She swallowed hard, recalling certain words the forbidden redhead had told her.

"You must stay away from him. He's not to be trusted. He won't hesitate to turn his back on you if he needs to..."

Suddenly, it was as if the mere thought of him had summoned him. The words Eric was uttering to the group, which Heidi chose to ignore, were already gaining some traction.

"We'll kill them all. We have to clear the board."

Words born from pure poison.

"Those idiots don't care if we replace them as executioners. Eliminating the competition is the most important thing."

"So, what do you propose? We kill them all?" The stingy man spoke with a venom only that kind of man possesses.

"Yes."

The ensuing fraternization was disgusting. The men nudged each other and laughed as if a Sunday afternoon full of beer were about to break out—comparable to a genocide, of course.

Except Cartman didn't join them. No, his case was chilling because he wasn't doing anything. He stood there a few feet away from the male gathering, his posture firm but tense. The pressure he exerted with the bottle in his hand was painful, already tearing at his skin. His broad back rose and fell with his rapid breathing, like a bull, a very angry one.

Heidi turned her head slightly. She wanted to see the man's expression, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, maybe because she could hear the alarms wailing and her patience seemed to be breaking with each chime. This was the fury of man, the kind they all feared.

Knowing that they would always be stronger than her, damn it, it was maddening.

Eric was lost. His eyes reflected the same rage as Ares himself, angry and bloodthirsty. His furrowed brow gave him power, somehow, because her mental alarms were going off. This man was a danger, and she was scared.

She remembers that feeling of looking at other people; it makes her stomach flutter. That's not good; she feels small and vulnerable. It's fear...

Remember the bull analogy? Well, it was right. The bull's gaze was fixed on its red spot, the one that drove it mad. Meters away, there was a head of red hair, and its owner was with someone else, seemingly oblivious to the hell that was unfolding here.

If there had been a violent melody playing in the background, it would have been brutally cut short.

Something in Heidi changed, or rather, she remembered. She remembered that fear, that dread of being watched, stalked, used. Those beastly eyes that were killing Kyle, the brutality, the anger, the rage, how cruel a man can be to get what he wants.

She couldn't move, even if she wanted to; it's programmed that way: "If a man arrives agitated, it's our duty to calm him down."; yes... Now she's not in the right frame of mind to be a whore.

Not when that fear still lingered.

Not even with all the strength in the world could I defeat a man.

A man who first learned to be a beast and then a child.

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.

.

"The friends' game will begin soon..." the robotic voice echoed through the backstage hallways.

"Squares, triangles, and circles, please proceed to your assigned places. Follow the instructions."

Just like backstage at a live show, they were like the alarmed producers rushing around to ensure the best take was recorded. Although Wendy wasn't in a position to question the timing of the recordings, it was still curious how much importance they placed on this surprise game.

"Children play, children laugh, children are naughty, children fight."

At the same speed, Wendy hurried to join the brigade of assassin triangles. In an even formation, they waited for the cherry on top of the executioners. Finally, the top square guard completed the square, and the elevator doors closed.

This time they were to be spectators of what was coming; they had been promised hell, and it was served on a silver platter. Oh, sweet gluttony.

"30 seconds." The mysterious choir added suspense; the players' final moves in the great hall were completed on the bunks.

The sound of their boots' rubber was like a military platoon. Wendy stood before the main door; soon, on the other side, humanity's worst sin would be unleashed en masse.

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."

The countdown beep ended, and with it, the light faded. Their faces, worried about their lives, were distorted.

Twilight, darkness, and descent into something more primal.

If he were gentle, the night wouldn't be stained crimson; if he were kind, he would exist.

This was his favorite game, because seeing something so perfect, made by divine hands, being harmed made him feel alive. It meant he wasn't perfect.

The show began; the one in the white mask stared intently at the monitors, attentive to every movement. One stood up, then another, and another; in the gloom, no one could speak.

Eric was the first man he killed. He moved like a snake, deceptively, seeking his prey and finding it. His first words as an executioner were: "So you saw us." Then, the woman's heart-wrenching scream began the purge, accompanied by a terrifying guttural sound, the end of her life.

All for pleading for a modicum of justice in this rotten world.

The chorus of terrified screams fills the room, fueled by rage, creating a splendid zarzuela, a delight for hell itself. The ragged breaths are the champagne of madness. Blood spurts from the violated bodies, and the stabbings escalate to a frenzy. No one knows where the weapons came from, only that they were taking lives as if it were a game.

Wait, if it's true, this is their favorite game.

One more detail: the lights begin to flicker on and off with the same force with which the desperation to survive strikes.

Kenny gets up. The first scream was as chilling as it was real. From then on, his body doesn't know how to react. His skin feels hard, and the torture in his lungs, both large and small, continues. The smell of iron penetrates his nostrils and somehow brings him back to this plane, only to find himself confronted by the most primal part of man. The world doesn't have time to stop for him, because just as his brain wants to freeze up, to surrender to fear, his bunk bed begins to shake and finally collapses with a thud to the groans of the people.

He felt a heaviness throughout his body and wondered if his angel had abandoned him in the hostile underworld, from which he had struggled so hard to escape as a child. Fear was his only anesthetic, yet it seemed to have no effect on his mind, as if a thousand ambulances were passing by, punishing him by making it impossible to breathe.

My God, my heart is going to explode...

While Kenny tried to climb out of the collapsed structure, Kyle tried not to fall.

The redhead was calculating, attentive to every movement, even though the erratic lighting confused even the most observant. The plan before the demons came out to hunt was to escape under the bunk beds. As soon as the first scream became an alarm, he got up and, along with his companion, prepared to run under them to their hiding place. The path was blurry because with each step down, there was another killer knocking down other people. It didn't matter, they had to go down. Tweek was leading the way, and to his surprise, he pushed away any beast that showed its sharp, blood-filled teeth.

Hitting, pushing, and dismantling—if they kept this up, there would be no need to pull his knife from his pocket. It was torture to his senses; his ears were deafening with the screams for help, they were terrifying. His eyes darted around, scanning every possible direction, careful to step carefully or it would all be over, hoping his strength wouldn't betray them. It was working. They finally reached the ground; now they had to circle around it and get to the back. As soon as the blond turned around, a man with a bloody face came running with a broken bottle in his hand. If it hadn't been for Kyle watching Tweek's back, it would have been a fatal end.

Kyle kicked the man in the chest, and as he fell, they took advantage of the opportunity to run with all their might after the structure. When they reached the right distance, Tweek tried to enter the hiding place first. They were about to make it; they would survive.

Suddenly, fate turns against him. In the frenzy of the lights and the low point behind Kyle, hands drag him down and cover his mouth and head. The sudden sway causes him to fall completely at the mercy of the stranger. Screams and a cruel symphony accompany the moment. Kyle can't scream, but there's no need. With his free hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his knife. A clean stab is delivered to the captor's arm. His mouth is freed, and in the man's moment of defenselessness, he tries to lunge at him. However, someone behind the man gets there first and stabs him in the jugular. The man falls, shooting blood in the dark.

Kyle's savior is none other than his punishment incarnate: Eric.

In the aphrodisiac glow of the lights, the image of the chestnut-haired man is chilling; he stands before him with an uncontrolled, almost brutal bearing, his back slightly bent as he moves with his own labored breathing, as if he had run a marathon, his entire forearm colored with blood; the culprit is there, the martyr's bottle, finally his face summed up in one word:

Savage.

There was no point in running now. His past had caught up with him, baring its sharp teeth. In the blink of an eye, Eric was already in front of him. Instinctively, he tried to push, but it made no difference. Without thinking, he used the momentum and ran down the corridor. There was no need to check if he was being chased because he was; every step was devoured by the beast-man.

Even though running was pointless, he would run anyway. If he didn't, his karma would end with his death. Kyle tried to shake Eric off, trying to confuse him and lose him in the maze of bunk beds, but he couldn't. A pull so strong it almost burned the skin of his arm knocked him down. Eric tried to hit him in that defenseless position, moving his head to avoid the bloody fist. He tried to draw his knife again, but as soon as the beast saw him, he immobilized him with a burning grip. He felt his blood explode beneath his skin.

As a blow nearly reached his face, he used his legs to wrap around him and, with all his strength, knocked him off balance. Once free, he quickly got to his feet and reached for his knife. Cartman would regret being the one who trained him to be an assassin. The beast was back on his feet and tried to knock him down. In one swift maneuver, he managed to stab him in the chest. His groan of pain left him exposed, and with superhuman speed, Kyle slashed his hands, causing him to drop the broken bottle to the ground.

