America enjoyed the feeling of being a superpower. The feeling of dominance was nearly intoxicating. He couldn't get enough of it. Once, long ago, he was a collection of weak colonies influenced by the European powers of the time. But, not anymore. The European empires had long gone, leaving him as one of the most powerful countries in the world.
But, all the power came at a cost. He remembered one day when he had let out his anger on Iraq. The small nation had recoiled in terror when he walked in the conference room and punched him in the face. The abuse went on and on for an hour before America walked away, leaving Iraq a bloody, mangled heap on the floor.
America remembered the whole experience and thought it was wonderful. One night, he closed his eyes and let his mind take him back to that day. He could almost feel the sensation of his knuckles crushing Iraq's nose, his powerful muscles clenching as he then proceeded to break both of Iraq's arms as if they were toothpicks.
"Stop, America! Why are you attacking me? What did I ever do to you?" Iraq pleaded. He weakly grabbed one of America's ankles and stared up at him, brown eyes swimming with fear.
"Your leader has weapons of mass destruction." America growled. "And you will pay."
"No he doesn't!" Iraq sobbed. "Why are you attacking me?"
"September 11." America said.
"But, we had nothing to do with that event!" Iraq cried.
"I know…" America said, his eyes gleaming with malice and his lips curling into a feral grin. "But, my people don't."