A/N: A part of me is wondering if I'm just trying to finish this story as quickly as possible at this point pft. It's one of my favorites that I've written agh it's so much fun I don't want it to end but I do. First World Probs.

Anyway, enjoy~

His body felt tied down, floating on a raft in the sea of his subconscious. With a cotton-filled head he tried desperately to reach the shore, forcing thick lashes to flutter up and let him see once again. He groaned, shifting. A tight hold on his wrists sent his heart into a flurry, unable to comprehend just what it was he was fighting against.

"Calm down," a dry voice beckoned him, echoing fuzzily in his ears.

He shifted again, biting his lip and arching his back in discomfort. Why was he so heavy? Why couldn't he seem to swim out towards home? "Fuck," he managed to whimper out, his brows furrowing as he fought desperately to become conscious once again. He felt a hand on his shoulder and shivered. It was cold. Why was it so cold?

A dry throat swallowed down what little air he could find, green eyes finally emerging through cinnamon lashes. He managed to roll his head to the side, his mouth hanging partially open in delusion as his mind tried to catch up to his surroundings. He found himself staring at the familiar curly-haired boy from earlier. "Who..." he whispered, his eyes closing again and his breathing deep and desperate.

"Come on, wake up," the boy said firmly. "You killed three men, you can fucking wake up from a goddamn sedative."

Kyle's brows furrowed once more at the word. Sedative. They drugged him. He groaned as recollections flew back into his delirious mind. Perfect society, war, soldiers, cleansing...the words were dis-conjoined, trying to make some lick of sense in his rattled state. He tongued over his dry lips and once again forced his eyes open to see brimming brown eyes staring at him intensely.

"Where am I?" he rasped.

The boy's stance seemed to lessen with a finally complete sentence. "You're back in your holding room," he answered. "You've been unconscious for over ten hours."

His eyes widened a bit, looking around the room and growling under his breath. He looked down, finding himself once again stripped down to his boxers. He sighed irritably, trying to curl his legs together. They were numb. Everything was numb. He tried moving his arms, finding them weighted down against a weakened torso and his frustration began to build. "I want my clothes," he mumbled, his head dropping back down exhaustedly, eyes focusing lazily on the ceiling.

"They...said the only clothes you'd get would be one of our uniforms," the boy said quietly.

Kyle snarled a bit and looked over at him with narrowed eyes. "Who are you?" he asked. "I know you."

The boy scoffed derisively and shrugged, "Yeah, I used to live in South Park. Left about five years ago. Couldn't deal with you conformist fuckers anymore."

The word struck a chord and Kyle blinked in shock, "Michael?"

He nodded, leaning back in his chair and watching the redhead cautiously. "Well I guess not everyone forgot about me. Surprising," he quirked a brow.

Kyle laughed hoarsely, "You kidding? The other three goths just got even more irritating when you left."

Michael nodded sadly, "Yeah...I just got stationed here six months ago...they're dead," he said blandly.

Kyle's chest twisted and he shied down as much as his body would allow it. "I'm sorry, Michael. I...I tried to get them into our team but..."

He waved dismissively, "They would have wanted to go out like that. Not part of any group, just minding their own fucking business. Life sucks, anyway."

"Ain't that the truth," Kyle muttered, blinking slowly and trying to free his hands, growling as the familiar handcuffs cut against his wrists underneath his back. He frowned, "Why are you one of the Rats? That's about as conformist as you're gonna get."

"Needed a fucking job, unfortunately," he rolled his eyes. "Got assigned to medical for some stupid reason and well, here we are."

Kyle stared at him, the confusion within him mounting by the second. "Michael...South Park was your fucking home. Why are you just...letting them do this?"

He quirked a brow, "You think I'm in charge of this shit? Hell, I didn't know it was South Park until someone told me right before I was sent here..." he shifted a bit and rolled his eyes. "Stupid fucks didn't know I was from here, otherwise they wouldn't have deployed me."

"Why not?" he coughed a bit. "Fear of an uprising?"

