"Here, Kitty, Kitty..."

Parka tightened secure about him, Mysterion's alter-ego, Kenny, quit his run-down home. It was the morning, a new day for Freedom Pals. But Mysterion wasn't quite ready to resume the daily grind. His muffled voice called out from the porch, "(So you haven't found the cat yet, Dad?)"

Stuart was sleepily inspecting yet another disgraceful pile of junk. "No, of course not, son. I keep telling you, if you want that fat thing so bad, we should get your brother and sister to help us."

"(No! I'm leaving Karen out of this.)" And Kevin. But especially not Karen. He sunk in a shade of guilt. It wasn't just Coon & Friends that wanted Scrambles. Freedom Pals thought they were in it for the heroism of returning a citizen their lost cat. But it wasn't for the money.

Stuart continued, frustrated, "And I'd ask for your mom to help, but if I had her support, I wouldn't be wanting to cheese in the first place."

Kenny cast his father a sympathetic look. It was once of the few instances he could relate to his wiry sire. His mother was drinking more often, and had become… apathetic in her affections towards her husband. A little ironic, considering there weren't many pleasures to turn to in their poverty; marital sex should have been a given. So that's where the old alternative came in: cheesing was a historical craze in South Park. Back then Stuart didn't need it, but Kenny loved it. After a lot of politics Kenny would rather forget, all cheesing contraptions were removed by authorities. Courtesy of Kyle's inherited Jewish mother techniques, there was no getting them back in the McCormick residence. Kenny knew Kyle was just overcompensating for his own father's excess, and could forgive his intrusive attitude.

But it wasn't just Kyle. Stan, Cartman, and Butters tried to encourage Kenny to make "healthier" life decisions by keeping him away from the cats, away from the pheremonal flowers. As if any of them understood. Kenny's health was of no consequence; he was immortal. His friends could not understand his curse and neither his ensuing loneliness.

He huffed as he walked past his dad. Of course they didn't. Not even Stuart knew how Kenny was feeling; he just thought Kenny's addiction was a matter of genetics and took fatherly pride in it. Kenny circled back to the more urban section of his backyard, up the steps to Steed. He had a nice lookout there, telescope and everything. It was about the same since he, Token and the rest of the gang played ninjas there. Sometimes some hobos would come by, loiter on the patio, but these weren't the kind Kenny wanted to scare away. Instead Mysterion would listen, and he discovered interesting things. That the bigwig, the boss — whoever the Hell he was — kept camp at the SoDoSoPa ruins.

What's more, the chatty vagrants taught him the real, actual location of the concentrated cat urine. This he wouldn't tell his father, because if between the both of them they took too much, the criminal business would be onto his scheme, and his friends might be onto him, too. He only took what he needed: a few vials every week. It lasted his addiction, kept him from going completely beserk.

Kenny's ailment was, lamentably, not a secret. And it was all that darn Butthole's fault.

"Oh, fuck, Butthole, what do you want now?"

Cartman stayed put in the lair, wondering what to do with the information. He contemplated having Douchebag release it on Coonstagram and watch Freedom Pals fall apart. He could announce it to his troupe, boost morale and go from there. ("Freedom Pals aren't real heroes!" was the angle he could take) Or take the Coon's favorite route, and blackmail. But no matter what, he had to do it soon. Kenny was a slippery one.

All thoughts considered, Butthole was staying put in the lair, too. It was totally killing his vibe. He tried to figure out why the new kid was stalling. Then he remembered the journal he planted. That must have been why he was confused — serves the snoopy bastard right. And while the same snoop had just earned the franchise a compelling legal leverage, he had to make sure he wouldn't want to go through his shit again. If he already "knew" everything, then he wouldn't want to know anything more.

The Coon snickered. Without a doubt, Douchebag was convinced his secret cravings were Human Kite, Professor Chaos, and SuperCraig. He searched Butthole's eyes for confusion inevitable. "Oh, I see you must already viewed the contents of my journal. How unfortunate for you. What a nasty surprise that must have been!"

Butthole blinked tiredly. "Well, it's true. I secretly lust after Human Kite and Butters. And Craig's fat ugly dick is the hottest thing known to mankind." He vainly admired his claws as he went on, "Gross, right? But here's the thing, Assface, some things are not meant for others to know, especially things that concern the Coon. . ."

"OH MY GOD, SERIOUSLY?" Wait, did Butthole just talk?

Craig was at the top of the stairs with a look of disgust. Oh fuck.

"What the Hell are you telling our poor Butthole, fatass?" Kyle growled.

Said fatass almost flourished his explanation, but Craig yanked the New Kid from his seat, ignoring the brunet. "C'mon Butt, let's go beat up some sixth graders."

He acted like the New Kid was innocent or something, but that wasn't true. His dad fucked his mom at a young age, and that had turned him crooked. Cartman was only setting him back on the right path. Find out what other people do under the radar, then you better expect something ugly. Something perhaps uglier than parental love-making.