A scream of pure rage was heard. He could have sworn he heard his name in it, but he wasn't going to find out. He escaped, unaware that this man, the same one with whom he had shared so many years of service to the mafia, was no longer a man. He was a beast, one that was ravenous.

Exhaustion strikes him against the wall, a grave mistake. Something painfully pushes him against it. It's Eric, or what's left of him. He slams his wrist, a sharp pain shooting through him, and drops his switchblade. He tries to defend himself again, but the lethal grip tightens around his neck, cutting off his air.

Eric is suffocating him. He tries to throw him off, but it feels like fighting a killing machine. Were the lights deceiving him, or was his brain finally shutting down from lack of air? He swore Eric's eyes were red, red with rage.

He's running out of air, and pleading sighs escape him. Shit, there's no escape. Is this it? Is this how it will end? Would he see Cartman's face in his last second of life? No, he doesn't have to grieve. This is what he deserves, for the sins he committed, his punishment for being cursed...

Suddenly, Eric does something, something that... confuses and terrifies. The screams are silenced, and he only manages to hear a long sigh from the man in front of him. He looks at him again with what little strength he has left, and what he sees in his eyes is stupidly strange: Eric is excited, not by killing, but by something more perverse.

Kyle didn't realize it at that moment, but they hadn't been this close in years, skin to skin, sharing the same air, ironically. Anyway, something inside Eric was awakening again, something morbid combined with the adrenaline of the moment; it was something uncomfortable, elusive, something...

Exciting.

To quell his disgust, the giant ferociously approached his mouth. The bastard wanted to force a kiss on him. Kyle tried to resist, moving his chin up as best he could; his head was already spinning. The second time, his efforts were in vain. He tried to kick, but his joints were numb. It was disgusting.

Repulsive, voracious, poisonous. Eric always wanted more and more...

Just when he thought that would be the last thing he would do, something he absolutely loathed, a dull thud suddenly broke the grip on his neck, letting him fall. He tried to catch his breath as fast as he could, only to realize that another man had attacked Eric from behind. Taking advantage of the distraction, he ran, staggering but escaping. When Cartman realized what had happened after finishing off the man who had shattered his wildest fantasy, he let out a cry of frustration that was drowned out by the other screams of the poor souls.

Kyle searched for the bunk bed where he and Tweek were supposed to hide, but when he arrived, he realized the large structure had already collapsed, and the blond boy was gone. Now he was alone, again.

Faced with madness, punished for eternity, murder.

Kenny barely managed to escape the collapsed structure. As soon as he stood, he was met with blows from behind by a stranger, leaving him sprawled on the ground. Clumsily, he tried to escape, almost slipping. His left cheek burned, his breath coming in gasps with each step. He managed to get away, but another kick knocked him off balance, leaving him at the mercy of his attacker once more. He tried to cover himself because he didn't know any better. Damn it, he swore he'd never hit anyone again.

And it wasn't because of that mess he made at work, no, it was for a reason far more traumatic than that. And every time he gave in to his primal instincts and anger clouded his judgment, his worst fear resurfaced: the vestiges left in him by his biological family, the unbridled violence, the inheritance he was inevitably forced to receive.

His arms ached from the blows, they burned. He tried to get up and run, again; but unfortunately, another man tried to take advantage and joined in his rampage. Good luck! Look, he was really trying to calm down, like last time, to avoid trouble, but this rage was controlling him. He wasn't going to let himself be trampled on, he wouldn't. So, he prepared to fight, to get his hands dirty, and to make them stop messing with him. The monster inside his head was screaming.

Just as he was about to strike one of the men in front of him, thank God, someone else stepped in front of him and saved him from sinning. It was Stan, with a long iron bar in his hands, which he used to scare off his attackers. A few shouts for them to back off were enough to make them leave them in relative peace that night of death. Behind him was Craig, pushing away others who wanted to approach them.

Stan protected, Craig attacked, the great duo they had planned a few hours ago was working perfectly.

"Are you okay?!" Stan shouted. He hadn't heard him shout so firmly since they reunited.

Kenny's throat was hoarse, and the shock of returning to his violent origins left him speechless. He nodded vigorously.

His silence didn't last long. Seeing his team again, he quickly realized one member was missing: Butters.

"Where's Butters?!" His last bit of strength was torn apart in that shout, as if something precious were in danger. What was he saying? Of course Butters was important in his life, and the thought of him in this hell alone and unprotected terrified him.

The dark-haired boys finished driving off all the enemies and looked at each other. In a tacit understanding, they returned to formation. Craig led the way, guiding and pushing or hitting anything that got in their way. Kenny was in the middle, not quite right in the head, either mentally or physically; any shout would throw him off balance and make him scream. Finally, Stan, though also scared, was the one watching the group's backs and defending them with the piece of iron.

That's how they made their way, walking between the platforms of the steps. Craig pushed any crazy person who got too cocky, Kenny was scared by the blood splattering on his face, and Stan was poking and intimidating with the iron's swing. Don't ask where he got it; those two had plenty of time to plan this.

The smell of iron was pungent, blood flowed from all those unfortunate bodies. Some lay in their bunks, at peace, unaware that death was coming. Others hung by the banderillas, dripping crimson. Still others tried to defend themselves, kicking to avoid death. One wrong blow and it would all be over. Others ran and begged, pleading for mercy: "I didn't do anything wrong, please!" And the beasts finished it all off. They didn't care; they only wanted to have fun, to win, to devour everything, to demand more, and...

That's what they do.

A girl ran, terrified and crying, begging them to open the door because her attacker was catching up to her. Behind the large door were people—no, not people, actually, there were killing machines.

"Please, open the door, help, please, no!!!" The girl screamed and begged, her sobs clearly audible behind the door. Wendy tried to numb herself, to ignore all those screams, but it stirred something in her memories, a fear she had killed and buried. She could imagine the girl, crying, her face bruised and desperate, her hair dripping with sweat from trying to escape, wondering: Why was life so cruel?

The girl kept pounding on the door, crying and begging for help. She pleaded for forgiveness for her sins and begged them to please, please save her. Her pleas were heartbreaking; inevitably, her mind began to replay painful memories. She tried, she really tried, to dissociate herself, wondering if the clothes were too uncomfortable or how many holes were in the mask, but she couldn't. She recalled the day they took everything from her, the day no one listened to her, the day they took advantage of her ignorance, the moment they violated her, tied her hands, stripped her of her military uniform, when her commander reminded her that he had the power to kill her if she didn't do as he asked, when she remained silent and obeyed because no one else would believe her, the moment when, when she, she...

"Please, please, someone help me, p-please!" the girl continued crying, her voice breaking. Just like Wendy years ago when she was still in the navy, during her early years in North Korea, when she was one of the few women in her battalion, when they used and abused her as if she were just an object, when they reminded her that no one would help her because no one cared about her because she was alone, no one would love her after she was no longer pure. She was cursed.

The girl's pleas were painful, just like her. Wendy, too, cried out for help, wondering what she had done wrong and begging for someone to save her. Wendy wept, as she did now, beneath the mask, her eyes moistening and weeping. Everything hurt: the memory of being humiliated, of being reminded that no one would ever love her because she was broken, of not being able to help the girl who begged, to help her as no one had ever helped her. She wept out of pity and begged for forgiveness. "Forgive me, please forgive me..."

Tell me, how can a murderer feel something as merciful as remorse?

She wasn't worthy of this feeling, but she couldn't help but cry. She was so broken, so alone.

Oh.

"NO!!!" She heard her vocal cords being ripped apart, accompanied by a rabid, liquid sound, and sloshing blows that made the door tremble. The girl was being murdered.

And she couldn't do anything; she was tied up again.

"Forgive me, forgive me, please..."

The violence continued to escalate to a point of no return. It was cruel; pleas were ignored, and tears were relegated to the background. Bodies were piling up on the ground; it was horrifying. Kenny wanted to vomit. The smell was noxious, and seeing the entrails of several exposed bodies made his stomach churn because of how little he'd eaten. If he was talking about his lungs, he swore they were bursting because all the air he was inhaling was abnormal.

