The air was warm, the sun was shining, and everyone in the wonderful, snowy country of Russia was having a glorious day. The town square was bustling and crowded and busy humans filled the streets. All the townsfolk seemed to have somewhere specific to be. All except Alfred F. Jones, the personified nation of the United States of America; his place was on the ground. He was totally confused with the Russian fashion sense and the language that these people spoke. He hadn't been to Russia much since the Cold War, but whenever he came back, despite being a former enemy, it made him smile to see the country. It made him think of the man who personified this country, Ivan Braginski. Every time he looked at that man it sent shivers down his spine. How such a sick and twisted bastard could come from such a wonderful country, let alone somehow manage to steal the American's heart was completely beyond him. But it made him feel alive.
Suddenly, America remembered that he did have somewhere to be; he was supposed to meet with Ivan at his place in five minutes. Alfred had gotten so caught up in daydreaming that he'd nearly forgotten the main reason he'd flown all the way here. Ivan hadn't said why or what they'd be doing, but Alfred knew that with Ivan, it could be anything. America wasn't sure if he really wanted to go, though. He was so engaged thinking about the nation in such a way that he felt all flustered and considering taking a rain check and just heading back home. But, Alfred's conscience got the better of him. He knew that it would hurt Ivan's feelings; after all, Ivan had said it was going to be something special just for the two of them. And America had been crushing on Ivan for a bit now, maybe this was finally his chance, or maybe, if Ivan felt the same, he'd make the first move. So America thought 'What the hell? Not like I got anything to lose by doing it.'
When America walked into Russia's house (since the door was unlocked for him) he was immediately greeted by his host, who was eerily smiling with excitement. "You have come, good. I've been waiting long time, da?," said the trigger-happy Russian.
"Sorry if I'm a little late, dude. I was wonderin' around this cooky place and lost track of time," America apologized. Russia just giggled and responded in a gleefully reassuring tone, "Oh that's ok, you're here now. What is few minutes late? There is all the time in the world for our fun. I have been thinking about it for quite some time now, I haven't stopped smiling since this morning."
America gave a slightly uncomfortable laugh. He had always appreciated Russia's attempts to be friendly, and outgoing, but Ivan's overabundant enthusiasm creeped him out. Alfred maintained a polite expression, however. If Ivan was this worked up, whatever he had planned must be good.
"So, you are ready for getting started, da? I've gotten everything all ready needed," the arctic blonde said.
Alfred psyched himself up. "You betcha, dude. So whaddya got planed? We gonna prank England? I got a couple of good ones I've been thinking about. Or maybe you've got some totally sweet weapons or video games to try? Or perhaps…"
"MAKING VODCAKES!" Ivan happily announced.
"Baking?" Alfred was disappointed. "Dude, you know I'm not good at baking. Plus, what the hell is a vodcake?" "Oh that is not problem at all. I only need your help making them. I'll be doing most of the work," Russia explained. "Also, a vodcake is a very special pastry that I made myself, it's like cupcake, but with vodka!" America thought for about it for a second. "Well, alright, I guess that's ok, kinda lame but whatever. What exactly do you need me to do?"
"That is spirit! Here you go." Russia handed America a vodcake. Alfred was puzzled "I thought I was helping you bake." "You will be. I made this one just for you before you got here." "What, so it's like a taste test or somethin'?" "Nyet, just try one," Ivan said. Alfred shrugged and popped the pastry in his mouth, immediately tasting the small amount of vodka that filled the inside of the cake. He chewed a bit and swallowed. Not bad.
"Ok, now what?" Alfred asked. "Now," Ivan informed him, "You take nap." Puzzled, America opened his mouth but felt instantly lightheaded. A wave of dizziness washed over him, it had to have been something inside that vodcake, cupcake, whatever, maybe it was the vodka? Because the next thing he knew, the world spun, and seconds later he collapsed to the floor.
