(*Author's Note* This story is rated M for fictional violence, historical content which may be difficult to read for some, hard yaoi /boy on boy/, Rape, and later on, gorey murder. The Marsh's will not be a part of that gore, I am sparing that much. There will be a few beatings, war scenes, and possible anorexia and starvation scenes. Read at your own will, leave me comments and ratings, I hope you enjoy my story and PLEASE tell me if I need to elaborate more. The first chapter will be sad, not as much violence, though some, and will not be as well detailed as the later chapters will be. It is partially a tester. Thank you all for reading.)

It was the year 1939. Hitler and his Nazi Army had officially taken over Germany, and the world was facing the verge of war. The majority of the German Jewish population had either been captured and placed in Concentration Camps, placed in ghettos or brutally murdered, not generally to the knowledge of the public until these Camps were discovered by Allied soldiers at the end of the war. Other countries in the same general geography had begun to be taken over as well, mostly due to appeasement by the British and French. Our focus is the concentration camps that led up to the creation of Auschwitz, in Poland. The United States was yet to enter the war, and Great Britain, along with France, were finally beginning to stand up to the great German power. That seems to be enough of a history lesson. . . Back to 1939.

The Broflovski's; Sheila, Gerald, Kyle, and Ike, had all been hiding out in the basement of their friends, the Marsh's, home while the nation of Poland was being invaded. Most people who "harbored" Jews had been caught at this point in time, but the Broflovskis were able to hold onto their luck. Kyle would occasionally sleep upstairs in his friend's room, but that was not often due to a massive fear of being discovered. Seeing how he was usually sleeping on the floor of a basement, it was a very nice change. Regardless of where they slept or who they were staying with, tonight was the night everything would change.

The time was now precisely 11:42 pm, and everyone in the house was long asleep. Kyle was cuddled closely to Stan in his warm bed, the faintest smile curving his lips. Somehow, though supposedly no one possessed knowledge of the whereabouts of the Broflovskis, the Nazi army had located them. That means, as hard as it is to believe, somebody within the Marsh home had snitched. . . Either that or they had been under surveillance. . . No matter the way this knowledge reached the German forces, now, on this date of October 4th, 1939, the Marsh household was invaded. The metal lock on the door shrieked as it was shot, the deafening sound of metal being broken clawing at the ears of the spontaneously awoken household members. The lead officer kicked down the wooden door with a nasty smirk, causing it to land with a loud THUD that echoed throughout the home.

"In my closet… NOW." Stan whispered sternly to his obviously terrified friend.

"But Stan, if they-"

"Now!" he hissed, pushing the red headed boy out of the bed, getting up himself. Kyle was teary-eyed and wanted to protest more, staring up at his friend. He was barely able to speak, but he managed to whisper: "Stan. . ."

And with that, the ravenette turned around for a moment, managing to give a reassuring, yet fake smile.

"I love you, Ky," he said to him, turning back around with tears in his ocean blue eyes.

Kyle wanted more than anything to break down and cry, but he knew now was not the time to lose himself. He quickly crawled over to the closet, opened it, and once inside closed the door and held the metal knob tightly in his hands. Tears now streamed heavily down his cheeks, and he removed a hand from the knob only to place it over his mouth in a pitiful attempt to silence himself. His entire body was trembling, partly from his fear but also from his uncontrollable sobs.

'Why. . .' The ginger boy thought to himself as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the door.

Stan knew he couldn't stay in his room, they would have come in eventually anyways. . . Besides that, they would have found Kyle if he did, so he forced himself to open the door and enter the living room. What a scene he had come about. . . Sheila and Gerald were on their knees in front of, what appeared to be, the head officer of the Invasion Team. Ike, the Broflovski's adopted son from Austria, was in a bloody pile on the floor, his limp form giving away his mortal status. May he rest well, God knows the rest of them would never again have such an opportunity to escape. . . His own family was huddled together in the corner of the living area, surrounded by guards to ensure they wouldn't make a move.

"You Jews are all the same. . . Lying. . ." The Nazi paced in front of the two Jews, tapping the gun holster at his side gently. He was teasing them, but they already knew what he was capable of. ". . .hiding, stealing. . ." He continued, stopping to kneel in front of Sheila and gently place the finger that was tapping the holster moments before under her fat chin. He matched her gaze, his golden eyes shining with wonder at her fearful but strong expression. ". . . But it always catches up, yes?" He spat before removing his finger, the creaking of Stan's door hinges catching his attention. His eyes darted quickly to the direction of the sound, an evil smirk once again curling his lips. In an eerily slow fashion, he stood and made his way over to the Marsh boy, the heels of his boots creating a heavy click each time they hit the wooden floor boards.

