A/N: To mah boiz

Enjoy~

Click. Click. Click. Nothing but a droning pattern that'd been going on for nearly an hour now filled the empty living room as Kyle's index finger listlessly pressed the down arrow on his keyboard. Glazed eyes watched as picture after picture passed him by, Trevor's fake ID propped up against the edge of his screen for comparison. It'd taken nearly a day for all the damn files to transfer to one of his external hard drives from work, it all setting him back further than he would've liked. The last ten years of CartAd were even more hectic with employee management than it was now.

Far too many people had been hired in and left, the majority of them leaving of their own accord. Kyle frowned lightly to himself, unable to help but wonder just what it was that had Cartman thrown into such a pink-slip frenzy over the course of the last year. Business was becoming all the more time-consuming, sure, the numbers had been steadily increasing over time as was expected, but that didn't make that much more work for the glutton. He'd thrown all the extra responsibility down onto Kyle's shoulders while he took hour-long lunches and had fancy dinner reservations made for him and clients. 'To keep relations high', he'd told Kyle. He'd been invited to only one of these functions, one with a bakery because, as Cartman put it, "You're a skinny piece of shit, maybe they'll throw you a few extra donuts or something."

He had to hand it to the brunette, he hadn't been wrong. The couple who owned the bakery, both pleasantly plump and exemplifying the old expression 'never trust a skinny cook' threw him a stack of cakes and leftovers from their pączki season, telling him to 'put some meat on those bones of his'. Kyle had stolen himself a box of the Polish delicacies but handed everything else over to Cartman, not quite willing to risk the idea of sending himself into diabetic shock. How the glutton stayed involved during that meeting was beyond him. Kyle had been bored out of his mind as they discussed different manners of promotion, far past the mindset that a couple who made fucking sweets really needed the help in a town like South Park. He'd spent the entire time rearranging cuts of his steak that his boss had demanded he order on his plate. "I'm paying, you stupid Jew. Don't fucking order the cheapest thing like your heritage dictates," he'd lectured. "We want them to think we're made of money, it keeps them thinking we're doing better than we are. It's psychological."

Not that Kyle disagreed, but dirty office politics weren't exactly his favorite thing. He'd had to adapt to Cartman's ways over the last year, starting to become just as cut-throat when it came to keeping his jurisdiction in the clear. And, much as he hated it, he was good at it, enough so that even his boss had gone out of his way to congratulate him on worming a few extra percentage points out of clients. Kyle had found his niche market, learning from the most manipulative of them all how to put on a face and sweet talk his way into any type of deal. He'd go home hating himself after the fact, but self-loathing was just as much his game as pseudo-flirting with a potential business partner. It was a dicey game, but he was up on the leaderboard.

Except for this instance. Here, he was back in his first day of college, watching his Accounting I teacher ramble off different terms and equations all at once to weed out those who took the course under the guise of it 'just being addition'. He was wide-eyed, staring at that whiteboard, too thrown off to so much as touch his pen to try to keep up and just wanting the day to be over so he could go get dinner with the guys. This wasn't much different, overwhelming in the potential options laid out before him and just wanting it all to go away so he could curl up in his bed and sleep off the stress of the day.

His free hand curled possessively around his lowball glass, filled with a disproportionate amount of vodka to orange juice. He sighed, taking a long sip and letting the biting sweetness settle like pins over his tongue. He set down the container, tipping his glasses down on the edge of his nose as he continued to wade through old and current employee files. How such a small company went through so many people, he hadn't the slightest idea. But then again, with someone like Eric Cartman at the helm, it wasn't overly surprising. Not that many people could exactly handle his mannerisms in the way Kyle had grown accustomed, or how Butters just let it roll off his back with a smile. It took a particular kind of person to stand and take the abuse hurled at them at the rate Cartman threw it, but Kyle had a feeling the number of voluntary leaves lessened only because he became the new wall in which the punishment was lobbed at.

A soft tapping sound pervaded the space, Kyle jerking up just a tad, waiting and looking around at his ceiling before shaking it off and heading back to keep his brain locked on target. A few moments passed before it came again, sounding like a rap against glass. He sat straight up, whirling around and seeing a silhouette standing outside the far living room window leading towards his backyard. Eyes widening, he stood from his chair, catching the distinct billow of fabric in the summer night breeze. "This fucker," he thought angrily, walking over towards the window, seeing Mysterion staring at him expectantly. He sighed, fighting to force the window upwards, reminding himself for probably the hundredth time that he needed to find someone to fix the damn thing.

