Carefully, the men crept together through the night, heading around the side of the abandoned building with sharp eyes scanning around the area. Stan narrowed his gaze at the lone car sitting askew in the parking lot. "Why is Butters' car here?" he whispered.

Mysterion shrugged, "I don't know. He might've been a witness so they might've taken him, too."

Stan rolled his eyes, "You didn't say we had two potential hostages!"

"Well sorry, but neither of us is going to risk our neck for Butters," he hissed. "If we rescue him, fine, but I'm a shit-ton more concerned about Kyle!"

Stan paused, sighing and nodding softly. He had a point. After all, Cartman had a personal vendetta against Kyle, even before this entire disaster. The potential for him to be in legitimate danger was astronomical, not so much for his do-all lackey. It wouldn't take much for Fatass to convince Butters of all people that nothing was wrong with the situation, that he'd just misinterpreted the events and that everything would go back to normal in no time.

The two of them slid around the front of the building, Mysterion reaching back into his cape pocket and snagging Schroeder's ID, swiped just that morning from Kyle's desk on his way out of his house. His intent had been going for a few of the other locations that Kyle had managed to scout out, but it seemed as though he'd found a much more important use of his impulsion. Stan narrowed his eyes, "Why do you have an ID?"

Mysterion rolled his eyes, "Stan, look, you're not going to understand why I have a lot of shit that I do. The sooner you accept that, the quicker we can find Ky." The noirette growled lightly and shook his head. This was ridiculous. His superiors would have him cornered in his interrogation room in a matter of seconds if they knew just what kind of shit he was getting involved with. After all, good intention wasn't always the order of the day, it was good intention via procedure. Avoid the fines and the scrutiny, avoid getting the department getting hounded for their insubordination and being sent through a mandatory training regimen to 'straighten up their act'. He could only hope that they could get this solved under the radar somehow.

The vigilante passed the card in front of the scanner, waiting for the lock to click open and shoving his way inside, Stan right on his heels. Mysterion grunted, shouldering through the second set of doors and the both of them watching the lights turn on down the cubicle row. Their eyes caught a lone object lying in the middle of the walkway, glancing at each other before hurrying over towards it. Stan leaned down and stopped Mysterion from grabbing at it. "The jack is loose," he jerked his head towards the end of the cable. "It was ripped out of the wall."

Mysterion rolled his eyes, "Wow, you think? Fuckin' is that all your degree taught you?" Stan punched his leg and the hero ignored him, looking around the area for more, "Ky must've tried to slow down whoever it was so he could get outside…" he grimaced, glancing towards the stairs. He made way over to them, Stan cocking his brow.

"What are you doing?"

"Seeing where they ambushed him," he answered, glancing up the steps as the lights flickered on and beginning up the way. Stan got to his feet and hurried to follow him. Mysterion bit his lip at a gleam resting about halfway up the staircase, approaching the item and reaching down to grab it, heart sinking at the broken glasses, dark green frames busted from impacting on the side. "He fell… or they pushed him," he murmured.

Stan took a long breath and nodded. "Well… we know he got up. God knows Butters wouldn't have thought to grab a phone."

"Right," he agreed, clutching the glasses closer and hurrying up the remainder of the stairs, narrowing his eyes at the plastic mess down the hall.

The detective came up beside him, lips twisting as he led the way towards it. "It's his laptop," he said, kneeling down and glancing at the loosened protective covering, a long crack running down the corner towards the middle.

Mysterion narrowed his eyes. "Wouldn't have cracked like that if it landed on the bottom like it is," he commented. "Right?"

He shrugged a bit, "Well it could've… landed on the corner and fell back. But from where it cracked, it looks like it should've fallen onto the top were that the case."

"He hit someone with it," the vigilante concluded.

Stan nodded solemnly. "There had to've been more than one," he said, getting back to his feet. He glanced over towards Butters' opened office and twisted his lips, stepping up and glancing around the still-lit room. "Nothing looks out of place…" he glanced down, "But his bag is still here."

"They lured at least him out?" Mysterion guessed.

