Authors note:
I'm sure there have been plenty of people who have done variations of Repo and Hetalia, but come on! It's just too amazing NOT to do something with it. I've seen other pairings of characters within it, but not really the ones I'm about to reveal to you. I am also doodling pictures of scenes from this….gah. I think IM the one that's been infected. (ps. It would probably help if you've seen the amazing movie before reading this)
(pss. I'm aware I could of gender bended some people to fit the roles more…to some peoples liking. But you know what? Too bad :D In this future, im just gunna go with the thought that men can get pregnant and being bi is more socially acceptable than it already is : ^_^
And so GeneCo's story continues…In the not-too-distant future.
An epidemic of organ failures…
Millions die.
Chaos!
Out of the tradjedy, a savior emerges.
Genco's payment plans CHEAT death…for now.
Geneco carves out a new niche. Surgery as a fashion statement!
Geneco also develops zydrate.
This is sold on the black-market after being extracted from the dead.
Organ repossession is legalized!
"Welcome to our humble city, where we, the inhabitants, are bound to this pathetic state.
Out from the night, from the mist, steps the figure. No one really knows his name for sure.
He stands at six-foot-six, head and shoulders. Pray he never comes knocking at your door!
Say that you once bought a heart, or new corneas, but somehow never managed to square away your debts.
He won't bother to write or to phone you, he'll just rip the still-beating heart from your chest!"
Austria sat behind his desk, staring grimly down at the pictures shown before him. The image of Ludwig standing happily over the bodies of two obviously dead girls stared back at him. He glanced up to where his son sat not 10 feet away. "You disgust me…" he said, his voice even. Ludwig tried not to look too ashamed. The next photo showed his precious daughter, Hungary, reclining over what looked like pulled organs. He glanced up at where she was currently reclining on a chaise chair…Austria shook his head and moved onto the next picture, wondering if he could take anymore. There, of course, was Gilbert, posed in the action of carving off a young woman's face. Austria looked up once more, glancing at Gilbert, who was looking at this reflection in a hand mirror admiringly. With a sound of anger and disgust, the owner of GeneCo shoved the papers off his desk.
A moment later, the elevator doors opened and an elderly doctor hesitantly entered the room, looking frightened. He shuffled along as if heading to the gallows. Once he got to the desk, he handed Austria the documents. "I'm sorry, Mr. Austria…I'm afraid its terminal…" he said, taking a small step back in fear.
Austria held the translucent papers in his hand, staring at them for a long moment.
"You don't have much time…its spreading rapidly…" the doctor felt inclined to mention.
Without looking frustrated, he slammed the papers down in a swift motion. He didn't flinch as one of the guards next to him took out a gun from her holster. A bullet went flying and found its mark in the doctor's chest. Austria stood up and strode over into the elevator, his guards following behind him. When the elevator doors shut, Austria began to vent at his two female guards.
"Maggots. Vermin. You want the world for nothing. Commence your groveling, as your king is dieing. Even I, Roderich, cannot prevent this passing…As for who will inherit GeneCo… I'll keep those vultures guessing…" he murmured as the elevator doors opened to reveal his private study.
Alfred carefully removed his mask, sitting on a concrete step conveniently next to his 'mother's' in-ground grave that was located inside a mausoleum. He poured out the contents of his backpack and pulled out a book on insects. As he opened the book, he gave a start as a bright green insect jittered its way across the tombstone. America quickly flipped through the pages, trying to locate its species. But when he glanced up, the creature had moved to be flittering right next to him. He gave a soft gasp, picking up a glass jar and following to where it had moved to be by the bars of the door. Tiptoeing as quietly as he could manage, with blue eyes shining, he tried to enclose the insect in the jar. Of course, the insect swished through the bars atop the door. Alfred hesitated, biting his lip as he watched a glimpse of the outside world escape him. It only took a moment for the boy to convince himself to follow the bug out the door, against his better judgment. "This will be quick…it's in my sight..." he assured himself. "I'll capture it…then run back inside...and be back home in time."
America tiptoed again to where it had landed on a nearby grave, tongue sticking out slightly from the corner of his mouth in concentration. He had the jar poised in one hand, and the cap in the other.
