ataraxionlogs | 03 ▒ EVENT: STRELA OUTPOST ▒ ASSIMILATION

The guards. They've those cattle prods. Don't let them hit you, it hurts like a bitch.

[Here there's a pause as he tries to sort out his limbs and gingerly test out the bridge of his nose. But he replies back soon enough, he can't leave Ned hanging out there. One captured nation is enough.]

I don't know how many of passengers are here but they're hunting.

[And again:] Get to the ship.

[The urge to huff or smoke or throw his comms device is almost overwhelming, but so much of his effort is concentrated in problem-solving that he doesn't have time to focus on the why of it. What he can gather: Russia got hit with a cattle prod (what), and is in all likelyhood locked up somewhere. But he's messaging. Right now the guy is fine.

And he still has no idea if the brainwashing shit is a joke.

Either way there must be danger, if he's getting bossed back to the ship. Well shit. Russia's in danger. Two questions, then:]

Can you get out
Why are they hunting

[There's a long pause here as he weighs the options. On one hand, it doesn't seem like the guards are easy to take down, especially already wounded as he is, and on the other, he's already seen them batter down others who've tried. More importantly, some of them are led out, where? He's not sure, but they don't come back and that leaves Russia assuming the worst. So he settles in for answering, perhaps not as best as he could, but it's the truth.]

I don't know
I think I took too many shocks earlier I'm not sure I can take more down like this

[Not that he wouldn't try, there's still a pistol hidden away and his pipe had somehow made it with him on the trip, perhaps because he was still entirely too paranoid to let go. That said, he's got to focus on the now. The second question is left blank, there's reasons he could fill in, but they're all guesswork and conjunction, none of them likely to help at this point.]

[Luckily for Russia, he jumps to the conclusion that "I don't know" is referring to his inquiry about why these people are locking up folks in the first place, and doesn't throw a fit over the question left blank. Still, it's annoying. If he doesn't know, he doesn't know how risky it would be to sneak out of his hiding spot.

And if Russia can't take them down, he's not sure he could, either. The both of them together, maybe, but now isn't the time to wonder about that.]

What are you planning

[While he can't begin to try to figure out how the hell Russia's mind works, he has always gone with the assumption that there was a plan, always is a plan, somewhere. However odd.]

Got to wait for my limbs to work again first. Not sure about the route out but I can figure it out.

[Not much of a plan, and though Netherlands would be right and he usually does have one or three tucked away, this situation has him fidgety and on edge despite not being able to do much. Or rather, because of that.]

How long do we have left till the ship leaves? [Hey this is important, it gives him a time frame. But also, gives him more urgency. Maybe he could take a few guards but not a mob like earlier and certainly Ned is in the same boat. If he could get to him, Russia might be able to help but he's just as likely to be a hindrance.]

[Well. Fuck.]

Two days

[That part, at least, is easy. It's a fact, and before he he sends anything else the fact goes out.

And he's not one to make promises he can't keep, so he does't send anything more than that - simply sends it and hopes that something comes back to him before he's trapped in a corner rather worse and more nebulous than the one he's in at the moment.]

[Two days. There was time then, enough so that he could focus on trying to count the people populating the room with him. So Ned will probably have to wait a few moments because Russia's trying to come up with a plan. It's hard though, when he's not sure how many guards are still out there and how far he is from the ship.

He keeps coming back to Ned, where is he, can he even get to the ship? Well, he might as well find out.]

Where are you hiding?

[Maybe if they could meet halfway---not, that he knows where he is of course, but it's a start.]

[Normally he'd send the location right back, but he has no idea (not without video) that it really is Russia he's speaking to. And even with video, who's to say Russia is, well, himself. So he keeps it vague.]

You go first

[Where he is doesn't really matter if he doesn't know where Russia is, after all. And he has yet to get an answer to that inquiry.]

Not sure exactly, passed out half way here and the rest was hazy.

[He huffs and looks around once more, staggers to his feet to look out the small window at the door and spot the stark hallway.]

I'm stuck in some room with dozen or two others. Looks like some sort of creepy hallway outside the door.

That's it?

[Goddamn it.]

If I get close
Can you get out

[And... okay yeah this is weird and invasive and he's not even sure it it will work or ever did work, but. At this point he needs to know, so soon enough another text follows.]

Can you feel me

What do you want me to say? It's all fields of sunflowers out there?

[There's a pause as he thinks over the following texts. Invasive, maybe, but he's starting to feel caged in by these walls and the panicking people and he wants out. So have a honest answer.]

Yeah. I can feel you. You're not too far off, I think. My sense of distance is fucked.

