A/N: Welcome to a new story that I hopefully won't decide to delete! My other one sucked anyway, let's face it. It was a total mess. Maybe I'll start it up again in the future, who knows (probably not though).

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Hetalia or its characters. The only thing here that I own is the plot idea for this story.

Warnings: Possible character deaths, graphic descriptions, violence, blah blah blah. Anything you'd expect from a dystopian/post-apocalyptic story setting.

Also, there will be some Nyotalia characters in here.

Anyway, enjoy!

With the pollution-clouded sky dark and spotted with dim stars, the night air cool and dry, and the wilderness appearing to be clear of mutants for the time being, three men sat in a resting area, keeping each other awake with jokes and stories and plans for a better future.

The year was 2215, and society had both evolved and remained the same from what it was 200 years prior. It had advanced greatly in technology to the point where mechanical upgrades on human bodies were as common as new haircuts or clothing. Beginning as defense mechanisms against the deadly mutants that had surfaced from a nuclear war, upgrades became a trend and an accessory, but also remained functional. However, unlike technology and medicine, the behavior and tendencies of mankind unfortunately had not changed. There was still conflict and tensions, people were still greedy, the government still attempted to dominate its people, and the rich and powerful still overpowered lower classes.

Life certainly had not gotten any simpler. With monsters risen from nuclear radiation, the humans have built walls around six separate territories to protect themselves, divided by a perilous wilderness that only three types of people dared to set foot in. These people were soldiers, bandits, and messengers. Soldiers attempted to keep the mutants at bay while also traveling to different territories to protect what passed for peace and order these days. Bandits refused to live under the rules of the Center, the most powerful territory where the King resided, and therefore lived as criminals, robbing and killing those passing by for weapons, supplies, and food. Messengers probably had one of the worst and best jobs. They had to travel from territory to territory in small teams, delivering messages that could not be sent over telecommunications, items and research specimens, and sometimes people. While doing this, they would have to face mutants in great numbers day and night. Because of their deadly but important jobs, messengers and soldiers received the most advanced upgrades and weapons, and also had the highest pay with the best quality of living. But to most of them, it still was not enough.

You would be correct in guessing that the three men sitting in the resting area were messengers. What were they delivering, you ask? They didn't even initially know. All they knew was that it is a very important letter that the Center could not risk getting sent over telecommunications. So, the Central territory, the second most powerful territory and closest to the Center, entrusted the three best messengers with the task of carrying this classified letter to the King safely. They did not know that this would be the biggest mistake they could have made.

"So, who wants to do the honors of opening this one?" asked one of the men, a loud, pale one with hair that was almost white despite his young age of twenty-six. He waved the letter they were sworn to protect in front of his team like he was taunting a dog with treats. The other two men settled on rock-paper-scissors to decide who opens the letter and looks at it first.

With a satisfied smirk, the man on the right stuck his tongue out at his opponent, having thrown rock while the latter had thrown scissors. "Good luck next time," he said smugly, snatching the letter from the first man. He tucked a strand of wavy blond hair behind his ear as he looked down at the official-looking letter, complete with the orange logo of the Central territory. A whimper came from the man he had defeated, and he glanced over to see him giving him big green puppy eyes.

"No, not this time. I refuse," the blond man said in a firm voice one would use when speaking to a child asking for candy before dinner. He eventually gave in, letting out a dramatic sigh and handing over the letter. The white-haired man laughed obnoxiously.

The third man grinned proudly, giving the blonde a quick, "Thank you," and then turning to the other man, asking him, "You have another envelope, right?" He received a positive reply, and then proceeded to tear open the letter excitedly, reading it aloud. "'Our Great and Noble King:'" He paused as the three of them laughed at the lies in those five words, and then decided to restart. After he finished, he passed the letter around for the others to look at themselves.

Our Great and Noble King:

We are sending this letter to inform you that we and all other territories have been told of your plans to activate the control mechanisms in all upgrades affected, and that we will proudly stand by and await your initiation. Your proposed date was July 15, 2215, therefore that will be the date we prepare for. If we could, we would love to add that this plan is absolutely genius and we are surprised it has not been thought of sooner.