"Lured him out, got him out of the way, and then ambushed Kyle," he surmised.

Mysterion crossed his arms, taking a long, anxious breath. "It was someone they knew," he muttered. "Not Cartman, but someone Butters trusted enough to go along with and Kyle would've known to fight."

Stan narrowed his eyes, "Why not Cartman?"

"Because Cartman would never get his hands dirty. And he knows that Kyle could kick his fucking ass," he said angrily, waving for him to follow him back down the stairs, slipping Kyle's glasses into one of his pockets. "He would've sent someone who he knew could get him down, so I'm going to assume that it's the two who attacked him at his house. Kyle said they were in the system here, so Butters probably would've known them."

The noirette cocked his brow, nodding slowly as they reached the landing and Mysterion began leading way back towards the security office. "But who are they?"

"Names are Matvei Kashkov and… Darryl Burke?" he looked up thoughtfully, mumbling a confirmation to himself. "Petty criminals as far as I know, nothing major on their recor-"

He stopped, both of them whirling around at a sudden loud thumping. Stan grabbed his gun out of the holster, pointing in the direction of the noise. "H-hello?" a timid voice called in a muffled volume. "Someone out there?!"

They glanced at each other at the familiar, whiny tone. "Butters?" Stan called suspiciously, weapon lowering back towards his side.

A pause rang through before he called back, "Stan? That you? Can… can ya help me?"

They blinked before bursting into a run towards the noise. "Where are you?" Mysterion demanded.

Butters cocked his head at the unfamiliar tone before shaking himself out of his confusion. "I-I'm in the supply closet!"

The men outside ran towards the door, Stan grabbing and jiggling the locked knob. "Fuck!" he spat. "Butters, you have a key?"

"N-no," he answered shakily. "And I dunno where it is."

Mysterion grumbled, snagging his locksport kit and kneeling down in front of the knob. "Butters, stay absolutely silent, you understand me?" he demanded. "You, too," he directed Stan, snagging out his tools to stuff into the keyhole and quickly beginning to count pins.

Stan replaced his gun in its hold, shaking his head at Mysterion working his way through the tumblers. Unbelievable. This entire situation was just unbelievable. He narrowed his eyes. How the hell had Kenny kept this a secret? He knew the guy knew how to keep stuff to himself but this was a bit far even for him it seemed. Kenny was always the type to stay out of the way of danger, the one to break up fights, not goddamn start them. And lecturing Kyle on getting in too deep into the situation? A part of Stan couldn't help but not be able to believe the nerve of the hooded blonde in front of him… But at the same time…

His shoulders sank. Kenny was every bit of Stan's vigilante profile and then some. Grew up in an abusive home, watched cop after cop fail him and his brother and sister, was more than adept at doing what he could for his town… Stan frowned. How the hell he hadn't put the pieces together sooner was almost shameful. He could just see Murphy or some hotshot fake television detective laughing their asses off at him for not seeing such an obvious answer to his quandary. But damn was Kenny good at hiding what he did. Never had a visible scratch on him, could pull off the clueless happy lug persona with ease.

Given, Stan should've read the most obvious of clues right off the bat: Kyle. Kenny was the exact opposite of subtlety when it came to him, always having his arm around the redhead. Defending him. Protecting him. Why the seasoned detective hadn't caught onto that blaring neon sign of an indication, he'd never know. Hell, how Kyle hadn't caught on was beyond him. But Kyle wasn't trained to look for clues like that, Stan was. He sighed quietly, watching Mysterion working down the line of pins determinedly.

So he could pick locks. Just what other kind of illegal shit had Kenny found himself doing? And what was Stan supposed to do once this was all over? Could he haul one of his best friends off to jail like he was supposed to? Hell, he knew that wasn't about to happen. He couldn't do it, and even if he could, Kyle would probably tear him apart before he tried. This was just getting more and more complicated, wishing beyond hope that they were all back to how it was just a few months beforehand. Just Kyle stressed out, Kenny being a snarky asshole, and Stan trying to keep the peace between the three of them. Just like old times.