He kept advancing with his team. His heart was pounding from all the scares they were giving him every time they tried to attack him. During one of the defensive maneuvers the boys launched, he caught a glimpse of their faces. Craig was serious, but his expression showed something else: genuine concern. He seemed desperate to find something. Stan was distressed, though he was showing courage. It was clear he was scared, perhaps even more than Kenny.

As they continued searching through the corridors and the collapsed structures, Kenny tried to dissociate—you know, what his brain does when his body starts hyperventilating with fear. He seemed to have gotten used to it by now, but he couldn't manage it. He remembered the previous game, "Dalgona," and the tormenting memories of it made him loathe the game. As if it were poison, he tried to recall his childhood years, but only distressing memories of fighting over trivial things resurfaced, memories tainted by the current reality. It was bizarre and nauseating.

It was poison that infected his best tranquilizers, his joys, a part of him...

Meanwhile, fear loomed over one of his friends, the one who was still running from danger; Kyle was still running, and he thought he'd managed to escape Eric. Now he was only defending himself with his bare fists against any attacker, kicking, pushing, and distracting them. Although he wasn't as strong as his former comrade, he was agile and could slip away through the chaos. That didn't change the fact that he was human, and anxiety was consuming him. He couldn't do this much longer; he needed help.

But who would help him?

He was alone, as always.

In a moment of distraction, another player took advantage and tried to choke him. Kyle kicked him, but his exhaustion was already showing in his lack of strength. However, there was no need to say goodbye to this world again because as soon as he threw the first kick, someone else struck the aggressor. When he felt the grip loosen, he tried to flee from the new supposed aggressor, not realizing that the other player had grabbed him. Kyle was about to hit him and run when he turned around and saw none other than Tweek.

Somehow, the alarms in his head quieted down when he saw the blond man.

He had a different bearing than usual; now he seemed to have grown. His hair was still just as unruly, but his face was confident, not nervous or fearful as it had been at first. This man was new, or perhaps he had always been like this; he didn't know. They didn't know each other well enough, but for some strange reason, he felt a little bit of trust, just a little. Confidence in having chosen the right partner.

"Come on!" He tugged on his arm, but it wasn't a hard grip. Although his wrist still ached from the struggle with Eric, he decided to ignore him and follow Tweek. In his voice, he heard determination; Tweek had something planned, and that gave him enough confidence to let someone else guide his steps. It was the camaraderie they shared. Tweek had decided to defend him and helped him, so he would cooperate with the blond's perhaps crazy plan; he would trust him with his life.

Tweek and Kyle ran, avoiding everyone, and reached the common area. There, the blond hesitated, unsure of where to flee. Maybe he should have done this before nightfall because he didn't know where Craig's team was now amidst the chaos.

"Come with me, I'll protect you at night, you'll be safe by my side." Craig quoted.

Now he couldn't fail Kyle. Kyle had trusted him to survive, and he had to deliver. He scanned every corner for any sign of the group, only to find a scene of carnage. The flickering light wasn't helping at all. Shit! Quick! They didn't have time. They didn't know it, but the beast was stalking them, and it was furious. Seeing its coveted prey with another guy made its blood boil, sharpening its teeth, ready to attack and claim its diabolical gift.

Any moment now. There was no time. On one side, there was no one; on the other, only violence. The lights obscured everything. That side? No. The other side? No. Was he looking at the same place? Ugh!

He turned around, sharpened his vision, and with the help of the light, focused on a single point. Meters in front of him stood a frightened blond boy, the most recognizable violet eyes in the world. Kenny was standing before him. Bingo!

Just in time, because the moment he pulled Kyle toward his brother-in-law, he inadvertently prevented the beast from biting the redhead's other hand. One more second and he would have been back in the demon's clutches.

They ran like never before, unaware that the larger beast was right behind them. It was like slow motion; Kenny couldn't see, the lights were disorienting, and when he saw someone running toward him, he could do nothing but freeze. His vision was deceiving him, and he couldn't tell if the person approaching was a dream or his brother-in-law coming like lightning. Wait... Is that Kyle? On either side, the two dark-haired men, on high alert, noticed and assumed defensive positions, but as soon as they recognized who was approaching with difficulty due to the lighting, they simply stopped breathing. The same happened to Kyle and Tweek, who were on the verge of fainting from all the effort they had expended that night of mortality.

Oh, Kenny, so this is the reunion you were longing for? Are you happy now?

They're all running towards you. Tell me, what will you do with the gift I prepared for you?

The blond and the redhead arrive face to face with Kenny, breathless and with their hands on their knees.

"Tweek?! Kyle?! What the hell is he doing?!" He couldn't quite process it. As soon as the duo arrived, a third "friend" interrupted the impromptu meeting.

Eric tried to lunge behind the group with his new weapon, Kyle's switchblade. Kyle noticed and pushed the two blonds in front of him to the side to avoid Eric's wrath. The four fell in different directions, but Eric, fed up with not getting what he wanted, started slashing wildly around them. The three fallen tried to get back on their feet, but Kenny was the only one struggling. He tried to get up, but the beast charged at him. Eric tried to stab him, but the purple-eyed boy rolled to the side, provoking even more hatred. Eric was trying to kill him, that's it. Kenny got up, becoming an even easier target for his former best friend.

Before Eric could leap to attack... A blow to his head from Kyle pushes him away and saves the shocked Kenny; Tweek joins in, who, seeing that the brunette is trying to stab Kyle, hits him trying to avoid the knife attacks; Craig joins in who, from a higher level, kicks Cartman until he falls down, a scream echoes through the room.

The entire team, including the new members, gathered and took their positions for combat. Stan stood at the front, his powerful weapon swatting away the reinforcements who had arrived for their badly wounded leader, who was still reeling from the violence. He recovered and stood face to face, his knife in hand, fatigue gone. His teammates, needless to say, were covered in blood.

Both teams stared at each other, their breath ragged. Another confrontation would be devastating for Team Army. The sweat on their foreheads betrayed them. It was war personified, fought by two friends who had once loved each other deeply, even considered themselves brothers, but were now enemies simply because they no longer shared the same path.

It was sad, yes, losing your best friend, mostly to violence, Kenny's worst fear. But it hurt even more to see that same brother with whom you shared such beautiful memories, vows, inside jokes, with whom you shared your dreams and aspirations, the same one who showed you his most vulnerable side and you did the same, the same friend you considered a brother, become the worst person you could ever know.

As an evil, murderous man, the worst scum, it hurt, of course, to see him that way. But right now, Kenny's heart was clouded with anger. More than a reunion, he felt like he was finally opening his eyes to see what his best friend had become.

A man who killed because he couldn't satisfy himself, who chose to kill in the gloomy darkness, driven only by his voracious hunger...

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Chapter Text

|Mirrors are liars too, because no matter how much he thinned himself until he was skin and bones, no matter how many strands of him hair begged for naturalness amidst the toxic dye, nor the burning sting of him eyes attacked by glitter, all to resemble the image in the mirror.

He had always been an echo without origin, a voracious mimic with silken fingers, a twisted childhood playing at usurping mirrors. He learned in silence.

Mirrors, imitations, duality, similarity... twins.

He didn't imitate out of tenderness, but out of a voracious hunger, a desire for what he possessed.

Even so, he wanted to stay and see it. It's easy when you only have to imitate the person in the mirror; if they're the same, then there shouldn't be any difference.

So how could they be so different? He had studied every inch of skin, every scratch and scar; he had everything duplicated. So, so…

Why? So many years, so very many. Why couldn't they still be the same? What was missing?

He stayed there, fed on it, and eagerly awaited becoming the original.

The mirror lied to me, laughed at me, telling me we were identical, what a waste. The echoes of a mocking laugh haunted him until now, when the abyss stares down at him and begs him to return, that his game of wanting to be perfect had gone too far.

"No matter what you do, he is so futile, inviolable, unequal, so unique."

"My angel..."

"Twins are two individuals born at the same event, connected by origin, but different in essence, resulting in two individuals with different genetic information. They won't always be the same..."

Not always.|

...

The lights continue to flicker diabolically, becoming tiresome.

His breaths remain ragged; a few seconds aren't enough to recover. There's no time. The beast before him does nothing but flash its sharp teeth, dripping with blood, eyes that, without exaggeration, he'd swear displayed a voracious hunger for the war about to erupt. Its hyenas only fuel the man's rage.

He can feel the adrenaline and the fear, the latter masked by impulsiveness. The people around him aren't the type to fight, or so he wants to believe, but these kinds of situations bring out the worst in everyone: the will to survive.

