Bound hands made for a mess of coordination, Kyle sliding gracelessly along the trunk floor as the car sped and turned about. He screeched in frustration, face soaked with tears continuing to cascade along his paled face, deafened ears only picking up the vibrations of the car and his tremoring vocal cords as he tried desperately to call for help. He stared up at the trunk hatch, the darkness seeming to stretch on into an eternal prison as his chest heaved, breath struggling to work its way through the bundled and secured neoprene fleece stuffed past his teeth.
The frenzied notion flittered through him time and again: If he screamed loud enough, cried hard enough, prayed enough, Ken would be fine. He'd just misinterpreted the events in his panic, perhaps. Kenny was on his feet, running after the car. He and Stan were on a mission together to save him. Stan would call in the force, it'd be an army versus the five whisking him off and away. He'd be rescued, he'd go back home, and the three of them would laugh about this after he was good and recovered and toast Cartman's fat ass sitting in a jail cell.
Kyle let out a helpless sob, unable to shed himself of what he damn well knew he didn't 'misinterpret' what he'd been forced to witness. No number of fantasized blocks his brain tried to provide him could let him run from the horror he'd seen. Dreaming a dream of heroic grandeur could only do so much before reality was once again delving deep down within him.
Blood. There was so much blood. And Kenny was gone. Mysterion was gone. The majority of any hope he'd harbored throughout his tumultuous night was just gone.
He'd had him for only a few minutes. A few awful, heart-clenching minutes. Minutes that could've been spent talking to him, figuring everything out. They were moments that Kyle could never get back, could never revisit, change life's course and find himself with one of his best friends in a moment of a relieving clarity, not tense and terse circumstance.
He could tell Cartman that Kenny and Mysterion were the same person all he wanted, but a part of him knew that wasn't entirely true. Not yet. He hadn't had the time to get himself there. There hadn't been nearly enough time for him to comprehend just what it was that was in front of him, come to grips with the reality that he'd been so heavily infatuated with a lifelong friend. He didn't just lose Mysterion, and he didn't just lose Kenny. All at once, two people had been swiped from his life; a best friend and a hero, a comforting shoulder and a lover, his advisory and his working partner.
Kyle yelped as the car hit a rough bump, jolting him into the air only for him to crash back onto the thin carpeting with a wheezing cry. His teeth clenched around the balaclava and he squeezed his eyes shut, thin tears trailing down to leak along his temples. 'This is my fault,' he thought miserably. 'If I hadn't been so fucking stupid and done this without the police…' he trailed off, entire body rattling as a blown-out skull plastered itself evilly on the back of his eyelids. Would that be it for the rest of his life? Nothing but guilt and regret as he was dragged along to a fucking foreign country? Nothing but the faintest shred of hope that Stan would figure out the case and be able to convince a foreign government to cooperate and rescue him? Maybe that he'd break through the border all his own and track him down?
Or was this it?
Leaking eyes narrowed, captive hands twitching as he stared up into the darkness of the trunk. The muffled noise of the car and the road beneath it swiveled about his stuffy head alongside the consistent high-pitched tone echoing around him. No. No this couldn't be it. He couldn't allow that, couldn't allow Eric Cartman to take everything from him.
His jaw trembled, groaning at another series of bumps from their travels, his head weighed down from his stress bouncing against the bottom, rattling him more than he'd ever care to admit. He was dizzy, head absolutely pounding from crying and screaming, from being thrown around time and again only to emerge onto a new wave of torment. 'Kenny, what do I do?' he begged, choking out another exhausted sob before shrieking in shock as another sharp turn threw him off balance and sent him crashing into the left wall of his confinement. He shook his head, curling up and quivering. He was far beyond the point of merely disadvantaged anymore, every possible scenario he could envision leading him to the conclusion of either death or just more severe punishment for not cooperating.
Glassed eyes opened in the darkness, looking towards the end of the trunk, pupils shrinking at a distinct glow; a literal light at the end of his tunnel. A glow in the dark tab; a door release. He squinted, forcing his torso to curl on itself, wriggling incessantly to get a better view of what was sitting there so tantalizingly. Through the blurriness of his tears, he could make out jagged lines, a growl slipping from his throat as he made out the vision of nothing more than a stub barely poking beyond the interior lining. They fucking broke the latch.
