AN: So I've had this idea for a while and I finally decided to write it. If you've read my other story titled The Breaking Point, please tell me which one you like better because I've been considering deleting that story to work on this one instead.

I hope you enjoy the chapter!

"-And that concludes today's meeting. All in favor of the new bill please raise your hand."

Every hand in the room rose in agreement.

Except for one.

"This is unconstitutional!"

A young man no older than twenty leapt up from his seat, his blue eyes as hard as ice behind his thin wire-rimmed glasses. His fist slammed down on the desk behind which he was just sitting. All eyes travelled to the man and he stood tall and proud, determined not to screw this up.

"Unbelievable! How did this even pass the Senate, let alone the House of Representatives?"

The Speaker of the House shifted behind her podium, and if she felt intimidated by the man standing, she didn't show it. Her expression was unreadable as she explained, "I'm sorry sir, but the majority rules. Both Republicans and Democrats agree on this new bill."

The man scoffed and readjusted his glasses. "Yeah, and it's the only thing they'll ever agree on. How can you possibly think this is a good idea? This goes against everything the Constitution stands for! This is something you'd see in Communist Russia, not Free America! How on Earth did this get approved?"

The House Speaker ignored him and gathered the papers on her podium into a neat pile. She looked up from her work and gazed around the room, a wide smile on her face. "Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare this Congressional meeting over. We shall pass this bill onto the President for it to become law."

The young man in the back instantly grew pale, but as soon as it had come, it passed over him and his cheeks were tinted crimson. He slammed his palms down on his desk and threw the briefing on the legislation to the floor, stomping on it and covering it in dirt from his shoes. The congressmen around him moved away slightly, trying to avoid his wrath.

Alfred F. Jones stood up before Congress and declared his rights, yelling every word with pride and drowning out the deafening applause of the officials surrounding him.

"As the United States of America, I will not allow it!"

This should have never happened.

He was the United Fucking States of America, damn it. This was not supposed to happen.

But it did.

"Over one hundred people have been reported dead in the aftermath of protests in front of the White House yesterday night. The police started firing at will when tear gas and rubber bullets did nothing to stop the protesters from climbing over the White House fence and proceeding across the White House lawn. Citizens in the surrounding areas reported hearing gunshots and screaming a little after one A.M. People are advised to stay indoors to avoid stray bullets as the protests continue and as dead bodies are removed from the-"

The television went black. Wood scraped against wood as a chair was pushed back across the floor. Footsteps echoed in the empty house as someone walked away from the kitchen and towards the sliding glass doors that led to a small garden at the back of the house. The grandfather clock in the hallway tick-tocked in a steady rhythm, the sounds being drowned out when the minute hand had finally completed another clockwise rotation and the number of chimes corresponding to the number the hour hand had settled on burst forth from the heart of the clock and filled the hallway with its deep tones.

It was 8 A.M.

Blue eyes scanned a row of overgrown hedges from behind a pair of thin wired-framed glasses. A mug of coffee sat on the old wooden bench, half full. A young man no older than twenty sat silently, motionless. A faint breeze rustled the leaves on the trees and a few came off, spiraling gently to the ground.

Far off in the distance, so far the man could hardly hear it, ambulances and police cars wailed their sirens as they raced down the streets to the White House. Gunshots and barely audible screams floated into the man's ears. He cringed and picked up his coffee mug, bringing it to his lips. Another day brought more death to his beloved capital.

A flash of pain in his head caused the man to wince, but he did not complain. It was not uncommon to feel these little bursts of pain at least twenty times a day. He had quickly grown used to them, a fact that he found rather disturbing. Ever since the protests started a little more than a month ago, he had been experiencing these pains. And ever since Congress passed that bill...

He shuddered.

He didn't want to think about that.

The feeling of something vibrating in his pocket shook him from his thoughts and he reached into his pants pocket, pulling out his iPhone. A picture of his brother covered his screen with the words "Answer" and "Decline" underneath him. The man pressed "Answer" with a small smile and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hey bro!" he said loudly. Nearby, a bird flew out from a tree, startled. "What's up?"

