Click.
The sound of a gun being cocked.
Oh, god.
The other one had told him about the gun. She said that he played a game - made a deal with the victim. There was a revolver, and a single bullet. The barrel was spun, and if the victim didn't get a bullet through their head they were allowed to live. Silenced eventually, though, if the screams became tiring.
It was pitch dark - a blindfold over his eyes as his captor pressed the gun to the side of his head.
"Now, let's have a bit of fun, shall we?" A playful, singsong voice. Like this was all a childrens' game.
And then pain as the bullet drove through his skull - he stopped struggling against the ropes that bound him to the chair, fell limp and still.
Ivan Braginsky sighed in disappointment. "I was hoping to have a bit of fun with this one." Still overly playful and carefree like a child - Ivan Braginsky, criminally insane . . . His Russian accent had faded away after long years living in America, but he let it creep back into his voice temporarily. "Do svidaniya, comrade."
The revolver went back into the pocket of an overly heavy winter coat, and a scarf was tightened around a pale neck. A sadistic grin was replaced by a composed expression as he left the building, an abandoned warehouse by the side of a highway, and looked down onto the nearest city.
A/N: I own nothing. Not Russia, not Hetalia. Though I wish I owned Hetalia, believe me.
I wrote this today, while being bored, and on a road trip. It is not my first fanfic, by far. Just my first complete and published one. I hope you don't mind the shortness~ And please review!
