[October 21 Prompt: Quarantine]
The smell of bleach and the hum of the air filter inside the biological suit were starting to make Russia dizzy.
"We are very pleased to hear that you've taken such a personal interest in our work here, Comrade Braginski."
So they say, and they probably meant it. His people had been speculating about what he was, how he fit into the world, since he was old enough to attend his first tsar's court. They almost all assumed that he must be some sort of adviser, someone connected to the top. And that was true, but nearly everything they assumes after that wasn't.
Still, true or false, it allowed him the opportunity to see things others aren't allowed to, the deepest secrets his people had. Like weapons that weren't supposed to exist. He had promised, right there in Geneva in front of everyone, no more biological weapons. But America had promised too, and America was lying. Russia didn't have proof, but he was sure America was still building those weapons behind everyone's back. America always lied about everything. America said that he trusted Russia. America said that Russia was his best friend. America said that he loved Russia. America was a liar.
Well, Russia could lie too.
It felt odd, that he had never actually laid eyes on his tiniest weapons. He wanted to see them, from curiosity or a need to know just what his people were capable of, what he was capable of. He had seen all the bombs and guns and tanks. Those were weapons he understood. But this...this was something foreign. Oh, he had used disease in war before: rotting bodies left in an enemy's water source, that sort of thing. Didn't everyone do that at some point? Everyone who was old enough to remember the brutality of old warfare, anyway.
But this was different. It was so cold and logical, so academic. You could almost forget that the contents of those little vials could kill millions.
"Right this way, Comrade Braginski. We've prepared a few slides for you to look at today, just some examples of our work."
It was hard to look into the microscope while wearing that clunky spacesuit-like protective wear, but after some shuffling Russia found a comfortable position. The first slide slipped into focus. Rod shapes filled his vision, stained purple, long and skinny.
"Anthrax," the scientist behind him said, over the hum of various machines. "And this is the best sample we have at the moment, Anthrax 836. We've been working on methods to let the spores travel farther and faster through the air, to increase our range. Our progress was slow at the start, but if you'll look over the reports we submitted last month, you'll find that we-"
America was gasping for breath, clawing at his chest as he face slowly turned blue. His mouth worked helplessly, trying to draw in air that his lungs wouldn't take. His eyes were starting to bug when he finally looked up at Russia, accusing, pleading...
"-if you could mention that to the Premier we would be very grateful."
Russia blinked, returning to the lab with a little jolt. He glanced over his shoulder at the unmemorable scientist, who was giving him a wary little smile.
"Of course, comrade," he said lamely, wondering what he had just agreed to. It didn't matter. His heart was thumping, too hard and fast. Suddenly he wished they had let him keep his scarf. It was left behind in a locker outside the lab. They said it was a biological hazard.
No, this was silly. He was too old to let his nerves get rattled now. This was war. War was ugly. It always had been. The weapons had changed, but it was still the same old ugly war he knew when he still had all his baby teeth. All of this, all of these weapons, were for the safety of the Union. America was the enemy now. He had to remember that.
"You have more slides for me to see?" Russia prompted, and the man got to work preparing the next one. He worked surprisingly fast in that clumsy protective suit, and the next was ready in no time.
"And here we have cholera." Little round tubes appeared under the microscope lens, and memory gave a brief stab at Russia's gut. He was all too familiar with that monster. "We had a breakthrough recently, you'll be pleased to know. This strain you are looking at has a significantly lower incubation period than naturally occurring strains. Symptoms could appear very shortly after consuming contaminated water-"
America was curled up, both arms wrapped around his aching stomach in a futile attempt to protect it. The room smelled wretched, and Russia couldn't stop himself from pulling his scarf up to hide his nose from the assault. He could see America's chest, barely rising and falling now, his breathing diminished to almost nothing as he slipped away into shock. Russia's feet moved on their own, taking him closer as he struggled to not look away...
"Is something wrong? Comrade?"
The scientist's brow was furrowed behind the clear plastic shield that covered his face.
"Nothing at all," Russia insisted, pasting his usual smile into place. He clenched his jaw when he felt his teeth were about to chatter.
