Chapter Text
October 28, Autumn
4 days have passed since Calex became a part of the football group a.k.a "Stan's" little popular jock group.
4 days since he traded cafeteria seats for the jock table, laughing like he'd been part of them forever. And it had been four days since that night.
The warped street, the house that wasn't a house, the cheerleaders with empty eyes, and Snookums crawling back from the dark even after being beaten down. Four days since the Trackstrat had pulsed, glitching out in Kyle's hand, dragging them inside a place that should not exist.
On the surface, everything was normal again. Stan's group laughed in the cafeteria. PC Principal watched football drills with arms crossed. Calex blended in, wearing the same team hoodie as the rest of them.
But by lunch, the whispers had already reached Kyle's table.
"Did you hear about PC Principal?" a girl at the next table over muttered, just loud enough to carry. "Someone said he blew up at one of the JV kids for not keeping up with Calex during sprints."
"No way," her friend snorted. "He probably just doesn't like slackers."
"Yeah, but like-people said he singled Calex out. Called him the 'team's weak link.' In front of everyone.
Kyle's fork froze halfway to his mouth.
Across the room, Calex sat with the football guys, expression unreadable as Clyde and Stan argued about plays. His hoodie hood was up, hiding most of his face, but his laugh came a second too late.
Kenny leaned across the table toward Kyle and Cartman. Cartman was supposedly gonna sit with the two today to piss them off, but scrapped it and decided to lean in with the conversation. "You hearin' this?" he whispered. "Sounds like PC Principal's got it out for him."
Eric tilted his head. "Weird. I thought he was practically grooming Calex to be the next star player."
"That's the point," Kenny said, lowering his voice. "He's pushin' him harder than the others. Like he's tryna mold him or somethin'."
Kyle's stomach twisted. The memory of the warped school in the dungeon flashed unbidden-the cheerleaders, the distorted halls, the Principal's voice echoing through it all.
He forced himself to look away, stabbing at his tray. "They're just rumors."
But even as he said it, another voice drifted through the cafeteria.
Another voice cut through the din, sharper this time.
"I’m serious, dude," one of the sophomores at the jock-adjacent table said, his voice cracking with the effort to sound confident. "My cousin’s on JV. He said PC Principal’s been saying… weird stuff. Like, ‘You better not drag Calex down,’ or ‘Don’t embarrass the kid I’m investing in.’ Like, every drill he brings Calex up even if Calex isn’t the one screwing up."
His friend made a face. "That’s just motivation."
"Nah, man. It’s different. He straight-up called one of the freshmen a ‘disgrace to the team spirit’ because Calex outpaced him. And then—get this—he told them they needed to ‘preserve the culture of the sport’ or some crap. Like, who even talks like that?"
Cartman snorted loud enough to make people glance over. "Wow. Sounds like PC Principal’s turning into my mom on Facebook. Next thing you know, he’s gonna start yelling about ‘real Americans’ in the locker room."
Stan threw an arm over his shoulder to get Calex's attention, and Calex forced another too-late laugh, like he was dragging it up from somewhere deep.
Whispers rippled through the cafeteria again.
"Didn’t he make Calex run laps alone after practice? Like, full-on singled him out?"
"My brother said he told the team Calex had to ‘prove himself worthy of the jersey.’ That’s messed up."
Kyle’s grip tightened on his fork. Worthy of the jersey. The words echoed almost perfectly with something he swore he’d heard in that twisted school—an announcement blaring from nowhere.
He shot a glance at Kenny, who looked back knowingly. Neither of them said it out loud, but the air between them was thick with the same realization.
Something wasn’t right.
And the Trackstrat in Kyle’s pocket gave the faintest pulse, as if it was agreeing.
Cartman tilted his head. "Weird. I thought he was grooming Calex to be the next star."
Kenny muffled a laugh into his sleeve, but Kyle didn’t. His chest felt heavy. What was PC Principal trying to do?
I mean, yeah, the last thing Kyle ever saw PC principal was when he was called over to prepare for the events coming up this seasons football game taking place in South Park but, seriously? His friend, Calex?
Kyle swallowed hard, forcing down the knot in his throat. His tray blurred in front of him, mashed potatoes turning into static-white noise in his mind.
He’d been trying to convince himself that what they saw in Calex’s house—the warped school, the cheerleaders, the voice that bellowed through the halls—was just a coincidence.
The Trackstrat’s pulse buzzed faint against his leg again, just once, before dying away. He pressed his hand against his pocket like he could smother it. Nobody else seemed to notice, not even Cartman, who was too busy laughing at his own joke.