He didn't bother looking at their faces as they abandoned him, spitting stubbornly on his iPad. The Coon was soon left alone in his lair. You'll be back! That's what the Coon Store liked to say to its customers, and it only said that because it was right. His friends always hated him, always thought he was gross, but they'd follow him anyway. A lot of profit was to be made from his schemes, and that was the only pleasure he or they needed in this game.

He splayed back out the gains from the Coon Store and counted again.

"Man, I'm so fucking through with that fatass," said Kyle, after properly venting his anger by kicking sixth grade butt that were silly enough to think could ambush Coon & Friends.

"Why?" Clyde asked with an added zzz!

"He's saying perverted things again," SuperCraig explained, shrugging. "Trying to scare Butthole. I mean, he can have whatever sick fantasies he likes, but we gotta admit our leader is… unhinged."

"Oh. Uh. Ew?"

Said Human Kite, "Apparently he's still mad at Butthole for raiding his room in the last game, and is trying to scare him with… graphic imagery."

"Like…?"

Craig described the illustrations in minute detail and Clyde puked.

Fastpass had been listening to the conversation with a patient ear. "I think it's perfectly OK the Coon is coming to terms with his s-s-s…sexuality."

"Right. We don't care what the Coon's into, so can we put this behind us and focus on progressing the franchise like normal superheroes?" said Craig.

"But that's not what it's about!" argued Human Kite. "He's acting out of hand, and seems to really hate the New Kid."

"That doesn't make it any less a waste of our time."

"Zzzz! You're just defending him 'cause you're gay!"

"I'M NOT DEFENDING HIM."

The four Coon & Friends fell into a rapid state of bickering, all except for the Amazing Butthole. This one turned his gaze away to their incognito spies: Three members of the Freedom Pals were posted a couple houses away, across the street from Stan's home.

Said Tupperware, "What do you see?"

Tweek peered into the binoculars. "They're fighting. Wow. Craig's pretty upset." He fidgeted.

"Huh. What about?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Any evidence you can see would be good, WonderTweek," said Mysterion calmly. "There's a lot you can tell just by their faces."

Taking the advice, Tweek chattered, "Human Kite's angry. Fastpass is angry. Boy, SuperCraig is PISSED. King D-… Butthole doesn't really seem to care." Then Tweek noticed the direction of the New Kid's gaze. "Shit! He sees us!"

"Concentrate. You haven't checked Mosquito yet." Fortunately for them, Douchebag was a mute, but that didn't stop Mysterion from having to mask his nervousness.

"Oh, right." He hobbled strategically closer to the bush before saying, "Mosquito… he's angry, too. Hey, is that vomit on his face?"

Now Butthole was starting to get angry, and at them.

"Retreat! Retreat!" called Tweek, and the trio hid in the bush.

They were all squished in the small, nature-born containment. Said Tupperware, frowning, "I hope they won't find us in here."

"They won't," said Mysterion. He was the only one who didn't look completely uncomfortable. "They're too stupid."

"Okay…" After some awkward fidgeting in the confinement, Token attempted speculation. "Does, uh, anyone have any ideas why Clyde barfed?"

WonderTweek gave a twitching shrug, and Mysterion finally said, "We'll discuss the matter in base. In the meantime… is the coast clear yet, Tweek?"

After repeated asking on Mysterion's part, WonderTweek could confirm that indeed the Coon & Friends were out of line of vision, and the surveillance mission retreated back to base for another convention.

"Here's what we know, Freedom Pals:" Mysterion announced, standing in from of the blackboard, chalk in hand. "There's a rift within Coon & Friends. Something obviously… disgusting has happened, and they're conflicted over it." He directed his gaze to the contemplative Doctor Timothy. He sat in his wheelchair knowingly. That was another thing Douchebag had in common with his team members, Mysterion reflected. Smarter than he looked.

He continued, "The Coon, besides Captain Diabetes who is on leave for repeated abuse of his blood sugar levels, was the only Coon & Friend not present. I can only imagine what a little shit of a leader he's been. Bad news for them; good news for us. Given that and our upcoming alliance with Call Girl, who will shine some light on whose behind the crime. From what she's been hinting is that the Coon may be the culprit." His words were of no revelation to the team. Everyone was quick to blame Cartman; often out of ignorance. "Either way it's an advantage, and with it we can easily recruit new members to our side."

Stan added, "Like Butthole?"

"Yes, Butthole is one of our best candidates. Even new kids deserve a chance to join, because remember…" It was the team's cue.

"Retribution! With inclusion!" They all cheered. It was a short meeting.

Mysterion abandoned the group as his colleagues discussed potential motives of the Coon to tear up his own group. Privately he knew it to be just another misunderstanding. There was no way he was behind all this. Cartman couldn't lie like he could. The Coon couldn't keep secrets like he did. That he was a regular customer of the underground cat urine dealers, the Freedom Pals didn't know. All except for Doctor Timothy, who knew every mind to ascertain their confidence. But Timmy never minded Kenny's secrets, nor judged his motives. All Kenny wanted, after all, was the eternal company of the Large-Breasted Woman.

Scrambles, here I come.

A/N Scrambles' urine has the magical effect of a permanent cheesing trip. This is where the fic gets confusing.