A Note From The Author: … And suddenly Chapter 2 happened. I was pretty happy from the way the first chapter had been received, so I decided to just keep writing~ You guys are extremely sweet, and it was heart-warming to read your reviews. And yeah, the title's pretty dramatic. I know. But hey, I'm thinking that's the feeling you get when you finally 'stick it to the man'. Like a, "Yeah! I'm taking care of myself by punching you in da face!" sort of thing. Yeah. Kill Everybody! -by Skrillex.

To my Guests: Craig has certainly been on my mind a lot lately- when I first began writing for South Park, I was a little unsure about how his friendships with the other boys worked, so I spent a lot of time reading fanfiction about him to understand who he is. At first, I was all for the Creek pairing, but as I dug into the character of Clyde, I began realizing the potential there, probably much to your dismay! So I think I'll let Craig figure out who he wants to be with when the opportunity presents itself~ (I'm pretty torn myself) As for whether or not Craig gets raped… Oh man, your request was so cute, I had to chuckle a little xD I wouldn't worry about him. He's a pretty tough guy, after all. To the other Guest, I'm glad you enjoy the prison theme~ xD Kyle's entrance will take a few more chapters (I want Butters' "newness" to wear off a little first), but I promise it will be worth the wait. Kyle's one of my most favorite characters to portray, and I basically came up with this fanfiction just so he could have some shining, and (hopefully) saddening moments. Things will also probably get a lot more heavier after he arrives, much to his dismay~ ;)

To twoshotsofvodka: I'm so grateful for your input! I hadn't noticed the Stan hiccup, so I'm really glad you brought that to my attention. I'll be careful to make his second introduction (to Kyle, that is) stand out- especially since this is also a Style fic xD And I absolutely agree with you in terms of Kyle not being a submissive character; it's really saddening when writers just choose to embrace the 'oh, he's probably the bottom' aspect of him, and don't consider that he's a bit of a spitfire in the actual cartoon. I really want to embrace his anger later on (which will very much shape where this story is going) and actually let it out. Because he's already in prison, and kind of now has the right to get into spats~ xD

And a huge thank you to sirius1696 and XxDarkSarcasm1010xX for your reviews :) You're the best!

Please note that this chapter might be a bit harsh because of: VIOLENCE, RAPE THEMES, LANGUAGE, & GENERAL GAYNESS. ;)

Also note that before writing this fanfiction, I spent several days perfecting each and every character's backstory. Just because a character didn't talk about their reasons for being in prison yet doesn't mean it won't eventually be found out later on. With some of the more… touchy ones, I plan on waiting until that character's ready to discuss it. I tried to stay true to the character's habits and personalities without going the typical route (an example being how Tweek is almost always perceived as having issues with substance abuse, especially in party settings. I'll admit, when I first came up with the prison idea my mind jumped there for him immediately. But that's already been told before, and I want this story to be something memorable. So surprise! xD). ALSO, I felt inconsiderate for not pointing out the last names I gave for Pete, Michael, and Firkle. Their last names were never mentioned so I had to make them up as Pete Stenson, Michael Warren, and Firkle Davidson.

CHAPTER 2: KILL EVERYBODY

"This screwdriver was stolen from the toolbelt of a repair man. It was used to gouge out a man's eyes and was violently shoved up his rectum. The guilty inmate is now locked up in solitary and has been in there for three months. If I find any weapons on you, I'll boot you down there too, understand?" Mr. Marsh stood in front of our gaggle of plastic chairs with a worn expression on his face. He seemed several decades older than he actually was, but considering the undoubted stress from his job I couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for him.

Orientation had been going on for about thirty minutes now. We had watched a hopeful man on an old tv screen tell us about the opportunities for fitness, education, recreation, and pastimes here in prison. Clyde had found the film so hilarious he had started snorting. Miss Stevens had slapped him quite harshly with a handful of her paperwork until he fell silent.

I was growing increasingly worried about where my dorm would be and, more importantly, who I would be sharing it with. I had decided pretty early on that someone like Cartman or any black people (excluding Token) would probably beat me to a bloody pulp or worse, and I was hating the idea of not getting along with someone I'd be living with.

