CHRISTOPHE BACK STORY THEORY

Um ya here. Prepare to cry probably

This kid is really fucked up.
Christophe, code name "The Mole" has always been an unusual kid.
When people hear that he has already had an expertise in covert operations at the young age of 12, they rarely believe it.
Some said he is unnaturally mature for his age. Others find it utterly hard to believe how someone like him came to be.
Although he would never dare calling it such, his story began with luck.
His mother, who has drinking problems up to this very day, never really liked Mole very much because he was an unwanted child - an accident that should have never happened, as she always said.
The moment his father cheated on the woman and disappeared, she wanted nothing more but to terminate her pregnancy. But the law didn't allow an abortion, and so she attempted to find other ways to get her will. She got drunk, threw herself down stairs, and finally tried to do the abortion herself, causing heavy injury to herself and stabbing her child in the heart with a clothes hanger.
He was born prematurely and barely survived. The child had to undergo heart surgery to fix the damage. Because it was uncertain whether he would survive, he spent the first year of his life in a hospital. When he was finally stable, the doctors called it a miracle and claimed that the child had been blessed by God. His mother felt so touched by their words that she named the child Christophe.
The next five years Christophe was raised by his grandmother, because his mother still refused to care for him for various reasons - but everyone knew those were merely excuses.
The old lady had a big acre by her house on the countryside, where beetroot, potatoes and carrots grew. Christophe played outside every day since he had no toys except for the gardening tools in her shed. Because they lived far from the nearest town, the only people they ever met were the traveling merchants who came by every two days to sell their wares and take some vegetables in return.
Young Christophe really liked his grandmother, because she would always read him stories and sing him lullabies to bed.
In return for her kindness, he gladly helped her plow the acre and dug up most of the root vegetables every year. Because he was so good at plowing and digging, she called him her little mole. Though he realized that with every year that passed, she was growing weaker. To his sixth birthday, she gave him a harmonica, which he played out on the field. His grandma said that every time he played a nice melody, it would help the plants grow.
The time he spent there was probably the best of his life. He was a happy child, and he wished life could go on like this forever, but when his grandma kept getting sicker, he realized that she didn't have much time left. When he finally found her dead one cold winter morning, he understood that he would have to get back to living with his mother. From now on nothing would ever be the same again.
After the funeral he lived in the city of Paris for a while. His mother did nothing but yell at him and punish him for things he did not do or could not control. Thus he once spent an entire month grounded in his room. He missed his grandmother a lot. He kept the harmonica and the shovel as a memento to her, and held those items dear.
He started going to school, where he learned how to read and write. The teachers and children all told him that it was very important to go to church at least once a week. Christophe always thought poorly of those traditions as they seemed pretty meaningless to him, but since his mother had left him no other choice, he had to do as she said. Because the boy didn't make a lot of friends, he liked to spend his evenings playing the harmonica or reading books about heroes and dragons, dreaming and wondering if his father was a dragon-killing, princess-saving hero too.
One his 8th birthday, his mother told him they would go to visit him. After a long plane flight he had found himself in a foreign, hot desert land. He remembered the people in the streets wearing clothes strange to his eye, spoke a language unknown to his ears, and the street signs had letters on them he could not possibly decipher. There were no birds singing in the skies. Instead he heard soft cracking and popping sounds in the distance that faintly reminded him of fireworks.
Then the inevitable moment came when he had to use a bathroom. They stopped by a public toilet and he rushed inside, but when he came back out he gasped with horror, because his mother was gone. He waited there for hours, but she didn't return. He was lost and alone in a foreign land where no one spoke his language, and despair started eating at him as time passed. When night came he remembered what the people at school told him. Pray to God, and he will help you. So, in his most desperate hour, he found himself praying, pleading, begging for his mother to come back.
But then something unexpected happened. As he heard the sounds of strong motors approaching, he saw people wildly dashing through the street, yelling words at each other that he could not understand. A loud bang later, the small cabin that was the public toilet blew up next to him and he fell to the ground, pieces of wreckage scattered all around him. Driven by shock and panic he jumped up and made a run for it, only to find himself in the middle of a gunfight between two hostile groups. One of the many bullets that shot through the air that night struck his leg and left him immobilized and in great pain on the ground.
The next thing he remembered was that he was dragged into a building by two children who had found him lying in the streets the next morning. Their mother took care of his leg and asked him a lot of questions he could whether understand nor answer. Stricken by shell shock, he had temporarily lost his ability to talk.
Moments later she was shoved aside by a group of soldiers entering the building. They exchanged glances, dragged Christophe with them and brought him to their camp, where he stayed for the time being. They told him that his mother had been arrested back in Paris for abandoning her child, but because she claimed that it wasn't her fault they got separated and told him some more lies only Christophe knew weren't true, the judge sentenced her to only two years in prison and one year of community service. It was a lot for him to swallow, and he certainly needed some time to recover from all the stress he'd been through.
