A/N: After reading the "Hetalia Unit Manual" series by Lollidictator, along with a few humorous fanfictions, I decided it would be quite the idea to come up with one for myself. So here it is- my very first fiction published to . Review and Critique; please, do NOT go easy on me!
So here I am, running for my life from a man in a black suit, a seemingly girlish-looking boy at my side. All the while I am asking myself, how in the name of God almighty did I get myself into this? Not even a month ago, I was almost done with my secrecy- I almost moved away from the underground of the mansion that I never could call my home, for reasons that will later be explained; I almost finished the masterpiece that would keep me out of debt for about two, if I was lucky possibly even three, years; I was so close, so unbelievably close to the life of a master as opposed to the life of a rat, and then it all just slipped away...
And there I was, running away from a man in a black suit, a manuscript of my life's toils held under my arm, a person who was not even a true person running at my side, barking military orders I've never even heard of before at me.
Let's rewind, shall we?
My name is Mary Graves, and I call myself Louis. Now, if that on its own somewhat bothered you, then do not read this story. Do not read this manuscript that is now floating about on the world of the Internet and will never, ever be removed completely. Do not ask why I call myself Louis, it is just what I call myself- if "Tondayala"s and "Antoine"s in the world can call themselves "Toni"s, I do not see what is stopping me from going from "Mary" to "Louis". Besides, I am quite fond of the name "Louis", thank you for asking.
I came from a well-off family, something you most certainly could not tell from the place I had learned to call my abode as of five, maybe even six years. If you are wondering what my abode is, then I will tell you; I live in the basement level of a mansion that I do not own. The family that lives there- the Baravians- has no idea what-so-ever that under their feet is a living, breathing young woman that is using the old desktop of theirs that they put there and forgot about. They have no idea that the young woman who lives there is the "rat infestation" responsible for their missing cold-cuts and just so happens to know the house she's only lived under for a few years much better than the family who has had this house handed down to them "generation after generation", to quote Mr. John Baravian.
I, myself, do not even know how I came to be like this- ten years ago I was still living with my parents in Connecticut, and now here I was in the underground of a mansion in upstate New York, which was hours away from my original destination of New York City. Here I was, months before the time to flee for my life came, living the dream of every aspiring writer.
Or, at least, I was trying to.
I had a brother who was in some governmental... shit, seeing as I can find no other word to describe his predicament; he had ran away when I was only nineteen and the next thing I knew, he was number five on "America's Most Wanted" list. However, despite the fact that no one other than his new-found "brothers", as he called them, were supposed to know where he is, something possessed him to keep his communication-related ties with me.
Basically, I was the one who got him out of deep shit, so he could go back to doing his normal shit.
What I think happened was this- over time, he got quite used to me being there to back him up (even though I was often on the other side of the nation when he needed his "backup plan" to be initiated), and then started to expand our sibling relationship into a matter of which played quite a large role in the government-related deep shit he was in: Money.
I wanted to become a famous writer, and he knew that. He thought that my work was good, and he began to compromise with his "brothers" and with me. His original plan went like this; I write something, be it an article or a poem or a short story, and send it to him. He then brings it to "Big Brother" (who is apparently the Monarch of this underground kingdom of crime) who sends the literature, my literature, to a random publishing company under the name of "L. M. Arkenson". In the end, the work is printed and I receive 20% of the funds.
Just so you know, 20% of anything from my brother is more than just generous, it's saint-like.
One day, instead of receiving checks and bills I began receiving emails. Expecting to find some form of currency, I found deadlines and death threats; apparently, the public wanted a novel (not a short story, a full-blown novel) from Mister Arkenson. As you can imagine, the first words that I was able to conger up from my mind were as follows: "What... the actual... fuck... is this...?"
After many phone calls and threats from my brother's "brothers", I set to work on my first novel. (I think the crowning jewel on all of this was that a lesser-known "brother" was going to be appearing as Mister Arkenson and my original 20% income would become about .5% in a matter of months) A piece of my mind knew that I had crossed the Rubicon when I first agreed to this deal, but I didn't listen to it.
Boy, do I wish I did now.
I barely remember the manuscript I was working on when I first saw the pop-up which brought me into this nonsense- something along the lines of Among the Shadows. Or was it called Dancing with the Shadows...? Oh, but I remember the pop-up by heart- it was a pale ivory square with black, bold, Helvetica lettering loudly advertising "Hetalia Units". At least, it was black until you rolled your mouse over it- then it began to change colors.
I do not understand why it changed colors, but it did, so I shall leave it at that.
Also, when you rolled your mouse over it, the text on the pop-up began to change; one second it was saying "FREE! Hetalia Units!", the next it said "FREE shipping!". I think what made me click on the pop-up was when the text changed to "Earn LOTS of MONEY; Just fill out the information!"
Money.
Lots of money.
For a split second, I was in something many people would call ecstasy- money would get me out of here, money would be able to extend the deadline of my work being due (by some incredible feat which I had not yet figured out), money would be able to hide me from my brother and his "brothers", money would be able to buy me that really nice Mazerati car that I wanted for my twentieth birthday but never got...
Oh, I am such a shallow young fool.