He shook his head, "No. Part of their little 'initiation' is telling you that if you cooperate, your hometown won't be targeted."

Kyle's eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly, struggling to sit up and failing. Michael sighed, pushing his black bangs back and reaching under him, helping him sit against the wall. Kyle stared at him, spring green starting to spark back to life. "Blackmail?" he managed to let out. "That's why they...oh god..." he bit his lip and shook his head a bit.

Michael scoffed, "I can see those morals of yours are still well and alive in there, Broflovski." Kyle looked at him with a cocked brow and he continued. "Don't think that all the soldiers here are doing it to 'protect their families' or whatever faggy shit you're imagining. Most of them are doing it for fun," he frowned. "There's only a handful of us that don't want anything to do with this bullshit."

Kyle narrowed his gaze, "But...your hometown is already the target. Why did they enlist you if-"

"Because I wanted South Park off my fucking dossier," he cut him off. "I lied on my enlistment form. Didn't know that I'd be sent straight back here...what the fuck are the odds of that?"

"1 in 20,000, give or take," Kyle shrugged.

He rolled his eyes again, "I see you're still a know-it-all goody-goody conformist."

"I'm one of the leaders of a fucking rebellion," he scowled. "And if I was 'just a conformist', I wouldn't be being threatened to be the sole leader of their fucking plans..." he dropped his shoulders and looked at his lap defeatedly. "I...I don't know what to do about it..." he admitted guiltily.

"I'd figure you'd want to escape and 'crush the regime' or whatever it is you superhero types do," he raised his brow.

"Superhero types?" he blinked.

He shrugged, "You should hear the commander prattle on about you. Everyone stationed here knows who you are and what you can do. Especially after today. He told everyone stories about how you've saved kids and managed to outdo us at every turn up until yesterday."

He groaned and rolled his eyes, "I feel like this guy wants to take me on a date more than he wants me to be his general."

"Yeah I was getting the fag vibes from him too," he nodded. "He just thinks that he can win you over with his ideas."

"He definitely waited too long for that," he glowered, gritting his teeth. "I watched way too many of my friends die to think that this is the right path..." he sighed and shook his head. "But...I don't think I have a choice."

"Whaddya mean?"

His emerald eyes began to glisten and he bowed his head shamefully, "I...I can't let more kids die here...we've already lost so much," he whispered. "I think...I'm just going to have to go with you fuckers...but I feel like I'll agree and he'll lock me away and kill everyone anyway. I don't trust him not to..." he beat his head softly against the wall behind him. "I feel like I'm going to fail everybody no matter what I do."

Michael stared at him for an obscene amount of time, watching his lithe form racking through his decision curiously. "You might be right," he finally answered. "But you have more of a chance if you leave than if you stay here."

Kyle looked at him in a bit of shock. "Would...would you let me go?" he whispered, his eyes glimmering with hope.

The noirette sighed and shrugged, "I can't exactly just open the door for you but...I don't know," he finally resolved. "They'll probably kill me if I do, not that living this Hell is worth it anyway. Just fighting for nothing so a bunch of rich-ass fatcats can stay in their mansions from the grants they're getting for their 'revolutionary' ideas."

Kyle shook his head, a phrase that Christophe had taught him ringing through his head like an angered siren song. "'Quand les riches se font la guerre, ce sont les pauvres qui meurent,'" he quoted softly.

"Huh?"

The redhead looked over at him and smiled sadly, "'When the rich wage war, it's the poor that die'..." Kyle watched him nodding at the words and sighed tiredly, his body starting to weigh him down once again. "God...two years of this shit," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if you're right..."

"What do you-" Michael stopped and they both looked as the door was pushed open and Peter stepped into the room, a large smile as he found Kyle.

"Well, Mr. Broflovski, you're up," he nodded approvingly.

He growled, "Let me out of here you sick fuck. I'm done with this kidnapping bullshit."

"Not kidnapping," he said softly. "Holding with persuasion," he chuckled. He eyed Kyle's limbs starting to quiver in fury, trying to rally towards him and he raised his brows in surprise. "Well, I didn't think you'd be so quick to recover from the sedative," he commented. "Michael, give him another small dosage, will you?"

