The Coon was fallen asleep on his stack of dollars, which were the meager earnings his subordinates brought in as of late. He hadn't seen them since the afternoon; they were off probably being useless somewhere. After all that, he still hadn't figured out what he was going to do about Mysterion, and the repetitive contemplation drew him into dreams rather than conclusions.
"Princess Kenny, Princess Kenny…"
"Sleep well, Coon?" With a jolt he woke up, hearing a voice greatly unlike his dreams: "I have come to tell you that I know exactly how to deal with that traitor."
Gasp! It was Mitch Conner! And it seemed he was here with a similar agenda as himself: to deal with Mysterion. The Coon put on a brave face. "My arch nemesis! How do I know to trust you?"
"Common interest. I'm the one he's been stealing from," he replied intelligently. "Most likely trying to acquire enough money to make his franchise bigger than yours."
"You know, that's exactly what I was thinking," the Coon replied, impressed. The disembodied hand had amazingly similar motives as himself. Such similarity was something he could trust.
"Since I run the entire business he's stealing from, I can easily take his sources away, ruining him and Freedom Pals."
His newfound admiration for his blessed archrival paused, and he wondered what his hand meant by it "ruining Freedom Pals" as well. And…."sources"? Was Kenny already making so much money from his thefts that it was what was keeping Freedom Pals on its feet? It had to be about the money. Cash and profit were the only thing that made sense to the Coon. He lowered his voice. "So, uh… how exactly do we do that?"
The ugly pink lips spoke menacingly before the hero. "Enlist Butthole to infiltrate their group so we can steal all their secrets. The Freedom Pals seem to like him."
"I don't think Mysterion likes him all that much, though," he replied skeptically. "I mean, I don't. Butthole's a real butt."
"And Mysterion is a pussy. It doesn't matter what he thinks," Mitch snapped. "Not to you, anyway. I've got this in a bag, and you just need to play along."
"I don't want to leave it all in your hands," he told the tycoon bluntly, arms folded. He sniffed the air with his button nose. "Listen here, I'm the Coon, and I direct my own franchise, as well as the dealings with my competitors…"
Mitch Conner replied condescendingly, "You can't do this on your own. Freedom Pals will take advantage of you in a heartbeat, and so will the New Kid, when given the chance."
He already has, if he grimly recalled his stupid fucking wedding. He let the hand continue speaking. Respect was professional.
"Mysterion already left you. He left you and your precious franchise. And you can trust me not to trust him."
And neither should you.
He wasn't sure if he had heard or imagined those last words, and to his frustration Mitch Conner faded from his fists. In response he banged them against the table, feeling confused as fuck.
All things considered, Cartman had to give in. His recent encounter with his handy parasite changed his plans. That, and his angry colleagues wouldn't continue their membership unless he coughed up some sort of apology.
This was hard going for the Coon, as he cleared his throat before the latest Coon & Friends meeting. "I'm going to be honest with you, ButtLord, I don't like you. I don't trust you. You intrude on my privacy, join my group with… hardly my permission." If the look of his comrades meant anything, the apology wasn't going well. He sighed, dragging the pads of his fingers over his nose. "But I have to give it to you: You're different, and you know a lot. And it's probably because a lot of people do trust you. Which is useful."
"We trust you, Butthole," affirmed the Human Kite, obstinate.
Cartman rolled his eyes. "Okay, be professional, you guys. No need to be all sappy with the New Kid." He folded his hands together to change the mood. "Back to business. After the last confrontation with freedom pals, we know Toolshed owes us a favor for stopping his dad from drunk driving at night."
"Well, not us, he owes it to Butthole," put in Human Kite.
"And Captain Diabetes!"
He pretended Scott wasn't there. "However, this is in all of our favor. Which brings us to the next mission, and its two objectives. I already have a plan. One: we discreetly regroup with Butthole once Toolshed is too committed to the mission to back out."
"Toolshed? What?" said someone.
Captain Diabetes, who had now returned from his illness said: "That Toolshed owes us a favor for our stopping his dad from reckless driving.'
