Let me start off with the fact that what happened in the Pulse nightclub in Orlando was a tragedy and is in no way shape or form acceptable. Additionally, I do not mean to disrespect any of victims, offend relatives of the victims, offend any readers in the LGBTQIA+ community (I'm in fact bi), or anyone else. I hope with all of my heart that people of all different nationalities and religions can find a way to peacefully coexist so the world will no longer have to witness these horrifying acts. In a way this is my tribute to the victims may their souls rest in peace.

The World Conference in Bern has scarcely resumed from its first recess when the first shot rips through an intoxicated club goer thousands of miles away. The results are immediate. While the fatal shot from a hostile assault weapon is not heard by the nation personifications in the meeting, the slug ripping through skin and flesh, shattering a collar bone, is. Alfred's-no, America's-own collarbone explodes with a sickening crack to the surprise of all the nations. Blood and bone ricochet across the table, coating it in a fresh color of red and striking unsuspecting delegates. He barely has time to gasp "What?" before more armor piercing rounds are ripping through his skin like a hot knife through butter. To his credit, America (despite clawing at the table desperately, not unlike a drowning man struggling for air) manages to pull himself up from where he's slumped in the chair, only to lurch sideways half onto the floor. The room erupts in yelling, demands, and questions not unlike the normal meetings; except the commotion is much more serious than petty disagreements.

Canada rushes to his brother and pulls him the rest of the way out of his chair, but there's nothing the northern sibling can do. He can't stop a raging, angry, disgusted shooter from committing a hate crime on the other side of the world. All he can do is try to helplessly reassure his brother (as red blooms across his chest like flowers, and blood and bone spring up into the air; rain hitting pavement) that everything will be okay. That's when the screaming starts. They're not sure if the horror of Alfred's people, or the fact that pain of being shot has finally registered, but America starts yelling to high heaven. It's almost reminiscent of his arguments with France and England except he's shrieking and gasping and wailing (but it's all gurgled because he's been shot in the throat-twice) and it pulls at the nation's because they know for certain now that America's citizens, his children have been attacked and are terrified. More puncture wounds appear in a frenzy in fatal and non-fatal body parts alike and the others can only watch as Canada clenches his brother's hand and promises everything will be okay while France and England stand behind him like protecting shadows.

America, against all odds (nine shots to the head, three now to the throat, fourteen to his chest and lungs, Switzerland's kept count), manages to speak and everything becomes much worse. His eyes, ears, and mind are far away on a temperate peninsula that (ironically) represents the gun he always carries with him. Alfred's voice is morphing and changing, matching his citizens, (male and female and other genders) and the pain, fear, and shock punctures even the most cold hearted of nations.

"Oh my God, Oh my god-"

"Those aren't firecrackers-"

"No, no, no, NO-"

"He has an assault rifle-"

"Mommy I love you-"

"Wake up! I can't do this without you-"

"Officer, please help, there's a man with a gun-"

"He's keeping hostages in the bathroom-"

"Everyone get out of Pulse and keep running-"

"Babe, babe where are you?"

"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name-"

"This is just like San Bernadino-"

"-Virginia Tech-"

"-Columbine-"

"-Texas Tech-"

"-Newtown-"

"-not again-"

"-oh God, oh God-"

"You need to be quiet, or he'll find us-"

"Ye...yes-"

"When I tell you to run, get out from under the table and sprint at least three blocks, okay?" Then, as soon as the screams started, they stop, and Alfred goes deathly still. His eyebrows furrow hesitantly and despite whispering, the whole room hears.

"This is 911 what is your emergency?" The calm and collected voice of a female emergency dispatcher rings out of Alfred's mouth clearly in the hushed room. A just as collected male voice replies.

"I like to pledge allegiance to A-"

"No no no no!" And suddenly America is shrieking, bashing his head against the floor so hard, he has to be held down by Sweden, Germany, and Russia, the latter of the three looking upset despite the position he has over his former rival. They can tell this is Alfred, it's his voice, full of rage and fear and something else. He keeps switching between the man, the woman, and himself. "On behalf of the Islamic"-"NO!"-"state." Most of the countries pale (France's and Belgium's color especially resembles a bed sheet). His chest is heaving and it seems he is fighting a battle to stay alive, not because of the wounds but because of the fact that one of his children kills others in the name of a radical group.

"Sir? Sir? Damnit, call the FBI, we have a terrorism situation in Orlando." There's a long silence in the room, and slowly the three countries release the still nation. Alfred is deathly pale, his chest near unmoving, and his eyelids are just barely cracked open, so the others can see a flash of his sky blue eyes, normally full of life and the youthful energy they've all long lost.

