2P!Germany's POV
"This is..." I wandered through the ruined streets of my former capital city, my hands in my pockets. I'd finally made it back after so long...and this was what I was greeted with? It seemed like a far cry from the Berlin I once knew. Corpses in different stages of decay littered the once lively streets, and the buildings I remembered were practically falling apart. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but at the same time, I knew my eyes didn't lie to me. I'd been warned not to get my hopes up, but I still felt my stomach sink. It felt like World War Two all over again, except there was no Soviet Union to take my brother away and hide him behind a constant reminder of how different the West and the East were. There was no America or Britain or France to help me rebuild. There was nothing in this desolate place to rebuild. There was nothing for me there.
I wandered down the streets I once knew, hoping for some inkling of nostalgia to hit me. But there was nothing much to get nostalgic about. I didn't know what else to do. That used to be Luciano's role to fill. Now that he was gone and probably dead, it was up to me to decide. It was a terrifying prospect, in all honesty. The loneliness hit me again, and I immediately moved on to something else.
I checked the bandages on my arm to see if the injury they covered up had healed. I remembered that about five days ago, a deranged young woman had found me. Being the kind of person I was, I immediately tried catcalling her. Considering the size of the wound she'd carved into me, it was very poor judgment. I hissed when I tried pulling the bandages off, so I quickly put them back on. Normally, an injury like that would have been gone the next day, but times had changed.
"Young man!" I screamed, feeling someone grab me unexpectedly. I grabbed my gun on reflex and turned to see a man who couldn't possibly be any older than sixty. The radiation had clearly gotten to him, since I could see more than a few cysts (or were they tumors?) of varying sizes lifting his tattered shirt a little bit. I didn't get a good look at his face before I unintentionally pulled the trigger and watched it explode into nothing but chunks of rough, pale flesh, bits and pieces of what I thought was his skull, and blood. The man fell over and landed face up, much to my dismay.
"What the fuck!" I dropped the gun immediately and, despite my disgust, took a long look at what I'd done. There was nothing but a hole where his face should have been, courtesy of my itchy trigger finger. I thought I could even see his fucking brain. Other than that, the rest of the corpse was unaffected, other than the blood staining his clothing. I picked up my gun and ran off to vomit. I couldn't look at him anymore.