Perhaps not the best way to start off my ANs, but I'm currently going back and revising many of this fic's early chapters, because over time I've realized they need serious work. There will be slight variations in plot, but nothing too extreme. Currently only the first chapter has been rewritten. I will eventually revise and re-upload all through chapter thirteen, then continue with new content.
Also, on the rating: the language warning is mostly for Romano, and the violence is not excessively graphic, but that's my own judgement, and some of you more squeamish readers may find yourselves disagreeing with me in later chapters. (As this fic stands right now, there's not much.)
Additionally (sorry these ANs are so long, but this fic has a complicated history), if I haven't made it clear, I've taken down all the other chapters. If you want to save yourselves from major, major spoilers, don't read the old reviews. Don't try avoiding things. You cannot escape the spoilers.
Disclaimer: If I did own Hetalia, I don't think I'd be putting this up on a site for fanfiction.
Enjoy!
Twelve figures sat around the perimeter of a room. Some were engaged in hushed whispering, others were curled up and deep in thought, while a few were almost disinterested. The very air seemed alive with tension.
Suddenly, the sound of a bell shattered the hushed silence. All eyes turned towards the open doorway at one end of the room, then settled on one of the figures sitting inside.
A young man got to his feet, and, feeling gazes from all sides, stared straight ahead.
What happened next could not be seen, but it was nonetheless very clear. The impending sense of doom he felt. The mixture of dread and wonder. The feeling that perhaps everything would go terribly wrong.
Or maybe it would be perfect.
He would have to wait until—
Bang!
"Aaargh!"
Matthew blinked a few times as he brought his left heel closer to his face for a more careful inspection. In a startled spasm, he had hit is foot on the small wooden table next to the plush couch he had fallen asleep on.
"Just a bit red," he murmured to himself. He did his best to push the dull pain to the back of his thoughts and sat up, sweeping his bedraggled hair out of his eyes.
As he pulled his red hoodie over his head, he realized something wasn't quite right. Everything felt fuzzy to him. His surroundings were unfamiliar to him, yet his body was acting impulsively as though he had known this place like the back of his hand.
He realized he could recall no clues as to where he was. He recent memories were filled with nameless, faceless people whose deeds he could vaguely recall, but not their identities.
No use sitting around, he decided, trying to stay on top of things despite the oddness of his situation. He stood and slipped his feet into a pair of shoes waiting for him by the door of what he took to be his home.
The instant he opened the door, and icy shock made him stop in his tracks.
"Welcome."
No, the voice wasn't inside his head... but it was impossible to tell from which direction it came, nor could he distinguish the voice's owner. Someone close by.
He responded with baffled silence.
"Your new home is this town. It has a population of twelve."
Matthew frowned. Only twelve?
"You will have to govern yourselves."
I want to know why we're here to begin with, and who you are, he thought, not daring to voice his opinion aloud, for fear that the voice's owner couldn't take a frustrated remark well.
"However, this is not as simple as you may think."
Matthew wanted desperately to hold onto something, to sit down and steady himself, but he felt as though his fear and curiosity had become weights in his feet. His lip quivered slightly, but he narrowed his eyes and glanced about with deliberate suspicion—maybe the voice's owner could see him, in which case he wanted to appear on top of everything.
"Each of you have been... altered," continued the voice.
A chill ran down Matthew's spine. Altered? Is there some deadly internal alteration waiting for its time under my skin?
"You are not your ordinary human self."
His eyes widened in fear. What was he—superhuman, some otherworldly creature, a monster?
No, he told himself, you're overthinking it. That's impossible.
"Some of you have been enhanced with some new ability, while others are something entirely inhuman—still appearing like the rest of you, human, but something completely different in nature."
What?
"Except one. One of you is ordinary. Your task is figure out who is what. The first to do this and take their conclusions to the designated location will be granted freedom from this town, as well as an explanation of the circumstances on which you are taken here."
What?
"While these circumstances are important, they unfortunately cannot be disclosed to you at the moment, and should not have an effect on occurrences here. Good luck."
Matthew's distraught eyes bored into the doorknob as through enough pressure might squeeze some rational explanation out of it. When no logic was put forth by the inanimate object, Matthew collapsed onto his floor, back against the door, shoulders slumped.
