Dark blue eyes stared pointedly at the phone on the table, a knuckle clenched between teeth and a foot bouncing impatiently. Stan reached forward again, sliding the phone on to his messages, his and Kyle's conversations flooding the screen. He bore his sight into the last text he'd sent, just a 'Everything going okay?' he'd sent out before dinner.
No response, no notification that he'd read it at all.
It was uncharacteristic. Kyle was goddamn attached to his phone to handle any work calls, never more than ten minutes late responding to a message, and that was only if he happened to be in the shower at the time.
Stan highly doubted his shower had lasted for four hours at this point.
Wendy glanced over from her book at his worried face, sighing softly. "Stan. I'm sure he's fine."
"Why hasn't he answered?" he mumbled, biting his finger harder. "Something doesn't feel right."
The woman gulped, tucking hair behind her ear and nodding, scooting over closer to him and leaning against his shoulder. She couldn't exactly berate him for being over-paranoid, she wasn't exactly feeling the most confident in her words either. Stan had only given her the bare bones of the predicament Kyle was cycling through, but it was enough to tell her loud and clear that he wasn't exactly safe. She tapped her book against her lap, grey eyes focusing on the screen with him as it faded into black again. "Maybe he finally just… fell asleep," she guessed. "Things finally caught up and he just sacked out. I'm sure he'll send you something in the morning."
"I can't wait that long," he said firmly. "I need to go see if he's okay."
"Stan, stop," she put a hand on his arm. "You're shaking. Kyle's a big boy, okay? He can handle himself."
He shook his head, "Not if what he's been telling me holds any water."
She leaned her head back and nodded, stroking his forearm tenderly. "Try calling him again." Stan quickly went to do so, holding the phone up to his ear and staring at the ceiling, listening to the vacant ring.
"Come on, Dude, pick up," he mumbled, putting his forehead down into his free palm and grating his lip. "Come on." Wendy watched helplessly, her stomach twisting and teeth nibbling the inside of her cheek. Even she knew, that damn phone of his was never on silent. Kyle never slept through a phone call. Ever.
Stan's heart and mind were going a mile a minute, running through all the information he'd learned over the past few weeks talking to Kyle. The problem was, he had barely learned anything. A street name and a location that was already cleared didn't exactly make for a good foundation to propel a manhunt to find him if he was missing.
His eyes closed as Kyle's voicemail picked up, hanging up the phone and taking a deep breath. He turned to Wendy and she nodded briskly. "Okay. Go." He got to his feet, the woman standing beside him before they both jerked back at a rapid, loud knocking on their front door. "Who the fuck could that be? It's fucking almost midnight!" Wendy blinked.
"Kyle?" he looked at her and she shrugged. They both flinched again at another round of harder beats.
"Stan, open the door! Please!" a rasped, unfamiliar voice called out.
Stan shook his head, eyes narrowing. "Who is it?" he demanded.
"I can't tell you until you let me in!" they hissed. "Hurry up! Please! I need help!"
The couple looked at each other suspiciously, Wendy pointing to Stan's holster set on the table. He reached down and snagged his Glock 22, switching off the safety and holding it towards the door. "Get in Sam's room," he directed.
"Like hell," she hissed, nodding him forward.
He rolled his eyes, "Then hide behind the wall," he pointed to the kitchen alcove. She hesitated before catching the firm stare in his eyes and gulping, quickly making way to shield herself. Stan took a long breath as soon as she was secure, carefully edging towards the door. "I'm not opening it until I know who you are!" he said firmly.
"It's about Kyle!" the voice begged.
Stan and Wendy looked at each other, Wendy shrugging cluelessly. The detective gulped, "Hands up, don't move them," he directed, genially placing a hand on the knob and unlocking it.
"Fine! Just hurry the fuck up!"
