AN: This is a fan fiction, but the plot is based on a true story. Many are unaware about the horrors that the Soviet Union citizens had to go through while being ruled by the iron fist. Even after the Second World War, many innocents lost their lives. This fanfic will still have the same characters that we all love, but it will be different…

It is a T rated story because of the angst, hurt, comfort and story line Honestly, it's all history and hope. In this story, the Sand Sibling's father is still alive. Also, Gaara is quite OOC. I'm pretty apprehensive about posting this fic… I'm not sure if people will like it. I actually started writing this so I could practice writing before my exams. -.-"

Please review :)

FYI: The Soviet Union, also known as USSR, was a major part of Eastern Europe that was ruled by Stalin, Khruschev, Brezhnev, etc. They were Communist countries. Communism is basically the opposite of capitalism, democracy. Examples of countries that were part of the Soviet Union (Many by force after WW 2) are Russia, Lithuania, Estonia, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Bulgaria, Romania. After Stalin died, it was revealed that he ordered his Secret Police, NKVD, to send many literates with opposing ideas against the government, to harsh labour camps. Many innocents perished in what is today known as The Purges. In 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed after Gorbachev came to power.

Also, during the Nazi regime in Germany, Hitler ordered for Jews and many other racial and social groups eg. homosexuals, to be sent to concentration camps. Many Jews were rounded up and sent to ghettos, the biggest one being in Warsaw. In the final years of WW 2, these camps became death camps. The most commonly known one being Auschwitz.

I hope that clears up a few of the doubts you guys had. (especially you: i3jackfrost)

Edit: I'm going to clearly state my sources so that I don't receive unnecessary flames.

1) Between Shades of Grey by Ruta Sepetys

2) GCSE Modern World History Second Edition by Ben Walsh

3) Germany 1918-1945: A study in depth by Lacey Shephard

4) Psychology Magazines

5) Perception: US TV Show

6) Debates in my history class with my history classmates and teacher, Conversations with anki-openminded and a certain opinionated individual in my class who refuses to let his name be published.

I will update this list if I refer to anything else.

This story will be edited after my finals are over. Thanks :)

What is the price of a human life?

Arc 1: Criminals and Prostitutes

Chapter 1

Lithuania was illegally annexed into the Soviet Union on 3rd August, 1940. We were authoritatively under Stalin's iron fist rule and couldn't escape. We had heard rumors, but no one believed them. My father had come home one day and told us that Jews in Warsaw were sending out telegrams that the Nazis were mass murdering them. My father believed them. But many others didn't. Besides, he was a 'government' man; if the government refused to do anything then what could he have done? For his safety and ours, we had to keep quiet. That's how many people lived. We wanted to help but couldn't out of fear.

Thinking back, it was simply eminent. It was so blatantly obvious - family photos, or at least the pretense of joy captured by the camera in the fleeting moment, were all burned in the fireplace. Father would not return from work. Gaara and Kankurou were asking questions. I asked questions, too, but perhaps I refused to acknowledge the signs. Only later did I realize that Father was arranging for our escape. We did not escape.

We were taken.

June 16th 1941. Approximately one year after Lithuania was annexed.

It was nighttime and I was sitting at my desk. The evening breeze floated through the open window over my desk, waltzing a curtain from side to side. It was incredibly calm and serene. No one could foresee what was going to happen in a few moments. I opened my new case of pens and pencils, a gift from Gaara and Kankurou on my seventeenth birthday. It was these small tokens of love that I cherished from my brothers. We were not like other siblings; we didn't tell one another everything, but we stood our ground against our father. He wasn't a bad man; there were many others who were much worse. At least he didn't return home drunk and, he did pay for our schooling. Many girls did not have the chance to go to school in this country. I was one of the luckier ones. Luck was a fickle thing.

It wasn't a knock. It was unrelenting banging that shocked me out of my daydreams. Fists pounded on the front door. No one dared move in my house, the silence was deafening. I left my desk and peered out into the hallway. Kankurou stood against the wall facing our framed map of Lithuania, his eyes tightly closed and anxiety written all over his face. I had never seen him like that.

Gaara came out from his room, "Kankurou, Temari, aren't you going to open it?"

I attempted a forced smile. I was the eldest in the house right now, Father had not returned for the past three days. "Yes Gaara. I will open the door. Don't worry, I won't let anyone break it down."

The voices on the other side of the door became louder.

"NKVD!" whispered Gaara, color draining from his face. "Naruto said they arrest people."

"No way. No way," Kankurou replied reassuringly, or at least attempted to. Even Gaara could tell that he was lying to himself. We knew that our father was against the government.

I opened the front door. The 3 policemen pushed me aside and entered our house.

"Two boys, one girl of the Sabaku name? Emigrated from Japan?" one of them asked, the disgusting odor of smoke filling up the air, bringing tears to my eyes. I straightened up, held my chin high and replied "Yes."

"Twenty-five minutes to pack anything you need. You're under arrest for treason. Your father has already been sent to prison."

Kankurou and Gaara turned pale, blood rushing from their faces. "We need more time. We'll be ready in the morning," I tried to reason.

"Twenty minutes- or you won't live to see the morning," barked the officer. He threw his burning cigarette onto our pristine marble floor and ground it in with his polished boot.