Spain peeked his head over one of the tombstones, propped slightly against his shovel. He noticed the small boy and smirked a little, speaking to himself, "Industrialization crippled the globe…nature failed as technology spread."
America grinned as he captured the glowing insect in his tin jar, emitting a small, 'yes!' The see-through lid glowed brightly, making the child extremely happy. His happiness quickly evaporated into fear as he spied a quick flash of light, followed by the slight appearance of a black figure. He dove behind the tombstone, pressing his back to the cold rough stone.
Spain chuckled softly, glancing now at the sign on a nearby mausoleum wall that read, Attention: All Grave Robbers will be executed on sight
"And in its wake, a market erected. An entire city…built on top of the dead!" he growled, hefting a body from one of the now open caskets.
Alfred emitted a soft gasp as he took note of the grave robber for the first time, staring at the body that had been slammed onto the ground carelessly. The body had flopped slightly out of a white bag, and America could see each decaying feature. Oh god…this man was going to kill him. He just knew it.
Spain however, seemed not to care about the seventeen year olds' presence. Alfred looked behind him, noting that the number of flashlights had multiplied. "No…" he whispered hoarsely. Panic rose in his throat, which only grew as the Grave Robber began talking directly at him now. "Well would you rather it be you on the concrete floor below?" he said, gesturing to the dead rotted figure on the floor. "This can change your life…the twenty first century cure…" he chortled. This eccentric man then shoved a needle into the nostril of the man and extracted a blue liquid into a syringe.
Despite himself, America could not hold back the fascinated look that overcame his expression. This look vanished however as Spain stood up, uncaring of the men very close by.
"And it's my job…To steal…and rob…GRAVES!" he said, shouting the last part almost at the top of his lungs, garnering a ray of white light on him for his efforts.
Alfred took in a shaky breath, eyes wide as his heart now thudded in his throat and sweat formed at his temple, "please! Sir! Stop!" he begged, although he knew it too late.
"Grave robbers on 7th! Lock down! Lock down! I repeat, grave robbers on 7th!"
"No! No! No! No!" Alfred whispered to himself as he quickly turned and made a run for the tomb. He slid slightly on the mucky excuse of ground on his way there, getting to his mother's tomb just in time for the door to mockingly slam in front of him, obeying the 'lockdown' command. Tears pricked his eyes as he hurried away from the now locked door.
Spain picked up the dead body and lugged it over his shoulder before strolling at a brisk pace away. "This way kid" he said quickly to Alfred, slamming the body into a decrepit wall, which gave away easily.
"Hurry! You're gonna get us caught!" America squeaked, his voice going a bit high pitched. He had barely gotten the words out before Spain fell into a room, filled to the brim with…of course…dead bodies. "Jackpot…" the Grave Robber muttered. Twisted and mangled beyond recognition, the stench made America vomit slightly in his mouth. He looked in horror at the scene before him, stumbling in after Spain.
'Grave robbers have entered restricted area!' came a voice that sounded computerized, which could barely be heard over sirens.
Spain crept over to one of the bodies, murmuring sweetly to about how its functions were still important and useful. Alfred looked on at him, trembling slightly as he began to pant. A drumming started in his head, breathing becoming more labored. "No…I shouldn't be here…!"
"It can change your life…rest assure" he said, leading America to believe this man was even more bonkers.
"Please. I need to go home." He said, even though Spain was by no means keeping his hostage. But America figured he would probably need Spain's help in order to get back safely.
"It's the twenty first century…CURE!" he shouted, stepping closely to America, looking excited. He held in his gloved hand a blue vile that shimmered brightly.
Alfred groaned and took a step back, sitting on the edge of the hole they had come in, "This cannot be happening!" he half shouted, trying not to sound as petrified as he felt. He was getting considerably dizzy.
A sharp scream elected from the boy as he was plucked from the handmade entrance, and pressed up against a bulky uniform. Alfred shouted and flailed as he was completely pulled out and thrown onto the ground. Coughing, Alfred pulled himself up so he was resting on his elbows and staring up at about 7 guns pointing at him. He gave a choked cry as tears began to flow down his cheeks, realizing that his adventure into the outside world would end his life.