He took a steadying breath, finger on his gun placing itself lightly right beside the trigger, ready to snap down if need-be. He opened the door, eyes widening as a purple form dove in, hands above their head with a messenger back clutched in them. He snapped his gun towards him. "Get down!" he shouted, brow raising at the caped man standing before him, wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into. He paused. A cape.
"Stan, just shut the door and I can explain!" Mysterion begged. "Please!"
"Who are you?" he demanded, eyes hitting the bag and his chest twisting. It was Kyle's, he'd seen it plenty enough to know right off.
"Mysterion," he said. "Close the door. Someone may be listening!"
Stan hesitated before nodding, keeping his gun locked on target and slowly slipping the front door closed with a loud click. Wendy watched from the kitchen, fingers wrapped around the wall and staring at the show in front of her with wide eyes. She had no idea when Stan mentioned a vigilante that it was quite so… literal.
Stan raised his other arm to help keep his gun steady, scanning the figure up and down for weapons. "Why are you here?"
"Kyle. It's about Kyle," he said, voice dropping the grating tone, falling into a pathetic whimper as he glanced to double-check that the curtains were drawn. Stan blinked, familiarity hitting him all at once with the unmodified voice.
"Who the fuck-" he paused as Mysterion dropped the bag, throwing back his hood and ripping off the balaclava to reveal a frizzed blonde head and tear-filled blue eyes. Stan's jaw dropped, slowly lowering his gun to his side. "Ken?" he breathed. "What the fuck are you-"
"I'm the fucking vigilante," he hissed, throwing down his mask and gripping at his hair desperately. "Stan, Cartman has Kyle!"
The noirette stiffened, blood turning to ice and his jaw shaking. "What happened?"
"I don't know," he half-sobbed, hiding his face in his gloved hands. "I… I went to his house and he wasn't there, so I went to CartAd and… and his car is gone and I found his bag opened and in the parking lot…" he paused, glancing up at the dumbfounded cop and sniffling. "Stan, before I left… I found blood," he croaked.
Wendy stepped out slowly from her place, coming up to stand beside her silent husband who was still just staring at the blonde in complete disbelief. "Kenny, what the hell are you doing?" she whispered.
"It's a long story that I don't have time for!" he snapped. "We need to get Kyle out of danger. Right now!"
Stan stared at him for a moment longer as he grabbed his gun by the barrel, turning on the safety and passing it over to Wendy, who took it in confusion. Kenny blinked, eyes widening as Stan took two rapid steps towards him and snagged his cowl, turning him and shoving him against their door, Kenny yelping as his head crashed into the fiberglass.
"Stan, don't!" Wendy pleaded.
"What the fuck were you thinking?!" He ignored her with a murderous hiss, shaking Kenny violently. "Why did you get him involved in this shit?! You knew how much fucking danger he was in but you fucking kept him in it anyway?!"
"I didn't want him to be involved, it's just how it happened! He would've been if I was there or not!" he pleaded, grabbing Stan's wrists and gripping them desperately. "Stan, please. You can kick the shit out of me or arrest me later. Fucking fine. Right now we have to get to Kyle before Fatass kills him or something!"
Stan let out an infuriated yell, lifting and shoving him against the door again, "I should fucking kill you, McCormick!"
"You can when he's safe!" he snapped.
"Stan, Stan, stop," Wendy said, placing the gun on the end table and grabbing her husband's arm, prying him off of the distraught blonde. "He's right, this isn't important right now, worry about it later!"
Stan took a breath and growled, letting his hands uncurl from his cowl and Kenny slunk back against the door, shaking his head and sniffling. "Stan, I just want to get him back," he begged.
He bit his lip furiously, sharp eyes nearly painful as they penetrated Kenny's own. "Well. Explains why you were so fucking okay with him being involved with and trying to fuck the vigilante. Doesn't it?" he said spitefully. Ken's face dropped guiltily, eyes falling to the floor.
"I thought I could keep him safe," he whispered.
Stan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to get his frustrated shaking under control, barely feeling Wendy rubbing his back comfortingly. "Was there a note? Or anything?" she asked, still trying to take in the enormity of what was occurring in her living room.