It makes no sense, he wanted to scream. Why are we here? Why is this setup so absurd? What kind of cruel person would do this to us?
Weakly, he croaked out, "All this 'inhuman' nonsense isn't even possible."
But something in that cold mysterious voice's tone told him that all the knowledge and logic he was familiar with had been ripped apart. But why?
Maybe he would never know.
Drawing in a long breath, he pulled himself to his feet and left his new home. He scowled at the buildings and evening sun that greeted him.
In actuality, it was a quaint, charming place without the eerie circumstances. The center of the town hosted a tiny square building, perhaps no larger than a few telephone booths sitting next to one another. The ground was covered in dusty concrete tiles, enclosed by a ring of brick and wooden buildings. Several alleys separated blocks of two or three buildings, leading to yet another ring of structures. Most seemed residential, in addition to a few stores.
He would have to adjust quickly to this new layout.
No one was outside yet, except one other.
He was sitting on the bench just outside the general store (as indicated by its sign), the front porch of which was currently enveloped in shade. He was gazing into the distance with clear frustration on his face, but what struck Matthew was his pale skin, messy white hair, and unsettling red eyes.
Matthew bit his lip. Maybe the voice had spoken some truth. Regardless, he would want to get along with the eleven other new citizens.
"Hello," Matthew began, approaching the bench cautiously.
The man on the bench looked up at him, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Who're you?" he asked.
"My name's Matthew," Matthew replied. "Matthew Williams."
"Well, if it isn't Mattie, my oldest friend," he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in mock surprise. There was a definite hint of bitter sarcasm in his voice. Matthew didn't think it was directed at him—rather, it was towards the frustrating absurdity of their predicament. He slapped the bench beside him. "Have a seat."
"So, what's your name?" asked Matthew after a moment, tentatively sitting down.
"Why, none other than the amazing Gilbert Beilschmidt!" he replied, his tone still venomous. "Nice t' meet ya."
Matthew crossed his arms. "So if you're going to start calling me Mattie—"
"Whenever did I say that?" Gilbert retorted, cracking a grin.
"You didn't," Matthew replied. "You used the name."
Gilbert sheepishly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. Matthew was surprised to find himself suppressing a laugh in spite of the grim circumstances.
"Gil will do."
"Gil it is," Matthew confirmed. But the merriment could only go on for so long. There was a crisis at hand. "What do you make of this whole situation?"
Gilbert paused, letting out a sigh. "It's impossible. I shouldn't believe it, but I do, because I do feel different. I can't say how, but... it's not normal."
"So what's with your eyes?" asked Matthew.
"Albinism," Gilbert replied almost immediately, as though the response had become a reflex.
Matthew nodded, realizing it made sense.
"And what do you think of this mess?"
"Same as you," explained Matthew. "Except I don't feel any different."
"Mhmm."
They fell into silence for some time, until Gilbert leapt to his feet and said, "Hey, you wanna get this store up and running?"
Matthew stood up as well, following Gilbert through the doors. "What's its purpose, anyways?"
"Everyone can meet up here, I guess. There's no currency from what I've seen, but we can... distribute things in a controlled manner."
Matthew nodded and took a seat at a four-person table, planting one cheek on the wooden surface and staring sullenly into space.
Gilbert occupied himself with sorting through the store's supplies, and within five minutes, he had located every ounce of alcohol the place had to offer.
Suddenly, there was a sharp click and the door opened to reveal a dark-haired man whose anger almost had a tangible aura. He stormed in, planting his feet in front of the counter and thrusting his pointer finger at Gilbert.
"Do you have coffee?" he asked, his tone almost accusatory.
"Sure," replied Gilbert with a shrug, irked by the newcomer's impatience. "What kind do you want?"
Gilbert actually was unsure of whether there was coffee in stock, but he quickly found a coffee machine.
"Anything," the newcomer hissed, turning swiftly and sitting across from Matthew.
There was silence as a realization crossed Gilbert's mind. "You're talking to strangers and you don't know where you are... and the first thing you ask is 'do you have coffee?'"
"Please!" he said, rolling his eyes. "I don't care. This whole setup is complete bull." He paused. "But that's actually a good point; who are you guys?"
"That's Gilbert," Matthew said quietly, "and I'm Matthew."
"Right. You can call me Lovino."
