The soft tapping sounds of bare, dirty feet was heard between his heavy, panting breaths that as simple an exercise as walking could cause from his weak, worn body. The corridor was otherwise completely silent and empty, but his paranoia still sprung high with every step he took. It was only a matter of time, he knew, before the USSR would find him and catch him and take him back. There was no escape from this building, what was it that the Soviet states called it? His Russian wasn't very good, he understood it on par with a four year old and his speaking ability was even worse. Soviet wanted him to master Russian and speak it fluently but didn't bother to teach him. The Baltic states were trying to help him with learning the language right now, though, since they'd been in a similar situation as him when they became states under Soviet's power and that caused them to feel empathy towards him.
He thought the Soviet states were calling it a prison but there was what sounded like an adjective before it. He wasn't sure.
But he knew that there was no escaping it.
The only thing you could do was run through it and try to hide. But then what?
He still needed to eat food and drink water which Soviet provided, even if it wasn't much, and he knew that his sneaking abilities weren't good enough to steal food from the canteen, even though it was the least guarded place here.
Ukraine and Belarus could probably succeed at the sneaking bit if they wanted to, he'd seen them sneak before. They were small and quick and good at keeping themselves silent. Sure, he was small too, but he wasn't quick and he always started panting and squeaking when he was scared. It was a pitiful habit he had, Soviet had made that clear to him.
He doubted that Ukraine nor Belarus had any interest in helping him, though. He was weak and small and stupid.
Soviet had ridden him of all confidence he had in himself. Now what was he? A miserable hunk of paranoia and doubt, easily malleable to fit whatever Soviet wanted.
The USSR had this all planned out to make him as submissive as possible, didn't he?
A sound that wasn't his own broke him out of his thoughts and he whipped his head around immediately to check his right hand side. He was always looking towards the right, turning his head and getting panicked. He wasn't used to it yet, the inability to see through his right eye. There was still some stinging pain there, particularly at night when his mind would spin even more than during the day or anytime he tried to use it before inevitably realizing each time that he couldn't do so anymore.
He pinpointed where the sound came from- behind him, from where he'd been traveling, trying to escape Soviet's grasp- and ran in the opposite direction. His mind finally went blank for once as his fear overtook his thoughts and pushed him into instinctual responses and actions. Although it didn't stay that way for long. He ran even though his legs were shaking from their weakness and soreness. He hadn't used his legs in how long before trying to run away? A few days, at least, he'd lost track of time. He still was lost in time, was it day or night? How long had it been since he escaped his chains and ran from Soviet until he'd reached this dark corridor? Hours? Days? Time had no meaning anymore.
His mind once again went blank as he skidded to a halt from his sprinting, nearly slamming into the person in front of him. A scream ripped through the once silent air followed immediately by the chilling sound of shattering glass.
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...
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Deep red blood dripped down the broken reflective surface.
His single eye twitched at the corner, his body trembled harshly.
He felt as if his lungs were compressing, squeezing all the air out of his chest as he struggled to breathe.
His numb mind hadn't even registered what he'd done, what this meant.
This blood, now reaching and pooling on the floor below the surface, wasn't his.
There was no way.
Right?
It was getting harder and harder to regain his breath.
Each breath was a ragged gasp in followed immediately by a heavy heave out.
Black spots danced in his vision.
Was he about to pass out?
Loud footsteps coming from behind him grew louder.
They rang in his ears, sending even more panic through him.
His eye finally focused on the figure in front of him.
This wasn't another person, sneaking up on him like he'd thought.
It was him.
That was him.
No.
That wasn't what he looked like.
But it was.
A mirror stood before him.
It was broken from his punch.
His widened left eye met the same left eye of his reflection.
His breathing pace quickened severely.
The footsteps got louder.
They sounded heavy, like they were caused by the thick soles of boots.
Soviet wore boots.
Soviet was coming.
Move.
MOVE.
His feet stayed planted.
His bloody fist still rested against the mirror.