He flinched in surprise as Mysterion finished his picking, standing and throwing the door open, revealing a strewn-out Butters standing and staring with wide eyes at the men outside. "T-thanks," he stammered, brown eyes scanning up and down the caped form as he slipped his thick gloves back over his hands. Butters timidly stepped outside of the enclosure, taking a shaking breath. "Gee, I thought I was stuck there till mornin'," he pouted.

"Butters, what happened?" Mysterion demanded. "Where's Kyle?"

The blonde gulped, face going pale. "I-I dunno. H-he yelled he'd come back for me… but then I heard 'im runnin' and shoutin'…" he trailed off, rubbing over his arms anxiously. "He sounded like he was in a lotta trouble."

"How the fuck did you end up in there, Butters?" Stan questioned.

He winced, "T-two guys came up and asked me t' move my car 'cause it looked like it needed somethin'… E-Eric put 'em into the client list as car parts guys so I figured they knew what they were doin'. I got back in and they… well, they grabbed me and threw me in here and locked the door. I-I guess Kyle couldn't hear me shoutin' for 'im."

Mysterion scowled, "It didn't weird you out that they randomly came up to your office to ask you to move your fuckin' car?"

Butters ducked his head down embarrassedly. "No. T-They told me that Eric asked 'em to stop by… that he thought he saw somethin' and just wanted to help."

The vigilante scoffed in disgust, "You know Fatass better than that," he spat, turning on his heel and heading towards the security booth, the other two in tow.

Butters squinted, "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"The guy who's gonna kick your fucking gullible ass if Kyle's dead," he snapped, shoving open the door and stomping over to the monitors, finding the feed of the parking lot and quickly setting it to rewind. He rolled his eyes as the screen went black, hearing the tape inside whirring as it worked and looking at the distraught blonde.

"Dead?" he repeated in a scared whisper. "He… he ain't dead… right?" he looked over at Stan desperately.

The detective cleared his throat and shrugged. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "K-," he stopped himself and took a deep breath, rubbing his temple. "Mysterion," he corrected. "Lay off him. It's not like he knew what was going on."

Mysterion took an angry breath, looking between him and the troubled blonde and nodding. "Sorry," he mumbled. "When did you hear this happening?"

He paused, looking down in thought. "It had t' be 'bout a little before seven. They came to get me t' move my car at 6:30 and I was in that closet 'bout twenty minutes 'fore I heard Kyle… I tried t' get out," Butters insisted, pressing his knuckles together and rubbing. "I woulda called fer help if they hadn't taken my phone."

Stan looked back at him, "Who was it that attacked you?"

Butters chewed his bottom lip, "Eric calls 'em Burke and Kashkov-"

"Called it," Mysterion interrupted in a mutter, shaking his head. Leave it to Cartman to be so predictable and yet somehow still catch them all off-guard. He reached forward and stopped the tape, hitting play as the timestamp landed on 6:54:32, their jaws all dropping at the sight of Kyle being assaulted and tied down coming alive all at once. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, heart wrenching and a gloved hand going up over his mouth in horror.

Stan frowned, moving up closer and standing beside Mysterion, eye twitching as he watched Kyle squirming and kicking desperately, a slight turn of his head revealing a dark stain running down his face. "Holy shit they hit him hard," he commented, teeth grinding down on his knuckle anxiously. The two of them couldn't so much as look at each other, blue eyes wide in terror watching Kyle being blindfolded and held down against his car.

"How did no one see this?" Mysterion asked blankly, eyes burning.

The detective gulped, "It's seven, it's off the main road. Most people are home by then and there aren't that many other businesses down this street. And anyone heading home would've been going the direction where they might've been able to see him, but… bystander effect," he shook his head. "People don't want to get involved."

Mysterion took a shaking breath, watching furiously as Kashkov broke off from the group and popped the trunk of the unfamiliar car, grabbing around as Kyle was held back while he fought. "And you fucking wonder why I do this."

