Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Those belong to Himeruya Hidekaz-sensei, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

Summary: Empires were once the most powerful Fighters in the universe, but they all died or disappeared fifty years ago. Didn't they?

Title: Empire

Chapter One: As Time Passes

Word Count: 5,333

Page Count: 8

Anime: Hetalia
Pairing(s) in this chapter: US/UK/US, Giripan

Warning: Language, BL

Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)
Date: Saturday, June 12, 2010

Miscellaneous notes: Yeah, I don't even know what this is. :/ Randomness! I dunno if it'll go anywhere, even… Gack, I should be writing new chapters for TWMCII (or sleeping… sleep is always good…), not doing random little things like this! Written in the wee hours of the morning, so I'm sorry if I missed some typos or other weird stuff~ x.x;; I'm tired. ;.;

: : : : : : :

He missed Japan.

He missed the sunsets over the ocean, the whisperings of the wind in the air, the cooing of the birds as a new day began. He missed tatami mats beneath his slipper-clad feet, sliding open delicate doors crafted of thin wood and paper, quiet evenings of flower arranging as the stillness of the garden beyond beckoned to him. He missed the earthy scents and sounds of the island nation around him, the familiar feelings of home.

He had never been to that Japan.

He had never seen it, never touched it before the Great Migration that left Earth a vast wasteland, uninhabited by all but the strongest of florae and faunae after the nuclear war. No, humanity had evolved far beyond the lump of dirt floating next to a dying star, had escaped to the cold embrace of space in time to avoid being completely obliterated from existence. Humanity had evolved further, splitting into separate floating grids of cubicles that housed anywhere from ten to ten thousand. Naturally, those who had escaped from the same regions of Earth bonded together as best they could, but in the vast bleakness of space not much could be done. They had named the regions after their abandoned homelands. His was Japan.

He knew he was not, and had never been, human. Oh, his body was crafted well, but his first memories were too sharp and flooded with too much information for him to be a true human. He'd known the entire history of his country since age five. Been able to recite all of the old poetry from his world without flaw by nine. He was Japan. Or, more specifically, JAPAN4298-5023. But he was the currently-chosen JAPAN for use by the United Military against the Soviets. Of course, now was not the time for this.

Another explosion rocked the ship and he paused, crouched behind the corner of the wall. Some distance away he heard footsteps, and touched the cloaking device on his belt, subtly reassured by its existence. Naturally, he was skilled enough that much of the time he didn't need it, but it was always prudent to have a back-up plan. He peered around the corner, spying no one, and hurriedly checked the locater on his wrist before sprinting down the corridor, footsteps silent as death. He stopped in front of a locked room, pressing his bare right palm to the scanner and narrowing his eyes. The contraption went haywire for a moment, the screen flashing a flickering yellow before at last fading to a glowing green—no red, he hadn't been detected!—and sliding the door open. Wasting no time, Japan entered, eyes widening at the sight before him.

He'd heard of the man he'd been sent to rescue, but to see it like this…

The room was dark except for the screens, so the naked boy floating in a cylinder filled with a glowing pinkish fluid—not unlike the ones they used to maneuver their own ships—was fairly hard to miss. Wires were attached to his skin every few centimeters, and leading up into the huge, heavy black metal lid capping the container. Japan crept closer, his eyes on the back of the boy's head as he approached, although they flickered every now and then to the screens showing the battle outside. Was the boy watching them? Sliding carefully around to the front, his dark eyes widened. There was a Fighter mask on his face—one of the half-centimeter-thin contraptions that looked like an old European-era party mask but for the ridiculous feathers and glitter. It covered his eyes and part of his nose, only—but, the boy's eyes were closed. That wasn't the problem, though. Why would he be wearing a fighter mask outside of a Fighter? This ship certainly wasn't one. At first he'd assumed that they'd made him into a Navigator, but now… Frowning softly, he turned to glance behind him at the battle.

There was England's Fighter—his dear friend not visible, though—gathering a swirling tempest of magic in its bulky, mechanical hands. The magic was all England's talent, however. He was amazing at it, the best in their group. The shining bolt came right for the screen, he noticed, and instinctively ducked before the swishing sound of water drew his attention to the boy. He looked up.

