𝑩𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝓎 𝒲𝒶𝓇 (ᴛʜɪʀᴅᴜɴɪᴏɴ)

'The Fall of Reich'

Location: Berlin

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

As Reich was about to pull the trigger, Soviet lunged forward, throwing his sickle. The sickle he wielded cut through Reich's neck, its cold steel flashing dangerously in the dim light of the room. The blade met Reich's neck with a sickening crunch, and Reich staggered backward, his eyes widening in shock. The gun slipped from his trembling hand as Soviet's strong hands closed around Reich's wrist, twisting it with force. The weapon clattered to the floor, and Reich's body slumped, his consciousness fading.

Soviet stood over him, his chest heaving with the exertion of the confrontation. The floor beneath Reich was quickly becoming a dark, spreading pool of blood, a grotesque testament to the violence that had just occurred. Soviet's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The adrenaline that had fueled his actions was now replaced by a profound moral dilemma. Should he end Reich's life now, or leave him to the fate that seemed to be drawing close?

The tense silence was shattered by a soft, hesitant voice. "V-v-ater...?" The word was faint but carried a scent of urgency. Soviet's head snapped up, his gaze shifting to the doorway. 

East and West Germany stood there, their expressions showing fear..

East Germany took a cautious step forward, his voice trembling as he asked, "Vater...? Wer bist du?" The question was laced with desperation, and Soviet's heart thumped as he attempted to process the meaning. He has children? The realization was a heavy weight, making Soviet's resolve falter. The anger and adrenaline that had driven him seemed to fade away.

"You speak English?" Soviet asked, his tone softer now. East Germany nodded, his eyes locked onto Soviet. The desperation in his eyes was evident.

"Yes, we do. Have you, um, seen Vater?" West Germany's voice cracked, revealing his anxiety. Soviet closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He then carefully lifted Reich into his arms. The weight of Reich's unconscious form was heavy, both physically and emotionally. Soviet's movements were deliberate and gentle as he turned around, carrying Reich towards the door.

"V-VATER?!" East Germany's voice was a high-pitched cry of anguish. He rushed forward, his hands reaching out to grab Reich's coat. The fabric, now stained with blood, was a tangible link to his father, East glanced up, Reich's face was covered with his once almighty cap. East's fingers trembled as he clutched the fabric of the coat, pulling it close. West Germany followed, his face a mask of horror and disbelief, his steps faltering as he took in the scene.

"WHAT HAPPENED?! VATER!!" The cries from both siblings were heart-wrenching, filled with raw emotion and pain. Their voices echoed through the room, a cacophony of fear and sorrow. Tears streamed down their faces, and their cries seemed to reverberate off the walls, amplifying their distress.

Soviet watched them quietly, his gaze softening as he observed their reaction. They look young, he thought, noting the fragile innocence that still lingered in their expressions. It was evident that they were still children in many ways.

With a heavy sigh, Soviet spoke softly, trying to offer some measure of reassurance. "He's not dead," he said, his voice carrying a note of reluctant optimism. The words were meant to comfort, though the situation was anything but comforting. East Germany gasped, his eyes widening with a mix of relief and disbelief. He began muttering something in German, his voice barely audible through his sobs. "Gott sei Dank, Gott sei Dank, Gott sei Dank..." The repetition of the phrase was almost a ritualistic prayer, a plea for reassurance in the face of overwhelming fear.

West Germany exhaled deeply, struggling to regain his composure. He took a step closer to Soviet, his hand reaching out to grasp East's. The gesture was both a physical and emotional anchor, a shared moment of solidarity in the midst of their crisis.