I figured, "Well, if there is information to fill out, it will probably tell me what it is," and so I clicked it. That was the second biggest mistake I have ever made in my entire life.
It turns out that there was no information to fill out- just a timer that read clearly at the top "Your first unit will arrive to (my old address- I do not want any "brothers" finding this and try hunting me down for my manuscript, therefore I will not fill it out.) in:" and then, at the bottom, was a timer that ticked its way to my doom.
"17:29:56"
Doing the conversion of metric time to American time in my head, I later learned that my first "unit" (whatever the hell that was) happened to be arriving to me in a place I was not supposed to inhabit at...
8:30 am, tomorrow.
"Oh..."
8:30 is when Mr. John Baravian left for work.
"Oh..."
Mrs. Anne Baravian would be reading in the den at that very moment.
"Oh dear God, no..."
Evangeline Baravian - beautiful, gentle Evangeline Baravian, with her long locks of red, curly hair that looked so soft I imagine her father stole it from the angels themselves - would be home, seeing as tomorrow was Saturday.
"What have I done?"
Naturally, the first thing I tried to do was cancel the order- turns out, pop-ups that involve ordering things are even less merciful than pop-ups that do not, and while pop-ups that don't involve ordering things have quick, easy "x" buttons devoted to getting you out of the situation you brought yourself into, these product-purchasing pop-ups had no means of canceling an order or closing the timer window.
"C-Cameron!" I squeaked into the halls as I hyperventilated, oh God I am going to die, oh God I am going to die, oh God I am going to DIE...
"No need to shout," came the low, quiet voice of Cameron Shylers, the head butler and one of the many workers who operate this household that I was privileged enough to call "my friends".
"Gah!" I shrieked, the scrawny-looking guy had such a knack for sneaking up behind people it wasn't even funny. Oh, alright, sometimes it was, but at this moment it was not funny at all. "Don'tdothat!" I hissed, cowering behind the wooden chair I spent so much time in.
"It's only me, Ma-" I shot him a look, "Louis." Much better.
"That's the scariest part..." I whined, beckoning him over with a rough wave of my hand and pointing to the screen. "Actually, this is the scary part." I saw him look at the screen, then back at me, then back at the screen, then back at me. Sadly, the first thing he said when he looked back at me the third and final time was this;
"You are such an idiot."
Oh, you have no idea, Cameron. No idea at all.
"Y-You're rather chipper today, ain't you?" I said back in a tiny voice, a very nervous laugh trailing at the end of it.
"Do you know what you've done?" he suddenly hissed- I had never seen him show such emotion before, so I was in too much of a state of shock too great to conger up something defiant to say in response.
"...uh..."
See? Great state of shock, right there.
"You dunce!" Cameron snarled, bringing his forehead into his palm in irritation, "Of all the possible anime units out there, you ordered Hetalia ones! HETALIA! Really, Louis?"
...so he'd heard of this kind of stuff, eh?
"...uh..."
As you can tell, I had not yet recovered from my shock; however, that slap to the cheek directed by him brought me out of that as quickly as I got into it.
"Ouch!" I yelped, turning my face away from him and rubbing my cheek.
"You deserved it," he answered coolly, his voice shaking in the slightest, most Cameron-like manner, "What on earth did you get yourself into?"
"I was just going to ask you!" I groaned, banging my head on the table where the keyboard to the computer, that damned computer, was sitting nonchalantly.
"Well, why would you ask me?" he grumbled in vexation, trying to pull my head up by the short locks of unclean, unconditioned brown hair that sat atop my head.
"You're smart," I grumbled back, refusing to let him pluck my head from the table. I could practically hear him rolling his bright green eyes as he huffed (and he puffed, and blew the house down). It took a couple of minutes of useless persuasion, but eventually, he began to crack.
"So what if I know what it is?" he muttered, earning a rather sudden "Aha!" from me, resulting in a jump. A jump! I made Cameron Shylers jump, and not just for shits and giggles- in surprise! Man, how awesome is that?
"Aha!" I shouted, jamming my finger to his chest with a smile that could only be described as rabid etched on my face, "so you can help me out with this!" Cameron huffed again, crossing his arms and looking away.
"Why?" he asked. Now, that could have been taken two ways- either as "why do you need my help?" or as "why should I help you?" Knowing Cameron, I sided with the latter.
"Because, first off, if your..." What's the word that would piss him off the most? "...master," I smirked as he glared at me, "finds out about me, who will get in trouble?"
"..."
"I'm waiting for an answer."
"...me."
"Ding ding ding, we have a winner!" I sneered, crossing my arms and feeling oh-so-very confident. After a minute or two of useless arguing, he finally revealed the information I needed.
1. Hetalia was an Anime.
2. There were only a few sane characters in that anime- the personifications of China, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Liechtenstein, Ukraine, Japan and Canada.
3. Apparently, Cameron Shylers had a secret thing for the personification of Hungary.
4. If I ended up with a Russia, I was going to die.
I don't know about you, but after hearing that I was in a greater state of shock than earlier. My first unit, which could possibly result in my eminent doom, was coming tomorrow; my life was officially in ruins.