His breath echoed across the dead remnants of once beautiful buildings, his footsteps making dull thuds as they hit the ground beneath his feet. The sleek barrel of a a shotgun led his way through the quiet streets as he ran.

A low groaning noise made him jump slightly, and he turned to it, slinking towards it carefully. The slumped form of a small child came into view, a sick feeling overtaking him.

"Hilfe!" She mewled pathetically, gingerly trying to reach out and grab the blonde's leg. He stepped away, frown distorting his features. How could he just leave her here? A large bite mark could be seen on her stomach, and part of her left leg was gone. Pretty soon, she'd be just like them, like the others.

"Entschuldigung..." He murmured, tears almost prickling his eyes as he aimed the gun shakily at her head. He pulled the trigger and the loud bang caused a chill to go through his body. He hoped that there were others living around here, but as he looked deeper into the backbend alleyway, he saw the slumped figures of more people. They were dead, necks slit. Probably suicide. One woman, though, was not slit. She had her arm extended to where the now dead child lay. She had probably been trying to save her. A man held her back, his lifeless eyes focused on her form. He had a knife pressed into her neck, and his own blood covered her.

He felt sick.

He needed to make it out of there fast, before the rest of them showed up. Noise attracted them, caused them to rally and attack.

With a silent sigh, he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and turned, breaking into a swift run. It would be best to get as far away from her as possible. He hated this, hated having to kill those who were innocent. It made his stomach turn, it made his sky blue eyes drip warm liquid down his cheeks. That girl was far, far too young to be trying to survive in this mess of a war. People either killed themselves or fought for the enemy.

The American's name was Alfred F. Jones, and he was 22. He did not join the war. He was forced into it by his government, handed a gun and a uniform, thrown into battle, and expected to win. If only the damn Russians didn't fight so dirty.

Biological weapons were their specialty these days, it seemed. They had created this virus, this deadly sickness that supposedly was going to help them win. Win? It more seemed like they were trying to wipe out all of humanity. It ate away at the brain, caused delusions and pain, turned any sane person into a soulless monster.

No, not like zombies, not the mindless drones that wandered into oblivion. These were stronger, deadlier, angrier, smarter. They were filled with the icy hate of the opposing side. Smart enough to only fight against the enemy. Turning innocent civilians into warriors. Turning the ally into the enemy.

Alfred brushed the sweat off of his forehead, turning a sharp corner to avoid an overturned car. Berlin was in shambles, being the one of the first places to go. It was a miracle anyone survived, the bomb had still been in it's testing stages. But what did that matter? The Russians would stop at nothing to win. Innocent lives did not matter. Their leader, deemed 'Ivan the Cruel', was trying to -and succeeding- take over the entire world, it seemed. The Baltics and the Nordics were nothing to even break a sweat over for their tyrannical leader, not to mention the countries previously a part of the Soviet Union. He was slowly eating away at civilization, slowly spreading his rule over the expanse of Europe and Asia, soon the Americas and Africa. All for 'power'. All for 'everyone's benefit'. Communism failed in it's first attempt, but it was back. And stronger.

Another corner and Alfred was no longer alone. Instead of the awkward run that most of the enemy soldiers had, this person was running normally. Running towards Alfred, their head turned to face the enemy that was gaining on them from behind.

It was a soldier that was after them, after a living, breathing human.

Alfred swung into action, knowing that the zombie-like fighters would only attack those on the opposing side. The uniform of this person was recognized but the American couldn't' place it at the person was being chased, though, so he knew that they were fighting for his cause. Why else would they be running? The 'soldiers' -as they were called- only fought for the Russians.

He broke into a run as well, stopping abruptly and aiming once he was close enough to his target. His hands were steady, his blue eyes trained on the creature. With a near silent click and then a loud bang, the gun went off and the creature fell to the ground. It's prey -so to speak- was a bit scared, pulling a knife out of their large coat pocket to defend themselves against their new opponent. Alfred ignored them for now, running up to the undead soldier and landing another shot right into it's skull, stopping it's movements completely.

"Wie ge'ht es Ihnen?" Alfred asked in unsure German, turning towards the person from before. It was a very tall man with silvery white hair. Now that he was more focused, the blonde could see that the stranger wore the usual clothing of high-ranked Russian soldiers, the hat of a general bringing his fear to reality. The American froze, bringing his gun up in caution and stepping towards the other slowly. Why was this man being pursued by one of his own? And what was a high-ranking officer like him doing out on the field?

"St-stop!" The other called in English, falling to his knees. He dropped his knife, holding his side in pain. "I am… On your side!" He managed to say before doubling over and blacking out.

Alfred, at this point, was unsure of what to do. Did he help the other? Did he leave them there? What had he meant that he was on his side?

He edged foreword, gun still aimed at the other. Was he bitten? After a moment of standing above the other's limp body, Alfred's morals kicked in. He couldn't just leave this man here, not after he had fired his gun. So, he slung his gun onto his back by the strap, leaning down and securely getting a grip on the taller man. The American was strong, for sure, so it wasn't too difficult. He began the slow trudge to safety, ignoring protest from his arms.

