Description: Early in the twenty second century, scientists that worked for the famous Heinrich Corporation advanced robot and android evolution into the 'Nexus' phase – a being virtually identical to humans that was known as a 'Replicant' or 'Nexus Six'. These replicants were superior in strength and agility, as well as at least equal in intelligence to the genetic engineers that created them.

Nexus-grade replicants were used on Off-planet colonies (referred to as 'Off-shore Colonies') as slave labor during the process of exploring, terraforming and eventually colonising dangerous and hazardous planets in the solar system. After a bloody mutiny by several hundred Nexus-Five combat-grade replicants in the mid twenty-third century they became illegal on Earth – under penalty of death.

Special police squads – known as 'Blade Runner Units' – had orders to shoot to kill any trespassing replicant androids after a thorough examination using what was deemed appropriate methods. This technique developed over the decades that followed until the Blade Runners late twenty-third century had the technique perfected, and the method of killing the early Nexus Six replicants down to an art form.

This was not called murder.

This was called 'retirement'.

...

Warnings: Violence (rating will go up in later chapters), Genderbends (fem!Italy, fem!Canada). This is Blade Runner with Hetalia characters, more or less. I know, I know; I should be shot.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Phillip K. Dick and Ridley Scott. I just own their works' bastard spawn. XD

NOTICE! This is a prologue, which will become relevant later. Ivan is in the next chapter, so read this and feel free to stick around~

Prologue: Voight-Kampff

By no means was this a large or comfortable room.

It was small and cramped, with little lighting and a window that gave as much light as an empty matchbox. Alfred grinned as he looked around, adjusting the small eye monitor to line up with the right eye of the man sitting in front of him. He smiled, knowing that if Francis were here he would have quickly complained about the room's total and utter lack of décor. Finishing the final adjustment of the machine, whose lunch box sized, metal container had the name 'VOIGHT-KAMPFF' emblazoned on it's top. He looked at the machine fondly. Well, of course I'm going to look at this machine fondly, Alfred thought, running his calloused fingers along the print; This little machine lines my wallet and puts those dirty replicants into retirement.

"Like, is it okay if I talk?"

He blinked for a moment, mildly annoyed. After a moment, he decided to ignore the man's question in favour of ensuring that the eye monitor was properly adjusted to the younger's eye level.

"Sorry, but I get totally nervous when I have to take tests."

Alfred clenched his teeth in annoyance.

"Just don't move. This is a delicate process, okay?"

"Okay, sorry", the other grumbled quietly, folding his arms over his chest. After a moment of concentration, he could not help but to break into a sheepish smile. He cleared his throat, inspecting the nails on his left hand. He dusted his hand on his grey dress shirt, hesitating for a moment. He inhaled deeply before breaking the silence once more.

"I, like, already had one of those I.Q. tests this year. I don't think I've ever had a-"

"Mr. Feliks Łukasiewicz, correct?"

"Yeah, but like I was saying-"

"Sir, reaction time is always a factor in the Voight-Kampff test, so for the love of Christ try to pay attention. Answer the questions I'm going to ask you as quickly as you can."

"Uhh", Feliks contemplated this for a moment, twiddling his thumbs as though he were little more than a chickenhead.

"Sure, whatever."

"Good. Now, one eight seven at Hunterwasser-"

"That's, like, the hotel."

Now it was Feliks' turn to interrupt. He looked down at the Voight-Kampff machine, inspecting it as his counterpart had done only moments before. (Albeit facing the machine from a different side.) Feliks looked up, anticipating the other's response. Momentarily caught off guard, Alfred simply looked at him with a perplexed expression. Shaking his head and trying to convince himself that he was not a chickenhead, he moved on.

"Wha- oh, never mind. Is it a nice place, where you live?"

"Yeah, I guess..." Feliks drifted off into space for a moment before continuing.

"Is that part of the test, Runner Jones?"

Alfred shook his head, smiling patronisingly at him.

"Just a warm up, Mr. Łukasiewicz."

"Oh, it's-"

"You're in a desert, and you're walking along in the sand when all of a sudden you see a small-"

"Which dessert, sir?"

Alfred's eye twitched. Is this man an anthead, or a halfwit or something? He thought silently.

"It doesn't make a damn difference what dessert it is. It's a hypothetical question; it'll probably never happen." Alfred said, gritting his teeth and using every ounce of strength he had to not strangle the annoying chickenhead that sat before him. I swear, I'm going to kick this bastard right in his pretty, little effeminate face.

"Okay, but why would I be in some totally lame desert?"

"I don't know, maybe you got fed up with your life, maybe you wanted to be by yourself for a little while. Who knows? So you look down and see a small tortoise. It's crawling towards you when-"

"Sorry, but I totally have no idea what you're talking about."

"Wha- what's gotten you confused now?"

"Well... I don't know what a tortoise even is for starters, Runner Jones."

...

...

Really. Really, Feliks?