"You must be the other Broflovski boy then?" he glanced at Ike through the corner of his eyes, then back to Stan. "That is, based on the fact of how similar your coloring is to his, I must not be mistaken?"

"No," Randy Marsh cut in, causing Stan and the officers to look at him. "Stan's mine. . ." he finished before Sharon silenced him. The Nazi looked at Stanley once again, appearing too pleased to hear that. He was always a fan of a game. . . The ravenette peered at his father with a look of betrayal, as his plan had just been ruined. He was not a fool, he knew his coloring was similar to Ike's. . . so much for that.

"Even better," Stan looked at him with an expression mixed with curiosity and anger, not liking the sound of his content. "That means you can tell me where he is."

This statement allowed Stan to formulate a new plan, though not very elaborate. Based on the assumption no one else had said anything about Kyle's existence, he decided to look at the Nazi with a quizzical expression.

"What do you mean?" He prodded him. "Ike is the only child of the Broflovskis."

The officer's pleased expression dropped to a grimace, obviously not too satisfied by Stan's answer. "Oh? Well I am positive. . ." He forced another smirk onto his young face as he stepped intimidatingly closer to the other, smaller boy. ". . . That there are TWO."

Stan only shook his head, refusing to break their eye contact. He would stand his ground, no matter how internally afraid he was. He had to do all he could in his power to protect his best friend.

"Then tell me," The impatient Nazi challenged. "What happened to the other one?" He could tell he was being bullshitted, he did not appreciate the stalling. . . It made his game less fun.

"There never was one." The blue-eyed boy continued, sensing the other's growing frustration. Perhaps he could get him to quit, buy his story and leave them all alone. It was too late for Sheila, Gerald, and Ike, but if he could just somehow save Kyle, it would be worth it in his mind.

The leader's patience was quickly running dry. He had to break him somehow. . . He had to make the game a bit more. . . interesting.

"Lie to me again, peasant." He barked with a glare of pure hatred, grabbing the boy by the collar of his pajama shirt and pulling out a handgun to point at Stan's mother, who was huddled closer together now with Randy and Shelly. "I fucking dare you."

Stan opened his mouth to speak, hesitating momentarily to look at his family. An apologetic look came over his expression before he forced his attention back to the officer, staring back at him with a similar hatred.

"Ike. Is. Their. Only. Child."

There was a gunshot. Sharon Marsh was nailed in the forehead, collapsing limply to the ground as blood spattered the wall behind her and partially onto the two family members behind her. Shelley screamed in agony, and Randy looked wide-eyed, mouth agape in disbelief of what he had seen. The officer changed his aim to the boy's father, his sadistic smirk growing wider as he pulled Stan close enough to whisper in his ear.

"Say it again. . ." His tone was sick and joyful, expressing clearly the pleasure he was gaining from the situation. Now this was a good game.

Stan became teary eyed and bit his lip, refusing to look at his family again. He could never, ever betray Kyle, no matter what. Besides, even if he did sell him out, he had a firm suspicion his family would have been killed anyways. . . He supposed he was just speeding up the process. . .

"Ike. . . Is the only Broflovski child. . ." His voice was shakier than before. His eyes squeezed shut as the second gunshot was fired, tears escaping them as his sister gave another horrified scream followed by sobs of fear and pain. Sharon and Randy Marsh were both dead, the gun now being pointed at Shelley.

"Last chance, Marsh. . ." Stan finally made the decision to look at the entirety of who was speaking to him, tears continuing to stream down his cheeks as his eyes searched the man who was holding him in place. There was no way he could have been much older than he was. Most likely seventeen or eighteen. . ? He had medium-brown hair, bangs going about mid-forehead though kept very neatly, golden eyes that Stan had seen previously, and his incredibly muscular, yet also slightly overweight figure gave him an intimidating presence. He couldn't help but try and find a name tag, and though small he found it. His eyes widened as he read it. Captain. Eric. Theodore. Cartman. . . Why did he know that name. . ?

"The Broflovski's have one child, and no matter what you say or do, that will not change," Stan spat in Cartman's face, staring straight into the taller boy's eyes fearlessly. The Nazi allowed a small sigh to escape his lips, not even averting his eyes from Stan to execute the sobbing girl in the corner. Pity, there was still one Marsh left. . .

"Take the Jews and kill the boy. I want those bodies burned. My work here," He took one last look at Stan, his eyes scanning him attentively. He wanted to remember his face just this way. . . "Isn't quite finished."

"You won't get away with any of this!" Stan hissed, arms held behind his body as he was being dragged away by two large, perfectly Aryan Nazi soldiers, tears streaming down his cheeks more heavily than moments before.