…
When Alfred regained consciousness, he found himself in a dark room. He tried to shake his head but found that a taut leather strap held it firmly in place. He struggled to move, but braces around his chest and limbs glued him to a rack formed from a series of sturdy planks, which spread his legs wide apart, now also becoming chillingly aware of the fact that he was stark naked and the room just got about 20 degrees colder. As he writhed, Ivan popped up suddenly into his line of sight.
"Good, you're awake. Now we can get started," Ivan stated gleefully. He became enclosed in the darkness, and quickly reappeared pushing a cart covered with a cloth. "Ivan, dude, what's going on? I can't move!" Alfred said urgently. "But of course, that's because you're tied down," chided Russia. "That is why you can't be moving. I didn't think you'd need to be told that." "But why? What's happening? I thought you said we were gonna make vodcakes or some junk." "You are helping. I've run out of special ingredient, besides vodka, and I need you to get more."
"Special ingredient?" Alfred was now breathing heavily and starting to panic, attempting and failing not to show it though. "What special ingredient?" Ivan giggled and responded "You, comrade!"
Alfred's eyes widened, and his face contorted in fear. Then he started to laugh and said, in a voice bordering on hysteria, "Woo, you really got me there, dude. I mean, tricking me in to thinking I'm gonna get chopped up into food? I gotta tell you, this the best prank yet. You win, you're the best."
Ivan only giggled even more. "How kind Fredka. But I haven't done any pranks today, so I can't accept your praise." Alfred was struggling again. "Dude, c'mon, seriously, this isn't funny."
"Then why were you laughing?" Before America could answer, Russia had grabbed the cloth and whipped it off the cart. On the cart was a tray containing various sharp medical tools and knives, carefully organized and wickedly sharp, as well as a large medical bag.
Alfred was now in full panic mode. He was starting to hyperventilate. His mind raced as he tried to reason with the light-haired Russian. "You can't do this Ivan! I'm your friend, and the hero!" "No you are not. But that's why I am happy. You will spend last moments on this Earth alone in this room with only me." Ivan was smiling again. "But, the others will totally wonder where I am. When they're in need of a hero, they'll come looking for me and then you'll get found out," Alfred cried in desperation.
"Ah Fredka," said Russia. "Do not worry, da? There are plenty of countries out there who would pay me infinites amounts of monies to see you in such a helpless state and then slaughtered. And besides, no one will find out. How long do you believe I've been doing this?" And with that ominous statement, the lights suddenly came to life and revealed the rest the room.
"Oh no." America reeled in horror at the image presented to him. The room was decorated with a typical but twisted Russian flair. Colorful streamers of dried entrails fluttered around on the ceiling, communist painted skulls of quite a few sizes were attached to the walls, and organs done up in pastels filled with helium were tied to the backs of chairs. The tables and chairs were made of bones and the preserved flesh of past humans and nations. America cringed upon seeing the center piece of the table nearest to him. The heads of four humans, their eyes closed as if they were sleeping, were wearing communist caps made from their own skin. With a thrill of terror, Alfred recognized one of them as Felciano's first love, Holy Roman Empire. Alfred's eyes darted back and forth and then fell upon a patchwork banner hanging from the rafters. Made from several tanned human hides, the words "коммунизм навсегдa" were scrawled on it in blood red.
America looked back in horror to the communist who captured him and gaped at Ivan, who was standing right in front of him. The taller nation was wearing a long coat quilted from dried skin, emblazoned with flags of passed nations. On his back fluttered six former nation flags, all of different colors. The snow-blonde hummed with crazed excitement. He turned his head to give the other a better view of the new scarf that he adorned, this one covered in blood and patches of dried, different colored skins."Are you jealous?" Russia smirked. "They all became one with Mother Russia."
Desperately, America pleaded with the smiling nation before him. "Ivan please, dude, I'm sorry for all that crap I did to you. I didn't mean it; it was just war, nothing personal. I've actually always kinda liked you even though you're a total creep and a psycho. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anybody." "Oh Fredka, I could never forgive you for what you did to my people. But even if I could, that's not what this is about. Nyet, is just that your number came up and, I do not making the rules. You will also become one with Mother Russia." Alfred was tearing up. How could this be happening?
