A/N: Wooo Kysterion. Been awhile my old friend.
Warnings: Violence, abduction, drug mentions, human trafficking and if I think of others to add you'll be forewarned.
Also we're back in AU land where no one knows Mysterion is Kenny. Okay? Okay.
Enjoy~
Through thermal leather gloves, the brisk air of the night still nipped the tips of his fingers. Carefully sewn-in rubber grips latched down onto the metal of the last of fire escapes he had to conquer in this venture, aiding him in moving silently up the way. He clenched the end of a billowing cape in his teeth, refusing to let the weight slow down his stealthy pursuit and draw attention to himself. Sharp eyes, ever vigilant to the needs of his town swooped over the alleyway as he continued his ascent.
He found himself in front of the window of an apartment's living room. Taking a quick peek through the agape curtains, he said a silent thank you for this particular complex's 'cats only' rule, seeing a long tail flickering about on the couch in the low lighting of the moon peeking into the home. He glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the distance between the roof and himself and sighing irritably.
Carefully, treaded boots clambered to the edge of the platform, stealthily stepping onto the wooden upper trimming of the window just barely jutting from the brick. Gritting his teeth, he quickly shifted all his weight down onto the sill and propelled himself upwards, grabbing the hanging ledge of the rooftop. He took a deep breath, brow knitting in concentration as he planted his toes against the gritty surface, fingers kept locked as he awkwardly maneuvered his way up the building. Swinging his first leg over the edge, he rolled down onto the apartment's top, panting and shaking out his cramped fingers.
'This was so much easier when I was a kid,' he thought tiredly, cracking his neck and rolling back up onto his feet. He made his way towards the north end of the building, remembering to stay close to the air conditioners positioned in a spacious row down the line. Always make the noise something easily explained away, something he'd learned in the nearly two decades wearing the cape.
He ducked down into a crawl, sliding over to the edge of the roof lithe as a cat and peering over the way. His eyes scanned around for his target, hidden face falling into a grimace as he found his intel seeming to be incorrect. He ran through the message he'd been given from his last perp one more time:
"Y-you know Second Street? They meet back behind the apartment down by Wabash, Man. That's all I fuckin' know! I just sell the shit, Man!"
The man shook his head, smacking his lips tiredly. It'd happened before, a terrified crook giving him the wrong information before he hauled them off to jail. After all, snitches get stitches. Of course, with the rings he'd been running out, stitches were the absolute least of worries to anyone who happened to just be a little too slow to outrun the masked vigilante. It more often than not took more than a black eye or two and some threats from a man who had nothing to lose to eek information out of a tight-lipped transgressor.
He'd found throughout the years, however, his own endeavors proved more fortuitous than those of the good ol' boys in blue. It'd taken awhile, but they'd come to the same conclusion as well, a secret pact of silence forged between the two sects: He would find them the dirty underbelly of the town of South Park and they would stick to the street crimes. Civilians felt much safer being protected from run-of-the-mill robberies and threats by the police than they ever could an unknown man who operated under shadow. There would always be that doubt in the backs of their minds, wondering if this so-called 'hero' was nothing more than a front to gain their trust before turning it all around on them. The hero couldn't blame them, it was human nature to be cautious of the unknown, especially if that unknown was a mere five feet from your face bashing another man's head into the pavement.
He was perfectly content with such an agreement. He was kept out of the limelight at last, able to gain the upper hand with ease. The police had no interest in taking down what he'd heard them refer to as not a 'vigilante', but a 'good samaritan'. After all, what law came down to was nothing more than terminology, and how one phrased any kind of feat turned each possible case on its head. It made him immune so long as he played by their carefully laid-out rules. He'd found them posted to a pole he used to chain his catches for the cops to find outside the station, and he kept them tucked within his jumpsuit to remind him just where it was he was meant to stand.
'We don't know who you are, frankly we don't want to if you keep this up. However, do remember we are cops, so you do have to stick to a few key rules less the suspicion begin to rise and we're forced to track you down. First of all, do not kill unless you are at the risk of being killed yourself. If this happens, leave a note (typed is fine) explaining the situation and we'll do what we can from there. You've had a fairly clean record of live bodies so far, all we can do is hope that you don't have a stash of corpses somewhere. Second, do not involve civilians. You want to protect them and we do, too. If you find a situation with innocents involved, make us aware and we'll take it from there.
Third, and most important of all, do not come forward with who you are. With your face comes publicity, with publicity comes scandal. You should know what happens to people who take the law into their own hands. We don't want to arrest you, but we also don't want to thank you. You're putting us in a hell of a position, but we can't lose the results you're bringing in. Keep it up, keep it hidden, keep yourself safe.
