Everything had gone right. They had achieved world peace. Every nation got along just fine and dandy. Global problems were tackled immediately and world conferences actually became fruitful. Global warming was curbed, population inflation leveled off, average lifespans went up, and the economy flourished.
Then it all got fucked up.
He didn't know how it happened. No one knew how it happened. It just. . . Did. That was the weird part. It just happened. Every war before, there was something leading up to it. There was a crescendo then the climax: war. This time. . . This time it had been different. There had been a sweet, light melody floating through the air and then the war drums began to beat so suddenly, so furiously.
How had it come to this? That's what he wondered, and he never stopped wondering about it. Even as he leveled his gun, set his sights on an enemy solider and fired. He never stopped. Even as he swiftly turned and popped off another two shots before hiding behind the concrete wall again, he never stopped thinking about it.
"Fuck it all," he hissed, darting back out and cutting down another two.
His radio, clipped tightly to his waistband, sputtered to life, "Sir! We've successfully trapped the enemy forces at the coast. Do you copy? Over."
He grabbed at the offending plastic device and pushed the side button before he seethed, "Good, now get those fuckers off my coast! Over."
"Yes, sir! Over and out."
"Who would've thought."
He snorted, "No fucking shit."
He didn't smile anymore. There was no reason to smile. Germany had been dissolved, dying just as his country did. The Baltics had succumbed to the war, fading out before completely drifting off. The Nordics were holding their own, Japan as well. So many of the others, so many of the smaller nations, had ceased to exist. They were memories in textbooks, stories citizens of conquered nations would whisper about.
"Fuck it all," he said dryly, leaning around the corner again to knock off another soldier.
He gave his partner a wave, beckoning the other to follow as he slunk out the door and into the rubble and debris of a once proudly shimmering skyscraper. He hid behind another wall, his partner coming up beside him as a rain of bullets hailed down. He ignored the ache in his chest, popping up to fire off another couple shots before ducking again. His gun was empty.
With a whispered curse, he tossed the Baretta away and pulled out an MSAW. He was running out of guns and ammunition. There was only so much his coat and ammunition bag could hold. Without a moment's hesitation, he loaded the shot gun, only to be deterred as he coughed into his hand. The black leather was stained red.
"Shit," he said dryly, "They're fighting fucking hard."
"Such a potty mouth," he partner chided smoothly, shooting for a moment before settling back again.
He looked at his partner, only to meet the others gaze as they just sat there and stared at one another. After years of intensive fighting, words were no longer needed between them. It was nearly sickening just how close a bond they had acquired. Beggers couldn't be choosers when a war was being raged on nearly all fronts.
I can't believe this.
You are naive, then.
Fuck you. I'm getting sick of hiding.
Then let us not hide anymore.
It wasn't a smile that graced his lips. That habit had long ago been abandoned. No, it was not a smile. It was a twisted, malicious smirk, tugging devilishly on just one side of his lips as his eyes flashed. There was no more smiling, no more laughing, least, not from him. That part of him was dead.
"Let's fuck shit up."
"Da, let's, America."
They both stood, guns poised as they advanced forward with the short sighted intent of driving the British-French forces off American soil. The soldiers shot at the two nations. Sure, they were taking hits and it hurt like hell, but, to them, it was child's play. They smiled - no, they grinned - sadistically and pushed onward. The wounds were already healing, flesh knitting together, even as they were doused in a rain of lead.
"Home of the brave, motherfuckers!"
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A/N: Brutal abuse of the multiple purpose F word. You know you love it, and I always fantasize about Alfred being a rather foul mouthed kinda guy. Suiting, considering I see small children in America cursing all the time. Anyway, excuse any grammar or spelling errors, my English isn't all that good and I tried to fix the errors myself. May continue on with it, who knows. And yes, it was intended to be Russia/America. Don't laugh, prz. Enjoy, I suppose. Review, whatever. Do whatever you damn well please.