"Ca...Cana...Matt? Y' still here?" he manages to rasp out. Matthew grips his hand harder in response.

"I've been here the whole time Al. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good...I'm gonna...close m'eyes for just a mo'." he's slurring his words now from blood loss.

"No, no Alfred, I need you to keep talking to me. What's happening in Orlando?" America's brows, furrow, as though he's struggling to recall an old memory.

"A guy...secon' generation Americ'n...paren's from Af...Afgan...Afg'nist'n..." said nation buries her head in her hands.

"Good. C'mon Al, we need to know what's going on."

"...shot up a gay bar..." Canada doesn't say anything, after all what can one say in the face of such tragedy? "...for terroris'. Why'd he do tha'? He's...one of my peeps. And they're...my peeps, too. The victims." he elaborates, despite not needing to.

Before the northern nation can formulate a response to satisfy his brother's addled brain, spasms rock America's body, and when he speaks, it's the voice of one of his terrified citizens. "He's in the bathroom with us...women's bathroom is..."

A horrified mother: "Is the man in the bathroom with you?"

"Yes...he's a terror-" America gags on his own blood as another unseen projectile rips through his throat. They all look away in sympathy.

America lapses into silence for another few minutes, seemingly holding his breath along with the club goers trapped inside of a night out turned fight for life. China reenters the room with bandages and various other medical equipment, but before he can apply them, America shouts, eyes faraway.

"We have the club surrounded, come out with your hands up!"

"I suggest you reconsider officer," it's the same voice from the emergency line, and shivers run up their spines when they realize that they are effectively listening to a terrorist and member of the Islamic State. "I have four armed and ready suicide vests with me right now. It would be unfortunate if they found their way onto some in the club." There's a haunting smile on Alfred's face, like a psychopath who is aware that he is not going to make it, and rejoices in the fact as long as the world burns.

"Bastard!" mutters Elizabeta. The cheshire smile slowly slides off Alfred's face and is replaced with a scowl.

"Remove the air conditioning unit." he mutters, as chunks of flesh from his thigh arc through the air spraying nearby countries. France for once is not lamenting the fate of his hair and clothing. Another hour or so passes in silence only broken by sobbing or hiccuping from the gathered countries and the ocassional sound of another shot sinking into America. After a while, a weathered voice of authority rings out of Alfred's mouth.

"There are too many civilians showing up at the scene, take to social media and tell them there's a shooting on South Orange at Pulse nightclub with multiple injuries and to stay away from the area."

"Yes sir."

Alfred lapses into another long period of breathless silence. Then, a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, his training managing to keep him from breaking down speaks through America's lips. "Sir, we've gotten eight people that were still trapped in the club out, but were unable to free any of the hostages in the bathroom."

"Keep all eyes on the club and notify me if anything changes. Also, someone get SWAT, the FBI, and a bomb squad down here." Alfred relaxes, the tension slowly drifting out of his body and China immediately gets down to work applying pressure to and wrapping wounds in bandages.

"We should move him so that he's not in a puddle of blood, aru." Yao mutters after a near millennia passes. The three physically strongest personifications (Russia, Germany, and Sweden) slowly pick Ameruca in and move him across the room to a new spot, aided this time by Canada who hides muscles underneath his suit and meek appearance.

As each of the four nations lifts him, each holding a limb while England and France support his back, blood splatters the ground in Bern in the same pattern as in Orlando where four Americans carry an injured woman the same way. The six barely stumble as Alfred spasms again. "This Dr. Joshua Stephany, Orlando's Chief Medical Examiner. How may I help you?"

"Dr. Stephany, this is John Mina, the Orlando chief of police, there's been a shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. The department is getting reports of multiple casualties in the club. We need all hands on deck with this one."

"I'll make my way over there as soon as I can, I should be there in about thirty minutes. Where should I go upon arrival?"

"The Orlando Police Department and Bomb Squad have set up a perimeter around the...hold on a minute..." the group waits with baited breath, "...I've just been notified that twenty casualties have been reported." Most of the group looks sick. "As I was saying, when you arrive at the perimeter, inform the nearest officer of your position and have them lead you to where the paramedics have set up."

"Got it. I'll see you in half an hour-"

"Wait! Thirty casualties have been reported." The mood in the room darkens to a near unbearable level.