Rage swelled within his chest, bruised eyes welling as every diabolical move they'd pulled on him piled at once. From leading him astray with fake numbers, to breaking into his house and beating the shit out of him. From stealing his identity and compromising his good name, to grabbing him in the parking lot and dragging him away because he'd gotten too close. They used him. They attacked him. They stole him. They sold him.
His jaw trembled, throat clenching and breath turning into furious pants as the most damning of all continued to remain firmly seated at the forefront of his mind: They killed Kenny.
An enraged scream broke through at once, twisting himself with his back against the floor yet again, raising his uninjured right leg and contorting to get his foot planted on the hatch. He yelled as he curled his knee towards his chest, ignoring the stubborn rebellion of his bruised torso as he slammed his shoe up against the unseen roof above him. He could only feel the tremors cascading down his leg, unable to tell how much noise he was making and if the other occupants of the car could hear him. But it didn't matter, what mattered now was survival. And if he let them get him on a fucking plane, that was it. That was the end of the line.
He tried kicking straight above, unable to do so in the limited space, giving himself as little angle as possible. His toes cracked within his shoe, cartilage of his patella popping as he repeated the motion time and again, feeling the limited give the hatch was allowing him. Even if he couldn't kick it open, maybe someone outside would hear, someone following the car might be able to tell that something's awry and get the cops. Teeth bore down on the cloth in his mouth, letting the smell of Kenny latch onto his sinuses, ignoring the notion of how childish it was to hope that a part of him was there; that he'd help him escape with some kind of divine intervention. Every bit of hope helped at this point, Lord knowing that nearly all of it had been doused in a haze at 1,600 feet per second.
The redhead grunted, calf beginning to throb with pain as again and again he assaulted the roof, blinking at a sudden influx of air and heart lifting in the belief that he'd managed to free himself. His dream was quickly put down as a hand tangled in his hair from the front of the car, screaming as he was dragged up through the lowered backseat panel, wincing as he stared up at an infuriated Burke.
"Keep him up with you," Cartman snapped, reaching under his seat and snagging a winter emergency blanket, throwing it at Myers crouched on the floor from moving out of the panel's way. "We can't have him fuckin' wakin' up the town!"
Kyle gasped as he was drug through the seat, kicking and trying to get himself out of the hands grasping around him. He yelped at a sharp slap against his cheek, looking up through bleary eyes to see Kashkov snapping something at him, gulping at nothing but static in his ears. He jerked around violently as he was ripped from the hold, slammed down into Burke and Kashkov's laps while Myers scrambled to get back into place. He whined, arching up before a strong hand pressed against his sternum and sent him firmly down.
He snapped his head as a punch landed on his arm, looking through bloodshot eyes to Cartman blathering on about something before the brunette stopped, brows furrowing as he could read the cluelessness on Kyle's face.
The glutton glanced up at his lackeys, "The fuck?"
"I don't think he can hear," Burke said with a frown, planting Kyle down as he continued to squirm.
Kyle groaned in disgust as his head was shoved onto Kashkov's lap, feeling the remaining man throwing the blanket over his legs and holding around them, the heavy fabric being pulled over his torso and making way to his head. He screamed as it was slammed around his face, body twisted as he was held firmly in three sets of arms, one making way around his throat. He croaked out a whimper, eyes bulging in fright as he stared at the blanket. He began to quake, wondering just what the hell they planned on doing with him, gasping lightly at the arm holding tighter around his neck.
Cartman looked at the blanketed form and rolled his eyes. "He should be fine after a while. Doesn't count as damaged merchandise, Kashkov," he said sharply.
The noirette scoffed before giving him a simple smirk. "I do not mind. Ees easier to grab thees way."
"That's the spirit," Burke said wryly. They all grunted at a sharp turn, losing the smoothness of pavement as they made way into a dirt trail leading down into Starks. "Ain't they gonna see the tracks?"
"Nope," Cartman shook his head, shoving his phone into his pocket. "Have someone on the way to smooth it down already. Just hurry up," he snapped to the driver.
The man nodded sharply, "What then?"
"Then you and Myers take the car and get the fuck out of here," he said, brushing his hair back. Keep me updated and as soon as you say you're ready to fly, we'll call someone to pick us up so we can get him there. Where're you stopping? I'll have to make more calls."
Myers shrugged from the backseat, tightening his grip around Kyle's legs as he attempted to exhaustedly kick him away again. "Fulton in New York, then probably we'll head to Worcester and have to figure out from there what countries are goddamn open," he rolled his eyes. "Since this is fucking impromptu. Hard for us to be able to land in Russia," he drawled, glaring over at Kashkov.
