Who Will Save You Now (Turkey/Ireland)

[Turkey]

How long had he been here, had they all been here in this place that could be called a hell hole. For a Nation that didn’t believe in Hell, this place was a good was to convince him of the existence of such a place. At least on Earth; he fully believed in Hell on Earth now because of this place. How else could you explain what was going on around him and to all of his friends? Sadiq had lost track of multiple people and had no idea what had befallen then; the main question was, while he was curious, did he really want to find out? Could he handle finding out what had befallen more of his friends? Mexico was dead, that he knew, but did anyone else succumb to the wooing of the shadow lover? Usually they offered a peace that was nearly impossible to resist, but most Nations usually didn’t hear her call. Would they hear her call here, or would it be those Skeletons that they would see before they pass from this world? Would there even be an ever after for them to go to? Or would they be stuck here if they died here, cursed to forever wander these tainted grounds?

So lost in his thoughts he was that he literally ran into a building in front of him. Bringing a hand up to rub his nose, he looked around. He didn’t remember this building out here before, or was it in one of the areas that was hidden from sight, only now accessible to them? It was either that or he didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings as he thought he did. Making a quick decision, he shrugged and opened the door to the building he had run into. There was nothing else to really do besides explore this building and see what he could find. Who knew, perhaps this building would contain something that would help them out in the long run; he doubt it, but it never hurt to check.

Walking inside, he halted at the smell. The familiar, coppery, metallic scent assaulted his nose along with the disturbed. Sneezing, he closed the door behind him and walked further inside, instinctively knowing that he was going to regret this. Flicking on the light switch, his eyes roamed the room, taking in the details as much as he could. The room was dusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time, which based on the contents of the room, was a good thing. There was a medical examination table along with chairs, simple stuff that every room that seemed more medical in nature would have. Beside the table set a rolling tray with scalpels and other things Sadiq didn’t bother to remember the name of. Walking closer, he ran his hand over the table, dust clinging to his black gloves in the process.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something attached to the bed that sent a chill down his spine. Restraints. Why did this bed have restraints? Could this be the place where they treated the people who turned violent? Was this the place they treated the slaves who use to work here, the ones that didn’t want to be treated? Or was this place meant for darker purposes?

Moving on, he tried to get the dust off his fingers, to clean the taint from his hands as his eyes took in the rest. The rest of the equipment he couldn’t name, but it made his instincts scream at him to get out of this building. Signs showed that there was an attempt to clean this place, but there were always things that lingered. There was blood caked in the corner on and stains on the wood floor, stains that would never come out no matter the amount of cleaning materials that were applied to them. Continuing his survey, jars stood on the shelves, names written on labels that he couldn’t understand. Chemical names and …were those organs? A look of revulsion crossed his face and he tore his eyes away from those bottles to something else. There was a darker part of the room where the light didn’t dare reach. A quick debate ranged though his mind if he should check it out and if he was stupid enough to do so. Walking forward, he stopped right outside the area and kneeled down, placing his hand into it now that he could see clearly. Something was there that he could see and he had to figure out what it was. If anything, perhaps he could figure something out, some code that would show him a hidden piece of information that was scrawled upon the walls in an invisible substance.

This was out of his depth of knowledge, he didn’t know much about hidden information, but what he did know was what he just pulled off the floor of the corner. Starting at it with eyes wide, his thoughts had stopped in his head. Really, Sadiq knew he should have expected it, but knowing and actually finding are two different things. Forcing his legs to stand, he backed away from the wall and into the examination table. With a slight jump at the unexpected presence behind him, his eyes were wide and his breathing fast as the bone was tightly gripped in his hand. With a slight, uneasy laugh at jumping at nothing, he shook his head and looked down at the item in hand. The only question his mind could ask was why? Why did he find a bone, why was it here, just a general question of why.

With a loud swallow, he gently placed it down on the table, hoping that if a spirit or something had declared this place as its resting place, that he wouldn’t have disturbed it. A disturbed spirit or a monster was one thing he didn’t want to face, he wasn’t that curious to find out what happened to the dead in this place. He needed to get out of here, which he knew. Every muscle was screaming to run and he felt frozen in place. He had seen plenty of bones before, why I this one set his instincts on high alert? Why did he feel like there was trouble coming when there was nothing else in the room with him? All of the monsters and weird things he had seen here had been visible, so he should see them coming right? Right?