"I will bring the necessary equipment and staff members." Alfred goes silent. Nearly three hours after the terrible ordeal has begun, a line of blood cuts its way across his nose. While the laceration is superficial and very shallow, it is immediately noticed by Arthur. He reaches to shake Alfred's bandaged shoulder, but clearly thinks better of it when he sees the multiple bullet wounds in it. Instead he settles for interrogating Alfred. "Alfred what's happening? Alfred, look at me." The concern audible in his voice stirs the other countries in the room from their various conversations with each other as they worry, "Will this be another disaster from middle eastern radical groups? Another Brussels, Paris, World Trade Center? Will they be next?" They all silently wonder.

"Th' SWAT t'm bl'w a h'l in the cl'b." By now, Alfred is slurring so badly, he makes Sweden seem like a well enunciating speaker. "Didn' p't it in righ' pl'c tho' n'd an arm'rd ve...veh...veh'cle." A small smile creeps its way across his face, though. "They miss'd the b'thr'm, b't g't th'rty pe'ple out."

"That's wonderful L'Amerique." Francis speaks for the whole time since this whole ordeal started. Alfred nods absent mindedly, his whole attention focused across the ocean. Another cut scratches his already abused face.

"They're bustin' down 'noth'r wall." Rugged coughs force their way out of America's throat for several minutes and no matter what ministrations the countries attempted to use (all the methods originated in me ~daze!), America's ailment doesn't cease for five minutes until he numbly mutters, "They got 'im." Several nations quietly cheer and already, America's enhanced nation healing seems to be kicking in, the blood slowly staining the normally pristine bandages a red deeper than any of France's wines begins to clot. "I n'd to get b'ck to the st'tes." Alfred struggles to sit up before flopping lamely on his side and yelping in barely concealed pain. To the assembled nations shock and horror, he looks ready to try again, until Matthew puts an arm lightly over his chest.

"Alfred you were just shot fifty times! You're not going anywhere!"

"I counted eighty-five times actually." Switzerland muttered helpfully.

"Alright, eighty-five times. Frankly, I'm impressed that you're still conscious, let alone coherent right now!"

"Alfred, mon ami, your force of will iz admirable, but please rest and recover."

"No."

"What the bloody hell would you do anyways! You're in no shape to help law enforcement!"

"No you're wrong."

"Excuse me, you very well know I'm not!"

"Not that, what Switzerland said. About being shot. I wasn't shot eighty-five times."

"Don't you dare try to lie and say a few bullets won't hold you down! Don't try to play down your injuries you wanker!"

"This is one of the few times I will agree with Angleterre, Alfred, please do not try to ignore your injuries."

"Al, I swear if you don't go straight to a hospital, I'll knock you out and take you to one myself, eh." At this point, various other countries began to chime in their opinions over the matter creating the normal World Meeting chaos. Alfred took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the agony his lungs would face speaking in more than a whisper at the group after receiving the many healing (albeit slowly) injuries to his chest.

"Damnit, shut up! All of you, just shut up!" he broke off coughing as the nations became silent, oddly subdued. "I was shot one hundred and two times." He carried on before the outbreak of yelling could happen again. "My people were shot one hundred and two times. Forty-nine of them are not coming home to their families. Forty-nine people lost their special someone. Forty-nine mothers and fathers lost a child in the deadliest mass shooting in my history. Fifty-three people are crippled or scarred for life. I need to be there for my people." With that he struggled to his feet (grunting, gasping, and trying not to yell in agony the whole time) and hobbled out of the room. No one tried to stop him.

1.) So, before you freak out and start screaming, "But it's impossible for someone to survive being shot that many times, let alone walk it off minutes later!", I will say: "I agree with you (unless maybe you're Deadpool or T-1000, but that's not the point). However, it is my head canon that since the nation's are the physical embodiment of the land they could survive being shot that many times. As for walking it off, America is the current superpower of the world and therefore is much stronger than all the other nations. (Also, y'know he swung around bison for fun when he was a kid so...yeah, very strong).

2.)It's my head canon and seems to be the head canon of most of the fandom that nations experience injuries when their land is attacked ex.)9/11. However, my head canon is when extreme acts of violence against a nation's people or a huge psychologically traumatizing event can cause injuries to a nation. As Orlando was the largest mass shooting in US history, he gets a bullet for each person.

3.)The timeline of events are those reported by CNN and are accurate.

4.)I will once again say: This story is in no way shape or form an attempt to offend or disrespect the victims of the shooting, the LGBTQIA+ community, or families of the victims. Love your neighbors people.