We were about to become the burnt ends of a smoked cigarette.

At the age of seventeen, I was being arrested for a crime that I hadn't even committed. We didn't have the chance to say goodbye to our father or friends, although we had no idea if they were safe.

"Temari, where are we going? What have we done?" Gaara asked.

"It's a complete misunderstanding. Kankurou, are you listening? We must move quickly and pack all that is useful but not important to us. Do you understand? We have to stay strong and stick together. Shikamaru told me that his father said the men get sent off to harsh labor camps. If needed you two have to act absolutely dumb. Act like you're helpless and I'm guiding you. Those men can't see the kitchen or our rooms so listen carefully. Clothes and shoes must be our first priority. Put as much as you can into one suitcase. Promise me that if anyone tries to help you, you will ignore them. We must not drag anyone we know into this confusion. Even if someone calls out to you, you must not respond."

"Are we being arrested?" began Gaara.

"Swear on mother!"

"I swear," said Gaara softly. "But where is Father?"

I paused, my eyes blinking quickly. "He has been arrested. We have twenty minutes. Gaara go to the kitchen and pack as many packet or canned foods into a backpack. Kankurou, pack clothes for both of you."

Gaara and Kankurou were both seething with rage, clenching their fists tightly. But they understood the brevity of the situation. They simply had no choice.

I entered my bedroom and it began to spin. What was happening? The sound of Gaara and Kankurou running about pulled a cord within my consciousness. I yanked my suitcase from the closet and opened it on my bed.

Exactly a year before, the Soviets had begun moving their troops over the border into the country. When Kankurou had complained about it at the dinner table, I had told him to never, ever say anything disparaging about the Soviets. We had heard stories about Stalin; Shikamaru's father was a professor after all. He was our constant source of news about the happenings outside the country.

There were a few of us in school who were the sons and daughters of emigrants from Japan. We were Japanese by features but were born and brought up in Lithuania. Our loyalty lied with this nation; our hearts were bound with a strong sense of patriotism.

I took a photo of my friends, brothers and I from the shelf and placed the gold frame face up in the bottom of my empty suitcase. The faces stared back at me, happy, unaware. Except for Shikamaru, he wore his signature lazy expression as if telling the cameraman that it was too much effort to smile. I stood next to him, with the same expression on my face. I didn't like taking pictures. It was just a moment in time, something that was much too easy to alter. Fake smiles created the illusion of happiness. How were we to know that we would be taken only a few months later? Happiness was easily a facade but fear? In the Soviet Union, fear was the only thing omnipresent. If we were really going to jail, I wanted to keep the picture with me, cherishing that lazy face.

Slams and bangs popped throughout the house.

I put on my sandals and grabbed two books, hair ribbons and my hairbrush. I took my pens, pencils and the writing pad and placed them among the heap of items I had thrown into my case. I snapped the latches shut and rushed out of the room, the curtains blowing, flapping over my desk. It was the last time I would ever see it.

"Gaara, Kankurou," I said rushing into their room, my arms loaded with my suitcase filled with clothes, bandages, socks and blankets. "Hurry!" I threw open their closet and drawers, frantically throwing things, shoving things into their suitcase. Kankurou rushed out to help Gaara in the kitchen. "Kankurou take china!" I said panicking.

Gaara ran into the room. "I've taken all the biscuits, bread, tea bags and other dry food I could find. Kankurou said we should pack a few bottles of water." A smile graced my face for a mere second, "thank you Gaara. That was a very good idea." He grabbed the suitcase and put on socks and shoes. I grabbed him by the arm and ran down to the kitchen. "Kankurou hurry up! Put on socks and shoes!" I threw their summer raincoats on them just as Kankurou finished closing the last bottle of water. He swung the backpack over his shoulders and gave me a determined look. I shook my head. "Act dumb boys." I ran to the living room.

Gaara and Kankurou found me smashing all of our best crystal and porcelain on the floor. My face glistened with sweat as my golden ringlets fell loose over my eyes.

"Temari no!" yelled Kankurou, running towards the broken glass shards that littered the floor.

Gaara pulled him back and asked in a calm voice, "Temari why are you breaking our expensive things?"

I stopped and stared at the plate in my hand. "Because I adore them so." I threw the plate on the floor and it broke into a thousand pieces, much like how the NKVD wanted us to break into.

The door burst open and three NKVD officers entered carrying riffles. "What happened in here?" demanded a tall officer, surveying the damage.

"You have destroyed state property," he bellowed.

Gaara pulled his suitcase close, fearing that any minute, it too might become state property.

I looked in the foyer mirror to fix my lose curls. The NKVD officer slammed me in the shoulder with the butt of his rifle, throwing me face first into the mirror. "Pigs, always wasting time," he scoffed.

I righted and steadied myself. "Pardon me," I retorted flatly to the officer before fixing my curls again and sliding my pearl hair pin into place.

I was thankful that Gaara and Kankurou did not retaliate. At least they understood what I was doing; playing the Soviet officers like a careful hand of cards. I was not sure what they would next. "I have to use the bathroom."

"You have thirty seconds."

I shut the bathroom door and caught sight of my face in the mirror. I had no idea how quickly it was to change, to fade. If I knew then I would have stared at my reflection, memorizing the details of my face. It was the last time I would look into a real mirror for a very long time.