Not Agent, Nor Soldier.

Chapter 7.

An APH Russia/Reader Story.

I'm SO sorry for the hiatus, it was even longere than last time.

Life got so out of hand, and on top of that, my fandom changed, so I wasn't making much effort on this one.

But I'm going to try as hard as I can to finish this the way I intended to.

Please, continue to be patient wuth this hunble author.

Oh, I kept forgeting to do this, so I'll have to add it to the others, but...

"APH and it's cast do not belong to me. This is not to be used for a profit."

You wouldn't eat, nor would you drink. Every time you shut your eyes, visions of hellfire, of malevolent machines and pulsing veins, would swim unbidden in your mind.

Deeper down, but still harder to supress, was the face of your creator. Every memory of him was tainted with horror.

It was three days after the german agents informed you of your nature. You were sitting in the back of an armored truck, watched closely by the albino, who turned out to bear the name of Gilbert. The blond, called Ludwig, was in the front, driving the truck in silence.

You were returning to the place you were born.

From the moment Gilbert revealed that you were the monster, it was no longer Braginski's secret. This was a secret encompasing all of Russia, steeped in it's history and it's horror.

But that didn't matter to you. The lies, the tiny looks and little touches you got from Braginski, they burned, hurt you in unimaginable ways, but they didn't matter.

All that mattered is the thought that it was you who murdered all those innocent people. You imagined a great beast, an enigma of teeth and claws, covered in black fur and slimey mud, salivating over the bodies of dead and dying humans.

Knowing that it was you, you almost couldn't take it.

When you finally came around, you were lying on the floor of the truck, bundled up against the biting cold. Even the smallest kindness from the agents couldn't change the fact that they had delivered the news. You couldn't hate them for it, but you could be indifferent.

The real issue was dealing with Braginski. Wonderful, kind, intelligent Braginski, who had saved you from agents who, you realized too late, were trying to capture you, not kill you.

He wasn't what he seemed, just like you, but he choose to be something else.

Now that you had snapped out of your misery, you were determined to confront Braginski about the life he had given you. Why were you an expiriment, and one gone so awfully wrong? What had happened that night you had escaped? Why did you have no memories, and what about those two incredible dreams?

And why, oh why, did you get the distinct and awful feeling he was insanely in love with you?

I hope you all enjoy this. My style is slowly improving, so bear with me til the end, please?

It had to be really short to get these feeling across. As usual, please warn me about typos!