"Thank you, Mr. Marsh." Chimed out a woman's polished voice. It definitely wasn't Miss Stevens, so I turned with everyone else to get a look at the new person who had joined us. She was simply gorgeous; long sleek black hair, striking brown eyes, and skin like milk. She certainly didn't look like she fit in here amongst us scuffy inmates at all. "Hello, everyone. My name is Wendy Testaburger. I'm the prison warden here at the Colorado Department of Corrections. I'll be telling you a little about how things work around here and what we expect from you. Most prisons don't agree with mixing lifers in with the rest of you, but I think it's an eye-opening opportunity for you to reflect on where you want go after your stay here. Hopefully being around them will allow you to see that prison should not be your final destination. Never forget that you always have a chance to strive above what people expect from you and make a life better for yourself and others. Until you get a life sentence and fuck up your parol." She gave us a strained 'I'm joking' smile that seemed ineffective.

"Now, Stan talked to you about health threats and what violates the ground rules we have here-"

"I know what I want to violate." Mumbled a younger prisoner from the back of the room, earning a few snickers.

"Broflovski." Miss Testaburger sighed. "You just got out of solitary. Are you really that anxious to get back in?"

I angled my head slightly so I could get a better view of this 'Broflovski' in my peripheral vision. He was undeniably a Canadian, though I couldn't place why I knew that to be so, and had a pretty smug expression on his face. Back home, my dad would probably refer to him as a 'Wise Guy'.

He was silent and let Wendy continue her speech. "As I was saying, you will each get to sign up for an elective job here in prison. Such jobs include kitchen duty, bathroom duty, mopping hallways floors, fixing electrical outages, helping in the AIDS wards, as well as other options. This is so you can help pitch in around prison and learn some handy skills you can use once your terms have been served. It's an opportunity you should take with all seriousness."

Clyde stood suddenly and threw his arms out, shocking the rest of us. "Look, are you almost finished? 'Cause some of us got better things to do."

Wendy's almond eyes narrowed menacingly. "Sit. Down. Donovan. Or I swear to God you'll be cleaning clogged up shit out of toilets for the next month."

He sat down angrily and Miss Testaburger then went on to discuss visitation rights and how commissary was handled (I was surprised to learn that under no circumstances were we allowed to actually touch physical bills or coins). "Now, that about does it. When you get back to your rooms, you'll find a list on your door telling you where your new dorms are. You cannot request roommates, but if you have a legitimate reason you can move to a different dorm. Stop by my office if you have any legal questions or issues with how the prison is run."

And with that, we were dismissed. I made my way back to my room, feeling more than a little sad to be leaving my strange assortment of roomies, glad to be leaving Clyde's nightly habits behind, and anxiously excited to meet my new roommate. I prayed multiple times for God to be merciful and give me someone with even just a few morals.

The beaten wooden door to our room was huddled around as Clyde, Michael, Pete, and Firkle scanned the little sheet of yellow paper. "Looks like you've got one of the newbies, Donovan. Cube 12 is empty." I heard Pete announce.

"Oh shit…" He hissed, looking back at the paper.

"W-What?" I asked, walking up to them and joining the cluster.

"I feel sorry for you man. You're screwed." Pete let out a humorless chuckle, looking at me with a twinge of pity.

"Huh? W-Why?!" I demanded, looking at the yellow sheet. But the words 'Dorm A Cube 24' told me nothing but where I was headed.

Pete rolled his eyes at my rising panic. "Your roommate's the guy from the night before. I'd really watch what I say around him- he's apeshit crazy. His last roommate offed himself, and for weeks after he'd just sit there on his bed and talk to him like he was still there. There's just something not right about him."

"Guy from the night before…?" I asked, not sure if he was referring to Eric, McCormick, or even Thorn. But Pete just smirked, relishing my fevered terror, and stalked off.

I frowned in irritation before ducking around everyone to get in and retrieve my measly belongings. Despite only letting us take in whatever fit in a large envelope, I was thankful for the pictures of my family and the old letters from my one and only ex-girlfriend back in highschool, Lexus. Even though we had ended things rather quickly, I still read through the letters to remind myself that, at one point in time, someone liked me enough to let me know. They always managed to pick me up a little whenever I was in a funk. The photos of my parents made me feel a little guilty, but I also liked being reminded that I had a life once out there that, yeah, had its faults, but it wasn't absolutely terrible. The pictures of Dougie and I were just silly little reminders of my not-so-distant college life.