Me and Kenny; we wished we could ignore that instinct, because it had already led him to sin many times, and he regrets dying when that anger blinds him and makes him unworthy. Me and you, Kenny...

I was merely an omnipresent god in their lives, and what I see now is the fruit of their own sins.

Our surroundings, your surroundings. Everything freezes, the lights cease to be bothersome, the sound stops; like a model of a bad war, what he sees is this: To his left are Kyle and Tweek, exhausted. It's no wonder, that marathon to reach their people, the direct fight with the beast that was once their friend. They should have been left for dead, but they're still standing. He doesn't care much about the other one; 067 is here, and that's all that matters. He looks tired as always; nothing has changed. To his right are Stan and Craig, the former standing out more because of the improvised weapon. It does its job, but it doesn't stand out. He will always be the one responsible for the loss of his world. That he has a terrified expression and his hands tremble with fear is not his problem. The beast has already been described. I don't miss it, but, but...

He misses him, he's right.

The mirror, the parasite.

The mirror, him, the parasite.

"You should be afraid, you should be happy about the reunion, you should be angry at your friends' cruelty, you should cry because you can't take it anymore, you should be happy because it's what you wanted, what we wanted... So why are you crying?"

This reunion means everything to us, you wanted it, didn't you—

...

What? N-no...

What we wanted! What we dreamed of since they abandoned us, since that family took you away from me, what we begged for so that there would be another reunion and it would be like before, when it was simpler, you'd say, 'Why isn't it like that?'"

Rage, exhaustion, fear, and... disappointment.

The perfect meeting failed. You're still not perfect, not him.

Rage, exhaustion, fear, and more rage.

It's not the beast's curse, it's something more harmful, poisonous. The curtain falls, the disguise he swore was his skin was suffocating him, and for a moment, in his spectator's state, its poison burned everything, destroyed it, and revealed the putrid parasite within, the horrible, disgusting, and powerful actor.

He was angry that he couldn't imitate him well, that it didn't turn out as he'd imagined, and also because his angel was crying.

The lights returned to their blinding frenzy, the scene regained its speed before his eyes, too fast, the scene spins violently, faster, everything melts, and only four figures remain, then only one, faster still, the last figure becomes a mirror and...

The violent braking caused it to break; everything was ruined.

He failed again.

The mirror doesn't lie.

...

"We had a deal, Kenny! Give me Kyle!" Eric's voice sounded more authoritarian and sinister; it was a deadly warning, and the blond could feel it. It was the typical voice you hear from a killer who knows that if you don't obey, your days are numbered, or they could end right there. Kenny felt it and choked back his voice; the knot tightened again.

He was trembling. He saw and felt that at any moment everything would burst into flames and be filled with blood again, like his infected memories, only now they would become reality. He felt so much fear; he was about to cry, he could feel it. God, why was he so pathetic? He was an idiot.

His ears went silent; he could only hear an unbearable, dry ringing. His gaze occasionally split and slowed. Eric was still shouting, but he couldn't hear him anymore; only his own breathing could be heard, inhaling and exhaling. His vision wasn't improving. He was angry, disappointed, and sad. He didn't want it to be like this, damn it.

He didn't want it to be like this!

He had longed so much for an ideal reunion, full of hugs, laughter, and relief, not this...

Why, why, why?

I'm so scared...

The group is already together...

The gift he had waited for so long.

Is this what he wanted? What he wishes for every Christmas?
What he wished for every birthday? What he had hoped for with so much love?

Call him a loser, an idiot, whatever you want for not answering Cartman, for not standing up for Kyle, for avoiding the real world and hoping nothing would change. If you want, hate him for ignoring the elephant and the pain around him. Go ahead, because Kenny is doing it. He hated himself for letting his friendship slip away and for ignoring his friends' pain with this reunion. Kenny started to cry.

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101

067

199

And 456

|"The sacred numbers, the important ones, the guarded ones, the protagonists, the... untouchables... Remember that."|

|"This doesn't go on without them..."|

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"Stop!"

A bloodcurdling scream interrupted everything. Attention, perhaps morbid curiosity, focused on the man high above, above them all. Kenny turned, terrified. His brain instantly registered the source of the scream. His pupils narrowed, and terror washed over his face. It was Butters.

"T-they'll die! Don't do it! Stop!!!" A deathly sob erupted. "Stop, tell them to stop!" A desolate cry filled the room, silencing the turmoil. It was horrifying.

Kenny finally realized what was happening. Somehow, the cry pulled him from his thoughts and brought him back to reality. He looked around, demonic people attacking, others crying and hiding with their ears covered, those who were running now looked confused at the top of one of the bunks, the bodies, those who were once people with dreams and the hope that in the end everything would be alright, ended up like this... in nothing.

Was that okay? No, of course not. His mind kept replaying the values ​​he'd built up over Kenny's life, and he answered no, but...

But this place made it seem right, and that terrified him.

He wanted to look at Butters, but he couldn't find his face. He only heard his whimpers. He didn't know why, but he started to cry, even harder than before. He looked down so no one would see him, even though they all knew how sensitive he was.

Did he do it out of ego, or because he knew that when he cried it was a signal to his friends that they'd crossed a line with some teasing or game in the past? Maybe he did it subconsciously so his friends would stop fighting and go comfort him. A fussy reflex.

Ha...

You're a fool, Kenny, a fool who can't accept that everything has changed.

Nothing will ever be the same again...

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Violence has two sides: the aggressor and the victim.

But in some cases, almost always, there is the spectator, who enjoys it or feels a flicker of empathy or entertainment. None of this stops the initial problem.

The lights stop dancing, out of pity for the players' eyes. At the same time, a loud crash interrupts the dead noise. Point-blank shots fired into nothingness draw everyone's attention. With that warning, a troop of guards enters and arrests the players. They neither defend nor attack; they simply arrest because they obey orders. The man in the white mask continues to watch.

The room is a vestige of what was a violent war and a bloody massacre.

How can a human being reach such a point? To attack their own kind. When did we become so evil?

Since we were born?

Wendy wants to know, she honestly doesn't understand. Why go so far as to harm people? What do you gain from it? Hell isn't exactly the best hotel in the universe. She wants to understand because she also wants to understand herself.

She feels the sole of her boot tread on sticky substances; she was probably leaving bloody footprints. Her job? To restrain violent individuals and confiscate bladed weapons. First group in sight, interrupt.

She points her pistol at the group of men who appeared to be about to start a brawl, one side dirtier than the other, but the other group's very visible weapons don't absolve them of their sins. One more minute and none of them would be alive.

"Hands on your heads," her pistol says. No words are needed as she places it between the men's faces, the barrel raised without hesitation. Their faces paled, and they obeyed—at least those in the "sinless" group. The other group resisted, but as soon as a demonstration shot was fired at the rooftop, they hissed and lined up with the other detainees.

There's no need to emphasize their faces. Both sides intended to cause harm, and for that, they are now considered beasts. No one was a saint in this life, neither she nor they.

Because there were lives that wanted to hide, perhaps, to choose dialogue and justice, but as always, they were silenced by a hateful beast.

Along with the other guards, they began the pat-down search, looking for weapons, one by one. It went like a programmed sequence, ingrained in their very being. The first men showed nothing suspicious; she thought there would be no problems, but she was wrong.

When she reached the third man, she noticed his incessant trembling as soon as she felt his tense muscles. She imagined he was nervous because he did have something dangerous with him. With that warning, she continued, paying closer attention to each pat-down. She moved up without incident until she reached the bottom of his jacket, specifically his pockets. Her fingers felt a strange hardness, small and with a peculiar shape.

Were they bullets? How could...?

She stood up immediately and said, "Turn around."

She could feel the other men around him tense up. Him group? Perhaps.

And the man in front of her seemed to tremble even more. Wendy repeated herself, her altered voice sounding more menacing, turning the man back to a state of stasis. The sounds seemed to fade, and her attention shifted directly to the accused. Her gaze sharpened, and the man turned very slowly, as if the executioner's patience were endless. Wendy didn't care; she only wanted to see the face of the man who seemed intent on harming others with whatever he had in his pockets.

Then, the surroundings fell silent. The anonymous man turned awkwardly and raised his head, his fear palpable. As soon as Wendy saw the fearful man, her face softened, though the mask concealed it. It was the same boy from the boat, the same one who slept peacefully without imagining that he would live through something like this. At that time I saw him asleep because of the smoke and darkness of the van, now I saw him clearly, especially his face which showed no other emotion than fear.

