A/N: SO. I kind of forgot all about this. I'm sorry! I've been so busy lately that I've had no time for writing, and I pretty much forgot. Weeeelll it's been a while. Have fun with this, I guess...

He's broken. You can tell just by looking at him. He looks like he hasn't slept in years, with the bags under his glassy eyes, the unkempt, greasy hair and the baggy clothes, the absence of any feelings - any emotions. He looks dead. He gets lunch, but doesn't touch it; you can see his weight has dropped. He stares ahead in class, ignoring everyone and everything; no one has heard him speak a word since that night. It's like he's a zombie... walking, breathing, but not living; moving, touching, but not feeling. I'm not even sure if broken is the word for it - it seems like an understatement. But nonetheless, he's hurting, and it's all because of me. And, as sick as it sounds, I love it.

No one has dared speak a word to him. Not even Wendy, his precious girlfriend, his 'beloved.' She sits with him, holds him, tries to help - but she doesn't dare to speak. He doesn't acknowledge her presence, he just stares ahead. And sometimes, when you're least expecting it, he breaks down. He cries, clutches his fists, punches, and seperates himself from whoever is near - never once breaking his silence. And when he cries, he bawls; there is no stopping it, no matter who you are, no matter how much silent coaxing you try, he won't calm down. Not until his eyes have run dry and his face is swollen, and often, until he's dryheaving and disoriented.

Three weeks have passed. Three weeks since everything crashed and burned. Although everyone's spirits were already crushed with the loss of the others, Stan's broken state made it all so much worse. Walking down the halls, you could feel the sorrow and the silence. When you'd pass Stan, there was no noise but the hushed whispers and the squeaking of sneakers on tile floors.

Some couldn't understand why Stan was so beat up over the loss of an old friend; others realize that it was much more than that. The loss of a brother, a best friend; one whose freindship was in the process of mending. Kyle and Stan had just decided to continue their friendship the week before, and since they had, you could tell that (for possibly the first time in South Park) something was right. They laughed, they smiled real smiles, they picked up right where they left off.

And knowing that I had the power to destroy it? Knowing that I actually had? Wonderful.

Giving the town a few weeks to mourn wasn't my choice - of course not, it was Pip's. Though the boy seemed to have no soul, he hadn't yet lost his decency. But three weeks? Three weeks is enough. And don't think I haven't thought about it, don't think I haven't planned this out. Luckily enough, I've picked a pretty little lady to be my Anatomy partner, and she's coming to my house to work on our body chart project tonight. Intentional? You bet. I haven't told Pip. I don't plan on it. He's probably not over "letting the town mourn" or whatever it is he's trying to do.

The rest of the school day flew by like nothing. Before I knew it, I was back in my front room, eating (once again) frozen pizza. It shouldn't be long before she gets here, so I get out my book and pretend to be studying. And, wouldn't you know it? The doorbell rings. Perfect timing.

I open the door and look at the beautiful girl standing in the doorway. Dark, elbow-length hair blowing in the wind - average sized body: not too thin, not too thick - bright hazel eyes and perfect facial features; nothing too special, just your average girl, but still beautiful. It's a shame that she's going to go through this.

I let her in, and she politely flashes a smile and kicks off her shoes. She lays her bookbag on the kitchen table and takes out a folder, which is organized and seperated with different tabs for every type of work we do in the class. It's strange, because I didn't think anyone in this stupid town cared about organization anymore. She pulls out a stack of papers held together with a paperclip, and slides it across the table to me.

As she pulls out a small bag and empties it's contents, she speaks, "So I was thinking that we could put our main focus on the abdominal region, judging from the research I've done it's one of the more interesting areas. I think we could really get the top grade if we get off to a good start." I simply nod and continue sifting through the stack of papers. This girl is really organized, everything is typed, seperated, and has a headline... and this is only the rough draft. Well, alright. Whatever helps me get a good grade.