Kyle snarled in fury, trying like all hell to get over and attack the well-dressed man. "You already fucking have me tied the fuck up, what more do you want?!"

He smirked and shrugged, "You were chained up and killed a man today, Mr. Broflovski. I'm not taking that risk again until I have your full compliance. Even then you will be guarded."

"Because nothing says 'follow this leader' more than presenting him to your victims in cuffs," he frowned.

"We'll train you before then," he smiled softly. "We'll get you on our side before you know it." Kyle rolled his eyes and growled and Peter looked back at Michael with a grin. "Dose him up for..." he looked at his watch and hummed. "Another six hours, will you?"

Michael blinked, "Sir, if I give him too much, he could develop some breathing troubles..."

"Then keep a close eye on him, yes?" he raised his brow. "You have full use of our medical facilities and you know that. Keep him out but keep him alive."

"Well then you may wanna throw some fucking insulin on that goddamn list," Kyle rolled his eyes. "You fuckers took me away from my medicine."

"Already gave you your dosage this afternoon," the man chuckled. "Work for us and you won't have to steal it anymore," he added. "Good night, Mr. Broflovski. We'll discuss your decision bright and early."

"Hold it!" Kyle shouted, almost making Michael lose his needle he was preparing. Kyle and the man locked eyes and Kyle's lips curled back into a snarl. "If I work for you, if I agree to this bullshit, how do I know that you won't go back on your promise? How do I know you won't kill all the kids anyway?"

Peter cocked his head and pouted, "Well I'd figure you'd just have to trust me...but we can work a contract or something if that's to your liking. I can easily persuade one of our lawyers to make it for us."

Kyle took a deep breath and sighed, "Fine. Make a contract. We'll talk about it only when I have it in front of me."

The man grinned widely and nodded. "Excellent. I knew you'd think of every possible outcome." Kyle rolled his eyes, watching as Michael grasped his arm, twisting it a bit in its confined position. "Good night, Kyle," Peter nodded, watching the boy inject him before pivoting out of the room and closing the door.

Michael looked up at him with heavy eyes, "I only gave you enough to keep you out for about two hours. You'll be groggy as fuck but you'll be awake. He should be well out himself by then."

"Thanks..." Kyle whispered, letting him help him back onto his back as the thick mist of drowsiness settled around him once again.

"What did you mean I was right?" Michael asked, staring at him inquisitively.

Kyle tried to keep his eyes open, but they refused to give way, the drug speeding through his system like no other. "Sometimes...I think...living this nightmare..." he took a deep breath, his last words falling from his lips as gently as spring rain, "it's just not worth it."

Stan and Kenny held their breaths as they edged closer and closer to the main compound, their hearts beating wildly in their chests. Kenny grasped onto the edge of Stan's shirt and stopped him, passing his tongue over his lips. "Okay," he whispered, "Operation Firecracker is a-go."

"The fuck is that?" Stan stared at him in bewilderment.

"Operation Firecracker...ya know...Kyle has red hair...and...h-he's fiery?" he shrugged.

"Ugh," he rolled his eyes. "This is why you're not on intel," he grumbled.

Kenny pouted, "Shuddup. I'm the one who's gonna get us to Kyle. You need to follow my lead."

"Yeah yeah," Stan muttered, glancing at his watch reflected in the moonlight. "Okay, we have eight minutes before Cartman's move..." he paused, staring past the woods towards the main building with worried eyes. "Jesus Christ..." he sighed. "I just hope he's okay."

"From the sounds of it, whoever's in charge wants him kept alive, so I'm sure he's safe," he reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And you know Kyle can handle himself."

"Not if he's tranqed out," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Knowing Ky, he'll outsmart a fucking drug," Ken forced a grin across his face, even though his heart was aching with the thought of the redhead being tied down like that. "C'mon," he jerked his head. "Put the rub on your lip," he directed.