He finally worked it up, shaking his hands and wincing as Mysterion chuckled. "Good evening," he said casually.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "The fuck are you doing here?"

Mysterion scoffed, "What, did you expect me to show up at your office during the day like this?" he gestured to himself. "This is private property, little less risk of getting caught."

"Right, private," he emphasized. "Besides, use the fucking door like a normal fucking person."

"Will you shut up and let me in?" he snapped.

Kyle hesitated, taking a deep breath before nodding and stepping back from the pane. He watched, hiding his surprise at the limber movement of the taller man as he easily jumped up and in, landing in a roll onto his carpet and back on his feet. The redhead blinked himself out of it, walking back over and pushing the window down enough to leave a crack. He wasn't going to have another battle against the glass if he could damn well help it. He turned to see the hero staring at him and cleared his throat, "What?" he demanded.

Mysterion snorted, "You seem tense," he teased.

"Excuse me for not being accustomed to masked men at my window," he frowned. "Haven't had that since my goddamn college boyfriend."

He cocked his brow amusedly, "Oh really?"

"He kind of had a bit of a hallucinogen addiction," Kyle rolled his eyes, watching Mysterion oh-so-nonchalantly leaning against his wall and he frowned. "Why are you here?" he stressed.

"Are you really so upset that I'm here? I mean, not like you're in the middle of something private, are you? I'd doubt you'd want to get those nice little jammies all mussed up," he teased, waving towards Kyle's green boxers with the loose string hanging down his thigh and the way-too-big Broncos shirt that Stan had given him after cleaning out his closet. Kyle scoffed and crossed his arms bitterly, leaning against the back of his leather couch to stare at the cocky vigilante.

"You're going to insult me and what I wear to bed? Have you not fucking looked in the mirror, you fucktard? At least my clothes leave something to the imagination."

Mysterion smirked. "I have some assets, so sue me. Can't show my face, so may as well give the bad guys something to fantasize about."

The redhead stared at him wryly. "Yeah, nothing says fantasy like underwear over a spandex suit."

"It is rayon, thank you," he corrected. "And the underwear is an upgrade," he pointed to them and shrugged. "Went from white to black, Man. Helps me blend in a little better."

"And hide the shit stains," he continued.

Mysterion snorted, "Maybe, but... you're the one who was lookin' in that direction, I'm just sayin'," he purred.

Kyle's face erupted in color and he stammered it off, "It's called being observational."

"Of my junk," he continued.

"Why are you here?" he snapped, teeth gritting in frustration.

He laughed huskily and shook his head. "Wanted to know how your own end is going."

"Shitty," he grumbled, leaning back off the couch and listlessly waving for him to follow. Mysterion hesitated before doing so, standing over the redhead as he sat back down at his computer and snagged his pen, pointing at the screen with its cap. "You see how many fucking people CartAd's gone through since it opened?" he stressed. "Most companies average roughly a 15% turnover rate. This place has gone through nearly 40%. And that's on an annual basis."

Mysterion narrowed his eyes, "Why?"

"Well this past year can be attributed to the Larson fiasco," he muttered. "But before that, it's looking like these people left voluntarily..." He found a file from three years beforehand and opened it to a picture of a younger woman smiling brightly for her ID photo. "Maybe Cartman just got on their nerves too much."

"Wouldn't take much from him," he grumbled.

Kyle snorted, nodding in agreement. "True. I-" he paused, cocking his head at the file number.

The hero caught his confusion and narrowed his eyes, "What's the matter?"

"This file wasn't authorized by the last controller, or the one before her," he murmured, eyes lingering on the approval box space.

"So?"

"So it doesn't make sense that it's here," he emphasized, pulling up the list of files and scanning through, finding Butters' file and letting it pop up beside of the woman's, both of them shaking their heads at his photo with his eyes half-closed. "See here?" he pointed to the approval box, Mysterion raising his brow at 'KB-000002' displayed in the space.

"I... Uh, I don't-"

"Shut up and listen," he hissed. "Butters is still an employee, so I'm the one who updates his file and number," he pointed to the KB. "But if I pull up someone else..." he went back to his files and quickly scanned through. "Maybe this guy," he murmured, letting another picture pop up, Mysterion just blinking in confusion at where Kyle's brain was heading. "Yeah, here," he confirmed, pointing to the number 'GK-000135'. "This is from Gretchen Kallmann, she was the controller before me," he explained. "And if I go back far enough..." he licked over his lips, eyes flickering around the screen as he searched entry dates, finding one from nearly six years before and pulling open the file of a disheveled man, listed as working in sales. "There," he said, tapping a 'BH-000046'. "That was the controller before her, Ben Hennigan. He was the one that set up this system."