"Secondly…" The haughty Coon lifted a second finger, closing his eyes. "We must rise to the occasion and find whatever dirt we can on the Freedom Pals. We already got our CLASSIi lead out of Timmy's phone, so I think this is our best chance to see what we can find out from Mysterion's home.
"Mysterion, huh?" Kyle said quietly.
The Coon glared. "Yes, Mysterion. Is that a problem, Human Kite?"
"No, no, I just think it's funny that after…" Everyone stared at Kyle. "Never mind."
"Toolshed will be clearing the lava for us, what better time?" the Coon continued. "We can do some investigation."
Said Captain Diabetes, "When nobody's home, right?"
"They'll be sleeping." The Coon was exasperated. "We've got this. It's not like we're gonna be waking any of them up. If you guys are so afraid, I'll investigate on my own. The Coon is a master of stealth."
No one was afraid, but they couldn't help being annoyed.
The meeting with Call Girl was very important, yes. Or it was supposed to be important. The greater priority for Mysterion was stopping by the U-Stor-It, where he could get another visit with her, the Large-Breasted Woman. Of course, that wasn't what Kenny called her in his head, instead he preferred the name "Kelly" for an undisclosed personal reason. It was easy to think Mysterion was on any old stalking mission, the way he huffed arrogantly along. His companions would be retreating to their homes, and Coon & Friends knew better than to mess with Freedom Pals' bruiser from the Netherworld.
First he had to beat up some homeless people to get in… nothing conspicuous. Poor people tended to be hostile. And drug addicts, for that matter. Not that Kenny wasn't poor, or addicted, or hostile. Fuck his own kind, anyway. He had to break some boxes left out in the open. They themselves were inconspicuous, which was how Mysterion knew it was what he needed. Hiding in plain sight, the vials were inside the splintered wooden crates.
"This is good shit," Mysterion muttered, making him more like a druggie than he thought it would. Not caring if anyone saw him, he snuffed the vial of cat pee and immediately entered ecstasy. The hobos should already be unconscious and the trip would last no longer than thirty minutes.
Unfortunately, the easy solution to his problems was cut short within just a few. He didn't even get to save the princess from the four-boobed orcs. Nippopolis faded and he gasped, awake on the pavement with the rest of the vial contents spilled on his face. The solvent had gotten to his hair, stained golden locks tumbling out of his hood. He was a mess. He scratched the back of his head in confusion.
Was the recipe becoming diluted or was he developing a resistance? Only one way to know. He reached for a second vial, which wasn't there. He grasped about pathetically with blurred vision, but found nothing. While he had been on his tantalizingly short trip, the rest of the goods had disappeared.
Furious, the only sensible thing to do was swear. "Hell! Shit! Who fucking took it from me?"
As his head cleared with each crate he smashed, he realized he had to return to the Black Manor or he'd be late.
He grumbled, leaving the alley of empty crates, cursing whoever stole his cheese during his stay in Nippopolis.
The eagerly awaited meeting with Call Girl was arranged by the Freedom Pals to be within their base, Token's basement. They had offered to escort her there, where the meeting would inevitably take place, but she replied that she escort herself just fine, thanks.
Mysterion was grumpy the entire time, and apparently lost in thought, almost as much as Toolshed was lost in thought. When Wonder Tweek inquired, Mysterion said that he was tired of waiting. No one needed to bother Stan, in fact they all—excluding Mysterion—felt sorry for him.
The tension broke when client appeared at the basement window. Her voice drifted in, saying, "Excuse me. The security of Coon & Friends has been compromised, so I need to know: are we alone?"
"Yes, yes, we are!" Toolshed hurried to crank open the lock so she could get down, perhaps too anxious, but she slid the window to the side and jumped through before he could get the stool. She looked stylish and serious.
Hand on her hip, she said, "I'm gonna say it here and now: it's Cartman."
"WHAT," said Mysterion before anyone else could respond. "Are you fucking shitting me right now?" To the rest of Freedom Pals, his was just another one of his many nonsensical outbursts. No one knew what had gotten into him, since Mysterion was such a poor communicator. That was probably the reason why Dr. Timothy was their spokesperson and planner, and Mysterion was only the celebrity figurehead of the group.
