La Resistance Lives on!

3: It's Eight PM and I'm Freezing My Ass Off In a Cold Warehouse.

Snow flurries swirl around me as I trek to the warehouse. It's fucking cold, it's completely silent, and the only light comes from the burning-out streetlights. I contemplate putting in some earbuds, but I know that's a dumb idea when considering how shady I've heard South Park gets at night. The tunes could wait.

I quickly realize I don't actually know where the warehouse is. I sigh and take out my phone, googling "South park carls warehouse" and pulling up directions.

It's a boring walk, but luckily it doesn't take long, since it's a smaller town. I wind up at the warehouse soon enough. It smells faintly of cigarette smoke; someone else is here. That's good, I think. It's hopefully an ally (look at me, speaking like I'm all fancy,) rather than an enemy.

I knock on the door and the inside goes silent. Seconds later someone opens the peep window and peers at me. In a hushed voice, I'm asked, "Password?"

"...Um... is it... bacon...?"

The person goes silent. He puts the cover back on the peep window, and for a moment I think I'm ignored until I hear the lock click and the door opens. There standing on the opposite side of the door is a tall guy with the most fantastic golden hair I think I've ever seen. "Come in," he says.

I enter, and I'm dismayed to find that the warehouse offers very little warmth. I look around the space. There's quiet chatter among the group, but that dies down once people see me, then it gets scarily silent— spare for some guy who loudly exclaims "SHIT!"

Most of the faces I recognize: Mole, Gary, the twins— but the rest are unfamiliar; if I did know them, it'd be from us sharing a class or passing one another in the hall. Gary waves at me.

The guy who let me in turns to me. "I'm assuming you're the new arrival?"

I nod. He offers his hand for a handshake. "My name is Gregory Tviet. I'm from Yardale."

("Zat's a fucking school in England," Mole mutters.)

I shake his hand and introduce myself in the same fashion, telling him my name and where I'm from.

"Well, (Y/N), it's a pleasure to meet you. Here, go sit next to— Thomas, friend, would you please raise your hand?"

"Hi, I'm over here— Fuck!" Thomas says, raising his hand. One of his eyes screws shut momentarily as he waves me over. I'm confused by the swearing, but I elect to dismiss it and take the seat next to his.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey. I'm Thomas," he greets. He glances around nervously, his eye screwing shut again. I smile politely. He returns the smile, but it appears strained. "New to South Park?"

"Yeah. I got here a few days ago."

He nods. "We've all been there— all of us here, I mean. You know, new kids? We were new kids at one point, I mean-- aww sHIT!"

"Really?" I ask. But as I look around, I guess it's not that surprising, with a few of them (but predominately Mole and Gregory) having different accents and all that.

"Most of us, I should s—shit-!—say. Rebecca and Mark, they've lived here their whole lives. But they were homeschooled, so they were new kids at one point."

I hum in acknowledgment and take in the room's atmosphere. It's lowly lit using a camping lantern and oil lamp. There's a flag nailed to the wall next to a corkboard with cuttings from newspapers in a timeline. This piques my interest. "Sooooo..."

"So what?" he asks, tilting his head. Twitch. (I'm starting to think it's a tic?)

"So— what do you guys do around here? Is it like, a conspiracy club or something?" I glance past him again and at the board. I try squinting to make out what's on the cuttings, but I can't make out much.

He runs a hand through his hair, one of his eyelids fluttering. "You know about the demons, right? I mean, Mark said in the group chat you saw them."

I blink.

Oh.

Ohhhhhhh. Okayyyyy—

I seeeeee.

"Y'all fight them?" I ask, putting the pieces together, and he nods curtly.

"I don't, but a few of them do." Thomas pauses, fiddling with a button on his yellow plaid shirt. "I stay back with Gary and Rebecca. I look at forums and the news to see where and when recent attacks aWWSHIT—are," he finishes with what seems to be a hint of pride in his voice.

I smile and look at the corkboard. "So did you make that?" I ask. He nods.

"Yeah. It's a timeline as far back as I could find. This stuff started around ten-ish years ago and went pretty unchecked 'till we formed."

Ten years? "Ten years? What about the people that live here? Haven't they tried stopping them?" I ask, idly rubbing my gloved hands together.

"Of course they haven't," someone behind me suddenly says, and I flinch at how close the voice is. "Most of South Park's citizens are idiots." I whirl around to face the person and recognize him as the twin guy from earlier. Mark, if I'm right.

"Dear God when did you get here?" I blurt.

"Sorry about that. Gregory asked me to talk to you."

"Uh... About what? And is it Mark...?"

He nods. "Mark Cotswolds. It's nice to meet you, but when you get a moment, could you come with me? I'll wait by the door to the loading docks. I'm supposed to teach you to shoot." Mark points to the far corner, where a paint-chipped metal door was, as well as large shutters where trucks unloaded whatever junk Carl's Warehouse used to have.

What the fuck. What happened to 'Hey, hello, welcome to this club; let us tell you what we do before throwing you off the deep end.' I want to say to him, 'Why? I don't even know why I was invited here, what makes me a worthy member what criteria did I meet to be invited here?' and walk home, but that would be rude, so instead I mutter, "...Okay."

Mark gives me a closed-lip smile and walks away.

I look at Thomas. Thomas looks at me. After a prolonged silence, he says, "Homeschooled."

"I could tell. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

He tics halfway through a nod and before I leave he grabs my arm. "Hey, could we get each others' users? It'd be useful to communicate."

I agree with that, so I take my phone from my bag and hand it over. He punches in his user with shaky hands before handing it back. The contact name read "I'M NOT A TRAIN!" I smile at that. Thomas opens his phone and moments later I get a notification.

Chatbox: I'M NOT A TRAIN! is now your friend!

"Thanks," I say.

He smiles. "You're welcome. See you around?"

"If I stick around, yeah." I wave and walk away, approaching the corner of the room to check out what Mark has in store for me.

(A/N:

...WOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! WELL PALS IT'S BEEN FOREVER BUT I'M BACK! MY LOCOMOTIVE ONCE AGAIN HAS STEAM! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT I'M HAPPY TO BE BACK!!!!

IF ANYBODY STILL READS THIS, PLEASE GIVE YOUR INPUT!! WHO DO YOU WANT TO SEE? WHAT DO YOU WANT, READERS?! THIS IS MAINLY SELF-INDULGENT BUT I WANT TO PAMPER EVERYONE!

ALLLSO: PLEASE. LET ME KNOW. IF I PORTRAY THOMAS WRONG. I TRIED. BUT IF HE'S INACCURATE, OR THERE'S ANYTHING I COULD DO TO MAKE THE PORTRAYAL OF COPROLALIA BETTER PLEASE TELL ME.

baiii :D)