The hero squinted in confusion. "O... Okay?"

"But if we look at the first file again," he pulled up the woman's photo once more, gesturing to the ID. "Who do we know who has the initials TL?" he stressed.

Mysterion narrowed his eyes. "Larson?"

"I'll chop off my goddamn left nut if it's someone else," he muttered. "This doesn't make any sense. He shouldn't have access to this, this is a human resources-only demesne... Unless it's some security allowance that Fatboy somehow gave him."

"Would he be able to access everyone's file?" he asked worriedly.

"He shouldn't," he frowned. "Hell, I have it set up so that even Cartman can't get into this account without my authorization... But obviously someone did." He twisted his lips, snagging his adding machine from the edge of the desk and ripping off his ticker tape, clearing his screen and beginning to rapidly type in numbers, the masked man watching him confusedly.

He cocked his head. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Number checking," he muttered, eying the totals box at the bottom of his folder pop-up. "Give me a second here." Mysterion closed his mouth, nodding softly and resting his gloved hand over the top of Kyle's small desk chair, fingers pressing against his back in the slightest. The redhead took no notice, eyes scanning frantically and mind whirring at the same speed with figures he'd learned over the years. Started with 16 employees nearly ten years ago, the business increased at roughly 2% annually. With forty percent out the door every year, the numbers jumped back and forth. He silently mumbled to himself, fingers on their oh-so-familiar course as he rode through the numbers, watching them and pulling up on his ticker tape as each new line was added. Mysterion observed, unable to keep up with the new figures coming across the paper as it started to grow and curl around Kyle's slender hand.

He came to a sudden stop, looking between his figures and the number and blinking. Mysterion cleared his throat, "What is it?"

"I shouldn't have this many files," he murmured, dropping the tape and going back to the computer. "I shouldn't have near this many. I should only have about 150 people in this system. Why do I have over three hundred?" he whispered, scratching at his head confusedly.

He quirked his brow, "You never noticed that before?"

"I have two systems for this," he explained. "I have my basic one where it just gives me the current roster of employees and it feeds into this one. I only keep the other one in case of a possible lawsuit," he shrugged. "All the files in there were supposed to be completed by Gretchen and Ben, I had no reason to check it out," he winced.

Mysterion nodded, "Okay, then what do you think is happening?"

"Fuck if I know," he sighed exhaustedly, taking a long sip of his drink. "But there's no way this company has gone through that many employees. Not in ten years and not at the rate that it's grown. Even with such a high turnover rate, the numbers just don't click."

"A paycheck fraud?" he suggested.

Kyle shook his head, "No, I do payroll every week. That requires me to rake through every employee, and I account for all sixty-eight of us currently in the building. I know each face that I attach a paycheck to."

"All right," he nodded, leaning up and stroking his chin in thought. "Any more word on that background check?"

He twisted his lips, minimizing his hard drive's files and pulling up his internet browser. Kyle reached down to snag his workbag off to his side, grabbing Todd's folder and throwing it onto his desk. "I hope you know that what I'm doing here is illegal," he muttered, opening the folder and snaring his information sheet.

"How so?"

"I have his personal information outside of the work place," he stressed. "This is the first step towards identity theft, there's a reason I fucking freaked out at you going through my shit."

He snorted lightly, "Look, neither of us are interested in that."

"Maybe not, but if someone catches me with this shit, it'll be really hard for me to talk my way out of it, because if this isn't making sense to me, it's going to make even less sense to someone who doesn't run the place."

"Don't have to tell me twice," he smirked. "I'm barely keeping up with you."

Kyle rolled his eyes, pulling up the background check site and quickly entering Todd's information. "Maybe the spandex is cutting off the blood circulation to your brain."

"Rayon," he corrected again.

He gave him a quick glare, "Well, excuse me. I guess I know your fucking superpower now."

"Oh?" he cocked his brow.

"Being a fucking drama queen over fabric," he murmured, getting a flick on the back of the skull and smirking a bit as a snail-paced loading screen popped up in front of them. "I sent out the request on Friday night," he informed him. "I haven't checked from work."

