༻𓊈 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𓊉༺

༻𓊈𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝐈: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞.𓊉༺

Running through the streets from his former captor, Prussia panted heavily. He's never been able to get this far. Holding a bleeding wound in his side, thick red blood oozed down his hand. Coughing up blood, Prussia continued to run. He couldn't stop. One small mistake could mess everything up. The once powerful monarchist could've flown away, if he had both of his wings. Soviet had clipped one of his wings off from the base. At least it had a chance of regrowing-. Why? Well, because, Prussia spoke without being spoken to.
Quite a.. Pitiful reason. Pathetic of him..

As the Russian's heavy combat boots hit the fluffy, white snow that glazed the icy sidewalks, and roads, the gap between him and Prussia grew closer together. The sound of metal hitting the ground rang the German's ears, almost making him lose his footing on the slick ground he ran on. Soviet had thrown his Kalashnikov to the side, the assault rifle hitting a metal pole that stuck out from the ground - Which caused the deafening ringing effect. He was getting sick of Prussia always getting away. And he always did it when he had company over. Enough company to make him relax, and not worry too much about the German.

Maybe even enough to occasionally let him slip from his mind.

Even after Prussias' little war with the Austrian Empire over Schleswig-Holstein, Soviet blamed him for it all. Even though he knew the reasoning behind it. He would've done the same thing, but he would never admit to it. It wasn't his he wanted more then just the twos' joinity of Schleswig. In his own opinion he did more.

Soviet, had stopped running. The dictator stood, shaking his head while watching as the gap he had enclosed, widened. He wasn't out of breath quite yet, but he decided this chase had went on far too long. Grabbing his radio that had been clipped to one of his uniforms' pockets, he wiped the snow from it onto his uniform. Which didn't do much, considering the snow hadn't stopped falling, and his uniform had been coated in the fluffy, white flakes.

Having to fiddle with a little knob, he soon switched over to his military channel. He'd asked for a helicopter to be sent out to his current location, then dropping the coordinates. Sovet didn't only ask for a flight unit, no, no. His Caucasian Shepherd from the van he'd used to come out this far - He gave permission for them to be released.

Preferably, without a chain, or leash to hold them back.

Within maybe only a minute, or two, you could hear the sound of propellers cutting through the cold air. Upon looking behind himself, Prussia saw a Mil Mi-24 flying in. His heart, dropped. 'Scheibe, scheibe..' He thought to himself, far too out of breath to continue running. But, he wouldn't stop.

Even with a helicopter right over his head, he wouldn't stop. No matter what, he wouldn't stop. Soviet knew this, he knew the German wouldn't just give in because of a helicopter, or dogs. So, like any other time, he would use force to bring him back home. The Mi-24 pulled near the winged monarchist, actually around twenty, fifty feet in front of him. Before, special ops men came down from thick, black ropes. Black gloves on to prevent rope burn. Prussia, looked up, ahead of him - He saw six of the others soldiers sliding down thick ropes. He knew this was going to be the end. At least- At least he got further then last time.

Shaking his head, he wasn't about to give up on running. He would've turned around, but then, looking behind himself, he noticed the Russian taking his time, walking towards the monarchist. Soviet smiled, seeing how they helplessly looked behind themselves, trying to find a way out of this.

Which it was made clear there would be no way out of this. Not a chance. The six soldiers had just hit the ground, in sync. Immediately, as soon as they hit the ground, the German had froze in fear. He couldn't move. He just- froze.

Its' not like the soldiers haven't had to capture the German before. But this reaction surprised them all. They kind of paused, before looking at each other, then nodding. The six of them circled Prussia, guns drawn, aimed directly at his head. How could you tell? Even through the snow falling through their laser sightings, the dot would always align with either above the Germans' ear, or the back of his head if not his forehead.