I picked up my envelope of 'personal items' and awkwardly clutched my newly acquired cleaning products I had stashed from the night before and headed for this 'Dorm A Cube 24', juggling the items stubbornly before giving up and carrying them in a temporary sack made from the front of my uniform. I got a few curious looks down the hallway and someone I didn't even know slapped my bum and whistled at me. It was extremely embarrassing and I fast-walked the rest of my way to the Dorms with a red face. It took me a while, but I finally found the right washed-out hallway to turn down and was greeted with rows and rows of small stone cubicles. The 'walls' only went up to about my shoulder, and there were no doors. So that's how they kept an eye on us at night. A big blocky 'A' was spray painted on the side of the first hallway opening, letting me know which cluster of cubicles I belonged to. I went in and walked down the rows of sleeping areas, pleased to see that instead of clanky bunk beds we had two separate, unattached ones. I still felt pretty traumatized from last night's fiasco with Clyde.

20… 22… 24. I was finally at my new 'home'. I peered in between the stony walls curiously. There was no one there. Whoever my roommate was must be out. I took that moment to survey the cubicle. It was pretty plain like most of the others, but there was a surprising amount of personal items. Books and magazines were stacked on a rickety end table hastily- like they were normally neat, but had been read through recently and a bout of laziness had prevented returning them to their proper place. A poster for NASCAR was stuck to the wall, somewhat crookedly. Several intricate drawings were also taped on his side of the room too, and next to them were pictures of a girl, her age varying in each picture. She was young and beautiful with a sunny smile. It was safe to say she was a sister or a family friend of some sort. Suddenly, I felt terribly dirty for snooping through this man's stuff. However I still grinned when I noticed his pillowcase, which had bottle openers and corks lining the sides of a barrel-esque wooden pattern. It's funny how the little things tell so much about us.

I moved silently over to the cold, empty bed that would be mine. It was sad how little character it had next to my roommate's. I'd have to buy some things to make it more lively when commissary rolled by, or if my Aunt Nelly sent me things from the outside.

I set down my measly things and opened the drawer of my own rickety end table, which was identical to his. As I began putting away my deodorant, toothpaste, and what have you, I heard a surprised "Oh".

"Butterscotch. I didn't know you'd be my new roomie."

McCormick. McCormick was the person I'd be living with from now on. A flame of excitement brewed in my chest, quelling slightly when I realized what that meant. He's the crazy guy Pete was talking about?

"Oh, hey! Y-Yeah, I suppose so." I gave him my best wary look. "Y-You're not going to try anything funny at night, are you?"

He grinned sheepishly. "You caught me. When everyone's asleep, I put on a pair of ladies underwear and beat off."

"...HUH?"

"I'm just dicking with you." McCormick laughed, sitting down casually on his bed. "Try not to take what I say too seriously." Changing the subject, he spoke again. "So how's prison treating you? The slammer's a blast, isn't it? I remember my first week here was just pure hell. Adjusting to the cafeteria food was awful, the people at the time were a lot tougher than this lot, and it seemed like everyone was trying to shove their dicks in my ass. Which I can't say I mind much now, heh, but back then it was pretty scarring. Us blondes have to watch our backs." He winked at me, which made me smile a little. He wasn't scary at all. Pete must've been trying to make me nervous.

"T-That hasn't happened to me yet." I began, hoping he'd say more so I'd get an idea of what was in store for me. He did.

"Well, back then everyone was pretty upfront about it. Now… shit, it's a lot more terrifying. You get on good terms with a guy, right? And then the next week he'll be asking favors from you, just for being nice at the right time. Pretty soon, you've got his dick in your mouth and you're in the AIDS Ward. Just remember, Butterscotch, nothing is free here." McCormick snickered, opening his drawer and taking out, of all things, a Kit-Kat. He broke it in half and grinned. "On that note, want some?"

I blinked, unsure if he was just joking again or trying to prove an awful point. "Uhh…"

"Look, I'm not like them." He said, gesturing for me to sit next to him before handing me the sweet. "I've been here for eight years. I have a life sentence, too. Up for parole in seven, but I don't have high hopes in that department. I know I'm going to live my whole life here until I die. So, you can say I've kind of given up on these people. I don't want to become what this place expects me to be. And that's why you can trust me."

"Shit." I murmured, feeling awful for him. His life was basically over. But I wouldn't tell him that. "But, I mean, y-you haven't gone through parole yet. Maybe you'll get settled down on a nice enough job and get back on track. Sure, it's a long shot, but it's still a shot nonetheless!"

He chuckled, breaking my heart slightly. "Well, fuck. That's probably the first time I've heard someone tell me that since I got here. You're not bad, Butterscotch. Hey, what're you up to today?"

"Umm, I don't think I'm doing anything. I mean, the only thing I've been told I have this week is signing up for work later this afternoon." I replied, unsure of where this was going as I plopped the melting half of Kit-Kat in my mouth. God, that was good.

