A/N: Yay based on my favorite song for the past like six years. Best song eva. Let's have some Kyle fun.

Enjoy~

'You'd think these fuckers could afford more comfortable chairs,' he grimaced as his aching, cold body squirmed atop his confinement. He'd been handcuffed to the chair for hours, having to fall asleep sitting up, waking up every few minutes as his body slumped and sent his heart into an unruly panic. He was just so tired. He couldn't tell what time of day it was, a heavy blindfold secured over his eyes. His entire body felt like ice, his clothing gone sans his boxers as the Rats had stripped him down looking for more weapons. He growled, trying again futilely to relinquish his bound wrists and ankles from their metal hold.

Kyle groaned, sinking down against the chair and directing his blinded eyes towards the ceiling. He hoped that Stan made it out. God he could only pray that he'd been able to run back to base. He never heard a gunshot, but he wasn't entirely sure if the walls of the building had been soundproofed or anything of the sort. He had been secured by more Rats and blindfolded the moment he was brought into the building. He bit his lip, knowing well enough that if Stan got back to the team, they were going to be arguing. Arguing over him, whether or not to rescue him.

He couldn't help but feel torn, he did have a little more bias towards himself. He knew well enough though that the team didn't know the area as well as he did, or at least as well as he thought he did. He sighed, letting his head drop back down in defeat. He didn't know why he was here, no one had said a word to him aside from telling him to stop fighting before he was punched in the face and tied down to his chair. He could still feel the blood of the Rat he'd done away with, now caked and flaking on his cheek. It itched like crazy and he tried to rub it away on his shoulder but it was to no avail. Just another thing to keep him going insane. Why was he here? Why did their boss want him? Was he going to actually be able to get out of this or was he literally just a sitting duck waiting for his execution shot?

His ears perked at the sound of the door opening and he looked straight up, hearing a mess of footsteps come into the room.

"Hello there, Son," a gentle man's voice spoke.

Kyle's teeth bared, his rancor spiking at the soothing tone. "Let me out of here, you fuck!" he sneered.

"Robert, close the curtains will you?" the voice calmly delivered. "Otherwise he'll be blinded and that's no way to treat our guest."

Kyle's brow rose. "Handcuffing me to a chair isn't exactly something for a dinner party, either, Buddy," he spat.

"Shut up, you," an angry voice came from behind him.

"Make me!" he shouted, twisting his head in that direction.

"Now, now, Robert," that damn tone filled the air once more. "There's no reason to speak to him as such. He's frightened."

"Ha!" Kyle scoffed. "You think I'm scared of you pussies? Please. My little brother is more intimidating than you fucks could ever hope to be! Hiding behind your little fucking guns? What a way to announce that you Rat fuckers are nothing."

The voice laughed a bit, seeming as though he genuinely enjoyed Kyle's comment, and it only made the redhead more furious. "Ah, Robert, take off his blindfold, will you? Gently, though, it may be caught in his hair."

"Yes sir," the angrier voice said. The blindfold was slowly peeled off of Kyle's head. He groaned and shook himself, his eyes squinting as he tried to adjust himself to the dimness of the room.

"How's that?" the soft voice asked.

"Who are you?!" Kyle seethed, trying to ward off the throbbing of his eyeballs.

"You may call me Peter."

"I'd rather call you Assfuck to be honest with you, Peter," he grumbled, finally managing to work his eyes all the way open. The shapes in front of him were slightly distorted and he sighed irritably.

"Turn the dimmer up," Peter directed. "Very slowly though."

Kyle watched as the light crept up, his eyes easily adjusting to the rhythm. He stared in front of him, his green eyes sharply glancing over his adversaries. One Rat in the front of the room, one to his side...he looked in confusion at a man in a three piece suit sitting a few feet away from him, staring back at him with a crooked smile. He had to have been in his late forties, dark brown hair slightly receding, soft hazel eyes that Kyle shuddered at. They were almost comforting in a way, he'd seen that same look in Stan's eyes so many times, and so many times he'd been saved by that kind of gaze.

The lights reached their peak and Peter grinned, "How's that?" he asked again.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "Peachy. Now what the fuck do you want?" he shivered, his body trying to combat his coldness with the bitter heat of his anger.

Peter's gaze fell into concern and he got to his feet, Kyle watching his every move as he went over towards a closet, opening it and grabbing a large item out from a shelf. He unfolded it, revealing a wool blanket. Kyle watched in complete confusion as the man came over and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders.

"Are you thirsty?" Peter asked him, taking his seat again. "I know you've been here all night."

Kyle blinked at him, "What the...yeah, I'm fucking thirsty. Gonna poison me or some shit if I ask for water?" he asked dryly. "Let me have a nice cool sip before you shoot me in the face?"

