Aim for the head

I was bored and thought I'd post something here.
Participation isn't necessary unless you want to join.
You can add any plot you want or follow mine.
_______


Thump, thump, thump.

The Soviet army marched towards the centre of the city at a fast pace, but the general was nowhere to be seen. No one was leading the army, so why were they so... formal? Russia - Ivan Bragisnki - left his only daughter in charge, but there wasn't any female in the crowd. Strange.

Blonde hair locks blew in the wind at the top of a building. There was a girl dressed in the formal Soviet army officer uniform, but more feminine - a pair of green pants with matching jacket, several medals pinned on her chest and the typical Russian cap upon her head. She didn't look older than perhaps 16-17 years old. Dominika Braginski was her name and she was the capital personification of Russia - Moscow - hence she was the favourite child.

Dominika was the general-colonel of the Red army, but what was she doing so far away from it? Well, she had come up with the plan to shoot anyone who belonged to an army different from hers. She had given clear orders to her men to march the city and announce the arrival of the great Russia. They were going to become one with the Motherland whether they liked it or not.

She was kneeling down on the ground with her elbows resting on the edge of the roof whilst holding her AK-47. An innocent yet toxic smile was plastered on her face as she scanned the area. She had spotted a soldier crossing the street with a gun in his arms. "D'ere you are...", she chanted quietly as she closed her right eye and aimed the gun to his head. Once the tip of her gun aligned perfectly with his head, she pulled the trigger without hesitation. She shot a bullet in his forehead and the man fell limply back, blood splattering around him.

Moscow giggled quietly and loaded her gun. "Come out and play, leetle lambs... Don't make me wait too long, da? Or A'I might have to find your nest and massacre you all on d'e spot.", she chanted.

Maximums was flat out devious. He cheated in war like no other. Going as far to sacrifice his own men if he had to. In this case, Max had done just that. In effort to get a stronger advance, he sent his second hand officer to watch the west side banks, yet it was just the plot that could get him deep into his own lands without notice because of the shooter in the midst of making a shot. Though this wasn’t his war, the Frenchman was merely doing his allies a favor and helping out to shove the opposing enemy back into their own lands. The allies hadn’t given out the information of whom he’d be fighting against, but had promise that it wasn’t anyone he was in neutral with.

Taking a sharp, silent breath from the shadows, Max tossed the large gun behind his back on its strap and flipped out a pistol in one hand and a 8 inch hunter blade made to skin bears clean in the other. His emerald eyes locked onto the target that was reloading their gun. Being that he never wore his glasses, he couldn’t see the female Russian. The country that had actually been neutral with him surprising. Taking a step into the Russian’s blind spot, he crossed quietly to her and wrapped one arm around her neck with the blade tightly placed to a vein of life. Knocking the gun from her grip with his left elbow, he grabbed her hands with his own swiftly and gripped them so tight that it threatened to crush bones. Not that he didn’t already know that it wouldn’t effect a strong Russian.

Max grinned and whispered into the Russian’s ear as he dragged her quickly into the hidden shadows, “Why, Miss.. I’m a wolf.. We don’t have nests..-” he began but his eyes opened wide in shock as the sound of an approaching plane came. “Hell..” he began but shoved you into a building as the sound and vibrations of the ground began to show traits that one side of the war was bombing and didn’t care about killing their own people.

Slamming the door shut, he ignored that he had left his defense wide open. All he cared about right now was that a bomb attack was going on. They were stuck together and he still hadn’t realized that the person he had attacked was someone that was okay with his own country.

Idiots.. he thought quietly to himself.

*LE NOTE* Okay... I'm posting two replies. DOMINIKA, it's up to you which one you want to follow up with. if you didn't want Russia to make his appearance yet, just reply to the dogs, and vice versa...

---

-reply 1-

A hellish growl burst out from the shrubs. Without warning, a massive bear-like creature sprang out of the brush with several harsh barks and sprang at the male with a flurry of snapping jaws and aimed claws. Over one hundred pounds of Millitary dog muscle collided into Max's form before a jawfull of large fangs dug roughly into the arm that held the knife to the Russian girl's throat.

Shalunya, one of the Soviet's Russian Overcharkas, locked her powerful jaws onto Max's arm and began to jerk her head roughly, seeking to rip flesh clean off the bone. The abnormally massive canine had a bulletproof vest with the letters of "USSR" patched on them, shielding her back, shoulders, chest, and part of her stomach from the weapons of foes. Her and her brother's breed has been known in the past to kill wolves and bears who threaten their flock, so the fierce, almost vicious instinct to guard was inevitable. Shalunya had her iron grip on the arm, threatening to either rip flesh off bone, or just crush the bone entirely between those muscular jowls.

_______________________________________________________________________

-reply 2-

The cold barrel of a gun was pressed against Max's head.

"Privet, leetle Wolf..."

An icy voice snarled cheerily in the same Russian accent the girl used.

A very tall, broad-shouldered man towered behind the one who held the knife to the Russian girl's throat. Silver hair...Black military coat... black aura... black soul. This was none other but the Soviet whom nearly the whole east dreaded.

Amethyst irises blazed with cold hellfire against a shadowed, blood-splattered face. A maniac grin fit for only a mentally insane Ophelias was carved against the deathly pale features of none other than Ivan Braginski.

The Russian slammed his free hand into the back of the Frenchman's neck, fingers coiling in a crushing metallic grip. The soft 'click' of a Russian bullet cocking into place was heard over the plane's groans overhead.

"Leetle wolf messing wit' d'e Hunter's daughter, eh? Naughty naughty...."