"Do you have any idea what job you want?" He asked, bringing his knees up to his chest and rocking slightly. It was a little odd, but hey, this was the slammer. This morning I saw a guy lick Mr. Marsh's hand seductively. Weirder things have happened.

"Well, I used to be interested in being a chef before I decided to get an Art major, so I was thinking maybe I'd work in the kitchen. But Stenson and Davidson told me it probably wasn't a good idea, so I'm not so sure." I explained, looking over just in time to see McCormick frown.

"Were they talking about the staff?" He asked seemingly moodily.

"Yeah, th-they said the head chef k-killed a lady." I said with a tone of seriousness, not sure whether this was true or another prank.

"He's just a little jumpy." McCormick shrugged. "If he had the proper medication, he probably would've left her alone."

My jaw dropped on the floor, and I took a moment to pick it up. "Y-Y-You're… serious? Th-That actually happened?"

McCormick cast an anxious glance to the ceiling before looking back at me. "Well, yeah. Not sure if I should tell you or if he should, but what the hell. We all know, so you're bound to find out too one way or another. Tweak has a bit of a bipolar problem. They've been trying for ages to get his dosage right, but he said that he only got worse with the namebrand shit he was given at the time. His mood swings were getting pretty severe, and the day before that he was mugged. Stripped of his clothes and his phone, watch, and wallet were stolen. He was pretty jittery the next day. So, he's walking to his work, right? And a woman greets him on the side of the road. Well, he didn't see her until she said hello and he screams and snaps her neck. Just like that. He was surprised and flipped out, and all the neighbors saw. He has a life sentence like me."

My mouth was still slightly open in shock. This was nothing as light-hearted as running around state to state naked. "I-Is he taking his proper medication?!"

"Well, now. Yeah, he's actually really good considering he killed a woman and all. Hasn't wailed on anyone here except for the first couple of months he was in. Plus, he managed to befriend that ex-cop Cartman hates so much." McCormick snickered, clearly imagining the large man's angry red face.

"E-Eric would be mad if he heard you c-callin' him Cartman, you know." I began nervously, casting a glance around to make sure no one overheard.

"Good. Only his true enemies call him 'Cartman'." McCormick stated simply, as it was a well-known fact. "Hey, how about I introduce you? Tweak won't flip out, I swear. He's a good guy now."

I couldn't help but grip the sheets nervously. "M-Maybe later. But you could show me around the place, i-if you want."

"Fine by me."

We made for the door. "S-So, McCormick, what do you do around here?"

"As a job? I work in the library. It's quiet, simple, and I don't have to put up with people there. I like it." He had a fond smile on his face. "And it's Kenny."

"Alright, Kenny then."

"Do you want me to stop calling you Butterscotch?" He asked suddenly, as we were headed out of the Dorm area.

"No, it's fine. I kind of hate my real name. Leopold is so… Ugh."

"Well, Butters. You got busted at the right time. Today's Friday, which means the weekend's coming up. Tomorrow's commissary, so hopefully you didn't wait 'til the last minute to send your check. And Sunday's the best. Movie night. I think this week it's Indiana Jones." I had to admit, it was pretty cute seeing Kenny get excited over something so simple.

"Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, The Last Crusade, or, God be damned, the Crystal Skull?" I asked.

"Think this time it's good old-fashioned Raiders of the Lost Ark. Not even prison guards are cruel enough to play Crystal Skull."

This time I laughed. Despite my rather sheltered upbringing, Dougie had set aside some time to catch me up on the classics, which I'll never stop being thankful for. Hello Kitty was a chapter of my life I had ripped up, burned, and promptly forgot about. Kenny and I made our way outside.

"This is the track field, and over there is the greenhouse. Back there's the field where we grow vegetables and wheat. And that's the workshop area. And this up here is the guard tower, where guards will shoot you from if you run anywhere other than on the track field." Kenny summarized dryly, pointing a narrow finger as he was directing me. "The track field's really nice if you're one of those 'morning jogger' types. And we grow some cucumbers in case you're ever in need of a dildo."

I coughed, surprised yet again by his forwardness. That'd take some getting used to. "Well, if the fellas here are as p-perverted as you say, there's really not much point, is there?"

Kenny blinked and bit his lip before speaking again. "I have to ask… What is someone like you doing here? I know your type- you're too nice to do anything that'd put you in here. Were you set up or something?"

I was afraid this was coming. "No… I knew what I w-was signing up for. I was just too excited by the idea of doin' somethin' bad that I was blinded by it. I robbed a bank, you see."