He could feel some of the glass inside the new wounds on his knuckles.
Pain.
It wasn't him.
He wasn't seeing himself.
He didn't look like that.
But he did.
He did.
He wanted to go home.
Where was that?
Who did he want to see?
There was someone at the place his mind called home that he wanted to see.
Why couldn't he remember their name?
Why couldn't he remember their face?
Why couldn't he remember where his home was?
The footsteps stopped directly behind him.
His singular eye flicked up to the figure standing behind his reflection.
Soviet.
He didn't think his trembling could get any worse.
He didn't realize his face was already wet with salty tears.
But now he felt the tears fall quicker, fat droplets of water slipping out of his eye, sliding down his cheek, and falling to the cold stone ground beneath him.
Two large, strong hands gloved in black leather gripped his shoulders harshly.
A petrified squeak passed his lips.
"Ты так сильно трясёшься, слабый." The deep rumble of Soviet's voice sounded behind him.
He wished he spoke more Russian.
It was a scold, right?
He should apologize.
He knew how to do that, it was the first Russian he'd mastered.
Because he messed up so much, he had to know how to apologize.
"Прошу прощенья. (I'm sorry.)" He stammered out.
Soviet scoffed behind him, eliciting another nervous squeak from the much smaller country.
Before he knew it, he was being drug away.
His sensitive bare skin being punished as it slid across the hard stone ground beneath him.
His fist separated from the mirror painfully, some of the broken glass staying behind but most of it clawing into his skin and ripping away from the mirror to stay with him.
The blood now gushed out, no longer in slow moving streams down the surface of the broken mirror.
He took one last look at himself and his mind once again rang.
That's not me.
I haven't changed that much.
I don't have blue skin.
I have two eyes.
I don't have all these scars.
But what was he comparing his appearance to?
He didn't remember what he looked like before this.
So why did it feel so wrong?
It was him he was seeing.
If there was no other appearance to him before then this is what he looked like.
Right?
But his mind still chimed.
That's not me.
That's not me.
That's not me.
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...
A single eye slowly cracked open before immediately shutting again. Too bright. He grumbled in his head before his eye shot open, even with the blinding lights of this room. His body felt like a brick so he didn't bother sitting up, he'd felt like this before, like his body was numb and heavy, and he'd learned his lesson about sitting up too soon. He might be a coward but at least he learned from mistakes.
His eye darted around anything he could see in the room. He was in the infirmary again, he quickly realized. But why?
He went back through his small collection of memories that just seemed to be getting smaller with every passing day. Last time he'd been conscious, he was in that corridor. His brow furrowed as he searched every memory he had of it, piecing it together.
He'd been chained up inside a cell. He'd managed to slip past the guard during feeding time and ran off from there. His memory stopped there and then came back to him when he was already in the corridor. His memory broke off once again and the last thing he remembered was being drug away by some unidentified person and covered in his own blood.
How did he get so bloody though? And who was this person dragging him?
He closed his eye tightly. He remembered a feeling of panic that he thought probably happened between walking through the corridor and being drug away but he didn't remember why he was panicked or what had happened. He just knew that he felt that way.
A voice beside him made him jump slightly. It came from the right, he knew, and his head quickly turned so he could see with his left eye.
He saw Latvia, one of the Soviet states that chose to actually be kind to him. "What?" He questioned softly. He knew some broken English, although he didn't remember where he'd learned it from, and now used it to communicate with Latvia and the other two Baltics. He probably could use his abilities with English to speak with some of the other countries here but he never had. It was doubtful that most other countries cared to speak with him.
"I said, you're finally awake." Latvia repeated herself, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in the old wooden chair she was seated on by his bed.
"Finally?"
Latvia was used to his one-word responses. It wasn't an issue, she understood what he meant.
"You've been sleeping for a few days. Soviet said he found you around here somewhere. You were missing for two or three days before he caught you."
His frown already resting on his lips grew and he closed his eye tightly, trying to collect any more missing memories of what happened in that corridor that he was missing. He couldn't come up with anything.
