Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

He led Anya down a narrow alleyway, their breaths visible in the freezing air. The sound of soldiers shouting orders drew closer, the heavy thud of boots echoing off the snow-dusted walls. Johannes glanced over his shoulder. The dim glow of a searchlight swept through the alley they had just exited, sending shadows dancing across the bricks.

"This way!" he hissed, pulling Anya toward a rickety wooden fence at the alley's end.

Anya stumbled but caught herself, her eyes wide with panic. "Where are we going? They're everywhere!"

"Somewhere they won't find us," Johannes replied, his voice low but steady. He vaulted over the fence with practiced ease, holding out a hand to help Anya.

She hesitated for a moment, the fear in her eyes stark against the darkness. Then, with a deep breath, she grasped his hand and climbed over, her boots crunching softly as they landed on the other side.

Through the Maze

The pair moved quickly but cautiously through a maze of abandoned courtyards and snow-covered alleyways. Each turn felt like a gamble—one path could lead to safety, the next to a soldier's rifle. Johannes's mind raced, calculating their next steps. He knew St. Petersburg's layout well, but with soldiers fanning out across the city, no route was guaranteed.

"Johannes," Anya whispered, clutching his arm as they paused in the shadow of a crumbling building. "Volkov… Dmitry… do you think they made it?"

Johannes's jaw tightened. The memory of Volkov's determined face flashed in his mind, followed by the grenade's deafening explosion. He shook his head, forcing the thought aside. "We'll find out soon enough. But right now, we need to focus on getting out of here."

Ahead, a faint light glimmered through the broken windows of an old factory. Johannes motioned for Anya to follow, his steps deliberate but swift. He pushed open the rusted door, the hinges groaning in protest. The interior was cold and damp, the air heavy with the scent of oil and decay.

"Wait here," he instructed, scanning the shadows for signs of danger.

The factory was silent, save for the occasional creak of old metal. Satisfied that they were alone, Johannes turned back to Anya. "We'll rest here for a moment. Then we head for the safe house."

An Unexpected Encounter

As Johannes checked the contents of his briefcase—maps, notes, and blueprints still intact—Anya paced nervously. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the distant rumble of gunfire.

"They'll find us, won't they?" she said suddenly, her voice trembling. "No matter where we go, they'll find us."

Johannes looked up, his expression calm but firm. "Not if we stay one step ahead. That's what we've been doing, and it's what we'll keep doing."

Anya stopped pacing, her fists clenched at her sides. "And what about Kalashkov? Volkov? We're just leaving them behind?"

Johannes's gaze softened. "I don't like it either, Anya. But sacrifices are part of this fight. We can't save everyone."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the distant sound of footsteps silenced her. Johannes froze, holding up a hand for silence. The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the faint murmur of voices.

"Soldiers," Anya mouthed, her face pale.

Johannes extinguished the lamp and motioned for her to follow. They moved deeper into the factory, their steps careful and silent. The voices grew closer, echoing off the metal walls.

As they crouched behind an old assembly line, Johannes pulled a small pistol from his coat. Anya's eyes widened.

"You had a gun this whole time?" she whispered.

Johannes gave her a sharp look. "Not much use against a platoon. Stay quiet."

The voices stopped abruptly, replaced by the sound of boots crunching over debris. Johannes gripped his pistol tightly, his heart hammering in his chest. Then, a single voice called out in a hushed tone:

"Johannes? Anya?"

Anya's head snapped toward the voice. "Dmitry?"

Before Johannes could stop her, she stepped out from their hiding spot. Dmitry emerged from the shadows, his face bloodied and his coat torn. Relief flooded Anya's features as she ran to him.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Where's Volkov?"

Dmitry shook his head, his expression grim. "Volkov… he didn't make it. The explosion—" His voice broke, and he looked away. "I barely escaped."

Johannes stepped forward, his pistol still in hand. "How did you find us?"

Dmitry met his gaze, his jaw set. "I followed the path you always take. Figured you'd head for the factory before the safe house."

Johannes lowered his weapon but kept his guard up. "If you were followed—"

"I wasn't," Dmitry interrupted, his voice firm. "I made sure of it."

Anya placed a hand on Dmitry's arm. "What do we do now?"

Johannes glanced at the briefcase, then back at Dmitry. "We move. The longer we stay here, the more likely they'll find us."

Into the Unknown

The trio slipped out of the factory under the cover of darkness, making their way toward the safe house on Nevsky Prospekt. The city was eerily quiet, the sounds of gunfire and shouting now distant. Snow fell gently, blanketing the streets in a deceptive calm.

As they approached the safe house, Johannes signaled for them to stop. He scanned the area, his eyes narrowing at the sight of a patrol car idling near the entrance.

"Change of plans," he said quietly. "We'll circle around, enter through the back."

Dmitry frowned. "What if it's a trap?"

"Then we're already dead," Johannes replied bluntly. "Stay close."

They crept through the alley behind the safe house, their breaths shallow as they approached the back door. Johannes reached for the handle, but before he could turn it, a gunshot rang out, shattering the stillness.

Anya stifled a scream as Johannes spun around, his pistol drawn. Dmitry clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers.

"They… they knew," Dmitry gasped, collapsing to his knees.

Johannes grabbed Anya's arm and yanked her toward the shadows. "Run!" he barked, his voice cutting through the rising chaos.

The sound of boots thundered toward them as soldiers poured into the alley. Johannes fired blindly over his shoulder, his mind racing. The safe house was compromised, their plans in shambles.

As they turned a corner, a spotlight caught them, freezing them in its glare. Johannes shielded Anya with his body, his pistol raised.

"Don't move!" a voice commanded.

Johannes's grip tightened on his weapon, his mind calculating their dwindling options. Anya clung to his arm, her breath ragged with fear.

The revolution was slipping through their fingers, and in that moment, survival seemed like a distant dream.