USA

The war is over, but the smell of iron and ash still lingers in the streets. Torn flags flutter above the walls of the conquered city, and the echo of marching soldiers mingles with the whispers of a people still struggling to recover. Amidst the remnants of glory and chaos, justice tries to prevail, though at times it seems more a reflection of vengeance than of the law.
In the Swiss Military Court—a cold room made of polished wood, barely lit by spotlights—a trial is taking place that shouldn't exist. At the center, there is not a criminal, but Germany, a child. He is no more than ten years old, wearing worn clothes that are too big for him. His hands tremble, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, as if expecting pain has become a habit.
The crime he is accused of is not his own. It is his father's legacy: the Nazi regime, responsible for massacres and conspiracies that marked the war. He died in battle, but the desire for punishment persists among the survivors. Countries clamor for his execution, or for him to be sentenced to hard labor. The boy, however, remains silent. He doesn't deny it, he cries. He only breathes, trying to exist without drawing attention to himself. The doors burst open.
The American enters with a firm step. A man respected, feared, and loved in equal measure; a war hero, a brilliant strategist, with an imposing presence and a voice that silences any room. His presence fills the air. Everyone straightens up, everyone falls silent.
Usa stares at the boy with an unreadable gaze. His past, too, is stained by war; he has seen men die in empires, he has made decisions that weigh on him every night. Perhaps that is why, in the little boy, he sees more than just a doomed surname: he sees the same shadow that once haunted him. When the judge is about to pronounce sentence, Usa steps forward.
"The child will not pay for the sins of the father," his voice echoes in the room.