Chapter 1

On The Run

It had been seven years since that tragic event in South Park. Two forces of evil formed an alliance so powerful, that they easily took grasp of the world. Minorities of all kinds quickly cowered to hidden safe spots, with hopes to never be found. Most were captured. Jews, gingers, Jersey's, Mexicans, blacks and others were sent to concentration camps. However, there was one that was never found. He's been on the run for seven years, becoming the world's most wanted.

That wanted boy, now the age of seventeen, sat by a fire with his hands cupped over his chin. He was lost in thought, wondering where he would travel next. Staying in the same place would be ignorant, as it would lead to his capture and possibly death.

"Hey," a familiar voice murmured, startling the boy.

With a quick turn of his head, the boy jolted to his feet, clutching his fists. His dark green eyes scanned who had stood in front of him: his best friend.

"Sorry, Kyle, I didn't mean to startle you," his friend laughed, placing a worn bag on the ground.

"It's alright, Stan. I'm just used to being over-cautious," Kyle replied, his lips curling into a smile. It quickly faded as he shifted his eyes, as if looking for someone. "Where's Steve?"

"Right here," the voice of an eight-year-old boy chirped, popping out from behind Stan.

Kyle sighed in relief, eyeing the child. "I really think you should stay here with me, Steve. It's not safe out there."

"I'll be fine, Mom I have this hat to hide my hair!" Steve placed his green, gloved hand onto his knitted beanie hat, which rested over his red hair.

"First of all," Kyle breathed, "stop calling me 'Mom'. I'm not your mother and never will be. Call me 'Kyle'. Stan and I just took you in when your real mother died."

"Sorry, bitch, but you're my mom!" Steve blurted, sticking his tongue out.

"Second of all," Kyle growled through his teeth, forcing a smile, "the patrol officers are going to ask you to take off your hat if they catch you."

"I forgot about them, "Steve said, glancing down at his feet. He hadn't seen much of them lately, so he just completely forgot about their existence. In reality, he was fortunate that there weren't many around lately. Nothing is more suspicious than wearing a hat these days.

"The patrol officer around here is Officer Barbrady!" Stan announced. "He's a dipshit! All he ever does is keep yelling at himself for refusing to take off his hat!"

"Didn't you hear the news?" Kyle asked, eyeing his dark-haired friend. "Emperor Fucking Fatass is firing him and replacing him with someone legitimate."

"That sucks ass," Stan commented, looking down at Steve. "Your mother's right. Stay with him." He couldn't help but crack a smile.

"I'm not a fucking mom, Stan!" Kyle yelled, throwing his hat at his friend.

Stan just laughed, tossing the green ushanka back. He just loved teasing Kyle. He loved Kyle in general, but that didn't stop him from fucking around with his super best friend. Most of their days were dull and downright depressing. They needed some fun to lighten the mood, and poking fun at Kyle helped.

"Whatever you say, Kyle," Stan finally said, trying to stop himself from laughing.

"You act like a mom," Steve dryly spat, searching the worn bag Stan had placed down earlier.

"If anyone's a mother, it's Stan. He's more of a sissy than I am!" Kyle scoffed, rolling his eyes. In the back of his mind, he knew they didn't really think he acted like a female. It was all just a joke that started when they first took in Steve. The boy was only one, so he wasn't easy for two ten-year-olds to take care of. Fortunately, Kyle knew a thing or two, due to his younger brother, Ike. He had helped his mother here and there with him, so he ended up taking the 'house-wife' role for quite a while. Stan just wouldn't let it go; he even brought Steve into it.

"Hey, I'm not a sissy!" Stan burst after his brain registered what Kyle had just said.

"Yes you are," Kyle argued back, smirking. "Now go make us some dinner! I'm starving!" Kyle pushed Stan towards Steve, who already had pulled out a few things from the worn-out bag.

"We've got some spaghetti the chef threw out at that Italian place, a bag of chips someone had dropped, and I hunted this squirrel," Steve said, placing the said items on the ground in front of him. "Stan was too much of a sissy to kill it."

Kyle laughed.

"I can't kill a squirrel! It's just a poor, defenseless creature!" Stan whined, trying to explain himself.

"Well, I killed the fucking thing; now you have to cook it!" With little force, the boy picked up the dead mammal and shoved it into the dark-haired teenager's hands.