I relished the look of surprise that came across Kenny's face a little too much. "Seriously? Shit, man! You're more badass than I thought!"

And I went on to tell him of my grand exploits with Dougie. It wasn't like telling the others; Kenny was so animated and into my recount of all that I did to get here that I didn't even realize we had wandered off into the library at some point. It was like he was living an exciting life through my stories- and he probably was at the very least trying. I had no idea what was running through his mind, especially now that I knew he thought he'd be stuck here forever.

"So, I hate to cut this short, but I have to be getting to work in a few. If you get bored- 'cause you will since I won't be there- you should read the book on my table called Portofino. It's pretty good. Anyway, I'll talk to you once I get off in a couple hours, Butters." Kenny gave me his signature wink and I gave him a small wave as he disappeared behind a bookcase, walking backwards in a goofy manner so he could maintain a smile with me a little while longer. Despite his secretiveness, I liked him. He seemed like one of the few genuine people here.

But I really wanted to know what he did that deserved a life sentence. And how he managed to escape so often. It was really eating at me. Shoving these thoughts aside, I walked out of the library and into the biting cold of the outside. I was surprised I hadn't noticed it before, but then again, I had been with Kenny. And Kenny seems to make things fade away to unimportance around him.

Sighing to myself, I set off back to the main building to get something to eat from the cafeteria since lunch was just around the corner. Instead of sitting there in the mostly empty commons, I decided to take an apple and a cup of hot green tea with me to our room. When I got back, I did as Kenny had suggested and carefully picked up his copy of Portofino, which was apparently a little town by the sea in Italy. The book was yellowing and worn out, but I found that it just added to its charm. At first, I was a little uncertain as to whether or not this book would be something I'd actually enjoy, but it was pretty humorous and, even more surprising, the family life of the main character was something that struck me pretty deeply. He was raised in a rigid, strictly religious lifestyle in a city of pure paradise, and in one scene his mother actually prayed in a restaurant for a whole hour before letting them eat their cold dinner. My family was pretty harsh too, but this was just ridiculous.

I managed to get through about half of the book before I dozed off on top of my bed. But I was awoken pretty quickly by something, and slid off my bed in alarm. I thought someone had opened either Kenny or my drawer, but a quick scan around the room assured me that I was simply paranoid. I let my eyes close once again as I thought about my new life here.

Befriending Kenny really did put my mind at ease- more than I originally gave him credit for. Sure, it had only been a couple of hours, but he just made everything seem less terrible. Who would've thought I'd go to prison and wind up meeting someone as incredible as him?

I really did like Kenny.

That's why I was pretty mad when I opened my eyes again and noticed someone going through his things.

"W-What are you doing, Eric?!" I shrieked, ripping out one of Kenny's books from his hands before he could realize I had woken up.

"I'm just looking! Christ, you're a touchy one aren't you, Stotch?" Cartman sneered. "Which is why you're in the slammer, I guess. Just couldn't keep your hands to yourself! Naughty, naughty." He tsked and wiggled his big fat finger in front of my face teasingly. "You of all people should appreciate me digging through his stuff. So what, are you his little prag now too?"

I blinked in confusion. "Prag?"

"Yeah. Prag. Prison-fag. Means you're his fuck toy." Eric clarified, as if this was the most basic knowledge in the world. "Seriously, you live under a rock."

"I'm n-not his prag, Eric." I stated as firmly as I could, but he only snorted.

"Are you sure about that?"

"I think I'd know." I said cheekily, proud that I was standing up to him, even in the smallest way.

"Well, good. I could use a new one."

...Oh.

I backpedaled. "Y-You know, actually, I think you better get out of here. I, uh, heard my prison number get called up front. They're probably gonna give me a sh-shot if I don't go."

"Bullshit." Eric grinned, his eyes firm as he stepped closer to me. "They haven't called out numbers since two hours ago."

"Oh, well… I-I think you j-just weren't payin' too much attention then! I coulda sworn they called me."

"Take off your pants."

It wasn't a suggestion.

"Listen, Eric. I really d-don't think this is a good idea!"

"Now, prag. Or I'll do it for you." Eric hissed through bared teeth, and I noticed in my blind panic that he was missing a few.

I made a mad dash to the door, but Eric seemed to know what I was going to do even before I did, and he caught me in his bulky arms.

"Hmph, the more you struggle, the more it'll hurt you know." He sneered, roughly tossing me onto my bed. Where was everyone?!

