Roman Roulette - Countryhumans America x China

Phantom

It seemed like an impossible situation. There was not even one surmisable outcome where we came out of that vault alive. 

Then again, who'd be the one telling this story? Italy? 

And I think it was me who saved the day. My dad didn't call me "the talker" for nothing. I had a gift I didn't know, and it was a great time to use it, obviously because China's utterly failed (he disagrees and takes the credit for one word that he said.)

"WAIT!" China yelled loudly. "I will not let you kill her or us. I'll fight you." He dislodged the knife Russia threw from the soft wall and stood in front of me. 

Very chivalrous of him. 

"Very unfair fight that would be," Ukraine rolled her eyes. "unless I have Trident with me." 

China regarded her for a moment. And then said, "Then answer me this: why did you follow him?" he pointed at Italy, who gave a charming smile in his direction. 

"Why stray to the bad side when you know our story. You probably have been lured in for money too right?" I asked. I internally bashed myself for sounding so helpless.

There was a moment of silence where everybody thought of that. 

"You've obviously been loved all your life," Ukraine snorted. "you just don't know what its like to be us."

"Care to enlighten the foolish little girl?" I asked. 

She smirked. "Sure," she waved her arm at Italy and Russia and China. "I'll speak to her. Stay out of it, and don't interrupt," she turned back to me. "I assume you have two legs, no doubt."

I looked at her quizzically. "Yes. Who does not?"

Judging by her look of extreme superiority, not everyone. "Surprise sweetie. Wrong answer." she hitched up her skirt ankle-length to her knees. Or what would be up to her knees, which consequentially were just two metal poles.

"You imagine coming into a store in crutches and no legs and ordering a slice of cheese on a government sponsored welfare card. Imagine how people would look at you, whisper at you, gossip, turn away, giggle, and pray that it never has to be them." 

"You..."

Ukraine looked at me with the bitterest smile on earth. "who would marry a woman with no legs sweetheart? I don't know who. Maybe you can introduce me to them, I'd like to see. Or maybe you'd like to be my girlfriend?" she though for a moment. "actually, I already have one of those. Maybe you'd like to be my brother's wife. I'm sure you'd be a lovely pair," she laughed. "The irony: Christine and the Phantom of the Opera."

I was terribly confused by her words, which were obviously suppressed for many years. She kept on talking and talking, words fountaining out of her bitter soul. But I didn't hear her, and turned to Italy's business partner instead.  

I didn't understand the allusion until I looked at Russia, who crookedly smiled at me. For the first time, I paid attention to his almost-expressionless face and eyes. And although he looked alright, his features were irregular, faded, and waxy, like a plaster. Until I realised...it was plaster, and it wasn't hard to see that one of his eyes was glass. 

I audibly gasped. It was a carefully, painstakingly reconstructed face that I could now see was worn, patched up, and utterly strange. I briefly wondered what he looked like before his face was burned in the fire. 

Ukraine watched my reaction. "Imagine walking in a park and having even the pickpockets run away from you because of your mutilated and burned face. Nobody loved us. Of course you won't ever make the choices we had to make. That's why  we do what we do. For power. For respect."

"Oh," I said quietly. "I didn't know."

"We don't just tell anyone off the street, little lady," she said lightly. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "that's awful, I didn't know, really." I kept saying that over and over.

I was a foolish little girl. I looked at China, who looked a bit lost as well. I always thought of myself as an advocate for people with disabilities and problems, the underdogs and shadow-dwellers who we not loved because of what they looked. I was always the champion of support to the needy and didn't realise to what extent of madness people would go if they were hurt, stranded, and estranged from their own world. 

I was lucky, with my shallow, solvable problems, loving parents who supported my decisions, a tight knit family with a brother who cared and friends who didn't leave my side. I didn't have a life altering disability, I had both legs and eyes and an attractive face. 

And all this time, all my speeches, marches, donations, and pitying those whom I never actually met were nothing compared to the woman with the green eyes and black lips.  

I had no idea. 

"What about you?" China addressed Italy, without a note of fear in his voice. "what sort of sad story do you have to justify yourself?"

Italy put up his hands. "You sure are nosy," he remarked, his voice becoming less booming and malicious. "Don't think it matters though. We have enough time for some trauma-sharing." 

He clapped his hands together. "News for you, but I was never legally rehabilitated for my father's crimes. Some still call me Il Duce, as if I were my father. Then living in an orphanage was fun too. I liked it very much, not. Its not as bad as burning to a crisp," he motioned to brother and sister. "but not all together entertaining."

While he talked, China slipped me something into my hand. It was the pager that Switzerland had used. He winked to me and nodded at his hated competitor. 

I wondered what he wanted me to do, but I knew what I wanted to do.

Switzerland yawned. And that's when I hit him over the head with the pager. 

I was surprised at how hard you can get hurt by the simple piece of machinery thrown by unprofessionally trained me. But I was a furious little lady, and anger can bring out the strength in the unexpected. He let out a surprised gasp, and toppled over.  

I looked down at his unmoving body, making sure that he was still alive. I hated him for his manipulation, but my good heart didn't want him to die. 

"Are we just letting them do this?" Italy asked, who I now realised was weaponless.

"Let's see what they do," Ukraine shrugged her shoulders, rubbing the blue lining of her pistol, Trident. "I'm mildly unconcerned now. What's you need from them again?"

"Money,"

"How much?"

"Three million,"

"Huh, don't you have enough to buy yourself another white suit?"

Italy sighed. "Didn't I just say to this girl: I don't function the normal way - there's always a reason. Or is there psychological scar tissue getting in the way of your neuron pathways? Or maybe and image of fire clouding your hippocampus function?"

Ukraine looked unconcerned. "Yep, there is. Unfortunately you're not the only one to notice that."

And with that simplicity, she shot Italy in the head.