Stan paused, sparing him a quick glance and sinking guiltily. He nodded. Made sense; more sense than he really cared to admit. They both turned their attention back, scowling at Kyle's legs being bound and the redhead being cornered in-between the two. Butters bit his lip, holding back tears. "Stan, can ya find him?"

"I don't know yet," he muttered, trained eyes scanning around the tape for outside indications. "I need their car to move first. See if I can track the plate. We'll go from there."

Mysterion dropped his hand from his mouth. "Looks like you'll get your chance in a minute," he murmured, cringing guiltily at Kyle being lifted into the air by the larger of the two assailants and swiftly dropped into the trunk. "Oh god," he whispered.

"Get ready to pause it," Stan instructed, hands planting on the desk, waiting for the closest moment he could secure for a view. Mysterion nodded, placing his finger over the button, jaw trembling as he watched the trunk get slammed shut. His chest twisted, knowing that Kyle was in there fighting for his life, probably scared out of his mind, wanting him to get to him and save him.

He growled as Burke opened Kyle's car door and clambered over to the driver's seat. "They took his car somewhere else."

"Sent it off, they're setting it up to look like he took off willingly," Stan narrowed his eyes. "I'm guessing Cartman was gonna come in early and have all of this erased. We're taking the tape; we need it for evidence in case this all goes south." Mysterion nodded, both of them continuing to stare as the unknown car's taillights began to glow as gears were shifted. "Okay," he held up his hand, teeth gritting as he watched it begin to lurch forward. "And stop!" he dictated, Mysterion hitting the button right away, pausing it just as the plate rose above Kyle's car's hood. "Butters, get me a pencil," Stan dictated, staring intensively at the blurred numbers on the screen. The blonde fumbled around by the computer, sifting through the cup settled beside the monitor and snagging a mechanical pencil and passing it off to Stan's waiting hand. "Get ready to write," he instructed him.

"O-okay," he nodded briskly, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen and watching him intensely.

Stan bit his lip, dragging the lead over the first blurred shape in front of him time and again, committing the movement into a recognizable motion. "T," he dictated, Butters nodding and hurriedly scribbling the letter as Stan moved on to the next figure. He narrowed his eyes. Colorado plate, which meant he had six characters. Three letters, three numbers. All a matter of narrowing it down. "2," he read off the next one and continued on the way.

Mysterion watched him working in astonishment, relief slivering through him despite the horror he'd just witnessed, despite knowing what it was beyond the point of Stan's 0.7 lead stashed away in that trunk. If anyone could help him figure this disaster out, it was Stan. He'd never seen him work before, never seen how his eyes shifted on a dime from a relaxed but stern father into an eagle-sharp cold machine. Even if Mysterion had gotten himself this far, which he doubted he would have, he didn't have Stan's resources. He didn't have the ability to do something with the information the detective was gathering. He glanced over at Butters continuing to transcribe, seeming to be caught in the same mesmerized trap that Mysterion himself was by Stan's hand and authoritative presence dominating the scene.

Stan hit the last figure, biting his lip as he traced time and again. "Fuck," he spat. "Butters, how many letters and numbers total? Separately?" he demanded.

Butters glanced at his paper and blinked. "Uh, two letters, three numbers."

He nodded. So a letter. Twenty-six options, one with sharp points. He closed his eyes, letting his hand fall into the rhythm time and again before it began to naturally form a known path. "A," he said firmly.

"You sure?" Mysterion questioned.

The noirette opened his eyes and nodded determinedly. "Has to be. Butters, what've we got?"

"T2M-67A," he read.

"Three and three," he murmured satisfactorily, reaching past Mysterion and hitting play again, the group watching the tail end of the cars as they drove out of view. Mysterion sunk lightly at losing the notion of where they were headed, Stan's eyes still firmly focused. "The one with Ky went right. They took his to the left," he relayed, turning off the feed and glancing below the desk at the tape decks. "So they're taking his off to the highway, probably getting it out of state quick as possible."

Mysterion blinked down at him, "How the fuck did you know where they went?"