Fear seemed to consume him; his hands frantically danced, his breath ragged, his eyebrows arched, and his face paled as snow. This boy was about to die of terror if she didn't kill him first.

"Show me what you have in your pockets," she blurted out.

The man shed his previous slowness, replacing it with trembling speed. His hands searched his pockets, seemingly playing inside for a while until they found what Wendy was looking for. His slowness returned, and he fearfully pulled the object out in a fist.

"Open it." The attention was agonizing, like a bomb about to explode, like a violin about to break a string in the middle of an opera.

Terrified, the dark-haired man opened his fingers to reveal what they concealed. Of course, Wendy wouldn't kill him; she'd take it from him if it was something brought in from outside, but Stan firmly believed these were his last seconds of life.

Stan opened his fist, and what lay inside somehow amused Wendy. In his palm lay four bolts, large enough to secure a bunk bed with all its parts, that is, with the metal frame connected.

How had this kid managed to remove the bolts from the sturdiest bunk beds? That was impossible unless you were a superhuman! Without realizing it, a tiny smile was forming beneath his mask.

"W-we had to f-defend ourselves..." the kid stammered, his smile immediately vanishing. He glanced down and saw a long metal rod belonging to one of the bunk beds. His memory snapped back to him, and he addressed the two groups. One bloody, the other "sinless." One was teeming with beasts, clearly adorned with a blood-soaked mantle, while the other, though dirty and exhausted, wasn't decorated with the crimson cloak of suffering as a trophy. When they entered, he saw them. One of them was wielding a long-range weapon, driving the beasts away. So, if his assumption was correct, this kid simply wanted to survive by protecting his own.

We all want to do it, even though fear looms, we'll always be creative enough to get what we want. Although…

"Fix it," she managed to say before continuing her inspection of the other player. She glanced back one last time as she did so, watching the blue-eyed boy let out a suppressed sigh. It provoked a few quiet giggles as she watched him almost trip over his own feet trying to retrieve his confiscated possession.

It seemed to distract her from reality, because Wendy Testaburger couldn't remember the last time she had laughed or smiled genuinely; she was sure it had been a very, very long time.

While the first seeds of anger were sprouting in the violet-eyed girl, on the other side, a treacherous trap was being set.

Eric had the knife before the guards even entered, the weapon he would have used to finish off his former friends if not for the interruption. He hissed as another guard patted down his gear. It was only a matter of seconds before they took away the only thing he had to defend himself. He wouldn't admit it, but he didn't want them to take it because of its sentimental value to its original owner.

There wasn't much of a trick to it. He'd done this before. It wasn't the first time the law had confiscated his stuff and he'd had to hide his merchandise to avoid arrest. If he could hide weapons with just a slight movement, a knife was nothing. Just another trick of the trade, his weapon traveled down his jacket and into his pants. In a somewhat discreet movement, it landed in front of his shoes. Taking advantage of the guard's distraction, he kicked the object somewhere between the bunks. When he got out of this mess, he'd go get it.

A satisfied smile spread across his face. Perhaps his former friends had been spared this time, only by the whim of those pink-clad friends, but next time, he wouldn't hesitate. As soon as he had the chance, he would make them pay for their anger, with blood, with screams, and with a burning desire.

.

.

.

Just as unexpectedly as the guards had arrived to conveniently stop the war between the players, they left, carrying the dead bodies away in a gift box like some kind of sick joke.

The robotic voice announced the number of casualties, a true massacre that it calmly kept counting.

Although the piggy bank fell again, with the same morbid hypnotism as before, his group didn't pay it any attention.

What's more, if Kenny could even think about it, of course he would. Maybe he'd be happy, or scared, or some emotion that defies description. All he knows is that his brain is fried and the smell of rust is killing him.

Time passed, he was sure of it. The guards left like gears recharged, without questioning anything or saying a word.

And damn it! What the hell was going on? They had just come out of what was, literally, a brutal massacre. They almost died in the process, and if that wasn't enough, one of the guards nearly killed Stan!

He felt it, damn it! He was right next to him! He felt them all go pale the moment Stan was framed! Ahhh!

He didn't know where they got the strength to get their team to their rendezvous point, still shaken by everything. Hell, his eyes were focused on anything but thinking, and he didn't want to burn the last of his brainpower. They didn't sleep, he knew that. They sat down, along with the two new members who also didn't react to anything. Like he said, they all acted like zombies, too dead to even know they were dead.

That's how it was, a terrifying silence he still hadn't processed. It seemed his emotions had been arranged in such a way that his entire reserve was now empty.

And yes, it was a dead time. If someone was using this time to think instead of sleeping, then he felt sorry for one of his friends if that was the case. Therein lay the dilemma! Ha, yes, how amusing!

Okay, Kenny, you've got your friends together, congratulations, now... What's next? What do you say? What the hell are you doing to avoid starting another civil war?

Yes! The stupid elephant was about to explode! Why did you ignore it, you big fool?

Anyway, what to do? He had no idea. He preferred to focus on this childish squabble about his friendship rather than dwell on all the carnage from last night, which, even with just a glimpse of it, made him nauseous and want to explode.

That was his torturous evening until, after hours that seemed like an eternity, the lights came on with an impressive coldness. A new day was beginning, and his time of escaping reality was over.

AHHHH!

They were like this, now that their senses were activated: They were sitting on the steps. He was on one with Craig and Stan; on the step above were the new members, Tweek and Kyle; while on the very bottom step was Butters, who he didn't know when, but had joined rather late. He hadn't seen him arrive because of the dimness.

The air was dry, the cold light only added to the uncomfortable vibe, and the noise starting from the other players made the group's oppressive silence palpable.

So much to say, yet so little to say.

What are we good for, huh!

—…Lucky no one was hurt, we escaped by a hair…—normally he would finish with a laugh, but his throat was so messed up that even saying that was painful.

He wasn't expecting a response, and if one came, he knew it wouldn't be genuine. The tension was unbearable and was making his hair stand on end, as if anything he said would shatter everyone's perfect bubble. No one wanted to talk, but they wanted to know; others wanted to talk, but they didn't know what to say.

Specifically, those four little people with two very similar situations—well, not exactly, but they had the same difficulty talking about everything! So…

“Hey Butters… How did you get all the way up there? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” He crouched down to talk to Butters. He thought, He thought it would at least be less awkward talking to him, at least he could comfort him about what had happened a few hours earlier; he thought. Why did it go so badly, since Butters seemed worse than everyone involved in the civil war!

He was trembling, it seemed, though he still kept his head buried in his arms and legs. He guessed he was nervous and anxious. He wasn't going to force him if he didn't want to; he understood. Kenny was now taking refuge in this "high school" drama to avoid thinking about the previous night, but Butters couldn't detach himself from anything else because he didn't know the chaos in their personal lives. He was certainly worried. He wanted to support him the way the blond had supported him during his worst outbursts, only now, now he understood he couldn't do much. Butters needed to calm himself down, he guessed, judging by how he wasn't paying attention. So, he withdrew his hand and hid it before it touched the other's shoulder.

Back to square one, the cold no one wanted to break.

...And he kept crashing into the ice.

"It's good that we're all together again! Don't you think?" Silence is the only thing that hears him. "Yeah..."

How do you start something when it's the end of the world? What do you say to prevent World War III? What do you say to comfort someone who's suicidal? Wow! Wait, not that much, is it? Come on, brain. Didn't you rehearse all these years about what the reunion with your friends would be like?

He looks at Stan and finds him overwhelmed, he looks up at Kyle and the view doesn't improve, nor does it worsen. He seems to have noticed Kenny's pitying gaze because he's avoiding looking at him. He seemed more ashamed of something, more sad than angry at Kenny's intrusion. He hissed in pity; the more he looked, the more the situation sank.

He shifted his attention to the character next to him, Tweek.

Sorry, Tweek!

"Tweek!" Here we go, the elephant doing the juggling act.

"A-agh! W-what?!" The blond boy jumped up when he saw Kenny, staring at him way too closely with a smile that betrayed his discomfort.

"Sorry, sorry! It's just that..." Kenny flailed his hands, trying to calm Tweek, who was on the verge of a meltdown. The others just wished they had corks in their ears to block out the chaos Kenny was about to unleash. "...U-uh, I-I'd like you to meet the guys! I bet you don't know them, well, maybe a couple of them, but that doesn't matter! I think I mentioned them to you at some point. Do you remember, um... anything?"

