Forever | Countryhumans AU | RusAme/AmeRus

24

Poland had tried countless different methods to escape, none of which worked. He had managed to punch the guard that brought him his meals in the face once. When the guard dropped the tray in surprise, the food spilling out onto the ground, he regretted it as it meant that he had lost a meal. 

In the end, he nicked a knife, using it to scrape pieces of metal from around the room in hopes of getting one sturdy and thin enough to pick the lock with. 

It was a good idea, but it didn't work. Someone must've found out, because on the following day, a guard was sent to escort Poland to another cell and to take away his knife. He cursed silently when the guard entered, closing the door behind them.

Poland crouched, holding the knife defensively in front of him. The guard approached him cautiously, the two circling the room like a slow dance. Poland was weakened by his captivity and ill-treatment, but he was the only one who was armed between the two, and he tightened his grip on the knife. 

The guard launched, knocking Poland to the ground and pinning his knife arm to the ground. Poland growled when he realised what they were trying to do. Before their hand could reach the knife, Poland freed his leg and kneed them in the stomach.

They gasped, doubling over and loosening their grip on Poland's wrist, who seized the opportunity and swung without looking, catching the guard on their side. They fell forward, groaning. Poland pushed the body off and kicked himself away as scarlet started to stain his clothes, the room filling with the iron tang of blood.

Poland gaped at the pool of blood starting to seep through the cracks of the floor tiles. He might've killed someone. He zoned out for a few seconds, his shocked thoughts swimming in his head, before he anchored himself back to the present. It was kill or be killed. He walked out of the room, mechanically at first, before sprinting towards the exit.

Poland creeped down the alleyway, moving as fast as he could without making any noise. He looked over his shoulder at random intervals to make sure he wasn't being followed. He had to get out. He went over the map of the compound, memorised from the fire escape plan in the hallways. He didn't realise that someone was standing in front of him until it was too late.

"Hello, Polen."

A man stood in front of Poland, his uniform neat and crisp. On his left sleeve was a violently red armband with a black swastika tilted at a 45 degree angle in the middle of a white circle. "Third Reich," Poland hissed, backing away slowly. 

"Yes, it's me." Third Reich smiled unnervingly, revealing sharp teeth like the points of daggers. Poland narrowed his eyes. Poland hated Third Reich right down to the core. "What're you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn't you be inside?" The German asked, gripping Poland's chin with his index finger and thumb, forcing him to look up at his face. "Let's go back inside, shall we? If you'll be cooperative, I promise no harm will be done to you."

"Your promises are bullshit. What are you doing here?" Poland insisted again, pulling away. "You've changed a lot," Third Reich frowned. "I'm working with Soviet Union. Let's go back inside, now. I promise I won't say a word about you escaping if you do." 

"Like hell I will. I'm getting out of this shit hole of a place and you won't be able to stop me." Poland snarled, bending his knees in preparation to make a dash for it. Third Reich sighed and pulled his revolver from his leather holster. 

"Now." The German's voice had become deadly, and every particle in Poland's body was telling him to run. Poland considered his choices. If he went with Third Reich, he might face punishments and heavier security. If he ran, he might run the risk of being gunned down, injured or even killed. If he fought...

Poland pulled out a hidden dagger from it's sheath strapped to his shin, stood his ground and waited for his opponent to make the first move. Third Reich moved towards him in a pace that seemed almost leisurely, smirking. 

When he was within arm's reach, Poland launched himself into the air and landed on his opponent's back, catching Third Reich unawares and kicking him onto the cement floor. 

"Why would you work with Soviet Union, anyways?" Poland grunted, punching Third Reich and backing away as the German got up. "Wouldn't you just end up backstabbing him anyways, like you always do?"

Third Reich spat on the floor, his saliva mixed with specks of blood. He laughed, and his face split into another of his sharp-teethed grins. Poland shuddered and scowled. "You know me too well," Third Reich purred. "Of course I will. It's so much fun."

"You're a psychopath." Poland spat, disgusted, darting in, targeting Third Reich's unprotected stomach. "A filthy, cruel, unloyal kurwa." Third Reich dodged Poland's attack, and started to slide the bullets into the revolver's chamber, shrugging. "I like to say that I'm simply a person who plots and strikes when the time is right. But after all, you're right. I'm a psychopath. Everyone is a bit psychotic."

Third Reich pointed the gun at Poland and leered maddingly. "This ends now."

"No, I don't think so." Poland disagreed, grabbing Third Reich's wrist and spinning the gun away from him. Using the momentum created, he flipped Third Reich to the ground and pinned his arm holding the revolver to the rough ground with his leg. "How?" Third Reich asked, struggling to free himself.

Poland leaned forwards, using more of his body weight to make sure the German stayed down. "You're overconfident. Like you said, I've changed a lot." He twisted the gun down, and heard the sickening snap as he broke Third Reich's finger. Third Reiched roared in agony, and Poland ignored the twisting feeling in his gut, and twisted the gun to the right.

Another bellow of pain ripped itself from Third Reich's throat. Poland payed no attention to that too, and used his right hand to stop Third Reich's wrist as he used his left hand to bend the German's wrist, grabbing the revolver while he pushed it down. 

Poland gripped the gun and pointed it to Third Reich's throat. "You won't shoot, would you? You don't have the guts too." Third Reich taunted, although there was now a hint of desperate panic in his voice.

"Shut the fuck up."

Poland pulled the trigger. "You underestimate me."

Blood started spouting from Third Reich's throat, staining his uniform. "Sonovabitch," he gurgled, clasping the wound in his neck with both of his hands. "That's right," Poland replied absentmindedly, taking any extra bullets on the bleeding man. He stood up afterwards and scrawled a note on the white washed wall on his right before he dragged Third Reich beside it. 

"You're a killer too," Third Reich choked out. "Yeah, well, see you in hell, then." Poland responded, turning his back on the dying man, walking away until he couldn't hear the rasps anymore. Then he broke into a sprint and disappeared from the compound.