Shut up

[Too worried to be in the mood for snark, even, so that's all he says as he waits. He... well, he hasn't tried to since they've been on-board, and now that he is trying to feel out Russia, he doesn't feel a damned thing. So he's a bit surprised at the response. He doesn't feel anything in return. Odd.]

I can't feel you
Tell me if I'm getting closer. I'm coming

[...it's slow, but he makes his way back into the station, dodging into shadowed corridors and into odd rooms when the occasional citizen here walks by.]

[He types up a text, sends it right as the door flies open and he's dragged out of the room and towards the assimilation chamber. So Ned gets one text

Yeah, you're on the right way.

But after that there's only silence. So while Netherlands works his way closer to the station, dodges citizen and shadows, Russia's pressing against the tiny space that is the assimilation room. He doesn't notice the passage of time as he trembles and presses his hands to his head, feels the pressure build and build until his mind feels as if it's being folded and compressed together. It's nearly something he remembers from months ago, when his eyes filtered inky and a demon held control of his body and it terrifies him. It feels like forever, the pressure upon his mind building, hands slamming into the too close walls around him and then as Russia blinks open his eyes it's to see the scrawl of red words.

You're welcome and he gasps for breath, hands scrambling to press open the sudden door. It swings open all too easily for the moments before and Russia's hit by the all too familiar iron tang of blood in the air. He steps forward, catches his footing as the blood spilling across the the floor nearly sends him falling face forward into blood and body parts. He struggles out of the hallway, gets as far from the chamber before he checks the communicator and sees the multitude of messages.]

tell me youdidnt get caught.

[The right way happens to be in what looks like another generic pedestrian freeway - a main corridor, yeah, but not the main corridor. If there ever was one, and from what he can remember? There's not. Fuck. So for a while he keeps going, hiding, going, in and in and in, and once he gets a break he leans back against a doorway and types in something generic.

Gets nothing.

Types in something rash, something that might get Russia's attention.

Nothing.]

No

[Just. Just no. He doesn't want to believe that he's been led into the middle of whatever the hell this Hell was...

And still, nothing.]

[Fuck, he should've known that if he couldn't feel anything -

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hides himself into a storage room occupied by another, gets a knife thrown at his head, and fuck. He sends a positive volley of messages out between it all - they have you - they know where - you fucker - idiot - you're a moron - why did I - do they? - and he doesn't get anything back at all. In a way it's reassuring. Whoever has Russia doesn't give a damn about him. In a way... whoever has Russia... someone has Russia.]

[When he gets something back he's hidden somewhere else (but close), wound up tighter than Germany conducting an entire meeting of Italian provinces, and isn't in the mood to be nice]

Find me

[Like hell he is moving.]

Don't move then, I'm on my way.

[There's blood soaking into his boots, staining his clothes, his, theirs, he doesn't know anymore it's all just red and it makes him stand out more. But he's not in a mood to just hide and so he might duck around corners and press into shadows to avoid being caught again but it only takes one civilian getting in his way and Russia's pipe swings into their body, limbs shaking with the adrenaline of the day and the overexertion he can feel over coming him.

So there's more blood to him, red to contrast the rusting. Above it all is the notion that he can't lead too many people straight to Netherlands, can't let people follow them and have them both stuck in those chambers. So he slows his pace a bit, ducks into a shadowed corner and feels for his fellow nation once more. It's too quiet out here on Strela, always was, but now there's more of an ominous threat lurking in the background.]

You better not fucking shoot me when I get there.

[Which means he's almost there, and lo and behold he finds the hallway Netherlands is holed up in, raps his knuckles at the door way and steps out of the way just in case.]

[Well. After so much time spent ruthlessly casting out after whatever it was that made them feel one another, the sudden return of Russia's presence almost blindsides him. Definitely takes the wind out of him, so much so that it takes him a few long, terrible moments of heaving into his scarf, in the most silence he can manage, for him to realize that what he felt wasn't... it wasn't right. Wasn't the same... not exactly. He barely registers the words he gets from Russia in return over the feeling of him suddenly here.

He hopes to hell (what's a God out here) that his nervousness doesn't ring through. He is, though. Nervous. Has nothing to quell his habits. Hasn't smoked, hasn't slept, hasn't jacked off, hasn't paced around a garden or planted anything for days, and everything's happening in alternate flashes of clarity and drawn out stretches that he can't quite recall when he closes his eyes.