"No," he shook his head. "But… but CartAd has security feed of the parking lot… maybe we can go from there. But Stan, I need help," he begged.
Stan took a long breath. This was bad. He had a kidnapping situation, most likely assault and, much as he hated to admit it, a possible homicide. Auto theft. A conspiracy operation under it all, lined with the underlings of drugs and soliciting plus god knew how much more. This was getting far too big for him to keep under wraps anymore. "I'm calling it in-"
"NO!" Kenny stopped him as he reached for his phone, jaw shaking. "Stan. If Kyle's alive, but Cartman hears cops coming and the jig is goddamn up?"
"Then there's no point in keeping him alive," Wendy finished solemnly, looking up at Stan as he scratched through his hair irritably.
The detective looked up and took a deep, shaking breath. "This is illegal," he said quietly. So so illegal. He could lose his job. Get his badge taken away with one stern yelling from Yates. And if it got out that Murphy knew all along what he'd been up to, the senior detective could lose his as well. Not to mention, less men meant less protection for either side of the fire. Stealth was key for operations like this, but he didn't know just how many people were with Kyle. And if he was still alive, it may take the entire force to get him out of there unscathed as possible.
"Are you really going to worry about due process or do you want to get Ky?" Kenny snapped. "You wanted to help? Well here's your goddamn chance, Stan! And every fucking minute that we're arguing about this is another minute closer to whatever the hell Cartman wants to do with him! So are you going to help me or not?!"
Stan looked between him and Wendy's desperate grey eyes, nodding sharply and turning to grab his holster and dark jacket from the coffee table, taking his gun as Wendy handed it back to him. He'd take the fines or the job loss. But he needed to see what situation they were getting themselves into; this was just too important for him to go by the book. It was now clicking perfectly that this was why they weren't supposed to take personal cases. Stan sighed, Murphy's concern over his involvement suddenly making a lot more sense than he thought it would. They both watched Kenny grabbing his mask and shoving it back over his head, Wendy biting her lip. "Why the mask?" she asked him softly.
He paused, scoffing out a humorless laugh. "So people I care about don't get hurt," he flipped up his hood and waved for Stan to follow as he opened the door.
"Be careful," Wendy said quietly, briskly leaning up and kissing Stan.
The man gave her a meek smile before dropping back into a scowl, grabbing the keys to his undercover car and jogging out into the night with the caped man, eyes flickering around suspiciously. "All right, you know more about this than I do, and I'm not going to ask what the fuck you've been thinking until we've gotten Kyle out of there," he said lowly, unlocking the car and the both of them sliding in, Stan quickly switching on the ignition. He took a long, steadying breath as he quickly whipped out of the driveway, taking another glance at Wendy watching after them and motioning for her to get back inside and lock the door before he pulled off, heading down the road. "But do you have any idea of what we're dealing with? And what he wants to do with Kyle?"
Mysterion stared blankly at the computer hooked to the dashboard, slowly shaking his head. "No. I thought the bank accounts he was linked to would keep him at least somewhat safe but now… Now I'm not so sure." He bit his lip, "Stan, I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize to me, at least not yet," he resisted rolling his eyes, keeping a sharp outlook for anything suspicious as they drove through town. "Right now, all that matters is getting him out…" his teeth chattered lightly, glancing over to look at the caped man slumped so miserably. "Why Kyle?"
"Because Cartman's been using him-"
"No," he snapped. "I mean why for you. Since apparently you've convinced him of all people that fucking an anonymous person in a fucking mask is just something to take lightly and go along with."
Mysterion glanced back up out the windshield, sniffling lightly. "I… I really don't know. It just happened. I could go for it in this persona without risking our friendship, so I did. And we were both happy that we ended up where we did… Even though I knew that it was a stupid thing for me to do but I still did it anyway. I just wanted it so much," he admitted in a stressed whisper.