She pressed on. "It wasn't hard to figure out. I only had to cross-reference his times of inactivity on Coonstagram with the timestamps of the crime boss orders on Snapchat. They align perfectly. That, and both accounts of the kingpin and Cartman can be traced to the same IP address."
"Well, that confirms it!" said Tupperware, amazed with her expertise, while Mysterion remained in silent disbelief. "The Coon is a fat, lying cheater. We're gonna need to do something about this."
"Wait, we really can't tell Coon & Friends about this, then? They of all people should know. I mean, what about Kyle?"
Call Girl turned to Toolshed. "Like I said, Stan, they're compromised. Cartman will inevitably find out I'm on to them. I just came to tell you he's got a plan, and if you go along with it you'll only make things worse. None of you can give him an inch."
"An inch…?" Stan ventured with a tinge of apology.
"Don't tell me you are both already cooperating," Call Girl groaned.
"Well, not completely," said Toolshed. "Butthole saved my dad. Stopped him from drunk driving in the middle of the night. I sort of owe him a favor."
"So now you're going to help out one of Cartman's lackeys. Completely selling yourself out to the enemy, just from one little favor?"
"No, we're not selling ourselves out to the enemy. I'm lending Butthole a hand, and the rest of the team are going to shadow us. As backup." Stan's facial muscles twitched at the controlling, almost protective words of his ex. More than anger, the look he gave her was something of indignant helplessness.
"I didn't really plan on coming along with you, but I can still long-distance keep you updated on their whereabouts…" Her gaze softened. "And if you really want me to go…"
Toolshed was leaning forward as to respond. Mysterion stated, "No, a non-member of Freedom Pals cannot accompany Toolshed."
Before Mysterion was even finished, Toolshed protested. "Why not? Butthole's coming."
"Don't make excuses. We need Butthole on our team. Call Girl is a resource, not an ally."
"Excuse me?" said Wendy.
"No offense. But I'm not permitting a distraction for the leader on this mission, since Toolshed will be the one getting ambushed by Coon & Friends." He lowered his voice accusingly. "I know how you two are when you're together!"
"Is that really what this is about?" Stan raised his voice, looking about to enter melee range with his supposed ally. At that moment his friend-that-happened-to-be-a-girl took over.
"I understand your concern to not let our personal lives interfere with the mission," she said coldly. "But I am Call Girl, no one else. Stopping crime in South Park matters as much to me as it does to you. And frankly, Mysterion, I'm offended."
Mysterion turned away. "I can't say it was an error on my part that the social justice warrior is offended."
Toolshed exclaimed, "Oh, screw off!"
With a sharp glare she relented: "I'm not going. Fine, whatever. I didn't think it was such a big deal to you."
Stan nodded at her final say, at least she was mature, and fell silent, satisfied enough to be the first of Freedom Pals to head for home. The meeting had ended before anyone knew how to react. Call Girl exited through the openable window, and Wonder Tweek simply returned to the coffee shop, jittery from way too much drama.
The room fell entirely relaxed except for Mysterion, who was shaking like a leaf, while Tupperware cleaned up his gear. Token thought he'd be the last to leave, it was his house after all, but Timmy was too busy working on the franchise timeline. He couldn't figure out what was keeping Mysterion, so he politely said, "I'm off to bed. Maybe you should go home soon, Mysterion, before your parents start worrying."
When the cyborg was gone, finally, Mysterion broke the silence: "They took it away! The cheesing vials… they're gone! It was my only escape, I needed more. It's like they KNEW!" He slammed his hands on the table. "It's like they KNEW I was using it. The world wants this netherborn to suffer, it doesn't matter how." He sat down, glancing at the room with burning judgment. "And fucking Stan and Wendy think they can just get back together again…I feel mocked…" His eyes were glazed with the look of rage pushing against salt-water. "I'm addicted, Doctor. I'm addicted and I'm cursed. But you already know that. You're the only one who knows that."
Timmy the psychic was probably the only person on the planet that took Mysterion's immortality seriously, knowing that is was more than just a game. Don't ask him how a retard knew it better than anyone else, but it was just his luck.
After a long pause the doctor voiced, "There is nothing I can prescribe personally, Mysterion. But if I may offer some advice…"