Stan ejected his tape and clasped it tightly in his hand. "Shadows," he answered as he got back onto his feet. "C'mon, let's get to my car," he motioned for them to follow. Mysterion and Butters glanced at each other, hurrying after him as Stan pushed through the foyer and front doors, the others close behind.

"What shadows?" Butters pressed.

Stan pointed out towards the street. "The parking lot faces West," he explained. "Sun was setting; you could see the shadows on the edge of the screen from the lot entrance. Lower sun, longer shadows. Just a matter of counting after that."

Mysterion let out a huff of a disbelieving laugh. "Holy shit."

Stan snagged his car keys from his pocket, leading them both to a parking space at the very back corner of the lot, the SUV hidden well under the shadow of a large tree. "That's what happens when you're trained to handle this stuff," he said shadily, shooting him a glare. "You know what to look for instead of just running off punching people and hoping to find some answers."

The vigilante glared at him, "Well. I don't see your fucking department cracking down on the shit happening on the streets. Someone has to help people, and if it's not gonna be the cops, then someone else has to step in."

Stan stopped and scowled at him, Mysterion all of a sudden feeling small despite the good two inches he had on the noirette. "We're not allowed to fucking get involved with this mess because of you," he reminded him coldly. "Because you are a criminal. And we don't work with criminals."

He straightened up and returned the expression, Butters watching the two of them confusedly, clutching his paper in nervous hands. "How is this any different from you interrogating a man to give you information?" he countered. "That's workin' with a criminal, too, ain't it? If someone you arrested told ya where to find cohorts or stolen shit, would you refuse to follow on that lead? Because he's a criminal and doesn't deserve your fucking trust?!"

"That's different," he snarled. "They're in our custody, they belong to the state at that point. Information gathered from them is an asset. Your reckless endangerment of civilians is a liability that causes far more problems than it solves!"

Mysterion's jaw trembled, fists tightening. "Kyle doesn't think so."

"You think? You think he still believes that what you two were doing is right? Because if I were him, I sure as hell wouldn't be happy with you considering what we just watched happening to him." He stood closer to him, leaning up in his hooded face. "You should've left him to the cops, Kenny," he hissed, Butters' eyes widening and looking at the taller form in shock.

"Kenny? The heck ya doin' under there?" he blinked.

Mysterion growled, shoving Stan out of his space. "To do what? Tell him to file a report? To just fucking wait and see if something happened? You wouldn't have placed him in protective custody! Hell, your superiors probably would've hauled him off to prison with as much shit as Cartman had him set up in!"

"Better to be put in holding and safe as opposed to whatever they're doing to him now!" he spat. "But no. You had to think with your dick."

He narrowed his eyes dangerously, "You fucking asshole!" he snapped. "I know I fucked up! But I'm not a fucking criminal! But I got news for you, Detective," he drawled. "Your little cop buddies? They ain't all on your side. I hear tell you got yourself a pretty little handful workin' for Fatass!"

Stan paled, looking him up and down. "You're fucking lying to cover your own ass-"

"Oh yeah. I forgot that there's no such thing as a corrupt cop," he cut him off. "Forgot you're all perfect. No chance in Hell a group could be bought off, right?"

The noirette blinked rapidly, chest twisting in nausea. That couldn't be right. It just couldn't. "Anything to make you seem like less of the bad guy, huh?"

He took a long breath and shook his head. "No wonder Kyle wanted my help and not yours. Since you're too stupid to see what's goin' on in your own department!" Stan snarled, moving back towards him before thin hands broke between them.

"Fellers, stop!" Butters pleaded, stepping between them and pushing them away from each other. "Fightin' each other ain't gonna help Kyle none! Ya don't know what's happenin' to 'im, you're wastin' time!"

The men both took a shaking breath, Stan looking down at the ground with his face twisting. "Right. Right, finding Ky is the priority," he muttered, turning on his heel and heading to his side of the car, the sound of the doors unlocking breaking through the silence of the night. Mysterion shook his head, sliding into the passenger seat while Butters clambered clumsily into the back, both of them watching Stan smoothly moving in and switching on his dashboard computer. He put his hand back, watching his program quickly loading. "Paper," he instructed. Butters hurriedly shoved the information into his hand, both him and Mysterion observing him making way through his tracking software, rapidly entering known information into the database.