"We have no intention of harming you," he raised his brow amusedly. He reached back behind him on a table and tossed a bottle over to Robert still standing and watching the redhead. "Show him the seal," he directed. The Rat showed Kyle the unbroken seal of the water bottle and the boy felt his bewilderment rising like no other. "Give him a drink," he nodded. The Rat unscrewed the bottle and held the mouth to Kyle's lips. He blinked a few times suspiciously before his dried throat took hold over all else. He lunged forward and grabbed it between his lips, taking grateful gulps of the crisp, chilled drink and letting it run down his throat, sating its pain at last. He managed to down half of it before finally pulling back and coughing a bit, a little running down his chin. He looked over at Peter who was just staring at him with that fucking crooked smile.

"I would thank you, but I'm not too keen on befriending the enemy," Kyle glowered.

"I'm not your enemy, Mr. Broflovski," he chuckled.

Kyle froze, his entire body rigid under the warmth his blanket was providing him. "What...what did you say?" he asked, his voice a tiny, cracking whisper.

Peter grinned, waving dismissively. "Men, take your leave. Mr. Broflovski and I have business to discuss."

"Yes, Sir," they saluted before walking out of the room, leaving Kyle and Peter staring at each other.

"How...how the fuck do you know me?" Kyle finally growled.

Peter got up and walked towards the end of the table, grabbing a manilla folder from the end and taking his seat once more. "Kyle Broflovski," he read. "Straight A student, treasurer of the school council, captain of the math and debate teams, was captain of the basketball team-"

"Okay so you found my permanent record or some shit," Kyle rolled his eyes. "Why do you fucking have it? What do you want?"

Peter looked up at him, his hazel eyes dancing in the lights. "Kyle," he started simply, watching the boy flinch at his name, "I want you."

Kyle backed up in his chair, looking at the man uncertainly. "The fuck do you mean?"

Peter chuckled, grabbing another paper from the folder and holding it up. Kyle squinted at it before his heart nearly stopped. It was an old blueprint of his. He thought he'd lost it in a raid nearly a year ago...he bit his lip, looking at the man with confusion overshadowing his jade gaze. "You...are a remarkable young man," Peter said softly. "These blueprints...made from what little you could see. It's astounding."

"It's not fucking hard to draw squares and label them," he rolled his eyes. "But I guess you wouldn't know considering the fucktard soldiers that you send after us every fucking day," he glared. "And how do you know that I made them? It could easily have been some other kid."

He shook his head, "No, it couldn't have. One, we compared your handwriting to some of your papers kept in school files," he raised his brow as Kyle shrunk down bitterly. "Two, we've seen you. We've had our eye on you for well over a year now," he smirked. "We've seen you on your little trips around, seen how well you command your little band of friends. You know exactly what needs done and you get it done. I need that in my squadron."

Kyle's face twisted, "You want me to work for you? You want me to work for the fuckers who came in and destroyed our lives? Took our homes, our families? You think that this is some fucking game, Peter?" he spat the name in distaste.

Peter sighed and shook his head, putting the folder onto the table. He slowly got to his feet and walked over to a sink beside the closet, grabbing a paper towel and beginning to run it under the water. "You don't know what it is we're doing here, Kyle," he said softly, finishing wetting it and wringing it out. "What we're doing...is so important for this country," he walked back over towards him. Kyle flinched back from him, gritting his teeth before the paper towel slowly started washing the bloody handprint from his cheek and chin.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he groaned, a part of him relieved that the itching finally fucking stopped, but he wasn't about to let the man see that.

Peter was silent until he finished his work, tossing the used towel into a trash can on the other end of the room. He moved in front of Kyle, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. "Tell me, what was South Park like before all of this started?"

He cocked his brow, "It was a town. It was a fucking town. People doing their thing and going about their days...aside from the occasional disaster that had to be averted," he rolled his eyes.

"Ah, and who may I ask, often averted those disasters?" he smiled at him. "Yourself."

Kyle blushed a bit and growled, "Not only me, you know."

"Ah yes, your friends Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormick, and Eric Cartman were all often involved in some way or another, yes?" Kyle's heart sunk at their names.

"Cartman was usually the cause of the disasters. But you stay the fuck away from them," he shook furiously in his place.

"We have no use for them," Peter shrugged. "They don't have the tactical know-how that you do..." he continued watching as Kyle quivered, his eyes screaming in anger and panic at the mention of his friends from the enemy. "Anything to help calm your nerves?" he asked softly.

Kyle grew a cocky smirk, his shaking ceasing, and the man watched him questionably. "Smoke if you got 'em," he said dryly.

Peter raised his brow amusedly. "Regular or menthol?"

