A little boy watched in wonderment as his brightly colored kite floated ever so gracefully in the bright blue sky. He was deeply proud of this one in particular, and that was becauseright blue sky. He was deeply proud of this one in particular, and that was because he had made it from scratch. His little five year old fingers had spent hours piecing together fabric and wood until it stood out beautifully against his playmate's own kites.

It wasn't as though his parents couldn't buy him one if he pleaded hard enough. His father lived his days as a very successful scientist after all. Well, actually, he had once been very successful. However, nowadays, he spent his days trying to indulge into what most qualified as inane psychopathy. He was obsessed with being God, trying desperately to create his own species, hybrid animals, anything that would invent a genius out of himself. Money was going down the drain for many failed experiments. Several times had his father been arrested for 'animal abuse.' And his bail forced them further into the dark.

His poor mother was forced to work twice as hard just so that she could manage to put dinner on the table. The struggle was evident, and his father, Gerald Broflovski, couldn't so much as step foot from that basement of his.

Everyone thought that Gerald was a mad man, unfit to be a father and husband. Perhaps they were right, but Kyle deeply disagreed. Like every young boy, he looked fondly up to his father and believed constantly that he was going to become the greatest man who ever lived. Kyle wanted to be just like him one day, which is why he spent his days trying to lengthen his intellect far more than the average youth. Especially in this little pissant town.

Kyle swiftly reeled in his precious work, bent on showing his father as he wasted away below the house. Certainly, he'd receive the utmost praise in return for all of his hard work. Clutching the item tightly, he scrurried off towards his haven, muttering a swift hello to his mother as she sipped tiredly at her tea. She only had a single hour, then it was off to the diner to continue her work. Kyle skipped the steps down into the musty basement his father resided within.

Scattered tools and old models lied everywhere in the background, lined with spiderwebs and dust. Gerald's frustrated mutterings came echoing all around, next was the mission of finding him. "Daddy?" Kyle asked, his emerald eyes searching the dimly lit space around him. Another grumble, and then something clattered loudly.

Kyle might've been afraid, had he not learned at a younger age that monster's didn't actually live among them. His feet scampered impatiently along the floor as he continued a seemingly futile search. "Dad- oof!" Kyle accidentally stumbled upon a large appearing stand with too many buttons, switches and blinking lights to possibly understand. His head spun with amazement.

Perhaps, if he were to figure something as complex as this out, he'd be put even farther within his father's favor! Maybe he'd even be given the privilege of assisting Gerald with his experiments! Kyle rotated his kite into one hand as he stared wide eyed at the difficult model. He had to be absolutely precise.

In every cliche invention, a big red button was how you began something like this. Keeping this in mind, Kyle's eyes searched until they fell upon exactly what he was looking for. The heel of his hand smashed excitedly into it, and the pad spoke up in an automated voice tone.

"Splice Machine powering up. One moment, Doctor Broflovski."

Kyle's eyes widened happily. The voice believed this was his father! That must've made him just as respectable. Several feet away, another large machine lit up its bright neon green color, a low hum resounding as it worked. It was tall, only reaching a few inches below the ceiling, and it took up the shape of a cylinder with a long slab of glass keeping the inside out of reach. Kyle gasped, eyes wide with awe and fascination. But what did it do?

What was splicing?

His excitement overrode his patience, an issue he couldn't seem to set back as a young boy. His hands flattened against the many buttons and knobs and he slid them back and forth, as one untalented might abuse a grand piano. The pad flashed while the voice repeated "error" In a toneless voice. Still, Kyle did not relent. He pounded his fists harshly against the controls and demanded they work in his favor. Surely, his father hadn't made this too difficult to command.

At last, a red light flashed within the other machine before the panel, the glass slid open with a slight wheeze. "Thirty seconds before splicing begins," came the voice once more. "Please place items within the machine at this time."

The words were meaningless to Kyle as he stared up in awe towards the object. A swell of pride moved him forward, excitement definite along his features as he pressed forward, towards the entrance. He stepped inside of a filtered yellow light, his bright emerald eyes scanning above himself curiously. How boring. There wasn't anything fascinating in here.