Stan furrowed his brow but did as told, dipping into some of the vat Kenny had brought with him and scrunching his nose at the influx of menthol invading his senses. "Why do we have to do this?" he asked for maybe the twentieth time that night.

Kenny sighed, following suit with the vapor and looking at him sadly. "Stan, what I'm about to show you...where we're about to hide to be able to get to Ky...I hope all that training on your habit of throwing up will stay with us. It's about to get nasty."

Stan stared at him confusedly, watching him edging through the woods towards the wall. He blinked, following after him, both of them quietly creeping over leaves and twigs as they'd seen Kyle do so well so many times in the past. "Fuck how does he do this?" Stan said irritably under his breath as another twig softly snapped under his boot.

"He's like, ninety pounds, that's fucking how," Kenny muttered, shaking his head. His eyes set straight on his target as they reached the wall, curled up like cats ready to pounce. "Okay," he whispered, staring at the wall of the building. "We have to crawl behind these headstones," he gestured towards the front of them as he counted two guards stationed outside the window they needed to get to. He narrowed his eyes. Two tonight, they were definitely wanting to keep Kyle in there. He let out a heavy breath, feeling the crushing guilt that he'd been so close, could've saved the redhead on his own if he'd taken a peek inside the night before. No time like the present. "Follow my lead," he said lowly, silently leaning down on his stomach and starting to shimmy towards the rows of markers.

Stan followed not half a foot behind, both of them watching the Rats across the way cautiously. It was too dark for the guards to be able to make them out, they knew that much, but they couldn't stay out in the open. Their forms could easily be spotted if they stayed in one spot for far too long. Moving like this, curled up and scrunching along made them look like wild animals in the darkness of night, a trick Kyle had taught them months beforehand. They made their way towards the middle of the graveyard and Kenny paused at the foot of the Pit, his hand curled around the edge. "Hold your breath and don't vomit," he warned Stan before sliding down into the abyss.

The noirette squinted in the night, not sure of what he was seeing as he slid down in beside him. He landed on his hands and knees, his fingers curled in what felt like hair. His mouth dropped and Kenny quietly slapped his hand over his agape lips, gritting his teeth and shaking his head viciously. "You scream, Kyle dies," he reminded him in a dark whisper.

Stan gulped, nodding and shutting his mouth under Kenny's palm. He looked down at the decaying corpses beneath him and felt a tear run down his cheek. He couldn't recognize any faces in the moonlight, but the feeling of skin and bone underneath his fingertips chilled him to his core. It ignited that collision of rage and fear that sparked within him so long ago when the whole mess started, when he watched Trent getting shot down right in front of him and Kyle taking a bullet in the arm. "Jesus," he gave a threadbare whisper and shook his head.

Kenny shook his shoulder and he looked up, seeing the blonde pointing to his wrist, indicating for him to check the time. He did so and grabbed Kenny's arm, tapping on it twice. Two minutes left and Cartman's signal would be off and running. They both tensed, looking at each other with blue eyes beaming in the night. Worry and hope racked through their systems, each of them hoping against hope that their half-assed plan would work. Hoping that they wouldn't be caught. Hoping that the team hadn't figured out their attempts and would try to stop them.

Hoping that they weren't about to risk the rescue of a dead friend.

Kenny motioned for him to move behind him, starting to crawl to the other end of the Body Pit. Stan gulped down some excess saliva gathering in his mouth, letting his mind envision that he was clambering through something much less excessively disturbing. He couldn't help but wonder how Kenny knew about the Pit. How he knew something that even Kyle himself had never brought up. The redhead was sure it was just more headstones and never ventured further, considering it way too close to Rat territory to risk. Just how had Kenny gotten the nerve and the luck to be able to discover it? He shook the thoughts out. It wasn't important. The only thing of importance was their mission.

Kenny stopped at the edge, grasping the rope ladder and holding his hand up, telling Stan to wait. He bit his lip, his fingers tightened in a deathly grip around the rung, hoping to God Cartman would be able to get away after his distraction was set into play, praying that the guards would take the bait. He shut his eyes and sniffled, the stress eating at him like ravished termites. He wished he could shut it all down the way that Kyle and Christophe could do on the field, but he just never could. He was made for running, not for confronting. He felt a hand grasp his lightly and squeeze, seeing Stan looking at him with steely, determined eyes. "We'll get him back," he promised softly.

