Pangea Academy's Number Two! (BOOK 2)

A Surprise Cure!

As he approached the weathered garage door, a sense of anticipation filled the air. The hinges creaked in protest as he gripped the cold metal handle, preparing to unveil the secrets hidden within. With a determined push, the door swung open, revealing a realm untouched by human presence for quite some time.

A gust of stale air rushed out, carrying with it a symphony of dust particles that danced in the slanting rays of sunlight that pierced through the dimness. The thick layer of dust, disturbed after years of undisturbed rest, erupted like a silent explosion, creating an ephemeral haze that hung in the air.

The dimly lit interior slowly unveiled itself as the dust settled, revealing a forgotten collection of tools, old cardboard boxes, and discarded items covered in the fine powdery residue. The scent of aged wood and metal lingered, a testament to the passage of time within this forgotten space.

The light, now unhindered by the closed door, illuminated the corners of the garage, exposing cobwebs that adorned the forgotten artifacts of a bygone era. The air, once stagnant and heavy, now felt alive with the echoes of the past, as memories stirred with the awakening of the long-neglected space.

Germany immediately sneezed, "Haven't been in here in a while, Russia?"

"Nope."

Ever since the group locked him in a room, Russia seemingly only responds to them in one or two word sentences. Only talking more if he's referring to America.

Speaking of the American, he leaned all his weight on the Canadian as his legs quivered with the sudden usage after being dormant for so long. He looked into the garage.

The room, normally reserved for tools and gardening equipment, was an unexpected sanctuary for this winter machine.

Layers of dust clung to the sleek curves of the snowmobile, creating a ghostly patina on its once vibrant surface. The bright colors of its body were subdued under the fine, powdery film that had settled during its extended hibernation. The scent of aged gasoline and metal lingered in the air, a testament to the dormant power waiting to be awakened.

The tires, now cloaked in a layer of dust, hinted at adventures once taken on crisp, snow-covered landscapes. Cobwebs delicately draped across the handlebars, like wisps of time attempting to capture the memories of exhilarating rides through icy trails.

As the owner approached the machine, a soft exhale disturbed the settled dust, causing it to float briefly in the air before slowly settling back down. With a gentle touch, the snowmobile's seat revealed a faint impression of past riders, a silent record of winter escapades frozen in the layers of time and dust. The promise of snow and the roar of the engine seemed to echo in the quiet garage, inviting the possibility of new adventures amid the nostalgia of the past.

"Well... better than nothing." America sighed, looking at the gross webs and dust all over the machine with vivid disgust. Russia briefly looked back at him before entering the garage and going to wipe the cobwebs and grime off their only ride. The American exhaled again, "Thanks." Russia nodded his head, his eyes never leaving America's figure.

"Hey, look!" Mexico called, turning around to face the group.

In the grasp of Mexico's hands, two walkie-talkies rested, their sturdy exteriors reflecting the wear-and-tear of countless expeditions. The smooth, matte finish of the devices bore the subtle scars of adventures past, with small scratches and worn edges telling tales of rugged terrains and outdoor escapades.

His fingers intuitively traced the familiar curves of the walkie-talkies, each one cool to the touch, housing the technology that bridged communication across distances. The buttons and knobs, though well-used, retained their functionality, a testament to the reliability of these handheld communication tools.