Alfred was not a saint, and he did not plan on ever becoming a martyr.

He drank, smoked occasionally and, before he met his fiancée, had no plans on even being in a committed relationship. When it came to his job as a Blade Runner, however, he took things very seriously. Sure, he would occasionally drift off into space, but he would always give his full attention when it mattered. When he was performing the Voight-Kampff test he had always made sure that he was patient and as calm as possible so that he as the questioner could observe the responder's non-verbal cues – blushing, pupil dilation, et cetera. He owed it to the person in question, to the City and to himself. It was his job; his duty as a Blade Runner.

But this little jerkass was getting on his last goddamned nerve.

Feliks seemed to sense this, which was obvious in his next statement.

"I get what you mean, though."

"So", Alfred began, more loudly than he had expected to.

"You reach down and flip the tortoise over on its back, Feliks."

Alfred kept an eye on Feliks, checking for any changes on the dials on the machine in front of him. One of the dials' needles flickered slightly, causing Alfred to raise an eyebrow.

"Do people, like, write these questions down for you? Or do you, like, make them yourself?"

Just ignore him, he mentally told himself.

"The tortoise is laying on its hard back, its belly baking in the hot desert sun, beating its stubby legs trying to turn itself over. But it can't without your help. But you don't help it."

Feliks' upper lip quivered.

"What do you mean, I'm totally not helping the tortoise?"

"I mean that you aren't helping the tortoise at all! Why aren't you helping it, Feliks? Why?"

Feliks appeared at that moment to be flushed with anger, his hands balled into tight fists; his knuckles turning white. Alfred could hear his breathing deepen with pent-up anger. To any casual onlooker Feliks might have looked as though he, despite his small, girlish figure was about to become physically violent towards Alfred. Thankfully, the doors to the small office were closed – the windows were too high up and too small for anyone to see scene within. Alfred smiled disarmingly.

"Ah, Mr. Łukasiewicz, they're just questions. To answer to your previous query, the questions are written down for me. It's a test, designed solely to provoke an emotional response."

Feliks glared at him, though his anger had subsided substantially. Looking slightly sunken, he gestured that Alfred might as well continue the test. He frowned suspiciously as Alfred did so.

"Describe to me in single words only the good things that come into your mind when you think about your mother, Feliks."

"My... my m-mother?"

It was clear to everyone involved that by this point Feliks was thoroughly shocked and surprised. Alfred silently noted that none of the needles in the Voight-Kampff machine hadn't so much as twitched. Oh, Christ, he thought in horror; This isn't a chicken head – this is a Replicant. Alfred instinctively reached for the gun on the inside of his coat. Feliks for all his small size was much faster, pulling out a laser firing gun. He aimed at Alfred, grinning menacingly.

His laser burned a hole the size of a quarter through Alfred's shoulder in an explosion that sounded like a cannon blast and lit up the room as though he had released a firework. Unlike what one would expect from a bullet the laser caused no real impact, making no real sound. It went through Alfred's right shoulder and exited through his back. The wall behind Alfred's seat collapsed as he was flung through it form the blast, flopping in his seat as though he was a crude rag doll.

Feliks had already begun to walk away as though nothing had happened. Before he did, though, he decided to do something dramatic – something the Blade Runner would remember him by.

Turning, and with a small smile of satisfaction, he whispered something that only he and the semi-conscious Alfred could hear.

"Why the hell would I talk about something that I've never had?"

Author's Note: Okay, so I know I should be working on Terra Australis, but I just really wanted to do this. Sorry~

I know, Evil!Poland is so OOC, but I can't have him loving ponies and the like, now can I? Okay, I think that for the sake of all the non-Blade Runner loving Hetalia fans, I should put a small glossary of terms and a character guide at the end of each chapter, da?

Terms–

Chickenhead;

This is a term for people in the Blade Runner/Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Universe that, after World War Terminus (World War Three), have suffered radiation poisoning related genetic mutations and are more-or-less halfwits. Antheads are those who have suffered the same fate to an even further extent.

Becoming a chickenhead can occur on Earth in this 'Verse because of the irradiated atmosphere after WW3.

Voight-Kampff Test Machine;

This machine basically tests to see if the person in question is a human life form or an Android. It aids Blade Runners in picking up on non-verbal cues such as blushing, involuntary pupil dilation (hence the eye monitors), etc. It is also a psychological evaluation, which focuses on the life experience of a human or android.

Blade Runner(s);

Blade Runners are similar to high-ranking police officers and, depending on one's opinion on them, hit men. They are hired by the police and the government to weed out and "retire" (see: kill) any Androids that have escaped from the human offshore (see: off-world) colonies.

Fun Fact: According to the creators of the movie and the novel, they are called Blade Runners simply because it sounds cool.

Character Guide:

Holden - America (Alfred F. Jones)

Leon (Nexus 6) - Poland (Feliks Łukasiewicz)