Authors note

Turtle: HEEEEEEEEY!

Gecko: You sound like a cheerleader. What a terrifying thought.

Turtle: STFU.

Ghouti: I have to go to bed you idiots.

Turtle: Aw, don't be so mean! Lighten up! J

Ghouti: I still have to go to bed. *glares*

Gecko: Fanfiction is definitely worthy to be sleep-deprived. Now shouldn't we be doing our jobs?

Turtle: Hehe. Sorry. But anyway, here is the presentation of TRIO OF MADNESS! (Fanfare and shit)

Ghouti: I have to go to bed. I'm leaving.

Turtle: B-b-bu—

Gecko: Aaaanywaaaay…Trio of Madness. Ghouti here came up with the basic idea and then sat back to enjoy our labors. I made the skeleton of the story (his name is Greg), the plot, and characters.

Turtle: HEY!

Gecko: Oh yeah, and Turtle helped…a little.

Turtle: *pouty face*

Gecko: And then I cracked the whip to make Turtle type the story (she gets really fast on coffee but gets distracted easily).

Turtle: Suck it, bitches.

Gecko: And then I went over everything she did and made it better. Because I am just that awesome.

Turtle: This feels kind of degrading…but whatevs. And now time for the Disclaimer! We—

Ghouti: Will you keep it down I need to sleep. We don't own Hetalia.

Turtle: *starts blubbering* G-GHOUTI! YOU CAME BACK!

Ghouti: The fu—

Gecko: AND HERE'S THE STORY!

Prologue

19 Years Ago

There are so many unknowns in this world that it would be impossible to count them all. You get stuff like mythical creatures, why women are so complicated, and the like. There are several that everyone wants to know, and then there are those little mysteries that nobody really cares about except for the people who had way too much time on their hands. Generally these people are told to get a life, except for the times when said person is just crazy enough that no one will bother talking to them in the first place.

This does not usually happen.

However, when it does happen, sometimes you get a psychopath. Because no one was willing to talk to them and stop them on their spiral downwards, they become radical nutjobs.

This happens even less. Because some people are just sane enough to realize they do need lives.

But nutjobs are real problems, especially when you get intelligent nutjobs. Stupid nutjobs are easy to take care of; throw them a bone and they'll stay locked up with it for give or take twenty years, going on about this and that thing they discovered when actually it's just a piece of scientific shit. No, the real problems are the nutjobs who are in their right minds and can actually latch onto something, the ones who will actually know when they are being screwed over. These types of people are considered problems.

And if you get enough of these psychos in one place, they are considered a big problem.

(The last time that happened was Woodstock. Freaking hippies.)

Charles was one of these 'problem' type people. The government called him radical, insane, but it made absolutely no sense to him. Why did they care if he slapped a few people around to get what he wanted? The results were spectacular.

Real live country-people. Simply incredible. And apparently, they were thousands of years old! A strange country that had died out years before but still…existed. Prussia. A country whose human was extremely cold and seemed to be able to exude some sort of…purple aura? That seemed to cause people great fear. His own nation—America—a human that could break through brick walls without blinking an eye, but seemed to be a complete idiot. And so many more…they were, without a doubt, incredible.

No one had believed him at first—after all, he was just another crackpot scientist, right? Completely insane.

But then people had started listening. Paying attention. Albeit a very small group of people, but still people nonetheless. In fact, he was meeting with them today. Which made him happy. For years he had been ridiculed and mocked for his strange discoveries, but now someone was actually listening! Someone actually respected his work and wanted to see it!

As he stepped into that room, with his thick manila folder under one arm and his fate in his other, he knew that this was the turning point of his life. For better, or for worse, Charles didn't know. But what he did know was that all 22 people in that room were staring at him, sizing him up like some piece of meat.

Charles swallowed, hard. He'd never been good with crowds. He didn't say anything, just hesitated in the doorway, drew in a deep breath, and walked into the room. The occupant's eyes did not leave him as he strode to the small podium at the other end, and placed the folder on top of it, withdrawing the contents with a sort of determined finality. After a while, though, some of them got impatient. A woman, her long raven hair done up in a bun, rose to her feet.

"Are you Charles Krow?" She asked, voice clear and accent distinctly southern. "You are late."

"I am he." Charles replied coolly, eyebrows rising ever so slightly. "And it was no easy feat getting over here, I assure you. I came as quickly as I could."

"We got over perfectly fine." Another man—tall and skinny, with short brown hair and sharp green eyes—interjected, his voice slightly derisive.

"And who do you think was taking down the cameras to let you in?" He replied instantly, lips thinning into a small line of displeasure. The others shifted uncomfortably by this new development. "You honestly thought that I was allowed to hold a meeting of this kind in a place like this? Please."

When the group remained silent, Charles's smile brightened ever so slightly—but it never touched his eyes. "Right then. Shall we continue?" He asked, and plucked up a DVD he'd laid out on the podium in front of him. With a sort of flourish, he pushed the DVD into the player and started it, inwardly sighing in relief when the TV flickered on. Honestly, he'd had no idea if that was going to work—he was not very good with technology.

The first picture that showed up was an airport, people frozen in place as they milled about. Charles paused for dramatic effect, and then pointed to a blonde man sitting at a table, sipping some sort of drink, probably a coffee of some sort. "This is the United States of America."

There was a hushed silence. They'd all heard about his work, and had all thought it to be true, but seeing it was a completely different thing. The raven-haired woman narrowed her eyes in disbelief, but waited for him to continue.

"He looks to be in his twenties in this picture, does he not?" That thin little smile was back. People grunted a reluctant reply.

