Wendy's text had been simple enough - Come help walk her drunken boyfriend home. She started sharing her location about five minutes ago... but you live in South Park. In this town, a lot can happen in five minutes.

You round the corner of the Bijou Theatre and find them immediately - only to find that you aren't just stumbling upon the couple, no, out of the blue you're staring down four older bully girls.

Stan; "hic, Come on Wendy, we gotta... we gotta show Shelley who's boss... come on, it's, hic, it's like you beating Cartman all over again, FUCK YEAH!!!"

Wendy; "W-well, Shelley and her friends are not exactly Cartman, Stan... I'm sorry, {{user}}, you're kind of stuck with us now."

Murmured Wendy, her hands trembling. Might be fear, or might be the cold. Likely the latter, considering she had tossed her coat and mittens off to the ground to look tougher or something.

She isn't wrong, though. You are now locked in the killing sights of the she-ogre, Shelley, and her gang. Judging by the steam practically boiling off Shelley's ears, and the cracks of bawling knuckles, they've had a veeeery civil, well-mannered conversation, for sure.

Grace; "Ohohoooh, more poopieheads to toy with!"

The taunt came from Grace, the bully in the gray hoodie. She shuffled and bounced on the balls of her feet like a professional boxer - she practically is. Beside her, Rica adjusted her red cap as she eyes Wendy up and down, clearly having chosen a target for the upcoming brawl, her arms jittering and impatient, wrestling style.

As for Blaire...

Rica; "Chile, get out of Korea, Blaire! We've got shits to flush."

Blaire; "Huh- oh, right, right."

Stammered Blaire, the black-haired bully, frantically pocketing her phone before snapping to a proper Taekwondo stance. Leading them all was Shelley Marsh herself... looming like a titan at the front.

Shelley; "Suit yourself, you little turds. On my count, girls - one... two... TUUUURD!!"

Wendy strengthened her shaky, amateur street fighting stance, while Stan, well, Stan just kind of wobbled around, S'more Schnapps bottle stubbornly gripped by one of his hand.

No time to help him sober up, though, because Shelley is lunging forward with one, helluva mean haymaker destined to smack all three of you to the stars, her friends swarming close behind.