The G8 meeting wasn't going as smoothly as one would expect. Or more precisely, it was exactly as one would expect. England and France started to fight not even half thorough the meeting, America was shouting about hero this and hero that, so France and England somehow managed to join forces and attacked the burger loving nation. Russia as usually was just sitting and smiling quietly, enjoying himself.

On the other side, Japan sweat dropped, and pushed his chair as far as he managed, because he didn't want to get involved in something so troublesome like this. The meekly Canada wanted to calm his brother and their supposed big brother, but was ignored. Again. He sighed. He felt so … transparent. Not even his own bear could remember his name.

Germany was getting annoyed. Scratch that. He was pissed as hell. It was his turn to host the meeting again, and he tried so hard to prepare everything, so it could go smoothly, but no. He wasn't meant to have peaceful meeting. Those idiots had to start a fight again, and ruin everything. A large vein was pulsating on Germany's forehead, just threating to pop. And when the Italy twins started to complain that they are hungry, and loud must I say, that was the last straw.

Germany banged both of his fists on the wooden table and shouted, catching everyone's attention, "SHUT UP!" At that everyone in the room froze. Nobody dared to make even a sound, when Germany was angry. At times like this, he could be even scarier than Russia. If someone dropped a pin in that room, everybody would have heard it. The blond haired German closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he looked around the room.

Someone gulped loudly, as if preparing themselves for the worst. "Maybe," Germany started slowly, "We should take a break. It's already lunch time and that's probably why we are so cranky." Several nations exhaled relieved, only now noticing, that they held their breaths, waiting for Germany to yell at them.

Everyone in the room nodded. Yeah, break would be fine. At least they would have time to cool off. And it would shut up the Italys. The younger one was already on his feet, waving his arms wildly, "Ve! Lunch. I wonder if we get pasta. Ne, ne, Germany, can we get pasta?" Romano just rolled his eyes at the behavior of his younger brother. Seriously, he shouldn't cling so much to the potato bastard.

The door to the meeting room opened, as the nations poured out of the room. "I'm telling you frog, English food is just fine," England narrowed his eyes at his French companion. "Yeah right, Angleterre, and I'm still a virgin," snickered the blue eyed nation. It looked like another of their fights was about to break out, but Germany strictly stopped them: "I don't care what is this about again, but shut up."

Neither of them was paying attention to their surroundings. So they didn't notice as some strange figure in dark cape rounded hurriedly from around the corner and started to run towards them. But they did notice the distant yell: "Stop! Stop him!" They looked in the direction of the voice, only to see the dark figure close by and strange glint in his hand.

All three nations tried to get out of the way, but it was too late to for any real attempt to stop the man. He was too close. But only one of them was his target. England shifted his weight back to get out of the way and raised his left arm in defense. But he reacted too late, and sharp pain ran through his body, as the blade, the dark figure was holding cut his arm almost all the way from the elbow to the wrist. He cried out and fell to the ground.

Germany quickly composed himself and attacked the man, striking down on the man's arm, to get him to let go of the knife, which France immediately kicked away. Germany got behind the man and slid his arm under the stranger's, effectively immobilizing him. Second after that, the man slouched down, as if he had no more in charge of his body.

"Angleterre," called out France and kneeled down beside the shocked Brit, who was clutching his bleeding arm. The green eyes nation was visibly trembling, but France had to make sure. "Are you okay," he asked. England didn't say anything but nodded. France frowned. It was bad, if England didn't snap at him to mind his own business.

France heard swearing. When he turned, he saw Germany, lying down the bastard, who hurt his friend. "What it is?" he couldn't help but wonder. Germany glared at the body on the floor and said, "He is dead. The bastard somehow killed himself, so now we can't ask him anything." France's eyes widened, "He did what?"

Germany only shook his head. "Nevermind," he said, "You have to get England to the infirmary. That blade might have been poisoned." The flirtatious nation nodded and swept England to his hands. Not even this drew any reaction from England. France frowned, but didn't say anything and headed for the infirmary.