"And he doesn't know who you are?" he asked lowly.
He shook his head. "No. Not the slightest idea as far as I know."
"If he finds out it's been you this whole time, he's gonna kill you."
Mysterion leaned back and nodded, watching the houses as they zoomed through town, eyes glazing over. "Better me than him. I just hope he still gets the chance."
Hands grabbed around him, Kyle screeching in panic as he was dragged back into the main room of the warehouse, squirming desperately as fingers wrapped in his curls and snared under his arms to lug him back. He looked up at the men hauling him away, recognizing Burke and one of Cartman's fucking pilots. Kyle whined, torn and raw wrists fighting desperately against their metal confinement as he was brought back into the light and carelessly lobbed forward, landing on the ground in a crumpled heap.
He glanced up and around, noting laptops lined along the table all strung together, a handheld camera propped on a tripod and hooked to the first computer in line. He looked to see Cartman paying him the quickest of superior glances between directing people to their various assignments. The redhead gulped, glancing up and cringing as Burke came back up to him, leaning down and untying his ankles. Kyle's eyes shot wide, waiting until the rope was fully slid off before trying to kick at the man, stopping with a screech as the brunette slammed his elbow down into his injured left knee. "Behave," he spat. "Or I break it." Kyle glared before sinking lightly, seeing well enough that he wasn't fucking around.
The accountant yelped as the rope still firmly looped around his handcuff chain was tugged, forcing him up onto his knees. He shook, shoulder muscles straining and eyes burning incessantly.
"All righty, Kahl, we're just about set," Cartman cooed with a malicious grin. "Have a lovely variety of people just on the other end of the line just dying to see you. You should feel honored." Kyle snarled at him, stopping with a firm yank of his chain from Burke and a pained wince. "Be good," he warned, breaking into a smirk and walking over towards him, kneeling down in front of him and watching him smoldering into fury. "The feistier you are, the higher your price goes," he purred. "I found me some bidders who want someone they can break themselves, so I'd suggest toning it down unless you wanna make me even richer."
Kyle's propped jaw shook, 'This can't be happening. He has to be bluffing, he's just trying to fucking scare me, right?!' He whimpered under his breath as Cartman reached forward for him, trying to back away before a plump hand snared his collar, amber-bottle eyes scanning him up and down. Well, if that was his goal, Kyle couldn't exactly tell him that he was wrong. A combination of blood loss and an inability to fight back sure as hell wasn't going to boost someone's courage, regardless of who it was.
"You buy shirts too big for you," he commented plainly. Kyle blinked before letting out a stifled screech as Cartman grabbed between gaps of his dress shirt and tore it apart, watching helplessly as blood-stained buttons snapped off and clattered onto the cement floor. Cartman snorted, "Well it ain't much prettier lookin' than your face right now, Kahl."
The redhead blinked, glancing down and wincing at the large bruises beginning to settle along his chest and flat stomach. He'd barely noticed any feeling with his nose and leg hogging all the fucking attention.
The glutton grinned, wiggling his eyebrows tauntingly. "Hard-knock life, huh? Too bad purple boy ain't here to make it all go away," he pouted, shoving him roughly before getting back to his feet. "Finish it up," he directed Burke, making way back towards the computers.
Kyle squirmed as the man kneeled down next to him, untucking his tie from his collar and tearing his shirt down his shoulders, letting it fall uselessly down to his bound wrists in coiled bunches. He smirked, glancing behind him before settling hazel eyes back on his face. "Your back ain't lookin' much better," he commented. Kyle growled, trying to wriggle away before his eyes widened in panic, his tie still looped around his neck suddenly grabbed and yanked back, head following its dictation with a cry. "Calm down," he said coolly. "Ya just keep makin' shit harder on yourself, Red."
Kyle simmered slightly, bare shoulders shaking as he loosened the slack, undoing his tie and taking it off his head. Furious green eyes sliced upwards, landing on the man as he lightly tugged his bound arms. "Move him closer," Cartman called.
