A/N: Umm... crack fic timez, yay? xD I've never done a crossover before, so forgive me for the obvious failness that will grace this chapter and the future ones (if I ever get them written & published).

The idea of Russia/Soundwave is odd, but in my fandom mind, it just fits perfectly! I had intended for this story to be uber serious and angst filled, which it will be - rest assure, but now it'll be kinda silly and wtf-worthy too. Especially this chapter (I'm still reeling from the wtfness of it XD) But yeah, take note that this fic is bipolar, so be prepared for ups and downs on different genres. Also, the format is weird, idk if I'm keeping it like that forever, but just a warning if you absolutely can't stand it C:

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this (I certainly enjoyed writing this first chapter xD). And be prepared for OOC all around, too. Reviews and critiques are much love~!

Sidenote: * indicates them speaking in Russian. It'll only appear for this chapter, as they will continue to talk in Russian throughout the story and I didn't want to put asterisks after every other 2 or 3 sentences of dialogue C:

These Conventions

Fate

Russia: November 25, 1605

Russia had never believed in fate at first sight.

He had years of experience and even more decades of practice steeling his heart away from such unnecessary feelings. And just like he'd been trained to suppress emotion (through the upheavals of war and different rulers with different backgrounds), he could suppress instincts too.

Because, really, it was almost as idiotic as believing in love at first sight.

Because, really, there was no way that this could happen to him.

There was no way that he would be the country to have this. . . this whatever it was here.

Standing in the snow, Russia could think of a dozen other places where this thing (whatever it was) could have crash landed in.

But still. . . even with that thinking, he knew that he wasn't hallucinating the wreckage of metal and flashing silver staring up at him.

And as the revelation hit him that he was, in fact, not under any sort of narcotic drug that would impair his logical thinking, the country felt a burst of excitement.

The feeling was acute, heart-wrenching, and certain within his chest.

This must be fate.

The Russian man pulled his hands out of the comforts of his warm trenchcoat and took one step forward.

Flurries drifted in and out of his vision and the darkness only proved to hinder his sight.

Still, Russia pressed forward with fierce determination and a calculating eye.

He took in the strange, complex circuitry of the creature; its dark blue and silver-plated armor, two arm-like protrusions of immense width and length – dotted with strange, purple smears – spanning from its body, a pair of dark red orbs that had to be eyes. . .

For some strange reason, a shiver of nervousness crept up his spine. Though the glittering redness of those orbs were dim, Russia was sure that they were still alert, moving in secrecy behind their feigned display of inactivity. . .

He was so absorbed in this contemplation that he didn't notice when one of those arms, a possible equivalent of 10 or more tons, slowly lifted into the air.

It was only when he felt the snow beneath him tremble from the creature's shifting that Russia jumped back in surprise and horror.

The creature's blood-red orbs flared to life, an overwhelmingly bright contrast to the darkness. The arm, now suspended in air, looked dangerously close to descending upon his head. It was a clear warning for him to stay back, unless he wanted to be crushed flat.

And for a split second, he obeyed. Wild fear gripped his heart as Russia scrambled to think of a way to move without provoking the creature.

Then logic and relief processed through his brain.

He was a country, for Heaven's sake.

And regardless of any other forms he took on – whether it be human or not – he was still a country.

So it was idiotic how he felt the sudden desire to run away from that Damocles' sword hanging above him; because he knew that if Ivan – his human form – died, he himself could always create another form and continue to live.

Really, this was just childish of him.

Resolved now, and with a fresh burst of bravado, Russia took a step forward and extended his hand up, towards the larger one above.

He watched the red eyes narrow in suspicion (the arm twitched warningly) and struggled to find the right words to express that he was only curious and not threatening.

Somehow, the words came out wrong.

"Privet, my name is Russia. . . and you are on my property~!"*

Horrified, the country felt his heart sink. What a critical mistake he'd made! There went his one possible chance of befriending the creature – surely it was now offended at his use of very uncharismatic words. . .

Then he realized that he'd spoken in Russian.

Hope swelled in his chest.

Maybe the creature does not understand Russian, maybe he is not offended at all, maybe there is still a—

The enormous creature suddenly made a noncommittal noise. It was deep and oddly monotone, but Russia didn't miss the hint of amusement there which told him quite clearly that, yes, it had understood him.

Nyet, there is not a chance now.

When the creature spoke up for the first time, Russia was surprised at how fluent its Russian was.

"Designation: Soundwave. Your home: mine now."*

And then the arm swooped down upon him.