The man rolled his eyes, "You land een Finlyandiya. I call associate for meeteeng and get ride past border. Not so hard. 'ave gotten many across before."
"Pretty sad he can do your job better than you can," Cartman drawled. The pilot let out a long sigh, violently punching Kyle's leg as he continued to squirm.
"How long we gotta keep 'im there?" Burke questioned.
"Until we get clearance, we won't until morning at least," the other said, swerving the car out to run alongside the large pond glimmering in the shrouded moonlight. "We had a big run earlier out to Greece, bigger plane was kind of needed."
Cartman sighed, "Great. Well fine. We'll keep it quiet here and you two figure out where to go from here. Dump the car at 18, I'll have someone else pick you up." The both of them nodded in understanding, the brunette looking back out the windshield and his eyes gleamed deviously. "There it is," he purred, pointing to a subtle lump in the distance, a small field of tall, untamed grass sprouting about. "Stop here," he ordered, the car sliding to a halt on the dusty trail. The driver and Cartman quickly got out of the car, Kashkov shoving his door open and the three holding Kyle slowly edged out of his side to take him out of the vehicle together.
Kyle's heart was pounding furiously, partially-blocked breath coming through in rasps as he was carried away blindly. He whimpered, a condescending pat on his head making his blood boil. Cartman walked out into the unkempt weeds, glancing through and around until a shine caught his eye. He grinned, heading over to a large metal door; a hatch wheel closed in by two small parallel steel handles to either side. He quickly bent down and grunted as he undid the door, hearing the telltale click of the locking mechanism sliding out of place.
"Ya don't lock it?" Burke narrowed his eyes.
"When I bought it, the dumbshit builder had lost the key," he said dryly. "Had to get someone to pick it open the first time we used it. Myers, Parson, get down there and get ready to catch Kahl," he directed. The pilots looked at each other before sighing, Myers releasing Kyle's legs and the redhead starting to kick yet against with the loss of the hold. Cartman rolled his eyes, walking over and snagging them himself in one flabby arm, watching as Myers peeled back the top steel hatch, beginning to follow his copilot down the built-in ladder into the darkness. The three remaining above ground stepped forward, tightening their grips on Kyle as they peered down into the abyss. "There's a light, should be right to your left when you hit the ground," Cartman informed them. They waited a few beats, wincing a tad as the bulb switched on, seeing the two waiting expectantly.
"We're ready!" Myers called up, both of them holding out their arms and bracing their feet firmly on the cement below them.
"Make sure you catch his stupid Jew head!" Cartman demanded, ripping the blanket off of Kyle's shaking form. The redhead blinked, finding the clouded sky above him all at once and narrowing his eyes in confusion as he was walked forward. He glanced to the side, adjusting eyes making out the silhouette of the opened hatch and he gulped. The bunker. They took him to the fucking bunker. The three above cupped under the redhead and knelt down, moving him to fit through the hatch in his supine position. Kyle's breath picked up rapidly, seeing the good ten foot drop down to the waiting pilots and he frantically shook his head, trying to roll back onto the safety of the ground. "On three," Cartman said, forcing Kyle's lean legs to fold up further and smirking at the terror wracking through him violently. "And three," he hissed, the group letting their arms fall limp and watching Kyle begin to plummet downwards.
The redhead screeched, bracing himself for impact, wondering if this was how it'd end, his skull broken on the cement, left to bleed out alone with a fractured occipital just like Kenny. He came down into the pilots' arms with a loud yelp, a hand catching between his scraped skull and neck in a light cup. The remaining arms dug deep into his back, hips, and the back of his knees as he landed, the brutal force bringing stinging tears to his eyes, shaking as his heart and lungs tried to catch up with him again, staring up at the ceiling with pupils unseeing as he let himself realize that he was still alive, that he hadn't crashed and broken his head clean open. The three from above quickly began to scale down the ladder towards them, the pilots easily keeping hold of the catatonic accountant as they backed up to give them room.
Cartman landed on the ground first with a smirk, glancing around at the cement room with an eye roll. "I always forget to clean this place up," he muttered, eyes sweeping across the dusted furniture, a pile of discarded food cans and jars in a corner beside a thin, metal support beam. He hummed, smacking his lips as the other two came beside him, Kashkov stepping up and taking Kyle from their arms, glancing down with an amused smirk at the empty shock residing in his green eyes, glittering with tears from the single fluorescent strip above their heads.
