Hi, It's KC Senpai again.
I'm extremely sorry for the inactivity. I've been... busy with all types of senpai service.
Also, I have left the Hetalia Fandom, so I won't be writing anymore Hetalia, maybe. We will see. Who knows? Anyways, this is my tribute to the show, and I'm soorry that I planned to go smoewhere with this first chapter, but that somewhere faded into nothing. Best Wishes!
They had only ten minutes until it was all over. Only ten minutes until the lights turned on, until the policemen ran in with their guns and loud shouts, until their plot was undiscovered, and until they would all be caught and thrown into prison. The five gang members were stationed at designated positions, including the one who stayed back at the base. Ten minutes, five people, and a robbery.
The one who stayed behind back at their base was the hacker. He blocked the security cameras at all angles, within a kilometers reach of Lainsuojattomia's target. He furiously battled lines of code, who were rushing to take back the cameras and unveil Lainsuojattomia's plot. Typically, the energetic hacker would be loud, but now, he remained silent as he quickly typed in numbers and passcodes. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he encountered a difficult line of code. Crap. His finger flew over the buttons on his keyboard and that line passed. Thank goodness. He hit a final button and one of the screens flashed, jamming all communication inside of the building. Images of the inside of the building popped up, the security camera's bending themselves to the hacker's will.
Inside the police headquarters of Brooklyn, two worried policemen paced. They lost contact with the people running the security cameras. The doors were locked and their access cards weren't working. Keys refused to unlock the doors. The fire escape was locked too, for some strange reason, the policemen didn't think that they would lock that door. But something was off, the two men knew, and that this situation would lead to possible death.
But it was rather queer how they didn't notice the sniper perched on the neighboring building, using slender fingers to load two bullets into the canister. He wore a red scarf, for the night was cold and lightly snowing, with a silver beanie, matching his almost silvery hair and his blue-purple eyes. The barrel of the black gun aimed, not at the two men, but at the floor in front of the men. Those emotionless purple eyes glanced at the target, and those long delicate fingers danced on the trigger, then fired one of the two bullets.
Crack! A small hole pierced the window, microscopic glass crystals raining down onto the empty streets of Brooklyn. From the bullet that had silently made its way inside, thick smog exploded, concealing the policemen and all other action. The sniper simply packed up his gun and left the rooftop on the snowy night. His job was done. The rest was up to the others.
An alarm didn't sound; the hacker at home disabled the alarms. The policemen didn't shout either. They recognised the gas. It was meant to make one knocked out, typically used for kidnapping. They put one hand on their mouths and noses. The other one rested on their guns and they had the guns at the ready.
But they never had the chance to use them, for one tall man came into view from the smog. The unknown man wore a gas
mask and he started a fight with his fists after knocking out the gun from the larger policeman's hands. The gun skittered to the other side. The policeman started to also fight with one hand, but it was easily twisted behind his back. He choked on the gas as he fell to the floor, wondering what his partner was doing.
Which, the unknown strong man knew, that the policeman's partner was also knocked out. Another man who had been wearing a gas mask took on the other defender. He was rather slender, long slender fingers that resembled the sniper's, blue-green eyes that shone in the dark, and extremely light footsteps that pitter-pattered around as he fought quickly with his fists. The policeman carelessly let his guard down and the bandit struck, first knocking the gun out, then holding the policeman in a headlock. The badge of the policeman hit the floor along with his body with a dull clunk!
"So much for the gas, Icey." The larger man remarked jokingly, looking over at his comrade.
Those turquoise eyes glared at him. "Shut your mouth." And the two men left the building by simply going through the door, which unlocked themselves for them.
The final step was in progress, with the final member being unseen by the two policemen. Bright blue eyes peered out from under a pale, white mask. This man was the second shortest out of the whole group, but he was their leader, the glue, and the one who was the most lethal. He picked the lock to a locked room at the back. The door swung open silently.
He scanned the room. It wasn't very professional, with life sized Lego structures of Batman and Superman towering the windows looking to the outside. Captain America was miniaturized and several figures of Chris Evans were perched everywhere in the office. The name tag on the desk was written in big letters, with a exclamation mark with a star at the bottom, read Alfred F. Jones. All the criminal needed was the computer, which was conveniently on the desk.
A memory stick flashed a dim red light as he inserted it into the computer. The computer screen lit up, and files started to show themselves on the screen. He scrolled through the names until he reached a file labeled Lainsuojattomia.
He tapped the mouse and five names popped up on the screen.
Alias: Sealand. Age: Unknown. Height: unknown. Notes: Hacker.
His cursor moved to delete the name. Sealand disappeared from the screen. The white-masked man looked at the clock. Three minutes left.
He clicked on the next name. Alias: Denmark. Age: Unknown. Height: 177 cm (5'9.6). Notes: Strong. Fights.
Delete.