He bit his thumbnail, watching licensing and title information beginning to splay across the screen, nodding to himself. "Liam Myers," he read, looking over at Mysterion with a cocked brow. "Ring any bells?"

Mysterion frowned, biting his lip and looking out into the night. "No… but I know where we might be able to make a match."

Cartman's head rested in a plump palm, a finger tapping listlessly against his cheek as he watched one of his laptops impatiently. He glanced up to Kyle on the floor across the room, his head hanging low and his bruised torso trembling. A cruel smile crawled up his lips. This was just too good. Almost a shame he wouldn't get to see it playing out for longer. He definitely wouldn't have minded a few more days watching the redhead faltering in fear of his motives time and again. But it was far too risky a game. He knew well enough that every minute Kyle was still around, the more chance he had of everything going up in smoke. He had to rid himself of the main spark that could blow the operation into pieces.

First him. Then Mysterion. And, if it got too close, Stan would be next. But he had plenty enough within the department to send him in the wrong direction if need-be, he'd just have to keep a close eye on him for awhile.

He glanced down at a green flicker on his screen, seeing a black box numbered eight blinking with an 'online' indication and smirking. "All righty," he announced, catching Kyle's attention and bringing up glazed green irises to look at him. "We got 'em all here. Ready, Kahl?" he purred, folding his finger towards the group lingering against the wall, four of them stepping up to the attached laptops and looking to Cartman for him to continue. "Mercedes, camera," he instructed, the woman nodding and making her way towards the device as the brunette stepped around and towards Kyle's shaking form.

'God, let this be just a nightmare,' Kyle prayed, groaning as the back of his hair was snagged and he was straightened up.

Cartman cleared his throat, looking at the men behind the computers. "Ready?" he questioned, getting a resounding nod. "Good, keep up," he instructed, pulling Kyle up even higher until he screeched with pain. "There we go," he murmured. "I have here a Jew," Cartman began, fingers beginning to type rapidly on keyboards. "Educated, has years of experience sucking cock and taking it up the ass. Dontcha, Kahl?" he smirked down at him.

Kyle yelled incomprehensibly, trying to squirm out of his hold and kick at him until his arms were yanked back from the rope, eliciting yet another agonized scream as his shoulders were stretched to the edge of their sockets. Cartman nodded at Mercedes before dropping Kyle's hair, the man barely able to register what'd happened before a large shoe slammed into the side of his head and kept him planted against the ground. The brunette chuckled, gesturing with flair.

"Look, isn't he a natural bent over like this?" he cooed, pressing down harder as Kyle struggled, Burke coming up behind him and keeping his arms pulled up. The accountant's head was spinning, nausea and fury rippling through his compromised body like never before. He tried kicking, stopped right away with a firm kick to the ribs.

"One thousand," one of the traffickers reported from behind his laptop station.

Cartman scoffed. "One thousand? What do they think I'm giving him away?"

"I got fifteen hundred," another shrugged.

He rolled his eyes. "For God's sake he's not a goddamn used station wagon!" He glanced down at Kyle's fighting form and smirked. "See, Kahl? Even I'll admit you're worth more than that."

Kyle screeched in anger, getting another kick to the chest but barely feeling it. Teeming with madness, pupils shrinking as he fell into an anxious fit, he could barely keep any semblance of control within himself. He needed out.

"Two," the first crony said.

Cartman twisted his lips. That would barely cover the flight expense… he brightened, glancing at Burke still occasionally kicking at the redhead to calm him down. "Rope," he instructed, holding out his hand. The man nodded, untwisting it from his hand and both of them watching Kyle's arms fall slack against his back yet again, the shaking relief following thereafter through the entire lean form. Cartman chuckled. "Hold his head for me, but back up a bit." Burke raised his brow but did as told, taking Cartman's place as he stepped off of Kyle's head, holding him down with his leg extended out to reach him. The glutton pointed at the typists. "Let me show you just what it is you'd be getting," he said calmly, waiting for the typing noise to stop as they transcribed, waiting a few beats until he knew well enough those on the other end of the line had time to translate before slowly beginning to pull the rope taut up and towards himself.