"Oh, menthol, please," he huffed. He knew if he made it out of this, he'd have to blame Christophe for starting him on the damn things. But watching the man take a pack from out of his pocket got him salivating for a taste. Peter held one to his lips and he took it between his teeth, letting him light him up and taking a deep inhale. He sighed, letting a cloud of smoke escape his lips as he kept the stick clenched between his molars. Peter watched him amusedly as his nose twitched with the smoke billowing into his eyes, but he couldn't care less. The bite was more than worth it. "So," he managed to fumble out past the smoldering cigarette, "important for the country, huh?"

Peter nodded, "You see, Kyle, South Park was...a pox you could say. Did nothing but cause trouble for the rest of the country time and again...action had to be taken."

Kyle felt that anger starting to boil up inside him again, "You. You killed our parents!" he spit, his teeth gnashing the filter angrily. "Why the fuck would you fucking do that?! What kind of government sanctioned bullshit is-"

"We're not part of the usual government," he cut him off, leaning back against the table. "We're a special sect. We're known as Project Vivification."

Kyle raised his brow, taking another deep inhale of his menthol, letting the harsh smoke try its damnedest to calm his nerves. "And just who fucking authorized your little 'awakening' group?" he asked.

Peter laughed, "It's nice to know there's someone out there who doesn't need a dictionary every time they know of our name."

"So happy to make your day," he scoffed, ashing to his side with his tongue.

"Your government did," he said simply. "South Park was chosen to be...a better society. One made for the upcoming realities facing our country."

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "The fuck do you mean?"

He sighed, shrugging a bit, "Children...are so adaptable," he said softly. "You throw them into any situation and they find a way to make it work. Look at tales like Lord of the Flies and whatnot."

"Uh, hey, Dumbass, did you even read that fucking book?" he snorted mockingly. "Their society fell the fuck apart, the same way that ours did," he glowered.

"Ah, but how did they start?"

"Poorly," he frowned. "No one could agree on what was the most important element to start with and it spiraled downhill from there." he groaned, fidgeting in his chair. "Didn't know I'd be giving a middle-aged man a fucking English lesson today."

Peter laughed and shook his head, "Ah, but you're forgetting something. They made it. Not all of them of course, but the ones like you did. The ones who could figure things out, who could run the society as smoothly as a poem. The ones who weren't bumbling buffoons and would take matters into their own hands. And you're the one we need, that epitomizes every bit of those elements. You're our Ralph," he grinned.

"Except for one very key difference," Kyle smirked a bit. "Ralph didn't resort to violence. If I had my hands free, I'd tear that fucking smile right off your fucking face. Besides," he scoffed, leaning back and bobbing his cigarette in his lips, "Everyone but the fat kid and the epileptic survives. It's the savage kids that make up the majority, not the common sense."

"But who do you think would recover the best from such an ordeal? Of that group, who do you think would go home, learn their lessons, and start anew the quickest?"

Kyle frowned, "Well...Ralph I guess?"

"Exactly," he nodded. "I'm no fool, Kyle. I can tell if we took you, dropped you off somewhere in the middle of the country and left you there, you'd manage to start your life over right away. You'd be strong enough to do so."

"No, you're forgetting one crucial detail," he scowled. "I'd come back here."

Peter cocked his head, "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because I'd save the kids of this town from you fuckers. I'd get my own army gathered up, we'd storm your 'precious' wall, and I'd get my friends, my family away from you dirty Rats."

Peter's face broke into a wider smile and Kyle's into a deeper frown at the reaction. There was just no testing this guy, was there? "See, and that's what I want from my men. I want them to be like you, to know that it's not about yourself, it's about your brothers."

Kyle blinked, his head spinning from all the directions that this crazy explanation was going. "You said...South Park was chosen to be a 'perfect society'," he said quietly. "What kind of perfect society?"

"One built for war," he said simply, as though he were reading off of a fucking grocery list. Kyle's face fell and he continued, "We wanted you children to be bloodthirsty, hungry for vengeance."

"Well, you definitely got your wish," he growled. He noticed his cigarette had smoldered out and spit it onto the ground beside him. "What purpose would that serve for you? Or the government?"

"A society of soldiers, Kyle," he said softly, eyes beaming. "Think of the possibilities that it could have should we be thrown into yet another war!"

He tried desperately to keep his furious breathing under control as he locked eyes with the man. "You didn't think about the ramifications," he spat. "You wanted us to be nothing but war-starved dogs?! You kept killing us off! You won't stop until we're all dead! What purpose do the dead serve you, huh?!"

"The weak are always weeded out in the thrall of war," he replied. "You? You are one of the strong."

"If I was anyone else, I would have been killed automatically when you caught me," he snarled. "Obviously I'm not the 'perfect war machine' you seem to think I am!"

"But look at what you did," he smiled. "You took down one of our own. You fought tooth and nail despite the fact that you knew you weren't going to get away..." he walked behind him and opened the curtains, Kyle noticing that the sun was up and letting out an angry breath. "It's amazing what one can do when at the end of their rope, Mr. Broflovski," he said gently, staring up into the morning sky. "You killed a man with nothing but a little knife. You would have taken out all of us if you could have."