And within the next two minutes, the masked man managed to delete the names of Norway and Iceland off the computer. The memory stick started to change its light to yellow, which was the man's indicator to hurry up. He needed to delete the files off this computer so the memory stick could wirelessly repeat the same process to the other computers in the building.
Scrolling down to the final name in the Lainsuojattomia file, he repeated the same process on the name.
Alias: Finland. Age: Unknown. Height: Unknown.
Almost the same as all the other names. Good.
But under the notes section, he realized that the police did get further than the masked man expected. There was a picture of him, without the mask, smiling at the camera. He had light blond hair, with bright blue eyes, and mittens. His face was almost baby-like, and his cheeks were chubby. The man had no idea when had this photo been taken, much less why this photo could possibly be in this file. Surely, he had kept his two identities as far apart as possible.
Because under the notes, his real name was shown, and he was labeled as a suspect.
Notes: Possible suspect, Tino Väinämöinen.
"Shit." Tino, or he was known was Finland, said quietly. He didn't expect the police to get so far. He stared at the screen anxiously. The police landed the right person as a suspect, and they wouldn't let Tino live his normal life now. Every move could be marked by a policeman, every action could be considered, and he didn't want Lainsuojattomia to collapse.
But no matter how long he stared at the screen, Tino's name did not magically disappear, especially from the police chief's memory. Tino murmured a curse in Finnish. He quickly erased the file, pulled out the memory stick, shut down the screen and exited the Marvel packed room.
"Finland, are you okay?" His earpiece was a little too big and Tino had to press the earpiece further into his ear. Sealand's voice crackled over their wireless connection. "Finland?"
Tino whispered quietly. "Yes."
A pause. "Anything we should be concerned about?" He obviously referenced the high tech hacking device and mission. Tino wasn't surprised if Sealand found out that they were ridiculously close to finding the leader of Lainsuojattomia, but Sealand was a young boy, and he had only gotten evolved because of careless snooping around. Tino didn't want to scare him more than he already had.
He hesitated. How long did he have to escape? Shit, he was practically out of time. He paused for a second as he ducked behind a stray desk. "No. Tell Iceland to bring the truck just in case. I will escape."
"Roger."
The earpiece started to fall out but Tino pressed it as hard as he could back into his ear. Then he ran, heading towards the door. He didn't care how loud his footsteps were, or how did it seemed that they were getting louder.
But they were, so Tino paid no heed. He needed to escape. He had, oh crap, thirty seconds left until the cameras would turn back to the authorities. Great, no rush.
Tino finally reached the door. He twisted the doorknob, but he found it locked. Tino muttered several curses. He backed up. Three, two, one...
He ran at the door, lowering his upper body position and charging. His shoulder had enough muscle and bone to hopefully break down the door. It would make a lot of noise and scare the crap out of people, but it wouldn't matter much. As long as he got out. As long as he could escape.
He expected the impact to at least break his shoulder or severely injure it. He never got the chance. The door was kicked down from the outside. Tino flew back. His back hit a stray desk.
Please let it be Iceland, or Norway, or Denmark. Please let it be Iceland, Norway, or Denmark. Please let it be Iceland, or Norway, or Denmark.
He looked at the silhouette and cursed. It wasn't any of Tino's companions. Five men stood at the door. Tino could barely make out the other men, but he recognized the man in front. Only one man in the whole world had a hairstyle so strange, yet so American at the same time. He had some type of cowlick sticking up at the front of his hair in the middle. When headlights of several police cars dramatically flashed behind the man, Tino could make out the man's tanned skin, that well known face that appeared on news, and the other men all wearing police uniforms.
The Allies.
Or Patrol Group 339, which was their official name, but in the criminal underworld, that's the name that stuck. They were known as the Allies, after all, the fall of the most prestigious criminal rings and gangs had fallen to them. The Axis, a group of three bandits, were widely known, but in only less than 4 months, the Allies fought them and beat them. Because of the names, everyone called the longer fight between the groups WW2. Only one man escaped out of the three. The Allies did their work exquisitely and quickly. Most of the time, they were intelligent and hardworking.
"Dude, it's really him, huh?" The man with the cowlick mused. He was none other than the mighty police chief, Alfred F. Jones, with the A in his name starred and a childish exclamation mark on his professional name tag. His tanned skin seemed to glow, like an angel of justice, with his azure eyes that held a childish demeanor, yet proud, yet strong and somehow intimidating.
No wonder why Denmark said they slept together once (in boxers and with another friend, thankfully) during a drunken night. Alfred was good-looking.
Tino didn't stop to cower in the Angel of Justice's presence, nor the other men, who Tino rarely looked at, even glanced at. He turned to a glass window and shoved himself against it, his shoulder cracking a bit as he hit the hard pavement three stories down. He muttered a curse in his Finnish dialect. Pain exploded in his shoulder.