"N-no." Someone please help him...

"Oh, w-well, then, well, uh... wait a minute!"

If the other men could even move, they'd be pinching the bridge of their noses at the hilarious situation.

Kenny tries to stand up and climb to sit with the guys upstairs. The process? He's in everyone's way, bothering those next to him by getting up, moving around, and constantly asking permission to make room for him. He can't help but feel that familiar murderous glare from his beloved brother, a glare he's known since his teenage years. He'll just have to deal with it. At least he's doing something, okay?!

"Heh, sorry, yeah... what I came here for! Yes! Uh." Taking advantage of being between Tweek and Kyle, he started pointing to introduce his friends to his brother-in-law. "This is Stan! M-my friend since childhood in South Park!" The dark-haired boy could only die of embarrassment as he looked anywhere but where Kenny was shamelessly pointing at him. Sorry, Stan!

Kenny quickly understood the man's discomfort and, trying to shift his attention, made the mistake of pointing to the left, where Craig was... Damn it! Craig? Tweek? Ahhhhh!

"Ah! Uh no, uh..." He couldn't take it anymore. "Uh... Kyle! Yes, Kyle!" He pointed to his side, preventing Tweek from collapsing over, you know who, but not preventing Kyle from feeling even more awkward.

They were passing it around like it was "hot potato."

"Kyle's my friend too! Also from South Park! ... But, I think you two already know each other..." Kenny's neurons finally fired. "Wait, how do you two know each other?"

There it was! The spark that ignited everything, the glimmer that caught everyone's attention, those who had previously been self-conscious with discomfort. Everyone's question, everyone's attention. Why did they come together?

The questions swirled in the minds of the two dark-haired boys, both very insecure, though they'd never admit it. Their mouths stung with questions and the need for answers. Now they were either going to explode from something harmful, one more than the other. Why were they together?

"How come—"

The devil finally turns around.

"We're partners," Kyle interrupts Kenny.

Everything falls silent, as if it were a great revelation.

Something lethal grows inside Craig upon hearing the confession. Stan, as always, chokes, accumulating and on the verge of exploding in the worst way, all the unresolved issues. Meanwhile, the poison inside Craig just keeps growing, growing, and growing so much that he wants to vomit from the jealousy gnawing at him. The tar spreads to every corner of his brain.

Tweek, his Tweek, he was with… his worst enemy.

"Seriously! Wow, how exciting!" Kenny was in a better mood than the rest, more confident, you could say. He immediately turned to his side. "Kylee!"

Without hesitating, not even a hint of excitement, Kenny jumped up and brazenly hugged the redhead beside him. Somehow, that silenced the pent-up anger, even though it was simmering beneath the surface. Although the intention was purely affectionate, there was something that stirred up trouble and brought back insecurities from the past.

The uncomfortable truth of wondering if you're still friends with someone after an absence they themselves created.

Especially burdened by the weight he'd placed on himself for committing the greatest of sins against his own flesh and blood.

Kyle questioned that, the simplest and yet most agonizing doubt of his life. He left, yes, not out of desire or for such simple reasons; escaping and surviving with Ike was never his best decision, and even now he defends himself by convincing himself that it was the only option, in fact. Even so, the matter of their friendship remained unresolved, frozen and forgotten. After so much time, he didn't know if their friendship had evaporated with the passing years or if it had remained static, like a preserved relic, waiting for its moment of reunion.

Now he was here, in the flesh. Kenny squeezing him like a sponge in a bear hug.

Even with that discomfort, he couldn't stop his cheeks from lifting and a smile from forming, small, but very important for this temporary pause in their friendship. Kyle appreciated that gesture from the blond so much, too much.

"Kyle!! Finally, finally, you're back! I missed you so much, wahhh!" he shouted, starting to shake the redhead by his shoulders. "It's amazing to see each other again, wahh! You really didn't let me find you, huh!"

If Kenny were as big as his former brother-in-law, he might have hurt Kyle in all the shoving and euphoria, but the blond boy didn't have those physical attributes, fortunately.

For a fleeting moment, before those knowing eyes, Kenny returned, in spirit and intensity; that listless man, on the verge of fainting into a child's grave, became that boy again, oblivious to every threat, unaware of how his hugs sometimes suffocated, and how, somehow, his eyes, his smile, and his sparkle returned. Kenny was himself again.

Kenny was scolding him, recounting between hugs and tousled hair how they'd searched for him, how they'd teamed up to look for him and still hadn't found him, also using a bit of "Kenny" to emphasize that they had indeed looked. All this was accompanied by the blond's incredible displays of affection, which never ceased, though the redhead's stiffness, unsure how to reciprocate, was amusing to watch. Beside the pair was Tweek, trying to hide a laugh that the scene provoked, like a cat and dog, he thought, covering his mouth to keep from bursting out, as if it were a crime.

Perhaps not on that rung; further down the ladder, laughter seemed to be considered a crime. Craig and Stan were silent; instead of sharing in the happiness of the trio above, the two dark-haired boys were drowning in their own poison. Especially the blue-eyed one; if the other was dying of jealousy, then Stan was seething with envy, perhaps jealousy too.

"Why am I not there?"

"Why not me?"

"Why didn't it feel right? There was still something we needed to talk about, something we needed to work through. Why do they keep making him look like the bad guy?"

"Why not me, Kyle? Don't I ex-"

"It's amazing that you're here, Kyle! Don't you think so, Stan?!" Kenny blurted out, breaking the unspoken rule, being himself again, without thinking much, without seeing the volcano that would end everything if he made that connection between the two men. Once again, his curse of stupidity forced Kyle and Stan to meet and stare down the elephant they had ignored, laughed at, and now burned like a volcano of rage.

Everyone seemed to notice. Stan glanced up just as Kyle stopped trying to wriggle free from Kenny and looked over, stopping to see his... friend, best friend, ex-best friend?

Were they still friends, after all? After...

After a long time, Emerald and Blue met again. What started it all—the friendship and the separation—it all began there, when those two irises met, talked, had lethal conversations before the end of their friendship, talks so full of emotion that remembering them now was painful. They had been through so much together that now just seeing each other made him uncomfortable. There was also anger, a misunderstanding about how things had ended between them.

Kenny didn't know; he only witnessed the events. According to him, only his two friends were unfair and immature in starting a stupid fight that ended with their group of friends falling apart. Although Kenny maintained this version of events, he never knew what happened after the final straw. He wasn't there for the immense pain that ensued between them.

He didn't see Stan fall into addiction because of the responsibilities he didn't want at such a young age. He didn't see Kyle have to be there, even while living through a hell in his old home, how that dynamic deteriorated them, and how they experienced so many things together that now made the moment awkward, incredibly awkward.

Blue and Emerald quickly said their goodbyes. The volcano was about to erupt, taking the rest of the elephant with it. It was time to talk, and there was nowhere to run.

"The fourth game is about to begin. Follow the staff's instructions and head to the game..."

...

.

.

.

The ragged gasps began to subside after a fiery round of passion. The door stopped creaking to the rhythm of the clock's hands, and the two lovers finished their act of love.

Phew!

And to tell the truth, she felt very, very proud to have been able to seize the bull by the horns at this reddish festival! Thanks to her infinite feminine wisdom!

Bingo! Ding, ding, ding, the victory bell rings like a glorious choir melody.

Heidi was tired, and not from the savagery of the previous night, no, no, no, those are men's problems, nothing to do with her. In fact, she hid as soon as she could and only came out of her hiding place under the bunks when her team reunited, and just as she'd imagined, they were all barbaric cavemen! Ha!... Does that make any sense? Boo!

They had their jobs, she had hers. That's why she was tired! I mean, putting up with a bull named Eric after the guy had literally patched up his own skin from the cuts in the attack, who knows how or with what. One minute she turned around and the hideous scar was closed, adorned with dried blood and a disgusting metallic smell. Yuck!

And well, between the pent-up rage of the night and the adrenaline rush of the man healing himself without so much as a cry (he was more convinced he was treating a beast than a man, given his savagery, to be honest), amidst all that emotion, it was obvious she wouldn't miss the opportunity to use her wiles of champagne and lust. She could also devise plans and wasn't going to need to resort to brute force like certain specimens.

Not that it's easy, no, no, no! Not one of these idiots could withstand such force stemming from certain impetuous acts that demand a great deal of resistance against the fiery beast before you.

