For Our Freedom (CountryHumans RusAme)

1

America jumped over the crumbling wall, a crying child in his arms. He heard gunshots behind him, but continued forward. Jumping from platform to platform, zigzagging, he did anything to dodge the bullets.

He stayed alert of his surroundings, everything seemed abandoned and worn - as was everything in this city. Vines grew on buildings and nature had begun to reclaim her land, except nobody, not a single country, could afford to rebuild anything. The economy crashed years ago, they couldn't do much about it.

Except some countries thought they could. Some countries thought that if the rich stayed alive and the poor died, overpopulation would be solved, and there would be more space. They called themselves the Restoration - an appropriate name for people who thought they were helping the earth.

Some countries didn't like the Restoration, though. They didn't like the idea of killing the innocent. These countries rescued those who were in danger, a rebellion against the opposing side. The Freedom Activists.

And here America was, a child in his arms, armed countries firing at him. Or at least, trying to. America, over the past few years, had been training for events like this. He learnt how to fight, how to use guns, even parkour. Though it was energy draining, he had to do it for his side.

His side. America, though it might've not seemed like it, was the leader of the Freedom Activists. The FA, he shortened it to.

Though Canada, America's brother, took more control, helping others at their base, supplying food and planning rescue missions, he wasn't the leader. America was. America just didn't like sitting in an office all day, he preferred to do this. Putting his life in danger gave him a rush of adrenaline every time, and he loved it, though he shouldn't have.

After a few minutes of non stop running, America dived behind a stone wall, and heard the soldiers sprint past. He'd lost them. America took a deep breath in, folding down the hood that shadowed his face, and pushed down the gas mask covering his mouth - he wore it, solely because he could get into toxic places where the soldiers couldn't.

He then decided to take his cloak off, the five year old child sitting on his lap watching him - America then passed it down to the other, leaving him in a denim jacket and a black shirt with NATO written across it underneath. Though it was cold and cloudy, the cold still ate at his legs through his camo jeans, and got through his army boots.

He pushed his cracked sunglasses up, still exhausted. He still had a ways to walk, probably a few kilometres, but he didn't mind. Just as long as the kid was safe, he was victorious.

"What's your name?" America puffed, looking down at the smaller country. They grinned, playing with the sleeves of the jacket.

"Philippines," He muttered, "D-do you know if my brother is safe? And.. and my father..? Are they okay?"

Philippines began to sob, America's breath hitched as he leaned forward and patted the country on the back. He then hugged the other, trying his best to comfort him. However, Philippines just cried louder, clutching tightly onto America's back.

"I'm not sure," America sighed, "We've just got to hope that one of my friends who came with me saved them. Okay?"

Philippines nodded, sniffling, and wiping the tears from his face. America smiled reassuringly, standing up and brushing himself off. He placed the gas mask back over his mouth, picking Philippines off the ground, who held onto his cloak.

"Where are we going?" Philippines asked, uncertain. America smirked.

"Home."

*