Eric Cartman, perhaps the most devious of characters in this tale, even more so than our obvious antagonist. His stormy gray eyes looked out over the town of South Park from atop a balcony. From afar, it appeared so peaceful, so without ruckus. The perfect place to live for the fragile hearted.

Cartman deemed people naive or new if they were to actually believe such a thing. The quiet nature of this wretched town was only the simple illusion of the night. Right now, as he stood perfectly still, a girl was being raped. A family, robbed from. A child, abducted. And so on. He knew these crimes were happening because he found himself to be the victim of one of them.

Long ago was life brighter for Cartman. He had a very loving mother who worshipped the earth he walked on, and a strict father who was constantly pushing for his son's success. During those times, Cartman had worn his father's name with pride. There wasn't anyone in the world who would ever disrespect Eric Senior. Cartman longed to be just like him. So tall, powerful, loved.

Nobody saw this coming. The evening where a crazed convict had broken out of jail and pointed a gun towards his father, claiming that he was the reason for being placed behind bars. Eric wasn't even a lawyer. No, he was a respectively successful surgeon. Still, he shooed away his family from the dinner table, promising to meet them in the panic room.

Cartman and his mother had huddled together within a cellar beneath the floorboards, both flinching at the treacherous bang of a gunshot, and then an even worse elapse of silence. The sound of sirens relieved them and they were found safely by the authorities. Sadly enough, his father hadn't made it through the bullet that had pierced right through his left eye.

Seeing your father lying dead on the floor with a single eye blown in the most grotesque way should've deeply traumatized a young eleven year old. Perhaps, in a way, it had. But all Cartman ever felt was numb. He traded his smile for a frown, lost contact with his friends, barely left his manor for the sake of education. He even went as far as indulging his unfelt sorrows with food, gaining more and more by the pound. And most of all, he was to be called Cartman from then on.

His mother was the one to crumble far more in comparison. She turned to drugs and alcohol, seeing as they offered brief moments of bliss and hallucinations that led to the misconception of a perfect family. She opened her legs for the highest bidder at these times, as though she could fill the void of grief with another man's cock. Disgraceful. It was a slap in the face to a husband she once loved.

This was all five years ago. And since the proper help wasn't received to either one of them, they still suffered in silence. Cartman held strong suspicion that he would outlive his mother by more years than expected.

Her voice carried out from the hallway as she cried for her son. "Eric! Eric, where are you!?" Cartman hesitated a moment, releasing a sigh of regret at the putrid whine he'd grown terribly accustomed to. Wonderment dawned on him, however. Was she sobbing for her only child? Or for her lost and forgotten husband. Deciding it wasn't worth the risk of having her leave her room, Cartman hurried off to answer the call.

When he pushed through his mother's doors, it hardly took much searching through the darkness to finally come across Lianne. She sat beside her bed, arms sprawled across the sheets and face planted pathetically in the mattress. The foul stench of vomit stung the round boy's nostrils, making him instantly recoil into the doorway. No doubt, his mother had allowed herself to be sucked away this time by the flask Cartman had once believed he did well to hide.

He kicked aside a stray bottle of vodka, it's contents emptied since last month. Lianne could barely manage to clean in here, even less give herself a good grooming. The clatter, however, disturbed her sorrowful solitude and her head lifted to gaze in forlorn at the shadow that stood right before her. Despite their dark quality, only his eyes were his most distributed features in that moment.

"Dear," she moaned to the silhouette sadly, reaching out for his affections.

Cartman, however, remained stubbornly placed. If he could get through this ridiculous exchange without making contact with the vile woman that
layed in tears before him, then there wasn't any need for movement. "What do you want?" His voice came cracking out like a whip, even managing to make Lianne flinch back as though she had been struck. Cartman didn't feel bad. No, that ship had long since departed from the coast.

At last, he was only dispassionate towards the remainder of his flesh and blood.

"I just missed you," she mumbled as her arms dropped awkwardly at her sides. She stared up at
him through glassy eyes, but Cartman knew much better than to believe that she was actually here for once. Lianne Cartman was only sober when she fell prey to sleep.

Her once vibrant green gaze searched his desperately, trying uselessly to find any trace of the son she once had. The man he might've even grown up as. She couldn't seem to find familiarity within his cold, unsympathetic demeanor. She was in denial over this, however. Why would anyone wish to believe they'd lost all they ever loved? "Eric," she murmured in voice that almost seemed to beg for his good graces. Of course, it certainly wouldn't be delivered anytime soon. "Please, just come here to me. Let me hold you just for a little while, just like I used to."

Cartman almost scoffed at this, his eyes hardening quite drastically as he stared at this pitiful excuse for a parent. Fat chance of that ever happening. He wouldn't ever let this woman touch him again, so long as he stood the way he did now. Tall, overly confident, merciless. This was who he was now. Lianne was constantly mistaking him for Eric each time she demanded his presence.

Cartman wished the hose was long enough to pull upstairs into this very room. He wouldn't hesitate to spray her on high blast if given the chance. Not only would she be getting a well deserved rinse of something that wasn't meant to take away your train of thought, but he'd be giving her something real to wail about. His fingers curled into his palms and he took a step away from her.

"Sorry mom," he sighed impatiently, irritated that she had interrupted him for more of her melodramatic antics. "But I'm a bit busy, I'm buried in homework and I'd much rather be doing that than pretending that we're still mother and son." His mother's face crumpled into an expression of pain, but Cartman shut the door before she could say anything further.

He didn't want to go through this again, didn't deserve this type of torture. Had Cartman chosen not to shut out the weaker emotions, something like this would've shattered him into a little boy again. Eric would've gladly ran into his mother's open arms, filth ridden or not. He would've fooled himself into believing that Lianne would get better and they'd be happy together again.

