PROOF OF IDENTIFICATION
Chapter 1
It's dark. Everything's dark. You have absolutely no idea where you are—you just seem to be floating in empty space, all alone, and you wonder faintly if you're dead or alive.
How in the world did you get here...to this...to this state of nothingness? You don't remember a thing. But you do know that you want to get out of this—and fast. It's not so much scary but getting more disturbing by the minute. You feel...drowsy. And you want to succumb to it, even though a small bit of your mind urges you frantically not to. It'll be so comforting...
And then a bit of light shoots through the darkness and you feel yourself rise closer to reality, away from the darkness. A voice. Several voices. Someone is holding you, and even though the air seems slightly cold, you feel warmer. It gives you a bit of strength, and with it you slowly open your eyes.
The light is blinding but it's well worth the effort.
You can't quite see clearly, but you still can discern that there are two (very good-looking) people standing by looking down at you. A green-eyed young man with blond hair and rather bushy eyebrows is holding you, and beside him hovers another excited young man, also blond, with glasses and extremely energetic blue eyes. Upon closer inspection neither seems to be much older than you.
"...Are you all right?" Asks the first rather stiffly. He has a British accent.
"Y-yes..." you manage to say but it comes out weaker than you would have preferred. All of a sudden the energetic young man shouts for joy and pumps his fist in the air.
"See, Arthur, that hamburger worked! It always works—you got owned~!"
"...Sure thing, Alfred," says the Englishman—Arthur—somewhat sarcastically. "Now if you can stop frolicking long enough for us to not freeze to death out here—"
"Oh but of course, I'm the hero~!" sings Alfred the American gleefully, striking a pose that (you can't deny) looks rather dashing. "Shall I procure for us some winter coats, then?" Arthur rolls his eyes.
"You're such a git."
"I'll carry—!" Alfred shouts, ignoring Arthur's last comment. Arthur gives him a look of exasperation, then turns to you, one bushy eyebrow raised.
"Can you stand?" he asks briskly.
"Uh...I think so." He helps you up and you're actually standing for the first time in...how long? You're not sure. But it feels great to be on your own two feet again. You don't much like having to depend on others.
"That's good then," says Arthur. "We'll take you back to headquarters. By the way, I'm Arthur Kirkland, and this is Alfred F. Jones, my brother, I guess you can say..."
"You didn't say my middle name!" whines Alfred. "It makes me sound more important! You need to say my full name, it's Alfred F—"
You aren't listening—you're too busy noting their appearances for the first time, because you just realized something. They're both wearing what looks like military uniforms, though Arthur has a Sam Browne belt in addition to that and Alfred is wearing a combat jacket with a star on the front.
"...You're both in the military?" you ask incredulously. But you don't see any other troops...
Arthur gives you a strange look, and you aren't sure what to say to that. Then he speaks, saving you the trouble of deciding.
"What country are you?"
The question sounds a little weird (not to mention rather off-topic), but you assume he's simply asking you about your country of origin, just to make sure you haven't trespassed over any enemy lines or suchlike.
"I'm from..." That's when you realize that you do not know. At all. "I...I don't know."
"You don't know?" Arthur is giving you a look that you choose to interpret as 'I can't believe your stupidity.' "What's your name?"
"Um...my name's _ ," you say, feeling ridiculous.
"That's a human name, what's your country name?" Arthur continues to prod, while you try to make sense of what he's after.
Are...are they not human? you ask yourself.
"Surely you must be related to the great America himself!" Alfred interrupts, pointing to himself and giving you a hopeful look. Did he just say...
"Did you just say you were America?" you ask, scarcely believing your ears, and Alfred turns to you slowly, with the same expression you just saw on Arthur's face. Or maybe it's sort of different—out of the corner of your eye you can see Arthur facepalming and looking away. You decide it's best not to comment at the moment.
"But of course!" Alfred says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and that you should have understood this since your birth. (Which was...when?) "We're all countries here, don't you know?"
