This trailer is somewhat long too, and I like writing this a lot. There's a lot of scenes that I wanna cover, but stop because it's supposed to be a preview of some sort.

Anyway, I'm only posting four trailers - next one is Kenny and Butters, then we'll take a look at everyone in general! I wanna highlight the rest too but then it won't be a trailer anymore ahahahaha

PPS, if someone knows a good source to write cyberpunk sceneries do post in comments! I'm still learning ;w;

Thank you Katastic Writer for the OC registration! Love it so much!

New Earth Operation

Trailer #2

Toolshed and Human Kite

He can feel the stares prickling against his back like daggers. Each time he passes the hallway, half-walking all the way to his lecture hall, there are bound to be eyes watching after every steps he takes. It makes him feel uneasy, living the kind of life he never asks but have to suck it up anyways.

It has been exactly five years seven months since Kyle Broflovski isn't much human after all. He never asks to be a part alien, much less to be involved in any kind of strange bullshit. He has enough of bullshit treatment due to being the only person who doesn't celebrate this weird holiday called Christmas back in elementary, and after the incident, the pure humans started treating him worst.

When he was thirteen, young and innocent Kyle was walking back home because of some stupid detention he received which caused him to miss the last bus. From his own two ears, he did noticed a rumbling sound similar to a vehicle's engine nearby but there wasn't a sight of any — not even hovercars which makes smaller sounds to the traditional pickup trucks. Thirteen-year old Kyle knew there was bound to be something wrong with the presence of such and all, he continued walking but with a faster pace. His heavy trudges slowly turning lighter and lighter, feet rose higher with each steps he took as he started to run from the enigma.

Even so, it was too late for thirteen-year old Kyle to be saved. He hated the path winding from his school to the cranky, old part of town his family decided to live in was always, always deserted. Despite the audibility of his voice, screaming with full force which echoed to forsaken, nobody was there to help him. Kyle remembers arms grabbing his frail, young body and the metallic vehicle glitched to visibility for a split second — one door sliding open to pull the kid inside — before the force field regenerated and it blipped away from existence.

When Kyle woke up for the first time, he realised he was hooked up in several IVs and wires. A breathing mask clasped on his mouth, he could feel the strap tight against the back of his head. As he groaned, bubbles slipped through the white, solid oxygen supplier — Kyle realised he was contained in some sort of tank. He was in some sort of lab, with people flying about — wearing white masks and have odd markings on their upper half of faces, scribbling and communicate amongst each other, tapping unknown buttons and pulling random levers. The whole space was stark white as well, bare walls and ceilings, it was driving Kyle mad. With panic bubbling in his chest, shrilled screams drowned in blue water, the boy knocked and struggled until his fatigue caused him to slip unconscious once again. He couldn't really remembered what happened afterwards.

People said it was nine months and a half when he woke up fully once again. This time, the ginger clearly remembered that he was in an entirely different place. A place with familiar colours, at least, as he gazed upon the space before knowing that it was his bedroom. That was the first thing.

Second matter was, he noticed his body getting light. At some point, it felt like gravity never pulled him to Earth in the first place. And that the ceiling seemed closer to his face more than usual.

Kyle looked down to see the fact that he was, indeed, floating.

"JESUS CHRIST!!!" He yelped and thrashed his arms. The rapid motion caused him to drop to the ground, for a brief while, he could feel his weight regaining the sensation to his figure before he felt the drop of gravity pull once again. He tugged the railing of his bed, frantically calling to somebody — mom, dad. . . Ike. "Maaa!!! Maaaaa!!!!" Kyle cried, his legs floating upwards causing his body to topple upside down.

Footsteps trudging to his room, heavy and loud to his suddenly sensitive hearing. His door flung open again, revealing both his parents and a small figure of his adopted brother trailing from the back.

"Bubba, you're awake!" Sheila wore an expression of relief despite his state.

