The right thing (South Park Fanfic.)

Truth

"Okay, look," I say, watching Kyle look the cage door behind him.

"I don't know shit. I mean, more than most of us but please don't. I'm really fucking tired, let me sleep," I say.

He sighs.

"Look. I'll say this ones. This is not the worst they want to do with you. If I was you, I'd savor everything I'd have because they're planning on making you so terrible that you have no choice but tell everything," he says.

"Why should I trust you?" I ask.

"I don't expect you to. I'm just saying that electricity isn't the worst they're about to do," he says.

"I still see no reason to listen to you," I say.

"Freely. And then you'll die, trust me," he says.

"What are they about to do?" I ask.

"It's going to start off with cutting off the food and other things you are getting, don't take any of it for granted. They're pumping up the testing, especially on the ones of you that look easier to break, which means you are in no hurry at all. As far as I know, they're going to try to cut off your wings," he says.

I flinch.

Fuck! At least take my legs first? Taking wings out would hurt much worse.

"You've given me the impression you don't like us, why are you telling me this," I say.

"Why am I telling you this? Good question. You see, i personally don't feel as though you need to be hurt for this. Sure, I've told you I'll shoot. Many many times. I just don't like the fact you're being so open about information and still getting hurt. I don't like at all, it's not right," he says.

"Keeping people in cages isn't right either but you have no fucking problem doing that," I say.

"I-I. Look. It's harder of a choice than you think," he says.

"What do you think about us? Do you really think we're animals?" I ask.

"I came to warn you, not to get personally attacked. Look. I have my reasons for treating you like I do and to be honest, I don't fucking like any of you. If you can prove me wrong, do so. But I don't think you can. I've seen so much shit caused by you, probably more than everyone else combined," he says.

"How do you know us so well? You don't have wings. Do you?" I ask.

I take him by the shoulders, trying to feel his back for scars.

"No, I don't. Now get your hands the fuck off me," he says.

"If you didn't, you could prove it. Come on, prove it," I say.

He sighs.

"And how would I prove that? Take my shirt off? I'm not a fucking stripper," he says.

"Oh. But I will teach you to be one, classes only 66.90$ a year," I say, doing a hair flip with no short hair, which probably looks anything other than cool.

He laughs, he actually laughs.

"But yes, take your shirt off," I say, returning to somewhat serious.

"But I don't wanna," he says, laughing slightly.

I roll my eyes.

"You will, young man. Wait, you're probably older than me. I guess I'm your dad anyway," I say.

"The first dad to be younger than his son," he says, dramatically.

"Just take the damn shirt off," I say.

He sighs and takes it off, showing me his back.

"Why are you scarred?" I ask.

"I'm scarred? You have to see Kenny or Craig. I mean, they're hot but also have too many scars on their backs for me to count," he says.

"That's really gay of you," I say.

"Don't insult my sexuality," he says.

"Wait. How are we talking like this? You wanted to kill me two nights ago," I say.

"I didn't want to. I said I would. But yeah, no wings. Right?" He asks.

"Yeah. The scars are really different to those. They're always open because wings come out so often," I say.

"What do the scars look like?" He asks.

"I don't trust you enough," I say.

"While I'm in your cage without a shirt, hands up with no gun," he says.

"Wait. Yeah. Where is your gun?" I ask.

"Wrapped in a towel. I wash it you know, I like to take care of it. It's my baby," he says.

"Wait, what?" I ask.

"No but really, it's just in the guard room. You seem to be the closest thing to a leader and boy have I learned that if you go to the leader with a gun in hand, alone, during the night, you get beaten until you're nearly dead," he says.

"I feel like there is a story there," I say.

"When I was younger, my dad and I were coming from his job because everyone expected me to be a lawyer or a doctor when I really wanted to go into something completely different. Anyway. We passed by this huge place and me, being the stupid kid I was, walked closer to it. Long story short, something jumped on me and honestly, it looked like it was more flying than jumping, so, the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital with a huge amount of people telling me that whatever hurt me had huge teeth it had dragged across my skin. My dad had it way worse because he came to help me and I was already fucking unconscious, I couldn't help him for shit," he says.

"Where were you?" I ask.

"A looong way from here. It was kinda like this old house a couple of miles away from a smallish town. Everyone called the things 'Bird people'. My dad was in a coma for a couple of weeks after while I was out for what, 4 days," he says.

"That's so sad," I say.

Fuck. Could've been one of us. Oh shit.

"I thought it was one of your kind or something," he says.

He puts his shirt back on.

"I'll talk to you some other day, Stan," he says.

He leaves. Although I hear the lock, I hear him say 'Sorry' when he does it.