Those sightless eyes behind his mask had gone wide and white, and he was arching his back as though in great pain. Japan's eyes widened, and he cursed beneath his breath as understanding flooded into his mind. The Soviets had—did they care for nothing sane? He rushed to the control panel, closing his eyes and letting his fingers speak to the keyboard, willing them to find the correct sequence of keys. Another shudder rocked the ship but he refused to falter, continuing to disconnect the wires and soon only waiting for that sucking noise that would indicate that the tank was being released. It came after far too many seconds and once it ended he leapt up nimbly to the glassy side, sticking his bare, device-free hand into the goopy fluid and trying to find the boy's face.

As another beam of magic light filled a screen, it dissolved into grey fuzz and the boy arched in pain again, his cry of agony audible—but still muted—now that the cap had been removed. Japan took the chance and ripped the mask off the boy's face, tossing it away behind him with a clatter and hastily endeavoring to pull the boy up out of the water so he could breathe. Harsh panting filled the air, but it was the best he could do to keep him afloat, arms propped up over the edge of the cylinder. Japan found himself wishing desperately that his partner would hurry. The boy was far too heavy for him to hoist out of here alone. He looked at the captive, hair filled with the neon pink gunk and finding he wished to wipe it away. They had lost him far too long ago. The radio in his ear crackled.

"Japan! Japan, are you there? The Soviets' fighter suddenly stopped moving, did you—"

"Yes, but where is Greece, he—"

"Right here, Japan." Jumping a little in surprise—but then easily relaxing as he felt stronger arms wind over his own, he fought a smile. Together they hoisted the boy out of the gunk, laying him out on the floor. He looked up, far too happy to see his partner's face and Greece returned his own almost-smile with a softer one. As he placed a hand on Japan's shoulder and one on the unconscious boy's chest, they heard footsteps rushing down the hall. Greece looked at him from where he knelt on the boy's other side. Japan nodded.

They disappeared.

: : :

Back in the safety of their own ship—Greece really was the best for his ability, teleportation, even if it did leave him drained and lethargic a great deal of the time—they handed off the boy before slumping tiredly on the side of the landing bay. Greece's arm wrapped around his shoulders and somehow his hand found his and entwined with it. Japan closed his eyes, leaning back against his shoulder as they took a breath from their mission. Teleportation took a great deal of energy, so they tended to save it for escapes. Usually it was easy enough to board a vessel undetected, but leaving it with a naked, unconscious boy in tow would have been utterly impossible. As it was, teleporting three people was a feat in and of itself, and behind him Japan could feel Greece's breaths evening-out into sleep, his grip loosening. He smiled, and made no move to leave even as he listened to the Fighters landing in the bay beyond their little room—a sheet of glass all that stood between them. Eventually he heard hurried footsteps—two sets, he realized, and just before the door slid open Japan opened his eyes, glancing towards it.

There stood England and Canada, the former looking out-of-breath, green eyes wide and the latter appearing strangely incensed. Surprisingly, it was Canada who spoke first, pushing past England with a desperate stumble, violet eyes brimming with uncertainty and yet, delirious hope.

"J-Japan—! I heard from England… did—did you—" He smiled tiredly before nodding once, even as he made no further move to shift and thus disturb Greece's sleep.

"Yes. He's in the sick bay." Without another word Canada turned and ran. England watched him go for a moment before slowly bringing his eyes back. He took a step forward. Japan smiled politely.

"He's alive?"

"Yes." Japan's face darkened for a moment, though, gaze casting away. "They had him wearing a Fighter mask, England. I believe the one you were fighting was his. He reacted in pain whenever one of your blasts hit him." He chanced a glance back towards England. The blond had gone white with either horror or rage, he couldn't tell.

"Then… the Soviets are separating mind from body in order to fight?" Again, Japan nodded. "Bloody hell…" England swore, punching the side of his fist into the wall beside the door, slumping forward.

"It seems that way."

"They're insane!"

"It makes sense when you think about it. Why risk both a Fighter and a good host being destroyed when you only need to risk the Fighter itself?"

"Japan, it's insane!" Jade eyes pinned him, enraged. "You can't seriously be defending the Soviets for doing such a thing!" He responded calmly.

"I was not. I was merely stating what could be their train of logic." The blond shook his head, and turned to go. "England." The blond stopped in the doorway, back facing him. "Aren't you going to go see him?" There was a pause, then a soft chuckle as England shook his head.

