Storage Room

Consciousness came to him steadily; first, Toris realized that he was lying on a hard surface, his neck at an awkward angle. Then came the realization that the only thing audible in the room was his breath, increasing in pace. And lastly, he noticed that it was dark, so much so that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

Dark...That reminded him of that place...

Toris bit his lip, ridding the thoughts. 'Alright,' his mind chattered to bring his focus back to the situation at hand.. 'Where am I?' He stood up cautiously, spreading his arms out to ensure no approaching danger. His right arm collided with something hard; a wall. He suppressed a yelp, and felt along it gently; Where there was a wall, there should be a light switch...

Before he could find one, though, the lights flashed on, stinging his eyes. His breath caught in his throat and he looked around frantically for anyone who could be in there with him. Noone, not so much as a bug.

"I must be in some kind of storage room..." Toris mumbled to himself as he noticed that the small room was filled with various items: Water, milk, paper towels, over the counter medications. He also saw two doors on opposite sides of the place; he figured one must lead to outside, at least. 'Getting outside,' he assured himself. 'is how you'll find out where you are.' He hesitated-What if something grabs me?-before taking the knob of the first door in his hand.

The door creaked open, the sound sending a shiver up Toris's spine. He peered through the crack; outside was a cement parking lot, devoid of any cars. Odd, considering it seemed to be the middle of the day. He didn't want to go, not really; he'd be out in the open, without anybody else, and...

The room went dark again, followed by a loud thump which sounded like it came from behind the other door. Toris jumped, and instinctively flew out into the parking lot and toward the nearest street. 'Oh, gosh,' he was panicking now. 'What if...what if he's here? I..I need to find someone...'

“Uhhh! I’m so gonna have to throw these shoes away!”
Poland was not amused. In fact, he was so unamused that his slow progress down the deserted urban street was something of a spectacle, vaguely resembling something that England would immediately lay claim to as a part of one of his Monty Python sketches. The little blonde was doing his absolute best to minimize his contact with the ground, resulting in a very interesting gait that involved touching the ground only with the heels of his uniform boots. Uh. This town was, like, totally not classy at all.

Poland was absolutely absorbed with keeping his balance as he walked along the edge of the damp, empty road; that is, until he placed his foot on a piece of road that snapped off from the road beneath his weight. It crumbled off into little ditch, and it took him with it. The excitement of the fall was mildly enjoyable. The sensation of dirty, dirty sewer water in his boxers was not.

He allowed himself a little shriek of frustration.

Great, now he would have to throw himself away too! This was, like, the worst meeting ever! Something that was normally silent but lived very deep inside of him told the little nation that something about the whole situation – even excluding that he had somehow ended up, like, drugged, or something, blacked out, had woken up just to be taunted by a totally cute pullover in a locked store, and had not encountered another living person, let alone another nation – was not right at all. He could not even begin to envision the world conference taking place in this town, and, in retrospect, that letter had been, like, seriously seedy.

Groaning, Feliks lifted himself out of the ditch and wandered back onto the road, dripping as he went. There was hardly any reason to tiptoe anymore, so he strode forward without his previous bounce, eyes catching on the vacant houses and buildings. Things suddenly seemed much, much colder, and far more dangerous. His next shiver didn’t stem purely from the cold, because something was totally not right.

It took a moment for Poland to realize what was wrong, but then, there it was, loud and clear – footsteps. Heavy, pounding footsteps; like, right out of Obrobka skrawaniem! Horror movies were something of a weakness for Feliks, whether he loved them dearly or not. He took a few tentative steps backward, but the steps were coming way too fast to escape.

Murmuring little prayers under his breath, the nation backed himself into a wall, and hoped that – if what was coming was a monster – his little dip in ditch sewage would make him smell too nasty to eat. And, if it did eat him, at least he would die reclining against a wall and looking cool.