Kyle’s eyes slid across the cafeteria one more time.
Kyle knew where this was heading, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
The dungeon wasn’t done with them.
And worse—PC Principal’s shadow wasn’t just a possibility. It was already leaking through.
The ginger’s stomach sank. He thought of the cheerleaders’ hollow eyes, the warped PA system booming through endless halls, and the way PC Principal’s voice had twisted into something authoritarian and cruel.
He forced himself to look away, clenching his fist under the table.
PC Principal had stepped inside. He wasn’t even looking at the lunch crowd, but the air shifted around him anyway. His jaw was tight, his clipboard clutched like a weapon.
The way he scanned the tables, the way his voice carried as he barked for a couple players to follow him out—it was the same tone, the same rhythm as the booming announcements in that warped school.
Kyle’s chest went cold.
The Trackstrat pulsed in his pocket a third time. This time, it didn’t fade right away. It lingered, glowing faint and wrong.
He didn’t know when the Trackstrat would drag them back in.
But he knew it would.
And this time… Calex might not just be part of it.
He might be the key.
Because no matter how fine Calex looked, no matter how normal the cafeteria sounded? Kyle couldn’t shake the feeling.
Something was crawling just under the surface, waiting for the wrong moment to drag them back under.
And when it happened, Kyle was certain—Calex would be at the center of it.
Calex leaned into Stan’s shoulder, grinning, shoving Clyde like it was nothing. He looked fine. Normal. Like the rumors meant nothing.
He glanced at Stan—easy, carefree Stan, shoving Clyde with the same warmth he gave everyone. His laugh was genuine, his voice bright, steady, like it always had been. For as long as Kyle could remember, that steadiness had been his anchor.
Kyle’s chest tightened. He and Stan had been through everything together. When it got bad, when the whole town went insane, when no one else seemed to remember who they were—Stan was always the one he could look at and know, we’ll figure this out.
Stan was his best friend. WAS his best friend.
And now… Calex sat there too, in the middle of it all, acting like he’d always belonged.
Calex was… new. Complicated. But both of them were his friends, in a way that made Kyle’s stomach knot. He couldn’t just stand by.
Cartman was already back to shoveling food into his mouth, Kenny was smirking at some joke Kyle hadn’t even registered, and across the room Calex was nodding along to whatever Stan was saying. His laugh this time wasn’t late.
Kyle told himself to relax. To stop reading into it.
But the weight in his chest wouldn’t go away.
He was fine!
Totally fine!
Kyle told himself that over and over, but the knot in his stomach only tightened.
Because if Calex was fine—then maybe Kyle wasn’t.
And if the dungeon was really bleeding into the real world…
Then it was only a matter of time before fine stopped meaning anything at all.
He should probably just text the two about what happened. Maybe they'll know what to do.
Kyle shoved the last bite of food into his mouth, though it tasted like paper. His phone was heavy in his pocket, the Trackstrat’s faint glow seeping through the denim like a heartbeat.
He thought of pulling it out, snapping a quick text to Bebe and Odessa—just something, anything to take the weight off his aching-paranoid chest.
*RINGGG
The sound of the bell ringing echoes throughout the cafeteria, sharp enough to snap Kyle out of his spiraling thoughts. Trays scraped, chairs screeched, and the noise of a hundred conversations collided into a messy rush toward the doors, Whilst people began to move for their next classes or prepare for their club activities.
Kenny shoved his empty milk carton into his tray and shot Kyle a look as they stood. "You good, dude?"
Kyle forced his shoulders not to tense. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
"Thinking or overthinking?" Kenny smirked, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket as he slouched toward the exit.
Before Kyle could answer, Eric wedged himself between them, nearly knocking Kyle’s tray out of his hands. "Oh my God, Kyle, please don’t tell me you’re still crying inside about Calex. Newsflash: not everything in this school revolves around your ginger paranoia."
"Oh, oh! Or maybe you're gay for him jew!" He laughs.
Kyle’s jaw tightened. "Shut up, Cartman."
Cartman grinned wide, basking in his own smugness. "I’m just saying, if PC Principal starts foaming at the mouth about ‘team spirit’ in the middle of math class, don’t come crying to me. Actually—do come crying to me. I’ll sell tickets."
"Real supportive," Kyle muttered, shoving past him.
They spilled into the hallway, caught in the current of students rushing to class. Kyle adjusted his backpack strap, his mind still buzzing, Trackstrat’s phantom pulse clinging to his nerves.
"Kyle!"