"Let them go…" Austria's voice echoed from the megaphone that was linked up to the building near them. He had been watching from his study on one of the many screens. Nothing went on in his city without him knowing about it. Especially something involving young Alfred…
Alfred didn't hear the command and continued to sob, "Please….I didn't know…please" he sobbed, trying to stand up and failing. "HEY!" a voice barked at the others, pushing his way through. He was dressed all in black, just like the others, a mask firmly fitted to him. He gave a few of the men around America a rough shove, telling them to back down.
"Blood pressure warning…Blood pressure warning…Medicate immediately. Medicate immediately" Alfred's watch started to beep as he fell on his side, still sobbing his pleas. The man, who had shoved his way through, kneeled down in front of him. Glowing eyes… That's all America could recall before his vision swam in a torrent of black.
When America came to, he found himself laying in his bed, much to his relief. His bed was, as usual, surrounded by the plastic material you usually saw on couches. The light blue, nearly white, bed sheet, had been drawn up over his shoulders. He slowly sat up, "dad?" he croaked, trying to make sense of this.
England stepped from the shadows of the doorway, holding his medical bag. Clad in a black, loosely opened trench coat, black boots, and a deep blue vest shirt, Arthur still made for an imposing figure. He then made his way over to the bed, "Hey…that was a close one…" he said quietly.
"Dad…" Alfred tried again.
"Shhh…too close" England interrupted, not wanting his son to dwell on the thoughts of what had just occurred.
"Dad what happened…?" America asked weakly, trying to regain his strength.
"You're going to be alright…that's all that matters" England said, sitting down on the edge of Alfred's bed. Little America didn't need to worry himself with things of the outside world.
"Was I outside?" America questioned, his eyes a little too wide.
"Shhh, no, Al." Arthur tried to reassure him, taking out his stethoscope and putting it on. He then placed the metal disk to the crook of America's arm. Alfred seemed to know just what questions his father didn't want to be asked, then ask them anyway.
"There were these bodies…" America tried to tell him.
"You missed your medicine…and fell unconscious" he countered with worried reproach in his tone.
"They were all dead…" Alfred whimpered.
"Nonsense…" Arthur insisted. Oh goodness. That sounded forced and fake even to him. "Please be more cautious. You could go into shock"
"But it was real, dad!" America insisted, managing to make his voice rise. His dreams had never been this bad before. And how could he have imagined a handsome man with Hispanic features looting from the bodies of the deceased? Of course he didn't exactly want to admit that he had ventured out. Despite his illness, his father didn't mind occasionally dealing out discipline.
"I am a doctor. And I'm your father" he said in a tone that made it clear those were two legit reasons for Alfred to believe him.
"I didn't imagine this!" he managed to fire back.
"Please Alfred drop it. " England sighed, removing the buds from his ears and returning them to his medical bag. Arthur reached for a cup of water on the nightstand, handing it slowly to America.
America ignored the cup of water, beginning to get annoyed, "I couldn't have fathomed this…!" he pointed out
"Please Alfred Stop it" England snapped, resetting the cup of water on the nightstand.
"But I could smell the dead..!" America countered, remembering it clearly and vividly. He was tempted to slam his hands down in frustration.
England lost it for a moment, "You could have died! You…You scared me to death!" he snapped loudly, worry clenching his heart tightly. His green eyes had flashed brightly in that moment of rage, startling Alfred. England turned away and pushed past the plastic curtains that surrounded Alfred's bed. Dispelling a loud sigh, he willed his anger to dissipate out of him. Arthur's eyes fell on the slightly holographic portrait of Francis that resided in the bedroom. The artist of course, had been French, and the painting was one of the most life-like he owned. Golden tresses, a faint smile curved up in a playful smirk. France would have been able to give answers England couldn't…Arthur was sure of it. He sighed much more softly now and ran a hand through his hair. "The blood disease…that took your dear mother from us…Passed from him and into your veins. I'd be lost…if I were to lose you too" he said, glancing slightly behind him at where America lay. "I will stop at nothing to keep you safe." he said with conviction.