When he reads the second message, it's jumping between blurry and perfect, and more than hearing footsteps he can feel every meter Russia comes closer - because even now he's still making the effort to. It's so much more exhausting than it used to be, and he's not sure if it's because he hasn't done in months or if it's because they're out here or because of something far worse. But he doesn't bother sending anything back - if Russia can find him, Russia will find him. That's it. He merely straightens his shoulders and comes up with a few plans, just in case the Russia who finds him isn't the Russia he wants to meet.

He won't say he doesn't have a gun, but he's not saying anything else, either.]

[No, it probably doesn't feel the same and as soon as that door swings open Netherlands will probably understand why. But Russia doesn't care, he just wants to get out of sight and back on the ship, wash the blood from his hair and skin and hope the way his mind aches fades. He's moving more off instinct and sheer force of will right now, pipe clutched in his hand, shoulders tense and drawn in towards his ears. He's so fucking tired.

So the longer it takes to get to Netherlands, for that door to open has him shifting in annoyance and a dim ache of something that tastes sharp like fear. But just as Netherlands gathers and scrapes about for a few plans, Russia does the same. He's worn and crashing from adrenaline but he's nothing if not paranoid and though he's pretty certain Netherlands hadn't been captured or turned against them somehow, he's still wary enough to come up with admittedly shattered backup plans.]

Open the door before I have to take out another civilian.

[Maybe not the best thing to send but he's jumpy and he can feel Netherlands just as he always could. It's so much stronger now that he's out of that chamber and almost next to each other and he fidgets. Netherlands isn't exactly safety, but he's stability of a sort.]

[Where the hell did all that blood come from. Despite the off feeling, that weird connection they've cast out draws him forward. Into plain sight. And so he speaks, however quietly. Almost rasping, since he hasn't used his voice in two days.]

Don't call 'em that, [he gripes, cautiously stepping forward but keeping his eye on any response Russia might have to that particular statement. For it is particular; peculiar, to almost anyone else, to anyone who might not understand the weight civilian carries to a Nation. But Strela's residents weren't civilians. Not according to him. And it's weird, one step closer (feeling that one step and goddamn this could get overwhelming fast, so why isn't he drawing back) - to think that Russia might respond with something else. If anyone knows civilians...

He's waiting on the next thing with baited breath and a long piece of scrap metal in his palm.]

[He takes a half step forward, grimacing at Netherlands' sniped words. No, they really aren't civilians and the weight of that word settles heavily upon his tongue. He misses his own and these mockery of people has him shifting uncomfortably. But Russia can see that scrap metal in Netherlands' hands and he's aware of his pipe in his own, enough that he casts a careful look around and lets Ned come to him.]

They're hardly people, Niderlandy. [A grumble, voice dark with sick understanding and disgust. They'd thought to turn him into a mockery such as that?]

[Maybe it's exhaustion or relief or Russia just said the exact right damned thing with the right damned tone. Maybe he feels bad, still, for that bit back when Russia was possessed. But when Netherlands hears it, he finally relaxes his shoulders and lets his makeshift weapon rest end-down upon the ground.

And he drops the "connection" as it were. It is just too tiring for him to keep it up, and he doesn't think he needs to. Rus might feel weird, but he sounds pretty damn normal.]

Got that. [And a heaved sigh as his free hand swipes through his hair.] Let's get the hell outta here.

[The instant Netherlands' shoulders relax, Russia's do as well. He's not about to put away the dented metal pipe in his hand but that's normal for him. There's a flat second where he scans the nation in front of him for injuries, hyped up on adrenaline enough to focus, for now at least.]

I don't know how many are after me. [There's a rough sigh and he looks around, edges closer to the comfort of a familiar person. There's no time to waste, any moment now whatever was left of the guard forces could be after them.] The ship was that way, yeah?

[Yeah, he's not worried about the pipe itself so much as how it's positioned. The pipe on its own? Normal. If it's up? That's cause for alarm. But, hey, the pipe isn't up, so whatever. And Russia looks wary, but none of it seems to be directed at him. He almost groans, but cuts it off just as it starts.]

Great. [Huff.] Yeah, it is. [While he doesn't drop his makeshift weapon, he hefts it over his shoulder in no great position to swing and trots a few steps forward, nodding toward the door - let's go.]

[No it's certainly not aimed at Ned, for all that Rus knows, he hadn't been taken or had his mind messed with and he's okay. So Rus trusts him, perhaps more in this moment than he ever will. So he trails after Ned, tries to keep from stumbling even as he thrums with adrenaline. It's a bit harder than it should be, but he manages it for now.

There's nothing to really say, though, and the trip back to the ship starts out nearly too quiet.]

03 ▒ EVENT: STRELA OUTPOST ▒ ASSIMILATION

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