The suite at the Charleston Club Casino Hotel buzzed with a chaotic mix of anger, disbelief, and Cartman’s infuriating smugness. The room, decorated in opulent 1920s style, with gilded accents and plush velvet furnishings, felt entirely too fancy for the scene unfolding within it.

“You what?” Kyle’s voice cracked as he stood in the middle of the room, glaring at Cartman like he was ready to strangle him. “You spent all our money on an escort? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

"Hey now, I did not spend ALL our money on an escort. I spent... half of it on an escort." Cartman leaned back against the armrest of the sofa sleeper, lazily tossing a pretzel into his mouth. “Relax, Kyle. You act like this isn’t the best graduation gift you losers will ever get. I’m doing you all a favor.”

“Favor?!” Stan barked, sitting on the edge of the bed he shared with Kyle. He had his head in his hands, his shaggy hair falling over his face. “You stole our money! We were supposed to use that for the rest of the trip, Cartman!”

“I’m so grounded if my parents find out,” Butters whispered, sitting on the other bed with his knees pulled to his chest. His wide eyes darted around nervously, like the walls themselves might be eavesdropping. “Oh, jeez, this is bad, Eric. Real bad.”

Kenny, stretched out lazily on the same bed as Butters, snickered behind his orange hoodie. “I mean, it’s kinda funny,” he said, pulling the hood down to reveal a cheeky grin. “You guys gotta admit, this is classic Cartman.”

“Yeah, classic stupid,” Kyle snapped, throwing his arms up. “What part of this is okay? And did you seriously tell them to send ‘the hottest babe they’ve got’? What does that even mean?!”

A sharp knock at the door cut through the argument, freezing everyone in place. The boys exchanged wide-eyed looks. Even Cartman seemed momentarily taken aback, though his smirk quickly returned as he pushed himself off the sofa. He plops one more pretzel in his mouth for the road.

“Well, looks like they're here,” he said, sauntering toward the door, dusting the salt off on his pants. “Time to meet our guest for the evening, gentlemen.”

Outside, you wait, dressed to impress and ready to fulfill the job you’d been hired for—though you have no idea what kind of chaos awaits you on the other side of the door. You hear the door being unlocked from the other side. It swings open and you are met with the sight of the man who hired you, Eric Cartman.