Mysterion nodded approvingly, "Smart move. Fatass could get suspicious."

"Well. That and I don't have the time," he rolled his eyes. "I'm glad that whatever your day job is is so lax that you can run around playing vigilante all night. Must be nice to have excess energy."

The hero twisted his lips in a pout, "Maybe you're just fucking lazy."

"Excuse me?" he snapped, turning back and glaring at him, Mysterion backing up from the pure hatred cascading through glazed eyes.

"It was a joke," he assured him, holding up his hands in defense. "Just a joke. Calm down."

"Maybe you should be the one running this shit and paying for it out of your pocket!" he spat.

His face dropped guiltily, "Wait, you had to pay for that?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Jesus fucking Christ, why does everyone think that shit comes free? Yeah, I had to pay up about $200 to get the full-fledged search for him..." He turned back and sighed tiredly. "But whatever. If this gets us closer to figuring this bullshit out it's worth it."

Mysterion winced, walking up closer to him and clearing his throat as they both stared at the spinning dial of the loading screen. "I'll bring you a hundred next time I see you," he promised.

"Don't," he shook his head. "It's fine, that didn't make a huge chunk in my account. I really don't mind, I'm just fucking tired." He took another long sip, finishing off his drink and sighing, keeping hold of the glass and hopping up to his feet, heading towards his kitchen. Mysterion watched after him in concern, hearing him rummaging through the fridge and shaking his head. He should've known this would just increase the poor guy's stress.

He glanced at the screen loading up and tilted his head. "It's up," he informed him.

Kyle came back from the kitchen, vodka and 1/4 filled glass of orange juice in hand. "Fucking finally," he muttered, sitting back down and blindly unscrewing his lids as he scanned over the report, eyes narrowing. "What the absolute fuck," he said blankly.

"What?"

Kyle grabbed his glass, filling a good half with the vodka as Mysterion watched him, shaking his head again. "This guy has a shit ton on his record," he pointed out, taking another bitter drink and smacking his lips. "Look, he's got ten charges in this county alone," he gestured. "Fuckin' fraud and robbery for the most part from the looks of it," he glared.

"Why'd you hire him, then?" he questioned.

"I didn't, Fatass did," he hissed. "Larson's one of three people to be there since the company opened. The two of them and Butters are the only ones. That's why I figured he wasn't being let go with all the reports against him, just pure seniority. But Cartman wouldn't let someone like this in his company. He fought me tooth and nail over hiring Craig into our sales group because that idiot got arrested in high school for selling smokes to kids," he rolled his eyes. "Something from forever ago that isn't even closely related to business and he didn't want any part of that."

Mysterion shrugged, "Are you sure that wasn't just bias in that case? Fatass hates Craig." Kyle slowly turned around, smirking slyly at him and the hero stared back at him. "What?"

"You're shit at this, you know that?"

He cocked his head, "Whaddya mean?"

Kyle placed his cheek in his palm and shrugged, snagging his smokes from beside of him and lighting one up. "I definitely know your age range and your fucking origin town now."

"What uh... what are you-"

"Because I wasn't talking about Craig Tucker," he drawled. "Craig Alarie, however, who's in his forties, works in sales. Tucker is our photographer," he took a long drag of his menthol and ashed into a small tray beside him. "I'm just sayin', only someone in our class would automatically assume I meant Tucker and know how much Cartman hates him," he said innocently.

Mysterion stared at him for a long while before putting his face into his gloved palm and sighing irritably. "Only you," he muttered. "Only fucking you would do that so easily."

Kyle chuckled, "There's a reason you came to me for the help with thinking," he taunted, turning back to his screen. "Anyway. My point is that Fatass didn't like any kind of discrepancies like that with his employees. Even a basic check of Larson would've pulled up at least half of this shit," he waved towards the laptop aimlessly.

"You think he knows him from somewhere?" Mysterion asked.

"Well, if your feelings on this are correct, I'm guessing he's part of the fucking underground running," he frowned. "Someone for Cartman to keep close at hand."

Mysterion eyed him skeptically, "As an employee?"

"If you can even call him that," he drawled, turning back around and looking up at him, ashing his cigarette once more. "Think about it: He's not actually doing the job he's supposed to do. What better way to have people dropping off supplies or whatever without suspect if you have someone who's supposedly on security duty?"

He nodded slowly, "Adds up. But in broad daylight?"