"All right," Cartman said firmly, "You two get out, close the door behind you. Keep me updated, understand?"
"Gotcha," they replied simultaneously, heading back up the way as those remaining watched, waiting for the hatch to close and re-click into position before turning to look at the shivering captive.
Cartman smirked, walking up and leaning over him, brushing sweated bangs off his forehead as Kyle slowly looked at him, the rage coming alive once more at that snarky grin. "Chain him to the pole," he instructed. "He can stay with the rest of the trash."
Kashkov rolled his eyes but nodded, carrying him over and placing him down on the ground. Kyle groaned as he was forced up against the pole, wincing at a large hand grabbing his thin wrists to keep together as he was re-chained. The idea of fighting away came and died off quickly, knowing that at this point that'd just equal getting punched in the face again with as injured as he was. He let his gaze slowly slither around the bunker. A part of him couldn't help but be impressed, knowing that one man had dug this himself so long ago. Maybe ten by twenty feet, he could see two large chairs and a bunk bed propped in the corner. A pantry sat beside him, discarded non-perishable food canisters lying behind him. He turned his head slightly, seeing a couple mason jars filled to the brim with tomatoes, mashed berries, and assorted vegetables gleaming dimly in the light in front of the stack of canned beans.
He turned back with a sharp yank of his wrists, looking over to see Kashkov smirking at him before patting his cheek, laughing as Kyle recoiled from the touch. "You vill be fine," he promised, Kyle watching his lips move, knowing without hearing that he was being spoken to condescendingly. "I vill give you own room, vill be nice," he shrugged before getting to his feet and moving back over to the other two.
Cartman plopped down on a chair and sighed, stretching tiredly, "You're being far too nice to the Jew," he commented.
Kashkov shrugged, moving to sit in the opposite seat, looking over at the defeated redhead with a twitching smile. "'ee fights. Ees different. Vill be challenge once 'ome."
Burke scoffed, sitting on the bottom bunk and cracking his neck. "The fuck you want him for? Coulda bought someone else for cheaper, sent him off to 4K guy."
Once more, his shoulder raised dismissively. "I deed long ago back 'ome. Bought many. None fought, just dealt vith eet," he said plainly before pointing a finger towards the redhead. "'ee von't. As I said, 'ee can do books. Vill serve 'ees purpose."
Cartman leaned his head into his hand, cocking his brow slowly. "Awfully confident there. You don't know Kahl like I do. You may think it's fun now but you'll hate him in a few hours."
He smirked, "You 'ave not pushed 'eem like I vill. Tune vill change. I guarantee."
Kyle looked at the three of them blankly, wishing he could hear what the fuck they were even saying. His body slumped, shoulders heaving as tears once more began to fall down his cheeks. He was so tired. Just so fucking tired and hurt. His insides were searing with pain, hearing that gunshot over and over. On a constant loop it ran, reminding him just where he was, just how utterly alone he was. He leaned his head back, staring up at the light and letting hot tears trail down to his neck. 'I wish he hadn't gotten there in time,' he thought miserably. 'That would've been so much better than this…"
He hiccupped out a sob, mind overran with an agonizing guilt burrowing itself straight into his twisted chest once more. Blonde hair and kind blue eyes flooded his memory, the feeling of rayon beneath his fingertips, chapped lips pressing against him in a quiet new language of trust and care. He'd lost his chance entirely. He'd never get to know about what Kenny had hid so well from him over the years: His secret alter ego, his feelings for him, just every little aspect that Kyle would get to explore had fate veered them towards a favorable path. He'd never get to revel in how brave he was, never get to tell him that, despite his lectures, he was proud of how he'd taken up the cape, made it his mission to make the world a better place from both his day and night shifts. He'd never get to see him without the blindfold, be able to watch baby blues locked on him, see how his hair shifted between his fingers as they moved together. He'd lost every single fucking chance for something new.