"He wouldn't remember me. It's been years since he was taken." With that, he stepped out and the door slid shut behind him. Japan stifled a sigh. He started when the hand encasing his own tightened, and glanced up behind him. Exhausted green eyes slid open, Greece's expression a little cloudy as he smiled down to him.

"You didn't… tell him that America was whispering his name?" To that Japan only smiled, closing his eyes again and leaning back against Greece.

"He will find out soon enough."

: : :

There were bright lights above him. When was the last time he'd seen light like that? He squinted, lifting a hand to his head only to discover he had a wire clipped to his finger. Furrowing his brow, he raised his other hand to try to pull it off, but another hand stopped him. He looked up, blinking stupidly as his eyes settled on a smiling Asian man whose fingers were wrapped gently around his wrist.

"Welcome back, but please leave that be, aru. We need to keep track of you." He nodded, only then moving to sit up and wincing a little. "Do you know who I am?" He looked up, blinking again. The Asian man smiled at him, withdrawing his hands and tucking them into their sleeves in front of him, bowing a little. "Ah, perhaps it is too soon. You have been through quite an ordeal." That enigmatic smile—a flash of memory disrupted him, words lining up with the image before him, almost identical. His eyes widened as he gasped.

"C-China?" Fine brown eyebrows lifted in surprise before the man chuckled, turning and walking away, murmuring softly to himself.

"Perhaps you will remember more than we thought…" By the door China turned, smiling over his shoulder towards him as it opened. "You have a visitor."

"A vis—"

"America!" A shot clad in the grey jumpsuit of the Navigators tackled him back to the bed and he sucked in a breath as he was pinned, blinking up in surprise at the teary face bearing down on him. He blinked again, then laughed.

"Canada! Oh, man—" His brother joined in on the laughter, Canada's hands taking a firm hold of his elbows as his own did the same. They grinned at each other, foreheads pressing together and neither noticing as China discretely exited, the door sliding shut behind him.

"I can't believe we actually—"

"I know, I never thought I'd see you guys again! Oh, geez!" He felt like he couldn't stop smiling. Like nothing could stop years of torture and isolation from keeping his heart this full. Except for… America's expression faded a little as he glanced towards the door, worry creeping into the edges of his mind. "H-Hey, where's—is he—?" Canada blinked at him, then smiled a little smile, leaning to kiss America on the cheek with a whisper.

"England's just fine. Don't worry." He breathed a sigh of relief, laughing again as he knocked foreheads gently with his little brother, pushing down the unsettled feeling in his gut.

"Haha, yeah, should've known an old man like him wouldn't have kicked the bucket in the few years I've been gone!" Canada smiled at him, a little shyly, nodding. America grinned back. "So, what did I miss?"

: : :

England had once been the greatest Navigator in the entire fleet. Put him in the Navigation Tank of your ship—NT, for short—and it was basically guaranteed he'd dodge every attack while still able to plan ahead for his opponent's next move. Sometimes he'd get hit, but that only caused him to strengthen his shields. Naturally, in an NT he couldn't fight, though. In an NT you couldn't move like you could in a Fighter, it was all mental. In a Fighter you could move your arms and legs, and the machine would move with you. In a Fighter you were housed in the heart of the machine in a floating sphere, wires attached to your jumpsuit as you hovered right in the center of the action—if anyone targeted that area you'd likely die. In all the Fighters the United Military used, anyway. The Soviet Military, however… Well, according to Japan's report, the Soviets had had America in a tank while both Navigating and Fighting. Yet, still, it was all mental and their technology had apparently advanced enough to allow America not to be in the Fighter unit while it was activated. Certainly, this was a dangerous development, but no one could deny that creating a machine that could function like that was clearly a huge leap in technology. It was good to know, too, that for every Soviet Fighter they destroyed, it didn't necessarily mean they were killing someone. Of course, no one knew what the effect of having the Fighter unit completely destroyed would have on the mental state of the person manning it from their tank, but—

After America had been taken, they had used the incident to try to coax England back into his previous role as a Navigator, saying that with their close bond he would be able to locate America better. He had steadfastly refused, stating that Navigator work was for those still young, and that he had no intention of ever getting back in an NT ever again. There were rumors of others like England—like England, only so much greater—"Empires", Navigators who could also control the guns on their ships, effectively making them a sort of Fighter unit. The greatest of them could control entire fleets or even communicate with other Fighters or Navigators, it was rumored. There were only a few great Empires, and their identities were all very secret, demonstrated by the fact they were referred to by numbers, not names. There hadn't been an Empire in ages, though, and by now it was believed that no one possessed the skills and sheer power to attain that rank, anymore.