Kenny felt a surge of confidence, seeing Stan of all people so sure of their mission. He nodded and they both flinched a bit as the sound of a gun ricocheted through the night air. Cartman.

In the distance, on the opposite side of the compound in the other side of the forest they heard his shout, "We got a fucking kid over here! He shot me!"

Kenny bit his lip, starting to clamber up the rope ladder, peering up at the Rats stationed at Kyle's window. The guards looked at each other, saying something before the both of them pivoted and began sprinting in the direction of Cartman's 'distress' call. A quick glance to the side noted the other Rats beginning to flee as well and Kenny grunted, hopping out of the Pit, helping Stan as well. They crouched down, watching until the Rats had cleared the vicinity and started quickly making their way towards the building. Their eyes kept moving back and forth, watching for any guards who didn't feel the need to investigate a possible next victim. They made it up to the wall and each took a side of the window, peering in.

Stan narrowed his eyes at the boy sitting in the chair next to Kyle's cot, "Holy fuck is that...Michael?"

"That son of a bitch," Kenny snarled, his hand curling around the knife in his pocket. "All right, you open the window, I'll jump in and stab the fucker, and we'll get Kyle out. On my mark."

Stan nodded, watching as Kenny's fingers counted down from five. As soon as it hit one, he jumped to his feet and tore the window up from its cracked position, letting Kenny dive in. Michael yelped and fell off his chair, dropping the book from his hands. "Jesus fucking Christ, McCormick?" he whispered.

"Save it," he hissed, raising the knife and beginning to approach him.

"Wait, no, get Broflovski out!" he said quietly in a rush, raising his hands in mild defense. "I told him I'd let him go if someone came to get him!"

"How do we know we can trust you?" Stan sneered, hopping over beside Kenny, stealing a glance at his unconscious best friend on his cot.

"You just have to," he glared, looking at the door worriedly. "Go, I'll make it look like he got the best of me and got out on his own but you have to go now," he urged.

Stan and Kenny looked at each other before nodding, each of them moving over to grab their friend. Michael moved over, opening the window wider and helping them maneuver the redhead through the hole. "He'll be out another hour and a half at least," he informed them. "He won't be able to move very well but he regained his speech pretty soon after he woke up last time."

"Thanks," Stan breathed. "We owe you."

Michael stared at them from inside the room and shook his head. "Tell Kyle...I don't think the contract will matter. He'll know what I mean." They nodded and quickly tore off with Kyle in their grasp.

The noirette sighed, watching them for a moment before quickly closing the window and gathering a fresh needle from his kit. He loaded the syringe with his stash of Lorazepam and shook his head. He placed the needle under his skin and injected himself, tossing the needle out onto the ground. He flipped over his chair and his kit, pushing Kyle's cot onto its side. He looked at his scene and felt his eyelids drooping and he slowly sat himself on the ground, lying down and staring at the ceiling. "Good luck, conforming bastard," he yawned, falling limp onto the carpet.

Kenny's arms hefted under Kyle's bound wrists and Stan held his legs like they were their lifelines. They made their way past the side of the building back into the woods, ducking and weaving around tree trunks, their hearts pounding excitedly. "We gotcha Ky," Kenny whispered against the red curls brushing up against his chin. "They ain't gonna getcha again."

"Come on," a voice urged from a decent ways down. They glanced up, seeing Cartman waiting for them impatiently, Sparky held tightly in his hands and looking around nervously for Rats. The two of them picked up speed and Cartman ran beside them, all of them flittering in relief despite the daring escape, despite the fact that they knew it wouldn't be long before what they'd done would be found out. But the fact that it was the four of them together again was enough to put their minds at ease, at least, just for the moment.

A/N: Yayyyy Kyle's out of the compound. For now. What'll he do? You'll have to see =u=

Thanks for R&Ring!