Once more, they fell into silence, until an impatient Lovino slammed his fist on the table, yelling, "Goddammit, is my coffee done yet?"
"Show some respect, will you?" the albino asked, setting a steaming mug on the table with a sigh. "Where is everyone else?"
"Right here," came a voice from the doorway. The three turned to see a blond man with notably thick eyebrows standing in the doorway. All three were shocked by his unnoticed entrance, particularly Lovino, who nearly managed to choke on his coffee, a feat he had never imagined possible.
"Arthur Kirkland," said the newcomer, taking a seat right between Matthew and Lovino without waiting for an invitation. "Your names?"
"Matthew."
"Lovino."
"Gil. Er, Gilbert. Whatever," Gilbert said, hopping onto the countertop and leaning back on the register.
"Have you figured anything out yet?" Arthur asked, surprisingly calm.
"No," the all replied in unison.
"No?" Arthur echoed, looking around the shop knowingly. (Which, he noted, was less of a shop than a cafe or even a bar.)
"Well, something feels different, but I can't place it," Matthew replied after a moment of heavy silence.
"Well, that's no fun," Arthur said dryly. "You know... if my abilities are any indicator, then, well, I think... for some people, their personality or beliefs may have been taken into account when determining what they are or what they can do. In some cases... maybe even appearance."
Arthur placed distinct weight on appearance.
Three heads all turned toward Gilbert, who had suddenly taken an immense interest in playing with the napkin dispenser. When he could sense the stares around him, he looked up and narrowed his eyes at Arthur.
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying that however you've been altered, or whatever you are now, you, my friend, probably aren't entirely human," Arthur explained bluntly.
"Well, whatever I am, I'll be much more awesome than you and your eyebrows," Gilbert spat, trying (and failing) to hide a smile, because he knew he should be angry.
"Excu—"
"Will you shut up?"
"Lovino?"
"Look," he said, "I don't know about you, but I think this whole thing is stupid. It's impossible. A rouse. But you're all believing it—and you, Arthur, playing along with it! Argue amongst yourselves all you want, but keep me out of it, because it's really pissing me off. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go off on my own and enjoy accepting the fact that I'm perfectly sane and human."
He turned sharply and began to walk out the door. He violently jerked the door open, only to find his face in some ridiculously tall person's scarf. The Italian backed away in shock. The newcomer, who he presumed he had just bumped into, was dressed in a thick black coat, despite the day's heat, and had eyes an unnerving shade of violet. Lovino, realizing this, backed up further.
"I... I'm sorry, uh—"
"Ivan!" he filled in cheerfully, with a distinct Russian accent. "Ivan Braginsky."
"Well, then, good day to you, Ivan," Arthur replied nonchalantly, almost trying to cover up Lovino's fit. "I'm Arthur, and the other here are..."
"Gilbert," the albino said, pretending once more to be interested in the napkin dispenser.
"I'm Matthew."
"Lovino," Lovino added glumly, sitting back down and burying half his face in the shadow behind his coffee mug. Ivan took the fourth seat.
Gilbert stared incredulously at him from behind, feeling like he was the only one seeing this. His expression revealed his every thought: How do you wear that coat inside on a hot day? Why are you stealing my thunder as the one with the weird eyes? Why does your unnecessary cheeriness feel like suppressed rage?
"There are twelve of us," Matthew said. "Why don't we pull up tables for when the others get here?"
Arthur nodded, then raised his eyebrows at Gilbert. "Where are you sitting?"
"I like the counter," he replied, almost too harshly.
Ivan said nothing, detecting Gilbert's confusion, but turned around to lock eyes with him , a cold glint in them only just detectable. For a moment, Matthew, silently watching from the side, could feel the tension in the room like a deadweight, before the door swung open once more.
Matthew nearly fell out of his chair. He felt like he was almost looking into a mirror—the dark blond hair, the glasses, the odd cowlick, the blue eyes.
He couldn't make any sense of this, but he knew all eyes would be on him. He wouldn't be able to give the others an explanation. It was unwanted pressure.
I wish I could hide, he thought. I don't want to sort this out now. It was only a fleeting thought, but it unnerved him.
"That's funny," Ivan said, tilting his head to study the newcomer. "You look just like Mat—hey, where is he?"
Matthew was gone.
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And remember—don't read the old reviews. They will spoil it all.