America, and the information Japan had brought with his return, was the closest they had to a man-made Empire.

: : :

It was about a week after his return, and still England hadn't visited him. America was beginning to feel a bit neglected. He was walking around, thankful he had nowhere to be and idly thinking he'd pop in to see Lithuania and check on how he was doing after all this time—when he ran into someone. His hands went instinctively to the other's arms, and he blinked down in surprise as huge eyebrows blocked any immediate glimpse of the other's face. He laughed, hugging the green-clad man close.

"England! I knew I'd run into you, sometime!" He lifted him up above his head despite the close hallway, laughing only more as the blond's hands started to slap at his arms and angry protests were yelled at him in that too-familiar accented voice. America relented soon enough, setting the man back down and lifting his hands to cup his cheeks. He gazed seriously into the green eyes he'd missed for so long, expression softening as he leaned closer. "I've wanted to do this for years, so don't you dare get embarrassed and run away." And he covered the final inches before their mouths met, and when England slumped against him a few moments later, shoulders trembling oh-so-slightly and fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt, America knew he'd finally come home.

: : :

Their battles with the Soviets were never over, it seemed. It was three years after America's successful rescue, and the NT tank behind the gunner's position was empty while England manned the instruments manually. They were on a scouting mission, and popped back into normal space after their jump and sailed through the endless midnight sky for a bit—until they came upon what seemed to be the entire fleet of Soviet warships. They turned to run, but there was no way they'd escape notice and their warp drive had to charge up before another jump. England's face was grim, and America was just about to suggest that they spend their last moments shagging each other senseless when the blond stood, and reached up to unhook the top buttons on his green uniform. America blinked at him.

"England?" But the blond just turned and walked past him, unzipping his forest green uniform as he went and pausing only a moment to jerk him down and press a kiss on him. Then in a flash of hard green eyes he was gone again, stripping slowly down and out of his bodysuit and into only his boxers and white tank top. America ogled him shamelessly, although with no small amount of confusion, as England pressed the button to fill the NT with fluid and only now stopped and turned to watch him, waiting for it to fill fully. Their eyes locked, serious jade boring into him as though memorizing his face. America couldn't speak, even as the alarms started to blare around them, signaling that they'd been locked-on by the surrounding Soviet ships and only had about two minutes to live. America stepped forward, a sudden sense of urgency washing over him, gaze worried. "England—"

"I love you." It was spoken so quietly, he couldn't move for a moment. England had never said it to him. They'd only had each other for three years—ever since America had confessed with that kiss, back when he'd first been rescued, although it'd been building for years upon years before that—and so for England to say it now… His eyes widened, and he started to rush forward, but was too late to stop the other man from slipping into the pink goop of the mostly-filled cylindrical NT, and only managed to grab England's upper arm before his head went under. England looked up to him, his jade eyes as grim as when they'd first discovered the war fleet. The alarms blared around them. One minute. "Let go, America." There were very few times he'd listen to someone else's orders, but right now—right now, with England looking at him like that, with that tone in his voice—

He just did it, and England slipped under the surface of the pink gel-like fluid, completely submerged as the metallic cap snapped down and sealed snugly over it. America hurried down the steps and away from him, watching England through the glass as a bit of panic began to seep into his mind, the computer's voice blaring at him about oncoming missiles.

: : :

It had been so long since he'd been in an NT, he'd almost forgotten what it was like. England gazed ahead through the pink bubbles and goo, watching as his view of America slowly fogged as his eyes adjusted to the fluid. He let it soak into his skin as his fingers moved on the small holographic keypad that flickered up in front of his face, blocking his view of the alarm-blaring cabin beyond and typing in his identity—no, not ENGLAND5668-7983. Not this time (and perhaps, not ever again).