He'd seen the fear in Kenny's eyes when Cartman blurted out his name, how he tensed, feared that Kyle would react venomously, as though uttering that particular name would be a breaking point. As though Kyle would recoil from him, curse his name. Given, Kyle had no idea how he would've reacted were this done correctly. Maybe he would've been too shocked to say a damn thing for an hour, maybe he would've walked over and punched Kenny's face in for lying to him. Maybe he would feel like he did right now beneath the layers of pain and heartache, where he realized he didn't care that it was Kenny. That it was flattering and surreal, that he couldn't picture it being anyone else with all the pieces falling into place. It fit too well. They fit too well, they always had. This entire scenario had proven it, the mental blocking Kyle may have experienced were Kenny being himself at the time were nonexistent, and the blonde getting to hide who he was took out the same stops. They had proven they'd had a chance… but now it was gone. Any prayer of what could come about was just swiped away by the hands of a madman. He shuddered, tears falling harder than before, curling up into himself protectively.
Mysterion was what he'd needed, but Kenny had, within only moments, become what he wanted.
The three turned and looked over at his noise, smirking as they watched him crying yet again. "Poor Kahl," Cartman commented with a low chuckle, leaning his head further into his hand, shifting down into the plush cushion comfortably. "A shame, really. Kinny tried so hard to get him out."
Burke nodded, plopping down onto his stomach on the weak mattress and watching the sobbing accountant in boredom. "Thought you were buddies with Blondie."
"Business comes first," he said thickly. "Po'Boy was just as nosey as Kahl. Gettin' him out of the way was necessary." He sighed, settling back once more as he watched the redhead with lax eyes. "And besides… only idiots try to be heroes."
The bunker was eerily quiet, Kyle's sobs long since stopped as he stared down at his legs with a broken expression. His hearing was coming back in waves as the hours passed, hearing mumbles now and again from those across the room. He shifted atop the hard floor, wincing at the pins and needles ravaging his thighs and calves. He let out a long, pained breath as his wrists rubbed against their metal hold, feeling the skin torn and rubbed beyond raw.
Cartman's head was leaned back, eyes drooping as he tried to keep himself awake along with his counterparts. It was only five, they still had a few hours to go at least. A quick call had informed him that there was a storm sweeping through New York state, and that getting a small, private plane there would be damn near impossible. And of goddamn course they couldn't travel west, because god forbid they enter Russian airspace and risk being declared an unknown American threat.
"Most likely eleven at the earliest," he'd been told. Had to wait for the clouds to clear and the turbulence to settle itself as the storm headed to ravage the Midwest before it'd eventually sweep South and they could finally get through the airspace with relative ease. From there he'd have to figure this out, how to get Kyle aboard the plane in broad daylight. A small, private airport secured by himself and associates provided him with fantastic chance for no one seeing their moves, but also opened up the door for passing cops to see and make note, their plane being halted and searched in New York before it all traced back to him and Kyle was safely sent home. His eyes flickered to the slumped redhead. Like hell he'd let his hard work be foiled. He'd give direct orders for one of them to put a bullet through Kyle's head to keep him from testifying the moment they felt they were about to be questioned. Murder charges would be nothing compared to all the information that their hostage could give to the legal authorities.
Cartman glanced at the dried garnet stains cresting his jacket sleeve, residue of Kenny still left on his fingers and wrist and he rolled his eyes, wishing he'd thought to bring some fucking hand sanitizer before tonight. Given, Kenny was certainly not an element he'd planned for, he'd had to act on his feet, and there were no other options with Stan so close to him.
He grumbled, getting to his feet and stretching, Kashkov and Burke barely able to keep their eyes open to watch him as he meandered over towards Kyle. The redhead looked up, brow furrowing at the glutton as he kneeled down in front of him. He smirked, "Can ya hear me yet?" he questioned, Kyle continuing to stare at him stoically. He shrugged, smacking his lips. "Well then I'm sure you won't mind me tellin' ya somethin': Kinny knew better," he said plainly. "He knew he shoulda stayed out of it. So you can hate me all you goddamn want, but that poor piece of shit knew what he was fuckin' risking. And for you of all people. Honestly that fact alone was enough for him to get shot through the fucking face."
Kyle's eyes widened with pure fury, body awkwardly twisting in its hold before Cartman could comprehend what was happening and slamming his right shoe up against his nose. The brunette fell back with a yelp, rolling onto his knees and cupping over his face, letting out agonized groans as a trail of blood began running down his lips. He pulled his hands down, locking glowering eyes on the enraged redhead, watching the tremors wracking through him. "So, guess you can hear me," he said in a dangerously spiteful tone. "Then you'll hear this, too," he spat, moving back forward and grabbing Kyle's head, forcing it back against the pole and watching him scrunch his eyes and moan in pain. "You get to fucking remember that shot every day for the rest of your miserable fucking life," he hissed. "And you get to remember that if you hadn't gotten so fucking nosey, that sack of shit would still be alive."