Cartman knew better than that. The world was a cruel, desolate place that turned it's back on the bright eyed and unrolled the welcome mat for all things evil. This thought lingered in his mind as he traveled down the straight hallways, shutting out the horrible weeping that came from his mother. Planet Earth sucked. It needed something, anything, to be shoved back into place.

Why couldn't Cartman be the one to do so?

§

Days turned to weeks, which proceeded into months, and even became a full year that Cartman trained harder than anything before with his fighting instructors. Forever, it seemed quite hopeless that he would ever have the ability to kick ass the way he longed to. However, being the resilient young man that he was, Cartman resisted the will to bail.

Finally, Cartman deemed himself as ready. It didn't matter what his teachers thought, he knew he could finally do what he'd always longed for. Now, he just needed to create a persona...

The night air blew its icy wind through the chocolate brown locks of Cartman's hair. His dark eyes watched the moon as it floated gracefully with the wispy clouds, a breath came past his lips. He'd spent so many wasted hours in his room, drawing out crude sketches of what type of savior he had wanted to be. But nothing seemed to suit him quite right. Nothing really rolled off the tongue the way he wanted. As a child, this would've been his favorite part of the entire process. The mark he would leave on this red neck, white trash town. Now that he led the life of a proud seventeen year old, his imagination evaded him. It didn't spark anymore, wasn't full of life and wonderment. His lack of desire to fantasize left that part of his mind rusted in cobwebs. You couldn't simply turn something like that back on.

Something scurried at his feet, Cartman lowered his eyes to gaze adoringly at a familiar black mask covered across large, obsidian eyes. "Hello, Thief." He smiled before reaching into the pocket of his red jacket. His fingers pulled out a piece of white bread, and he offered it happily to the little racoon that came once more to greet him.

The critter reached out with tiny, inky claws. It swiped away the treat and proceeded to nibble away the food in such a greedy notion. Cartman chuckled, reaching out to scratch behind its ear. Raccoons, he had long since decided, were the best pets anyone could have. Sure, they raided your garbage and damaged your crops. But Cartman's utter love for this particular animal forced away any fault they had. In his opinion, every town needed a raccoon.

And then it hit him.

§

A pair of black stilettos clicked faintly against the concrete as one particular woman ran desperately from shadows. She constantly looked over her shoulder for any sign of something trailing after her, any bypassers she rushed past moved to get out of her way. She made a last minute turn around a corner, running desperately through a dark ally and pressing on towards the other side with all the might she had.

And simply because the night was against her, she felt her foot slip out from underneath a puddle and she fell forward, straight into it. The murky liquid splashed up around her, drenching her from head to toe. Her breaths huffed out rapidly, her gaze scanning the fog around her. There wasn't any sign of life, she appeared to be completely alone. Quietly, she proceeded to wonder whether or not this was good or bad...

Silence envoped the entire scene, the girl slowly moved to stand up as a chill traveled like ice shards down her back. Her arms wrapped securely around her frigid frame and she began to make her journey towards the exit of the ally. However, as soon as she turned to make her retreat, a tall body blocked her path.

She gasped sharply, cowering back from the man and turning to take flight once more. A massive hand grasped her arm with bone crushing strength and a cry emitted past her lips. She was thrown harshly to the ground, forcing a groan to respond to the throb of pain throughout her body.

The man stepped forward, floppy brown hair slicked with grease and sweat, eyes wild with cruel intentions. "You shouldn't of left me," he whispered, fingers quivering with anticipation as he approached slowly. "Why Emily? Can't you see that I'm absolutely nothing without you!?"

The girl, Emily, whimpered from below as she lifted an arm in futile attempt to protect her. "P-please," she begged softly, tears welling in her eyes as she shuffled back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Just shut up Emily!" The man reached up to grip his long hair and pull, breathing erratic and out of time. "I need to fucking think and I can't do that with your whining!" Silent tears traveled like raindrops down the girl's cheeks as she released a silent prayer to whoever was listening. She needed to live!

Finally, a rancid cloud of air came spilling from his mouth. Grinning terribly, he looked down at the girl he would soon victimize in his own twisted version of revenge. "Maybe," he chuckled lightly as he reached towards her. "You just need to be reminded of what you're trying to give up."

Emily felt her heart race quicker than a rabbit's as she watched in horror at her dark fate in the face of a man she believed she once loved. His hands grabbed her shoulders, a scream came tearing from her throat as all other options failed her. And then a gruff voice cut through the terror.

"Let her go!"

Both characters froze, eyes maneuvering up to gaze in curiosity at the hunched shadow that knelt upon a rooftop. Two ears pricked up like an animal's atop his head. While the girl tilted her head to one side in question, the man burst out into laughter, standing and turning to face it curiously. "The fuck is this?" He asked in a disbelieving tone.

In response, the figure leapt silently from the roof, his cape following him down in a single whoosh! The silhouette landed in a crouch, eyes seeming to glow white in such a menacing glow. "This is your end," growled what appeared to be a little boy in a rat costume.

Again, a dark fit of laughter came bubbling up from the man. Cracking his knuckles in a sickening sound, the man came closer. "Isn't it past your bedtime, boy?" He mocked. "Maybe a good ass whooping'll teach you to stay indoors with mommy."

The boy threw his hands out at his sides to reveal a deadly pair of claws glinting with bloodlust in the moonlight. A wicked grin crossed along the plump stranger's lips and he rose slowly from his position. "Actually," he chuckled. "It is you who will learn their place very quickly. And then, all will know of their greatest hero." The boy crossed his claws before himself, the girl breathed deeply at the wondrous sight.

"I am The Coon."

He darted forth with a slash of his deadly might.