Chapter 338: South Park Arc (5)
Chapter 338: South Park Arc (5)
Five minutes earlier, at Stan’s house.
Stan’s mother, Sharon, was frantically dialing on the phone: “Please, I don’t know who else to turn to anymore! The police can’t help at all. I think the kids are really in deep trouble this time.”
The person on the other end said something in response.
Sharon replied, “Yes… Yes… Alright, please call me back once you confirm. Thank you.” She hung up.
Putting down the phone, her face remained etched with worry. Sharon was one of the more “normal” characters in South Park, so naturally, her reaction to her son’s disappearance mirrored what any concerned parent would feel.
But… this house also held someone far from normal—Stan’s father, Randy, South Park’s First Master of Degeneracy.
Randy’s Class was a geologist, though he rarely took his job seriously. Most of the time, he spent his days pushing societal boundaries with his antics.
His usual appearance featured a blue shirt, black hair parted down the middle, and a small mustache—slightly thicker than the Fu Manchu style.
While his wife agonized over their son’s disappearance, Randy was busy filming around the house with a portable video camera.
In these two episodes of South Park, Randy had just bought a new camera and had been obsessively recording everything ever since. The footage was excruciatingly mundane and repetitive—showing the family eating, showering, watching TV, using the toilet, and so on. All the while, he narrated with his own commentary.
“Randy! I swear to God, if you don’t put that thing down right now…” Sharon angrily roared. She’d had enough of his childish behavior for days.
But Randy replied with his usual mantra: “Sharon, one day you’ll thank me for capturing all these precious family moments.”
“I’m not kidding, Randy, enough already!” Sharon snapped. “Why on earth are you recording every second of our lives?”
Suddenly, a deep, guttural roar echoed from outside…
Sharon’s voice trailed off, her face paling with dread.
“What the hell was that?” Randy asked.
But instead of stopping his filming, he shifted into the style of Cloverfield—a film known for its found-footage approach, where characters document events with handheld cameras.
“Oh my God…” Sharon muttered, trembling as she felt the earth shake beneath their feet.
“It sounds like something’s happening outside…” Randy said, then added, “Stay inside!” before rushing out the door with his camera.
As he ran toward the exit, Stan’s violent older sister Shelly was coming down the stairs from the second floor. She stopped midway and called out, “What’s going on, Dad?”
“Go back to your room, Shelly!” Randy barked.
Then, Randy charged outside. The moment he opened the door, he saw crowds of people screaming and fleeing. The sound of helicopter blades grew louder. Looking up, he spotted two Chinook helicopters hovering in the sky.
Among the fleeing crowd, Randy recognized a familiar face—Mr. Garrison, Stan’s teacher (a degenerate second only to Randy himself). Garrison was bald, wore glasses, and dressed in green. He’d undergone two sex-change operations, oscillating between heterosexual male, gay male, heterosexual female, and lesbian female identities. Each time his sexuality changed, he’d join protests for that group, only to later betray them when his personal interests conflicted. A classic case of “letting one’s behind decide one’s head.”
Randy grabbed him: “What’s happening?”
“They’re everywhere!” Garrison panicked.
“What do you mean ‘they’?” Randy pressed.
“Fuzzy things!” Garrison shouted. “Seriously… super freaking fuzzy!” He tore free from Randy’s grip and fled with the crowd.
“Ahh—!”
A scream caught Randy’s attention. He turned to see a man in a yellow T-shirt and jeans flying through the air from an incredible distance, landing right in front of him with a sickening thud.
The man’s body was grotesquely mangled. His left leg bent forward as if crushed by a tiger bench, his arms twisted behind his back. Ribs jutted out from the left side of his torso, and a bone pierced through his right wrist.
He died instantly, blood oozing from his nose and mouth, eyes wide open in horror.
“Who the f* did this?!” Randy screamed.
A low growl rumbled again.
Randy looked up and saw, behind the fleeing crowd… a massive guinea pig.
“What the hell is that?!” he gasped.
“Marsh! You’ve gotta get out of here now! It’s not safe!” someone shouted, grabbing Randy’s shoulder.
It was Barbrady, the local cop (a rotund man in sunglasses who’d once been suspended for being illiterate, though he’d somehow regained his position). Despite his flaws, he still tried to warn others to evacuate.
Hearing this, Randy sprinted down the street. But as he rounded a corner, a car flew overhead. It tumbled across the ground, burst into flames, and exploded. Right behind it emerged another giant guinea pig.