"Aww, is little Fredka going to cry?" said Ivan. "Look, this will be cheering you up, da? I brought you a friend." Seemingly out of nowhere, Ivan produced a brightly painted red and black skull. It was human sized, so it could have been anyone, but it had a very defining feature: a set of bushier than life thick, black eyebrows. Alfred gaped in shock. "Is…is that….is…that?"
"Oi Fredka, you are being ungrateful bastard. And Francis is stupid. Wanker, wanker, wanker," Ivan horridly mimicked with a thick accent. "I caught him right before he left meeting. Are you remembering when I ask Britain out for drinks? That wasn't enough time to play with him of course; I had to wait till after the next world meeting to do that. But very glad I am for waiting. It was surprisingly worth it for the flavor alone. British taste of tea and cakes all at once. Mixed with vodka it was amazing. I know he did not have number yet. But his voice was really getting on my nerves. And all the needless, petty fighting was getting annoying. Let me tell you though, he was quite the fighter. Lasted very long time, which was a lot of fun for me. I got chance to play with a famous country rather than a boring human or minor country and try new things. It's too bad he had such a foul mouth. He was saying so much bad things I just take his tongue out. Bad language makes for bad feelings, Fredka."
Alfred didn't have anything to say. He just sobbed and writhed in his tight bonds. "Well" said Ivan with an air of finality, "enough reminiscing. Time to for beginning."
Putting down Arthur's skull, the snowy nation gripped a scalpel in his gloved hand and walked over to Alfred's right side. Without any flair, Ivan placed the blade above the desired area of skin and began a circular cut around it. No doubt it would make a fine addition to the scarf. Alfred tried not to shout in pain and bit his lip, attempting to pull away, but the braces held him still. Finishing the incision, Ivan grabbed a curved skinning knife from the tray. Screwing up his face in concentration, he worked it under Alfred's skin and sliced the hide away from the muscle. Alfred ground his teeth as he tearfully watched his flesh peel off. Russia then moved to the other side and repeated the process on Alfred's left side. It wasn't entirely necessary since he already had the flab of skin, but he always took two samples just in case.
Once he had finished, Russia held up both cuts of skin in front of his "friend" and started waving them like pompoms. Alfred just whimpered. His thighs burned like nothing he'd had felt before, not even in war. Placing the ragged patches of skin down, Ivan selected a large butcher knife and walked behind the struggling America. "I hope you do not mind, but I find the arms contain the most disgusting flavors of the body." He brought down the knife and cut at the base of the shoulder. Instantly, Alfred screamed and thrashed his appendage. The movement threw off Ivan's aim. He tried to hit the mark again but missed, and carved a huge slice into America's back.
"Fredka, stay still or I'll keep missing," scolded Ivan as his "friend" howled. Ivan took another whack and hit his target. He swung again and again. Blood sprayed into the air, but Ivan realized he wasn't getting anywhere. The blade just wasn't going through the bone.
"Hmm, I guess I forgot to sharpen it. I'll try something else," stated Russia matter-of-factly as he tossed the knife over his shoulder, embedding the blade in the table. Through the haze of pain and tears, America heard the sound of a metal box opening and closing.
"Got it! Oh Fredka, I am confused. Why is calling this item a hacksaw? Hacking is what is done with knives. This is saw."
Ivan placed the tool over the mangled flesh of the last attempt. Russia worked the saw back and forth. It sliced effortlessly through the bone and skin. The feeling of the jagged teeth grinding into him made Alfred want to vomit. He watched numbly as his left arm was severed and thrown haphazardly onto the table. Ivan moved to the next arm and started sawing. Alfred didn't struggle this time; he'd given up trying to fight and focused on choking back screams of agony. Abruptly, the sawing paused. Ivan was only half way done, the arm hanging off by a sliver.
