» Taco Bell construction site - 10:12 PM (one month later) «

"That should do it," Toolshed said as he closed the panel to the electrical breakers; all the kitchen equipment was scheduled to be put in tomorrow, but something was causing the electrical to short out without warning, and that was trouble. While it might have been considered overkill to call in a superhero to figure out the problem, Toolshed didn't mind; after all, helping others, no matter how small the problem might be, was something he enjoyed doing.

At first glance, the teen didn't seem like much of a superhero; clad in a plain white shirt, jeans, and yellow safety goggles, with a heavy leather belt fitted with every single handheld power tool imaginable, Toolshed looked more like a teen with a penchant for do-it-yourself projects rather than a guardian of the city. However, his real power lay in how he used the equipment at his disposal; he had the curious ability to manipulate tools - as well as construction equipment - with a single thought, allowing him to use even the most innocuous of power screwdrivers as a deadly weapon. Not that he liked fighting, of course, but he was certainly no pushover.

"Thanks, Toolshed," the site's foreman said with a sigh of relief, looking in satisfaction at the lights illuminating the empty restaurant. "Sorry we had to call on ya for something so stupid."

"Don't worry about it," the raven-haired superhero replied with a grin. "I'm looking forward to having a bite to eat here when the place is open too, you know."

The foreman left quickly after saying his goodbyes, leaving Toolshed alone on site. The teen paused, however, as he looked around; he didn't want to say it to the foreman's face, but the wiring job had been shoddy. And if the inside of the restaurant was that bad, what was the outside like?

Knowing that half the town would be there for the grand opening, he wasn't going to take any chances; as he walked around the site, he did a few repairs of his own - a loose shingle here, a badly installed sign covering there… by the time he was done, it was almost midnight, but he could sleep easier knowing that the sign wouldn't fall on someone's head while they waited for their quesadilla.

As Toolshed was preparing to leave, a resounding crack echoed through the air, like a hundred breakers shutting off at once. The floodlamps that illuminated the construction site all shut off at once, plunging the area in a thick blanket of darkness.

"Fuck," Toolshed muttered under his breath as he looked around. Had he screwed up with the wiring somehow? It was going to take him forever to figure out what went wrong, and he didn't relish the idea of yet another sleepless night.

Reaching for the flashlight that hung on toolbelt, he paused as he felt the hairs on the back of his head stand on end. He let his hand fall limp as he slowly looked around, his eyes straining as he tried to pierce the gloom surrounding him. He couldn't help but feel that something was going to happen - and soon - and he tensed as he tried to figure out what was going on.

The answer came right then: a blinding flash of blue lightning suddenly crashed a few feet away from him - not close enough to strike him, but the force of the impact threw him back several feet. The hero recovered quickly from the blast, however, drawing both a drill and a nail gun from the holsters his belt as he skid to a stop near a steamroller, dust rising around his feet as he looked around for the source of the attack.

"That was quite impressive," a hollow voice intoned as a static-like sound crackled in the air, a few of the floodlamps turning back on and partially illuminating the site once more. "I didn't expect you to withstand that."

Standing on top of the roof was a man dressed in an ornate, blue poncho with yellow tassels, his face half-covered by a gold incan mask. More important was the derisive look he seemed to be giving Toolshed... as if he were nothing more than a pathetic insect.

"Who the hell are you?" Toolshed asked, his eyes narrowing as the tension in the air became even heavier.

"You may call me Lightning Bolt," the figure replied, his tone once more bereft of any emotion. "I've come to pass judgement upon you for the crimes you've committed against the citizens of South Park."

"Judgement…?" Toolshed repeated, his grip on his weapons tightening as he considered the stranger's words. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You claim to protect the citizens of South Park, but in the process, you harm the town." Lightning Bolt crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at Toolshed with a cold expression. "How can you claim to be a guardian of the city when you commit as many crimes as the criminals you attempt to apprehend?"

Toolshed widened his eyes. "Hey, no, wait a sec… when did I ever put South Park in any danger?"

"You sent a wrecking ball into the side of the old slaughterhouse."

"C'mon, the place was an eyesore anyways! And we saved that hostage, didn't we?"

"You flooded South Park High's basement when trying to stop a cult from worshipping gnome underwear."

"It's not like there's anything down there… no harm done, right?"

Lightning Bolt frowned. "The school was closed for a week."

"Yeah. Like I said, no harm done, right?" Toolshed laughed nervously despite himself, but his expression became serious again as he gestured at Lightning Bolt. "What does it matter? Damage can be repaired - it's not like we try and fuck things up!"

"And what if you tried? If you and the other so-called heroes actually intended to bring harm to South Park, the town would be finished." Lightning Bolt's one visible eye flared up, then, crackling with blue static energy tinged with yellow.

"I judge you unworthy of protecting South Park," he said without emotion as Toolshed saw a lightning bolt streak right at him, the last thing he saw before everything went white.

To say that Kyle Broflovski was a morning person would be a complete lie, but it was just one of the many things he had to pretend to be good at doing in order to please his parents. He nodded in thanks as his mom put breakfast in front of him - eggs, turkey sausage, and toast - while his father turned on the small television they kept in the kitchen.

Kyle's focus was entirely on his phone, however, as he stared at his text message app; it was unusual for Stan not to reply to his texts, especially at this time. Kyle was usually flooded with messages from his best friend, and for him to be so silent was a cause for concern. Had he overslept?

Before Kyle could excuse himself from the table so he could call him, however, the news came on the air, its theme blaring obnoxiously before cutting to the news anchor.

"And now for our top story: Toolshed, one of South Park's beloved superheroes, is in critical condition after being found by construction workers early this morning. The young superhero was found tied to the top of a telephone pole with grievous injuries. Now, some of the images you're about to see might be disturbing to younger children, and viewer discretion is advised."

Kyle stared in horror as he saw the news report, the reporter's grave-sounding words blending together and fading into the background as his sole focus became the image of his battered friend.

"Oh, that's terrible," Sheila said as she put a few more turkey sausages on Kyle's plate. "I can't believe anyone would do that to… Kyle?! Where are you going, young man?!"

Kyle paid no attention to his mother's outburst as he all but lept out of his chair and dashed for the front door. It took him seconds to slip on his shoes and grab his backpack before he ran out the house, heading towards Hell's Pass Hospital where Stan had probably been brought.

I can't believe this… Kyle's thoughts unconsciously echoed his mother's words as he ran, and while he wished he could get away with flying there, he couldn't do that while wearing his everyday clothes. Who the hell would do this…?

There were no answers for him... all he could do was hurry to be by his friend's side.