"You forgot again?" Latvia's soft voice drew him out of his thoughts and his eye slowly opened to look at her again. He nodded and Latvia nodded back. "I wish Soviet would ever listen to you or me. I think you need to be medically treated for this, you obviously got some sort of head injury, you've been forgetting for years." He shrugged, he didn't remember how long he'd been forgetting and certainly didn't know what of his life he'd forgotten and would never get back. Latvia sighed quietly and stared at him. "But Soviet thinks this is a good thing."
"A good thing." He repeated. It was almost like a question but he ended the sentence like one would end a statement.
"Yeah, he says you're easier to manipulate if you forget everything you loved about your life before this place." Latvia spoke, looking to her left for a moment and staring at something. He couldn't turn his head enough to see what she was looking at, though. "Actually." Latvia said, causing him to rest his eye on her face. "Do you want to escape?"
"Of course I do." He replied. Anyone would, he didn't remember home but that didn't stop his desire to return there. So long as it meant getting out of here.
Latvia nodded and stood up as two other Soviet states came to his bedside. He looked at them. Ukraine and Belarus, the two stealthiest states. The ones that scared him the most. Maybe Russia and Kazakhstan and Soviet himself were the strongest, but at least he could see them coming. He couldn't keep himself from tensing up as Belarus leaned in close to his face, narrowing her eyes at him as she observed his expressions. He tried to keep up a blank face. The last thing he wanted was for one more person to deem him cowardly and weak.
Belarus's sudden use of her voice made him flinch ever so slightly. "We're here to help you." She spoke and he noticed how unsteady her English seemed, how heavy her accent was. She was almost as bad at English as him.
Belarus stepped away and looked behind her as Latvia's voice, much softer than Belarus's, was used. "You can trust them, North. Don't be scared." Latvia said and he looked at her questioningly.
"North?" He asked, singular eye narrowed slightly in his confusion.
Latvia stared at him for a moment with a very sympathetic expression. "Oh heavens, North. Have you forgotten your name?" She asked softly, sounding slightly choked up. He hesitated for a moment, searching his memories, before slowly nodding. "Oh god, that's awful." She whispered and pressed her pointer fingers to her temples, rubbing at them in slow circles.
Belarus stared at Latvia for a moment before looking at him. "Once you get out of the infirmary, come to the canteen as soon as you're allowed. Find us there. We'll help you." Belarus said in her unsteady English before walking off, out of the infirmary, not even waiting for his response.
Ukraine lingered there, glaring after Belarus. North, if that's what his name was, stared at Ukraine questioningly, wondering what the glare was for. "Do you trust us to get you out of here North Korea?" Ukraine asked after a moment.
"Yes, I think so. Why would you lie about helping me?" North replied.
Ukraine sighed and shook his head. "You're very naive." He muttered and frowned even more than he already had been, almost scowling. "I guess you'll figure it out for yourself, no use in getting myself punished to help you." Ukraine continued, mostly speaking to himself now. Then, Ukraine left, following Belarus's path out the door.
Latvia sighed and started walking towards the door only a few seconds after Ukraine. She paused in the doorway, though, and turned to glance at North. "I want to... say sorry."
"Sorry for what? You've done nothing wrong." North questioned. His body felt less like a brick so he propped himself up slightly on his elbows, allowing himself to look at Latvia easier.
"Just, in advance. I'm sorry in advance for what I'll do to you." With that, Latvia left, leaving North there alone and confused.
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...
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Why did he always have to be confused?
Why couldn't he just figure things out, get rid of his ignorance towards everything?
It would've saved him from so much of the hurt he experienced.
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...
He dropped the bloody knife that had been clenched tightly in his hand, stumbling backwards.
What had he done?
He forgot what he just did.
But he knew that this wasn't his own blood he was covered in, for once.
"Хорошая работа. (Good work.)"
He looked up, understanding Russian for once.
He recognized Soviet's voice.
