Butters' house

When I first decided to become a super-hero, it was just for the fun of it. I didn't even know what to do or where would I go for a start. Of course, years of training Karate and being a cheerleader did help in the physical part, but that was not even close to what it takes.

Then one day, I found something interesting in Butters' backpack.

It fell from it as he was setting up his things to go home and I picked it up, not really knowing what it was. It was small, round, shaped like the top of a cupcake. But what really caught my attention was the word CHAOS written upon it very distinctively. Just like the notorious "Professor Chaos" that tormented South Park for so long.

Of course, Butters told me he retired from the life of crime and decided to use the tech he had for something else. He just didn't know what, at the time. And from the ashes of Professor Chaos' tech and my training, the Pink Avenger was born.

Which is exactly why I was in his backyard. I approached the distinct mark near a small dog house and sung what probably was the most ridiculous password of all time

"Loo loo loo, I've got some apples, loo loo loo, you've got some too. Loo loo loo, let's get together, I know what we can do, loo loo"

A circle on the ground opened as I sunk into the floor.

"Hiya, Wendy" He said from his seat, not looking up from the computer.

"Hey Butters" I greeted him back in a monotone.

The whole place was a "Bat cave" kind of deal. He had loads of computers, gadgets, weapons, you name it. The computer he was currently sitting in was a huge screen controlling security cameras for all over South Park. The little blonde boy just sat there, drinking what I assumed was tea and typed some stuff into the programming. The Fortress of Chaos was at full function today.

"What are you doing?" I asked him with interest.

"Helping out the Coon with a set-up" he said as I sighed. I know he used to be one of the bad guys, but Butters shouldn't be helping a guy draw a bloodbath. When the Coon fought Professor Chaos, he didn't kill anyone! Sure, the minions might go to the hospital missing a few bones, but they got there alive. Something changed in him

"You know who he is, right?" I asked him

"Yes, I do" he answered with a snicker.

"Then tell me! I wanna help this guy… He wasn't a murderer back then…" I say, turning his chair so he could face me. I swear, Butters' 'supper genius, too good to look at you' persona sometimes gets on my fucking nerves!

He joined his hands like a prayer pose and started beating them together like a cliché villain from a cartoon and then he smiled. A smile that I've gotten way too familiar with over the past six months. It's the smile of a Butters who's having too much fun with a situation too let it go. The smile he gives when he's not gonna help me at all just because it amuses him…

To be fair, he's never got me in real danger. Just a few minor annoyances.

"Why would I spoil the surprise?" he said through the smile. I sighed, released his chair, and walked towards my costume and the gadgets so I could get ready. I just know this is gonna come back to bite me in the ass. REALL HARD!

"So, you and Eric, huh?" he asked, turning back to the monitors. DID HE SEE THAT?

I dropped the grapple gun I was setting up as he said this. Eric… I mean, Cartman, GODAMN IT!

Uh, screw it. Eric made sure everyone left the cafeteria before he tried anything. I just tried to keep my cool as I turned to Butters and said "Uh… I don't know what you're talking about."

"Considering how well you two manipulate other people, you guys are horrible liars when it comes to your love lives" He said, passing me some of his tea. "I saw you when I came back for my backpack. Even if I didn't, he lives next door to me! I saw the little smooch before he left the town"

I relaxed. Butters was really something else these days. He could one moment be a sweet, innocent guy and in the next, he would sound like… well, a reformed super villain. No wonder the guy is such a hit with the ladies nowadays.

"So, you knew he was gonna come back" I asked him.

"Of course! I'm just glad he is feeling better. Have you been to his house? It's sure neato!" And we're back to sweet innocent Butters.

"Coon to Chaos, you there?" the deep, distorted voice of the Coon echoed through The Fortress. They must have been communicating through the same voice distortion the Coon uses. Maybe they use it so they can't identify any of them.

"Chaos to Coon, copy" Butters said through the microphone. Although I was in the room, I could hear that his voice was also coming out distorted to the Coon. "Package deployed?" Butters asked him

"Deployed and fully operational. Cars on sight" The Coon answered him. Where was he?

"Prepare for strike, you copy? Eyes on target…. Now" Butters said as he locked the big screen on something.