"Hi, America," a soft voice replied. America smiled and brought his mug to his lips. "How are things going?"

"Great! Absolutely great!"

"I'm serious, Alfred."

America cringed. Canada only used human names when he knew the nation really well, when he was pissed, or when he knew something but was too polite to ask outright what was wrong. From his tone of voice, America could tell that Canada wanted to know about the riots.

Knowing this, America sighed. "They're getting worse," he said quietly. "One hundred people dead this time and counting. I can still hear them fighting."

"And the pains?"

"More frequent and they hurt a bit more, but it's nothing the hero can't handle!" At this, America raised his mug to the sky and smiled widely. On the other end of the line, Canada sighed.

"I'm really sorry, America. I know it's been really tough on you. If there's anything I can do-"

"There you go being all Canadian again," America chuckled.

"Th-there's nothing wrong with that!" Canada said quickly. "Geez man, I was just trying to help!"

America laughed. "I know, I know! I appreciate the thought, but I'm okay."

"All right…" Canada didn't sound convinced. "So you're coming to the meeting, right?"

"Of course I am! The hero always shows up to the World Meetings! Why wouldn't I go?"

Canada's voice faltered. "W-Well, I just thought with the riots and all…"

America waved it off. "Pfft, that's not gonna stop me! Nothing gets in the hero's way!"

"Right. Well, I guess I'll see you there, then."

"Yup! See ya dude!"

"À bientôt."

America brought the phone away from his ear and ended the call with a sigh. He appreciated his brother's concern, he really did, but he also didn't want to be reminded of the things that were going on in his capital. He knew what was happening. He could hear it; he could see it. He could even feel it. He just didn't want people pointing it out to him. Every time someone did, it made the pain he experienced even worse.

Groaning as he got up from his seat, America walked back into the house to get ready for the meeting. He set his mug on the island countertop in his kitchen and ran up the staircase two steps at a time. He passed the second level of the house and stopped at the third. He could've continued up to the fourth story, but that just lead to his attic, and the last time he went there it brought up…unpleasant memories.

He walked all the way down the hall and entered the last room on the right—his bedroom. It was still dark due to America dragging himself out of bed when he heard gunshots and immediately rushing downstairs, making him forget to open the curtains. The clock on his bedside table read 8:32, so he went over to his closet and began to leaf through his hanging clothes quickly. After a few minutes of debating, America finally decided on a plain gray suit to wear. He wasted no time getting ready. In just a few minutes, he stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom making the final adjustments to his clothes. When he thought he looked ready, he nodded to himself and walked back through his room. He had his hand on the doorknob and was about to turn it when he stopped suddenly.

He stood at the door for a minute, thinking. He sighed and turned around, then knelt down to the very last drawer on his dresser. He opened it and lifted up various pairs of jeans until he finally came across what he was looking for.

At the very bottom of the drawer was a small black semi-automatic pistol. It was fully loaded and America clicked it off of safety mode, then stuck it in halfway into the back of his pants. He really didn't want to take it with him as he was walking through his own capital, but with the way things were going, it looked like he had no choice. Looking at his back in the mirror to make sure the gun wasn't showing, America nodded and continued down to the second floor.

Once there, America went down another hallway and pushed past a big set of French doors into his work area. He went over to the large, shiny oak desk near the back wall and started grabbing random papers off of it. He looked over them quickly and stuffed them in his briefcase, then took said briefcase and headed downstairs to the first floor.

As America passed his kitchen, he took one last sip of his now cold coffee and put the mug in the sink. After that he headed over to the front door and put on a light jacket, then jammed his socked feet into a pair of black dress shoes. He fished in his pocket for his house keys and once he closed the door behind him, he locked the door and proceeded to walk to the heart of Washington DC.

America really enjoyed living in Georgetown. It was only a few miles from the White House, so he could take a nice long stroll when he felt like it, but it was also fairly isolated and the people there minded their business, so it was very peaceful and quiet. Not to mention all of the houses were either large colonials or even bigger modern mansions. Georgetown was very upscale and classy, and America liked that it reflected not only his personality, but also the hard work that it took to get to where he was today. Just that thought made him smile as he crossed the street and continued his way to the White House.

