A/N I repeat, this is a sequel to "Truth Be Told", /s/12366475/. If you didn't like that one, you're sure as buttpancakes not going to like this one, so proceed with caution. Rated M for eventual sex and Cartman being crude. This fic is "unfinished" but since this is Fractured's one year anniversary, I may as well upload the first chapter to give me an opportunity to actually commit to finishing.

If you don't ship Keneric/Kenman, don't read this. If you ship Keneric, please have at it and tell me how disappointed you are in this fic because indeed, yours is anopinion that matters.

The Coon prepared his newly acquired "jornal" on his desk with a glower of mischief. If that Douchebag wanted to play games, he'd play games. This time, instead of letting him ransack his room without permission, he would lure him instead. Douchebag would soon be trying to infiltrate the Coon and Friends base, so the only way to find the passcode was through this unattractive handbook.

He summoned his vilest thoughts for the task. To start… shit. Shit… list. The shittiest people he knew? Yes! Perfect. First off was KYLE. Stupid Jew piece of shit. Second, Mom. He always blamed her for her loose lifestyle, he always would. Then CLYDE, whom he could never forgive for starting a dark army against his own. Then of course the Mexican… ("Fucking David…" he muttered) Finally, PC Principal. The very thought of him made him gag, the asshole whose strict code included concessions to others, restraint in language, and beating to shit violators of said code (read: Cartman).

His list completed, he thought to add some drawings. That was the real way he was going to scare Douchebag. So he thought of unattractive people. Kahl. Definitely Kahl.

"Then what about…"

Butters… ew! So maybe Butters and Kahl… having sex!

He convulsed in his seat, attacked by his own mad fit of laughter. Sex, as in his mother's employment. Sex, as in using one's dick for pleasure. An atrocious act to never be repeated. His amusement faded into a faint blush.

The story of the Stick of Truth was good and done. And he was pissed as fuck at Douchebag for ruining it.

His fingers tingled as he finished the drawings; it was pretty fun to do, even if they weren't anyone he actually wanted. But that was the whole point. It was only after all the graphic nonsense he snuck in the password. Good luck, Douchebag. As he hurried back to base, he couldn't help wonder how his commercial rivals were faring.

In the training room, Toolshed and Mysterion stood facing each other. They had been practicing for awhile, perhaps too long, in effort to take their minds off things. Every individual at Freedom Pals was right to be agitated. The discrepancy between Coon & Friends that formed Freedom Pals in the first place was reason enough, considering it broke up Tweek and Craig. But when their circle of superheroes got into problems outside of the franchise, things heated up.

Toolshed scowled fiercely and flung his screwdrivers from his sides. Mysterion sidestepped and shouted, "Melee range, Toolshed!" and promptly rounded up his opponent in a ghastly web. Toolshed was dragged with a snap and brutally thrown to the floor by Mysterion's fist. "We have no room to play coy fighting Coon & Friends."

"Give me a break, Mysterion," Stan complained as he rose to his feet. "I'm just feeling under the weather. I'm worried about Wendy…"

A sharp response. "Because she dumped you in the game of, what, relationships? We are superheroes right now, and we don't remember the wrong games."

No, that wasn't it at all, and Stan had to bite his tongue. He didn't understand why Mysterion was intent to conclude that Stan was heartbroken. Sure, he and Tupperware both got dumped during the last feminist rally in protest of Skankhunt42 (don't ask Stan why that was ever reasonable). But it was the notification Freedom Pals received from a signed Call Girl claiming knowledge on the identity of the kingpin — the one causing resurgence in violence with the sixth-graders, and the missing cats. Considering that Wendy had deleted her Coonstagram account a day prior, there was no doubt the one and only superheroine was his ex.

"OK, OK, I'll try harder." His head skewed sideways and his eyes narrowed. "But I need to rest first." He marched out to the Freedom Pals hub, leaving the glaring Mysterion behind him.

After the door clicked shut, Toolshed burst out, "Why's Kenny got to be such a dick when he's Mysterion? Acting like he's all better than us!"

Tupperware was the only other person in the room. "Don't ask me. I didn't put him in charge of the team. Doc Timothy did." He added, "And if it makes you feel any better, he was giving me a lot of shit earlier about Nichole, too." He still had a picture of her on his nightstand, if that was of any explanation.

Toolshed lowered his voice. "He's got a lot of baggage this past month. You don't think it's about… earlier… right?"