Kyle's eyes flickered around in panic as his arms started to lift upwards until they were straight once again. Gradually, torturously, Cartman began to step back away from him, taking his arms with him. Kyle gasped as they were forced forward, body bending to try to alleviate the stress beginning to rip through his muscles. He tried once more to kick and Cartman rolled his eyes. "Kashkov, legs," he directed. The noirette nodded, heading over and bending down beside of him, grabbing his thighs in his arm and planting a firm hand against his calves.

Tears beaded Kyle's eyes as the burning began to arise, almost positive that Cartman's goal was to just dismember him altogether. He whimpered, eyes shutting as his arms were continually pulled. The brunette grinned deviously, feeling him shaking with agony. 'Good,' he thought before giving a sharp yank, forcing his arms to extend backwards over his head. A scream ripped through Kyle's throat before he could stop it, echoing around the room despite the stifling rag still shoved over his dried tongue. He tried to move away, doing nothing but dragging his arms further forward.

'Oh god… oh god he's trying to break my arms!' he thought in a frenzy, another scream and a violent flinch coursing through him, barely feeling the increased pressure on his head. He could barely breathe, his sides seeming to stretch with his limbs, his ribs and lungs beginning to ache. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, couldn't even comprehend as he began to cry in agony. Numb fingers twitched, breath coming out in short, wheezing pants. 'Someone fucking stop him!' he begged, hot tears trailing down his bloodied face, broken nose throbbing with the desperate need to sniffle.

"Four thousand!" one of the men called out over Kyle's screeching.

"There we go!" Cartman nodded satisfactorily. "Now we're gettin' there." He gave another harsh tug before letting Kyle's arms go all at once, watching them fall like deadweight onto his bruised back. Kyle gasped in relief, unable to stop his crying as his entire torso quivered furiously from the abuse. His legs were relinquished, the boot moving off of his head and Kyle collapsed onto his side, curling up into himself and trying unsuccessfully to find his bearings. He let out a scared yip as he was grabbed again and brought up onto the sides of his legs by Cartman, the brunette pointing between the camera and Kyle's tearstained face. "Look at what you'd be getting," he dictated, slapping Kyle's cheek lightly. "Open your eyes, Jew."

Kyle shook his head, trying to back away before a firm hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed, the redhead choking at once. "I said open!" Cartman spat viciously. Glittering jade eyes creaked open begrudgingly, meeting Cartman's amused stare and making him shake harder. He hated this. He was losing. Losing to Eric Cartman of all people. He groaned as the hand on his throat left to snare his chin, turning his head towards the camera and shaking him pointedly. "Who wouldn't want to make this happen every few hours?" he asked casually.

A few moments passed, the computer workers glancing at one another. "Uh, I think four's the highest we're gettin', Boss," one of them shrugged.

Cartman scowled. "Are you kidding?! He's costing me more than he's gaining me! Leave it to a goddamn Jew to fuck up-"

"Seex." Heads shot over to Kashkov staring thoughtfully at Kyle before shrugging casually. "I give seex."

Cartman raised his brow. "You want the Jew? Why?"

"Vhy not?" he said thickly. "I take. Eef you are villing to… vork vith me."

The brunette hummed. "All right." He glanced to the traffickers watching him expectantly. "Tell them if this doesn't work out the four thousand one will get him," he informed them.

Kyle glanced up worriedly at the dark brown eyes of the Russian staring him down, jaw trembling. What was even happening to him? This was just too surreal for him to wrap his brain around.

Cartman cleared his throat, throwing Kyle back down onto his side, the redhead opting to just curl up defensively and try to catch his breath from the torment he'd had to endure. "What kind of work are we talkin'?" he asked plainly.

"I take Ryzhevolosyy," he started. "You pay for plane. I keep 'eem 'ome. Vork een Rossiya for operation steell."

