Oneshots, (Outdated)

A late night stroll

A lone figure walks along the sidewalk, it's late at night, probably 8 to 9 pm. He is wearing a Russian hat, a ushanka, that sits low on his head, almost covering his eyes. He abruptly stops and doubles over in pain, clutching his stomach and chest where fresh wounds screech in protest, the figure can feel blood oozing out of his wounds and stain the inside of his black hoodie.

Nevertheless he continues on his way, the dull ache in his joints is a painful reminder of what happens when he crosses his father in a foul mood. As he trudges along he is acutely aware of a group of countries following him. Turning his head to the side he uses his peripheral vision to get a better look at his pursuers.

All he can make out in the dim lights is that they are all wearing the same type of clothing, and are walking with a particular swagger that just reeks of trouble. Not wanting to mess with a wanna be gang he picks up the pace. They notice this and the leader of this ragtag group of countries announces their presence.

"Hey, Where do you think you're going?" their voice is gruff. The figure says nothing and keeps walking, completely ignoring the gang leader. "Hey, I'm talking to you tall boy." Now pissed off at the gang leader's nickname for him The figure stops and turns around to face them.

The other gang members quickly surround him, the leader steps into the oddly shaped circle and takes an aggressive step forward. The figure is a good foot taller than the leader, however that doesn't seem to dishearten the leader at all. Now in close proximity with them he can tell it's a woman, though he can't see any of her facial features due to her wearing a hood and a mask. She offers a hand to the figure and states her name.

"The Name's Mexico, What are you doing on our streets newcomer?" The figure grabs her hand before stating his own name.

"Russia, Russia Moscow." Is all he says before shaking hands with her. He retracts his hand before responding to her question. "I am just passing through. I did not know these were you streets, next time I'll make sure to steer clear."

Though Mexico is wearing a mask, Russia can still tell that she's smiling due to a slight sparkle in her eyes.

"Well it's custom that we attack anyone who dares cross us, so we'll let you off with a light beating." And with that she exits the circle and snaps her fingers, crossing her arms she watches as the circle gets smaller and smaller before the countries surrounding Russia attack him.

Okay Russia, Remain calm... They mean to harm me, I need to fight. Taking a deep breath Russia lashes out. He kicks one country in the chest, sending him flying. While grabbing another by the face and throwing him into the street. As their numbers begin to dwindle the leader suddenly charges at a preoccupied Russia, and kicks him in the stomach, right where a major wound given to him by his father lays.

The fragile scab that has formed is broken and Russia falls to the ground clutching his stomach. The remaining gang members jump onto him and begin beating him to a pulp, mainly targeting his face, stomach and chest. A door flies open and out barges a store employee armed with a steel bat.

"Hey!" They shout at the gang, "Knock it off!"

"Shit- It's America!" One member shouts before running off. The group of countries quickly scatters, running in different directions leaving Russia alone on the sidewalk bleeding out. The newcomer approaches Russia as if he were an injured animal, Russia looks up at them with a mixture of fear and fury in his gaze.

"Are you okay?" They ask, concern laced in their voice.

"I- Yes." The Russian lies before sitting up, he immediately clutches his stomach and lets out a moan of pain.