England felt a jarring, electrical sensation rocket through him as the computer registered what he'd typed in, and he arched back with a silent cry as wires exploded from both the top and bottom of the cylinder and all around him, winding over him and attaching their ends greedily to every part of his skin. He couldn't hear the shout that his lover emitted, the terrified hands suddenly pressing to the outside of glass that he could no longer see. All he could feel was his senses opening up, his eyes truly opening for the first time in what felt like years—no, it had to be decades, didn't it?—and he saw it. He saw the space around him, felt it run over his hands, his legs, and into him.

And the British Empire smiled.

: : :

"England! England!" He was scared. Black wires and cords of different widths had exploded around England, completely encasing his lover—something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong and it didn't matter that there were missiles headed towards them at this very moment, it didn't matter that they'd be dead, all that mattered is that something so very wrong had just happened and oh, god, what if England couldn't breathe? America had never seen wires come out of an NT, before, never, never, and he'd been with the fleet since before he could form sentences. He felt tears in his eyes and they slid down unchecked as he hugged the glass cylinder with all his might, trying in some desperate attempt to break it. He shouldn't have listened to England. If he hadn't listened, at least they'd die holding each other, instead of—

The ship lurched, and for a moment he didn't know what was going on. Then it lurched again and he stumbled, falling onto his rear and blinking up at the flashing screens. His eyes widened as they went to fuzz and the alarm and electricity cut out, washing the deck in the eerie blue back-up emergency lighting, his view of space completely cut out as the instruments went haywire. Oh, crap. Crapcrapcrapcrap! America hurried to a panel, hovering his hands over the keyboard indecisively and glancing nervously back at the unmoving, wire-bound form of his lover in the glowing pink liquid that was quickly turning—purple? He blinked, and rubbed an eye, staring again. Yes, it was purple.

Just at that moment the ship rumbled, and he teetered over with a yell, falling over the panel and grasping onto it as he felt the craft shake and America squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to the panel as he was sure the Soviet missiles would hit any moment now and they'd be—

His body felt like it was being squished and stretched in weird directions. This felt nothing like warp! It was like space itself was bending around him, but trying to pull him along with it around the edges and he slid numbly off the panel to curl into a fetal position, ducking his head down and trying to keep his body parts from sliding away from him. What was this? There was the sound of crashing and then the vessel bucked, and then lights were everywhere, all sorts of colors swirling around his vision and he couldn't see or hear anything and then the sensations were too much to hold on to consciousness.

: : :

"Get up." There was a toe in his side and he groaned, hands instinctively going to clutch at his head. It was too bright—oh, wait, then that meant the emergency lighting had clicked off. His eyes snapped open, and when the first thing he saw was England standing over him with a scowl on his face his heart leapt. America did, then, too, laughing and shooting up and grabbing England and pressing kisses all over his face, as usual ignoring his lover's insults and struggles.

"D-Damn, England, I don't know what you did, but unless this is heaven—and these bruises I've got are thanks to you and boy do they hurt so I guess it's not—"

"England?" He stopped, at that, blinking down at the man in his arms who was currently watching him rather suspiciously.

"…England? That's you." America blinked again, leaning close with a frown and sliding a hand up to that blond hair. "Hey, did you hit your head or somethin'? Are you—"

"I'm perfectly dandy, just get your paws off me, you lout!" He jerked back as England huffed at him—but, no, this… this had to be a joke. He tried to laugh it off.

"H-Haha, okay, this is really funny, England." Smiling, America waved a hand towards the frowning man before him. "Not really the time for jokes, but—who are you, then, if you're not England?" England sniffed at him, but nonetheless crossed his arms. Those jade depths smirked at him.

"EMPIRE0016." His mouth went dry as his mind started to work.

"W-What?" England gave a loud sigh, waving a hand.