He brought his hands to the elastic of my pants before slipping them inside and groping me. That's when the adrenaline set in. I kicked and screamed furiously, managing to land a swift blow to his kidney and escaping a few feet as he hunched over in pain. Unfortunately for me, he grasped my ankle with a determined firmness and held me in place.

"Stop!" I gasped, hating him for putting me in this situation. I had given him the benefit of the doubt, and he threw it back in my face.

"You can't order me around, prag! I own you now. And that also means I make all of your decisions for you. You don't piss, you don't eat, don't sleep, don't fuck, don't cum unless I say you can. Understand?" Eric clarified for me, with all the calmness in the world. It was absolutely, gut-wrenchingly horrifying, and I wasn't strong enough to push him off, to back up my refusal to let him control me.

"G-Get away, Eric!" I screamed, biting his hand that was clenched around my shoulder. He cussed and hit me across the face, giving me a pretty good mark on my cheek.

"Understand?" He repeated again, tightening his grip on me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Said a voice that must've surely come straight from heaven. I felt Eric's grip on my body lessen considerably.

"McCormick." He hissed, throwing me against the stone wall like a discarded rag doll. "I was just taking out your leftovers."

"Leave him alone, you got that?" Kenny lowered his voice menacingly, and his face was darker than I had ever seen it.

"Why should I? He told me himself he wasn't your prag." Eric stated, standing a little taller as he approached Kenny.

Kenny's eyes glittered dangerously. "Clearly I'll need to train him better later. He's mine, and starting today he'll know it. Now get out of here before I send you back to the hole."

"Fuck you, McCormick." And then he was gone without another word.

"Are you okay?" Kenny words cut through the emptiness, and I started to absorb what had just happened. It was too much.

"Holy shit." My voice cracked, and I leaned against the wall for support. "Did that really happen?"

That was a stupid question. "Yeah, it did. Be thankful I walked in before he could actually do anything. He won't fuck you if he thinks he'll piss me off."

I looked up at him, bracing myself to ask another stupid, yet relevant question. "Am I really your... prag?"

Kenny let out a short, startling bought of laughter. "I'm not going to rape you, Butters. I swear to God. I'll admit, I would've been quite open to taking advantage of you if this had happened four or so years ago, but I'm not like that anymore. But if Cartman thinks I am, he won't touch you. At least, for a little while. He's been after a new prag ever since his last one… expired."

I didn't need a stupid question to help me understand what that meant.

"Kenny, why are you bein' so n-nice to me?" I whispered, afraid my voice would waver if I had spoken any louder.

"I dunno. Maybe because I'm tired of pushing people away all the time." He shrugged and smirked as he noticed the open book on my end table. "You started Portofino."

"Yeah." I replied, giving him the best shallow smile I could muster. "It's pretty addicting. Makes me wish I was out of prison too. I've never been to Europe before."

"Neither have I." Kenny's smile seemed to get a little bittersweet.

We were silent for a bit- it was just he and I on top of my bed, relaxing in the cooling quiet.

"Why did you end up in prison, Kenny?" I asked softly, looking over at him.

He seemed to lock away a part of himself at my question. "It's not a very fun story, Butters. I'll tell it to you eventually, I promise. But you just almost lost you anal virginity to a fatass. Well, assuming you're an ass virgin." He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" I teased, flicking him lightly on the forehead. I was thankful his forehead wasn't too big or too small- it was just right. Which was kind of odd to think about, really.

"Alright Butters, tell me the truth. How far have you gone with someone before?" Kenny inquired, mock seductively placing his hands on the mattress on either side of my waist, so we were face-to-face.

"Oh, uh.. Well…" I colored up, feeling intensely out of place. "O-One time when I was drunk I gave Dougie a blowjob. Things were pretty awkward after that…"

Kenny's eyes widened in surprise. "So you are into guys, huh? Hah! I totally called it!"

"H-Hey! I don't seem THAT gay, do I?" I asked nervously.

"Not at all, Buttercup! Just enough for me to notice." There was that wink again. God, why did he have to do that so much? "Hey we should probably get ready for dinner. Tonight's apple fritter night, and I refuse to miss out on that."

I chuckled and took the hand he offered as support for getting off of my bed. I noticed, for the first time, the tattoos on the underside of his right arm. They were simple tallies, perhaps hundreds of fives crossed out over and over all up his wrist to where his skin folded at the elbow. It was ominous.

"What're those for?" I asked innocently, nodding at his arm.

Kenny looked away rather sheepishly. "It's kind of a weird story."

