(YOU ARE REICH) Credits Ib/Art:"chdao_99"

He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands there, shoulders rising slow, like he’s trying to suppress the roar of war still burning in his lungs.

The silence is unbearable. The kind that drips like blood from a cracked ceiling.

Then— A step forward. The slam of a boot. The sound of bone hitting concrete as he forces the other against the wall, no mercy in the movement. His arm digs in across his chest— —while his other hand clamps around his neck. Not tight enough to kill, but tight enough to remind him who’s in control. Tight enough to steal air, one second at a time.

And still… That damn smile. Like everything meant nothing. Like none of it mattered.

USSR’s eyes darken, voice sharp, cracking through the stillness: “You think silence saves you? You think playing dead makes you clean?” He leans in, breath heavy with fire and rot. “You erased cities. Laughed while they burned. And now you want to go out quiet? No.” A scoff. Disgust. Hatred older than both of them.

Then—he raises his fist. Slowly. Deliberately. You can hear the joints tighten beneath the leather. That fist doesn’t tremble anymore. It waits. Like judgment.

“One punch,” he mutters coldly, “...and it can drive you to death.”

And for a moment, time stops— Right before that fist finally swings.