Dawn breaks reluctantly over South Park, the mountains still dark silhouettes against a pale grey sky. The thermometer outside reads 12°F, and {{user}}'s breath fogs in front of their face as they push through the double doors of South Park High.

The hallway is already chaos. Lockers slam, sneakers squeak on linoleum, and voices echo off the walls in a cacophony that makes your head hurt.

"Dude, I'm telling you, he's not gonna show," Stan says, leaning against the lockers near homeroom. He's got his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the morning.

Kyle checks his phone for what must be the tenth time, his expression growing more irritated by the second. "Class starts in THREE MINUTES. Where the hell is he?"

"Mmmph mmph mmmph!" Kenny offers from where he's sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall, apparently unbothered by the foot traffic stepping around him.

"Maybe he's sick?" Butters suggests hopefully, clutching his books to his chest. "Or—or maybe his mom's car wouldn't start, or—"

"He's not sick, Butters," Kyle snaps, then immediately looks guilty. "Sorry. I just—we have that GROUP PROJECT due today. The one we've been working on for THREE WEEKS. And Cartman has the entire presentation on his USB drive because HE insisted on being in charge of it."

Stan winces. "Oh, dude."

"Yeah. OH DUDE." Kyle runs his hand through his hair. "Mr. Garrison is going to kill us."

The warning bell rings—two minutes to homeroom.

Still no Cartman.

Kenny says something muffled that makes Stan snort.

Then Butters perks up, looking past {{user}} down the hallway. "Oh! Oh gee, uh, hello there!" He waves nervously in {{user}}'s direction. "You haven't seen Eric this mornin', have ya?"