At this point, America had slowly risen from the bed and walked over to put a hand on his father's arm. It was then that he noticed he had been dressed in a starch white short sleeved shirt that went all the way to his knees. At the age of 17, he was still on the short side. "I'll take my meds, dad, don't you worry."
England turned completely to face his Little America and cupped his face gently, "Just until I find a cure…" he told him. He placed a kiss to Alfred's forehead before turning slightly to look back at the portrait, smiling now. "Your mother, rest his soul, would be so proud of you. Though you cannot see him, he is here with you." England squeezed America's shoulder lovingly, "We will always be there for you in your time of need" Arthur told him, before he moved back to the abandoned glass of water and pressing it gently into the hands of America, "Alfred, you mean the world to me." He informed him. He then pressed a last goodnight kiss to his head. Arthur left the room quietly, locking it soundly behind him.
America stared at the closed door, hearing the locking mechanism click as it sealed him in his room. "Alfred, take your medicine", England's voice reminded him from behind the door.
Now then, At this point you have the option to go to the youtube video I've made of the Song 'infected' put to the Hetalia characters. Or you can continue reading, since ill also write out the 'song' portions of the Opera… Or you may do both. It's up to you :)Type in the youtube website, then copy in the following: /watch?v=TdOUPZHJ82w&feature=g-upl&context=G2514086AUAAAAAAAAAA or just go to the channel "Lordschild52" if the link is not working.
At England's reminder, America put the glass of water down. He'd take it when he damn well pleased. He turned his attention to the image of his mother, looking down at him with that mysterious smile. "Why did you have to leave me here?" he demanded of the picture, not genuinely expecting an answer. "With this blood disease? Did you honestly not care about me enough to live?" he half shouted. Alfred realized he was being irrational, but it felt good to let the floodgate of bitter emotions flow. With a ragged intake and outtake of breath, America tried to calm down. "I'm…infected." He said, testing the words on his tongue. "I'm infected…by your genetics" he muttered, looking accusingly at the portrait.
Alfred made his way back over to his bed before pausing in front of the skeleton statue used for lessons given by his father. "Alfred I'm your doctor" he mimicked with a spark of anger, "Alfred I'm your father!" he continued, stalking away from the skeleton and the rest of the way to his bed. He began to pull open the plastic curtains, "ooh, Alfred that was close! Take your medicine" he sneered, flopping down onto the powder blue comforter. "I'm infected! By YOUR genetics!" he said, turning his head so he could once again glare at the hologram. "And I don't think that I can be fixed!" he shouted in frustration, slamming a fist against the bedspread. "Tell me why o' why are my genetics such a Bitch!" he demanded, needing the answer desperately.
He couldn't remain still and pushed himself off of the bed, "It's this blood condition…Damn this blood condition!" he ranted, storming around his room in a whirlwind of emotions, "Mother can you hear me?" he snapped, whirling around in the direction of the mocking picture. "Thanks for the disease!" America turned back around, pulling at his hair, oblivious to the pain. "Now I am sequestered, part of the collection" he said bitterly, sending a stuffed dragon careening through the air to the other side of the room. "That's what is expected when you are infected…" he realized. He groaned as he put his back to the wall, slowly sliding down against it in despair. He couldn't keep up with how hard all these violent emotions were hitting him. "How much of it is genetics? How much of it is fate? How much of it depends on the choices that we make?" he said hollowly, staring down at the carpeted ground. "He says I have mom's eyes, does that mean I also inherit his shame?" he wondered. Tilting his head back, Alfred shouted as if shouting to the heavens that probably didn't even exist for him, "Is heredity the culprit. Can I stop it or am I a slave?"
Exhausted from his ranting and raving, Alfred put his head in his hands, shoulders beginning to shake. "I just want to go outside…outside…" He could handle it…whether it be virtuous, malevolent, poverty stricken, destitute, rays of sunshine…just give it to him. As long as it meant he could have freedom.
~3~3~3~3~3~3~3~3
Okay, so now it's up to you if and how quickly I continue this. I know it's not exactly very…erm…'good'? But I think it's decent. Encouragement would be appreciated mwah! 3