Standing at the edge of the toy store's rooftop, with the wind blowing his cape to a satisfyingly badass level, is the town's only remaining super hero, left alone to protect the city that he semi-loves. The night is unusually quiet, but Mysterion doesn't mind. The silence gives him a chance to narrate.

"I…am Mysterion, sworn protector of South Park, Colorado: my home town that I have lived in all of my life. I used to have others to help me: I belonged to an entire team of heroes, a team called Coon and Friends, but after the Coon turned evil and banished us all to the lost city of R'ley, and Cthulhu was stopped by a former Coon and Friends member all a few weeks ago, the game has gone stale, and the others have decided to stop playing. I am all that is left, but maybe that is for the best. Unlike the others, I actually do have a power. I am immortal; I cannot die."

Movement in the alley beneath him catches his attention, and he watches as three sixth graders chases a stray dog, cornering the poor thing at the dead end. Laughing and throwing rocks, they abuse the stray, who's cowering as much as it possibly can.

Mysterion narrows his eyes. "Sixth graders; they've become even more of a problem since we got off for Christmas vacation. Just yesterday I had to report a few for loitering next to the park. Without the others to help, my hands are full every night. I may not want to admit it, but I need help."

Tired of the bullies' laughter, Mysterion makes a move to jump, but a blur of gray and red stops him. Stumbling backwards, he watches as a figure runs past, jumps, and lands in the alley, between the sixth graders and the dog.

Mysterion leans over the edge of the building and looks down, eyes let down in confusion.

Below kneels a red headed girl – no older than he was – with a smoky gray jacket and a matching skirt, and wearing a pair of blood red gloves. From above, he can't get a good look at her, but he watches as she stands up, flips her hair out of her face and faces the older kids.

"Leave the dog alone," she says. Points against her for the lack of a cool threat, but Mysterion is still impressed by her shear bravery.

"What, a little girl thinks she can tell us what to do?" calls one of the kids, and the other two laugh. Then the oldest one steps forward, his hands turning into fists. "Why don't you just beat it, before we beat you?" he says.

Her hands slip up to her hips. "Last chance," she warns, "before I make you guys leave."

Again, nothing cool, but now Mysterion starts to worry. "What does she think she's doing?" He asks himself, "If she thinks they won't hurt her just because she's a girl…"

The leader of the three boys smirks and steps forward, punching his left palm to show off how tough he is. He gets maybe five inches to her before she makes her move.

With a twist, the girl ducks, turns, and pulls out a short jump rope – one with black handles and a red rope. As she spins, the rope swings, hitting the boy squarely in the corner of his left eye. His hand goes to cover it, and tears start to swell. His lips tremble and suddenly he's running away, crying, with the other two cussing as they chase after him.

Mysterion has to force himself to close his mouth.

The girl turns to the dog, giving the stray a soft pet on the head. The dog licks her and runs off.

Mysterion jumps and lands behind her, closer to the wall. When he stands to face her, his cape wraps around him, shielding him from her.

"That was brave," he starts, "but very stupid. Who are you?"

The girl turns to him and Mysterion gets a good look at her. She's shorter than he is, and thin, with pale skin and dark eyes. She's wearing a black corset that ties in the front with white threads. The smoky gray jacket covers her, blending into the cheerleader like skirt that reaches her black shoes. Her face is hardly covered by an equally gray mask, a simple one with an elastic band holding it up. Her eyes have a light gray shadow on them, with mascara on the eyelashes. Her hair is a crimson red, pulled halfway back in a high bun, and mostly with dropped down in a long mess of a curly pony tail. Her matching red gloves wrap up her jump rope, clipping it to her hidden belt.

She winks at him.

"Red Handed, but you can call me Red, Mysterion," she rings and Mysterion again has to close his mouth. She was an absolute stranger to him. In a town as small as South Park, there was no way a girl like her can live here for more than a few months before he could see her around at school or on the streets, and that red hair was unmistakable.

"You know who I am?" he asks stupidly.

She smirks at him. "Of course I do. I saw the news a few weeks ago."

That's no surprise. Nearly half of Colorado, stretching as far as Denver even, saw him and his friends on the news, when they were hosting a bake sale to help the refugees in New Orleans.

"You shouldn't have attacked them. They could have hurt you."

Red Handed rolls her eyes and smirks. "Trust me, Mysterion. I can take care of myself," and with that, she turns and runs away.