Chapter Text
Mysterion spit blood onto the concrete, staggering backwards until his back hit against the wall. His breaths came heavy and quick, chest heaving as he gulped down air.
Roars of cars a few streets down were nearly the only sound, the alley eerily quiet after the fight.
There were men scattered around the ground and he’d have to dig a bullet out of his arm later, but he’d gotten ahead this time. Another attempt in shutting down the entire operation. In this area of the city, anyhow.
He was losing coherency. Mysterion's heart was pounding in his chest as he tried to deepen his breaths. He was too young to struggle this much, but he'd been ambushed like a fucking moron and he was paying dearly for the misstep. He'd have to come back twice as rough if he was going to keep his reputation.
Gangs like this were impossible to fully eradicate, no one knew that more than he did. But if any dent could be made in all of this, he’d keep fighting. Someone had to dissuade them from just carrying out some of this horrific shit whenever they wanted. Someone had to keep them looking over their shoulders. He had to keep them looking over their shoulders. He had no choice.
The light above the back of the restaurant flickered, illuminating the vigilante for a split second before fluttering back out. He gave it a quick look, but as no one walked through the back door he continued to recover from the fight.
Mysterion operated on fear. He had to be back out tomorrow night, leaving only a few hours to sleep. Someone was moving merchandise to the waterfront tomorrow night and Mysterion had to be there. To whatever end.
Right now, he had to get this bullet out of his arm. The pain burned so intently it pulsated with his heartbeat, and his left eye was swelling, a coolness pooling under the skin.
At least he had the information now.
Mysterion pushed himself away from the wall, blood still trailing down the back of his mouth down his throat, making him nauseous. He definitely needed to clean up and take a nap.
“Hey,” A heavily-accented voice spoke harshly, snapping in the soft murmur of city life.
Mysterion had missed one, a tall white boy with a sleeveless shirt, a gold necklace, and carefully-styled red hair. His arms were crossed and his feet were shoulder width.
Mysterion froze, looking him over. He was definitely the type to carry a weapon, even if he hadn't made a move for it yet. He was waiting. A chatty one, perhaps. Fine. He could see if he could scare some information from him.
He strode forward for about three paces, but the boy didn’t do anything more than smile.
“Hey, babes, hold on,” The redhead was saying, not moving an inch. “I’m a passerby.”
Sure. He knew when someone had alternative motives. Mysterion did not slow his pace, and stopped suddenly when he was within arm’s length, so sharply that his cloak snapped around his frame before fluttering back into place.
The two of them stared at each other, Mysterion stoic and silent, the boy smirking and smug.
“Don’t start something,” The boy said, eyes flitting over Mysterion’s form. “We're going to talk.”
Goddammit, why did he have to word it like a demand? He wasn't in the mood for this.
The vigilante grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him against the alley wall, and the kid braced his foot against his side like he was preparing to kick him away.
He kept the boy pinned and the kid didn’t shove him away from his body. Darkish eyes narrowed in the alleyway light, anger rippling through his expression.
“I’m here for help,” The gold glittered around his neck as he shifted. “So don’t fucking try, you’re not fucking scary.”
Well that was just a challenge. Mysterion hit his chest hard with the length of his arm, further trapping him against the wall.
The kid caught him, kicking him sideways in the knee and making his leg buckle. He fell on one knee, loosening his grip, and the redhead grabbed his bad arm and held it outwards, leaving Mysterion open to any attack. Vulnerable.
The kid didn’t make a move, instead bracing on foot on his hip and the other keeping his arm outstretched, Mysterion gritting his teeth against the pain. He hadn’t realized the bone was broken, too. His arm was definitely broken.
“Believe it or not, babes, I’m actually your friend.” The boy’s accent was definitely American, but some region he’d certainly never visited. He glared up at him, fingers twitching involuntarily from pain. “I shouldn’t be able to do this. I shouldn’t be able to knock you off your feet so easy.”
“Your point?” Mysterion grit, growling up at him.
“You’re not who you used to be, and you know it.” The kid let him go, Mysterion stumbling before smoothly rising to his feet, a little too late to play it off well. “You’re not making a dent in any of this shit anymore. You’re just playing around in the city now, trying to keep people scared of you in order to keep them in check.”
That still wasn’t getting to the point. But the kid was leaning against the wall, crossing his arms again.
“I’ve been following your cases for years,” The guy said. “Call me Kyley-B. You’ve done a lot for this shithole of a city.”
Interesting. A weird name and an odd, almost flattering way to address him after all that.
“Are you complimenting me or insulting me?” Mysterion asked smoothly, arm burning with pain. He needed to stay cool, keep this fucking asshole from thinking he was causing him any kind of hurt. “Pick one.”
“Nah, I’d rather be real with you, sugar.” Kyley rubbed his golden chain through his fingers. “Tell me honestly. Should you be struggling this much to take out six guys?” He nodded towards the men on the ground.
