Handling a Crisis

Chapter Fifty-Five: Prison

Edit: Chapter warnings: mention of death, talk of suicide, talk of past abuse, trafficking, and torture, mention of Spanish Empire

Wehrmacht knew something was off. He just didn't know why yet.

How did he know something was off? Well, for one, he was rudely awakened when he was harshly tugged forward by Schutzstaffel. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance when he felt Scutzstaffel's sharpened nails scratch into his chest. It wasn't the first time this has happened and much to Wehrmacht's disappointment, he knew it wasn't going to be the last time.

"Did anyone come in here?" Schutzstaffel hissed.

Ah, that explained everything. "Nein," Wehrmacht denied monotonously.

Schutzstaffel pulled out a pistol and held it up to Wehrmacht's head. "Don't lie to me. Did anyone come in here?"

Wehrmacht wanted to roll his eyes again. Threatening him with death? Really? Oh please, he'd rather be dead again than live this hell. If Schutzstaffel killed Wehrmacht, he'd be doing him a service more than anything. In fact, he gladly welcomed death at this point. Anything was better than the situation he was in. "Nein, no one came in here."

Schutzstaffel growled and wrapped his finger on the trigger but was stopped when Weimar requested, "If you're going to shoot someone, can you at least shoot me first?"

Wehrmacht shot her a slightly offended look. "Excuse me, but vho's he pointing ze gun at? Me, zat's vho. He's going to kill me first."

"Not if I haffe any say in it!"

"Shut up!" Schutzstaffel commanded. "You're boz going to die!"

"Zen kill me first," Wehrmacht snapped. He spread his arms out. "Go on, shoot me! Anyzing is better zan liffing zis pazetic life."

Weimar smacked his left hand down. "Nein, I'ffe been here longer! He'll kill me first!"

"Nein, I came back to life first!"

"I'ffe liffed longer zan you haffe, so I'ffe been here longer!"

IRA, who was woken up by all the arguing, sat up in her spot. "I'd like to remind you that I've lived longer than both of you," she brought up, "so if anyone's getting killed, it should be me."

"Wait a minute, if we're bringing in age as a factor like Weimar and IRA did, then I should be the one who dies first," Vietnam interjected. "I'm older than the three of you."

"But I'm olderrr dan all op you," Philippa reminded them, "so dat means I should be de one who dies pirrrst."

Everyone kept fighting over who should be killed first. As they fought, Schutzstaffel seemed conflicted, his eyes flickering between the five prisoners. On the one hand, he wanted to kill all of them, and in his opinion, they all deserved to be killed for varying reasons, but on the other hand, he didn't want to give them what they desired, and the thing they all currently desired was death. He didn't know what to do. He didn't think killing people could get so complicated, yet there he was.

"Come on, Schutz, kill me first! I know you vant to!"

"Don't listen to him, Schutz! Kill me first! You hate me more and deep down, you know it as much as I do!"

"Wehr, Weimar, it's obvious that he should kill me first–"

"Nako, you'rrre all wrrrong; he should kill me pirrrst!"

"You're all gobshites! He knows he should kill me first!"

"Would you all just shut up?!" Schutzstaffel yelled. "If you don't shut up, I'll–"