Cartman was misfortunate enough to come in late to his first period class, which just so happened to be Shop Class. Personally, he found the predicament to be notably idiotic, ridiculous at that. After all, who had found it intelligent to put a group of exhausted, unaware teenagers together with dangerously sharp tools? The teacher appeared displeased by his tardied presence, but Cartman wasn't the least bit apologetic as he handed off his schedule to the older man along with the excuse note Victoria had been kind enough to write out for him.

The teacher briefly looked over the note, then handed back his schedule and shoved the second piece of paper in the pocket of his vest for later. "Alright Eric," he greeted, causing the round boy to wince at the careless use of his first name. "I'm your teacher, Mr. Adler. I don't deal with students that like to screw around all day long, you could get seriously injured if you take part in regular shenanigans."

Cartman resisted the urge to smirk at the way his dictation ran, how the soft snickers of his peers just over his shoulder lead him to believe that regular shenanigans were true rituals in this classroom, despite the danger which followed after it. "Sure, whatever dude." He answered, turning to walk away without awaiting dismissal.

§

Stanley Marsh was the victimized soul the new fat kid had chosen to sit beside. Usually, he was used to working alone (as was expected with his supernatural abilities in a class full of tools) but he supposed he couldn't exactly request the other boy resided elsewhere. In an attempt to make the best of a generally bad situation, Stan handed the kid a pair of protective goggles and asked with semi kindness, "Eric, right?" He eyed his swelled black eye, naturally curious over the story behind it.

"I go by Cartman," the kid didn't look his way even as he accepted the goggles and strapped them around his head. By the tone of voice he used, Stan suspected that making friends was not his top priority. Cartman didn't ask for directions or wonder what precisely they were supposed to be doing, he refrained from further conversation instead and proceeded to toy with a slivered splinter of wood left untouched on their workbench. Typically, anyone else would be irritated by the lack of support offered by a student, but Stan was being overly social himself, he gladly left Cartman in his bored version of peace and instead grasped the hammer to proceed banging a nail into place with two attached boards. They were meant to design and build something for their upcoming project, but Stan's intentions were aimless. He was terribly distracted by years of depression and secrecy, he seemed to completely lose the will to care unless football was the center topic. He only ever did enough to keep his grades at average so that the coach didn't force him off the team (their mascot- the cow- sucked ass but the team played a mean game).

Stan seemed to completely rub out of nails at some point and flicked his gaze around for anymore he could bang on for awhile. His dark blue eyes turned towards Cartman at the sound of a repeated metallic fall and he saw the boy was picking up a necessary nail, then dropping it back down over and over. "Dude," Stan called over the obnoxion of the classroom workers. Cartman's dark grey eyes ventured towards Stan in the most unfriendly glare he'd ever been associated with by a total stranger. Swallowing down his own growth of impatience, Stan asked politely, "Could I use that? It doesn't seem to be useful to you anyway."

Cartman held his gaze for a very long while, not at all working to soften the hard edge of his gaze. The nail closed into his yellow-mitted fist and he held it off on the opposite end, far away from Stan. His fingers spread apart and the nail dropped to the floor with an insulting clink, Cartman stared at Stan the entire time without even a cunning smirk. Just that straight, blunt frown of indifference. "Whoops," he said sarcastically, not at all moving to pick it back off. The nail rolled off someplace else when his foot kicked it aside.

Stan had a few choice words to direct at Cartman in that instant, all of which focused on his medically worrisome weight. He wasn't sure what this guy's issue was, entirely, but he presumed it was simply what happened when you were fat and undoubtedly spoiled. It was a long, terrible process of having to eat away the hideous phrases he wished to slash this kid with, but he took the high road in the end. Without a word, Stan angrily swiped off his goggles and slammed them down on the workbench, hard enough to make it tremble. He resisted the urge to mutter under his breath even as he strolled towards the side of the room. On a table over there was a table filled with containers of nails, he would pick one up and continue to work with limited contact in regards to Cartman.

These plans were, of course, foiled, when his foot stepped upon the stray nail the new kid had tossed aside. It rolled under the sole of his shoe and instantly made him fall forward. This wouldn't have been so terrible, Stan could overcome a little humiliation. What was terrible, however, was the fact that his body was propelling straight towards a tall metal can filled to the brim with rusted nails unable to be used. Falling head first into that was fatal, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Stan panicked, lost all sense of control over his mind save for one single desire, that he wanted that can to move.

His desire was instantly met. His will made the old nails all lurch off to the right, their mass caused the can to fall sideways just as Stan was about to meet a black fate. The nails scattered all across the floor, the very center of Stan's head struck the edge of the bottom of the tipped can and his vision flashed briefly with white at the sudden pain. A groan rumbled low in his throat and he slowly proceeded to lift up the upper half of his body, eyes squeezed shut with the throb in his head. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the class had raised vibrant concern over his well being and were all rushing to assist him. He was surrounded with the figures of his peers, all wondering what had become of him.

