"You are such a pretty boy," he heard the man say as he entered the basement. He was alone; 41 had been gone for a week. He never met the others; they were married off.
"Fuck off," Kenny spat and sat up from his laying position. "I'm not a fucking play thing. I didn't agree to this, and I will get out of here." The man laughed hollowly and stepped closer to him. A chill ran down his spine as he caught his wicked grin.
"I'm not trying to hurt you. I made your life better, I saved you. I love you and I want you happy. What do you need?" He heard the gentle tone in his voice; he knew what that meant. He was going to bleed.
"To get the fuck outta here and have your ass thrown in jail, you fucking freak." He shoved the man's hand away as he reached to stroke his cheek. His hand was caught in a violent grip, however, and before he had time to react, he was thrown back against the cement floor. He yelped in pain as he landed on his shoulder.
"Oh, pretty boy, you're never get out of here. Not until you die." Kenny scoffed, despite his sudden fear, and maintained a smirk on his face. "Doctor." Doctor? Kenny's heart sank in his stomach. What was going to happen?
He quickly attempted to scramble away as two men appeared by his side; the shackles around his wrists and ankles kept him from moving more than two feet. He let out a scream of frustration as they grabbed him by the shoulders; one man pinned him down by his shoulders, the other knelt beside him. He gnashed his teeth at them at a final attempt at intimidation. His eyes watched as the man next to him reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe.
"N-no," he whimpered, trying one more time to break free from his hold. He was useless; a month ago he would have been able to fight them off and run from here. He would have been free. Yet starvation and fatigue had made him weak; that's exactly how they wanted him.
"Don't touch me!' He felt the needle prick his flesh and fought back tears as the injection flooded his veins.
"You'll be asleep soon, my love. You won't feel a thing." He breathed heavily and glared with fiery eyes as he heard the man speak. He was already beginning to feel woozy. His vision kept fading in and out of focus as his eyes grew heavier by the second.
"So what is the extent of this procedure?" The so-called doctor asked.
Kenny whimpered as hands pulled down his underwear; it was the only article of clothing he was allowed to wear.
"I want him to stay like this; he'll be useful for several more years..."
"If I castrate him there will be minimal testosterone production in his body. If anything he will grow to be more androgynous. He still has a couple years of puberty left, so if he is castrated it will ultimately stop the process."
Kenny's eyes widened and he tried to kick the doctor away from him. His legs are like jelly and barely lift from the ground. He was on the brink of falling asleep; he had to get away. He couldn't let them do this to him.
"That's exactly what I want."
Kenny shook his head and looked up at the man above him.
"Don't y-you d-" the guard who injected him pried open his mouth and shoved a gag inside. His scream was muffled and his eyes stung with tears of desperation.
"You need to learn, pet. Speak when you are spoken to. You keep fighting; this is your first punishment."
Kenny's eyes rolled in the back of his head and he lets out a quiet whimper of submission.
"Good boy," the gag was pulled from his mouth; he took in a shuddering breath and froze as his eyes locked with the man. "Do you understand me?" he gave a weak nod. "Do you understand? Speak."
"Yes," he whimpered, then closed his eyes in miserable defeat. He grunted as he felt a sharp kick to his side.
"Yes- who?"
The tears finally leaked from his eyes and rolled.
Before he gives into the tugging need for sleep, he opened his mouth to speak.
"Yes, M-Master."
42 lays on his stomach with Craig's shirt covering him. He hasn't worn a shirt in so long; he can't remember the last time. It's warm and soft; he can't stop touching the fabric.
"What else has Master done to you?" He bites his lip at the question. It isn't what Master did to him, but what he does wrong.
"What I deserve, I'm so bad. He forgives me, he..." he trails off in a quiet whimper. He knows Craig's eyes are disbelieving. Is he wrong? "He took my pinky and another knuckle for running away three times. He... he burned me. S-see?" Hesitantly, he turns onto his side.
He whimpers as he moves and swears the blood leaking into his stomach sloshes with his movements. He pulls down his underwear slightly, and rests his cheek against the floor. Submission. He is beneath Craig. This is Craig's chance to finally do what he's supposed to do.
Craig's eyes focus on a dark scar on his left buttock; the number 42. He's branded.
"T-to know my place," he whimpers, "I'm... I'm not human, I'm not better than..."
"Yes, you are. You are human. You have no right to be burned and disfigured. You deserve to be free, you don't deserve to hurt anymore." He shakes his head. He doesn't agree with this at all. Craig doesn't understand this was discipline; it isn't cruel. It's done because he is bad; and as much as he admires Craig, he knows his going to be more trouble than him.
"You need to learn your place," he murmurs, looking up at Craig. His stomach feels heavy; he's so afraid to move. He's afraid he'll burst.
"Did you learn yours?"
Craig sees his eyes glimmer with tears as he gives a hesitant nod. He is silent as 42 pulls down his underwear. Crag feels highly uncomfortable but knows not to say anything; aversion to nudity is a dead giveaway. He can't risk it.
Acid burns his throat as he stares in terrified awe at 42's most private area, violated by far too many.
"They..." he can't finish his sentence. "They castrated you!" He gasps in horror. 42 nods weakly as he pulls his underwear back up on his hips.
Craig looks at 42 with sadness in his eyes. His mind reels on what he has just seen. He is stripped of manhood, adulthood, and has been treated with even less care than cattle. He's stuck, forever fifteen in all ways but age.
His life is static while everyone else has moved here he is bleeding from the inside out, and there is nothing Craig can do about it. It's too early to tell Cartman to call it. They need more time, more evidence from him. But as he gazes at the blonde, he knows too much time has passed.