Finally finding the strength to move his feet, he backed up against the wall, seemingly unaware of maniacals that hung from the wall on either side of him. His breaths were coming in pants and his pupils blown wide in panic. Eyes glued to the door that he had shut behind him. Was there something waiting on the other side of the door for him to come out? Or was it already in the room, hiding somewhere he couldn’t see? He couldn’t control his mind; he just kept imagining things that could happen in this room, how many ways he could die it this room. He had finally figured out it wasn’t a medical room, but a room of a mad doctor. Those were the only ones he knew of that had the items he had seen here.

Mouth opening and closing a few times with no sounds emerging, he tried again to speak, but this time he found the words. Soft and panicky they were, but they sounded as long as a shout to him as they echoed in his ears.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

[Ireland]

Oblivious to the presence of any nations around him, Michael was currently roaming the grounds at a steady prowl. He was relatively unaffected by the place on the whole. Sure, the vibes being sent off the environment weren't comfortable -- yet the Irishman had been in discomforting situations before. Enough wars, famines, political and religious strife tended to wear out any capacity for surprise after awhile. The awareness of danger around him was instinctive. Yet for all his efforts to find a way out, he'd not been lucky, and Michael had already shifted to a mentality of resignation. As much as he hated the feeling of being trapped, it did him no good to dwell on it.

Instead, the Irishman went forward with a practical mindset. If he couldn't escape, then he'd at least have to survive. It wasn't his first encounter with a prison setting. Michael had experienced the effects of a legal system in local and international facets. Being held in a cell with hardened mortals was actually a charming way to pass the time until his name flagged on a computer somewhere and one of his officials came to retrieve him. Diplomatic immunity was a godsend for humans; finding out that the embodiment of Ireland was sitting in your holding cell would often send people into a panic fearing the political backlash. Not that most people were told that privileged information. Mostly it came in the form of a call from whoever was running his affairs at the time (always boring people, in Michael's opinion) to inform the police that they were holding a Very Important Person in their custody and that it would be prudent to immediately send him on his way -- Or Else.

So since he was stuck on the property, Michael was making it a point to roam as much as he could. Test the boundaries of this prison. He hadn't stumbled across anything exceptional yet. The place was a maze of aged, dusty rooms. The grounds were overgrown with brush. Everything was in a sore state of neglect. Not to say that it was remotely close to abandoned. Michael could feel that the property was full of things he had no desire to encounter. And since luck tended to go in his favor, the Irishman thus far had succeeded in being away from all the things that went bump in the ever-constant night. One such entity was not far from his location.

He could hear it rustling in the brush nearby. Michael steered his steps in the opposite direction of the sound. He'd done enough hunting in his youth to know what it felt like being stalked. That was precisely the feeling he was getting. And the only possible sanctuary in sight was a nearby building visible in the thick fog. Michael headed there at an even pace. If he were to run, his location would be a guaranteed giveaway. All he had to do is keep several steps ahead.

Michael tried the door he was met with to check if it was locked. He breathed a quick sigh of relief when the knob turned. The Irishman ducked his head down to avoid smacking it and stepped into the place. Since he didn't want whatever was out there following him, the door was quickly shut behind him. As he turned away from it, Michael jolted when he noticed that he wasn't alone in the place.

First, he noted the presence of Turkey. Second, Michael caught on that he had chosen a dodgy place to hide. His bright green eyes moved around the room, eyebrows lifting in surprise, as the Irishman made a quick check of their surroundings. This looked like something straight out of a horror movie. "Phew! T'is place is cozy, isn't it?"

Not wanting to give any sign that he had just been fleeing to save his hide, he brought his hands up to straighten his jacket and smooth his hair into place. Better to look cool than to look scared. He covered any sign of that earlier dread with a broad grin, steps guiding him closer to the stunned looking Turk. "Whit's a matter? Did y'foind a ghost in hare? Or maybe yer lookin' t'get some wark done on t'ose old bones o' yers? At least tell me yer happy t'see me, Grampsie."

[Turkey]

Hearing his heart pounding in his ears did not help Sadiq relax any. In fact, it only increased his paranoia. What could be using the beating of his heart as a cover to get closer to him; what could be matching its footsteps with the ba-bump that pounded hard against him rib cage? If this where a time to be amused by things, it would have made him think of the fast paced music of the "flight of the bumblebee." But this was not the time and that is not what he thought of. Sadiq thoughts were filled with hypothetical, hypocritical scenarios that ranged from nothing coming from being that door and he was only succeeding in drawing himself closer to hyperventilating, to ones where a monster emerged, leaving nothing he could do to save himself from a tortuous death. Sweat slowly tickled it ways down the back of his neck, but he didn’t move to wipe it away. In some corner of his mind, back in the dark recesses that hid multiple things he tried to ignore throughout the years of weird things he couldn’t explain, he knew that if he moved, even if it was to just wipe the sweat that carve a path against his skin, it would be enough to start the clock on the monster attack. This first muscle twinge and the door would open, revealing a blood thirsty creature that would pounce straight for his throat.