Kyle's heart sank further, creaking his eyes open and staring at the brunette, wavering breaths seeping through his tied lips. Green eyes glazed over once more with pained tears, Cartman watching him unraveling yet again with a heady glee. Kyle hated this. Hated it beyond all measure; because he knew he couldn't even deny it. If he'd told Mysterion from the start to leave him be, to let him figure it out on his own terms, then Kenny would still be alive. Maybe… God, who knew? It could've gone in any direction, maybe even with the exact same results. But there could've been a chance that he would've been safe; and that unforeseeable timeline was already beginning its haunting marks over the man's weary psyche.
The four occupants jerked with a sharp, rapid knock on the steel door above their heads. Cartman narrowed his eyes, standing up and staring at the hatch. "Burke," he muttered, pointing down at Kyle. The redhead's heart leapt. A rescue. This could be his rescue. The elation was short lived as the tall brunette made way and knelt down beside him, snaring around his shoulders and shoving his gun up under Kyle's chin. He whimpered a bit, shaken into silence as they all watched the door confusedly.
"You call for anyone?" Burke asked lowly.
Cartman shook his head, waving Kashkov to stand with him, both of them slowly taking out their .22's and training them upwards. Kyle's eyes widened in fear. What if it was Stan behind the door?! He took a shaking breath, yelping quietly at the grip around him tightening and closing his eyes. 'Oh god don't let it be Stan,' he prayed, gulping and feeling the gun moving along his throat with the motion of his trachea.
Another knock came and went, tense silence floating through the concrete bunker. They all stiffened as the door began to creak, watching the hatch wheel slowly making its round before clicking open, gradually making way up to open to the night sky. Cartman and Kashkov raised their guns, narrowing their eyes as a pair of hands came over the opening. "Don't shoot, Boss!"
Cartman lowered his defense a tad, squinting towards the open space. "Name?" he barked.
"Deathstalker and Krait!" the voice came.
Kyle's heart sank as the three of them all lowered their guns, letting out sighs of relief. Kyle may not have wanted Stan in the line of fire, but that didn't fucking mean he wanted more of these fuckers to deal with. He groaned as Burke tapped his cheek lightly with his gun before switching the safety back on and shoving it into his waistband, the four of them watching as two bodies appeared to begin climbing down the ladder.
The redhead's eyes widened, nausea building as the figures made their way down, clothed in dark blue uniforms; the shining gold patch stitched into their sleeves reading 'Park County- 8th Precinct' gleaming in his bloodshot stare. Cartman smirked, catching the pure aura of distraught leaking off the accountant and chuckling. "What can we do for you, boys?" he asked coolly. "No doughnuts down here, I'm afraid."
The first man snorted, hopping down onto the ground and looking over at the captive redhead. "Figured you brought him here. Only place that made sense."
Cartman shrugged dismissively. "And you're checking it out because…?" he urged.
The second landed on the cement and frowned, "Because we have a detective with a list of locations. He split us into groups to search 'em all to find him," he pointed to Kyle, the man sinking in his contained position. "We made sure to grab the stack with this one. Need you to move him so we can take fucking pictures to send to 'im to show that it's 'clear'."
The glutton rolled his eyes amusedly. "Marsh is so damn good at his job, dontcha think, Kahl?" he purred.
Kyle growled, shrinking down as Kashkov approached him to unchain his wrists again. Kyle tried to break away, the noirette not the slightest bit deterred as he snagged his freed, torn appendage and wrenched it back. He forced the man onto his feet, walking him to the other side of the room and holding him back as one of the cops grabbed his phone, snapping a few quick pictures of the abandoned side. "Look," one of them said lowly, glancing back at Cartman, "Marsh is out of his damn mind right now wanting to find this guy," he jerked his head towards Kyle's weakened form. "Hopefully you can get him out soon, because I'm sure he's gonna check out every location himself regardless."
"Probably can't move him until early afternoon," he grumbled, waiting for their 'inspection' to be done before waving Kashkov over to put him back against the pole. Kyle glanced up shadily at the corrupt cops as he was made to limp his way back to his corner, groaning as he was shoved down and re-tethered.
"You really fucked up killin' the other guy," the second commented dryly, waving the group out of the way to get a clear picture of the other side. "Marsh is out for your goddamn head."
"Can he prove it was me?" he asked point-blank.