“OH! God! God!” Randy exclaimed, but instead of fleeing, he stopped, pointed his camera at his face, and panted, “Haa… haa… I… I… Haa… This is insane!”
Just as he stood there filming like an idiot, a speeding car suddenly veered from the guinea pig’s side, slamming into the monster.
After the collision, a man in a navy-blue ski jacket flew out of the driver’s seat. Even in this catastrophic crash, he clutched a backpack and a submachine gun.
Within five seconds, he’d already darted away from the monster with incredible agility.
At that moment, three F-15 jets roared overhead, launching missiles that left white vapor trails.
The missiles struck the guinea pig head-on, but the explosion’s shockwave spread dozens of meters. Randy, standing farther away, was merely knocked off his feet. Feng Bu Jue, however, wasn’t so lucky. The blast sent him flying, tracing a parabolic arc through the air before crashing onto a wrecked car by the roadside.
This car had likely been thrown or crushed by the monster earlier, its frame already warped. Feng Bu Jue landed hard, his waist gashed by a protruding metal edge—a one-inch-long wound squirting blood.
Under such circumstances, armor was useless. Fortunately, the bulletproof vest he’d stolen from a gun shop helped mitigate some damage.
“Damn it…” Feng Bu Jue cursed as he climbed out of the wreckage.
His face was also cut by flying glass. A shallow gash ran across his left cheek—minor enough to avoid significant vitality loss or sustained bleeding.
The smoke from the missile blast had barely cleared when the giant guinea pig’s roar echoed again.
Based on Feng Bu Jue’s memories, these monsters were incredibly powerful. Conventional weapons were nearly useless—tanks could be overturned in an instant. Bullets, shells, missiles… they only suppressed the beasts, not truly harming them.
For a flesh-and-blood human to approach these guinea pigs was almost suicide. Given the overwhelming size difference, any physical contact—claws, bites, stompings, or scratches—would be instantly fatal.
“Almost there… I won’t be stopped here,” Feng Bu Jue growled. He tightened his backpack, one hand pressing his wound, the other gripping his gun. His 【Spirit Sense Body Technique】 activated instantly. With a stomp, the ground beneath him cracked.
Concrete shattered with a loud crunch, a spiderweb-like fissure spreading five meters across the pavement. From the center of this web, Feng Bu Jue shot upward like a bullet, soaring into the sky.
With a perfect aerial twist, he landed on the roof of a four-story building.
Feng Bu Jue couldn’t navigate through the blocked streets, so he dashed across rooftops instead, cutting straight through the chaos.
To his surprise, as Feng Bu Jue angled his way across the rooftop, his eyes immediately locked onto Randy down the side street ahead. The idiot was still standing there filming a first-person selfie video while a troll loomed closer.
“Holy crap… this guy…” Feng Bu Jue naturally recognized Randy—the cursor on his radar also indicated this was one of his side quest task targets.
No choice then—he had to save him.
“Run already! You useless idiot!” Feng Bu Jue shouted as he leapt from the rooftop, unloading two grenades from his M733 Commando at the guinea pig in midair.
As the grenades struck the monster but hadn’t yet detonated, Feng Bu Jue landed. He didn’t even have time to cushion the impact, absorbing the full force of the fall in a rigid stance before immediately launching himself forward.
Randy, his face twisted in horror, watched a blood-drenched figure descend like a superhero, charging toward him.
The man was covered in gore, his expression fierce, not even glancing back at the explosion—this was a True Man through and through…
“Ahhh—” Feng Bu Jue roared randomly, a primal scream packed with complex emotions—mainly anger and frustration.
With one arm, Feng Bu Jue snatched Randy up, ignoring his own wound. Gritting his teeth, he slung the middle-aged man over his shoulder and bolted forward like a blur, barking, “Where do you live?!”
“Wh-what?” Randy stammered, still dazed.
“Your House! Where?!” Feng Bu Jue repeated, enunciating each word.
“That… that way…” Randy pointed to a civilian house dozens of meters away. Two seconds later, he raised his camera toward the lens again. “God! A superhero came to save me!” He lifted his head toward Feng Bu Jue. “Hey, dude, what’s your superhero name?”
“【Beep——】” Feng Bu Jue spat, his only reply.
His name's 【Bip——】! Oh! A real superhero! How cool is that?!"
If it weren't for the task, Feng Bu Jue would've shot this idiot already—but patience was the name of the game now.
Less than half a minute later, Feng Bu Jue sprinted to Stan’s doorstep. The door wasn’t closed, so Feng Bu Jue hurled Randy inside before barging in himself.
