Prussia, or was he the GDR now? Everyone called him the German Democratic Republic now, even his own brother. Not that he saw Germany anymore. Russia had him now, but just like Poland, Hungary and all of eastern Europe, he claimed they were all sovereign. What had England's boss called this? Ah, yes, he was behind the so called Iron Curtain. What a poetic phrase. Leave it to England to give this a dramatic title but do nothing to fix anything.

Ah, needless to say he, whoever he was, sat on a rooftop overlooking Berlin. East Berlin. The man smirked, all the days of calling his brother West were reflected on him now. Now he was East. It didn't sound right. He turned from the lights of his side of the city to gaze toward the searchlight guarded wall that separated the city. It'd been there for over twenty years, a symbol of the divide that split the world. Russia had built it to keep him from West.

He bitterly scorned his brother's name for surrendering, that was two wars straight and now he was being punished for his brother's defeat. He sighed heavily, still glaring at the wall as though mind power was enough to tear it down. He couldn't blame Germany for losing, after all he wasn't half as awesome as Prussia, or East Germany. He didn't get his own name, just part of his brother's.

Christ, why did everyone call him that? What happened to being Prussia? What happened to people hailing him, fearing him, praising him on their knees?

The wall happened; the war happened; the Allied Powers happened. He half sighed half growled, this turned into a choked laugh. There wasn't anyone here to call him anything now. West and Austria were on the other side of the wall; Russia just used his stuff to rebuild industry in the Union. As this went on, he brought his knees up and rested his forehead on them. Czechoslovakia was too busy trying to shake Russia off, and Hungary, she'd been out of The Pact since before the wall went up.

The sound of shouting in the streets below attracted his attention. Rushing to peer over the edge, he could see a crowd of students as well as a tight line of black uniformed men: Die Stasi. He frowned at seeing the students arrested and roughly taken away; how dare they treat his people like that. He growled lowly; he didn't want this, his people didn't want this.

Crossing to the other edge of the roof, he no longer looked at the wall; he gazed over to the lights on the other side. He'd tear down that damn wall; he'd get back to West, even if it killed him.