"I know — ack, why am I floating?!"

"You've been like that ever since the agency found you. That's like, nine months ago," Ike responded, rather nonchalantly whilst both his parents glanced at each other nervously. The three of them had walked closer and grabbed him by his waist to pin him down. Despite the relief, Kyle was more confused than ever.

"Wh-What do you mean by that?" He turned his green eyes to his Ma, then to Ike and to his father who looked as if contemplating on telling him the truth.

"Look, Kyle. . ." Gerald started, one finger hanging at the hems of his collar, "The people that kidnapped you, they — uh, they aren't exactly human."

"What?"

"Let me continue, Kyle," he hardened his voice, "The agency told us they found you in the lair of some. . . alien species, and well they conduct experiments to your DNA which fused theirs and yours — is that right, Ike?" The younger boy nodded without hesitation, "And well, ever since we found you floating and stuffs, the agency concluded that you're not a hundred percent human anymore."

The words were heavy as they registered to Kyle. He wasn't a fool to not think of the consequences afterwards. He knew what was coming to him — the treatments, the stupid judgments, the hatred towards differences. The number of oddities in Boulder only takes one fourth of the whole population after all.

"Come on, Bubba. That doesn't mean we'll stop loving you, sweetie. You're still our son, right Gerald?" Sheila grabbed him gently by his wrist, pulling him until his feet reached the carpeted floor. The disappointment did not fully wiped from his face, but it was less evident. Still, that doesn't mean he doesn't feel like crying.

Kyle let out a weak "Okay," as he let his family guided him outside his room.

It took a while for him to train his weight — his Ma wrapped up a load which kept him at bay — or the entirety of his powers. He discovered that floating wasn't just his ability, but it was the fact that he could control the wind pressure around him.

Kyle had his luck when Stan didn't freak out like any other people in school. In fact, the noirette told him a secret he never told anyone before — that he wasn't exactly as human as he thought he would be as well.

"You mean you knew since grade school?"

"Yeah, kinda. . . I mean, I was almost killed by the chainsaw. I remembered closing my eyes, like in my mind I was thinking maybe it is the end. But when I opened my eyes, the saw blade stopped — like, like it's hesitating to move. And somehow I found out I could control these things."

"Sick, dude!" Kyle beamed, "Why'd you keep it from me?" His eyes shifted from a sparkle gleam to a tedious dull, as if hurt by the secret.

Stan replied almost quickly, "I wanted to! But I got scared, Kyle. What if you think I'm weird?"

"People already think I'm weird enough! And that's just because I don't celebrate this stupid Christmas holiday!" Kyle pouted, "I'd be happier to have a weird buddy with me," he nudged his elbow to the noirette cheekily, and laughed out a small snort.

The two exchanged glances, Stan's blue eyes to Kyle's green and the two laughed at their sheer stupidity.

"Welp, guess that makes us a team," Stan offered.

Kyle blinked at the notion of his invite, but then decided that the chance of exploration would be wide if they were to make use of what they could do. He responded the noirette with a smile, "Yeah."

Back in the real time, Kyle notices a thudding sound behind him. A noirette stands a few inches taller than him, retrieving back the tape which helps him descend to the ground. Stan smiles and waves, keeping the tape at the back of his pocket. Kyle raises an inquiry expression at him, arching his brows questioningly. "What's with that smile?" The ginger retorts.

"Boss comm-ed me," he states, still smiling, "Looks like we'll be busy tonight."

"What kind of mission?"

"Not my kind of job, unfortunately," the engineering student sighs in defeat, shoulders stoop, feigning a disappointed body language. Stan really masters in team battling, not the snooping, solo kind. Which is why he always has to be teamed up with someone else. "Intel gathering. Or whatever proof that we can get from this guy named Chaos."

"Chaos," Kyle snorts, "What a cheesy name," bright green eyes roll at the sound of the official name. Chaos — it seems obvious this guy wants to be a villain."