And seriously! This deserves an award for being the woman who best endured and survived the rough fucking from this man turned beast.

Yes, after Mr. Cartman showed us brutality even towards himself, Heidi noticed something. While the brunette was tending to the cuts he received in the fight with the redhead, Heidi, sitting on the steps around her boss and taking note of this savagery, noticed something shiny peeking out of Eric's pants pockets. Her suspicions at that moment, combined with the giant's wounds, made her think it might be a knife.

What?!

She's incredibly curious; it's in her nature, it's been there since birth. Her flaw? Sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. That's precisely why she "died" like a cat more times than she could count.

While the brunette was bragging with the other idiots about how many people they'd killed and blah, blah, blah... She, with all the charm a woman of her type can muster, approached Eric very lasciviously. He remained confused, then lost, and then seemed to understand her intentions, still standing tall.

Nor was she going to lie; the bastard looked incredibly handsome in that state, even in that horrifying state. His manhood made him stand out. Occupational hazards, he apologizes, but he's not sorry!

That's when she settled into a more flexible, snuggled position next to the chestnut-haired man's body, her hand moving passionately upwards until it reached the shining target. She intentionally touched that spot, then discreetly searched his pockets. A flirtatious touch followed, and finally she could decipher what this bull was hiding. She tried with all her might to keep her expression from changing amidst the seduction.

How to say this calmly?

Let's see...

HOW THE HELL DOES THIS BASTARD HAVE A FUCKING KNIFE?!

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Um, yeah, how was that even possible, for God's sake...

At that moment, her mind started racing, and she remembered. The night before, when Velvet had trapped her and cruelly forced her to distract the guards in the bathroom while he investigated the vents, she remembered that Velvet had used a knife to unscrew the cover of the damn vent.

She'd never forget the fright he gave her when he pointed that knife at her like he was going to kill her for talking nonsense out of sheer morbid curiosity. How crazy!

That's when a plan came to her. She wanted that knife, it wasn't really a plan, but you get the picture. Let's analyze the situation. Even though she brought male biological forces onto the team for protection, she knows it's only a matter of time before they betray her. It's logical!

Don't think she doesn't notice when those idiots only stare at her ass when she walks by. Especially that stupid Ricky! For them, like everyone else, she was just a toy they could throw away. She'd learned the hard way several times because of her early innocence, and she'd built up a defense in case it happened again...

She just wants a weapon for self-defense, nothing more, and well... She also wants to know if it's Velvet's same knife; I mean, she really wants an excuse to look for it.

She misses teasing him and seeing him turn red with anger! That's obvious, that's the reason...

Well, he's still one of them, but, but...

Uhm...

That's why she's like this now, clinging to Eric's shoulder, all sweaty, trying to catch her breath. She looked as fragile as a delicate flower. But no! Actually, she was looking down for him pants and the damn knife. Finding no trace of it, she figured she'd have to perform another sensual acrobatic feat to feel around on the floor and find it. Shit.

"Shit..." the bigger one blurted out.

"Are you okay, my love~?"

"Don't call me that."

"Uhm? Why, sweetheart~? Do I remind you of some other old whore? Heh, heh~"

"It wasn't a whore, it was more special..." he said randomly, his voice blank as if he weren't aware of what he was saying. It usually happens when men come to de-stress, and sometimes they let loose because of the adrenaline rush... And of course, he was going to take advantage of it.

Meanwhile, she slowly lowered herself to feel the ground and leave everything to fate. Her arms were no longer tangled around his neck, and he finally reached solid ground.

"Oh yeah? How was he more special, was she your girlfriend? How cheeky! What would he say if he knew you were hooking up with me?" Of course, she was going down that devilish path.

Let's talk about the devil!

"Heh, he'd tell me to get lost, or maybe he'd beat me up..." He laughs weakly, as if the puzzle pieces didn't quite fit together. He realized this and reconsidered. "No... actually, no, he'd do the opposite. He'd ignore it and act like nothing was wrong, nothing..."

"That sounds really cruel. Why would he treat you so badly? Weren't you two a couple?"

"No... He was too much of a moralist to think that way. I think he's calmer than before, although he still has that habit of not being able to say hello without wanting to kill you."

Ding, ding, ding! Are we talking about the same Lucifer? Of course we are!

"Let me be curious, do you miss him? I mean, it must have been a long time for him to come back to your memory, even with a hottie like me..." she suspects, she suspects.

Then she feels a tug on her waist. Heidi panics, thinking Eric has figured out the trap she's setting, asking herself a thousand times why the hell she has to be so nosy about these kinds of things. But no, false alarm; her foot just finds a firm, irregularly shaped object covered by her pants and jacket next to the toilet, just a little closer...

An awkward silence fell, just as the green-eyed girl was about to resume her barrage of prying questions to distract from her heist of the year. She heard Eric's breathing quicken and his grip tighten.

Uh oh...

"I gave him everything."

It was a lethal whisper, as if slowly emerging from his hazy stupor, his words growing deeper and more dangerous.

Heidi was on high alert. Her voice had no place in that confessional.

"I let him join my team, gave him a place to belong when he was just some street scum... I would have let them kill him..."

What?

The grip hurt, but she was afraid to say a word. She quickly reached for the knife.

"Was he angry about how I treated him at first? He was a stupid rookie, I had to correct him, I was his boss and he had to obey me, but he always did what he wanted, it made me angry..."

She felt sharp pricks in her waist, she seemed to forget he was holding her while she remembered, or maybe not, that gave her goosebumps, she had to keep her composure if she didn't want to fail at her only way of surviving, even though she was scared.

"Then I started treating him well, spoiling him rotten, giving him less work, taking him to private parties, letting him into my life, and he still took advantage of my kindness, he took advantage of my lo—"

Heidi let out a scream that she quickly stifled by biting her lip. She swore she felt those thick fingers hit her ribs and tear at her skin, leaving horrible bruises.

In the midst of the outburst, Eric snapped out of his daze and roughly released the girl, using the opportunity to slide his foot and toss the knife behind the toilet.

Ding, ding, ding.

Dong.

"The fourth game is about to begin. Follow the staff's instructions and head to the game..." came the announcement over the bathroom's PA system.

Ha... Hahaha!

"Oh, what a shame! Don't worry, I'm fine, I'm fine! In fact." Now, she bends down to pick up her scattered clothes and clumsily puts them on; amidst the tangle, she pretends to grab her shoes while she hooks them with the knife and hides them inside. "It's a good way to start the day, my love~! I'll wait for you outside..."

She flirtatiously strokes his chin and gives him a quick kiss, practically escaping the cubicle now with the new discomfort in the sole of her shoe. Will it be worth it? She hopes so.

How much do you rate this sexual experience? -10/20

Boo!

.

.

.

The snow falls like pearls, the mud becomes tangible, and the stones do nothing but impede his path. Everything is plastic, not real.

Back in the spiral staircase, he couldn't imagine what kind of game was coming next. Between all the groping and the circular labyrinth, he could swear he was going crazy. Kenny tried to ignore this new anxiety. Frankly, the meeting and conversation with his friends had calmed him down, a little at least, but now, just moments before entering the next infernal ring, he wasn't in the mood to buy his friends a beer like they usually do at reunions.

Usually.

When they arrived at their destination and a large door opened, he swore for a moment that his mind was playing some twisted trick on him, a devilish scheme he'd apparently devised because he was, in fact, his favorite toy. Why? Easy to answer.

A blinding light assaulted his eyes, and the wind chilled his hands and face. When his vision finally adjusted, the first thing he saw were four walls painted to resemble a forest—not just any forest, but one he could recognize even with just a few brushstrokes of tempera paint: the forest that adorned South Park. The pine trees were sprayed white with a technique that simulated snow, the texture making them incredibly realistic. In the background, the characteristic blue of the mountains was depicted. Only the blurring of the lines between the artificial and real sky, thanks to the lack of a roof, brought him back to this reality, and he felt disheartened. It wasn't really his fantasy; that's all he wanted to believe.

As they entered and the room filled to capacity, the voice of a silent executioner resurfaced.

"Welcome to all players for the fourth game. This game is played in pairs."

"All players must form pairs. You only have 10 minutes. Begin."

And as soon as he uttered those last words, his entourage went blank and decided to jump off the bridge. Kenny wanted to jump too, but he had to set an example, as the good leader he was.

"Form pairs."

And everyone seemed to want to grab a gun and end this endless torture of camaraderie. Uncomfortable.