"Oh, but dear Stan. . ." His smirk was almost sarcastic, his golden eyes laughing as he stared at the pathetic boy. "I believe I just did."

Stan yelled and grunted as the soldiers pinned him to a wall, his attempts of escape futile. Almost as soon as he was held there, it was over. They shot him three times in the stomach, a trickle of blood coming out from the corner of his mouth. The soldiers dropped him, a light thud audible once he hit the ground. His blue eyes stared up at the intimidating, familiar figure, whose smirk was the last he saw as he faded away.

The soldiers proceeded to grab Sheila and Gerald, who had been too afraid to interject themselves in the situation, dragging them from the home and locking them in a car, most likely to be taken to and early Concentration or Death Camp. Disregarding the after events of the successful evening, Eric Cartman began to steal from the home of the recently deceased. No matter how victorious he was in killing and capturing, the Nazi never stopped until he had all he desired. Besides, what's winning a game without a decent prize. . ?

Kyle, who was still in the closet, had heard everything. His eyes were wide, tears running more heavily than before, his knuckles white from how firm his grip was on the door knob. The Jewish boy's life had just been ripped out of his hands, his purpose now seemingly gone. The only thought running through his mind now was how alone he was, and the disbelief and grief were becoming overwhelming. He sank to the floor, sitting with his knees pulled close to his chest, his eyes closed again. He REFUSED to release the door knob. He didn't want to move, or lose anything that reminded him of Stan. He couldn't lose that, not now, and he couldn't throw away his life… not after Stan protected it and gave his own for it...

Meanwhile, SS Soldier Cartman was walking around the house, taking anything that appealed to him: food, water containers, alcohol, cigars, medical equipment, personal treasures, money, weapons, blankets, clothing from the bedrooms. . .He had been in Sharon and Randy's, Shelley's. . . The last stop was Stan's. Eric glared at the door for a second before putting his hand on the knob, turning it slowly. He opened the door in a creepily slow fashion, causing the hinges to creak. He stepped into the room, his heels clicking lightly and the floorboards squeaking under his weight. The Nazi boy looked around the room, grimacing with dissatisfaction as nothing interesting immediately caught his eye.

"Mmm. . ." Eric hummed, now standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed.

"If only the kid had told the truth. Maybe he'd still be alive. . ." His voice was quiet, close to but not quite a whisper. That's when it hit him, like a brick to the head. . . This would be the ultimate prize. . . The Marsh kid's demise, the other Broflovski boy. . . His eyes were wide for a moment before his terrible smirk returned.

"Ohoho. . ." He looked around the room as if he were hunting for prey, highly on the offensive and prepared to kill at any moment. It was a blood lust that could not be satisfied unless his full desires were met. Cartman knew he was in this room. He could. . . Feel it.

Kyle had heard his eerie laughter and his eyes shot open the moment he realized he wasn't safe. His thoughts began to race, more tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as he attempted to formulate a plan of escape. There was nowhere to go, he was cornered.

"Kleiner Jude. . ." Eric purred, a wider smirk taking the place of the old one. He quickly checked under the bed, displeased with the result. Normally he'd just shoot everywhere, but he wanted to see his face when he killed him. . . He wanted the full prize. . . His eyes made contact with the closet door, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he made his way over to it. "Kommen um zu spielen. . ." He placed a gloved hand on the door knob, a grip firmer than Kyle's, even though the Jewish boy was using two hands.

(*Translation: Little Jew. . . Come out and play. . .*)

Kyle desperately held on to the doorknob, praying for deliverance from the Hell he was about to be sent to. He needed to move, he knew this, but he was frozen. His heart was racing in his chest, his entire body shaking in immeasurable fear. His thoughts would not leave him be, but he still could not force his body to make any action. Right as he had gathered the will to move and hide himself behind Stan's clothing, the door swung open, causing Kyle to fall flat on his face with a petrified scream. The ginger boy moved to pick up his head, only to be shoved back down at the slightest of movements. A heavy, black combat boot crushed his skull against the floor, the owner of said boot smirking wickedly. The Jew let out a noise of pain as the boot pressured his head further, tears flowing from his widened eyes and down his newly bruised face. Cartman's expression flickered with joy and hatred, his smirk only growing at the boy's noise. This would be such an achievement. . . He decided to play with his prey, leaning down towards the boy and giving a hushed:

"Boo. . ."

(*Author's Note:* Please read past the first chapter! I know it starts off a bit slow, but I promise, things get SO MUCH more interesting in the later chapters! Please also Rate and Review, it means a lot!)