Arthur walked away from the meeting that the World Meeting had just been held in, shaking his head. The meeting had just been a combination of arguments and fights, and had been a waste of time as usual. He sighed and made his way along the corridor to the exit of the building.

He went through the door, holding it open for Oliver who was bouncing along behind him.

"Why thank you, poppet," Oliver said, walking through the door. Arthur snorted and continued walking. However, his path was blocked by none other than his pesky twin.

"Are you not going to say you're welcome?" he asked, blue eyes staring into Arthur's green ones.

"I do not believe that you deserve it," the stoic nation replied. He had no respect for his neon-coloured twin, and tried to avoid him as much as he could.

"That's rude, love, don't you think you ought to have some manners?" Oliver cooed. Arthur snorted once more.

"Not at all, you bloody wanker. You see, I don't care."

"Language, poppet!" Oliver chided. "No swearing, or I'll have to teach you a lesson." He brandished his knife threateningly and Arthur turned away.

"Well that's nice for you, isn't it? Bugger off and go play with your friends," Arthur ordered, attempting to walk away from the mad Brit.

"What friends?" Oliver said maniacally. "I don't have any, Arthur. Except you, that is." He jumped, placing his arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Let's play a game, shall we, poppet?"

"Get your hands off me!" Arthur exclaimed, ducking underneath Oliver's arm. "I refuse to be touched by the likes of you. However, I will play a game with you if you promise to stop pestering me once we are done."

Oliver smiled demonically. "Oh, Arthur, poppet," he said, "I knew you'd play." He poked Arthur in the side with the knife slightly, and Arthur scowled. "Come with me poppet, we can't just stand here and play the game."

He led Arthur into a side room, and they both sat down on chairs, thinking completely different thoughts.

"Now, what game shall we play?" Oliver paused. "How about Ring A Ring O' Roses?"

"Really Oliver?" Arthur said condescendingly, looking at him as if he was a small child

"Oh really. You're forgetting your manners again though!" Oliver ran his finger along the sharp edge of the blade. "We could play Wink Murder..." he suggested, trailing off.

"We need more people for that, you stupid twit," Arthur said scathingly. "Think of a different game."

"Oh, I don't know, Arthur," Oliver began. "Two people guarantees an easily found murderer, but we also know who will die first." He smiled again. "And I don't know about you...but it seems to me that we all know who's got the knife."

Arthur gulped, then composed himself. "Now listen here, wanker, I don't know what you're playing at, so stop it this instance. Bloody git," he muttered at the end.

"Language, poppet!" Oliver reprimanded him. "I've already told you. And I don't want to end the game earlier than necessary."

"You still haven't decided on an actual game to play, you idiot," Arthur reminded him.

"Oh? I thought we agreed on Wink Murder," Oliver said. "Come to think of it, I can't actually wink. No matter! I'm fine with playing just Murder."

"Very well then. How does this...game of yours work?"

"Do you know the rules of Wink Murder? It's the same, except, nobody winks. They Just. Murder." Oliver poked Arthur with the point of the knife again.

"I'm afraid I don't," Arthur said, purely to rile up his twin. "You shall have to teach me. And would you stop poking me with that bloody knife of yours!"

"Oh Arthur, lies, all lies." Oliver sighed. "You do know how to play." He shook his head. "But it does not matter. I can show you. There's nothing a little example can't explain."

"Don't call me a liar, you sodding twit!" the Brit said indignantly. "If I knew how to play, I would have told you so. Come on then, demonstrate how the game is meant to be played."

"If you say so." Oliver stood up, walked over to Arthur, pulled the nation's arms behind his back and handcuffed him to the chair. He also pulled a vial out of his pocket and opened it, allowing Arthur to breathe in the fumes. They were not toxic, but would simply make the uptight Brit a tiny bit more complacent.

"That's better. Now, first of all, we choose the murderer." He knelt down, draping his arms over Arthur's shoulders. "That'll be me. Then we choose the victim." His large smile got even wider. "Seeing as there's only two of us...that'll be you."

"Now...I'll just...hang on." Oliver shifted so the knife's point was touching Arthur's back. "There, that's better." He grinned once more. "I'll just push this in a bit and then..." The knife slid effortlessly through Arthur's clothes and skin, the very end of the point in his flesh.

"Aack!" Arthur yelled in pain. "O-Oliver, what the...what the hell do you think you are doing?!"

"We're playing murder, Arthur!" Oliver explained, stroking the restrained Brit's cheek. "I'm sorry, does it hurt?" Oliver's grin was wide, eyes glinting.

"A-a little. But h-how do I win the game?"

Oliver smirked. "You don't, poppet. That's the thing. The victim. Always. Loses." Each word was clipped, emphasising the severity of Arthur's predicament.

"You... Well, it's simple really. You just die."

Oliver scratched the knife along Arthur's back, and Arthur whimpered, arching his back and the blade pressed into his skin. His back was littered with pink lines from the blade and could be seen, as most of the cuts had also sliced through his shirt.

"It hurts a little, doesn't it?" Oliver cooed, feigning sympathy. "Don't worry, love, eventually it'll all go away."

Arthur looked Oliver in the eyes. "Will it?" Are you sure?"

"Very sure Arthur," the blade-wielding Brit reassured. He brought the knife along the back of Arthur's neck, not quite hard enough to draw blood. "Soon, soon. Everything will be... Well, I won't say fine, because I'd be lying. But it will...hmm...disappear soon."