"KYLE!"

The boy spun at the sharp sound of his father's voice. And just as it happened, the glass eased shut and sealed away his escape. Kyle panicked once he realized control had suddenly fled from him, and everything was out of his hands. Kyle reached out to press his hands against the glass as he called desperately to his father to let him out. His father was shouting something, perhaps his name. He couldn't understand over the shrieking alarm that went off within the machine that held him captive. The ceiling opened suddenly, and grey fog came falling gracefully down to envelope him. Kyle backed away, kite clutched tightly to his chest as he searched upward for his solutions. There appeared to be none.

Beyond the machine, Gerald Broflovski was using everything he could to shatter the glass. His only successfully born son had taken off to have his genes spliced with a kite. The outcome would certainly be horrendous. Disastrous even. When his fists failed, he rushed for a chair. And when that proved useless, he threw the heaviest of his failed inventions. Every item thrown his way easily bounced back. High quality glass made from his own hands. Only the best from Gerald Broflovski.

His son's cries emitted in a muffle past the fog, Gerald rushed towards his panel. He used every method to demand the machine to abort its current subject, ignoring the red flashing light that meant this simply could not be done. He froze when the screaming ceased suddenly, the glass slid slowly open and dark smoke came pouring out.

Gerald moved ever so slowly towards the machine, his fists clenched painfully at his sides as he wearily searched for any sign of life. "K-Kyle?" He called. He had to be alive. He simply had to be. What would he tell Sheila? And Ike, their newly adopted Canadian baby. He'd have to grow up without a big brother...

Finally, a sharp gasp surveyed and out stumbled Kyle with his eyes sealed shut and tears streaming down his cheeks. "P-please," he moaned before dropping down in agony to his hands and knees. "Daddy, my eyes! They burn! Everything hurts!"

Gerald rushed to his son's aide at once, crouching down and overlooking his condition. The kite he had been gripping earlier was no longer within his fingers, but rather splayed out across his back. Gerald reached out to try and take it away, only to immediately stop when he found something odd. In the bottom left part of the kite, colored a bright red, he could see the faintest hint of veins webbing straight throughout the entire thing. The kite had become part of him now!

Gerald felt his hands shake, a burst of horror and pride battled for dominance within himself. It worked. The Splicing Machine had been a success. "Kyle," he whispered, running his hand down the kite curiously. The young boy flinched at the contact, he could feel it! "Kyle, open your eyes, let me see."

Kyle twisted his head around to try and acknowledge his father's voice, eyes prying apart. As soon as he attempted to see, a bright red light came shooting it's dangerous energy straight from the circles of his pupils. Gerald dodged just in time to avoid getting hit, watching in amazement as the light cut straight through a stray chair, as easy as a knife sinking into warm butter. Laser eyes? An odd addition Gerald would have to look into later. Kyle's eyes squeezed shut and he let out a loud sob of regret and pain. "I'm a freak!" He cried out.

"No son," Gerald whispered before pulling the boy securely into his arms. "Not a freak. You're beautiful. I'll never be called crazy again."

Kyle shivered in his father's arms, refusing to ever again open his eyes. He was beyond petrified. No doubt, the government would come for him. He'd be tested on for years to come, never again would he live a normal childhood. "W...what?" Kyle lifted his head towards his father's chin, still shaking and made blind.

Gerald continued to stroke his son's hair, but he was far gone into his mind to notice much else. His days as a mad scientist were finally at it's wits end. The public would love him once more, and he'd become enriched with adoration and wealth. A dizzy smile came across his features and he looked down at his winning ticket. Sure, the boy was a wreck for the time being. But all Gerald needed to do was get him to see the brighter side. All he needed, certainly, was a bit of optimism to confuse his mind.

"I am a genius..."

§

During the traumatic change within the machine, Kyle had destroyed the inside fully in desperate attempts to end his suffering. The machine no longer worked. And despite his best efforts, Gerald simply could not recreate the master piece. His last resort was his less than enthusiastic son. Many times, he begged the boy to come out of hiding and reveal to the world the beauty of his kite.