As America walked, his mood fell further and further as the sounds of protesting became louder and louder. Georgetown wasn't as quiet as it had been before due to the rise in protests all around the city. People hated what the government was doing, and America couldn't blame them one bit. But because the people were enraged by the politicians and other government officials, America found himself afraid to walk around the city when dressed for a meeting or gathering at the White House. And as he entered the heart of Washington, his hands twitched and moved towards his gun as people gave him dirty looks.

Even though he wouldn't even die if someone shot him, America still felt the need to carry a gun with him. Part of the reason was because he was exercising his second amendment right, which was also on the verge of being taken away, and partly because he just wanted to intimidate those who threatened him. He would never actually use it unless absolutely necessary, but with the way things were going, he had no idea what some people would do, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

Alfred stopped at a four-way intersection for the bus to come pick him up. He had been walking for about two hours now because he stopped by a few places on the way, and was finally in DC. Now he just needed to take a bus across the Potomac and into Virginia to get to the Washington Dulles International Airport. As he waited patiently and swung his briefcase at his side, his phone suddenly started ringing. The national anthem started playing and Alfred immediately knew that the President was calling. He quickly took the phone out of his pocket and answered it, then held it to his ear.

"Good morning, sir!" he said loudly. People gave him weird looks after they passed, and America made a mental note to talk quieter. He shifted his phone to the other ear and held it with his shoulder as he transferred his briefcase to his other hand. "What can I do for ya?"

"Yes, good morning, Alfred." America furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. The President rarely called him by his first name. "There's something important I need to discuss with you."

"Right now?" America asked. He checked his watch. 10:30. The meeting started at 11:15. "I have a meeting today, and I need to get to my flight like, right now…"

"This is urgent. I need you here straight away."

"Is this about the protests?" The White House was only two blocks away, and America could hear the yelling of protesters starting to get louder. Police officers were already on the scene and trying to push back protesters, and America could see the SWAT team coming down the street and around the corner. Alfred gulped. Things were getting worse.

"Partly. But right now I need you in my office. Forget about the meeting. You don't need to go."

"A-Are you sure?"

"Positive. Now hurry."

America scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Okay…I'll be there in five to ten minutes, sir. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

As soon as America ended the call, he dialed another number and began to walk across the street towards the sound of gunfire and screaming. When he reached the other side of the road, he broke into a run.

"Hello? What is it, America?"

"Canada, we have a problem."

Canada paced the length of the hallway outside the conference room quickly as he bit his fingernails. His violet eyes stared at the floor in deep thought and his other hand was busy pulling at his hair. Kumajirou sat on the floor looking up at his owner curiously.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Canada waved him off. "I'm not even going to try."

Normally Canada would have answered the polar bear, but right now he was too worried to care. And his reasons to worry were simple: America was late. He had never been late to a meeting before, especially if it was held in Canada since it was right above him. But for some reason, today he wasn't there yet. America had even said that he would be there when Canada called earlier that morning, so why wasn't he there yet? Was it because of the protests?

Everybody knew about the protests at the meeting. Word had spread fast and every nation knew what America was dealing with. It was actually supposed to be one of the topics at the meeting, but it wouldn't make sense to talk about protests and riot control when the nation the problem was occurring in wasn't even there.

Canada sighed and looked into the conference room through one of the small windows in the door and exhaled nervously. All of the other nations were already there, but Canada didn't want to start without his brother. Even though it was only 10:30 and the meeting didn't officially start until 11:15, all of the other nations had arrived almost an hour ago and were getting tired of waiting, so they decided to start early. But with America still not there, it looked like the starting time would have to be pushed back to what it originally was supposed to be. It would be unfair to discuss things without America. Even though his ideas probably wouldn't help on other topics, it was still rude to cast him off completely.

