A/N- Hiya! Sorry for the short first chapter, but it does function as more of a prologue than an actual chapter. This is my first AmeBel fanfic and my second attempt at a fanfiction altogether (my first one failed miserably), so feedback would be appreciated! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! Hetalia, Belarus, and America belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. Story belongs to me. (This might be one of the first stories in this AU (if my schedule permits me), as I would really love to expand it.)

Chapter 1

Alfred studied his target through the scope of his gun then rested his finger on the trigger. He adjusted his position slightly to angle the shot better as he took a deep breath in, and he pulled back the trigger as he released the air in his lungs. He didn't stop to see if he hit his mark. He never did. He never paused to watch the bullet pierce the head of his enemy, never watched the lifeless body crumble to the ground, and he certainly never watched the soldiers next to the now dead body get gunned down in their haste to tend to their friend. He always just moved on to the next target.

That's how it was every time: breath in, shoot, breath out, and move on. That was always how he worked as a soldier. Even when he wasn't a soldier, he never let himself linger on death. Heroes don't poison themselves with depressing thoughts, especially when they're about death. Heroes only do what they have to and stay positive through it all. Alfred wanted to be the hero of his people, so he did what he had to, and anyone you ask could tell you that he stayed positive.

Alfred shook himself out of his thoughts and once again took aim. Breath in, shoot, breath out, and footsteps. He froze. The sound of footsteps froze with him. Alfred mentally cursed himself. Forget what heroes do, what heroes don't do is forget to move positions after every few shots and give away their position. He slowly picked himself up into a sitting position and pulled out his loaded pistol.

"Drop the gun and turn around."

"I don't think that would be a very good idea on my part," he replied in his most confident voice.

"There are more than twenty people surrounding you right now, so it sounds like a pretty good idea to me," the voice countered. Alfred paused, trying to remember how many sets of footsteps he heard. He couldn't remember. At the time it had sounded like the whole army.

"How 'bout we just pinky promise not to shoot each other and move on?"

"I SAID DROP THE GUN AND TURN AROUND!"

Alfred flinched at the outburst. Fine, he thought, I'll do half of that. Without any further thinking, he whipped around and shot the soldier behind him square in the head. Only after he accomplished that did he realize his plan didn't extend any farther. So he continued to do what he did best- act without thinking.

There turned out to be only six other enemies, which let Alfred take advantage of the shocked stillness and take out two more. But his victory was short lived, because the four remaining soldiers quickly came to their senses and trained their guns on him. Alfred didn't slow down though. He even managed to shoot down another soldier before a bullet scraped his shoulder. Alfred stumbled back and hissed through his teeth. He tried to raise up his gun again, but found that he couldn't. One of the soldiers noticed this and ran forward to ram the butt of his gun into Alfred's head. The hard hit caused him to lose his balance and fall onto his side, cracking his head onto the ground and breaking his glasses. He lay there, too weak from blood loss to move. The feet of the three remaining soldiers swam in and out of vision in front of him.

"What will we do with him?" one panted through a thick accent. Alfred blinked, trying to clear his mind. Why did this one have an accent if the other one didn't? That would mean the first speaker had to have been a traitor. Alfred grit his teeth. A filthy traitor.

A different accented voice answered the first one, "This one killed many of our comrades. He should suffer. Also, imagine what we could make our enemies do if we held their best sniper captive."

The third soldier responded this time, "We should put him with the other pieces of scum we cannot be bothered to kill."

The other two murmured in agreement, and Alfred barely had time to process what they were saying before one of them yanked him upwards by his bad arm. He tried to suppress his scream of pain, but he didn't stand a chance against the agony that seemed to spread throughout his body- pain so terrible that he welcomed the blackout that came with it.