"Do ya want somethin' ta drink? Tea, maybe?" I ask, out of nowhere. But since I didn't invite her over to actually do this project, I figured that I should just get this over with.

"Yes, please," she speaks softly, then begins to write notes down off of a website she searched on her iPad. I pour her a drink, slip some sleeping medicine into it, and carry it to the table. (Hey, don't judge. I'm trying to knock her out not kill her. What would be the fun in doing it that way?) As I sit the glass down she glances over and mutters, "Thank you," with a forced smile.

We (unfortunately) do work for the next half hour: printing and cutting and pasting, typing and writing and organizing. By then, she looks unfocused and tired.

"Are ya alright?" I ask, in the most 'concerned' voice I can manage.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. Thanks for asking." She looks up, seeming unsure.

"Well, are ya sure? I gotta few spare bedrooms. Ya can take a nap if ya'd like."

She smiles and nods, "That sounds wonderful, actually. Are you sure, though? I hate to leave you to do the work by yourself. It seems unfair."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine, ya go on and take yerself a nap. Looks like ya need it." She giggles and stands up. Walking around the table, she gives me her iPad and the notes she'd taken.

"Here are the notes I've taken for the oral presentation. You can add onto them, If you'd like. I've found a really good website, it has a lot of useful information. It even has pictures and videos that go in depth on the descriptions. If you click on the notepad tab, I've got a list of other websites that have good information. I've finished printing and pasting the information on the diagram, all that's left to do on that section is the labels for the picture. You can do them if you want, or I can do them when I wake up," though she sounds smart, her voice is tired and she's eyeing the stairs, "So, where's that spare bedroom you told me about?"

I laugh, "Upstairs, first door on the right." She stumbles over to the stairs, dragging herself up them (and also making good use of the handrail, might I add.) After about five more minutes of working on the project, I stack the papers together and power off the iPad. As quietly as I can, I creep up the stairs. I enter the room to find her sleeping with a slight smile on her face, hugging a pillow. She looks so at peace, beautiful. I walk to the bathroom and grab one of my signature 'knock-out rags.' You know what they are. Anddddd, bam. It's done.

I pull the covers back on the bed and pick her up like a baby. She's much lighter than anyone else I've had to lug around. I carry her down the stairs, out the door, and lay her in the back seat of my car. Not even bothering to fasten my seatbelt, I speed away from my house and toward a very unusual place: Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman's old treehouse in the woods. Why? I don't know.

I've got everything set up, and I can tell she's just beginning to come to. She's stirring in her sleep, and she's no longer snoring. I double check the ropes I've got her tied with and look out the window just to make sure no one's followed us. (Paranoia? Yes.)

She finally wakes up and looks around a bit. Not as confused as I thought she would be, but with more of a wondering look in her eyes. She doesn't try to move, she's smart enough to figure out that she can't; however, she fails to panic. She looks at me and says, "I've been here before." Suprisingly enough, she smiles. I'm not sure what to think, so I nod. She must have picked up on my confused expression and speaks, "I know why we're here." She gives a sad look and continues, "I know there's no way out, but I have one question: Why?"

I think, and I think, but no answer comes to mind. So I say the thing I've said to all the others, "Because yer one'a them. Ya made my life hell since day one and yer finally gonna know how it feels." I don't break eye contact, I can't.

She glances from the ground up to me, and I notice the tears in her eyes. She refrains from blinking, and I know why: she doesn't want to look weak. She's always been this way. She says, in her most sympathetic voice, "I'm sorry." And I know that she means it. She tries to speak again, but her voice cracks. After a few seconds of silence, she speaks again, "Will you do me a favor, please?" She eyes the tools I have laid out on the wooden floor then brings her eyes back to mine. As bad as I want to say no and torture her to no ends, I nod. "Can you... can you make it as painless as possible?" I nod, yet again, for reasons unknown. I hear a whispered, "Thank you."

... Thank you? Thank you for murdering your friends? Thank you for taking you hostage? Thank you for killing you? Thank you for ruining the bit of happiness this town's managed to build up? WHY would she thank me?