"Yes, house-wife, make us some dinner!" Kyle sang, smiling widely at his super best friend.

"Fucking bastards," Stan moaned.

His dark eyes shot down at the man that stood before him. Something in his mind told him that this man knew something, and God damn it, he was going to get it out of him. Even if his theory was incorrect, there would be no time wasted. This man wasn't worthy of this planet, anyway.

"I'm waiting," he growled, cracking his knuckled with his gloved hands.

"I swear, I don't know!" the man cried, kneeling before his fat dictator.

"It's your fucking company; you have to know!" the fat boy spat, placing his hand near his whip, which was attached to his belt.

"But I wasn't there, so I couldn't possibly know! It was my day off!" the man cried once more.

"How does all of the chicken in a KFC go missing within a half hour?" the fat dictator screeched, cracking his whip against the ground.

"Maybe someone stole it? I don't know!" the man cried once more.

With a heavy sigh, the over-weight boy pinched his brow. This was getting him nowhere. "The fucking security cameras didn't show anyone breaking in. The chicken just magically disappeared. Tell meh; how the fuck does that work? What the hell happened here?"

"I can't answer that!" The man swallowed hard, his eyes widening. With great fear, he stared straight at the fat boy dressed in a Nazi uniform. He knew what was coming; he just knew it. If only he knew what had happened that day! "Just spare my life, please! Throw me in jail for a few years!"

Acting quickly, the fat dictator swung his whip at the man, slashing it across his face. Blood gushed out from the strike, causing the poor man to wince in pain.

"I've gotta better idea," the dictator said, his voice becoming dark and cold. With a twisted smile, the young ruler pulled out his handgun. "Good bye, random KFC owner." He pulled the trigger, the fire echoing throughout the building. Without much emotion, he watched his victim fall to the ground in a bloody mess.

"Only a dumbass wouldn't know where all the chicken went."

Suddenly, the doors behind him burst open, his partner in crime charging in. The teenaged-boy held his aluminum helmet as he dashed towards him, wearing a half-panicked expression.

"E-eric!" the boy shouted, stopping at the fat boy's feet.

"What is it, Butters? Can't you see I'm busy?" Eric turned to the aluminum-wearing boy, glaring.

"S-sorry. It's just that the one of our officers said that they found an eye-witness. Apparently the woman claimed to see a boy about seventeen-years-old running out of the KFC with all of the chicken."

"Fuck!" Eric snapped. "Why does Kahl do this to meh!"

"I-I actually don't think it was Kyle, Eric. In fact, there ha-haven't been any sightings of him lately." Quietly, Butters began to knock his knuckles together.

"It had to be Kahl! Remember, he's an evil Jew! They're tricky…" Eric wrapped one of his thick arms around Butters' neck, pulling the other boy in close. "Don't ever trust a dirty Jew."

"Y-yeah. Kyle's an asshole," Butters blindly agreed, glancing at the dead body.

Eric grabbed the other boy's chin, forcing it to look at his face. "Now be a good little Professor Chaos and tell those patrol officers to double their patrols! We need Kahl to be found!"

"Alright, Eric…but can we get an ice cream first?"

The heavy boy sighed. "Sure."

"I can't believe he got us all of that chicken!" Shelia Broflovski said with glee, chowing down on her share of chicken.

"I know what you mean. My tummy hasn't felt this fed in a while," Carol McCormick agreed, nibbling every last bite off of her chicken bones.

"Well, we can thank our protector," Gerald, Shelia's husband, added. "After all, he's what kept us alive and out of those concentration camps for so long."

"I just wish I knew what happened to Kenny," Stuart McCormick sighed, pulling his two children into a hug.

"I hope he isn't dead," his daughter, Karen, said, eyes tearing.

Kevin McCormick just shrugged, continuing to devour his chicken.

"He's probably with my brother," Ike muttered.

"I hope you're right, bubby. Kyle needs all the help he can get to survive now," Shelia sighed, staring out of the small window in the attic they were all hidden in.

I've been wanting to write this for a while. Hopefully I don't get murdered for this fan fiction. Oh well. I'm still gonna write it! Please critique me! Tell me if you like what I've done to the characters. Does anyone seem to be a bit off? How can I improve? Expect more later...and Kenny should appear in the next chapter! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about him! ;D