They shrugged, "As of now, no. But they have your name. There's a statewide APB out for him," the first pointed at the redhead as he was jostled about. "Hate to say it, but you really fucked with the wrong detective. Fuckin' Murphy trained him, he's second in line for the head job if rumors mean a damn thing," he scoffed. "You may need to get out of town for awhile."
"And raise my suspicion level?" he cocked his brow. "No, I need to stay here to clear up my name."
"It may not work," he insisted. "Best option is to get him out of here and keep low for a bit. We'll do what we can but you're gonna be cuttin' it close with Marsh heading the investigation."
Cartman rolled his eyes and groaned, glaring over at Kyle. "I already had to knock off one of your boyfriends, didn't think I'd have to get 'em both." Kyle glared darkly at him, not even looking as Kashkov patted his head and made way back towards the group. The redhead took a shaking breath. Good. Stan was on the frontline of the case. Stan would never let him be swiped off to another fucking country. And he was smart enough to know how to keep himself protected, he'd know right off that he could be another potential target.
But then again… he glanced over at the two faux citizen protectors. Then again, Stan had not only the syndicate to work against, but corruption within his home territory. How far could he really get when he was trudging uphill through four feet of sludge trying to keep him at bay? Kyle had no doubt in Stan's abilities, knew that he'd be able to figure out just what had happened to him. The problem instead was whether or not his best friend could get him out before it was too late.
Cartman leaned his head back and groaned. "Look, take this address out of the stack for now," he ordered. "If he catches it, play dumb and say 'whoops we forgot' or some shit and show him the pictures. We'll have Kahl out of here by afternoon, keep him fucking preoccupied as long as you can, you understand me?" he demanded. "Hand it off to whoever takes over your shift in the group and fill them in."
"Will do," the first nodded, glancing back at Kyle and slowly looking back at the brunette expectantly. "But… how much to do that?"
"Two thousand. Each," he said sharply. "That's more than enough for you to keep your fucking mouths shut. Now get out of here," he bit.
They smirked, giving him a salute. "Always a pleasure," the man purred, waiting for his partner to make his way halfway up the ladder before following suit. Kyle watched with deadened eyes as the first unwound the hatch wheel and pushed it back up with a grunt, allowing the two of them to hop back up into the night. He cringed as the door was shut once more and the wheel tightened yet again, looking back at his aching legs.
The three remaining stared at him before looking at each other and sighing exhaustedly. "Fuckin' what a night," Burke muttered, moving back over and plopping down on the bottom bunk with a long groan.
"Been awhile since we've had this much goin' on," Cartman scoffed, going back to his chair and Kashkov following his lead.
Burke looked up from the mattress at the noirette with a cocked brow, "Mind if I hitch a ride with ya to Russia? Feel like we should all get out for a while."
The man shrugged, "Fine by me. More 'elp for 'andleeng Ryzhevolosyy. 'ee vill be 'andful, no doubt."
Cartman snorted, "All right, Boys, plan your honeymoon on the plane. I'm sure Kahl over there will accommodate you both," he waved towards the redhead lazily. "Probably a good idea, actually," he shrugged, nestling down further into his dusty chair with a long yawn. "You do that and I'll handle damage control. We'll figure out where to go from there in a few weeks. If you're both there though, I expect twice the work. Got it?"
"Pajalsta," Kashkov scoffed, shifting into a more comfortable position, eyes drooping with the fading adrenaline from their surprise visit. "Business vill stay course."
The brunette nodded slowly, head bobbing with heavy purpose. "Good," he muttered. "We'll get this bullshit done just as soon as they call," he grabbed his phone and exhaustedly set it atop his thigh. He looked up and smirked at Kyle watching them with a crushed expression before his eyes slowly slipped shut and a content sigh escaped his lips. "Just a few hours, Kahl. Then you'll be on your way to your new home," he promised in a mumble.
Kyle blinked, looking at the three of them all slumping and beginning to dwindle down from exhaustion, gulping lightly. Stan may be tearing apart the town looking for him, but he'd learned one thing from watching the horrors of Kenny being shot down in front of him: He couldn't just wait around and hope to be saved. He had to do something. With a shaking jaw, watching the three across from him with extreme caution, he leaned back, shifting a bit lower and making himself look as though he was merely slouching in misery. And genially, his bound hands stretched behind him until his fingers hit the one of the glass mason jars resting at the foot of the pile of cans, silently and stealthily sliding it behind his back.