He looked behind himself, at the union.
Soviet was smiling.
The union never did that.
Soviet pointed to the ground by North's feet.
North looked down.
And screamed.
Latvia.
Latvia was laying at his feet, drenched in her own dark red blood.
The bloody knife that had been in his hand before now rested, the blade erect in the snow dyed red with blood, beside the Latvian.
Memories came back to him in quick flashes.
Ukraine, Belarus, and Latvia meeting him in the canteen like they said they would.
Belarus leading him to the exit of the building, Ukraine and Latvia walking behind him.
It was cold and snowy outside but North didn't care.
He just wanted to escape.
He followed Belarus out.
She stopped.
Ukraine had left, North didn't know where he'd gone.
But Latvia still stood behind him.
North saw a figure come up beside Belarus.
The figure was Soviet.
His hand were grabbed and folded up behind him.
He looked back.
Latvia was restraining him.
Belarus smiled at him.
She said something to him that he didn't remember and then she laughed.
Soviet had a knife, the same knife North used on Latvia.
North was cut by the knife.
He freed himself, somehow.
And now Latvia was unconscious on the ground, covered in her own blood.
And it was North's fault.
He'd tried to kill her.
He'd wanted her dead.
His best friend, the only Soviet state that cared about him at all.
Something snapped in North's head.
He felt like he was going insane.
His knees gave out and he collapsed in the snow beside Latvia, giggling quietly as he dropped.
He hiccuped between his giggles as his tears fell.
Soviet's large hands gloved in leather were soon grabbing North's trembling, skinny body, lifting him up out of the snow.
North wasn't the same person he'd been when he collapsed beside Latvia only a minute or two ago.
He'd fallen as timid, naive, cowardly, weak.
He'd been lifted as angry, crazy, deranged.
His eye no longer showed any pained emotions, any sympathy.
He was just what Soviet had wanted this whole time.
North kicked at Soviet, struggling in his grip violently.
"Давай. Я. Иди. (Let. Me. Go.)" His voice came out in an angry growl that Soviet had never heard from him before, with North actually resorting to Russian instead of English or Korean.
Soviet smiled and had Belarus, who appeared quite shaken after watching North attack and nearly kill Latvia, go get a cage big enough to put North into, as if he was some sort of wild animal.
Belarus didn't take too long to return, knowing that she would be punished severely if she didn't hurry.
Soviet threw North into the cage once Belarus had brought it, locking the Korean into it.
North struggled, ramming himself around the cage, trying to get free, before eventually wearing himself out, fighting it until he passed out.
Soviet was pleased.
Finally, exactly what he wanted.
He had Belarus carry Latvia to the infirmary, a few of his soldiers work together to carry the cage and North back to a cell, and then a few more soldiers to search the snowy tundra for Ukraine, who'd run off in an attempt for an escape while Soviet was busy with North.
Ukraine should've known better.
But the Ukrainian's rebelliousness would be corrected soon, just as North's weakness was.
Soviet knew what he was doing.
Soon, he'd have an army of these countries-turned-monstrous.
He'd be unstoppable.
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Author's Notes
Yeah, I'm gonna stop promising to get chapters done quickly. Let's just say I'm going to probably continue to be inconsistent until the school year's over. (Only one more term, thank God.)
This book isn't on hold, and I'm not going to just stop writing it. I just don't have the time to get chapters done quickly right now. I will eventually though, I hope.
I'm sorry if this chapter was a bit confusing, I wrote it in a somewhat different style to the rest of the book so far. That's because this is the most centered on a single character's perspective than the other chapters are. I want the reader to feel what North is feeling (I hope I succeeded at this) until he doesn't feel any more. Whenever I returned to my usual style where it's focused on all the characters in a given scene, rather than just one, it's to simulate North's loss of sanity, his own mind, and his emotions. This chapter is mainly just for character development and introductions. It's important but it's not an action chapter or anything.
Anyways, I'll get the next chapter out at some point! Goodbye for now!