Saved not safe

A single robotic response from the phone as Kenny's trembling fingers found one key; then another. "I bet you think Craig's really cool," he turned to Wendy as the phone dialed, pointing his free hand to incriminate her. "I bet you saw his flash and cataclysm and must've thought, 'I wish I had some of that.' That's patethic, do you know that?" 

Tagging: Someone, come save me! Anyone is fine.

Timeframe: Post-train-incident, which would be post-Ferkle-hunting-with-Craig, which would be post-Museum. Getting the sequence, yeah? It’s a Wednesday.

General Notes: Mental lapses come with consequences.

She raised a brow at Kenny.  She didn’t make a comment in retort, however.  If he really attacked her, she would crush him between her legs and pick the locks on her cuffs with his bones.  With her arched brow, she inquired without fear if he meant to try it.

"Why ah yoo heah?" she asked.  It was slightly muffled and mispoken, due to her swollen tongue.  It was the most practical question.  If he were here to help her, she would listen to what he had to say. If he weren’t, she would go back to planning her escape.

Kenny ungraciously collapsed in a heap, against the foot of the hospital bed. He groaned. “…for being a nerd… inert… fuck… what you think you’re so special?” He grabbed fistfuls of the bed comforter to lift himself up, grabbing hold of the mattress with his teeth as he was about to slip and fall. “Clearly not special enough to escape some simple handcuffs.”

"I..ah…" Wendy wondered whether or not to be honest about her ‘powers.’ Kenny likely could not be trusted with a secret, not yet.  So she just smiled, steeled herself for the inevitable pan of moving her tongue around and said, "My giffs… are subtlew dan Cwaig’s. The Ine’ts won’ know wha hit ‘em." 

She sighed then.  It was hard to be smooth when one sounded like a toddler with a mouthful of cotton candy.

"Even da bes’ of us nee…assisance, some’imes." Wendy jiggled her cuffs hopefully.  She gave Kenny a meaningful glance.

Kenny felt his poorly stitched wounds. It was dizzying to look at, even more than just having the wounds. He felt like the wounds along his legs should have healed by now, but droplets of blood were still trickling out through the sutures.

"Besides, you still didn't tell me what your 'power' was. " Kenny turned to Wendy as he picked at the stitches. They were loose and came undone rather easily. The doctors must have refused to operate on him, and the well-meaning paramedics did a poor job of it. They may as well have held his body together with duct tape.

Kenny gnashed his teeth. There was a lone white phone hung up to the wall. Kenny approached it and cascaded his milky fingers over the keys. "When my inertia is so grotesque to you, what stops you from using it on me as soon as you're free?"

Tagging: Kenny McCormick

Timeframe: Shortly after the hospital visits

General notes: Just cause things are getting boring~

It wasn't so much that noise angered Silly. he was already angry. Barking just gave away where you were. Either way Kenny decided to clear out before the dog's undoubtedly stuffy owner caught up.

Somewhere along the way he encountered a lone figure walking. Dressed mostly in dark, it was the posture outlined against the shadow that made Kenny feel this person stood apart from the usual passers-by, those that would swivel around Kenny as if he were a sticky spot on a public bench.

Kenny pocketed his hands deep into his hoodie, slumped his shoulders and lowered his gaze to the asphalt. His fists clenched and slackened rhythmically as he approached. Something churned low in his stomach, as if his body felt that this might potentially end up really matter.

Tagging: Someone, come save me! Anyone is fine.

Timeframe: Post-train-incident, which would be post-Ferkle-hunting-with-Craig, which would be post-Museum. Getting the sequence, yeah? It’s a Wednesday.

General Notes: Mental lapses come with consequences.

She raised a brow at Kenny.  She didn’t make a comment in retort, however.  If he really attacked her, she would crush him between her legs and pick the locks on her cuffs with his bones.  With her arched brow, she inquired without fear if he meant to try it.

"Why ah yoo heah?" she asked.  It was slightly muffled and mispoken, due to her swollen tongue.  It was the most practical question.  If he were here to help her, she would listen to what he had to say. If he weren’t, she would go back to planning her escape.

Kenny ungraciously collapsed in a heap, against the foot of the hospital bed. He groaned. "...for being a nerd... inert... fuck... what you think you're so special?" He grabbed fistfuls of the bed comforter to lift himself up, grabbing hold of the mattress with his teeth as he was about to slip and fall. "Clearly not special enough to escape some simple handcuffs."

Tagging: Someone, come save me!  Anyone is fine.  

Timeframe: Post-train-incident, which would be post-Ferkle-hunting-with-Craig, which would be post-Museum. Getting the sequence, yeah? It’s a Wednesday.

General Notes: Mental lapses come with consequences.

Side Notes: A happy cop is a bad sign.

"Are those... dog bites? Jesus CHRIST!"

"This strains the boundaries of credulity... we need to operate NOW"

Kenny was rather alarmed as he drifted in and out of consciousness, which was unusual for him, to not be peaceful and in full surrender in his not-so-final moments. He imagined he could feel the blood leak out of his brain and through his body towards the gaping wounds, willing himself to die. But the rough arms of the paramedics hooked under his back and seemed quite unwilling to give up on him just yet.

"three.. two... one... heave"

And he was lifted onto the hospital bed. 

