Chapter Text
Warning: This story deals with neo-nazi and racist concepts. Some terms will be used that may be offensive to some readers.
Thirty-five years ago today Howard Cartman, founder of an enormous region-wide hate group, was sentenced to a 35 year imprisonment for crippling the WWII veteran Marvin Marsh. Unbeknownst to anyone in South Park, his followers began rebuilding his neo-Nazi army in Nebraska while he sat in the state prison. Now that he was free, he had some fish to fry: the people responsible for his incarceration.
"So what’s first on the agenda? Are you going back to Colorado to seek out your revenge?" Mel Herzeleid, one of Howard Cartman's confidants, asked as they approached a waiting limousine. Mel, along with many other wealthy and influential natives of Nebraska, honored Howard Cartman as a figurehead for their cause. They wanted to see action again, but they didn't want their names tarnished. Howard had nothing to lose, so the others were more than happy to let him risk his neck in place of theirs. There was a reason his release hadn't been well publicized: his influential followers made sure that the media wasn't there to capture their faces.
"I have no reason to go back up there," Howard lied, trying to gauge his follower’s reaction. He was aware that the members of his NeoNazi movement had gathered at the old meeting place and were expecting a hate-filled speech about his revival of the party, but the knowledge of their adoration wasn’t good enough. He wanted to see with his own eyes just how desperate they all were for his return.
"Like hell you have no reason to go back up there! Think of all those betrayers living the life you've dreamed about! Living in a free America while you've been living in squalor!" one member spoke out, growing angry as he caught up with the brooding Howard Cartman. "Look, we understand that you want to settle back into what you're familiar with but-"
"What I'm familiar with?” Howard cut him off, growing more irritated by the second until he punched his follower clean in the jaw. "What the fuck do you know about 'familiar'? I'm tired! My 'familiar' is waking up in a cell every day and dreaming about a world where defending a White America isn't a criminal offense!"
The old man hadn’t felt this rejuvenated in quite some time. The punch had sent a welcoming shot of adrenaline up his spine, but he still wasn’t done milking his contributors for all they were worth. “I'm not going to be the front man of this scene anymore. I'm done."
Now there were blank expressions all around him. His followers were shocked. All they'd worked for, maintaining the troupes while their leader was in jail, destroyed.
One of them tried to stop Howard as he continued to walk towards the limo. "That dream can still come true! We are here to help you! Leading the group doesn't take much effort; we only need your charisma, and you can still rest an-"
Howard shoved him to the ground. "Not much effort? You men clearly don't remember what I went through when Liane moved to Colorado. I'm done leading. I'm retiring. And that's final."
The men were left standing behind him, disillusioned and desperate.
"Get in the limo, I'm still talking to my people," Howard spoke up once he got inside, handing his crutch to one of his henchmen. His leg had become stiff during the past five years of his incarceration, but no one had even noticed his limp at first due to their excitement.
Once his henchmen joined him in the limo, they began their journey back to the little Nebraskan town where the Cartman family was regarded as redneck, racist, neo-Nazi royalty. Howard Cartman was not educated, good looking, nor rich, but he sure as hell knew how to rile up a crowd. He had such a powerful draw that newcomers found themselves wanting to be a part of his cause after a single meeting. He gained followers wherever he went: Oklahoma, Texas, Colorado, and even in prison. They all had faith that once he was released the movement would start up again, but they had no idea Howard would retire so soon. Inside the limo, the contributors were quickly becoming nervous wrecks.
"What are you planning to tell them? That it's over? Their numbers have grown, Howard! Your word has reached the newer generation and now they're convinced that the country needs immediate cleansing as well," one of the other associates spoke out.
"Newer generations,” Howard chortled. “Do you honestly believe that I can talk to these newer generations with their Internet and technologically-oriented brains? My methods are old, outdated. Stormfront or whatever… that's how they'll communicate now. They don't need these meetings, not when they can hide away in anonymity. The only way that they'll come now is if they relate to their leader. They can't relate to me.”
One member argued, "This has nothing to do with relating to you! They WORSHIP yo-"
Howard dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, and once they realize that I'm old and dried up they'll denounce me."
The other men in the limo were silent. What they thought was going to be a joyful and righteous occasion was now looking like the final hour. They had little time left to sway their leader’s position now that the limo was fast approaching the massive gathering grounds. All of the members, their numbers in the hundreds, were waiting in the cramped main hall. While his incarceration had been terrible for his health, it had made Howard into a martyr. He smiled, and started to hum. He was home. Finally home.
The driver stopped in front of the complex and the contributors got out of the car first. Howard had informed his men that no one was to be waiting for him outside the complex; he was in no state to be mobbed like some kind of celebrity. Because no one was outside, the grounds were eerily quiet like the calm before a storm.
Inside the main hall, someone informed the host of their leader’s arrival. The crowd was growing restless so the contributors rushed Howard to the backstage.
Once everyone was in position, the host addressed the audience: "Fellow reichsmen and women, I give you, the honorary Howard Cartman."
The curtain parted, and Howard appeared. People went crazy. Some even cried. To some members, it was as though Jesus Christ himself had risen from the dead and was once again walking amongst them to save them all.
Howard was going to miss this power, but his decision to retire was final. The letter had been sent before he even left the penitentiary.
At the podium, he gazed into the audience and then looked to the mezzanine. He remembered commissioning the carved woodwork with the familiar eagles, swords, and swastikas when this place originally opened up - all done for free of course, all for the righteous cause. Red banners lined the aisles tying all of his fans together: One People, One Nation, One Leader.
His speech then materialized in the old man’s head, as flawless as though he’d been practicing it for the past 35 years.
"My fellow visionaries, my family, my people. Words cannot describe the vast amount of emotions I am feeling right now as I look at all of your adoring faces. Among them are faces I lovingly remember and many new faces I do not remember, but all are faces I will forever remember even after I now announce, albeit with a heavy heart, my immediate resignation as head of this organization."
Cries echoed throughout the arena, but Howard kept talking.
"Yes, it is true. I am stepping down as the head of this amazing group. But I know my people, and I love my people, and I know what they want to see in a leader. I too know what it takes to be a leader, and I know that true leaders are born with their talents. They have it in their blood, true Aryan blood. The purest blood there is..."
He paused, letting his words sink into the consciousness of his audience before landing the final blow...
"My Blood."
Thanks to both my lovely RP Partner PrincessBelle212 and Lethargy for being my beta's and helping me edit this whole story! Also, big thanks to TerryxRage who has graciously corrected my German text!