Unfortunately that’s when he felt it, a muscle in his back twitch from being held tense and ramrod straight for an extended period of time. Eyes slowly shifted to the doorknob as his breathing turned shallow and he saw what he was dreading. Each heartbeat counted time for him, but movements were slow, everything was moving so slowly. The door swung open and he moved, diving for the bone he had just found. Sadiq knew that if he was going down, he was going down fighting. His fingers wrapped around the bone just as the door hit its full swing and he stood back up, slightly crouched with his makeshift weapon in front of him and teeth bared.

"Phew! T'is place is cozy, isn't it?"

At hearing that voice, his whole mind seemed to freeze from the path it was on. Not a single thought went passed through it as the man came into view and looked around. His orange hair was striking against the gloom that covered the place like a fog; and those eyebrows were a dead giveaway to who whom this man was, or at least what clan he belonged to. He had to be a Kirkland. One he wasn’t all that familiar with either.

"Whit's a matter? Did y'foind a ghost in hare? Or maybe yer lookin' t'get some wark done on t'ose old bones o' yers? At least tell me yer happy t'see me, Grampsie."

A dark look came over his face as he tried to calm his breathing down. A million thoughts started racing through his head, a million different reactions he could take to this, but one stuck out amongst all of them. Heaving the makeshift weapon, he threw the bone as hard as he could at the orange haired man, at least determined to get him back of the panic he was just subjected to.

"You asshole, trying to give an old man a heart attack are you? Your lucking I didn’t kill you. Sneaking up on someone in a place like this is not cool. Shit."

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and just ran his hand over his face to calm himself down. The thought of the bone was completely gone from his mind, replaced with inner mumblings about idiot nations and people not having enough common sense to know better than to sneak up on people on this place. That’s how innocent people died all the time in horror movies, and he didn’t want to cause one such death.

”You’re damn lucky you didn’t end up with my sword at your throat, boy.”

[Ireland]

When it came to projectiles, Michael's reflexes were on par with a professional dodge ball player. It stemmed from an active childhood where arrows, fiery pitch and the occasional volley of rocks were so commonplace that evasiveness became instinctive. The Irishman went ducking aside from the bone being hurled at him, and the thing crashed into a shelf behind him, sending glass beakers and metallic parts to go scattering down to the floor. He had the audacity to watch it all go tumbling before he turned back to the Turk to put a finger in front of his lips. "Sssshhh! Stop makin' s'much noise. Are ye tryin' t'get yerself killed?"

He brushed his hands down the front of his costume with an air of indifference to Sadik's lecture. Considering that Michael never listened to people berating him that he had close ties with, the man's bluster of words fell even further off the Irishman's radar of hearing. It wasn't until he caught that last comment that he leered with all the humor of an ancient nation going on five years' worth of maturity -- or that of most drunken guys seeking a date in a club. "Aye've had swords at m't'roat befare, but Aye much prefar havin' somet'in' else pointin' near m'mout' instead. Eh? Eh?" He exaggerated a wink for effect to make sure the meaning of his remark got across.

The room was sparking a lack of attention span for him. As soon as he'd sent that comment at the Turk, his body began to turn in a slow pivot to look around the place. "Nn. Not very cheery, is it? Whit d'ye suppose a place loike t'is would be doin' hare? Seems loike somet'in' roight out o' a horror film. Next t'ing ye know, some guy wit' a big chainsaw will come barstin' in. Or a weird lookin' puppet will pop up on a telly screen and we'll have t'cut each ot'er open far keys."

Really, one of the few things he tolerated about America were the gratutious violence of slasher films that were cranked out of that nation. He'd spent many a night in a hotel during his travels watching those late night gems. Michael drifted near to where Sadik was standing, absently jutting out his hand in greeting and introduction. "Name's Michael, by t'way. Michael Patrick Seamus O'Connell-Kirkland. Or just Ayreland, if ye prefar it all formal loike."

His demeanor was all over the place. This was because he was catching all sorts of bad vibes from the place around them. Michael habitually tried to lighten the mood when it was destined to be heavy. The tension here was not just being exuded by the other man in the laboratory. Beyond their conversation there felt like an anticipatory tension -- like the air around them was waiting expectantly for something to happen. Michael didn't appreciate sensing that. It meant that danger would soon follow. Normally the idea of danger would please him but this place was making him dislike excitement.

