Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Ghost Retirement Home

It's been like years and I'm scared ya'll

Narrator's POV

Russia didn't know Soviet had left him, much less know that he was there at all. He kept taking his notes, using spare paper to get pencil traces of certain designs on the walls, posts, anything actually. The longer he stayed here looking at everything the more excited he became. He caught himself running from one thing to another, his caution leaving him gradually.

Of course he kept his head on a swivel, he wasn't without concern or cation, he was just excited to be able to explore this ruin.

The realization came to him that he was likely the only one who knew this still existed. He's sure someone like U.N. or hell even the E.U. knew this was here, however if they had, then this place would've been roped off. Perhaps even restored, with Russia's consent and knowledge. So that means he has a piece of his own family history here that he can look at without the eyes of other countries and their judging eyes of modernism.

Then he remembered those chains. He wasn't the only one who knew. But if someone had found this place, there is no way it would've still been a secret then. They would've reported it, or at least told someone else about it and the secret would have spread like that. Or perhaps whoever it was would've wanted this place to be a secret, too.

He looked out some windows when he found them to see the mass of trees and vines that grew around. There was light rain, a few drops but nothing Russia wouldn't mind walking through. His jacket would keep him warm if he had to.

Maybe he had been the one to break the chain? He did kick it in, maybe the chain was caught on the gate and the force of his kick was enough to snap it. He could be wrong about it being cut; it wasn't enough metal to properly tell. He guessed, at least. He really wanted to be the one who discovered this, and for the meantime, he wanted to keep it a secret.

He hadn't heard anyone yet, no actual signs of life. He should be safe here, but just in case he kept his eyes peeled. Person or no, there was still chance for wildlife to be here, and this place would make a good den for wolves, or even a bear.

Russia walked up to a window and wiped away the moisture on the inside and peered out. It would start to rain more; a downpour was in the books this time of year. Hell, maybe he could set up camp here. Stay the night. Certainly, just to avoid the weather, and not because the idea of staying the night here intrigued him even more. After all, he needs the field work practice. He's out of touch. Maybe he missed something.

He settled the thought in his mind and decided that it wouldn't hurt to stay here longer.

As he finished that thought he stepped into the last room that was familiar to him. The big blue corner room. America had run to the bed immediately in his trance state, jumping onto it and cuddling into the pillows. It looked comfortable enough.

Russia sat down his bag by the door and decided why not. He ran and then jumped onto the bed. It wasn't as soft as he imagined but granted this stuff had been sitting here for about a century. Either way, it was still comfortable. Maybe he'd fortify this room specifically and make this his sleeping place for the night. It would provide him the necessary cover, a vantage point with the windows along with a possible escape if he had to. He could easily keep himself warm, too.

I mean, it would only make sense to use a bedroom as a place to sleep. It would keep his stuff put together in case he needs to make a quick escape, though.

Russia ignored the musty smell and focused on how soft the sheets where. Silk, obviously. He's never felt silk like this before.

Blue was a favorite color of his. Of course, if he was ever asked his answer would be red. His father hated the color blue.

America loves the color, especially if it's paired with red and white. The narcissistic little shit.

His narcissistic little shit.

After a second of stretching out his legs he decided to look around the room. There were a couple of papers loose and some books laying around, but it was all relatively put together. One curtain was torn in half letting in what little sunlight there was in.

Sundown would turn this place into a pitch-black labyrinth.

This place had evidence of being made, or at least renovated, to have electricity based around the light fixtures he spotted. He highly doubted it still worked, based on the look of everything. Even if it did, who knew if it would start a fire? After all the wiring wouldn't be up to any code. Plus, he had no idea where a light switch was even if he did want to try.

Russia looked around the room for something to use and spotted an old oil lap on the table. He shrugged and decided to see if it'll light. If not he has his own battery powered one plus a number of other things he could use.

He took off the glass and lit the wick with a match. For a second it wouldn't take but, in a minute, there was a steady flame that lit the room rather nicely. He swatted out the match flame and tossed it to the ground.

It made small noises, occasionally popping almost like it was dry wood.

It made the room have a certain eeriness to it.

He kept his flashlight on him and put the glass cover back over the lamp. He searched around the room while he still had daylight, digging in the drawers and under the bed. He found a few old books in Russian, all old stories that he's never read. The pages where yellowed and brittle and some hidden in the far back where in good condition.

He was checking under the desk when he noticed something in the wood. Underneath, carved into the wood was a small little arrow. He traced his fingers over it and remembered the arrow that had drawn itself right in front of his eyes. Could there be a connection?

He picked at the wood before tracing to where it was pointing. In the little sliver where the drawers connected to the top of the desk there was a small gap. He moved closer, peering into the connecting point. There was something in there.

He pulled out his switch blade and slipped it into the gap. He pressed up and started to slowly drag out whatever it was that was hiding in there. It slowly moved out and after a couple of tries he managed to get it dislodged enough to grab with his thumb. It was paper, perhaps a note hidden away.

Russia managed to pull it out and he quickly crawled out from under the desk and sat down at it. He held the paper to the lamp light and unfolded it.

He was right it looked to be a letter of some kind.

It was written in Russian and dated in March 1916.

'I'm worried about my friend,' it read. 'His fights with his father have grown more and more and he's starting to pick them with me. Yesterday I overheard him and some company in his study, talking about our problems and that they can be solved with this strange new plan. I couldn't get the details of this new plan, nor was I able to see who his companion was. It's been happening lately; I notice him sneaking around using the cover of the night to do most of it in. Even today he seems to be missing."

Russia muttered the words, thinking to himself as he read. Who was the one writing this and who was this supposed to be about? The tone didn't read like his father's, so it left his imagination to wonder into different possibilities. A friend of his father's perhaps? A visiting country or empire?