A/N: My writing style on this is very confusing on purpose. I didn't use quotation marks, but I'll italicize the dialogue instead. I also won't tell you whose point of view the story is in, even if it changes, because it's pretty easy to figure out, and it's part of the writing style. But I'll tell you that the shorter parts of the chapter are told in a general perspective, and not that of a specific character. This writing style is experimental, so tell me what you think.

I don't think this would be considered as a trollfic because I actually bothered trying to make it good. It's made to somewhat parody(and/or make fun of) Twilight, Zombie Apocalypse movies, and other overrated stories of the sort.

If anyone is unfamiliar with their human AU names:

Arthur Kirkland- UK

Alfred F. Jones- USA

Ivan Braginsky- Russia

Francis Bonnefoy- France

Ludwig Weillschmidt- Germany

Chapter One

The Jones Conspiracy

Captain Obvious

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a problem in our hands.

No shit, Sherlock.

Let's face it we're all doomed.

Everybody, shut up and smile for the camera.

My Brother Alfred

When my brother, Alfred, was a little boy, he expressed his imagination a bit too far. At nights when our parents were away, Alfred and I stayed up until both hands of the antique clock aligned at the number twelve. The soft lullaby of the bells declaring the beginning of a new hour wandered in my bedroom, along with the howls of our neighbor's dog. That was my cue to take a peek at Alfred, to make sure the nightmares didn't haunt him. I kept the lights turned off and brought a flashlight to accompany me to Alfred's room across the narrow hallway, his door was opened halfway.

Alfred, I called out his name, no more than a whisper from where I stood beneath the doorframe. Arthur, he said, I can't sleep. My flashlight cast a shadow on his restless face, darker than a unicorn at twilight. I flicked the switch and knelt beside his bed. I offered to tell him a story and he nodded as I felt something cold and tiny grasp my hand.

Once upon a time, I began, in a kingdom far far away, there lived a unicorn named Charles.

No, my brother interrupted, you already told me that story. He threw his blanket off, jumped onto the carpet, and reached under his bed. He climbed back up and made room for me to lie next to him, which I did. Here, he handed me a thin pile of papers held together with excessive amounts of glue with bits of lint and dust. Scribbles. The book contained innocent scribbles of circles, stars, and rockets that looked like crayons.

I'll read it for you, Alfred said even though he couldn't read at the time, you told me your stories so I'll tell you mine. Once upon a time in a galaxy far far far really far away, there was a little gray alien named Tony. Tony likes to go on adventures and eat McDonald's. And then Super Alfred...

My little brother. He told me stories about aliens and superheroes. His arms flailed and his mouth made explosive sounds. I sat there and smiled.

...saved the day and became the hero! The end.

The Boy Who Cried Zombie

Zombie! the boy cried,

but the villagers didn't come to the rescue.

Whatever did I do to make you ignore me? I never made a false alarm! Never!

Still, nobody came.

As his flesh was getting ripped apart, his voice screeched, yet nobody came to help.

It's not that the zombies ate them all, he thought.

It's not that they can't hear me, he thought.

They think I'm nuts.

Arthur

Arthur! Arthur! Do you think I'll let you leave without saying goodbye?

Alfred grabbed my shoulders when I was about to take my seat behind the wheel.

Mom said I can have your room when you leave!

So, this was his idea of goodbye.

It had been years until he showed me that book again. I couldn't believe that a male teenager like him kept the book all those years. The book that lay in my hands at that moment, The Jones Conspiracy. It started out as doodles of Tony the Little Gray Alien's Adventures, but when the pages reached a diary entry labeled on Alfred's eighth birthday, I felt like I was in an empty hole.

Alfred writing in a diary? How absurd. But when I read ahead, it all started to make sense. Far-fetched theories about aliens and zombies were what I made out of skimming through the lopsided pages.

And then Alfred gave me a slight punch on the arm.

Well, it was nice knowing you, bro.

The corners of my mouth twitched upward and I said that I'll miss you too, Alfred.

And so, I got in the car, and I read. I wanted to hit the gas and leave, move far away, but I found the entries too intriguing. Alfred stopped writing the day before he turned thirteen. All the entries began with the words last night, I dreamed of. And they all ended with the words I was right.

All except for the last entry, which told the story of The Boy Who Cried Zombie, which ended with I don't know if I'm right.

It wasn't until years later when I realized Alfred wasn't delusional, he was special. Chosen.

Ladies and Gentlemen, We Have a Problem In Our Hands

I'll get the straitjacket, Francis said.

Clearly, the apocalypse has driven our so-called leader insane, so remain calm, Ludwig said.

The inside of the room was just as chaotic as it would have been outside. Everyone listen, I yelled, we need to find Alfred! He can help us!

He probably died off with the rest of the world, someone from the back implied.

Shut up! He's alive! I know he's alive!

Multiple voices commanded Arthur calm down!

Apparently, I wasn't the only one who grew tired of the constant bickering. A tall figure from the far end of the room rose from his seat and stepped on the table. He walked across his table, to the next one, and the next one, until he reached me. He bent down so his eyes were the same level as mine and said I'm leaving.

What? I heard the room say in unison.

The man stepped of the platform and grabbed a nearby rifle as he headed towards the exit. I assumed that his next words would be his last.

Braginsky! You can't just leave! Are you suicidal? I called out to him.

He turned his head to look at me and said that it's not like we are going to survive for long. For all I know, we stopped living a long time ago.

If you're heading to your death out there in the surface, then give me back my rifle and use your own! I scream at him.

I'll return it, he simply put in.