HI! This is where the torture begins…
"You want to play?" Russia smirked.
His gloved hands expertly spun the cylinder quickly and snapped it into place. Russia placed the muzzle of the revolver on his temple. Click. Save.
He smiled childishly, placing the gun onto the cold, metal table and pushed it towards the country sitting on the other side.
America picked it up, once again pushing the cylinder out, and spinning it. The golden glint of the single round winked under the single, dim light bulb. It was a cold night. He shivered in his seat, and he readied the gun. Click. Thank god.
He closed his eyes, and slid the gun back to Russia.
"You were lucky." Russia repeated the process in rapid succession, nonchalantly snatching the trigger under his jaw. "But… I always win." Russia was barking mad. But he wasn't one to lie when playing games. Not one he used to play for the cheap thrills. But, he was always the one to clean up after that. Every single time.
America closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth. Since when was he that stupid to agree playing such a game with Russia? Especially Russia. Click.
How long did they go on for? 20, 30 rounds? Either way, America was getting a little shaky. Was the room getting wavier or… Yes, Russia's smile was getting creepier and creepier.
Nations can't really die, but they feel pain, even more so than average humans. They just get to live, and heal much faster. But, America could tell you that when that bullet was fired, it burned like a bitch. Bells were ringing in his ears, the loud, fire alarm types. It seemed like someone was stabbing the back of his eyes, probably because the bullet cut through his optical nerves, then a burst of colors and finally darkness.
Looks like Russia was right about always winning.
He was rudely awakened by a metal pipe smashing into his head. Or rather, painfully. America screamed, gasping. It was winter, cold and dark, and he was barely even clothed in this dank basement. Being chained by his hands to the ceiling above meant he wasn't able to sit. He couldn't stand either; torture and starvation does not help you much. So, basically he was just kneeling on his legs which have long gone to sleep.
That throbbing pain sure reminded him of a past misadventure. He was barely able to see in the dark, much less without his glasses. But what was there to see? Not like anything would help at all.
The metal pipe went down again, this time hitting the side of America's head. It was that close to jabbing into his left eye, and now the skin had split above his eye, blood flowing into it.
He screamed again, left eye swiveling wildly in its socket as the blood coated it, giving a whole new light to the term, red-eye. He bit his already split bottom lip, once again reopening the little cracks, and let out a muffled scream again as the blood from his head continued to throb with every single heartbeat he had.
Left eye still swiveling in its socket, he keeled over in pain, trying to stop the sharp jabbing behind his eyes. He hoped he still could see with that eye. One eye just wasn't cool at all. Neither is your retina snapping.
He got kneed in his jaw, nearly biting the tip of his tongue off, and his teeth snapped together painfully. Tears came to his eyes somehow, and he wondered when he was going to stop crying altogether. They were going to dry up soon, right?
Either way, they leaked into the scratches on his face, made when he was slammed against the brick floors and other various rough surfaces.
He made a list about what was hurting at present. His head, jaw, teeth, ears, eyes, skin, back, lips, tongue, teeth, not to mention the fact that he was that close to getting frostbite. The list goes on and on. How was he even able to form coherent thoughts?
Russia grabbed America's hair in his gloved hands. "Admit it." He gritted out.
America winced, squinting at Russia through a red film and those white flashing things that were going off in his other eye.
Russia grinned, and tightened his grip on the blood-matted hair. More excuse to hurt that asshole.
"Admit it." Russia repeated, firing a bullet into America's kneecap. Don't worry, it'll heal. Hopefully.
America screamed, thrashing around in the restrains, whimpering as his voice went hoarse.
Russia stopped smiling, aiming to another point on America's body. Bam, the bullet went through the shoulder. "Admit it."
America screamed until he was hoarse. He was feeling rather light-headed. Perhaps he would just faint… Yes, that was a good idea.
Well, Russia was no idiot. He frowned, and stuck a finger into the gun-wound, pressing into it like an elevator button. Once again, America screamed. It was boring already… Do something else, my play thing! Russia curled his finger inwards, digging out some tissue and flesh from the wound. Oops, he just pushed the bullet deeper in. Not like he cared. "Admit it."
America moaned, breathing heavily and sweating, even in such extreme temperature. His world was hazy around the corners…
"I didn't do anything…" He whispered before passing out. At least Russia though he had passed out. Dying or passing out didn't matter. America would always wake up as long as he was left alone to heal a little. Besides, a little pussy torture would not really affect such a "great superpower", now would it? Russia tapped his chin thoughtfully, unknowingly smearing a little blood over his scarf.
"He fainted… That was too bad. That wasn't even serious torture!" Russia laughed as he picked his trusty pipe up with one hand, and adjusting his scarf with his other. Blood on his scarf… noticing it. Makes for a good souvenir, shrugging it off. America would have died over and over if not for the other countries stopping him.
Then, he glanced back at the bloodied America, and walked out of the door. It was rather chilly down there.
Ok, it may seem confusing, but I'll try to put it all together at the next chapter… I just had the urge to write this. Thanks for reading and reviewing! If you did review… Bye! :D