“Point. Now.” Mysterion was done being led in circles. He didn't deal with flowery words.
“I’m here to help you,” Kyley said simply.
“Don’t need it,” Mysterion said, shutting him down there. This was not a situation he wanted a part of. He whipped away, gritting his teeth against the pain the motion caused. He’d have to reset himself once he got home.
“Don’t you?” The kid called after him. “Because I don't think you understand."
Mysterion said nothing, silence falling around the two in the chilled darkness. Kyley continued.
"I don’t want anything from you in return. I don’t want to see you killed. You don’t deserve that.”
Now that almost sounded earnest. Mysterion turned, slightly. Kyley merely raised an eyebrow.
“These fuckboys, they’re part of that ring that killed the girl from the eastern part of the city, right?” He asked him, smug face softening around the lips. “You’re still at it, trying to kick down people who go too far.”
He said nothing in reply, knowing a lack of protest would probably be encouragement enough.
Kyley was undaunted, continuing. “But you’re outdated now, Mysterion. It’s a second dawn for heroes and villains. You can’t spend your days playing cops and robbers in the city anymore.”
Mysterion had no one who knew what he did and who he was after. This was kind of interesting. “And you guessed this how?” He asked, taking another close look at the kid.
“Told you, I’ve been a fan for a while.” Kyley tilted his head, neat curls beginning to fall into his eyes. “A long while. I was fourteen, and I think you were probably a kid, too.”
He’d started this at age fourteen, a stupid child with a curse, trying to make a difference. A malnourished, tired, touch-starved baby, falling every other night with his guts in his hands. Mysterion exhaled, finally turning around fully.
“And what are you going to do?” He asked, more flat than threatening. If this was just some kind of hero-worshipping frat boy, he could handle that. “Somehow I’ve made it over a decade without your help. If you know who I am, you know that I can.”
"Resources." Kyley said simply. "You need someone who knows more about what's going on than you seem to. You've stumbled too many times this year. I want to help you take these motherfuckers down."
"Sounds like you want to play, yourself," The vigilante replied, watching the men he'd taken down earlier shift. They needed to leave the area. Now.
"Maybe," Kyley replied. "Good thing for you is I play to win."
Kyley held out a paper. Mysterion looked at him, grudgingly taking it with his good hand. A name, a phone number, an address.
“Contact me however you want,” Kyley said easily. “When you’re done playing. Whenever you need help, whatever it is you need help with."
Mysterion tucked the paper into his belt and said nothing. Waited. The men around them were starting to stir again, they’d either get up or the police would be on them and he’d have to go.
“Don’t forget what I told you, babes,” Kyley said, stepping back towards the main street. “You don’t deserve the end you’re rushing towards. If you change your mind, I’m easy to track down.”
The vigilante whirled impressively, cape sweeping the width of the alleyway as he finally started walking home.
The paper crinkled, the only source of noise around the being.
--
It wasn't until his body was refreshed and clean that he took another look at the paper. Sprawled on his bed in pajamas, Kenny held up the paper, ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead.
'Kyley' had written his name as 'Kyle Broflovski' here, which sounded foreign but the kid clearly had an accent from somewhere in the country. The address was...
Kenny rolled onto his stomach to type it into his laptop. He knew the city fairly well by now, and found his suspicions were correct: This was a house in the nice part of town. Not just the nice part, Kenny's apartment was in a decent area, this was like celebrities and the rich fuckers area. This was a 'stupid money' neighborhood.
So...what, did that mean this was some rich boy out spending mommy and daddy's money, trying to get his hands into the world of superheroes? Kenny had his hoodie string between his teeth, thoughtfully chewing on it. That wasn't exactly unheard of, particularly nowadays when most of the time heroes were in it for the publicity. Treated like celebrities.
Kenny hated that. He hated the blind hero worship that people offered to individuals who didn't even really care if someone lived or died. They didn't deserve it. And here he went around, struggling as always, trying to track down actual people who did harm before they hurt anyone else. He actually did shit about it. And resented the fact the recognition went to the people who didn't care.
So what, did that mean he wanted recognition or not? Kenny wasn't even sure of himself. He ignored any call of heroism just like he ignored the claims that he was secretly a supervillain. This was by choice. He had no reason to want any publicity.
Kenny typed in the kid's name in next, and the first result made him freeze.
Well.
Kenny sat up, pulling the string from his mouth. He clicked on the link to take him to the article. He skimmed it, going back over to read it in depth. This was...bizarre. The kid might be after him after all, but if so, this was kind of exciting. He hadn't dealt with anything like this for a few years.
Alright. He was intrigued.
Kenny slapped his laptop screen down, hopping off the bed to pad over to the uniform he was stitching up. He slipped the note back into his belt. Fine. He'd play along for a second. Long enough to find out his motives, anyhow.
If he wanted to play a game, at least it was shaping up to be a fun one.