|《{$ } A Cold Nuclear War { $}》| SOVBRIT COUNTRYHUMANS

Chapter XI

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Started: 28/10/2023 [10:04 PM]
This chapter is to make up for how lazily I wrote the previous one!
Enjoy!
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The sun crept out, bringing with it its bright glow. But, to Britain, it didn't matter. The only source of light he got was from the illegally bright bulb. The blood from the bullet wound was dried to his skin, which irritated the living daylights out of him. 'My wrists chaffed against the rope all night! They might be bruised. . .' He thought as he moved them around slightly. Even the slightest of touch made him wince. The Brit let out a sigh. 'To hell with these people. . .'

Britain looked up and examined the room fully for the first time. He's only had now to do so because when he was brought here, his head was covered by a black bag. Then fucking Yegorov decided to almost DROWN him with interrogation and he passed out from blood loss and exhaustion. . . He could hear footsteps above him, but none that sounded like they would check if he was alive or anything. 'Typical. Really is. . .' Britain thought to himself. He felt that his legs were still free, but it didn't help since he was shot in his right thigh. Making him parshly unable to walk for the moment.

He felt dirty. Like he hasn't had a shower in years!

Britain shifted his body uncomfortably to fix his posture. I mean. Almost flying across the world TWICE and then being drugged followed by being tortured and then shot can REALLY take a toll on you and make you tired. . . Britain yawned and felt something rip. Fresh blood dripped down his chin. "Right-" He said to himself. "-My lip. . ." The island licked what blood he could and spat out the blood-mixed saliva. It landed on the concrete floor with a faint splosh. The soft taste of metallic metal lingered, and the Brit grimaced at it.

'Bad idea. . .'

Britain's attention was shifted to the metal door that began to creek open.

A male of around average height walked in with a grin on his face. Grey hair, brown eyes, pale skin, and he seemed to be wearing camouflage uniform from what the Brit could make out with him being cast in shadow.

"I see you are awake, да?" (Yes?)

"No, I'm awake. . ."

"Gonna start the day like that? Fine. . . Anyway. I brought food for you to eat-"

Yegorov untied Britain's wrists and placed a plate in front of the island that contained the simple.

Piece of toast, an egg, and a glass of water. . .

Britain didn't move from the chair. He held his wrists close to his chest. They were definitely bruised with a purple kind of marking all around. . .

"Not hungry?"

"I feel I have no appetite. . ."

"Suit yourself."

Yegorov picked up the plate again and began walking back to the metal door. The Russian General reached for the handle when he was stopped in his tracks by a shout.

"Wait-!"

Yegorov turned his head in the Brit's direction.

"I-. . . I'll eat it. . ."

Yegorov smirked. He turned back and handed the plate to Britain, who had some difficulty holding it since his wrists were weak.

Yegorov turned to the metal door again and walked.

"Why did you give me this. . ?"

Yegorov stood still, back facing the Brit.

"Because you deserve to at least have your three meals a day. . ."