"Stand aside!" Mr. Adler shouted as he pushed past the circle of students. "Give him some air!" The teacher kneeled down in front of the injured boy, who was sitting up and massaging his skull to try and ease the ache. The flesh above the middle of his eyes was tender to the touch, a bruise would definitely form there. "Stanley," the teacher asked, pushing aside his blue and red puff-ball hat to get a good look at the damage. "Are you alright? What happened?"
Stan wanted to give him a severe look of irritation at the many questions being asked, but he shook away his dizziness and forced himself to answer.

"I'm fine, it was an accident." His reassurance was clear, Mr. Adler appeared relieved he could formulate a proper sentence. "I just slipped..."

There was only one person not part of the circle around him, Stan came to notice. Mr. Adler was talking about excusing him from the rest of class and letting him go see the nurse, but the boy was barely listening. His azure eyes sought out over his shoulder, straight towards where Cartman still resided at the workbench. He was looking back, wide eyed and disbelieving, his lips parted slightly in surprise. Stan could've guessed he was shocked that he had inadvertently almost caused the death of a classmate during his first day of school. The sick twist in his stomach made him think otherwise. Sure, Stan could tell anyone that he'd shoved the can over just before he fell inside, why would they have reason to believe something supernatural was at force here? But Cartman had been closest to him the whole time the events transpired...

§

Leopold was finally released from the hospital. After the doctor had run out to grab assistance from another professional, they had taken more blood in which to test. The syringe hadn't shattered this time, the dark substance within didn't spark and explode with impossible energy and his results came back perfectly fine. Though the doctor had insisted he wasn't mad, that the blood had glowed and given off a powerful sizzle of something terribly abnormal, Leopold had spoken against this truth for his own sake. Now he sat in the back seat of a car with two parents snapping at him for being so unaware and making them concern over his health. Leopold wondered, not for the first time, if they actually held any worry over whether he lived or died.

"What would we tell the family?!" His mother was screaming, her voice high pitched and crazed with outrage. His father was still and boiling with a silent fury, his gaze glared straight through the windshield. "That our idiotic son had decided to go out and get himself struck with lightning, near a Hooters I might add. What were you even doing in a place like that?! What drove you to-"

Leopold shut her out at the mention of the breast themed restaurant. Lexus, he remembered, had partaken in an elongated make out session with one of his most greatest enemies. Craig Tucker was handsome and built like a dream, Leopold thought. What was worse was the fact that he was fully aware of this and used it greatly to his advantage. Why wouldn't Lexus want someone over his glorious stature? He was, after all, a general real life heart throb with that desired bad-boy material. Then there was Leopold, with his wiry image and his mop of blonde hair, who could never match such strong standards. Lexus probably saw him as a stray cat she felt sympathy towards, every once in awhile feeding him kindness and affection whenever he came near.

The thought made him furious, his fists clenched and his teeth ground together in a familiar sense of bottled up anger. The distant sound of his mother yelping on and on over his shortcomings barely helped him, and that's when it happened. A yellow spark came over him, quick and noisy and it scared him so much that he actually flinched up from the seat. His eyes turned round as his mother silenced in surprise and she whirled around to glower spitefully towards him.

"What was that? What did you just do?" She interrogated.
Leopold just stared at her, his adams apple bobbing with fear as he swallowed heavily. What had happened in the hospital had not been a fluke, something went weird with his blood anytime he wasn't in full control over his emotions. The weight if his mother's glare made his face turn pink with shame, he lowered his head and whimpered softly into submission, his knuckles crashing timidly together. She turned back around in her seat and they rode home in deafening quiet, save for the ordinary noises of the outside world beyond the car. When Leopold got home, he would be severely punished for not giving a straight answer, but that was far from his current train of thought. At the moment, a single question seemed to ring like a siren in his brain:

What's wrong with me?

A/N: Short chapter, please forgive. The true reason for this note is due to some questions asked of me in some of the reviews- which, by the way, thank you so much it means the world- and I didn't want to just leave them up in the air. Firstly, yes Butters is the main antagonist. However, depending on if I get my ideas fully completed, whereas there will be more fanfictions to follow this one, then he won't be the only one who has it out for the Coon and Friends.

Secondly, Stan. His power, where it delved from, is not at all clarified. I don't want anyone to concern that I'd simply made it spring up out of absolutely no where, his story is just a bit longer than everyone else's and will be explained very far into the future. The thing is, Stan's power was difficult for me to come up with good reason for, I had to sit and ponder his origin longer than anyone else's. Thanks to a long time of thought, Stan is actually the biggest reason I have already begun planning the sequel, where his source of power comes fully explained. For now, it's good that someone prompted the question over where Stan got his power, I had wanted the mystery clear.

Thank you all, so far I've only received good feedback and it makes me very glad to know I've written something of interest. I very much just wanted to stay away from cliches. Special mention goes to RandomWriter197 for the most reviews and also for being the one to voice curiosity over Stan.