"You look a little pale. Are you sure?"
"I'm just a bit tired. It's nothing to worry about. The next slide, please."
This one looked different to Russia's eye, like twisting noodles. "Ebola. This one is a still quite a mystery, I'm afraid." Ah, yes. One of the new terrors to emerge out of Africa recently. "We've made some progress with it, and it could be used as a weapon, but-"
America was bleeding. It should have been impossible, but he was bleeding from everywhere. His mouth, his nose, his ears, everywhere. The whites of his eyes had turned scarlet, and his vision was dull and empty when his terrifying gaze drifted up to meet Russia. It was a blessing that his mind was gone now, that he wasn't aware of what was happening anymore, but it was a cold comfort to Russia as he steadied America's shoulders to keep him from slipping to the floor. America choked on blood (how could there be anything left to come out now?) and it splashed onto Russia's coat, leaving ugly stains behind that Russia couldn't bring himself to care about. Words stuck in his throat, but it hardly mattered. America was beyond words now...
"-shouldn't use these things carelessly before we understand them, yes?"
"...Of course."
"Are you certain you are well, Comrade Braginski? I'm sorry for noticing, but...your hands are shaking."
Russia glanced down. The thick rubber gloves should have hidden it, but the tremors were still visible to the naked eye. He flushed, clenched his fists.
"Do you want to leave the lab?" the scientist asked, not unkindly. "You may be having a bad reaction to one of the vaccines. We could find someone to examine you-"
"I'm fine," Russia snapped, a bit too sharply. "You have one more slide, yes? Show me that and we can be finished with all this."
"Yes, of course..."
Russia took advantage of the man's attention falling elsewhere to take a few deep, calming breaths. One more. One more and he could go home with his curiosity satisfied.
The man fit the last slide into place, and Russia looked down into a sea of tiny dumbbell shapes. "Finally, our crown jewel, if you will. Smallpox."
A tiny shiver made its way down Russia's spine. There wasn't a country on earth who didn't know this one. It was ancient, far older than nations. How odd, to be looking into the face of so old an enemy...
"You may have read the reports already, but we have been very successful with this one. This strain is several times more contagious than natural strains, and with a significantly higher mortality rate on top of that. Our latest work has been to splice it with influenza..."
America was dying. It was undeniable. Lesions covered every inch of his skin. It was agony to touch them. It hurt him to move, it hurt him to lie down, even the slightest contact with his skin made him moan and sob weakly. America knew this disease. Even young nations knew this one. His mind was still tragically awake, not sparing him a single moment. He knew what was happening. He knew he was dying. Those blue eyes were wide, terrified, begging, but he couldn't bear to be touched now. It was too painful to have Russia wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow or hold his hand at the end or...or kiss him goodbye...
"Comrade Braginski?"
Russia jerked back with a ragged gasp. The borrowed medical scrubs under the suit were soaked in sweat.
"Tired, I'm just tired," he mumbled thickly, staggering away. His mind had gone mercifully blank, and he focused on the mundane to keep it that way. Focus on the slow decontamination process on the way out, the showers and chemicals before he was finally allowed back into his own clothes (and had his scarf returned at last.) He thought only about the long car ride back to Moscow, about the heavy autumn clouds over head, about anything but the imagined horror he had seen in the America in his head.
Somehow he managed to get back home again and went straight to bed, hugging a pillow to his chest. He pulled the blankets up over his head, locking himself away into his own little quarantine.
That night, sleep never came.
Historical Notes:
The Soviet Union had the largest biological weapons program the world had ever seen (and hopefully ever will see. I really hope nothing ever tops it. The US had a biological weapons program too, but it was nowhere near as vast or developed.) A number of different viruses and bacteria were studied and developed into weapons there, including anthrax, cholera and Ebola (they even thought about working with AIDS for a while.) Smallpox was arguably the biggest focus, and the strain developed there was exceptionally potent and designed to resist Western vaccines. Smallpox became more valuable as a weapon after it's eradication from the natural world in 1977, as it would no longer be practical to keep vaccines stockpiled and people would gradually lose their natural immunity to it over time, making them much more susceptible to an attack.