As he slammed the door shut, Feng Bu Jue collapsed onto the floor.
In those few moments, his vitality value had plummeted to a dangerous 13%.
As soon as Feng Bu Jue entered, he grabbed disinfectant, bandages, a needle, and thread from his backpack to tend to the wound on his waist.
A man of efficiency, he didn’t waste time. “Don’t be afraid—I’m here to help,” he told the three Npcs present.
Sharon and Shelly looked terrified and helpless, but Randy, camera in hand, focused intently as he narrated, “Look! The superhero stitches his wound in my living room.”
Though Feng Bu Jue desperately wanted to punch Randy, he held back—after all, he knew Randy’s camera didn’t even have film. And Feng Bu Jue had no intention of correcting him. Let the idiot film.
…………
Meanwhile, Costa Rican airspace in Central America.
A C-130 Transport Plane emblazoned with the American flag and the Department of Defense insignia flew southward.
Inside the cabin, five elementary school students sat in a row. No one spoke. The atmosphere felt eerie.
Suddenly, the door to the cockpit opened. The co-pilot stepped in, addressing the children: “We’re 800 kilometers from Peru. After landing, a truck will take you across the border. They’ll give you a brief task explanation.” With that, he returned to the cockpit and shut the door.
A few seconds later, Craig broke the silence, expressionless. “When you all had that brilliant idea—pretending to be a Peruvian pan flute band to earn cash—did anyone, just once, think to say, ‘Hey, maybe this plan could backfire’?” He paused for two seconds before answering himself, “No, you didn’t. Because you’re all assholes who never learn. That’s why the whole school despises you.”
Kyle retorted, “No way! The kids at school love us!” He turned to Stan. “Right?”
Stan nodded confidently. “Of course! Everyone’s obsessed with us.” He glanced at Craig. “You’re just being smug because we’re stuck now.”
Craig remained calm, continuing, “Smug? You stole my birthday red envelope money (the funds you scammed from me to start this Peruvian pan flute band), got me arrested, and exiled me to Miami. Now we can’t go home unless we take down the entire country of Peru… So I’m the one being smug?”
Cartman pointed at Craig, addressing the others, “I’m speechless with this kid.”
Ignoring him, Craig continued, “Know why no one at school wants to play with you four?” He paused habitually. “Because you always do things like this. You come up with some terrible idea, it backfires, and you get kicked out of the country or blasted into outer space…” He summarized, “That’s why no one wants to hang out with you.”
Cartman shrugged. “You’re too negative, Craig. When the boat hits the bridge, it’ll go straight.”
…………
At the same time, in the Homeland Security Department’s conference hall.
The grand conference room was empty except for one man standing beside the podium at the front—the Bald Commander, also the Homeland Security Secretary.
Before him hung a world map. He stood with hands behind his back, staring at it, a faint smug smile playing on his lips.
“Sir, we’ve encountered a bigger crisis,” a black general in uniform entered from the doorway, holding a document. His tone was urgent.
“Oh?” The Secretary’s voice remained relaxed. “What else could possibly go wrong?”
“Reports of massive disasters worldwide are coming in. The culprits seem to be…” The general hesitated.
The Homeland Security Secretary didn’t wait for him to finish. Turning around, he sneered, “Guinea pigs?”
The general flinched. “Y-yes, sir. How did you know?”
“You’re so close to the truth, Davis,” the Secretary chuckled. “Hehe… You almost figured it out.”
“Huh? Sir?” Davis didn’t understand the cryptic remark.
“I thought you’d have realized this back in Miami… But you still missed it,” the Secretary added.
“You… you knew this would happen all along?!” Davis stammered.
“Oh~ This is just the beginning, Davis,” the Secretary raised one hand, wagging a finger. “And I… won’t let you spoil it.”
Before his words faded, the Secretary suddenly opened his mouth. His tongue shot out like a spear, extending four to five meters in a second. Its tip plunged into Davis’s eye socket, piercing his eyeball and burrowing into his brain.
Davis couldn’t react at all. After a few convulsing seconds, his brain was completely liquefied, and his body collapsed limply to the ground—a stiff corpse.
The Secretary retracted his tongue, calmly addressing the corpse. “Sorry, my friend. I’ve schemed and sacrificed endlessly, waiting for this day.” He paused. “The pan flute band is heading toward destruction. The era of guinea pigs has arrived.” He bent down, picking up the document Davis had dropped. “The only one who might’ve stopped this is already exiled to a nameless land…”
At that moment, the first page of the document displayed a photograph. On it was none other than Craig…
(End of Chapter)
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