But there was no time to stop and rest. Tino ran to the front of the five storied building. Police cars were stationed there, of course, so Tino planned ahead. Iceland should be pulling up and causing mass destruction in five, four, three-
A large white truck swerved wildly down the road, crashing into several cars. The truck was unharmed, thankfully. Just as the several policemen gained their senses, Tino had pulled his motorcycle out of the truck and was speeding away. The truck had all the other members inside, excluding Sealand.
Iceland, who was driving the car, tightened his grip around the wheel as he turned back the way Tino went. Denmark had also gotten his motorcycle out and trailed the truck on the opposite side of Tino.
The police got over the shock quickly and the Allies came out of the building, taking the car from one of the other policemen. Only a few men and bikes followed the outlaws, Tino noted. He wondered if the other members of the gang knew.
"They're following us." Tino spoke into his earpiece. He risked a glance at Iceland in the car, whose teal eyes peeped at the rearview mirror. His thin eyebrows pointed downwards in irritation. He blew his silver-blond hair out of his eyes and Tino could almost feel the baby faced teen boy scowl under his mask.
Iceland swore in his own language. His knuckles griped the wheel tighter as he responded sarcastically. "Yes, mother, I'll stay safe. Are they shooting us?"
Tino pouted under his mask. Just as he was going to vouch for his manliness, because the whole group seemed to love calling him mother, a bullet whizzed right past Tino's shoulder. He opened his mouth to warn Denmark and Iceland, but Denmark was already speeding up and taking a formation in front of the car. Finland joined him and he noticed Denmark's hand started bleeding, thankfully not too much.
Loud noises boomed over Finland's earpiece and he heard Iceland swear. The truck turned a bit too hastily, causing Finland to worry, but Iceland cussed some more and the truck turned back to its high pace.
"Lukas! Can you shoot them?" Iceland said to Norway. Lukas Bondevik/Norway remained emotionless. His indigo eyes and his similar features to Iceland kept their typical poker face. He rarely smiled. The only time Tino remembered Lukas smiling was only when he was drunk. And also when Denmark was in pain.
Lukas put a hand on Iceland's shoulder. "Call me big brother. Come on Emil. Call me big brother."
Iceland, or his real name, Emil Steilsson, scowled. "No."
"Come on, Icey. Call me big brother."
"I'm not a kid!"
"You know you want to. Big brother."
"Shut up!"
The norwegian man, hence his codename, climbed to the top of the truck and settled himself in a comfortable position. Even though Emil's big brother wasn't satisfied with the lack of affectionate response, he knew when to quit because there was more important things to do. Calmly, Lukas took out his gun from his bag, pressed his eye against the long scope, and fired a bullet. It narrowly missed the formation of bikers as the bullet hit the path in front of them, but smoke exploded everywhere. Policemen wiped their helmets, but the pink gas didn't effect them.
Lukas cursed. He used the wrong bullet. Finland noticed. That was bad, because now the police knew they had a sniper operating on the top of the truck. Once again, with his stoic face, with eyes that were clear and accurate that also didn't seem to give a shit, and long slender fingers, he reloaded his gun and fired. Each shot was precise, hitting the tires of certain police cars. Sometimes, when the policemen ran out of their cars, Lukas amputated their limbs, shooting thicker bullets at the leg muscles or hands.
He was very careful not to kill anyone.
After a while of cool sniping, Lukas dropped back into the truck. When a bullet skimmed the side of the truck, Emil shouted. "Fuck! Didn't you shoot all of them?"
"I ran out." The stoic man responded, sitting in the seat next to the fuming Icelander. They were brothers by blood, but Emil was born in Iceland while Lukas' mother was on a trip in Iceland.
Denmark's voice cackled in the earpiece. "Wow, Norge. So heroic. After this, we better go get a drink at my place. Gotta get wasted!"
Lukas' expression didn't change as he spoke in a monotone. "I left enough of them to shoot you."
Denmark nearly hit a Mcdonald's building; he lost control of the bike over Lukas' words. Tino smiled under his white mask. He loved the strange togetherness everyone had when they were running for their lives. Of course, he hoped that Sealand, or his real name, Peter, didn't hear most of the profanity spouting out from Emil's teenaged mouth. Or that Peter didn't use the adult terms Denmark, rather known as Matthias, was using.
The Danish man was tall, his build perfect for wrestling, and rather handsome under the mask. He still kept a bit baby face and a very childish personality, but he was really handsome and could hold his liquor rather well. He was also extremely close with an albino and Alfred F. Jones. A little too close, Tino thought, recalling the fact that they slept together in a drunken state.
"Come on! Norge, Finny, Icey, drinks at my place after this!" But if there was on this about Matthias' physical features that weren't manly, it was his loud childlike voice. Every part of him completed puberty but his voice.
