countryhumans · third reich · ucr · angsty · trauma · mental illness · grief · self harm · panic attacks · friendship
The fluorescent lights of the containment facility hummed a low, mournful drone, casting sterile white rectangles across the cold concrete floor. Dust motes danced in the beams, disturbed by the frantic rush of boots. The air smelled of antiseptic and stale fear. In the corner of a reinforced cell, a single paper bag lay crumpled, the only sign of the occupant's brief freedom. Outside, in the garden of Poland, moonlight silvered the petals of dying roses. A figure, gaunt and trembling, stood among them—Third Reich. His straitjacket hung loose, one arm free, the other still bound. His eyes, hollow and searching, scanned the hedges. <break>He heard footsteps crunching on gravel. USSR's voice, strained and exhausted, cut through the night. "Reich... please. Come back inside." Reich didn't…