HEY, HEY, HEY. WASSUP Y'ALL? Okie dokie, so it is I BrazilianMafioso/Hugglestheknowitall. (You most likely don't know either, so don't pay it too much attention.) I recently got my cousin into Hetalia and he came up with the basic plotline for this. Though, he hasn't watched a lot of it, yet, so don't judge him too much... (HE'S A GOD AT WRITING FRANCE, THOUGH.)
And we just have to say this: We are NOT aiming to offend anyone, here. If you find anything offensive and don't want to read, then simply DO NOT READ. We're also not very good with accents. If you have comments to HELP then please go ahead. Gabriel has already said that we shall sacrifice the flames to the fire gods. =3=
Oh, and this may or may not have Ivan/Alfred or Arthur/Alfred. Depends on what Gabe says.
Iran – Dan
Afghanistan – Alafragnaser-ignas/Joe
Iraq – Robert/Bob
North Ireland – William/Will
Chapter 1
Written by BrazilianMafioso and her wonderful cousin, Gabriel
It was a normal day. Yes, the sky was clear, the clouds were puffy, and there was quiet.
No, it could no longer be described as normal.
This silence was choking. Suffocating. Fatal. The kind of ominous stillness that signals the oncoming of something maleficent. The birds sensed it first and ceased their songs. The people of the city sensed it second, and most stayed home and locked their doors.
The people in the complex for the official world meeting scheduled that day, unfortunately, noticed it last.
For them, it was that peaceful, pedestrian day, the sight through the windows dissimulating the present aura outside.
Inside, the nations quarreled amongst themselves, all seemingly enraged at someone or other; however, this was how they always acted. This was like their playtime. For these people who would most likely walk the Earth together forever, they all loved one another. Yes, even "sworn enemies." Because, in the end, the only permanence they had was each other.
Albeit, this did not stop them from screaming at each other about the tiniest details.
"You bloody frog! This is a meeting! Not a time to begin fixing your hair!" England yelled at the Frenchman, anger present in his voice.
France looked at him calmly, still stroking his hair. He loved his hair; how could he not? It was the most beautiful hair in the world, so luscious, so radiant.
"The problem, Monsieur, is that my hair IS a matter of international importance. Its powers can possibly be harnessed as a weapon."
The Englishman was fuming. He was about to scream again, but at that moment, he felt a twang. It was small; it was deep in his body. In a calm state, he might not have noticed it. But he could now. Almost as if it were magnified by his current annoyance. A citizen? A section of land? At this point he could only guess. It might just be another murder; he decided to tell Alfred about it later.
"Alright everyone, settle down. The meeting is about to begin." After everyone was quiet, America continued.
"The major point of this meeting is to address the recent rise in terrorist activity, most notably in the Middle East. Now, I know many of you are concerned with the threat of kidnapping for your citizens. In order to..."
An orchestrated version of the Star Spangled Banner began sounding throughout the room.
He, and other nations, attempted to ignore it, but it was Germany who finally stood up, angrily.
"America, please just answer the phone."
America smiled apologetically. "Ehehe, thanks..." He quickly took it out of his pocket and brought it to his ear.
"Y'ello-"
"Alfred! You have to see this!" The source of the voice was Matthew, Alfred's very loving brother. He was currently absent from the meeting due to a bad cold, and it was a bit depressing, seeing as everyone had finally remembered to ask about him specifically. Oh well, America could tell him about it later. ... If he remembered.
"What is it, Matt?"
"On the news! Turn it on!"
"Um, all right, Mattie, but I gotta end the call, then. We don't have a TV here, but I can see it on my phone."
"Okay! Okay! Just turn it on quickly!"
"Love ya, too, Matt." He hung up and reached one of his own broadcasting stations through the internet.
"Breaking News," the anchorman began.
Oh?
"From the US Embassy in Iraq. Today, five American and three British hikers were kidnapped while on route to Baghdad Authorities say that this is not the work of a single terrorist group, but most likely a combined effort from all over the Middle-East. Ransom notes are currently being processed to look for a possible source. The kidnappers are asking for several billion dollars and pounds, as well as complete UN withdrawal from the Middle-East. We will keep you updated throughout the day."
Alfred stood there, shock and astonishment being played all over his face. He started shaking. And then he froze. Rigidly. "Those... Those bastards!" he shouted furiously as he threw the phone to the ground, effectively breaking it.
Most of the nations glanced nervously at each other. What... What could have caused this unbelievable anger in a person usually so light-hearted and carefree?
"They won't get away with this," he said darkly, breathing heavily. "Oh no, they'll get what's coming to 'em. No one in Hell messes with my citizens."
"A-America! What's wrong?" Finland piped up.