[Turkey]

"Aye've had swords at m't'roat befare, but Aye much prefar havin' somet'in' else pointin' near m'mout' instead. Eh? Eh?"

All the Turkish man could really do was stare at the man and blink as those words passed through one ear and met his brain for processing. The bright green eyed man turned from him and a splash of rare color met his cheeks with embarrassment. Sputtering, he was glad Michael had turned away from him; he had not expected that type of comment to come from the man’s mouth. Though knowing his brothers, he should have expected it all along.

"Nn. Not very cheery, is it? Whit d'ye suppose a place loike t'is would be doin' hare? Seems loike somet'in' roight out o' a horror film. Next t'ing ye know, some guy wit' a big chainsaw will come barstin' in. Or a weird lookin' puppet will pop up on a telly screen and we'll have t'cut each ot'er open far keys."
Just looking at the man with those words, he could only shake his head, his body temperature and breathing rate already returning to normal, the antics of the Irish man revealing him of his anxiety. He had to be thankful though, no longer panicking was giving him the opportunity to think a plan… but those words could only make him shake his head and make his own sushing noise back at him this time. Really, did the man not learn anything from those movies?

“Quiet you, don’t give the place any ideas, we really don’t need a monster attacking us here. It’s bad enough that this place looks enough like a killer’s sick fantasy, no need to add images to our head to back it up and give ourselves heart attacks.”

His own attention had moved towards something else, at the ceiling actually. Brown eyes followed the hair fractures in the…whatever the substance was that coated the ceiling. It was old and seemed not to be taken care of. Though, thinking back, some rooms seemed like they were a wreck, and some seemed as good as new, nary a crack, nor a speck of dust marring the beauty that lasted through the centuries.

"Name's Michael, by t'way. Michael Patrick Seamus O'Connell-Kirkland. Or just Ayreland, if ye prefar it all formal loike."

Jolted out of his thoughts, he looked down at the offered hand and shook it, a slight smirk on his face.

“Michael huh? I could tell you were a Kirkland. A pleasure to know you. Must say it will be interesting to see how we get along considering my relations with your brothers. I’m Sadiq Adnin, Representative of the fair Republic of Turkey. Now, wat say you that we get out of this hell hole and see wat all we cen find to break aut of this place?”

[Ireland]

Getting shushed by the older nation nearly had Michael laughing. He didn't attempt to hide his grin over the fluster that Sadiq got from his words. His perverse behavior had succeeded in loosening up the other man's tension just as he'd hoped. The only interruption to his grin was when he slipped a cigarette up between his lips, hands cupped around his lighter to cradle it as he got the thing lit. Was anything in here flammable or highly reactive to open flame? Well, they'd find out if the place blew up around them.

Michael pocketed his lighter, already blowing a stream of smoke into the air. It was cold enough inside that the cloud lingered, heavy in the air, and mingling with the atmosphere. "If Aye give t'place ideas on how t'kill me, at least Aye'll be dyin' closar t'on my own terms." He said lightly. Any of those scenarios he'd suggested weren't pleasant ways to go. Still, if Michael had to die from a situation of his own making then there was a little margin of control over it. That seemed the most tolerable way to die.

Once Sadiq had shaken his hand, the Irishman gave another look around them again. He levered himself up to perch on the edge of an operating table nearby. The metal surface had questionable stains all over it; dried blood or spilled chemicals or perhaps just rust. Michael didn't worry over it. He'd never been one to concern himself over any filth around him. Considering the origins of his history and the consequent hassle the majority of his development as a nation had been, the Irishman wouldn't have batted an eye if the walls were covered in shit. Frankly, with how bad the place smelled, it might be a better explanation for the unpleasantness. "Ye moight have t'warry about heart attacks, bein' s'old. Aye'm still in t'prime o' m'yout'. A buddin' flower."

Said budding flower tapped his ashes onto the floor beside the table. Michael's legs had begun to swing, feet kicking boredly in the air. "Ye knew Aye was a Kirkland? Not sare if Aye should be offended or not. As far gettin' out o' hare... wellllll..." He squinted a bright eye shut, the nail of his thumb dragging across an orange eyebrow to scratch it. "T'at's easier said t'an done. Aye've broken lots o' stuff around hare. Still haven't gotten out. If Aye could leave by breaking out t'en Aye'd prob'ly just get enough chemicals hare t'cause an explosion. Not sare if it would wark."

"Unless y'want me t'see if Aye can blow shite up?" Hey, anytime he had an excuse for that kind of action, he'd take it.

