DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS. They belong to their respective owners. I own the idea of the story as written.

Emil Steilsson crept around the corner of the museum, watching the patrol walk down the hall. He was covered in a bulletproof vest and wore a helmet, not to mention he had a revolver. Then… the only way would be to go by without him noticing, or kill him. He muttered into his "smartwatch", really a walkie-talkie in disguise.

"Norway," he muttered. His older brother's real name was Lukas, but Norway was his code name. That way if there were any bugs or eavesdroppers of any sort, no one would know who was who. They normally gave nicknames by where the person was from. Norway- no- Lukas- was the leader of their gang. Emil himself and a Swedish 20 year old named Berwald were the next two. The three of them had learned to speak each other's languages, and it was easy since they were so similar. Just to be safe. "Get Sweden up here to knock out the security guard. Level Two, Blue Emerald Hall. Over." Berwald, despite being six feet tall, still managed to move as swiftly as anyone. Except Lukas, of course. Lukas was leader for a reason.

"Roger that." There was a distant "Swe" before his brother returned to the line. "Coming up. Over."

"Roger." All the Navy style talk was a habit from Emil and Lukas's early days, when they played sailor in their room, shuffling around in cardboard boxes and had old toilet paper cartons as telescopes. But there was no time for such silliness now. Emil saw Berwald's large shape approach the security guard from behind, then tackling him to the ground and disarming him. With the distraction Emil darted from one end of the hallway to the other. He took out his glass saw and carved a hole just large enough for him to fit through, cutting with painstaking care. He crept through the wall, legs trembling with the effort and finally made it into the dark room.

Finally! Feeling a rush of adrenaline at seeing the Blue Emerald itself, Emil was down flat on the carpeted floor and crawling towards the thick, nailed case. A fast whirring of the glass saw, and his hand was in, his gloved fingers brushing the million dollar jewel.

Crack! It took a few moments before Emil could react to the white hot pain that ripped at his wrist. He almost screamed. He crunched his teeth down on his lip to prevent himself from screaming, feeling the metallic taste of his own blood wash over his tongue. Emil glared at his attacker, and was met by a pair of startling violet eyes. Every part of his body was covered in black but for his eyes. Emil could tell he was pretty short, maybe five seven or so. He looked easy enough to kill. The two of them stared at each other. Before Emil got his hand into the inside of his jacket where his handgun lay safe against his chest the cold, steely point of a knife was already pushed against his throat.

"Don't… move," Emil secretly panicked at his sleeve, which was moistening at an alarming rate. He couldn't let the blood drip down, he couldn't leave a blood sample for the police to find. Emil had no choice to kick the other man in the groin. He fell to the ground, crying out, but this time it was Emil who pulled out his weapon. He put the tip of the gun against the other man's throat, and punched the nose with the other hand. Thank God his "watch arm" wasn't crushed.

"Norway. Sweden. Blue Emerald room. Keep the other guys down, watching. Over." The shorter person moaned again. "Shut the fuck up. If you make another sound I'll kick you as hard as I can, then blow your brains out through your throat."

"I copy. We're on the way. That was violent, Ice. Over." A collected voice came through his earpiece.

"Shut it and get up here. I'm about to flip out." A sudden fist to Emil's temple really did nearly make him flip out. The world spun and the man blurred. Fighting back the urge to collapse, Emil made sure he threw the gun and knife far away so that neither of them could reach it.

"If you're going to fight then fight with your fists."

"I don't think he will," a new voice said. Frozen, Emil turned around to see a man whose stature nearly matched that of Berwald's. His features screamed happy. He had a crop of blonde hair that would probably be seen from a mile away. A pair of brilliant electric blue eyes and a large, thin mouth. The first thing that came to Emil's mind was puppy. But puppy he was not, because no puppy had a crooked smile twisted out of bloodlust and cruelty. You could see it in his eyes, that he had blood on his hands. A lot. "So, how old are ya, kid?" Emil stiffened and glared at him. He wasn't going to talk. You didn't know if he had a recorder on him, to get a voice sample. But the Icelandic teenager subtly pressed the side of his pants where a recorder was snuggled into a bulky pants pocket. The arrogant yet amused stare of the new addition was beginning to frighten him. Still, Emil was determined to keep his glower unwavering. Storebror will come, storebror will come. Storebror was strong, he was calm, he was smart, he was powerful, he was skilled, storebror would save him.

Yet for the second time in a day Emil had to feel cold, unforgiving metal pushed against him, this time a gun. To his temple.

"I'll blow your brains out through your head," he said softly. Emil could feel the stranger's breath on his ear. Where were Lukas and Berwald? "Then maybe I'll leave your bloody body here for the museum guards to find. Or maybe I'll take your heart and frame it as a souvenir-" He lurched forward.

"Lort!" he cursed. Emil caught a flash of cool, unmoving eyes. He almost cried out "storebror!" "Took you long long enough," the man growled. "What's so hard-" There Lukas stood, face devoid of any expression but eyes glittering with hatred.

"Threaten him again, and I'll be the one blowing your stomach, liver and brains out. I already did that to most of your thugs, by the way." The stranger stood to his full height, towering over Lukas by at least two and a half inches. Yet the smaller man remained undaunted.

"A girl?" he scoffed. "A girl? Girls can't fight. You actually think that you can talk back to me? You're not strong enough." Lukas moved to slap him, but the stranger caught his hand, smirking his twisted smirk.

"Mathias Køhler. Thought we needed a proper introduction." Lukas kneed Mathias in his solar plexus and backed away out of arm's length. Slowly, he took out his SIG SAUER MPX and pointed it at Mathias.

"Maybe you should get those eyes of yours checked out. It's not very healthy to leave toilet cleaner in them, you know. I'm not a girl."

"You might as well be one."

The Norwegian looked like he was going to slaughter Mathias. But he brushed a slender finger over the cross hairclip that he wore in his hair.

"Alle løper," he whispered. Berwald and Emil got the message. Lukas ignored their hesitant stares.

"Leave," Mathias announced to his henchmen. Everyone slunk out of the room.

"Storebror," Emil whispered. "Please be safe." He thought he caught the faintest nod.