The redhead yelped as he was yanked around, dragged backwards on the ground by his arms. He whined, trying to stop the parade with his freed legs, unable to find a stance in his shaken, weary state. "This good?"
The glutton nodded, clicking his tongue as he watched a trafficker fiddling with the camera, zooming in on Kyle's exhausted form. "Man, even camera magic can't save your ugly ass, Kahl," he muttered. Kyle glared up at him before letting his head drop again, mind just overrun, wondering blankly how late it could possibly be. How someone hadn't found him yet. He was sure that if word had gotten out that he was missing, Cartman would've been the first to know and taunt him with it. And a part of him just couldn't imagine Mysterion keeping this information to himself. Maybe that was almost egotistical, but it just didn't seem in-character for the masked man to hold his fucking secret over Kyle's safety.
He groaned at another pull of his wrists. "Stay awake, there, Red," Burke rolled his eyes. "Yo, we almost done here?"
Cartman glanced up at him from staring at a laptop and shrugged, "Gonna be about ten more minutes. Shit connection all over, you know," he rolled his eyes. "Just keep him still."
The need to rebel and try to fight away came and waned within Kyle. He was too hurt to keep this up, and he wasn't getting goddamn anywhere being tethered like he was. The man glanced around the room with glazed eyes, seeing the bored and impatient looks lining the walls surrounding him. A glance at Kashkov had a shudder running down his back, intense, dark eyes seeming to stare right through him before he forced himself to look away from the larger form. He couldn't fight off eleven people even on a good day. He'd have to be either kidding himself or drunk out of his damn mind to think otherwise.
He let his eyes slip closed, ignored the annoyed ramblings of Cartman in the background. It had to be late enough at least that Mysterion had discovered he was missing. He was no doubt on a frantic search for him, probably knew well enough to check CartAd first. See his car was missing. From there… he sighed, shoulders slumping. Well, from there, he wasn't really sure where the hero could go. But, he was sure that he'd figure something out. He wouldn't leave his fate up in the air, just hope it resolved itself. There was no way.
Green eyes flickered back onto Cartman rolling his eyes and bitching about international communication. He flinched at the reminder: International shipping. So much for his cocaine theory. Or hell, some of that may be accompanying him overseas if someone didn't fucking get him out of this madman's hands. His jaw trembled lightly, eyeing the rotund figure up and down. He knew who Mysterion was. Had held onto the information for days. No wonder he'd been so fucking cocky about it in his office.
But the timing of all of this seemed almost… too convenient. Teeth gnashed against the rag in his mouth, blinking rapidly. Was Cartman just waiting to know who Mysterion was before he made his move? Was Kyle nothing more than bait that he had a good way to get rid of when his purpose was served? Or was Mysterion nothing more than another unexpected element to the game, and Kyle himself was still Cartman's main objective to get out of his way? Maybe it was just something that Cartman was holding onto as yet another thing that Kyle would never know if he got his way and got him shipped across the world.
He supposed it didn't really matter in the end. Because he was here, alone and bruised on the floor. Mysterion was out there. He was safe for now, safe until he worked his way closer and broke down the goddamn door to get Kyle out of harm's way. The redhead glanced at the overhead door and sighed, wishing the heavy metal giant could just topple over, take all of his fucking wardens out and leave him to limp off into the night, find Mysterion, and fucking get them both somewhere safe.
"All right, we got about fifteen minutes now," Cartman rolled his eyes. "Leave it to the fucking sand people to not know how to operate within a private fucking server!"
Kyle's shoulders sank, eyes slipping closed yet again, ignoring the few tugs against his arms and the feeling of a camera lens honed in on him. A little more time to stall. More time for Mysterion to use and get here, whisk him out into the night like the fevered dream that Kyle had been replaying in his head for hours now. It was what he needed, and what he deserved. 'Please,' he prayed desperately. 'Hurry.'