"What my stupid little friend here is trying to say is," Arthur says exasperatedly, ignoring Alfred's protests, "is that countries actually exist. They can be land, but they can take the form of people. That is, human.Like we look human. But we aren't human."You aren't really appreciating his efforts to dumb things down for you.
"So because we aren't human, we aren't limited by human things. Like death. We don't die because our countries exist and have existed for a long time. There's exceptions but we won't go into that — it's complicated. I'll just give you an example. So if you were talking about — say, France —"
"You talk about France way too much," interrupts Alfred-America rather significantly, and Arthur flushes noticeably.
"Shut up, you stupid git. So as I was saying, if you were talking about France" — he glares at Alfred, who is shaking with suppressed mirth — "there is actually someone called 'France' who represents that country. Though to be sure he has a human name — Francis Bonnefoy in this case. And if you have any brains in your head (at all), you would do well to avoid him."
"Only England — that is, Arthur — can stand up to him, that's why they always fight even though Arthur is supposed to be a gentleman —" Alfred sings loudly.
"Shut up," growls Arthur (England?), while you simply stand there staring at them, completely bewildered.
These people really are...countries?
A million questions rise at once in your head. First, how could these apparent people be countries? Countries are old — how could they look so young? How could they not be human? And where would the countries' citizens be? (And why are these so-called countries so good-looking — but you suspect that's beside the point.)
You push those thoughts away before they can interfere, and speak aloud. "Um...so I guess I'm a country, too?"
"You must be, otherwise you wouldn't have survived out here wearing such thin clothing as you are right now," Arthur — that is, England — points out wryly. "Aren't you cold at all?" How did he manage to sound so condescending at the same time?
"No."
"You must be from somewhere freezing, then." Although it's not much of a help at the moment.
"American, I tell you!" Alfred exclaims, looking very full of himself. "The outfit and the adaptiveness tells it all!"
"Are you serious? You hate any weather that's not American, I'm surprised you haven't complained. And 'adaptiveness' isn't even a bloody word, it's 'adaptation,'" says Arthur, annoyed once more. Is he always annoyed like this? "We're getting nowhere with this. Get back first, discussion later. Let's go — the world conference starts in several hours. Maybe we'll find out who you are then, _ ." He directs that last bit towards you.
"Come on!" Alfred tugs you forward excitedly, looking just about ready to run a marathon on the spot, but you look at the thick layer of snow on the ground and you aren't quite sure you want to start running anytime soon.
"Where are we going?" you ask Alfred, just before he whisks you off.
"We're in Russia right now, on the outskirts of Moscow," he says happily.
It still sounds somewhat far-fetched to you, but you say it anyway. "So...we'll be meeting Russia soon, then?"
"Of course," replies Arthur, taking hold of your arm and keeping Alfred from dragging you away. "His name is Ivan Braginski, and he's hosting this month's world meeting — although I suppose you wouldn't need to know that. Just know, though — he's one of the most dangerous countries out there, even more so than France. If he ever does get ahold of you...well, just call for Germany," he says dryly.
This doesn't sound too promising for your future, you think.
"Are all you countries this dangerous?" you ask before you can stop yourself. Arthur sniffs and you suppose he's too offended to answer.
"It depends," he says rather ambiguously at last. "All I can say is, foreign policy is nothing like how it's written in the books — at least, not when you're one of us."
"Don't worry, you'll live, because the hero will save you! And you can become my ally!" Alfred says airily, but you can't help feeling a little better at his words.
"Cut it out, Alfred – we don't know if _ might turn out to be our enemy," Arthur points out cynically, and you give him a glare for being a total killjoy. He doesn't notice — or, if he does, he doesn't react.
"Well if I befriend _ first there will be no enemies!" Alfred says cheerfully. "Why don't you be a little less cold for a change, Arthur? That's so outdated – you guys can become friends instead!"
You and Arthur look at each other for a moment. Then you both look away at the same time.
Um, hell no, you think. And you're pretty sure the same thing is going through his head, too.