Sergeant H. Yates, Park County P.D.'
He had the note memorized at this point, letting it consistently loop in the back of his mind as soon as the cape was put on. Not two nights later, they'd specified a new place for him to stash his apprehended suspects, swearing up and down that no cameras would be present to keep his identity safe. From there he was to throw a pebble from the stash they left him at the second story windows, and was informed that he would have three minutes to hightail it out of there before they came out to take the suspect into custody.
He had to play it carefully, and follow their limited rules to the letter. After all, he wasn't a twinkle in hopeful adult's eyes. He wasn't a role model that kids looked to, putting sheets around their necks and running around tackling their 'bad guy' friends down. No, no. There were no Mysterion party games to be played, no joyful shouts of relief as a crisis befell the town and he swooped in like a hawk as a symbol of regality and strength.
He was a twenty eight year old man in a purple costume who beat the shit out of marauders and took down crime syndicates one lead at a time. He was nothing more than a small rumor, something a podunk mountain town was beyond full of. He was lost beneath the webbing of family feuds and church potluck gossip. However, he was perfectly content with that. He had little to lose should word of his existence spread, just a strong possibility of being unmasked and maybe being tossed in jail for a few counts of destroyed property and one unfortunate case of involuntary manslaughter. Given, Mysterion didn't know what he could've done in that situation. It was either release his cape the man was hanging off of on the building or choke and both of them fall to their deaths. He'd explained it thoroughly to the police in a message, expressed nothing but regret, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew well enough just what could come about in the end.
Law was nothing but terminology after all.
His ears perked at a rustling sound beneath him, peering over the edge to find a small group crouching behind a couple dumpsters. Ah, an ambush. Excellent, apparently this particular bunch was more than aware of his existence, just waiting for him to make his move when he caught a crony. He'd seen it before: 'Lessers' of the team given information to feed any captors. Don't tell them the real location, just this specified one and we can get them dead and get you out of jail.
Too bad those plans never seemed to work with Mysterion on the other side.
He slid over the numbers, nodding to himself. Only three it seemed. He liked those odds. One on the far side and the other two on his own. Good. Each of them were staring down ways of the alley, none close to looking his way and he shook his head. These people never watched Saturday morning cartoons apparently.
He grasped a small metal shiv from a sewn pocket in his cape kept at wrist level, weighing it in his hand for a moment and considering his options. Throw it towards the main road, sneak up from behind. He couldn't have the possibility of guns being shot towards civilians if he could avoid it. Mysterion nodded to himself, wrenching his arm back and smoothly letting the metal fly to hit another dumpster. The group all jolted with the sound, attention fixating that way as they warily awaited their visitor.
Mysterion grinned slyly, flipping over the roof and landing on window sills, stalking down them soft as raindrops. He kept his eyes on the perpetrators, seeing their attention still fixed towards the main road. A gleam caught his eye underneath of him, a knife shining into his face. At least one of them wasn't armed with firepower. Even better.
He made his way to two floors above them, willing his adrenaline to spike to its peak before leaping down, his cape billowing behind him as he fell and tackled both of them to the ground.
"FUCK!" one of them yelled out.
Sharp vision caught a gun and instinct led Mysterion through the motions, pinning the knife-wielder by the upper arms under his knees and snaring the man's wrist, pointing the gun up towards the empty sky. A quick sock in the jaw and precisely placed fingers squeezing sensitive tendons loosened the man's grip on his weapon and Mysterion snagged it from his fingers, snapping on the safety and shoving it into the back of his belt, obscured by the ebbing sea of his heavy cape.
"Get him off of me!" the platinum blonde woman squirming under his knees demanded, kicking back and trying to land a blow on his spine. The men ignored her before the crook launched forward and tackled him back, both of them landing on the pavement and grunting as they tried to gain the control.
Mysterion's eyes flickered at movement, catching the woman swinging up onto her knees and rearing back with her flick knife. He let himself go slack and allowed the man to shove him down, intercepting the swing of the blade down into his shoulder. "FUCKING CHRIST!" he hissed, Mysterion taking the momentary daze to move his knee up into the man's stomach. He lurched and the hero swung him to the side through the momentum, hopping back in time to see the third finally on his way over.
He jumped out from behind the dumpster to give himself more room, back bending to avoid another stab heading his way. He reached forward and grabbed the man's arm by the elbow, bringing him forward with his free hand tangling in his hair and rocketing his knee up into his face. The man dropped his weapon, hands clutching over his nose and a long, agonized groan seeping out as he blindly went to try to grab his knife once more. The hero snagged it first, flipping it back down and tossing it back towards the streets.