The voice rang out over the chaos, cutting clean. Kyle turned, blinking as Bebe wove through the crowd, blonde hair bouncing, Odessa trailing behind her with an exasperated look.
"Finally caught you," Bebe said, tugging her bag higher on her shoulder as she reached him. Her eyes were sharp, serious in a way that made Kyle’s stomach drop all over again. "We need to talk."
Cartman immediately groaned,
"Oh my God, what is this, Gossip Girl? If you’re gonna confess your undying love for Kyle, do it after I get popcorn."
Bebe shot him a look that could peel paint. "Nobody was talking to you, fatass."
Kenny burst out laughing, nearly doubling over.
Kyle, caught between the weight in his chest and the heat creeping up his neck, just swallowed hard.
"You wanted to talk about what?" he asked.
Bebe didn’t answer right away. Instead, she hooked her hand into Kyle’s sleeve and yanked him toward the lockers, ignoring Cartman’s cackling behind them.
"Hey—what—" Kyle sputtered, stumbling to keep up as she shoved through the crowd with single-minded force.
The blonde stopped at her locker, as they gathered themselves so no one could see. Students flowed past without paying attention, their chatter a muffled blur compared to the pounding in Kyle’s ears.
Bebe shut the metal door halfway like a shield, her blue eyes cutting straight through him. "Kyle," she hissed, voice sharp, low. "Don’t play dumb with me. The Trackstrat—it’s been acting up again, hasn’t it?"
Kyle’s throat went dry. He hadn’t even pulled it out, hadn’t texted, hadn’t said a word, and still—she knew.
The glow against his thigh pulsed faintly again, almost like it wanted to answer for him.
He pressed a hand to his pocket, his voice caught between denial and confession. "Oh.. Uhm.. Yeah."
Bebe’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t look surprised. If anything, it was like she’d been expecting it. She leaned closer, lowering her voice until only he could hear.
"Then we don’t have time to wait. Whatever’s happening with Calex? It’s not stopping. It’s getting worse."
Bebe bit her lip, “You feel it too, right? It’s circling him. The rumors, PC Principal, all of it—it’s bleeding through faster than before.”
The ginger-haired swallowed, throat dry. “But Calex looks fine. Normal.”
Bebe’s jaw clenched. “That’s the problem.”
The words hung there, heavier than the chatter of lockers slamming and sneakers squeaking around them.
For a moment, Kyle’s brain screamed at him to deny it, to brush it off like he always tried to—but then he remembered the warped PA system, the cheerleaders with empty eyes, the way Calex’s laugh came a second too late at lunch. The Trackstrat’s glow seared against his thigh like a brand.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The silence was enough.
Bebe, expression grim. “Then we need to go back in.”
The jewish man froze.
The words rang in his head like the cafeteria bell, sharp and absolute.
Back in.
His stomach dropped, but before he could even answer, the Trackstrat gave one long, steady pulse. Not faint, not subtle—loud enough to make the two of them flinch as if it had shouted.
And for the first time since the warped school, Kyle didn’t just feel the dread of being pulled under.
He felt the inevitability.
It wasn’t if.
It was when.
And when it happened—Calex would be at the center.
Kyle looked down, hand pressing to his pocket as though he could smother the faint glow bleeding through the denim. His voice dropped low, sharp with the fear he’d been trying to swallow for four days.
"If PC Principal’s shadow is already possessing into the real world… then this isn’t just about Calex anymore."
Bebe nodded grimly. "Exactly. And if we wait too long, it won’t matter if Calex looks fine now. That shadow’s gonna eat him alive."
Bebe leaned closer, her voice a whisper sharp as glass. “We go back in tonight.”
Kyle’s breath hitched. Tonight. Not later, not when they were ready, not after they had time to plan—tonight.
His mouth worked, but no words came out.
Bebe’s stare was unflinching, her hand tightening around his wrist.
“I’m serious, Kyle! If we don’t move now, PC Principal’s shadow is going to get stronger—or I don't fucking know..! We have no idea what will happen with the shadows unless we see it for ourselves.."
"And when that happens…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.
Kyle already knew.
He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. The Trackstrat pulsed again, insistent this time, like it was agreeing with her—dragging him toward the inevitable.
When he opened them, he forced himself to nod. Just once. “Okay. Tonight.”
Bebe’s grip loosened, but her expression didn’t soften. “Good. Don’t chicken out on me.”
The warning bell shrieked above them, scattering the last of the hallway crowd. Kyle stood there a moment longer, staring at the glow seeping through his pocket.
His stomach twisted.
There was no turning back.
Tonight, they’d be dragged under again.