He looks down, noticing other details. Anything is better than facing the situation. There's mud, a lot of it, he wants to believe. The white paint marks make him think it might be a game like "Yut Nori." It's not easy to see, but he swears there are small stones embedded in it.

Ah...

He's really starting to regret having a fucking brain.

Because right now, it was the only thing he wanted to disappear, to unplug from all the wires that make his body function like a normal human and just explode. The throbbing in his cranial cortex hurt so much he swore his brain had become a bomb about to explode, or maybe it already had a few hours ago when everything went to shit.

Ha!

Kenny felt like he was back in school, when they asked him what "x+y" was and he had to use all his brainpower; God, his head was burning because, how the hell am I supposed to know what "x+y" is?! Who the hell thought of putting letters in math?! Or when he had to remember who the heck got to the moon first! I don't know! Shakespeare, maybe! Or was that contemporary literature? Ugh!

Yeah, that's what he was doing! Let's ignore the elephant again because it's just glaring at us with pure hatred!

What did he do in his teens? Let's see...

He couldn't remember, maybe he went to parties, hung out with Dog and the guys, went to the park... Yeah, he definitely didn't remember anything about classes, well, he did, but he only remembered turning around and asking Craig for help, Craig actually knew what "x+y" was! Unbelievable!

That's what he would do now, too—turn around and ask. Yes, Craig always had the answers; he was the smartest and had everything in order. Yes, that's what he would do! He would!

Craig!

But when he turned around, he only saw a man. Just that, a man, nothing more.

The look his brother gave him brought him back to reality, the cold and uncomfortable reality. The six men were standing in a circle, all with their heads down except for the two brothers. What he saw in Craig frightened him. He had expected to find some reassurance; it was what he felt when he didn't know anything on an exam, and just knowing Craig would be there calmed him. Only now, that certainty seemed to hang by a thread.

Craig was serious, but not his usual seriousness. Kenny had grown up with him and knew when his brother was going through a storm inside, so he could be sure Craig was sad. The dark-haired boy seemed to realize his suspicion and looked away, observing his brother's classic reflex: bringing his hand to the corner of his eyes, closing and opening them, and then "coming back."

Kenny didn't like that gesture. He did it whenever he knew he'd crossed a line, and a painful ice was forming between them. So he looked away, embarrassed, without knowing why.

A new detail on the walls: colorful balloons tied to some branches...

"We need to form groups," Craig said with that businesslike coldness, but no one answered; no one wanted to.

He glanced to the other side, and in that moment he noticed Kyle now looking at Craig, and also how Tweek was starting to tremble.

At the other end, there was a garish red clock, right above the other door to the real game.

"I'll go with Tweek; we're in pairs, it'll be easy to form the duos." Kyle's nonchalant initiative and lack of nerves, like the others, sent chills down his spine. He turned to look at Craig; his new, furrowed brow warned him of an impending tornado, and the situation certainly left a bad taste in his mouth.

He sensed it, he knew what was coming, and fear returned, a different kind of fear, one he hadn't felt in years.

"Hey, hey! I-I think Kyle's right, we're even, we're a team... We have everything to win!" Even with his erratic movements, he couldn't get the attention of either man, as if they were more focused on staring at each other, like a power struggle between leaders.

His throat tightened. He remembered this feeling, the situation, and the same people, and he was terrified.

"Come on, guys, it doesn't matter what game it is! If we're a good team, I mean, friends—" He stepped between them, pushing away the other ticking time bombs that were about to explode if he said another word. Tweek was also about to explode, and Stan was about to erupt in the worst way. "I know it's scary, but we've done it before and survived! Come on, we played these games when we were kids so much that I still dream about them, ha ha..."

Tick ​​tock, tick tock.

"I'm sure everyone knows how to play them! We used to play them every day in the park! Remember? Even the neighbors thought we were brothers when they saw four kids together every day! We can do it if we stick together, as friends!"

Kenny's voice was starting to irritate him, his fingers digging into his palm, the pressure he'd been putting on was about to explode.

"Please, guys, let's just ignore everything and go back to how things were before!"

To how they were before...

|"The only constant is change, and anyone who disagrees... well, they can die."|

"THAT'S STUPID!" he yelled, letting his true voice out. Stan was finally letting go of everything that had been suffocating him until that moment.

The shout made everyone passing by the group turn around; others glanced sideways, and even the general noise of the place had dissipated. The group's attention shifted to Stan; the voice they thought was silent was finally speaking about what no one wanted to hear.

He wasn't the bad guy for introducing the elephant that the four of them had created and that he had to endure all these years.

However, the truth was tainted with that deadly poison: jealousy.

"It doesn't work like that, Kenny! Do you think everything can go back to the way it was?! That's stupid!" He lunged forward violently, and without asking, as he had timidly before, he grabbed Kenny's shoulders and turned him to face him. "Don't you understand that we can't be friends again?!"

"S-Stan..."

"No! You won't make me look like the bad guy because our friendship will end! You, more than anyone, should know that. You don't even seem to remember those days! You, him... Ugh!" His gaze traveled to the left of the blond boy. Seeing Kyle so calm, yet weakly surprised by the situation, angered him more than anything. "...None of you seem to remember, none of you want to accept what you did! I'm not the only one who messed up!"

Kenny's fear returned, and it was because of the same individuals who had caused that trauma, the fight, just like that day... "G-guys, c-calm down! W-we'll sort this out later! A-are you okay, Stan? Let's just focus on the game and..."

"And you..." In an instant, the blond boy and everyone else faded into the background, and everything else below them became irrelevant. From Stan's perspective, there was only him and Kyle, with that backdrop so similar to the town that had left them scarred. He advanced angrily, pointing a finger at him and grinding his teeth next to his face bathed in fury, standing face to face with his former best friend.

A few minutes passed. Hours to him. He waited and waited, just as he did in his room. He longed and longed, just as he did in that place that belonged to the two of them, a place his other friends didn't know: a hill crowned by a tree and an old well, which they used to escape the world and be just the two of them.

He wept and wept by that well when the most important person in his life disappeared without a trace. He wept with regret for life, because the last words they exchanged were in that pathetic fight that left him unable to sleep or wake for a decade.

And when he finally had the chance to see him again, to get his best friend back, he was left with the bitter feeling that Kyle didn't care about his existence in the slightest. Not when he saw him fighting with Cartman on the first day, not when they were at the first voting of the games, in Dalgona, that night, not even when they were sitting inches apart, did he feel the need to speak to him, to apologize for what they had done to end up like this. They were both to blame, and he couldn't even come and ask for forgiveness.

He waited, like at this very moment, his whole life he waited and received nothing in return. He waited for Kyle to look for him, to talk to him, and for them to go back to being what they were. It was stupid.

He was his best friend, more important than Kenny and Cartman. So why do you talk to them? How the hell did you look for Eric before me years ago?

This time he wasn't going to drown in the questions that had been slowly digging his grave all these years.

"Answer me! Are you mad at me? I remind you that I wasn't the only one who said shit that day! We all participated, and I don't see you mad at those two! Why are you ignoring me, huh?! What did I do to make you hate me so much that you preferred spending all these years with Cartman instead of me?! Your so-called best friend!"

He blurted it out with everything he had. The ensuing silence was painful; the redhead's response was dangerously anticipated. The exhilarated sighs of the former dyed-haired man were the only sound in the group.

Because sometimes things can't go back to the way they were; it's impossible. And if they do return, they won't be the same. If they do return, they'll come accompanied by the shattered shards of old wounds, wounds that tore at and exhausted their patience, shards that ultimately bled dry everything that was once a beautiful friendship.

Perhaps they're back together; nostalgia made the reunion so exciting that they forgot how miserable they'd been together in the past. Problems don't disappear, and they chose to sweep them under the rug.

Everyone sees it, their attention divided between the time they have left and the redhead, his composure unwavering.

And Kyle, Kyle is just too tired...

What do you say when you've just confessed to something that's a crime? Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

"There's no time for this, we only have a few minutes left."

If the elephant exploded, Kyle brought it back, sculpted it again, and proceeded to grab it by the tusks, because the bull metaphor is too aggressive and the redhead's calmness is too abnormal for the situation.

Besides, we decided to name the problem a chubby elephant.

...

Screw the elephant.

—W-what do we do now?— Kenny, Kenny, he's starting to think it's time to plan what his epitaph will say.

Tick tock

Tick tock

Tick...

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