Wait a minute… I recognize this warehouse! And this burned pile of drugs too! My back still hasn't forgotten…

He's at the drug depot we raided yesterday! What the hell was he doing there? Does he have a death wish? All I know is I saw three cars coming into the storage unit. About seven people got out of the car and they were very well dressed. One of them looked familiar though. He was tall and serious looking. Kinda looked like Christopher Walken, with his greying hairs and the suit and… oh my God, now I know where I've seen this man: on Butters' files… the drug lord, Harold Carson.

The last time a guy tried to sell on his territory, he skinned the man alive and threw him at his family's doorstep. Only God knows what's he's gonna do to the guys who burned his entire supply!

Carson gets out of the car and kicks the pile of coke ash and start's shouting orders at his henchmen. Wow, he must be really pissed off.

As I start to fear for my personal safety, I see a note on the pile. Great, leave it to that crazy bastard to leave a note to the drug lord…

The Coon really went out of his way to put us both in trouble this time. I really hope he has something up his sleeve.

"Do you know what the note says?" Butters asks me with a funny face. I just shake my head.

"It says: 'you guys have poor taste in scotch. Sincerely, the Coon'" He says to me. Yes, he signed the fucking note too. He might as well put Butters' address and the password to the Fortress while he's at it.

While I was busy being pissed at his recklessness, I saw a machine come out of the pile of ash. In a split second, it fired blades precisely targeted at the necks of everyone there, but Carson. I could only see Carson's fear and disgust as every last one of his henchmen choked on their own blood, gasping for air.

I could not hear the sound they were making, but I could imagine it. It was horrifying just to watch all that suffering. I know those guys probably earned that and more, but still… It was just too cruel! How can someone be so insensitive to violence like him?

Carson was understandably horrified. He pulled out a gun from his coat, but I could tell he was shaking like a terminal case of Parkinson's. I could see him screaming, but the camera didn't have a mic. I couldn't hear the words. He started walking backwards and shooting in all directions until his gun ran out of bullets. That's when he hit something he didn't see. His back hit the Coon…

He tried to punch him, the Coon blocked it and drove one of his arm blades through Carson's face. Carson's lifeless body hit the floor, as the blood came out of what used to be his nose.

"And that's how you finish a drug cartel" I hear the Coon's distorted voice through the computer

"Way to go, dude. Coming back?" Butters asked him.

"No, dude. Gonna go patrolling and then go straight home. Coon out" The Coon said finally

"Roger. Chaos out" Butters answered as he shut off the communication channel.

I was just horrified at both of them… how could Butter's be okay with this? How could anyone be okay with this? I need to find out who is the Coon. I just know he is a good guy… What could possibly have twisted him this bad? What could possibly have made him become this?

"Wendy? Jewelry store robbery at Shi Tpa Town. Go!" Butters interrupts my train of thought as I finish getting ready for a night of crime fighting. Still, I can't help put remember the blood coming out of their throats…

Last year. Siberia:

(Alright, guys. Try to imagine this like some training montage while Immigrant Song from Led Zeppelin plays. Cartman's POV)

I don't remember going to Siberia. Or coming back from it. Hell, I don't even know how the fuck did I know I was in Siberia.

All I remember is the pain…

The cold…

The hunger…

And my training.

For my first week there I didn't even have a coat. I ran around Siberia shirtless. I don't know how the fuck did I survive that. If I had to guess, I would say they experimented on me. Some Captain America bullshit or something like that, because I should have died by day one. Yet, one week without a coat, shirtless, eating really poorly, running and exercising like a motherfucker and there I was: alive.

The second week, a guy showed up in my 'bedroom'. He was tall, bald, with a black beard already hinting some grey. I'd say the guy the guy was forty, forty five. He mostly screamed at me the whole time. But he did give me a shirt. Also, a knife and pointed me in the direction of a polar bear. And said the following words (mind you, he was speaking in Russian and I understood him. When the fuck did I learn Russian?)

"If you want a coat, there is a polar bear in that cave. Here's a knife"

And there I went. Into a cave, with a knife to kill a polar bear.

The bear wasn't as tough to kill as I thought he would be. I basically just plunged my knife into him. But when I walked out of the cave with the body, the man was gone. And it was only then that I noticed the bear claw marks in my torso. I was gushing with blood, and I had to carry that fucking bear back to my 'bedroom'. I say 'bedroom' because 'cold as fuck cell, with no fucking bed whatsoever' seems too bad and 'bedroom' helps me make fun of it.