We also are excited to report that the Western territory has discovered the identity of two rebels, and are sending some of their best soldiers to dispose of them. With the aid of your locator chips, they will track these two fairly easily. They should be stopped by the time you receive this message. Unfortunately, this still leaves a few more rebels and anyone in allegiance to them, however, we can assure you that we will work tirelessly to identify and terminate this menace.

The territories are hopeful for the future, and ever loyal to you. As always, we will anticipate more great things to result from your rule.

Sincerely,

The Central Territory

The three messengers stared at the letter in confused terror and shocked silence. The green-eyed brunette decided to shatter the suffocating silence by folding the letter back up and sealing it in a new envelope, then turning to his friends to attempt at saying comforting words. "I'm sure that they were not talking about any of us. What have we done to give up our identity? And... They would not have given us this letter to deliver if they had known what we were, right? We'll be fine!" He tried to smile at them, but the other two just continued to absently stare at the table where the letter was, drowning in their thoughts and growing fears. The brunette sighed and frowned, fearing the worst himself.

"But it was the Western territory that figured it out, not Central," the white-haired one pointed out in a rarely used hushed voice. "They could have written this letter without knowing. Fuck, we're dead! They're sending soldiers after us!" He began to pace back and forth in the dark room, frantically muttering to himself in German. In the midst of his panic, he suddenly stopped and grinned. "Wait, we're awesome! More specifically, I'm awesome! And we have badass weapons and upgrades! No way will a couple soldiers stand a chance against us!"

"And there is still a small possibility that they were not talking about us," the blonde chimed in, regaining confidence. "There are rebels other than us around. Plus, I know many Western soldiers. Maybe if it is us, I will know whoever was sent. I can surely talk them out of hurting us with my beautiful looks and flawless charm." He smirked and laughed.

The three gradually lost their doubts and fears as the night went on, and soon were able to sleep in peace. The white-haired man sat outside of the rest area building during his night watch shift, scanning the area for mutants, bandits, or soldiers with his blaster within reach. As usual, nothing interesting was happening. There would be an occasional mutant in the distance, and he would raise his blaster and silently shoot it with a deadly beam, and then go back to sitting around, doing nothing.

As his shift came down to its final five minutes, the man stood up and stretched, letting out a long yawn before turning to head inside. He stopped mid-stride when his upgraded ears picked up footsteps a little over two hundred feet away. Grabbing his blaster, he hastily got inside and shook his friends awake. "Guys! Someone is coming! It sounds like two or three people. I think they're girls. The steps don't sound too heavy." He shut up for a second to listen more, seeing if he could get any more information from the footsteps. When he couldn't, he turned back to them and began to rush them to their feet. "Come on! Grab your blasters and get ready!"

Minutes later, there was a knock at the doors of the building. The first man was already right there, while the other two were still grabbing their weapons and readying themselves for a possible fight. They're knocking? Who does that? They're either idiots, or know they can't lose... he thought to himself.

"Hello? Anyone gonna open up before I blast this door down?" said a loud female voice from the other side.

Hesitantly, the man unlocked the door and opened it, revealing two similar-looking girls who appeared to be in their late teens or very early twenties. The girls wore traditional Western soldier uniforms, and each had a decent amount of visible upgrades. However, they didn't seem like they could be a couple of the Western territory's best soldiers like the letter said they would be.

When the soldiers looked at the man, one of them—the one with shorter hair—glanced at a little screen on her upgraded arm, and shook her head slightly at her accomplice, who had been smiling politely at him the whole time. Without saying a word, they pushed past him and began making their way towards the remaining two messengers. The white-haired man rushed after them, his mind racing with returning fears and his heart pounding.

When he reached everybody, he was surprised to find them doing nothing but talking. "Do you not remember me, Amelia?" the blonde was asking the girl with shorter hair, a frightened look in his eyes. He then turned to the other one. "Madeline?"

"'Course we remember you," the short-haired girl, Amelia, told him, her weapon-loaded arm pointed at his head. "You're like a big bro to us. But that doesn't change anything. I'm sorry that I gotta do this, I really am. But it's my job, and I hope you understand. It's a shame that you've resorted to this kind of thing. I dunno why anyone would oppose the Center like this. Anyway, don't move. It just makes this complicated." He hung his head, feeling defeated, and did nothing to defend himself as Amelia aimed her arm at him and blasted, quickly doing the same to the brunette before he could even move. Both of them hit the floor.