7 Hours Later

Alfred had dressed the other's wounds as best as he could, letting out a sigh of relief after seeing that he had not been bitten. It took awhile to undress the other to see the wound, for they had on layer upon layer of clothes. He had searched the other for weapons, only finding a section of lead piping (?), a few bottles of vodka, a cell phone, a notebook, and first aid kit. Neat, fancy-looking Russian filled a fourth of the book and the cell phone had no service, leaving the only usable items the unopened first aid kit and the vodka.

Alfred had decided not to ditch the knife the other had dropped earlier, but the lead pipe was useless. Why did this strange man have it anyways? He had only kept it because it seemed an odd thing to have and NOT have a purpose for. It could have a greater purpose than causing confusion in those who stumbled across it. Maybe the man was crazy.

The supposed Russian had no identification -at least, nothing in English. Alfred cursed himself slightly for not learning it before, flipping through the notebook's pages once again. He found nothing, like the twenty times he had done it before, and let out a low growl. What would happen when the other woke up? Would he have to fight him? Was it a trap? The other was severely injured, a large gash running the length of his right side. He had suffered a large amount of blood loss, and a few ribs were cracked, but that was it. He wasn't weak enough not to fight, but he was defenseless without his weapons. Alfred had hidden them behind his own, far enough from the large body in front of him, but close enough to reach if need be.

In all honestly, Alfred hoped that the other was not an enemy. He had been separated from the rest of his team over two months ago, living off of the stuff he took from stores as he passed the crumbling buildings. Alfred wasn't even supposed to be in the war, actually. He had gone in place of his younger twin brother, Matthew, who's name had been drawn in the draft. The government didn't have enough money for DNA testing, so Alfred easily passed as his twin, taking his place. Matthew was much too weak to fight anyways, he was too kind, too nice to hurt anyone. He would have been killed so early on, he had no chance of survival.

Alfred, on the other hand, was taller, stronger, faster, more suited to fight. He went to protect his family, although he knew that Matthew would have to fight in HIS place sooner or later, depending on how the war went. But Alfred didn't know. He had been cut off from any other 'living' person for two months. And he was running thin. He was running out of ammo fast, his medical supplies dwindled, and he was lonely. Yes, above all else, lonely.

The figure in front of him stirred, and he stiffened as the taller man sat up. The stranger had violet eyes, deep and intoxicating. Those eyes moved over Alfred in confusion before a relaxed sigh took over the other.

"Thank you for saving me," They said in a light voice, Russian accent apparent although no anger or fear showed. The stranger looked at their state, examining the bandages and smiling cutely.

"Who are you?" Alfred asked suddenly, scared. How was this person being so calm?

"That is bit rude, is it not?" They asked before smiling and meeting Alfred's blue eyes. "My name is General Ivan Braginski." Alfred froze. He was an enemy! His eyes darted towards the shotgun he had so carefully placed, but he decided not to kill the other. He could use him as a hostage, maybe. Or at the very least get some sort of information, right?

"General Braginski…" Alfred murmured, studying the strange man's pleasantly calm expression.

"Do I have honor of knowing your name, or am I to call you 'Master'?" Braginski teased, receiving a strange look from Alfred.

"Alfred F. Jones," He shot back, nerves on end.

"Alfred? What nice name." Braginski mused, smile flickering to show teeth.

"No, you can call me Mr. Jones." Alfred bit back a snide remark, deciding not to get the other riled up. He was exhausted from carrying the other to this abandoned bar, sealing it up, scoping the area out, and setting up a camp. And then he had to find food, clean the other up, and the like. He hadn't slept in days beforehand, anyways.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Jones!" Braginski pleaded sarcastically.

"Look, I don't want to talk to you any more than you want to talk to me. So can you just answer my questions and then shut up? You need the rest, too." Alfred growled, seeing the shocked expression of the other as a sign that he had won.

"Why are you on the field?" He asked first, noting the other's smile as a bad sign.

"I am deserter." The simplicity of this answer, along with the smile he gave it with, made a chill spill through the blonde American.

"That's not the right answer." He was suddenly even more scared. This man seemed not to have any fear in telling him that. It could be a trap!

"I was originally stationed in Paris, but I caught supply train to Munich. From there, I made my way here, hoping to eventually find way back toward Russia."

"I guess that answers my next question. What were you doing in Paris?" He had been out of the know for awhile. What had progressed in the war? What had been conquered, what is surviving? What had the Russians done that was so terrible that they had soldiers deserting?

"We were fighting the French. They were actually trying for once! But they were not putting up much of fight when I left."

Alfred stiffened. So they were on France now? And with living people, and not soldiers? Why would they need higher ranking officers? "Why did you desert? Especially after you were so high up on the ranks?"

The Russian had to think for a brief moment before answering.

"I was wrong."

"Explain." He wouldn't be falling for a trap! And what if the Russians had become even more ruthless?