"Ten years ago." He pressed play, and the picture turned into another one, this time a picture of what was obviously a group of army men. They were all dressed in camo, and not one of them looked familiar. Except for the man on the end, and there was a ripple of shock when they noticed him. He was grinning brightly to the camera under a ridiculously large hat, blue eyes sparkling. Charles pointed to him now. "Again, he looks no more than twenty years old. This may not be so unusual, but…" Again, Charles pressed play. "Twenty years before that."

Again, the man in another group of army men—obviously the Vietnam War, judging by the date and the uniforms—and again, he didn't look any older than twenty.

"These three pictures were ridiculously hard to find—they had been wiped out, destroyed from any files anywhere on the planet. However…let's say, I had to smack a few heads around to find out what I did. But then I dug deeper." Now, he held up a picture that was terrible quality, but when it was passed around the United States of America's face was still clearly visible. It couldn't have been before the 1910's. And then another picture, from the 1890's. Another one, with the young nation standing awkwardly next to Abraham Lincoln, looking thoroughly miserable. And finally…a picture that was the copy of an oil painting of the room in Philadelphia where the Declaration of Independence was written, with the Founding Fathers talking to each other, and the image of America was clear as he sat next to Benjamin Franklin.

Everyone held their breaths. No one believed he was lying anymore. No one doubted.

"But that's not the only thing I have about these…countries."

"You mean there are more of them?" The raven-haired woman interrupted, her eyes flashing dangerously with something that looked rather…dangerous. Ambition? Some sort of pleasure at there being more of the strange human-countries? Charles couldn't tell. And he wasn't quite sure he liked it.

"Well…" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes. And you are?"

"Rachel Thompson." A boring enough name for a rather…interesting woman. Charles shook off the feeling of anxiety at such an ambitious person being close to him and his work.

"I see. Thank you. As I was saying, this isn't the only thing I have about these countries. Documents, files, all top secret of course. It was no easy feat to retrieve these. And anyone who doesn't believe me," Charles looked coolly over the group of people, trying to look for any hesitation, any doubt. He found none. "Can leave now."

No one moved.

After a moment of silence, one voice rang out. "So what are we going to do about them?" It was a man, his face weasel-like and unpleasant. There was something ratty about him that Charles didn't trust at all.

"That is why we're here." Charles began, and quietly began outlining his plan.


18 years ago

"Russia, I don't understand why this is so important!"

Spain nudged Prussia, his face carefree and cheerful, as per usual. "I am sure there is a very good reason why Russia wants to get closer to us!"

Honestly, the Spaniard didn't have a clue why Russia wanted to talk to the two of them together, but you never said no to a country like that mammoth. So the two of them would have to put up with Russia's psychotic tendencies until they could figure out what was going on.

Prussia scowled at Spain, and hissed so Russia couldn't hear, "That guy is a crazy bastard. Any minute now he's going to turn around and beat the shit out of us or something!"

"Now why would I do anything like that to a comrade?"

The two countries flinched, and looked around at Russia, expressions of guilt and slight fear on both their faces. Spain was the first to react, though, and he turned around with another brilliant smile. "Sorry, Russia! We just don't know what you want, and maybe if you told us we would be a little less nervous!"

The larger country cocked his head curiously, childlike expression somehow adding to the creepiness instead of taking the edge off of it. He seemed to consider it for a few seconds, before he shrugged their queries off. "It's a surprise~!" Russia simply said, and smiled in what was supposed to be a reassuring fashion. The other countries were not reassured.

"I still don't like this…" Prussia muttered to Spain, who shrugged minutely, green eyes looking off to the side as though disinterested.

And that's when they heard the shout.

The two turned around, and stared at Russia in shock as he was bombarded with…people. Black-clothed people who swarmed around the large nation as though they were bees and he was a bear. However the people only remained on the country for a few seconds, because he easily leapt into the air and shook them off, his pipe appearing out of nowhere as his purple eyes flashed dangerously. But the people were no longer interested in Russia; one of them shouted something to the others, and then they descended upon Prussia and Spain. The two countries were fighting back, but the numbers were enough to push them back.

Prussia felt a small, curious prick on the back of his neck, but he ignored it. Probably just a bug or something.

Spain felt something jab into his arm, and flinched back, his elbow slamming into the persons face. The person grunted and fell back, landing with a nasty thump on the ground. A second later, the strange people who had attack them vanished.

Prussia blinked, staring at the now empty space. Spain and Russia did so as well, their weapons still raised up in case of another attack.

But another one didn't come.

Several yards away, the strange people all pulled off their hoods and stared at each other in shock.

"They were monsters." One of them whispered, shuddering.

"But did we get it?"

"…yes."

Turtle: Hey, peeps. It is I.

So listen up, everyone. Welcome to a Trio of Madness. First of all, you might know me better as 'IceEckos12', and Gecko as 'West Carson Girl'. Ghouti doesn't really have an FF account, so technically this is where she would post stuff…? But anyway.

The author's note was a little crazy up there, since we weren't actually all talking to each other—Ghouti literally had to go to bed—so we kind of had to guess what she'd say. I think it's pretty accurate, personally, but whatevs. The only reason they're not here too is because this is the serious author's note and I really don't feel like getting in contact with the others because trying to talk to those two psychos yesterday was hard enough. -_-

But we are actually three different people, in case that confused any of you. But as we were saying, this is how the story is being written; Ghouti came up with the idea when she read another FF. She told me, and then we both told Gecko. Gecko and I came up with the plotline and characters (I did more than a little, thank you very much), and I wrote it.

Just a warning: THIS IS AN OC STORY. Three OC's, guys. However these are not Mary Sue's, and there will—hopefully—be character development. Which is the bane of my short existence.

I do think that's all…yup. And we do have this entire story planned out, so we won't be floundering for a proper plotline. Well, that's debatable...

Turtle, out!