"Why not?" he questioned. "Todd handles deliveries. How easy would it be for someone to buy fucking cargo shorts and put supplies in a box to just hand on over? No one's going to question it if he takes something up to Fatass' office or to the back warehouse."

Mysterion blinked, "There's a warehouse?"

"It's where we keep a lot of the art supplies and store the company vehicles," he shrugged. "He could keep it all hidden in plain sight. And if it has Fatass' name on it-"

"No one would touch it," he finished quietly, getting a confirmatory nod from the redhead. Mysterion twisted his lips and sighed. "All right. I need Larson's address."

Kyle paused, biting his lip lightly. "Fine, but... can you wait before you shake him down or whatever the fuck it is you do?"

"What? Why?"

"Because we still have a problem," he reminded him, getting to his feet and leaning against his desk. "Larson is fucking up things in my files. I want to figure out who these people are before we make any more moves towards him."

He crossed his arms, "I can beat that information out of him."

Kyle glared, "Look, you're forgetting something vital here: You're not on a suspect list if this gets out. What happens if he spills to the cops? What then? An investigation where every sign points back to me? Is that the fucking end goal? To get me in prison?"

"No, I just mean-"

"Then listen," he said pleadingly. "Look, you're already asking a shit ton of me to fucking trust you when you're hiding in a fucking cape and making yourself sound like a lung cancer patient. We need to play this safe," he emphasized, stubbing his cigarette into his tray, letting it fizzle into death. "Stalk him out all you goddamn want, but do not get close to him, understand?"

Mysterion frowned, "You realize that I'm the hero here, right?"

"You realize that I'm the one with your intel, right?" he countered.

They stared each other down firmly before Mysterion's shoulders sank. He had a point. He couldn't get Kyle hauled off to jail, he wouldn't exactly work well as a character witness. "Fine," he conceded. "I'll watch him, but I won't get near him. But I do hope you realize that every step closer you get towards him, the closer they get towards you," he warned.

"I'm perfectly aware of how risks work," he said quietly. "Look, right now, my options are get arrested, get killed, or figure this out. I don't know about you, but I'd personally rather only deal with one of those scenarios."

He nodded, "Yeah, good point." Kyle sighed, grabbing a post-it from beside his laptop and scribbling down Todd's address, handing it over to the hero.

"Don't be stupid about it," he said softly.

"Worried for me?" he smirked.

Kyle scoffed, "No, I'm worried for me and a shit ton of charities," he bit. He scratched through his hair and sighed. "I can't afford background checks for 150 people," he muttered. "I'll have to figure something else out."

Mysterion sighed, nodding softly. "I'm sure you will."

"Thanks for the help," he drawled sarcastically.

He shrugged, "Like you said, you're the brains here. I'm just the guy in the 'spandex'," he mocked, getting a small smirk out of the redhead. He nodded, "I'm going back out. You need to get some sleep."

"I can take care of myself, Dad, thanks," he rolled his eyes.

"Kyle," he said firmly, getting his attention back on him. "You look like shit. Get some sleep."

"I..." he trailed off, feeling the intensity lingering in the darkness of his hood and nodding softly. "Fine."

"Good," he nodded curtly. "I'll come see you again soon." He turned on his heel, heading back towards the window and Kyle raised his brow.

"I have a door," he informed him dryly. "Three, in fact. You're welcome to use them."

He watched Mysterion slide up the window with ease, pouting before redirecting his attention to find the vigilante staring back at him and a smooth chuckle breaking through his throat. "But then I wouldn't be nearly as much your dashing, mysterious hero."

"Oh, fuck you!" he scoffed, watching him laugh before fluidly sliding up and out the window, closing it and heading off. Kyle hurried to the pane, watching him slip fluidly behind houses and towards the woods, watching until he could no longer see the silhouette against the moonlit sky. He sighed, turning and heading back to his desk, slowly closing his laptop and staring at his hand planted down on the top of the screen. He was getting in over his head, that much was painfully obvious... But he merely shook his head at himself, sliding his glasses off to put atop the computer. He snagged his half-filled Screwdriver and gulped the rest down in quick succession, wiping off his lips with the back of his hand and taking a deep breath. Gently, he set the glass onto his desk, taking a final look at the paperwork beginning to be strewn over his desk before forcing himself to turn and head away towards his room. He could linger on these thoughts tomorrow. For now, Mysterion was right. He needed some goddamn sleep.

A/N: So much math blergh

Thanks for R&Ring!