Tupperware poked nervously at the casing on his helm. "I'm pretty sure—"

The door slammed back open, and Mysterion stood in the frame, holding it open with an extended arm. The look in his eyes was almost predator. Probably because Toolshed was talking as loudly as he could, and Mysterion overheard whether he wanted to or not.

"Hey, Mysterion!" Tupperware beamed innocently.

"Hello, Tupperware," he replied. Without a second acknowledgment to him or Toolshed, Mysterion exited the Freedom Pals base.

"Yeah, what a dick," the cyborg concluded.

Forwarded to all Freedom Pals cell numbers at 2:37 AM 10/16/2017: I have information on the new crime boss in South Park. We need to schedule a meeting privately before I can give you the deets. Just don't tell anyone outside of Freedom Pals about this. -Call Girl

Mysterion did not stomp. He didn't march like Toolshed, or scurry like Wonder Tweek. He glided. Furiously. Why was he angry? To start, he was looking at his phone. Not a good idea right now. He sought an answer to his frustrations, and saw it in the stumbling, exploring New Kid. Instinctively he called out, "Douchebag!" but it went unnoticed. "Damn this douche…" he mumbled, and produced his exclusive, Freedom-Pal-leader access to all character sheets, courtesy of their psychic Doctor. The New Kid had a sheet, too, after registering with the Coon.

The Coon.

He smothered his sudden flush with additional analysis on the New Kid. On his paper, he was self-proclaimed The Amazing Butthole. Race, gender, religion… unknown.

Under his breath he scoffed, "Amazing? Cartman must have come up with that…" He shouted again: "Hey, Butthole!" The New Kid stopped, looking confusedly in the direction of the voice. This was his chance. He used his ability of phasing through shadow and appeared before the amazingly indifferent Butthole.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, New Kid," he lied. He already knew him, had already been his companion. And it certainly wasn't a pleasure. "You know more than one can tell. You're different, I'll give you that. And if you…" Why was he saying this? He was too pissed to be saying this. "…need my help, I am willing to provide it. I could use your benefit, you know. Especially if you're already integrated into Coon & Friends."

Butthole shot him an angry look.

He sighed. Of course, Butthole must not have known it was Princess Kenny talking; his anger was related to the current game. Good for him, then. "I know you're loyal to Cartman. But the opportunity still stands. And I know this wouldn't be your first time betraying his trust." He felt himself overstep the boundaries of Mysterion's knowledge. Everyone knew Sir Douchebag remained loyal to the Wizard King during the attack on the school, despite the supplications of the High Jew. But he had betrayed him in a way more personal, so personal no one but he and Kenny understood it to be betrayal.

Suddenly, Mysterion felt his outrage toward the reformed douche subside, splashed away by the waves of his thoughts. Douchebag hadn't betrayed Cartman because he wanted to make things worse for them. He had genuinely believed to be helping their relationship. It wasn't his fault Cartman was scared off… it was Cartman's.

As if he could hear Mysterion internally pardon him, Douchebag came forward for a selfie. In reality, Mysterion supposed, it was an approval of their potential alliance. He said gruffly, "Okay, just this once, Butthole." He felt distracted, not minding the wait as the New Kid adjusted the camera. All his blame, all his anger, was fixated elsewhere.

No sooner than the mobile device clicked did Mysterion give way to the dazzling pops of firecrackers. They barely made Butthole blink, but Mysterion disappeared all the same. Or ran away. Whatever you like to call it.

Cartman tapped his fine, beastly shoe against the conference table. Most of his job consisted of assigning classes, dishing out quests and managing purchases in the Coon Store. What work! He fondled all the dollar bills he was accumulating, counting them over and over. They were the only respite in the life of a superhero such as himself. He sighed dramatically. Then sounded some quiet tapping down the staircase. Grateful for any company, he said, "Greetings, Butthole!"

The newbie approached his boss with a complacent frown. He opened his phone and faced it toward the Coon. The Coon quirked a brow, feeling frustrated again.

"Yes, you have been assigned to take selfies, I know." Butthole continued to hold it up. "Ugh, what is it?"

As he had since learned, 99% of the time, to trust Butthole's initiative, he leaned forward and squinted. "Is that…" His eyes widened. "Holy shit, is that Mysterion?"

The Amazing Butthole needed not nod, and Cartman shone with triumph. "Good job, Butthole." His voice had an enthusiastic skip. It confirmed Mysterion had been going behind EVERYONE'S back, including his own team, and was stealing drugs from the enemy himself. Probably for personal profit, selfish bastard. "Not even I could have predicted this."