I eye my tools, and think of the most painless way to do this, for her. I decide on the axe, and walk over to where she is sitting. Though she must be scared out of her mind, she doesn't shake or plead, she doesn't whimper or beg. She stares, with watery eyes... eyes with tears that refuse to fall. I can't help but wonder why she's still insistant on being so strong.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I find myself leaning down. She maintains eye contact, and it scares me. But I grab ahold of her chin and give her a gentle, quick kiss. She was shocked, and I could tell; so I say my last words to her as I raise the axe, "I love you." I close my eyes and swing my arms, as quickly as I can. I hear the sound of blood rushing, flesh splitting, and the axe hit the floor. That's when I open my eyes, and see the one person I'd actually cared for covered in blood, split in two, dead. I don't feel remorse or sadness, I can't feel anything; I just stare and stare, and think of how beautiful she looks. I smile as I notice that the two split halves are still bound together by the ropes and held up by the wall. Realization hits, I can't stay here with a dead body, cops are bound to be patroling. So I lean down and place one last kiss on the dead girl's lips before I pack my bag and climb down the old wooden ladder.

On the way home, I begin to think. What was my reason? Was it actually because she was one of them? ...No, no. She wasn't one of them, she had never done anything to me. Did I even have a reason? Pondering the thought, I realize I didn't. I had no reason whatsoever, and that's when I realized I had stopped doing this for revenge. I was no longer doing this to get back at the people that made my life hell, because I'd just taken the life of one of the only innocent people in this godforsaken town. I was doing this because I was addicted. I'm a monster, and I have no heart. The thought makes me smile a twisted smile, being heartless feels great.

Once I'm home, I pick up my cell phone. Too many people know I was supposed to be with her tonight, so I'll say she never showed up.

I go to 'New Message' and select the contact 'Stan M.'

Sent: 8:14 PM to Stan M.
Hey, is Wendy with you?

Recieved: 8:16 PM from Stan M.
uhm no...who is this

Sent: 8:17 PM to Stan M.
Butters.

Recieved: 8:19 PM from Stan M.
butters? y the hell do u wanna know where wends is

Sent: 8:21 PM to Stan M.
She was supposed to come over to work on our Anatomy project.

Recieved: 8:22 PM from Stan M.
she nevr showed?

Sent: 8:23 PM to Stan M.
No. You haven't heard from her?

Recieved: 8:26 PM from Stan M.
no...last i herd she was walkin 2 ur house

Sent: 8:27 PM to Stan M.
Hmm. That's weird. I'll just ask Bebe if she's heard from her.

Recieved: 8:30 PM from Stan M.
u hav fun w that. g2g.

I close my phone and know that I won't be talking to Wendy at school tomorrow. No one will be talking to Wendy tomorrow, or ever again, for that matter.

Sent: 8:33 PM to Bebe S.
Hey Bebe, have you heard from Wendy tonight?

Recieved: 8:34 PM from Bebe S.
nooo i haven't . . who's this ?

Sent: 8:35 PM to Bebe S.
It's Butters. She never showed up to work on the Anatomy project.

Recieved: 8:36 PM from Bebe S.
hmmm, no i haven't heard from her since last period. have you tried her cell?

Sent: 8:38 PM to Bebe S.
No, I don't have her number.

Recieved: 8:39 PM from Bebe S.
i've tried texting her a few times, no reply. since all this crazy shit's been happening i'm kindof worried. :(

Sent: 8:42 PM to Bebe S.
Try her house phone? If she's not there, maybe we should tell the police? It's got me worried, too.

Recieved: 8:46 PM from Bebe S.
her mom says she never came home from skool. :( i'll call the station.

Sent: 8:48 PM to Bebe S.
Alright, let me know if you hear anything? Please?

Recieved: 8:48 PM from Bebe S.
will do . . tell you tomorrow in home ec

Sent: 8:49 PM to Bebe S.
Thank you.