Tino let a very thin smile appear under the mask. He opened his mouth to accept Matthias' invite, but his bike suddenly skidded to one side, taking a sudden sharp turn into an alley. He heard Matthias shout, with Emil slowing down the car, Lukas' eyes widening by a millimetre, but he didn't signal them to tell them that Tino was alright. His skull covered bike hit the floor, with gasoline spilling out and Tino flying into the alley.
"The Allies!" He heard Matthias shout. Tires skidded to a stop and Matthias set a step off his bike. A bullet nearly struck Matthias, but Tino yelled at them to go and they rode off.
He tried to stand, but he couldn't; his leg buckled underneath his weight. He must have broken his leg or sprained his ankle. The Allies came up from the only opening in the alley and Tino swore. He inched towards his bike, which was a few meters away from him.
"Don't move, dude!" Tino got an earful of american accent. Alfred F. Jones held his gun at the ready. Of course, this whole group was hopeless in the first place. How could Tino believe he could thwart the Allies, whom had taken down the feared Axis, with a group of regular misfits?
The Angel of Justice didn't smile his trademark grin anymore. He was completely serious. Tino could mentally picture bright, majestic wings above the tall man with a halo maybe, possibly some stereotypical scales. "Lainsuo-blah blah, fuck, I can't pronounce this, you're going down!" Then Alfred started to hum Timber to himself as he inched closer. "Put your hands up, Finny. It's my party in the USA!"
A few more inches to the bike. Tino pretended to wince and curl up, then extended his body, inching towards the bike. Alfred was oblivious. His constant dude and partay didn't encourage Tino either. He finally got to his bike and, quick enough so for his leg not to completely explode in utter, hellish pain, he leaped onto his bike and pulled out a gun of his own.
Directing the barrel to Alfred and his towering presence, Tino fired. Alfred yelled a few curses himself and he returned the gunshots. The criminal felt the bullets graze his shoulder, his cheek, and a massive pain in his hand, but he gripped the handlebars of the bike and started the engine. The motorcycle moved forwards at a sudden accelerated pace. Alfred, who got over the shock, gripped his gun tightly. Tino saw his finger press the trigger, concentrated, determined blue eyes aiming, imaginary wings of justice opening, and Tino doubted he could get out without a bullet in him.
A bang was heard and Tino felt a force hit his shoulder. It burned. Tino shouted, but he still lead his bike out of the alley. The other Allies didn't seem to be outside. Perhaps they had pursuited the other. Finland prayed that the others were safe. Most likely, they were at home, drinking several bottles of beer and stepping on Legos. The Legos were a courtesy of Matthias.
The back of Tino's bike dipped back and Tino leaned forwards to keep his balance. His tire must have popped, but Tino couldn't afford to stop. He turned down a few narrow openings to lose the persistent policeman.
His head throbbed. His leg throbbed. His whole body was enveloped in searing pain. He found himself in a empty neighborhood and Tino let his grip slack for a second. One leg was slung off of the bike for a second, then the next limb, and he fell to the floor, yelling. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Tino thought to himself. He risked one word of weakness. "Help." He whispered to himself.
If only someone could hear him. If only Iceland, Norway, Denmark, even Sealand, could help. He was too weak. His earpiece had fallen out of his ear during his bullet scuffle with Alfred; there was no way to contact them. His vision started blacking out. Tino saw red pooling near the sides of his vision.
Blood. He remembered, for his shoulder had been shot. Surely he was going to die here. Tino hated to admit that he lost to the good-looking Alfred. The Angel of Justice did his job.
Once, Matthias told him what Alfred said when imitating his job whist drunk. The american supposedly said: "I am the Justice, I am the night! I serve America to crime, dude!"
Tino back then: He is american, after all! It doesn't make sense!
Tino now: Fucking Americans. This still doesn't make any sense.
The sinner was cast down. Tino was near dead. In an empty neighborhood like this, no one would come, and the ones who would were always thieves and murderers and criminals who didn't have a heart.
People like himself.
Tino saw red and black in his vision. His senses started to dull. He swore he saw a beautiful man in front of him, intimidating and commanding, nicely built with a sexy form, and perfect. An Angel to drag me to hell. Tino thought.
The blue eyes of the unknown built man stared at Tino's own. Short blond hair, terrifying and scary yet amazing features were the final light of Tino's vision.
And he murmured a word Tino dreaded as the man picked up Tino's tattered bike. His popular white mask was all over the news as a successful bandit, a criminal, and an outlaw. The name of the criminal group that terrorized policemen. Thieves, bandits, demons, outlaws... And this man was surely revolted from all of Tino's deeds.
"Lainsuojattomia."
I hope you enjoyed this!
I will keep writing different stories, but as mentioned before, I won't continue this.
Thank you for all your support!
I'M senpai, notice ME!
-KC Senpai