And then England got it. It was so obvious. What he had felt before. It was this... whatever it was that was going on. Looking around, he noticed he and America were the only ones who seemed to know what was going on. (France seemed a bit jittery, but it was France. He really didn't care.) He would be angry if someone messed with him. But he would be immensely enraged if someone messed with America.
"Lad, you have to explain what is going on," Arthur said as calmly as he possibly could. Though, he could already guess where this was going...
"I'll tell you what's goin' on, old man! You know what? Our citizens were just kidnapped! Our fucking innocent civilians! I don't understand why you're not angry about this!"
Well, of course he was angry. Immeasurably angry. But he was a gentleman. And gentleman do not show anger. It doesn't help anything.
The room was immediately thrown into silence. Even France stopped brushing his hair; he knew this was important.
America began to look around the room. He knew who he wanted to talk to.
"Bob! Dan! Joe! What the hell man?"
The three he addressed looked over.
"Why do you assume that it's our COUNTRIES that did it? We cannot control what the terrorists in them do."
America bit his lip. Yeah... He couldn't exactly blame them. He had his own share of stupid and/or violent people in his country. However...
"Guys, I don't care what you say. Find out who these people are and have them punished! They have no right-!" England held America back, quickly followed by France. Alfred struggled and tried to reach out at the other countries he had been speaking to, but to no avail.
"America, there is no point in attacking them. They don't know anything."
One of the two tanned countries crossed his arms, eyes closed in annoyance. He sat in a straight, dignified manner. "Ah-hem, quite. And I wish to remind you, once again, that name is Alafragnaser-ignas. Please do refrain from calling me that-"
"Shut up, Joe. No one asked you," America said, deadpan.
Now, it was a mystery to most other nations as to why America called him "Joe," yet it was as simple as, he just couldn't pronounce his name.
"Alfred, please get back on topic; this is serious!" England scolded.
"I know that! This is the freakin' Iran Hostage crisis all over again!" Alfred screamed.
"But remember," Dan said quickly, "It's Bob's fault."
"No it isn't! Why you..." The two countries began to wrestle on the floor. Alfred ignored them, planning a rescue mission right then and there.
"Al, we have to be careful and take it slow. We don't know what we're dealing with here."
"Actually," said a slurred voice from the back of the room, "I think I do." Will stepped down the stairs. Well, more like slid. He was obviously very drunk.
"What is it now? The last time you gave us 'advice,' we smacked Iraq around and got screwed."
"This is different," Will assured them. "It's legit this time. There's a terroist group called... uh... damn, what is it? Oh yeah! It's The New World Union or something stuck-up sounding like that."
"I don't think that is important right now," Turkey interrupted. "The point is we need a plan to stop them. Anyone?"
Quiet. That is what greeted Turkey's statement.
Until America screamed out.
"I think we should go over there and nuke their asses into oblivion!"
There was an audible gulp of nervousness from almost everyone. England slapped America in the face.
"America! You barmy git! You can't just bomb them! This is a problem, but not a problem that warrants that sort of punishment!" He dusted off his hand and turned to the rest of the room. "Will, you may return to your seat." He waited for the angrily grumbling North Irishman to sit down. "Now," he continued, "I believe we should send in a squad of two or three people to rescue these civilians. Seeing as how these are our people, and while it may be one of the worst mistakes of my life, I volunteer America and myself for this mission."
The other nodded. "Sure, that's fine with me." And he walked out of the room with no indication of what he was doing.
"Where is he...?" England began.
"We should probably follow him, Da?" Russia spoke up from the back.
"Oh, never mind that. We need to get a team together. Alright, Korea, Japan, Monglia... aw, what the hell, China too... You're on the backup squad, but you will also take care of the technical issues. Russia, France, with me and America."
"I WANNA BLOODY WELL HELP!" Yelled N. Ireland.
"Uh... I suppose you can get the donuts."
"Oh, and while you are there, pick me up some more hairspray. La ablanda, got it?" France, who was already surrounded with ten or so cans of the stuff, yelled his orders from the next to England.
"Alright... so donuts, hairspray, and beer? Gotcha" Will quickly walked as fast as his drunken legs could take him.
"But no one ordered any... blasted twat."
America stormed through the halls, unaware of the extra planning going on back in the meeting room. He didn't need any of the others. He'd go on by himself.
"Thanks, Mattie. I hope you feel better, and please, oh please, I hope you don't get dragged into this. And Artie... Thank you, too."
He stopped and looked at his feet.
"Sorry, both of you, but the hero always goes in alone."
If you read this and weren't totally offended, then thanks for reading ;u; If you have CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, please direct it to the review box. We'll be with you as soon as possible. And yeah, any mistakes in general, if you tell us, it would help ;D
~AryL