"What's his condition?" was the voice Kenny heard after the door slid open, a snap of rubber as the doctor gloved his learned hands. 'What do you fucking think my condition is?' Kenny roared inside his own head, unable to part his lips.

"Hmm-hm, hmm-hm, and his healthcare records?"

"Please, he's just a boy!" Came to frightened protest of the emergency response worker. And as the helper, out of breath, cursed the doctor, Kenny sighed in relief. The door creaked shut again, and Kenny was left to bleed out.

Except he didn't...

When Kenny woke up again he was in a dark room. He ascertained the hospital must have stashed his expiring body, ensuring nobody would accidentally find him as he "died on the operating table". His suspicion was confirmed when he saw the CAUTION signs out in the hallway: "Dangerous patients, no entry without supervision". 

Kenny evaluated his own wounds, like he'd once been shown by an Afghan war vet. He felt the wounds all across his legs, clumsily bandaged by trembling hands in a moving ambulance. He thought he could feel the shards of bone poking in his brain, having pierced him as Silly's maw shattered his skull. His stomach seemed fine, but it made Kenny feel queasy. He wondered if Craig had somehow tried to 'help' him by searing his open wounds, but if so he had been quite unsuccessful. 

All things considered, how was he alive?

Screams and the rattling of metal came out from the hallway. Someone seemed to be in a world of hurt. Kenny lifted himself up, which took less effort than he'd imagined, and followed the source of the commotion.

Kenny opened the door, and he couldn't help but grin as he saw who's inside. It seemed that the hospital wasn't kidding about their 'dangerous patients after all'

"I think I once had a dream that started out like this," Kenny's voice slowly came back to him between dry, throaty, coughs, "Handcuffed, helpless, on a bed, and nobody to hear her scream."

A gunshot. He smirked on Craig's words. 'Good person', Kenny was as good as life was to him, not fucking very. Good people Kenny hated the most: They handed him five bucks while they were talking on their multimedia products of child labor, eating their beef tortured to perfection. Their hypocrisy was the worst part. Kenny could see no distinction between them and the lineup of death row.

A gunshot. His head started spinning. He heard a first explosion go off behind him, muffled, as if he was hearing it submerged in battery acid. He jerked his head towards the sound, and realized the dizzying effort it took. A stain was spreading on his jacket, dark red fluid seeping through the holes and mixing with the dirt stains.

He turned towards the woman, who holding the smoking gun in trembling fingers. "Jesus CHRIST," he croaked lamely, bringing his fingers to his lips and tasting his own juices. Blood, mixed with acid, probably stomach. "WHY?" he moaned in disbelief.

The sour bile pooled in his open palm as he felt himself for the bullet. It wasn't there. Kenny was no doctor, but had enough experience to know that wasn't a good sign. The bullet had ricocheted, possibly exploded, and Kenny's clock was hitting twelve. Kenny's vision was going; he could barely make out the silhouette of Craig, seemingly floating over the floor.

But mayhem was not something to be avoided, it was inevitable. Living among the wastebins and sewage of the city had taught Kenny that society was rotten to the core. A compost heap kept from collapsing by those on top of it, convincing the rest of us that it was best for all. Kenny knew better. The only thing that stopped decline was sliding down to the bottom, where you could look up and see the entirety of the rotten, despoiled mess that was life.

"buzz off, sparky," Kenny positioned himself between Craig and Wendy, unfazed and gazing at the taller Craig through his muddy locks once more. "That nice lady there is about to have an epiphany. A goddamn religious experience. For all you know this is going to be the first day of her new wonderful fucking life. And you're just going to take that away from her?"

"She's intense," he remarked across from Craig, "must be a beast between the sheets." Then he fell silent. 'Intense' wasn't a compliment in Kenny's book. Fire and feist were the trump cards of the living, and their waste. The dead conserved their energy and kept it sacred. Violent deaths led to useless corpses. Give nothing, reveal nothing. There was no telling when you might need it.

Kenny tried to talk past Wendy and the whimpering man, seemingly disinterested in the very one-sided skirmish.  "So, clothes shopping, huh? Guess we're off downtown, then. Shit, about time, I could use a new look."

He was chewing the inner cheek with an intensity that could very well draw more blood. He pulled up one leg in front of him, then the other, folding them over each other as the joints in his legs popped and protested. As he did this, he heard a louder crack, and winced. His first reaction was to check his own bones, but when they proved intact, he guessed Wendy may have moved on to breaking fingers.

"What happened to me? I'm an excentric millionaire. I entertain myself playing unusual roles while the blue collar slaves away to engorge my fortune." He paused to breathe in, hacking as he did so, but never blinking. "What the fuck do you think happened? I cut myself free. So don't think I need your fucking pity. You or your girlfriend's."

That was when he acknowledged Wendy Testaburger, who crept up behind Craig. Kenny remembered her even less, but was sure that if it hadn't been for Tucker, she would've ignored him fully. "Wendy Testaburger," he addressed her darkly, "surprised to see you here. Guess the Ivy League didn't put up with your shit? Who's the failure now, huh?"

The train ground to a halt. Kenny, with effort, collected his bones from the seat and dangled towards the exit. But the closer he got to the sliding doors, the slower his pace became. As the electronic beep signalled the closing of doors, he turned around to face them once more. "You know what, I'll call my secretary to postpone my meetings, because I'm a dick with no sympathy for anyone's time."