Thump, thump, thump, thump.

The sudden noise awoke Italy with a start. He sat up, and realized he wasn't in the hotel he had fallen asleep in. No, this place was more cramped and stuffy. Looking around like a bird scouting its prey, he observed his surroundings, hoping for any clues that could help him figure out his whereabouts.

"Oh, its hot," Thought Italy, while sweat dripped off his brow, falling towards the ground.

Plop. The droplet made a sort of clanging noise, almost metallic. He wondered where he was. Obviously someplace evil, there's no pasta!, he thought. Italy pieced together all of this. His concentration was broken by the sudden rumbling of his stomach.

"Ho bisogno di cibo!" Italy whined, his tummy obviously not willing to bend its hunger so he could focus.

Alright, let's think, Italy thought. Its dark, cramp, and the floor is some sort of metal. As he finally pieced together he was in a car trunk, Italy sighed. Not again. He dug in his pocket until he found a small handkerchief attached to a stick.

"I surrender, Mi arrendo, Mi arrendo!" Italy screamed. He knew no one could hear him. Italy hoped it was a joke from his brother, Romano, but somehow he knew it wasn't.

The car jerked forward, Italy's head crashed into what seemed to be the door in the back. As the sound of the engine stopped, he heard voices coming from the outside. They were muffled but he could still make out that there were four of them, each with a distinct accent.

As the voices grew nearer, Italy felt his heart pounding through his chest, obviously horrified of the awaiting doom that faced him. Light flooded his eyes, and Italy could make out four silhouettes. Giant hands grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him out of the trunk. Italy's eyes, which had finally adjusted to the light, could now perceive the faces of his kidnappers.

Well, he wished he could see their faces. All of them were wearing ski-masks (cliche, right?) except for one. She was black, and sort of pudgy. The mysterious woman also had a pair of glasses and a spoon of some sort.
"Hello, Italy. My name is Alabama," the lady spoke, with a very down home and soulful drawl that made you automatically feel safe.

Italy, who had been lulled into a false sense of security, ran at Alabama, and hugged her. One of the masked people took him by his waist, and pushed him back into the car. Italy, now confused about his situation, looked around.

Okay, so there's a gas station. And a desert. This isn't the Canadian hotel I fell asleep in, Italy thought. He had no idea how right he was.

Well people, thanks for reading my chapter. Oh yeah, translations

Ho bisogno di cibo- I need food

Mi arrendo- I surrender