"You're damn right I would've," he scoffed. "You don't give my town any mercy and I don't give you any. An eye for an eye."

"Or in your case, a throat for a throat," he walked back in front of him and raised his brow.

"So that's it? Told me your little plans and you're gonna kill me now? Seems like a waste of time to me, a shitty plot device for a movie that just needs more runtime," he rolled his eyes.

Peter chuckled, "No. No I don't want to kill you, Mr. Broflovski."

"Well you may as well because I'm not working for you," he said lowly. "I'd much rather die than let you fuckers have any control over me."

He smirked, his face taking on a new, evil tone that sent Kyle's heart into an unruly panic. "I don't think you would want to disagree with us, Mr. Broflovski," he said evenly. "You see..." he leaned down and cupped Kyle's chin, forcing him to look back at him straight on. "You hold the lives of all the children left in your hands."

His face fell and his breathing became shallow in the man's grip. "What...what do you mean?"

"I mean a cleansing is going to take place should you not cooperate," he said simply. "Maybe we won't get your little resistance, but we'll get all the kids who live in the town just trying to mind their own business. They're not the fighters anyway. They didn't grow the way that they were supposed to. They just sit there quietly, playing, getting their food rations every day, just waiting for you to do all the work. Kyle, they're worthless to our cause. We kept them alive just waiting for you," he grinned.

"I...I can't..." his chest was twisted fiercely, his teeth grating over his lip. "Why me? Why not one of the other members of my team?" he demanded.

He scoffed a bit, "The only one we had a remote interest in was the little French boy, but we knew he only had the mercenary skills. You have those and more. We want them. We want you to help lead another town down the same path as South Park. We'd kill off the adults, cleanse the town the same way we did yours. Then you would infiltrate, you'd train them to be as sharp and strong as you are, make them into an army unlike any other. One that doesn't care about who's right or wrong, they only want to fight."

Kyle's mouth dropped, his eyes glistening at the proposition held in front of him. "You can't..." he whispered. "You can't do this to another town!" he begged. "You don't understand what we've been through the past two years!" he began shouting out of control, his face beaming red and his body trembling in the man's hold. "Jesus Christ you...you fucking sick..." he stopped, his head dropping as he slowly shook it.

Peter forced his chin back up and looked at Kyle's desperate face with a low chuckle. "Kyle, if you do this, if you promise to help us lead the way, we'll leave South Park. None of your little friends will ever be hurt again. We'll find the money to rebuild, to reopen the town just like it used to be."

"It'll never be like it used to be," he said bitterly, tears beading his lashes. "Our families are gone. Our...our lives...you played with them like fucking toys until they broke!" he screamed, his teeth clattering. "You ruined us for absolutely nothing!"

"Au contraire," he countered. "We got you out of the deal, and now with proper leadership, we can get a town in the right direction. We can move them forward quickly with you holding the reins. Think about it, Kyle. You'd be leading an army. Your friends would be safe and you would have a lot of power for someone so young," he cooed. "You could lead the next generation towards victory, have your name in history books as the general of the perfect army."

Kyle shook his head a bit, "Nothing is ever perfect. If I tried to lead a group, a resistance against me would begin. And you'll be playing this game all over again with some other kid who's just as good as me."

He smirked, "Well that's just a chance we'll have to take, isn't it?" he said, finally relinquishing the redhead. Kyle flew his head back away from him and watched him with blank, dulled eyes. "I know what a decision this must be for you," the man said quietly, gathering his things from the table. He looked back over at him, that damn faux-reassurance smile back over his face. "I'll give you until tomorrow evening to make your decision. Someone will be in in a few hours to feed you..." he paused, chuckling at Kyle's broken expression. "Just remember, Kyle. It's up to you whether these kids, your 'family' as you called them, get to live or die. It should be easy enough for you to realize where your loyalties lie."

He finally gathered his bearings and walked to the front of the room, giving Kyle one last sly grin before opening the door and heading out. The soft echo of it closing bore down on the captive redhead, his body trembling out of his control. He knew that sound, he'd know it anywhere. It'd been plaguing him for the last two years. Every dream, every day that passed came another one. It was the echo of a gunshot, of an execution. He just didn't know this time if it was for the children he'd fought so hard for so long to protect, or if he'd finally found himself caught on the wrong end of the barrel.

A/N: Dun dun dunnnn. That's whatcha get for being smart kids. You have to decide who lives or dies when the government takes over your town. Because reality.

This required heavy research. And by heavy research I mean I had to see if I could smoke a cigarette without using my hands and talk at the same time. It's hard but doable. Science, y'all.

Thanks for R&Ring!