Noting that he seemed uncomfortable, I didn't press the issue further. But even so, the countless tallies danced and swarmed in my mind, like hauntingly unwanted musical notes on a sheet of paper. We walked together to the cafeteria and I paused, not sure whether or not I should follow Kenny or chance sitting by Firkle, Michael, and Pete again. I kind of missed our companionship, however flawed it may be.

My mind was made up when I saw Cartman sitting with them, however, and I followed Kenny to the food line.

"Oh, hey Stotch. What's happening?" Donovan came up behind us in line, grinning ear to ear. He seemed to be adjusting well.

"N-Nothing much. I haven't seen you around lately, Donovan. Whatcha been up to?" I asked politely, since it seemed like Clyde was in the mood to chat.

"I kinda have a problem, actually. See, I want to work in the kitchen, but I don't want anyone to know how bad I suck at making food. So I guess I want to work in the kitchen without actually working in the kitchen at all." Clyde laughed, hearing how stupid he sounded. "That doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"Well," I began. "You could always do cleaning duty or something. I personally love cooking, but I hate having to put away the dishes and clean my messes. Plus, people always need to mop up cafeteria floors. They're permanently filthy."

"You know, you might actually be on to something Stotch! I'll check the list to see if they have anything like that."

Oh shit. I had forgotten about that. I needed to get signed up too before the day was done.

"Why are you so interested in the kitchen?" Kenny spoke up, startling both Clyde and I slightly.

"Ahh, well… I dunno. Never worked in a kitchen before." He grumbled.

"Have you met the staff?"

Clyde seemed to get a little flushed. "Kind of."

"Do you like them?" I asked curiously, still a little nervous by what Kenny had told me about that Tweak fellow.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Clyde roared, scaring the living shit out of Kenny and I. In fact, I nearly pissed my pants. I shouldn't have underestimated the man who had taken a naked road trip.

"N-Nothing! I've j-just been interested in cooking here an' was worried they w-wouldn't be very friendly is all!" I cried.

"Oh. Uh, sorry about that. Just, ah, overreacting a little." Clyde looked away in embarrassment, making me seriously wonder just what the heck was wrong with him. "They're fine. Nice people. But not that creepy too-nice. Just nice."

I looked over at Kenny, who was desperately trying to hide his silent laughter from Clyde. Now I was even more confused. The line shifted, and suddenly it was Kenny's turn to get a tray. As we went through the food stations, I made eye-contact with the handsome man from the night before. His sharp eyes flicked from mine to Clyde, and he seemed to scowl slightly when Clyde gave him his signature lop-sided grin. The man's attention went back to Kenny's tray, and he looked up to give Kenny a friendly nod. And then he gave Kenny an extra scoop of mashed potatoes before sending him off.

I was slightly confused. This man seemed to take his job here in prison very seriously. Why would he violate the 2,700 calorie per day diet laid out for them? I let Kenny catch me looking at his tray pointedly so he would give me an answer.

"Jealous?" He laughed. "I did him a favor back when he first got here. Ever since then, I've been given extra helpings as a way of payment. Like I said before, Butters, nothing here is free."

Was that some kind of warning?

"Hey, mind if I sit with you guys?" Clyde asked coming around the line to follow us. Kenny gave him a short nod of approval before we slid down in an empty table. We sat around eating for a while, talking about our first full day in prison and how surreal everything felt. I learned that Clyde had gotten Token as a roommate and that they were seeming to get off on the right foot so far. I reminded Clyde that we still had to go sign up for work before the end of the day, and after dinner we said goodbye to Kenny and made our way to Miss Testaburger's office.

The sign up sheets were on her desk and I took moment to really consider other options. Frankly, there were a lot more than I thought there would be, despite whatever they had promised us in the orientation. Gardening, making clothes, education, library, cleaning, kitchen duty… AIDS Wards. Nope. Definitely not that. Kitchen it is. I scribbled down my name and left with Clyde. A short while later, we parted ways in the hallway.

I paused to read which Dorm area I was in and realized much to my dismay that I had skipped A and had went all the way to B already. I was such a ditz sometimes. I backtracked and abruptly smacked straight into Thorn, who was directly behind me. I stumbled and fell, but he managed to regain his footing.

"Oh! I'm so sorry Thorn!" I cried, a seed of worry flourishing in my very core.

"How…" He whispered, staring directly down at the floor and almost… shaking?