I killed the bear in the morning. I reached the compound by dinner.

The compound was a big place, like a cross between a prison and a military base. All I know is that it was really cold. Specially my 'bedroom'. When I got there, they took the bear away from me, and the next day I had a coat.

The guy that trained me never told me his name, so to this day I refer to him as 'The Cliché'. All I know is that every day in the morning he would ask me something like "do you want a blanket?" and point me in the direction of a fucking wild animal.

After four weeks I could heat myself up in the 'bedroom' pretty decently. But the training kept going.

They still made me run shirtless through Siberia. I had to work out lifting blocks of ice. I had to brake blocks of ice with my fists and kicks for combat training.

Every day, the Cliché would walk into my room, drag my ass to the woods, give me a knife and tell me to hunt. After a couple of weeks, I started using a bow. Every night, he would go up against me in a hand-to-hand fight and kick my ass.

My bones would break, I would cough out blood… and the next day I would do it all over again.

Run shirtless through the snow

Lift blocks of ice

Hunt down some poor animal

Fight the Cliché and get my ass kicked.

Go to sleep eating only God knows what they gave me in that ratio.

Not to mention the gun training, the stealth training, the sword training, the vehicle training…

After five months in that hell, they started giving me assignments. I was supposed to go somewhere and kill someone, raid a base, steal some blueprints…

I became a killing machine. But that's not the worst part.

The worst is that I liked it. If I have to be honest, I would never get over my mother's death sulking somewhere in fucking Nebraska. In a twisted way, I need this. Every time I would snap their necks, shoot them, stab them… It didn't hurt so much

As I got used to the violence, I got used to the pain. It's hard to focus on personal trauma with a 6ft tall Russian dude shouting in your ear to get the fuck up and go back to punching the blocks of ice.

All I could see at night before sleep was my mother's face. And sometimes, Wendy's. In a weird way, I wanted to go back but I also wanted to stay. I craved the next assignment like I craved a new toy when I was a kid. The sword on my back, the gun on my holster and people on my list. That's all I needed.

I climbed their walls, I shot their heads and I smashed their skulls… It felt great.

Even the painful training felt good from time to time. Hell, I started liking the Cliché. The guy sometimes snuck some vodka into my 'bedroom' and we would drink together. Me with bones broken and bleeding, mind you.

My last assignment was at a base not far from the compound. I had to kill a coronel, general, captain…. Whoever the fuck was in charge, I don't know. The point is: I knew the guy's face and where to find him.

And it was my masterpiece. I got there by snowmobile, sword on my back, pistol on my holster, sniper rifle on the bike. Shot a few guards on the entrance, no one heard me. Snuck in by the first guard tower. Made my way past a few barracks, slicing up a few of the soldiers on the way and hiding their bodies. I also planted timed explosives on the fuel tanks for my getaway.

When I got to the headquarters, I saw the guy from a vent I crawled into. The room was packed to the brim with dudes. It was time for fun!

I lobed a smoke grenade on the room, got into it, sliced the first too guys, shot the other two and took the general as my hostage. After that, there were three guys in the place apart from me and my target. They started telling me to release him, and they kept saying that for a few minutes (until the timed explosives would go off).

BOOOM!

The explosives outside went off, giving me enough time to shoot the three guys stunned guys and slice the general in half with the sword.

Outside, it was hell on earth. Everybody was running all around, trying to tend to their hurt friends. It was really a piece of cake to get back to the snowmobile and back to the compound.

All I remember after that is that they told me to go to the infirmary, gave me a sedative and when I woke up, I was in my basement back in South Park. The moment I woke, I knew I couldn't live without the violence anymore. I had to have my share of blood. My Sabbatical in Siberia saw to that. And I would extract it from every single criminal in South Park.

They would pay for what they did to my mom. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM.

The funny thing is, I do remember a voice during the infirmary sessions. A person talking about my body and my procedures and that person spoke in English. I don't remember much, but I do remember these three words

"Shut up, Mimsy!"

Then again, I did hallucinate my mom, Wendy and my friends more often than I care to admit, so what the fuck do I know?