Authors' Note: this is a joint fan-fiction between AngelofStyx and Ecarus. First chapter: how exciting! We can't wait to see how it's going to go. We will likely update every other week, but do not hold us to it! Neither of us own Hetalia, and this will hold true throughout the story.
Warnings for this chapter include: language, violence

Hundreds of people were sitting in a brightly lit auditorium, 'listening' to a blonde-haired man deliver his report at the wooden podium beside the unused projector screen. At the moment, he was saying, "… my boss is calling for a meeting with America and Russia about the growing hostilities between them…"

Most of the people in this room were not listening to the important facts that the blonde German was stating. Some of the members were sleeping, others fighting, and still more talking amongst themselves. This was slowly angering the uptight man, but he forced himself to remain calm with great difficulty.

All and all, this was a regular meeting. However, there was an undercurrent of hostility between some of the countries that had not been seen for a number of years. Switzerland and Austria refused to even look at each other. Latvia and Estonia were arguing quietly, and Greece was sleeping by himself in the corner of the room. Also, America was glaring at Russia with an animosity that hadn't been seen for almost 150 years.

Still others were glancing in confusion at the apparently empty seat near the front of the room. They could have sworn that there was someone was sitting there, but for the life of them they could not tell who he was. Some of them would swear that the seat was empty, if it wasn't for the fact that there were never empty seats. Others would startle themselves by seeing a person there only out of the corner of their eyes, but when they would turn to look, the seat would be empty. A few more were looking at the brown-haired man in confusion, not understanding who or what he was.

At the front of the room, the German completed his speech and finished the meeting, deciding that if people could not be bothered to listen to him, they certainly would not listen to anyone else. Most of the nations tried leaving the room as quickly as possible, resulting in a huge pile-up with everyone yelling at each other.

"Get out of my way you bloody frog!"

"Non, it ez you who should back off!"

"DAMMIT UK I HAVE TO GO HOME! STOP BLOCKING THE DAMN DOOR!"

"I'm gonna miss my dramas!"

"Germany, Germany, veh veh! I can't find my pasta!"

"My suit! You potato bastard... You made my brother ruin my fucking suit!"

"No it's not. What would Franz Joseph say?"

"DUDE, NOBODY CARES ABOUT FRANZ JOSEPH! JUST GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY!"

During this kerfuffle, some of the quieter people decided it would be a better use of their time to just wait until the others had left before making their exit. For instance the black-haired Japanese man was waiting beside the door and Greece was still asleep. For his part, Russia was staring at the mess the hurried countries had made of themselves with a smile on his face.

Eventually the crowd got through the door and the room was empty. After the Russian left, a man with a bear stood up with a sigh. He turned off the lights and locked the doors to the auditorium, then walked off down the hallway, out the door, and into his hotel.

A brown-haired man walked into a bar a few blocks down from the hotel. His flight was not leaving for another day, so he had some time to kill before heading to the airport. He was by himself; the other countries did not invite him to go with them to the restaurant, and frankly he was glad not to be going. It wasn't as if he particularly wanted to be there.

He sat down at the bar, which was relatively busy for the early hour of the evening. The bartender asked for his order, and the other replied in Russian, but with a slight accent, that he wanted a beer. And so he sat for the next while as the bar grew busier, ordering more alcohol as he finished each tankard.

It was very late at night, or rather very early morning when Russia walked in. At a glance, he did not appear drunk, but he smelled very strongly of vodka. He sat a few seats down from the other country without glancing at him once, although truthfully he was concealed by a rather energetic group of very drunk, young adults.

Deciding that the Russian man's presence was not very important so long as he didn't bother him, the brown haired man ordered another beer. Once he drained that one, he decided that he had had enough for the night. He stood up without so much as a drunken sway, much to the shock of the bartender who had been expecting the need to send the man to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. While walking out the door, the Russian man spotted him and his eyes narrowed. Waiting until the other was outside and a few miles away from the bar, he stood up and followed the other silently.

It was dark. The moonless cloudy sky offered no illumination so the only source of light came from the few street lamps that dotted the path. The figure of the brown-haired man could be seen faintly in the distance.

Drawing his lead pipe from his coat, Russia walked silently yet rapidly towards the man. The crunch of gravel on the path alerted the brown-haired nation to the Russian's presence. Glancing back, he saw him only an arm's length away with the lead pipe raised to strike. The nation barely started screaming when the other hit him on the head.

There was a sickening thump, and he fell to the ground. The wound was bleeding profusely, staining his once-brown hair crimson. Russia picked up the man like he was a doll and tossed him over his shoulder without care for the bruises he was surely causing the other. He walked back to the hotel and into the full parking lot, found his black car, and tossed the other into the trunk. He then proceeded to get into his own seat and drive away, back to his abode in the far-off outskirts of the city.

After a while the car stopped. The only light present died as it turned off at the end of the driveway. Even though he was in complete darkness, Russia had no trouble in extracting the man from the trunk and carrying him into the house.

The blood from the unconscious man's head slowly dripped onto the carpet as he was carried through the long hallways lined with wooden panels and depictions of Russian masterpieces. Unlocking a very thick steel door with its five keys, Russia reached the staircase to the basement. He walked down the stairs, careful not to trip during this steep descent. At the bottom he pulled a cord. Suddenly, the room was illuminated with a bare, incandescent light.

Walking deeper into the maze-like dungeon, Russia placed the man down inside a cell that was quite a distance from the door. There was a toilet, a sink, a ledge in the middle of the wall directly across from the door, a cot attached to the top of that ledge, and metal rings at each corner. The brown-haired man was put down here, and he was not in very good condition. His wound continued to bleed slowly, matting his hair with blood. He was also quite pale.

Not wishing for his captive to die just yet, Russia left the room to retrieve a first-aid kit. He disinfected and bound the wound with practised ease, and then left the room to retrieve more devices. He was gone for quite a long time, but soon enough he returned with his objects: handcuffs, a gag, and several other strange things. He didn't want his little captive to escape or make a nuisance of himself after all.