He glanced to see the woman coming at him again, raising his arm in defense and hissing as the blade cut down through the wisteria rayon. He shot up his other hand, clenched into a tight fist and squeaking the leather of his gloves as he slammed into the woman's face and sent her flying back. Mysterion whirled around at a clattering sound from behind him, seeing the men hightailing it the fuck out of dodge and shaking his head. Pathetic.
He looked to see the woman stumbling to get herself back up and crossed his arms as he watched her, glancing at the wound staining his uniform and grimacing. "You know, blood's pretty tough to clean outta this thing," he said, voice gravelly and full of subtle warning for her to watch her step.
She looked up at him as she made it back upright, glaring with a closed left eye. "Fuck you."
"Not nice," he scoffed. "Throw the knife down."
"Or what?" she hissed.
He rolled his eyes, snagging the gun from his back pocket and moving over, placing it against her forehead. Her jaw dropped slightly, feeling the click of the safety being switched off vibrating through her skull. "Need I go on?" he said, tone disinterested but alert still high.
She set her lips firmly, dropping the knife and holding her hands up. "Now get your fuckin' gun off me."
"Not mine, it's your friends'," he reminded her. "Well...guess they're not so great of friends to leave ya all by yourself, huh?"
The woman scoffed, "Everybody for themselves out here."
"Please. Be more cliche. Gonna tell me next that I'll never be able to stop whoever's at the top?" he cocked his brow, continuing to press the barrel against her head.
Rolling her eyes, she stiffened up, staring at the masked man with a trembling jaw. "I don't fuckin' care if you do," she said lowly. "I'm in this for the money, Honey. Not the fucking friendship."
"Not looking for references on the resume, huh?" he smirked. "You picked a shit gang to tag along with you know."
She shrugged, "You take what you can get when you need the cash. Not all of us can afford to play dress-up," gesturing to his garb.
"It's called Goodwill fabric," he drawled. "Now, wanna tell me just where it is your friends actually like to play? Considering how you don't care and whatnot," he mocked.
The woman paused, brow furrowing in thought. "They'd kill me if I snitched."
"I wouldn't worry about that, the cops are gonna keep you nice and safe," he assured her.
"You don't have any proof that I did anything!" she snapped.
He smacked his lips, moving his gun under her chin and tapping her to get her head up. "Oh, I dunno, Mercedes," he said, watching her brown eyes spark with alert in the moonlight. "You got a hell of a record. Burglary, auto theft, prostitution, and a fun amount of hallucinogens you just love to peddle to your customers, huh?"
She growled, fists clenching and shoulders shaking. If you know who I am, the fuck do you need my info for, you fuckin' ass?!"
He smirked, "Because like you, I know my cliental, but I don't know where they live," he drawled. "So, if you would be so kind as to point me in the right direction, I might be able to leave a kind little message telling the police of your assistance. Might lessen the charges if you aid in further arrests," he bargained.
Mercedes paused, looking down and considering her options, grating a glossed lip worriedly between her teeth. "And if I refuse?"
"You're goin' to jail either way, Lady, though I use that term lightly," he cocked his brow wryly. "I'm offerin' you a possible smack on the wrist as opposed to being Betsy's bitch for the next twenty years. Not everyone gets this offer, Sweetheart. I'd suggest you choose wisely."
She glared at him, taking a shaking breath. "Get the gun out of my face and I'll talk," she said lowly.
"Oh, this thing?" he shrugged, waving it around a bit. "Don't worry, it's a fucking water gun," he smirked, pointing it at her forehead and squeezing the trigger, the woman jolting at a cooled stream jutting out onto her skin.
"What the fuck!" she exclaimed.
He shrugged, putting the modified 'weapon' back into his belt beside the crook's gun. "I ain't one for threatenin' life, that's a job for pieces of shit like yourself," he scoffed. "Turn around."
She tensed to argue before just slinking down and sighing irritably, doing as told. She flinched as her hands were grabbed and wrenched behind her, police-grade zip ties securing around the skin. "You always carry restraints?" she rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, because I always catch at least one of you fucks," he smirked. "Now..." he turned her back around and stared her down, her throat catching a lump as she stared straight into hooded nothingness. "I think we've talked enough about boring ol' me, why don't we hear about you?"
A/N: This story is a planned 38 chapters plus an epi, let's see how well I stick to said plan pft.
Thanks for R&Ring!