Seven years is much too long. He will never be the same; despite their efforts Craig worries that this won't be what he wants. Because how will he adapt? He has been shut off from the world, except filthy men and women who use him for everything he has. All he knows is being sold. What is going to stop him from going on the streets?
Perhaps nothing; but it will be his choice. If that's what happens to him, then their work won't be in vain. Working on the streets will be his decision, and at the end of the night he'll go home. He'll be free. And he deserves that, and so much more. He deserves to truly live instead of being caged up and treated like a rabid animal. And they will get him there, Craig knows this. He just has to hang on for a little longer. Give him what he needs...
Live through the night.
"K-" Craig stops himself. "42?" Haunted blue eyes look up at him with an almost scary alertness. Something snaps in his head at the label. "You're beautiful."
42 lowers his gaze as his eyes burn. He's so tired of crying; he's just so tired...
"N-no, no... I'm not. I'm not... capable of that. I'm filthy. I..." he pulls at his hair. It's long; blood, sweat, and body fluids clump the locks in thick knots and mats. His skin has blood stains and flecks of dirt caked over bruises that litter him from head to toe. Scabs and scars mar his flesh. He is broken, putrid, used. There is no beauty in his face or in his body. He hasn't been beautiful since they...
Craig sees the effect the words have on him. He curls in on himself and bows his head even more. his eyes are lost and dull as he gazes at Craig; he realizes he's waiting to be beaten, to take it like a good boy.
"I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to know more about you."
"S-stop..." the words frighten 42 and he quickly places his hands over his mouth. He shakes his head and his eyes are wide with horror as he looks at his raven-haired companion. He begins to tremble, and Craig reaches for him. His eyes plead "no" but he doesn't move a muscle. Craig retracts; he sees him visibly relax. "D-d-d-don't tell Master, please? Please? I'm sorry, I don't... I can't... I'll do anything. I don't want to be hurt anymore, Craig..." his voice cracks and his shoulders wrack violently as he sobs. His hand covers his mouth as he muffles his cries; his master can't hear him cry.
"I won't tell anyone," tell them what? He said stop?
He isn't allowed to tell anyone no. Not even the other slaves.
"Are you... can you not say no to me?" Craig asks, "I'm your equal. I'm just like you," the lie tastes bitter on his tongue; he could never be as valiant as him. "Why can't you say no to me?"
"Be-because, I'm not your equal. I'm old... I... you're replacing me. I'm supposed to make you feel good before I die tomorrow. I just want to die, Craig... I just want to die..."
"I'm older than you, so I should probably be the one making you feel good." 42 lifts his head slowly and his eyes narrow on Craig.
"H-how do you...?" he crawls closer, "how do you know that?" Craig scoots closer to him and smiles as Kenny rests his head on his thigh. He shudders against him and carefully puts an arm around his leg. Now they were getting somewhere.
"You were born March 22, do you know what today is?" 42 glances to the floor where he has etched the days since 41 left. It's been over a month. She left on Valentine's Day; he knows this because she saw the calendar when she went up the stairs. It was the last thing she said to him, "Happy Valetine's Day. I love you."
His eyes heat again and he closes his eyes.
"Today's March 21." 42's eyes open and he glances up to see Craig smiling.
"T-tomorrow's my birthday?" His lips twitch downward. He's dying on his birthday; that seems fitting. "How do you know this? You don't know me."
"Do you know what your name is?" Craig asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. He likes the warmth. It's not the same as the warmth from his sires. This is genuine. Craig really cares about him; there is no desire in his touches, only comfort.
"Forty-t-" Craig shakes his head.
"Your real name. You had a life before this, you were taken-" he shakes his head, "I knew you. And I've been looking for you for seven years."
"The pizza man..." he trails off, then grips tight to Craig's pants. They're denim. "D-d'you know who he is?!" Tears are streaming down his face now and he's no longer whispering. His voice is near shouting; Craig glances up and hopes no one will hear him.
"Shhh..." he whispers. He can't get caught. They're so close. But 42 shakes his head and pulls himself away from Craig.
"Who am I?!" He screams, "who are you? Who am I, Craig?!" His voice cracks. Footsteps sound like thunder from upstairs.
"Shit," he whispers, then quickly undoes his pants. He can't be caught with them. They'll take them away; they'll find him out. He quickly throws them behnid the stairway.
"P-please... I'm someone, aren't I? I am somebody."
Feet pound down the stairs and Craig covers his mouth as he tries not to voice his gut-wrenching sobs.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." he whispers as the guards come downstairs. They kick at Craig, who quickly curls up, then one of the guards pulls out a syringe. He approaches 42, who kicks and screams despite the pain shooting through his body.
"No, no NO! I said NO! Get AWAY from me!" His voice is blood-curdling; sharp on the walls. Craig's breath hitches as tears drop from his eyes. The look on his face as they stab the needle into his arm. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"
"Master wants you one last time, you fuckin' cunt. Now shutcher fuckin' mouth." One of the men says, the other looks at Craig.
"You're next," he laughs hollowly and his eyes lock on 42's fiery gaze. He sees Kenny staring back at him.
"WHO AM I?!" He screams at him as they carry him up the stairs. His legs thump numbly against the stairs, "CRAIG, WHO AM I?! PLEASE?!"
Craig waits until the door slams shut up the stairs. He lifts himself up with a slight struggle, and clutches his side as he hides beneath the stairs.
"Cartman..." he whispers, as tears roll down his cheeks, "we have a problem."