Naturally, Kyle had rejected the idea each time it was brought up. While the promise of fame and fortune did sound luxurious even to a child who did not normally desire materialism as much as the grown, he couldn't stand the idea of becoming a freak to the world. He wasn't human anymore. Far below it for that matter. But nobody else needed to know that.

Kyle had learned to harness his laser eyes to his control. By will, he could make them shoot out whenever he pleased. But he never did. He couldn't without the reminder that he was indeed far from normal. The kite was beginning to become less and less of a problem the longer he went about his life. He wore a heavily padded orange jacket whenever he ventured beyond his bedroom. Certainly, it crumpled and pained the object. But it was highly worth the privilege of getting to be a chip off the ol'block type of child for the time being. Just before reality settled in at least.

However, his condition finally drew back the attention he'd tried for two years to maintain. Now seven years old, Kyle stood before his mirror without his shirt. His emerald eyes glared at the wooden edges that sprouted past his shoulders, a knife glinted dangerously in his hand. His playmate, Kevin Stoley, had invited him to a pool party at his house only a few days ago. It would take place tomorrow evening, and if this kite remained in his back while attending that party...

His tiny wrist shook as he lifted the blade. He knew that this would certainly hurt more than he might've guessed, he could feel the throb of fear within the colorful cloth. It was unnatural. He needed to end this before it took over his life.

Kyle reached back and brushed his fingers along the kite's exterior, flinching slightly at the feel. He was greatly sensitive there, like a bird's wings were to a general bird. The thought frightened him, and he reluctantly lifted the knife to prod at the material. He focused on his own gaze, silently counting to ten. This was the price of normality. And he'd certainly be willing to pay it if his life was returned. Making his decision, he stabbed his knife deep into the kite and sliced down through it.

The sound resembled ripping paper, and the pain was intense enough to fill his vision with white. The knife clattered to the tile floor as a cry of agony echoed fiercely throughout the bathroom. The boy dropped to his knees and tears poured from his eyes like crystal droplets down his cheeks. Blood seeped a warm crimson pool around him and a woozy dizziness took over that Kyle had never been accustomed with before. A protesting grunt was all he could manage before he collapsed in a heap upon the ground.

§

It had been ten years since the incident in the bathroom. Kyle Broflovski was now seventeen years old, and he was far different from the boy he once was. Still, he was indeed a medical marvel. Still, he kept the fact hidden from the world around him. His mother hadn't any idea over the issue, nor did his brother Ike. The only person aware of his condition was, unfortunately, his father. And his persistence had finally faded. Finding your son bleeding on the bathroom floor due to a desperation to be normal could do that to a father. But the idea that he still loved his first born was hardly a matter of concern in Kyle's mind.

For him, the world was something he planned on conquering with his own talents. He would start with this bullshit little town infamously known as South Park. It needed changing, Kyle had put up with its harshness long enough. Or so he happily believed.

Of course, he would need to learn to swallow his temper if he wished to live the life of a professional. Anger was a difficult weakness he'd grown into ever since this blasted kite grew into his back. So was his ability of compassion. He hated the thought of being surpassed by anyone, which was quite easy considering his condition. But nobody needed to know that.

Kyle's intelligence was beyond average. The only person who could ever hope to match his smarts was that damn Wendy Testaburger. A worthy opponent, he would admit, she and him were mortal enemies with far too much in common. For example, they both suffered dastardly from pride. The tiniest mistake made on their part was never taken lightly, and neither of them had the audacity to admit a wrong doing no matter how clear it seemed.

Of course, they both jumped at the chance to use this against one another.

Beyond Kyle's school life was absolutely nothing. He was a teenager of pain and sadness, one who didn't ever let this show. He walked tall with his head high and his strides long. No one would ever suspect to believe that underneath this exterior was a freak slowly breaking down. That's just what he wanted. This planet was constantly up for grabs, he found himself worthy to be in the running.

Kite or no kite. One did not fuck with Kyle Broflovski.