Later that day, the men told Christophe that his father, who he and his mother had come looking for, lived in the military camp not far from theirs. Because his mother was in prison now, Christophe wouldn't really have anywhere else to go. When he met his father for the first time, the air in his tent was heavy with cigarette smoke and there were bottles of liquor standing all around his desk, where he did his paper work. His father was American, and he was very strict. What Christophe never quite figured out was how he always seemed to knew what was going to happen next long before it did - which earned him the title of commander.
He told Christophe to make himself useful and so the boy did what he was best at - digging holes. Beside learning to speak proper English, he spent months digging up trenches. One evening, as they ate together and talked, his father agreed to give him the code name "The Mole".
The day arrived when his old man and commander finally decided to give him a different kind of job. The Mole would have to dress up in the local people's clothes and gather information. Because he was only a child, people wouldn't suspect much, his father always reassured him before wishing him good luck and a "May God be with you!", though he wasn't exactly sure how or why God would help him.
The missions he was sent on kept getting more dangerous with each triumph he scored for his side. In his time there, Christophe learned to hate guard dogs and alarming systems. He saw many people getting brutally killed or tortured, and each experience taught him to be a little more careful than the last time.
And still the inevitable day arrived when he was finally caught searching through the documents in the office of a high ranked member of the enemy party, because one of the dogs had noticed him. He struggled and screamed when he was taken to a cellar, where they tortured him for countless days.
Unsure of how many days and torture sessions had passed, he just wanted it all to end and hoped to die. But once in the middle of having his side sliced open, his torturer suddenly lost his head. Blind from tears and dazed from pain, it took him a moment to discover that he was found by a member of his father's troops. He had passed out before they freed his wrists and ankles and took him back to camp. Those men had done many unspeakable things to him, and although the majority of his injuries had healed within the next months, the mental trauma was far worse than the terrible scars all over his body. His doctors feared that he would probably remain impaired by PTSD for life. That was the time when he began smoking.
They had a priest in the camp and everyone kept talking about praying to God for help. Christophe was sure that if there really was a God, as everyone said, he would be a violence-loving, merciless one, and help shouldn't be expected from him. By that time he was quite certain that God hated him, for whatever reason he must have - which was why he didn't see the point in anyone praising him at all. If anything, God deserved to be despised.
Because of the reoccuring nightmares that haunted Mole every night, he often stayed up so late until he was close to passing out. He spend the time reading the only books available to him - books about war. He learned a lot about politics and studyed some more tactics, though he wasn't certain he would ever go out on a mission again... Until the day came when his father suddenly went missing.
One evening when he got up from his bed to get a drink, Christophe found a letter on the dinner table. While reading the message, his heart started pounding. Then he realized that he had been so occupied dwelling in his own depression that he completely forgot about the unbearable amount of guilt that burdened his father, for the horrible things that happened to his child. He took from the letter that his father was going to head into the most heavily guarded building of the city to "finish the job".
"Shit!" he thought as he realized that his dad has gone on a suicide mission. Without wasting a second thought, The Mole grabbed his shovel, rope and binoculars and dashed out into the night. After digging many tunnels and knocking out a couple of guard dogs, he finally got close enough to the building his father had mentioned. He heard shots and screams through the walls - which left him without doubt that he was too late. With a heavy heart he watched as the body of his father was dragged out of the building and dumped into a pit. He silently gasped, tears welling up in his eyes.
What he discovered later was that with his sacrifice, his father had earned them the greatest victory of a lifetime. He had left further instructions for his troops in his desk, being a good leader to them even beyond his own death. He had also left a testament and enough money for Christophe and his mother to live for the next twenty years.
In honor of his noble duty and for his sacrifice, the military provided a home in America for his family. It was located in a peaceful, secluded mountain town called South Park.
Back in school again, Mole had a lot to catch up on and was sometimes having trouble studying, but he became friends with a boy his age, who was known for being the best student in class, even though he had also just moved there. That boy's name was Gregory, and he successfully helped Mole to get back on track with the learning material.
Still, the things he learned at school seemed petty compared to what his life had been like before. If he had learned anything from those days, it was that his father died because he couldn't carry the weight of regret anymore, and that the only thing that could have probably saved him was his son's forgiveness. If only he had not been so blind with his own gloom and realized this sooner, he would probably still have a father today.
The Mole remembers this lesson every day as he takes a puff from his cigarette and thinks about the past.

((God damn this made me cry))