A night In Paris ( Countryhumans)

BOOM!!

Who entered the room first after the second shot? Was it USSR or Third Reich? No one will know. As for the order of passage no longer mattered in the face of the terrible scene they were looking at. A flood of emotions passed through their worried faces, and very quickly fear turned into a grimace of anger. Who could have played such a farce? It was no fun. With brutality,  USSR lifted and pushed Oliver's body on the side.

Which seemed heavier and more rigid than it should be. As he turned it over, his eyes fixed on the detail of his blue tie which hung softly outside his jacket. He ignored the little cry of surprise of his former enemy, to whom he had turned his back.

"She's still breathing. Shit, we have to look for France. Niet! She's bleeding, I need something to compress the wound. And ... USSR help me treat her!"

At these words, USSR turned away from Oliver, and saw with horror what his enemy meant. On the ground, lying in her own blood, Quebec lay inert. Her breath was almost non-existent, to the point that from her mouth one could only hear a very fine gasp. So weak that it could go out at any moment. At these efforts, her chest hardly rose. As for the blood, it continued to flow abundantly on the petticoat and the tile. Petrified, USSR watched the figure of the Third Reich roam the room in search of a clean cloth and a large roll of tape, as he found them he didn't wasteanother second and with a quick gesture he pressed the fabric against the bloody garment and with the help of the tape, he wrapped the young woman in several layers. Her chances of survival were slim. But hope still lay. Coming out of his stupor, USSR turned towards Oliver, his eyes looking from below to upwards for the trace of the slightest wound. When he finally looked at the face of the old nation, he had to look away. 

It was already too late. Part of his skull had been reduced to lint, pieces of his brain were found on the floor and down the kitchen door. Without realizing it, the two men had trampled pieces of it when entering in the room.

"Sorry. There's nothing we can do for you. Rest in peace." This almost silent prayer was heard by no one other than  USSR who pronounced it. His gaze plunged one last time into the glassy eyes of the dead. Who stared at him without gleam. With a trembling hand, he approached and closed the eyelids of this man whom he knew only for a few hours. But he seemed to know for far longer. He was a good man.

Still kneeling on the ground, he felt the acrid smell of death permeating the room. How could he have forgotten this particular perfume. That indelibly marks everything it touches.

"AHHH! What happened?? OH MY GOD QUEBEC! Olivver. No, it will not happen again.... " USSR turned abruptly to this cry, looked calmly at France, which was panicked. He rose to join her. Taking her in his arms, hiding with his build the view of the crime scene.

"Mom, dad, what's going on?" Almost whispered Russia. Who was hiding behind her older sister, who as for her, must had seen the bodies, as her face went quite pale, looking whith an horrified expression. 

Ignoring his daughter's question, USSR said calmly:

"We have to leave right away, Quebec is hurt."

"What about Oliver?" asked France, stressing about the possibilities. USSR did not have time to respond, his face betraying the terrible destiny of the old country. "It was too late", murmured the poor woman. She hugged Russia and turned her head to the murder scene. Her other hand took her other daughter's arm and she went in the direction of the living room, the little cocker following her silently.

USSR could not resolve to join her immediately, as it was necessary to speak with his old and worst enemy.

Once again, his gaze turned to Oliver's sorrowful body, he did not understand who had been so angry with him, to kill him so cowardly and mortally wounded Quebec. Oliver had always had a certain delicacy that America lacked, at least that's what he felt and observed the few hours before this tragic outcome. But if he had died once, perhaps he would come back a second time and denounce the one who had committed this heinous crime.