Chapter Two: Dry Fuse of The Power Keg

The sky was blood red over the ruins of Old South Park. Evening was setting in slowly, like a spreading infection. Streaks of grey smoke interspersed among the unnatural pigment. It was in this toxic air that Kenny trudged; through the gravel and sparse grass, past the murky waters of Stark's Pond, past the train tracks, past Phil Collins Hill. It was here, hidden behind the shadow of the hill, that Base stood.

A rickety building made of salvaged lumber, Base acted as a hideout for the seven boys who called it home, if anything made from partially burnt library timber and rusted sheet metal can be home to anyone. Kenny watched as the dark building filled his line of vision, the squelch of his footprints in the muddy patch behind the hill matching his heartbeats pat-for-pat. He looked down at his left arm. A piece of polyester orange jacket the size of a golf ball was torn out, leaving an exposed portion of tanned, scarred skin. Kenny pushed up his sleeve. That particular part of his re-con mission would have to be left unsaid.

As Kenny's eyes scanned the mud beneath his feet, searching for a plausible story to tell the others, a subtle creak made them arch upwards, meeting a lean shadow in the doorway, further lengthened by the setting sun. Kyle Broflovski, five foot eight and all lean muscle, was staring at him, expecting the answers Kenny knew he didn't have. The silent recognition of the mission's failure fell between them.

"What the hell happened out there?"

His disappointed and angry tone was too much for Kenny. His mind swam with a hundred lies before a dark haired man appeared at the door, looking dishevelled. His hair matted was with sweat over his forehead, his torso covered by a thin white T-shirt.

"Stan I.."

"It doesn't matter, come in, we're planning."

Kenny followed Kyle and Stan inside base. Base had been built as large as the shadow of Phil Collins hill would allow, or about 15 feet square. It was in the centre of this bedroom-sized home that all the boys now gathered, a large plank of wood over two buckets serving as their table. Kenny took his place beside Kyle, who was directly across from Stan. It was here that everything was planned. Here that tempers and emotions flared on a daily basis. Here that is was decided Kenny would go re-con. He sat there silently, running through the mission again in his head. He heard the whole thing spoken in Stan's voice just as he had been given it:

At quarter sunset, make your way on foot to the capitol building.

Stay on the RIGHT SIDE- conceal yourself whenever possible.

You will hear two horns, this is the signal for the patrol.

Tonight they are recruiting.

We aren't sure where exactly, but follow the sound of the horns, there will be a briefing room.

Get inside at any cost, stay concealed.

Return at first opportunity with any information you find.

Stay concealed. He had repeated this to himself with every step he took, and he still failed.

He could of gotten himself killed, and his friends discovered.

Kenny was awoken from his self-defeating internal monologue by a fist pounding angrily on the table.

"It's not that dangerous, just send him back- it matters fuck all if he dies anyhow!", Craig Tucker yelled to a mainly disagreeing audience. Only Clyde Donovan, brown eyes peeking out from shaggy brown bangs, seemed to share Craig's lack of compassion.

Stan called for order and a creaking silence fell over the table. A thin blond man with the wild green eyes of a psychopath cleared his throat.

"If it's OK with you, I'd like to hear just what happened to Kenny," a faint murmuring came over the group, "Specifically, how he got that hole in his jacket."

Kenny sighed and looked at Tweek. All eyes were on him now.

"All right, all right, so I was captured!"

A collective gasp and tensing overtook the group while Kenny continued with his tale.

"I started out at quarter sunset to the capitol, just as planned."

Kenny sank forward, resting on his elbows. He surveyed the scared faces of his friends, hung on his every word. He was the ring leader; the centre of attention, not just a guinea pig to be killed over and over thoughtlessly. Was it any wonder the idea of power was so intoxicating to him? Kenny McCormick could have had power, but he threw it away.

"And.."

Kenny's eyes snapped up from their focal point on the table, Token Black staring impatiently at him. Kenny swallowed hard and continued, more than a little intimidated by the large man of few words.

"I- I tried to stay hidden, tried to run for cover at any noise. I heard the horns. I saw a group of clones outside a door and ran for it. One of them saw me. I hit him on the head with the butt of my gun."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something strained into his hand. Kenny paused. He knew he shouldn't have drawn attention to himself like that. Still, he continued.

"Another one saw me...I tried to fight them off. I shot at least two of them. They captured me. I was blindfolded and lead by two formies into Fatass' office. "

Here he paused. The group was hanging on his every word, his past dire situation the only entertainment they had gotten in months now. Kenny cleared his throat, trying to think of a way to tell the truth without sounding like he had nearly betrayed his friends.

"Wha- did he fight you? Is that why your jacket's tore?", Clyde asked with the voice of an enthralled school child.

Kenny smiled. If he owned these men anything now, it was honesty.

"He wanted me to be a spy. To give him information about you guys. Fatass offered me a lot of money, and it was a little tempting..", Kenny's cheeks darkened at this admittance, but the faces around the makeshift table barely changed expression. "When I told him no, he got really angry and had the guards restrain me. He tried to give me Form', but I managed to fight him off. That's when he got a piece of my jacket."

Stan breathed heavily and all eyes turned to their leader, his peach shoulder twitching slightly as he made the observation Kenny had overlooked.

"If Fatass has got Formula 10 here in South Park, there must be new lab here."

The table erupted in arguments. As usual, Craig was the first one loud enough to cut through the chaos.

"Maybe he just had some shipped from Conifer for interrogations or something!"

Stan's sky blue eyes narrowed to Craig's electric ones. The two had, of course, always been at each other's throats, but ever since Eric Cartman had become The Fuhrer of Colorado and sent the boys into exile, the tension between them had become unbearable. The argument continued, as it always did, with Stan taking caution in the group's every move and Craig throwing it to the wind. The others watched them with mixed respect and boredom. It was no coincidence the two most strong-willed men were at odds. When they had all first banded together, Stan and Craig were the two candidates for leader. Craig never let Stan forget it.

"Hey Craig.."

The soft voice of Tweek Tweak cracked through Craig's tirade like a bullet through glass.

"If you're wrong..they're only clones, right? It's not like it's really your family or your friends, they're just clones. So-so who gives a fuck anyhow?"

Craig swallowed hard, eyes still boring into Stan's, before breaking contact and taking his place at the table next to Tweek.

There was another re-con mission to plan.

So is it less confusing now? Hehehehehe. Don't worry, this is all important stuff. The next chapter will be from Stan's point of view, and will come with a big heaping side of back-story. Thank you to all the people who alerted! I hope you stick around, and maybe review? ( ﾟ∀ﾟ)