Recieved: 8:49 PM from Bebe S.
np

I should get some rest, school tomorrow is going to be even worse than today. I don't even bother to change my clothes or take off my shoes, I just fall over onto the couch and doze off.

Stan's POV

This is HELL. Absolute fucking hell. Just sitting, staring, silence. Twenty-four fucking seven, three weeks. My best friend is dead. He's dead and I saw it happen. I still can't fucking figure out who's done this. Every night as I lay in my bed, I think about it. I replay it in my head (involuntarily, of course) and I try to figure out who the cocksuckers were. They did a pretty good job disguising themselves, making it so much fucking harder for me.

I have nothing. I have no clues, no one to help me out. Anyone else that's fucking seen them is dead. All my fucking friends are being killed, and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I CAN DO TO STOP IT. But I can't let it go on. If they wanted me dead, they would have killed me that night. They just want to see me suffer. Well you know what? Congratulations, assholes! You got what you were fucking aiming for.

Not to mention, school is fucking terrible. I don't want to be bothered. By anyone (except Wendy, of course.) I mean, no one talks to me, but the looks fucking kill. They give me looks of pity, do my work for me in class to 'help.' And the silence around me? It's horrible. It's like I'm a fucking sound barrier, and the second I walk within ten fucking feet of someone they can't talk. I haven't eaten a damn thing, except for whatever food my mother shoves down my throat. I haven't been showering as often, because the days go by in a fucking daze, and I can never bring myself to do it. As far as I'm concerned, life is over.

I fucked up with Kyle before. I fucked up and went years without him. Nothing felt right, I felt helpless and horrible every damn day. But what did I do? Continue my life, trying to fit in. Left my best friend in the dirt, pretended everything was alright. But was it ever? Fuck no. And then, last month. Last month we decided to give it another try. Things felt great, I felt truly happy for once in my fucking life, and what happens? Some cocksuckers kill him. They fucking murder him and they make me watch it all.

I would have already ended this shitty life if I didn't swear revenge on whoever is doing this... Well, that, and if I didn't have Wendy.

RING. RIIIIING. RING.

Who the hell is calling me at 10:30 at night? It's not like I'm sleeping... or doing anything important... but seriously? What the hell?

"Hello?" This better not be a prank call, I swear to God.

"Hello, Mr. Stan Marsh?" Uh oh. This voice sounds a little too serious.

"Uhm... yes..."

"I think you need to come down the the station, as soon as possible. There's something we need to talk to you about, and I don't think you're gonna want to hear this over the phone."

"I'll be there in five minutes." I slam the phone back on the reciever and run out the door.

As I open the door to the police station, a million thoughts are racing through my mind. Does this have to do with Kyle? Did they find whoever did this? Am I a suspect? What is going on? The secretary does nothing but give a sympathetic look and point to a door on the left side of the room.

There's two young police officers sitting behind a desk, talking to one another. When they see me enter the room, they give each other a glance as if to say, 'you talk.' After about ten seconds, the one with the beard sighs and looks at me, "Sit down, son. We have to talk."

As I sit down, I ask, "What does this have to do with?"

He sighs once again and picks a stack of papers up from the table, "What is your relationship with Wendy Testaburger?"

"W-well... She's my girlfriend. What is this about?"

"How long have you two been in a relationship, Mr. Marsh?"

"Since the third grade, off and on. Why?"

"Are you aware that Miss Testaburger hadn't gone home from school and hasn't been in contact with anyone since?" He raises an eyebrow and awaits my answer.

"No... the last thing I'd heard from her, she was on her way to do an Anatomy project at Butters Stotch's house. He texted me and asked if she was with me, and told me that he never got to her house. I thought maybe she had gone home and forgotten, or something." Then, I realize... This is about Wendy. Good thinking, dumbass. "Why? Is she alright? Did someone find her?"