"I had thought that I was doing the right thing. I liked war, the rush of fight. And, before I had known it, I was moving up ranks. Once I was general, I began to realize destruction I solely was causing. Before, the chaos had attracted me, it had intrigued me. Now, I want to run from it, hide, never show myself again. So I fled." Alfred was a bit worried -he had said he liked chaos- but the sincerity of Ivan's words had really hit something in him. He did not pity, he related to the Russian's pain, if only slightly.

"Why would you need high ranking humans, instead of soldiers, to fight?"

"We were setting up base there. For easier access to United Kingdom and Americas. As well as Spain and Portugal. But they are unimportant." He still had a grin on his face.

"Don't start thinking that I'm going to trust you, okay?" Alfred said blandly, picking himself up off of the floor. He faced away from the Russian, digging through his bag to find a change of clothes. When he turned around, Braginski was standing directly behind him.

With a sickly sweet grin and a chuckle, the other replied, "I would not dream of it, Mr. Jones."

Alfred's skin crawled and he momentarily gawked. The intimidating general seemed unfazed by his wounds and just stood there expectantly.

"You are going to shower now, da? May I join?" He asked, grinning brightly.

"Hells no!" Alfred returned, scared. Oh God, why had he saved this guy? He was insane! Maybe be had radiation poisoning?

"Then after. I shall keep watch." Braginski turned towards the boarded up doors and lumbered back over to where he had been sitting before, picking up his pipe as he did. He delicately retook his place and turned his head back to Alfred. "Do not worry, I will not try and escape. I am not stupid. I will keep good watch!" He smiled and looked back to the door.

Alfred, for a moment, did not know if he should trust this guy. Why was he so cheery, so calm? Damn, those Russians are weird. But, the American decided that he should at least be clean, so he made his way to the bathroom.

After washing and changing, Alfred quietly re-entered the main room, seeing that Ivan's form had not moved from his spot. He sat down next to the Russian -not too close, though- and tried to read his face. His violet eyes were trained on the door, unwavering asides from the occasional blink.

"Thanks…" The blonde said quietly, flicking his gaze to the floor. He was only thanking him because he had kept a good watch! It wasn't as if he had been gone long, though. But he could have tried to escape, or maybe he could have tried to kill him while distracted with cleaning himself.

While away from the creepy Russian, he had thought more about his answers, more to ask. Was he maybe… slow? He almost seemed it. But his answers were prim and short, not in any way showing that he had to think up a story or anything. They seemed truthful. And, why would he lie? To get Alfred's trust.

But Alfred thought himself a good judge of character. He was the type of person to try and see the good in everyone, no matter how bad they were. So he believed the Russian's story.

"Of course. I am prisoner, am I not? I should do what I am told." Braginski's voice was less childish than before, less cheery. "May I go and clean up now?"

Alfred nodded. "Don't take too long, you need rest. We should try and be outta' this place by tomorrow morning, supplies aren't very good here." He crossed his arms, looking away, tying to keep up his no-nonsense behavior. He really was just happy to have someone to talk to! A living, breathing person to communicate with.

The Russian hummed in agreement and stood, silently walking through the doors Alfred had entered. It was quiet for a few minutes, and then the soldier returned. His hair was even whiter, skin a creamy pale, and he looked much less rumpled than before. But he also looked different. No longer stained with soot and blood he looked… Almost handsome.

"You know, Mr. Jones, it is very impolite to stare~" Braginski teased, smirking as he sat down again. His face very briefly -Alfred barely caught the waver- flashed an expression of pain.

"Hey! I was not staring!" He shot back, flustered. "And you're not the one to talk, you were staring at me before!"

Ivan hummed and nodded, smiling. "That is because you are handsome! I am not, so it is strange. And rude." Alfred was stunned, completely shocked. And scared even more. This Russian... He was too lovey-dovey, too kind for the American's liking.

"Wh-whatever… I'm going to sleep…" He replied, too exhausted to think further. He took his gun into his arms instinctively and closed his eyes, not removing his glasses. He needed to be on the lookout, needed to be able to spring directly into action if necessary. Now he didn't just have the soldiers to worry about, but he had Ivan

So, hello everyone! This is the first semi-serious fic that I am posting. It's... It's a lot to handle at first. Don't be daunted by my weird explanation of the war. If you have any questions, PLEASE ask. I want this story to be easy to understand in some aspects. (But I want to leave a few things spotty!) The updates will be a bit faster (hopefully) than my usual because I have a LOT of this typed up. But I'm re-editing all of it to make it more serious and so that it makes more sense. Because it sort of turned to a comedy, which I do NOT want!

Alfred is in Berlin (even though it's destroyed) because he and his team were sent to get rid of the lingering soldiers. As said in the story, Berlin was one of the first places to be hit. The bomb was in developmental stages, so the soldiers there were more deadly or more messed up. (If anyone was confused or curious!)

The title is based off of a Gorillaz song called 'Hip Albatross'. It has the famous zombie-movie quote in the beginning; 'Every dead body that is not exterminated becomes one of them. It gets up and kills, the people it kills get up and KILL!' That inspired this entire story. :D

Translations:

Hilfe - Help (German)

Entschuldigung - Sorry (German)

Wie ge'ht es Ihnen? - How are you? (German) In the context of 'Are you okay?'