"...How…. how… DARE you!" He then stood above me, curling his fingers into sharp bony fists and bringing his fiery eyes to my own. "Do you know who I AM?" Suddenly, his face was a mere inch away from my own and I felt his hot angry breath.

I was on the verge of another apology when I felt it; Thorne had thrust up his knuckles to crack against my jaw in a powerful right-hook. The raw energy behind it sent me sprawling back several feet.

I gasped and spat blood on the floor. There were no guards around, no anybody. It was just me and him, just like how it was with Eric. Suddenly, something in me just snapped. I was sick of being the weak one. I was always the weak one. So I flew at the dark-haired man with a fury in me I never felt before and grabbed a fistful of that hair of his. And I just pulled. And kept pulling, until a chunk of it ripped out. I think we were both pretty shocked, but instead of stopping I went in for another generous amount and repeated it. He was screaming, I was screaming, and then I felt arms underneath my own pulling me off of the bloody man.

"Alright, Stotch. That's quite enough!" Stan yelled over the screeches, and I realized that they were mostly my own. "Just what the hell happened here?"

"I.. I bumped into h-him on accident and he h-hit me." I replied as steadily as I could, feeling like a fourth grader in a principal's office.

"You know what this means, right?" Stan began, filling me with a sense of dread.

"Wait. Stan, he's with me." Aw, geez. How come Kenny always managed to show up to rescue me at just the right time?

Stan looked over at the rugged blonde and unclenched his jaw. "... I'll give you a warning this time, Stotch. But if I see you in another fight, you're headed straight to the hole, understand?"

"Y-Yes sir."

"Alright. Thorn, let's get you to the nurse's office and have a look at that scalp. Seems pretty raw." I heard a low hiss before Stan dragged him off.

I turned to Kenny with a small pout. "How come you have so many connections, huh?"

He sighed. "I have a way with people. I'm just too sexy most of the time."

"Yeah, that's it." I snorted.

"But really, of all the people you could've bumped into! It just had to be the Antichrist." Kenny rolled his eyes and walked me back to our cubicle. "He literally has deluded himself into thinking he is the Antichrist. Did you know that?"

I gaped. Was everyone here this dramatic? "N-No! What the hell is with this place? Are all prisons like this?!"

"Dunno. I'll let you know if I ever find out. But hey, I've gotta say, I'm pretty impressed with how you scalped him. If Stan hadn't of been there, you would've been good to go without my help. Just a little while ago you were letting Cartman smack you around- now you've made his favorite lackey a little less pretty. Congrats dude." Kenny flopped onto his bed once we got back in our room, and gave me his best 'join me and let's cuddle' face. I almost caved.

"Thanks, but now I kinda feel a little bad about it."

"He would've done the same to you, trust me. While Tweak got over his crazy with the proper medication, Thorn is fifty shades of insane. There's no telling what he would've done to you. I know you seem to have a death wish, but try NOT to fuck with the son of Satan. Otherwise, I'm putting you on suicide watch." Kenny rolled around on his bed and groaned, seemingly uncomfortable just as the lights turned off, signaling we should be in our respective cubicles. Can't say I didn't have a similar problem with my own bed- these springs were a fucking nightmare.

"I'll try my best not to die within my first week of being here." I stated a little too humorlessly- I was quickly learning that constant humor was how you survived here. Or at least that was how Kenny survived. Cartman seemed to survive by causing fear and controlling people. I wondered vaguely what way I would find.

"Just so you know." Kenny mumbled, sleep grazing his voice. "If you wake up and I have somehow managed to get into your crappy little bed with you… that's totally normal. In fact, I sleep walk frequently."

"Bullcrap." I smiled softly, knowing he couldn't see my face. "You just want an excuse to get into bed with me."

"Who wouldn't?" He muttered, and a few moments later I heard a quiet snore. My rather pointless smile doesn't leave my face until I've fallen into unconsciousness too.

A Note From The Author: And thus concludes Chapter 2. What a crazy roller coaster that was. I admit, I was slightly intoxicated when I first stamped this one out. You weren't able to tell, were you? I tried to smooth it out a little, but… I don't know xD Moral of the story: Don't write chapters when drunk. Only sex scenes. And there will be all that too, I promise. In gory, descriptive detail~ But I want to introduce everything first, and when I mean everything, I mean Kyle. He's coming after the next chapter, decidedly. The next one's going to be a long haul, according to my drunken brain-grid, but it'll be worth it. Oh fuck will it be worth it. Anyway, enough of my rambling. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and like always, reviews aren't demanded but are quite welcome. You guys make me smile~ Love you all!