[Turkey]

Looking around at what possible weapons and other such things they had at their disposal, the Turkish man’s eyes fell on an old saw that looked to be covered in old, dried blood. It was if whoever was working here before was either careless enough to not clean his tools after use, or he something happened to him to prevent that. From his own history and the medical staff that came from his country, this lack of sanitary conditions could cause infection to set in, if not death itself. There was no proper anesthesia in sight, which could only make him think that either the patients were already dead and this guy who worked here was an experimenter, a researcher for some terrible reason; or he did his work on patients who were still alive. With a shudder, he could only imagine the sort of pain those people all those years ago must have felt. The agony that made vision go white and red and even to gray and black as fire seared there nerves and the body tried to contort away from the pain into near impossible contortions, or it would have if they weren’t strapped down. Fingers ran across one such restraint, touch hindered by the glove that encased the flesh and helped to keep it protected. Sadiq had never been in restraints like this, had never been subjected to this type of torture and blood chilling actions; or at least not that he could recall. If there was a time when he was at someone mercy this way, it was locked tight in the hidden vault in his mind, buried so deep that nothing could unlock the terror and agony that would have racked his body. The sad thing was, he could picture it all to easily. Not who the tormentor was, but himself, tied down, reduced to begging for an end to the pain, the agony, the terror. It would have been easier on the body and mind to just let go, to cease living that it would have been to heal and to try and recover from the metal scaring and the ever present fear that would have become a part of daily life.

Forcing himself to look away, a familiar sound caught his attention. Turning back to the man that he had just learned was called Michael, he saw the cigarette in between those lips, the first trail of smoke rising out of the end that glowed with the fire of life and destruction and comfort. It seemed his companion had some of the similar vices as him, but in a slightly different form. It had been a long time since Sadiq had had a smoke, but he wasn’t desperate enough yet for a fix of the nicotine that would come from a form he despised. He would have to be desperate for some form of comfort to use cigarettes. But that also led to the question, was Michel just giving into the craving for drug, or was he seeking a guaranteed comfort in this place where there was none to be had. Or was it both?

”If Aye give t'place ideas on how t'kill me, at least Aye'll be dyin' closar t'on my own terms."

He had to think on that for a moment. If he had to die, did he want to be the one to decide how he went, when he wanted to go, or would it be better to be a surprise, to die in a way that he couldn’t imagine at a time that wasn’t at his own choosing? There was really no choice for him at all, there never was. All of his history he had been fighting to survive, he fought to keep living even as the sick man of Europe, fought to keep living even when the Ottoman Empire had been declared defunct and dead.

”That’s all well and good for you, but I’d rather not know how I’m going out or when I’m going out. Death and dying is gust another adventure waiting ta be taken, aye? But for one, I can tell you it’s not gonna be in this place.

The only deaths he could imagine in this room were bloody ones that that left the skin crawling feeling. It was times like this that Sadiq hated having as good of an imagination as he did. He could just see the blood rolling down skin as the body arched and bent away from the devices that destroyed flesh and bone, that would leave horrendous scars once healed; if they were able to heal at all. Shaking his head to get such a grotesque image out of his head, he focused again on the man with him. Anything to distract him from this room he suddenly wanted out of.

"Ye moight have t'warry about heart attacks, bein' s'old. Aye'm still in t'prime o' m'yout'. A buddin' flower."

And of course he started paying attention again when his age was being insulted. Sadiq could feel a muscle twitch in one of his eyelids. He had to admit that Michael looked comfortable where he had chosen to sit, either not noticing the stains left there from previous encounters, or just ignoring them in favor of finally being able to sit. Sadiq himself didn’t want to sit, he wanted to keep standing, but he would lean against the wall just to take some of the pressure off his feet. He could only wonder to himself when the last time he sat was. This was his opportunity to relax for once and he wouldn’t let some snot-nosed Nation with an attitude ruin it. He’d get him back later for the old comment.

"Ye knew Aye was a Kirkland? Not sare if Aye should be offended or not. As far gettin' out o' hare... wellllll…T'at's easier said t'an done. Aye've broken lots o' stuff around hare. Still haven't gotten out. If Aye could leave by breaking out t'en Aye'd prob'ly just get enough chemicals hare t'cause an explosion. Not sare if it would wark."

”I’m not as old as you care to think I am, and yes, that’s the perfect idea. Let’s cause a massive explosion to draw attention to us and tell them exactly ware we are while causing property damage. You’re an idiot, they’ll send something after us right afterword and then we’ll nao longer have to warry about staying alive then, cause we’ll be dead.

It was obvious that had ruffled the Turkish man’s metaphorical feathers. Apparently explosions wasn’t his first choice of matters.

“Though if you want to cause an explosion, be my guest, just take it elsewhere away from me, ya ken?