The brunette looked up in consideration, nodding a bit. "Would be good to have something set up in the fuckin' tundra," he rolled his eyes. He glanced down at the cringing redhead and back up to his lackey. "Why do you want Kahl, though?"

He shrugged again with a smirk. "'ee 'as fire. Needs to learn place. Good for doing books."

Cartman smirked, shaking Kyle lightly. "See, Kahl? We all win. I get my money, and you just have to go work on numbers. You don't even have to get fucked, aren't I nice?"

Kashkov huffed, "I deed not say that 'ee vould not. Number boy alone ees not vorth so much. I pay for both."

Kyle's heart lurched, stomach twisting in on itself at the notion. This was insane. Everything about this situation was beyond insane. He groaned as he was sat back up, Cartman shaking his chin a bit.

"Well, Kahl, I tried," he said with a smirk. "But hey, look at it this way… he's not a total stranger," he cooed. "And he even speaks English! Honestly, this is very generous of me to allow it," he batted his lashes. "And hey, Russia. Home of vodka, your best friend," he pinched his cheek. He looked up at Kashkov and grinned. "We have a deal. Soon as I get the money, you get him," he shook the redhead pointedly.

"Of course," he said thickly. "I vill 'ave eet to you by seven at latest."

"Perfect," he smirked, reaching up and shaking his hand. He looked down at Kyle's shaking, furious form and chuckled, pulling the man's shirt back up around his shoulders. "Don't you want to say thank you to Mr. Kashkov?" he taunted. "He's paying a lot for you. The least you can do is smile for him, Kahl."

Kyle growled ferociously, anger outweighing better judgment. He twisted out of his loosened grip, right foot rearing back and up, swiftly slamming against Cartman's cheek and sending him falling back.

"FUCK!" Cartman screamed, rolling back onto his knees, brown eyes sparking dangerously towards the compromised man as he held the throbbing skin in his hand. "Oh big mistake, Jew," he promised, moving back towards him. Kyle tried backing away before his ankle was grabbed, screeching in panic as he was ripped towards him, barely catching Cartman's elbow rearing back before it was soaring towards his face. It crashed against his right eye, the world going black all at once as he flew back and his head smashed against the cement. A quiet, meek groan escaped him before he fell slack, a new scrape against his scalp leaking blood onto the floor.

Kashkov looked at the unconscious man at his feet before back at Cartman with a raised brow. "I really prefer eef you vould not keell 'eem. Kind of not my thing."

Cartman scoffed, getting onto his feet and rubbing his cheek with a wince. "Don't know what you see in this scrawny piece of shit, but far be it from me to tell you how to make your life a living hell." He glanced towards Burke watching the show nearby. "Make sure he's alive, then tie him to something," he directed. The man nodded, leaning down and lifting Kyle up a bit, placing an ear to his chest and hearing his heart and labored breathing still going.

"May wanna ungag him," Burke suggested. "'Fore 'e chokes or some shit."

"Fine, fine," he gestured dismissively, watching him picking up the redhead and moving him into a far corner across the room. He turned to see Kashkov observing with interest and snapped in his face to get his attention. "Money first. Then you can fuck him into the floor in here, I don't goddamn care," he said sharply. "But money. First."

"Psch," he scoffed, taking out his phone and rolling his eyes. "Da, da. I set up for you. You know I am good for eet."

He rolled his eyes back, "Considering I pay your salary, I fucking know. But you also know how we work. No money, no merchandise." Kashkov waved him off, holding his phone against his ear and walking away, beginning to ramble off in Russian. Cartman hummed, looking back towards Kyle lying in the corner as Burke untied his gag, watching his head fall limply against the ground, reading the pain over his face even in his unconscious state. The glutton pulled out his phone, reading the LED 1:30am and grinning slyly. Less than six hours to go, and he would be down one particularly pesky archenemy.

Perfect.

A/N: Just a quick disclaimer here to say that the license plate number given here would match a real person's only by sheer coincidence :)

Thanks for R&Ring! Seven chappies to go if I stay on my revised ending plan blargh