The police officers look at each other, and the younger of the two takes over the speech, "Did someone find her? Yes, we did." I let out a sigh of relief. "Is she alright? ...No." My face drops and my heart drops to my ass.

"What the fuck do you mean, no?" My heart is pounding, I'm expecting the worst. I always expect the worst.

"I mean... Well, son. Miss Testaburger was found dead. I'm sorry." What. The. Fuck.

"W-what happened to her? Who the fuck did it?" There are already tears on my face. This can't be happening to me again. Wake up, Stan. Wake up!

"We're not sure what happened, Mr. Marsh. All we know is that she was found cut in half by an axe, tied up in an old treehouse. We have no suspects as of now. Did Wendy have any issues with anyone that you know of?" The older officer picked up a pen and notepad, ready to record whatever I said.

"No. N-none that I know of. She was a 4.0 student, top of the fucking class, captain of the debate team, soccer and tennis player and a cheerleader. She didn't have any time to have issues with people! I've never seen Wendy get in a f-fight with anyone since elementary school." Hold it in, Stan. Don't break down yet.

"Son, I understand this is hard for you. We can hold off the questions for a little while. I understand you've lost more than one close friend recently. I'm sorry, my boy. Go home, get some rest."

I don't speak. I just stand and walk away. I feel like a zombie. Like a zombie with a heart that's been broken into a million fucking pieces. I never knew that loss was this hard. I never knew it would be this fucking hard to cope with. My best friend. My future wife. Cartman. Craig. Tweek. Clyde. What the fuck IS this?

Wake up, Stan. Please wake up. It's all a dream, it has to be. You fucking know it's not, quit hoping, asshole. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up in your bed with Kyle sleeping beside you. Wake up with a voicemail from Wendy, asking about your plans for that night. Wake up, look out the window to see Clyde and Craig and Token playing football in the lot across the street. Walk down the road and stop to talk to Cartman and Kenny. See Tweek at the coffee shop down the street. See the Stotch family drive by in their minivan, on their way to church. WAKE THE FUCK UP and realize it's a fucking dream. My thoughts won't leave me alone. My mind is racing. My eyes won't dry. I don't know where the fuck I'm going right now. I'm not going home, I know that much. I can't go home to be bombarded with questions that I don't want to answer.

Whoever this motherfucker is is dead when I find them. I swear on everything, I will murder them with my bare fucking hands if I have to. If it's the last damn thing I do, I will kill them. I'll make them feel what my friends felt. I'll make them feel what every fucking person in this town has felt.

The memories are killing me. Memories from preschool, when we all first met - memories of elementary school, when we did everything together and risked it all - memories of middle school, when it all fell apart - memories of high school, when it began to come back together. These sleepless nights and these lifeless days. Everything coming back, I've never hurt this bad. But I'm not giving up. I've got to stay strong, stay strong for them.

The tears are coming so fast that I can barely see, people passing by on the street silence as they get near. They stare and whisper to one another after they've passed, as if I'm deaf. They know the story, but they don't know it all. They don't understand what it's like to see their best friend die... to wake up and find them dead by their side. They don't know what it's like to lose four of their other friends to some mysterious psycho. They don't know what it's like to have their future swiped away in the blink of an eye, because someone decides to murder the love of their life. They don't understand that everything I've ever stood for has fallen apart right in front of my eyes. They don't understand that I'm living now only to get revenge. They'll never understand the pain of telling yourself it's all a dream just to get by, when you know deep down that it's not. They don't know what it's like to have a nightmare that you can't wake up from, because that nightmare is actually your life.

I dry my eyes, finally, as I climb a set of three stairs. I've got to stay strong, for them. I have to do this - to push on. I can't give up, not yet. Revenge is a dish best served cold, that's what they say.

But, I have just one question... Why the fuck am I at Butters' house?

A/N: WOW that took me forever. Seriously. Wow. I wrote this all in one sitting so I wouldn't forget about it or give up again. But, yeah. Once again too lazy to re-read this. Sooo... Review? & Don't be too mean? :)