Author: MercurialLily
Fandom: Hetalia
Title: Iris
Rating: T
Pairing: None

So I don't entirely remember what inspired the idea for this, but it combines several of my interests (including history and weaponry). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

There will be individual warnings for each chapter, but I'll just give all of them here so you know what you're getting yourself into: mentions of alcohol and drug use, sex (consensual and non-con), suicide, prostitution, violence, blood/gore, and death. You're in for a fucking ride.

"Get out of here."

"No, I can't leave you!"

"And you can't take me with you! Listen to me. Please. If you don't leave, we'll both die. I can't have that. Just...go."

"But -"

"Go! Now!"

. . . . .

October 6, 1993, Minsk

The rain fell steadily, the drops pattering against the pavement. People on the street hunched over as the wind tossed them about. A man stood under the overhang of a butcher shop, smoking a cigarette. His light jacket didn't seem to be keeping him very warm. A young woman sat on the steps of a lodging house, a baby in her arms, a small child of two or three on the steps beside her. She was trying to soothe her crying baby. A skinny grey cat darted across the street.

Natalya barely noticed any of this. She kept her head down, avoiding the eyes of passers-by. Her tattered coat and torn stockings were doing little to keep her warm, but they were all she had, so she couldn't complain. If anything, she wanted better shoes. The ugly wooden sandals on her feet were at least two sizes too small and ridiculously painful to walk in. The blisters she had gave proof of this. Maybe I should just go barefoot, she thought. At least the bow in her hair was in relatively good condition. She still looked cute.

Her stomach growled, and she thrust her hand into her pocket, feeling around for money. She felt nothing. Glancing up, she saw a seemingly well-to-do man standing on the street corner, reading the paper. He could be a good target. Natalya's steps became more deliberate. Twenty strides away. Then fifteen. Ten. Five...

The man didn't even notice Natalya's small hand slide into the pocket of his jacket. Nor did anyone else see her pull the wallet out and hide it under her coat. She was able to get away with drawing any attention to herself.

Natalya ducked into the doorway of a shop and opened the wallet, digging through it for money, cards, anything. All she found were three rubles and a few kopeks. It wasn't enough to buy even half a loaf of black bread. She'd have to find money some other way.

Mussing up her hair, Natalya made her way toward the dodgier end of the city. Most people avoided it as much as they could - the streets were filled with drug dealers, prostitutes, and other kinds of seedy folk. But Natalya knew it well. To her, it was home. Technically, it was her home, seeing as she had no flat to call her own.

Life on the streets was not easy for a girl of seventeen. She had been quite young when her parents died, leaving her to fend for herself, and she had no memory of a dry home or warm food. For years, she had spent much of her time begging on street corners, her only clothes being a threadbare dress, a scarf, and one shoe. As she grew older, she became adept at stealing - food, clothes, money, whatever she could get her hands on. She was desperate for work, but no one would hire her. So, with very few other options, Natalya became a part of the criminal underground. Her main trade was pickpocketing, but she also engaged in everything from selling drugs and other illegal substances to breaking and entering. She even worked as a more-than-occasional prostitute. That was often the quickest way to earn money, but it was also the most disgusting. She was frequently surprised at the number of men who were willing to fuck a young girl. However, even that didn't deter her. She did what she had to do to get money.

She approached a stocky, dark-haired man skulking around a burnt-out building. "Hey, Maks," she said, careful to keep her voice low. "You got anything for me to sell tonight?"

Maks shook his head. "Sorry, toots. Should have more by tomorrow, though."

"Tomorrow? I haven't eaten in two days because of your low supply. You've got to have something," Natalya pressed.

"Nope. Come back tomorrow."

With a scowl, Natalya sauntered off. Part of her wanted to rough him up a bit, just to make sure he was telling the truth, but she knew better. Maks had beaten her up before, so she had learned to control herself.

If it wasn't so cold, she would have taken off her coat and undone her shirt a bit to attract potential customers. Maybe if she just tried to look sexy, that would do the trick. The other working girls, most of whom were much older than she was and far less attractive, regarded her coldly as she leaned against the wall of a redbrick building, one hand on her hip. She felt ridiculous, but there was a chance it would work.

It took a while, but finally a man came over to her. He was reasonably good-looking, tall, and well-dressed. He looked like he'd have a good amount of money on him. Natalya put on a seductive smile as he asked, "You on the job?"

"Of course. Follow me." Natalya turned and walked a little ways before slipping into an alleyway. The man went with her. Taking a deep breath, Natalya let her coat fall to the ground. Then she pressed her back against the rough wall.

It was over in five minutes. Natalya immediately reached for her coat and pulled it around herself. She shivered and stamped her feet, then held out her hand expectantly. The man sighed and pressed some bills into her hand. He left shortly after.

Natalya counted the bills. It wasn't as much as she would have preferred, but it was enough to put some food in her stomach. If she was lucky, she might be able to convince someone to let her have a quick shower.

She straightened her clothes and smoothed down her hair. She was about to turn and walk out of the alley when her arms were grabbed and pulled behind her back. She struggled and thrashed, attempting to cry out, but a cloth was pressed over her mouth. She began to feel light-headed. Is this...how I die? Is this the end? As she faded, she heard muffled voices speaking in a foreign tongue - Polish, perhaps. Then everything went black.

A/N: Kopeks are subdivisions of rubles (like how cents are subdivisions of dollars).

This is going to be a pretty intense story, so I hope you're ready to buckle down and enjoy. Thanks for reading!