Stan could not stop his laughter, "Dude, don't judge! What about you, huh, Kiteman. Sounds so much similar to fucking Cartman —"

"Oh, nope no no no no — do not call me that, Stanley Marsh. It's Human fucking Kite, not Kiteman — and don't remind me of that bastard once again."

"Chill out, he's gone now. We're at peace."

Kyle sighs. He hates remembering about Cartman and his stupid schemes and his not-so-heroic demeanour. One thing about Cartman that everybody knows in the agency is that he is nowhere near heroic at all, other than being a selfish, egoistical son of a bitch. "I know," Kyle responds.

Kyle reaches his class sooner than Stan who is heading to his mech lab at the other side of building. The ginger and the noirette bid each other their farewells, and when they meet again — there is no longer any simple flannel, madras shirts or collar tees; but the synthetic fibre and nylon strappings and serge which makes up most parts of their costumes.

Dusk reaches quicker than they expect. The city of Brooklyn still buzzes with life despite the moon that crawls out from its horizon. The fifty years evolution turns Brooklyn once from a classic diverse of architecture from mold crownings to suburban ranches to the modernised constructions are now in shift to the metallic hubs of newfound metals and coloured glass structures, train tracks connecting to most edifices.

Kyle fixes the large curls that mops the entirety of his hair, he hates how the ginger mane of his falls in wavy cascades like a girl — if Bebe Stevens is to cut her hair short and colour to the bright red shade he has. He hates it, too, when his hair gets in the way of his eyes inside his helmet, it always becomes too difficult to do a hair fixing in such critical moments. The sight he holds, standing on an eighty-four storey high-rise gives him this sort of adrenaline rush, the excitement pooling in his gut; and Kyle knows when he drops his body, he won't die.

"You're early," a voice pipes in, and reveals Toolshed in his own form of suit. The designer gives him a pretty much straightforward look — sort of a mechanic workwear jumpsuit, zipper on the front, light grey in colour with a neon orange strap that holds most of his tools. The jumpsuit has many pockets to aid his numerous possessions, but it isn't as baggy as the normal ones you found in construction sites, a pair of construction goggles and black gloves fitting to his hands. His hero badge situates itself neatly on the right side of his chest, Kyle's at the centre. "Oh cool, your kite —"

"I summoned a stronger one," Kyle taps the yellow diamond-shapes kite strapped against his back, smiling. "It's a better shield now."

"Bulletproof?"

"Laserproof."

"Sick."

Kyle, or Human Kite to be exact, grins before dropping the curl on his lips a minute later when they decide their friendly gaze-exchange lasts a bit too longer than expected. Toolshed closes the gap between them, standing side by side that their shoulders are brushing. The ginger points out to the building next to them, a sleek high-rise building which serves as an office with tinted glass panes. Even when it isn't night time, the glass doesn't provide a sight to the interior, instead reflecting back to the building they are currently standing.

"I asked Call Girl," Human Kits starts, his eyes shift to Toolshed briefly upon stating his ex's hero name, but somehow the noirette keeps a collected face, "She reported that some of Chaos' minions might have worked here, and from the seventy-seventh floor, one of the PCs gather a data about Chaos' next invasion. If we have the full intel, we could stop his plan."

"This sounds easy for a two-person mission," the noirette gives him an odd look, "Don't you think?"

"I — I don't know. We weren't given a full brief on this one, Boss just sends an extra for precaution," he huffs, then smiles at his own thought, "But hey, we're still the best team out there."

"Oh god, you're getting cocky."

"Shut up, Toolshed and get your ass to work. Well, we're starting in an hour when sun fully sets," the ginger prepares his kite, one foot stepping on the edge (Stan is not surprised), "See you on the other side," he grins and jumps down from the building.

From afar, Toolshed blinks and groans at the fact that he is abandoned yet again. "What kind of a good team leaves their member behind?"