"Oi Fredka," Ivan piped up. "Think quickly!" Suddenly, Russia yanked the arm as hard as he could. The bone snapped but the American's skin held, then tore away. The pull ripped away a long strip of flesh all the way down Alfred's back to his bum. His body seized at the unexpected trauma. As his pelvis tensed up, Alfred felt a warm and shameful release between his legs, and his loud, unending melody of pain filled the room. Unable to catch his breath, he blacked out.
America awoke with a gasp. The stench of his urine filled his mucus caked nostrils. As his vision swam into focus, he saw a very pouty Ivan removing a large adrenaline needle from his chest. Sending a spine-chilling death glare, the frustrated Ivan lashed out at his helpless victim.
"Did that stiff Arthur teach you no manners? Is rude to fall asleep when somebody invites you over to spend time with them. How would you feel if I came to your house and took nap? 'Oh I'm sorry Fredka, you're so boring I think I'll take a nap.' You believe I like hurting you for fun alone? This is special time for me. Special time to truly understand other who refused Mother Russia. Learn them inside out like I cannot do with other nations. Yet Fredka is very inconsiderate! And I thought you believed you were tough. That a 'hero' can handle anything. I've had micro nations stand up better than you! Must Mother Russia baby you? Huh? Is that how you wish to be remembered Fredka? As big baby?"
As Ivan stopped to catch his breath, Alfred blinked and sobbed softly. His back was in agony, his sides were on fire, and there was an intense pain in one of his legs. As he blinked again, he saw Ivan pop something red into his mouth and began to chew. Noticing Alfred's stare, Ivan quickly gulped the morsel down.
"What?" Russia asked. "Oh, this?" He held up another piece. "Well, while YOU were asleep, I grew impatient and helped myself to a small sample. Is from your leg; you're not bad, considering all of the hamburgers and fat-rich foods you eat. Would you like some?" Without waiting for a response, Ivan shoved the strip of meat into the revolted American's mouth. Alfred gagged, and immediately spit it out. Ivan frowned, and picked up the chunk of flesh. "If you did not want it, you should have said so." He contemplated the discarded snotty morsel, then gulped it up. "Is not like you have not eaten my vodcakes before."
Swallowing, Ivan turned his attention to a small can on the tray. He removed the lid, revealing that it was filled with red-hot coals. Lying on top of the coals were several large nails. As the adrenalin filled his veins, Alfred began to panic again. Picking up the can, Ivan walked over to Alfred's side. Holding some tongs and nails, Ivan carefully placed the hot nail just above the right side of Alfred's collarbone.
"No Ivan!" Alfred screamed. "NO! NO!" The hammer came down and the nail punctured Alfred's skin. The white hot burning was too much. Alfred screamed as he pulled and thrashed at the braces, causing his raw skin to rub and tear. Ivan attempted to line up another nail, but couldn't find his aim, and let out a frustrated grunt. When Ivan brought the hammer back to take a wild swing, Alfred burst out crying and begging.
"PLEASE STOP! PLEASE, PLEASE STOP!" Ivan rolled his eyes. Putting down the hammer and tongs, he walked back in front of his "friend" and stared pensively at the broken nation. England didn't even cry this much when he had a live parasite stuffed down his throat. Ivan thought for a minute about what to do next, then had a sudden spark of inspiration.
Rotating a wheel on the rack, Ivan laid Alfred on his back, then moved to America's legs, bringing the can with him. Picking up his tools, Russia drove a searing hot spike of metal directly into America's ankle. As Alfred yelled in pain, Russia moved around and drove a second nail into the other ankle. Next, Ivan went back to his cart and located an enormous battery and controller, which he dragged over to where he was working. He tied copper wires between the terminals and the nails driven into America's ankles, then gave Alfred a sly smirk and flipped the switch.
Electricity rocketed through Alfred's body. The American reacted immediately; his body seized, and his muscles snapped taut. Alfred's hips thrust skyward, his eyes rolled back, and he let out a deep, throat shredding cry. Ivan giggled and reached down and turned up the juice. America convulsed uncontrollably, and his bladder emptied once more.