"Oh, what's the use, you're obviously too stupid to comprehend." England smiled at him, condescendingly and humoring him, he could tell. America didn't let it show that those words hurt. "I am EMPIRE0016, more commonly known as the 'British Empire' or 'Great Britain'. Now then." Eng—n-no, it was… No, wait, it was still England!—looked around, seeming unimpressed at the ship surrounding them. "What manner of vessel is this? Is this the best we can do, in fifty years? Tsk, tsk…"

"W-Wait, fifty years?" The conclusion was coming slowly, although America still—

"Yes, fifty years, that's right." The… the 'Empire', or 'Britain', or whatever—looked at him then, those massive brows furrowing. "That's the last time I was needed. Although I haven't the foggiest why I'm here, doesn't seem like there is anyone else aboard this ship." He tapped his lip, and from years of habit America's eyes shot down to watch it. It was still England… just only in body, not mind. His heart ached. What had England done—? Was he really… was that what the 'Empires' were, then? Not separate people, but parts of people that were tucked away? His head ached, just thinking about it, and so he shook it, exhaling a long breath. Britain's green eyes locked on him, and America gave a weak smile. They had the same eyes…

"Um, yeah… about that… you probably saw all those Sov—er, ships surrounding us, right?" He got a nod. Good, at least Eng—Britain remembered that. "Well, uh… my—um, England, who you probably don't know but you should 'cause that's—" Here he pointed, ever-blunt. "—his body—and, uh, I guess he sorta changed into you to save us, or something…" America trailed off awkwardly, by now scratching the back of his head and gazing nervously towards the person who was as good as a stranger to him, now. Dammit, after that close-call he just wanted to hold England close and never let him go, but—if England wasn't here, where was he? Was he buried under the Empire's persona, now? What was this, none of it made sense… America sighed, miserably, hanging his head. Would England ever come back?

"Well, that's good to know." That crisp tone cut off his thoughts and he raised his head, attempting a smile towards… Britain, then. Right. Britain. Not England.

"Yeah…" Those sharp emerald depths eyed him, and he fidgeted a little before glancing to the screens above him, blinking in surprise at actually seeing the darkness of space. "Hey! The instruments are working again!" He started forward excitedly, quickly typing into the keyboards as he watched the screen overhead light up and show their coordinates. "Aw, awesome! We're only a few parsecs away from the Military's headquarters. From here, we can—"

"Ah, so the United Military still exists, does it?" He heard a sneer in that voice and turned around, blinking as he saw Britain had come up behind him and was now smirking at the display above them both. He tried not to focus on the fact he wanted to hold him close, kiss him and—those green eyes pinned him, narrowing, and America gulped, jerking back and trying another anxiety-rimmed smile.

"Y-Y-Yeah, we're fightin' the Soviet Military right now—" Emerald depths slowly lidded, falling halfway as Britain leaned closer, purring at him.

"Is that so~?"

America had to wonder what the hell was going on when he found himself kissed by a person who was as good as a complete stranger to him. Although it felt (and smelled, and tasted) almost exactly like England, Britain's approach was entirely different. Five seconds in they were already waging war in each other's mouths, America's hands going to grasp at the still-bared arms of the slightly-shorter man as he found himself pinned up against the lit panel behind him, buttons clicking as pressure was applied and that simple shove sent a wide array of useless messages blinking onto the main screen above their heads. Britain's hands moved, sliding to the neck snaps of his jumpsuit and undoing them before unzipping the full length down to his hips and pressing a hand against his crotch. America jumped, surprised at the quick contact before glancing down then back up as Britain took the chance to dominate his mouth fully, once more. He groaned a little, arms wrapping around behind Britain's shoulders as he pulled him close.

"Wh-What are you—" America's voice cut off as his head threw itself back, Britain's deft fingers wrapping around his clothed length and beginning to rub. A sultry voice cooed into his neck.

"You've wanted this, yes~? You've been looking at me like you've wanted it ever since you woke up. What was your name again, lad?" America's heart clenched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of England. It was England, but it wasn't. It was, but not in any way that mattered.

"S-Stop—" He felt a frown against his skin, but thankfully Britain retreated and when America opened his eyes he found himself on the receiving end of a baleful glare, the Empire's arms crossed over his chest in blatant irriation.

"If that's what you wish, I won't force you." Britain sniffed at him, turning around and striding off to pick up England's discarded forest green bodysuit from the floor and stepping into it. America took the chance to steady his breathing and shake his head, straightening and flopping into the chair before the keyboard panel. He typed in a few things mechanically, setting the ship on course to return to headquarters. America tried not to sigh, tried not to wonder what it would mean if they landed there like this.

After all, it wasn't every day an old Empire unit resurfaced.

: : :

…Um. Lots of reviews might possibly make me continue this? xD ;; Er. I hope you enjoyed it~? -Fox