Deciding to push back the start time, Canada was about to enter the conference room and announce that they should wait for America a little bit longer when England stepped out of the room and looked at him angrily. He stormed over to Canada and grabbed his arm, then started dragging him into the conference room.

"Bloody git," he scolded. "Where have you been? We've been waiting for you for ages."

"U-Uh…I'm not America…" Canada said weakly. England stopped in his tracks and raised his eyebrows.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm Canada…"

It took a moment for the name to click, but once it did, England's eyes widened and he let go of Canada's arm. "Oh dear, my apologies, Canada. You look so much like your brother that I thought you were him for a minute!"

"You don't say…" Canada muttered.

"What did you say? I didn't catch that."

"Oh nothing!" Canada laughed nervously. "Um, did America ever say anything about not coming to the meeting to you? Because this morning he told me he would be here, but I'm not sure if something came up or not."

England thought for a minute before shaking his head. "I don't recall him saying anything. Then again, the wanker never tells me anything anyway. Surely he would have called you if-"

Suddenly, Canada's phone began to ring.

Canada, curious to see who would be calling him since hardly anyone ever called him except for America, took the phone out of his pocket. When he saw his brother's face on the screen, he immediately pressed "Answer".

"Hello? What is it, America?"

"Canada, we have a problem."

When England saw the confused look on Canada's face, he raised an eyebrow. Canada only shrugged.

"What kind of problem? What's going on?"

"My boss just called me into his office and I'm heading over there right now. It sounded really urgent, so I don't know if I'll be able to get to the meeting in time."

"But, America, you said..." Canada paused and strained his ears to listen. "Are those gunshots in the background?"

America laughed shortly. "Yeah…but hey, I'm taking the back way. No sane person would walk in through the front doors. I'll call you as soon as my boss is done telling me whatever's so important. Go ahead and start the meeting without me."

"Are you sure? We can wait for you, you know,"

"Nah, it's okay. I'll be over as soon as I can, though."

"Okay…well, bye."

Canada hung up and turned to England, who was looking at him expectantly. They walked into the conference room together and England returned to his seat. All eyes were on Canada as he remained standing at the front of the room. "Uh…" he started nervously. He wasn't used to so many people actually paying attention to him. "America just called and said he'll be late and that we can begin without him."

"Of course," Germany sighed. "You can never count on America to be punctual." He took a stack of paper out of his briefcase and stood up. Canada, sensing that Germany was ready to present, sat down next to France and tried to pay attention as Germany began to speak, but it wasn't helping that he was worried about America and that France kept trying to kick England under the table, which resulted in England kicking back and missing so he was kicking Canada instead.

The meeting went on for a full ten minutes when all of sudden Canada's phone began to ring. All eyes snapped to him as he took the phone out of his pocket to check who it was. It was America, and deciding that everyone should hear why he was late, Canada put his brother on speaker.

"Hey bro, I'm not going to make it to the meeting today."

Everyone raised their eyebrows. England opened his mouth to say something, but France motioned for him to stop and let Canada speak. For that, Canada was grateful, and he made sure everyone was quiet before he responded.

"Why? Is something wrong over there?"

"Well…I can't come."

Canada looked at his phone confusedly. "What do you mean you can't come?"

"Exactly what I said. I can't come, Literally. I'm not allowed to go."

"Why wouldn't you be allowed to go? That doesn't make any sense."

"Look, I really can't talk right now. I have to go. I'm not gonna be able to talk to you or anyone else for a while."

Canada could tell at once that something was completely wrong. America sounded very nervous and his voice was shaking. Secondly, his whole message sounded horribly wrong. What did he mean he wasn't allowed to go? Why wouldn't he be able to talk to anyone for a long time? What was going on down in Washington?

"America, I don't understand. What's going on?"

"…I don't have time. I have to go; I'm sorry. Tell everyone not to worry and that I'll be back as soon as I can. Bye."

The line went dead and everyone looked at the phone in shock. The same thought ran through all of their heads:

What the hell was going on?

AN: Oh snap. Mysteries. I hope you liked this chapter. Please let me know in the comments.

Mei-Ling out. Peace! :3