After about five minutes, Russia shut off the power. Wisps of steam rose from the singed and burnt skin around Alfred's ankles, and the area reeked of cooked flesh and burnt enamel. Russia rotated America upright again and tried snap the drooling, delirious nation back to attention.
"Fredka? Fredka! Amerika, wake up!" Alfred moaned and managed to give a modicum of weak acknowledgment. Ivan studied hia handiwork, then reached into the medicine bag and produced a large syringe. "Time for last round."
Alfred focused blearily on the needle, which Russia took as a question as to what it was. "This will help the pain," Ivan informed Alfred as he walked around to his victim's ruined back. Alfred flinched as Ivan jabbed the needle into the lower part of the American's spine. Moving in front of his "friend" again, Ivan leaned down and elaborated. "In few minutes, you will not be feeling below your ribcage. Then you stay awake and watch harvest."
Alfred started to cry again. "Ivan?" he choked out. "Da?" "I want to go home," Alfred sobbed. "Da, I can see wanting that," replied the Russian nation. "Sometimes, I too wish to give up, say 'I'm done with mess' and go to bed. But you know what? You can't shrug your responsibilities. You must yourself up and meet challenges. That is only way to get ahead."
Alfred hung his head and cried. Minutes passed as the drug took effect. Eventually, America was completely numb from his chest to his thighs. At this point, Ivan approached with a scalpel. Glancing at Alfred and smiling, Ivan made a long horizontal cut across the American's pelvis, just above his crotch. Moving up Alfred's body, Ivan made a similar incision under his ribs. Finally, Ivan made a long vertical cut down America's stomach, connecting the first two.
"I have 'I' on you, Fredka," Russia giggled. With a moist, gooey sound, the flaps of skin opened. The sight of hia own organs and the lack of feeling caused America's breathing to intensify. Russia carefully sliced open America's abdominal sac and grabbed his large intestines. As he separated the organ from the rest of the digestive tract and pulled it out of the new cavity, Ivan grew jovial. Laughing as he gutted his "friend", Ivan began to make jokes. Alfred, growing weaker from this new source of blood loss, tried desperately to shut out the macabre comedy act.
"Look at me, I'm Francis!" Ivan laughed, slinging the intestinal tube around his neck and spraying blood in all directions. "Doesn't my beauty make up for my small penis?"
Reaching back inside, he sliced the smaller intestine off from the bowls. Squeezing out the excess excrement, Ivan filed the slimy organ through his teeth and dragged it back and forth. "As dentist says, floss every day, or teeth grow bad and cost father much moneys."
Alfred was barely aware of what was going on anymore. The shock was causing him to fade. Disappointed, Ivan dived back into the American's guts, ramping up his routine. "Do not leave yet, Fredka." Russia started pulling out the rest of America's organs, pausing with each removal. "I know I can am pancreas, but you I like to kidney alot. You must learn to liver up. Da, these jokes are getting bladder. You must have developed stomach for them." Ivan spoke placed the discarded body parts into a bucket.
But Alfred no longer heard his tormentor. He had slipped from conciseness minutes ago. Ivan, not yet satisfied, hit Alfred with another adrenaline shot. Alfred woke up for the last time, his heart pounding. Warm blood flowed out from the wound in his chest in great spurts. It wouldn't be long now.
Ivan brought Alfred around onto his back again and straddled the American's chest, scalpel at the ready. "My my Fredka, I'm disappointed. I thought you would have lasted longer. I really wanted to spend more time hearing you're voice scream for me before we got here. But is partly my fault; I should have been slower. Oh well. It was not nice knowing you Fredka!"
The blade sunk into the other's throat and worked its way up to Alfred's chin. Coming back down, Ivan's scalpel then circled Alfred's neck. The last thing Alfred felt was his skin being cut away from his skull, and the metal of the blade scraping his teeth.
Then he was gone.