"If it's gone, how will it not be fine? That sounds sort of contradictory, you idiot."

"That depends on your point of view, poppet." Oliver held the knife to Arthur's throat. "But to everyone else..." He smiled maniacally again. "Well, not to me, but to people like, say, America..." He pressed the knife into Arthur's throat slightly. "He'll be heartbroken."

"What do you mean, you wanker? What on earth could happen to me that would leave that idiot h-h-heartbroken?" Arthur asked quietly.

"Do you not remember what I said earlier, Arthur?" Oliver said, sighing. "Your memory really is poor..." He trailed off.

"The only time that idiot might fell something would be if I... Oh," Arthur said, coming to realise what Oliver was talking about.

"Oh, yes. Now you remember." Oliver put a bit more pressure on the knife. "I. Said. You'd. Die."

"But," Arthur began, "it's just a game, right? Right, Oliver? Oliver?" He began to panic when he did not get a response at first.

"A game?" Oliver sighed. "You really thought it was a game?" He giggled. "I think I like you better when you're vulnerable, Arthur. It brings out the fear in you." Oliver dragged the knife across the nation's throat.

"Oliver? Wait, what are you doing?" Arthur said, panicked. "I thought we were playing a game!"

"It never was a game, poppet," Oliver explained. He wrapped his free arm around Arthur's waist. "Oh, no. I'm the only one playing around here. And that's because I can't bear to kill you just yet." He pushed the knife point into Arthur's chest. "No, I want to see you break first."

"Wh-what do you mean, see me break? Oliver, what are you doing, you wanker?" Arthur cursed.

"I think, if you tell me what you think I mean...we might get somewhere. And as for what I'm doing, there's quite a few things that I'm doing. But mainly...I'm breaking you."

"I don't understand...I don't know what you mean by wanting to break me. How can you break people? You can break their bones, or you can...break their sanity," Arthur said, beginning to talk to himself. Oliver smiled at that.

"Which do you think, Arthur?"

"Well, you're not really strong enough to break my bones, so..."

Oliver straightened, clapping his hand against the knife blade. "You're getting there, poppet. Now, I have one. More. Question."

"What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything," Oliver said. "Not from you. I just wondered..." He pressed the flat edge of the blade against Arthur's stomach. "How do you really feel about... This may break you, Arthur. Are you sure you want me to ask?"

"You may as well," Arthur replied, defeated. "I doubt it'll make much of a difference now."

"Oh, he's giving up," Oliver muttered to himself. "How disappointing." He twisted the blade so the sharp edge pressed into Arthur. "Well, I'm wondering, poppet, how you really feel.." The smile was back. "How you feel about Alfred."

Arthur grimaced, failing to cover the pain he felt. "A-Alfred?" he stuttered. "Wh-why would you ask that?"

"Because I know how he feels about you, love. I could tell you, but then I might miss my chance to break you." He pressed harder on the blade that was threatening to cut Arthur's stomach. "Now, answer the question!" he demanded, his tone angry.

"Aah!" Arthur winced. "Alfred...well, I suppose...I don't hate him as much as it may seem."

"That was a feeble attempt at an answer, poppet." Oliver put even more pressure on the knife, breaking through skin. "Try again!"

"Aah! Christ! Er," Arthur began, "America...w-well, we're friends, but...I guess...sometimes I wish we could...be more than...just friends."

"Still feeble, Arthur!" Oliver growled. He dug the knife in deeper, scowling. "You better tell me properly before I kill you. I. Need. You. Broken."

"Shit! Fuck, that's bloody painful," Arthur swore. "What do you want to hear?"

"I know, love, it's meant to hurt! I thought you had more brain power, Arthur. Anyway, I want to hear...the truth." He was back to his manic grin.

"But...I've told you the truth. Haven't I?"

"Well, you could say that." Oliver wrenched the knife out of Arthur's stomach and he gasped. The psychotic Brit brought the knife up to the skin around Arthur's collarbone. He traced a cupcake in blood and the brought the knife up to his mouth, licking the rest of the blood off. "But, it's only half of the truth, poppet," he said, cutting the traced cupcake into Arthur's flesh as he spoke.

"Aah!" Arthur cried. "Alright! I love Alfred. There. Are you happy now?"

"Oh yes," Oliver said, beaming murderously. "Very happy, Arthur." He slipped the knife back into the gouge in Arthur's stomach. "You see, I've finally broken you. Those tears, the look in your eyes..." He pressed the knife in even further. "I can kill you now. If...I...just..." he said, twisting the knife around, creating an even larger hole in the Brit's stomach. "There we go. Bye bye, poppet." The knife slipped all the way through, the point emerging from Arthur's back.

"Aaaaaah!" Arthur screamed, coughing up blood. "I am a country!" he exclaimed desperately. "I can't be killed apart from by another country or...myself. And...you're more or less me. Well shit."

"Now, here's the thing, love, I'm not you," Oliver explained, demonic grin growing ever wider. "But, I can kill you; I was born to kill you. And I've got there now. So...I guess it's time to part ways. Cheerio Arthur," he said, waving and walking away. "Enjoy the afterlife!"

"Alfred." That was the last word Arthur uttered before his body slumped into the chair and the life left the stoic nation's body.