Kazakhstan flew as fast as he could, beating his wings furiously. He felt his forehead burn at the spot where is father's symbol used to be. But that wasn't his worry right now. His worry was the people who were following him.

They flew in a helicopter, guns aimed at him. But, if his father had taught him anything, those were tranquilizer guns.

He listened as one of the large machine guns creaked, moving and probably aiming at him. Kaz started doing flips in the air, making it as hard as possible to actually shoot him.

But they managed anyway.

It hit him on his shoulder blade, and he almost dropped out of the sky. He beat his wings frantically, knowing that the sleeping drug wouldn't take full defect immediately. Maybe, if he flew fast enough, he could make it to the safe area.

But he couldn't.

He started to doze off, and soon enough, he was falling from the sky. The helicopter turned sideways under him, expecting to catch him.

And then Wales shot through the two open doors, catching Kaz before anyone else could get him. Next Mexico and Romania came, kicking the propeller and slowing the helicopter, also making it less steady.

Then the group dove close to the ground, hiding under the trees of a park. They glided fast, eventually landing. Romania looked around, double checking their surroundings. Mexico opened a trap door hidden behind some overgrowing weeds and grass that have never been taken care of, and Wales snuck in, Kaz held over his shoulder.

"You made it!" a small voice whispered.

Poland emerged from a dark corner, having hidden at the sound of someone at the door. He immediately saw Kaz, and rushed over to him.

"Is he ok?" he asked, already scanning the man for wounds.

Poland ran a hand over his shoulder blade, where a small bit of blood had formed on his shirt. He felt a bump and told Wales to lie him down. Wales did as he was told, and Mexico and Romania joined him at watching Poland work his magic.

Poland pulled the metal chain, turning on a the light as the room was now pitch black. He pulled down the neck of Kazakhstan's shirt, and saw a small bullet like object not very deep in the Slavic man's wound. Poland carefully, since he didn't have the tools he usually had, pinched the wound, trying to pry the object out. The object did start to rise, and Poland grabbed it with his other hand and handed it to Wales. The oldest man of the bunch hesitantly grabbed it.

"What do you want me to do with it?" Wales asked, looking at the object in his hand.

"Put it in the garbage." Poland said, pointing roughly at a plastic bag in the corner of the room.

Poland grabbed some bandages from his pocket, and a water bottle from a little nook in the room, pouring a bit of water on Kazakhstan's wound before bandaging it up.

"Does anyone else need attenti-" Poland trailed off, seeing the fresh wounds on Mexico's and Romania's ankles.

"What happened!?" Poland rushed over.

"We kicked a helicopter." Mexico said.

Poland looked up at the man, disbelief in his eyes.

He sighed, getting to his job and pouring a generous amount of water onto the wounded ankle, "You're lucky to still have a foot."

"I know." Mexico laughed.

Poland rolled his eyes and concentrated on the wound.

Silence filled the room as Poland worked on both Mexico's and Romania's wounds. He was almost done when a short scream tore through the air.

Hope you guys enjoyed this so far!