AN: After much debate and being haunted by the idea for months, I decided to tweak this story simply because I found myself unsatisfied with my first attempt. I found myself losing the passion that I had initially approached the series with, and felt the need to perfect it. It wouldn't be fair to myself nor my readers to finish a story that I did not feel content with.

I kept multiple parts of the original story unchanged, but tried to expand on certain key points and got rid of others. Also, the chapters are significantly longer to reduce choppiness. Thus, please bear with my changes—I promise that they were all deliberately planned and will hopefully make the story flow more smoothly.

Thanks for your support and remember to leave a review with your thoughts! Updates will be much more frequent!

"The peculiar predicament of the present-day self surely came to pass as a consequence of the disappointment of the high expectations of the self as it entered the age of science and technology. Dazzled by the overwhelming credentials of science, the beauty and elegance of the scientific method, the triumph of modern medicine over physical ailments, and the technological transformation of the very world itself, the self finds itself in the end disappointed by the failure of science and technique in those very sectors of life which had been its main source of ordinary satisfaction in past ages."

–Walker Percy, Lost in the Cosmos: The Last Self-Help Book

Grandiose presentations of gimmicks have every modern man's imagination in their grasp, molding and stretching the confines of practicality and creed. Like an addiction—it demands to be tended to. Efficiency, convenience, simplicity; these are the things that are sought, binding minds to an abstract world. Convincingly disguised as a sort of necessity, one falls victim to the intellectual slaveholding of mere objects that hold the appeal of being cutting-edge technology. Those who don't assimilate are accused of shackling the advancement of human civilization.

Those who follow blindly buy into nothing more than a business.

A business that understands the delicate science of persuasion.

In the air-conditioned spaciousness of the auditorium, a wave of excited chatter spilled upon the scene, dozens of researchers and officers of high authority in international politics gazing in awe at those individuals gathered on stage in a perfectly straight line, tidy and dressed in suits as they stood next to the respective flags of their nations. Upon further inspection, one would find that a number of flags were missing, representing only a small scattering of countries that had been cordially invited to participate in the proceeding events.

Finally, as the lights in the theater-like arena were dimmed, a short man with stubby limbs approached the podium set in the center of the stage, a laminated smile addressing the inquisitive guests.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It is a pleasure to be able to stand before you today, unveiling a project that will be sure to transform the very way we view society on a global-scale. Before you are the components that will be constructing the foundation of the first bureau to investigate the complexity of the anatomy and physiology of the human personifications of nations," he began, smile never faltering. Pausing for a moment to relish in a round of applause, he chuckled lightheartedly before continuing. "It is time that we begin to ask ourselves some difficult questions. How will this century be remembered, and for what?"

Behind the speaker, neither of the nations even dared to stir in their positions, standing still with precision as wandering eyes in the crowd examined their figures as though they were valuable collector's items.

"This could very well be the turning point of the new century," the man announced with a nod of thoughtful approval. "Who is to say that if a nation's people affect a personification, the reverse reaction doesn't hold true? Through a program of harmless and well-organized testing, we will be able to go where no scientist has dared to go before. We shall see how these personifications are born and if they could hold the key to shaping a better and brighter future."

A round of satisfied remarks followed, a reverberating murmur of hushed words being exchanged.

"I thank you all for taking part in the works of this organization—especially, those who are personifications themselves."

With that, the speaker turned to acknowledge the nations standing just a short distance behind. "Thanks to the contributions of these nations and their governments, we harness the power to solve the questions that have been plaguing humanity for millennia. Now, these experiments are still in their very early stages, and have not been made very well-known as of yet, but in due time we plan to see remarkable results. A number of personifications have already been admitted into our facilities," he explained, shuffling through some notes casually.

"The first group of patients will be hospitalized for no more than two weeks, during which they will grasp a better understanding of their own powers. Afterward, other personifications shall be brought in based on their individual needs. Our future plans can be further researched on our website, which you are all free to visit at any time. That is all for today, and I thank you all once more for your attendance of this spectacular event. Our staff will be happy to answer any detailed questions out in the mess hall, which also happens to be filled with refreshments. Thank you once again for your time, and we look forward to breaking new ground with your patronage."

With one final round of applause, visitors began to make their way toward the exits of the auditorium, eager to continue their explorations. By the time the nations had stepped down from the stage, the auditorium had become relatively empty as only a handful of people remained to speak with some representatives of the Investigation Board.

"I must admit, I didn't expect all of this publicity," England murmured in an unhappy muse, sharing a scowl with France. "But I suppose it's better than having everyone completely in the dark over the issue."

France clicked his tongue against his teeth and rolled his eyes dramatically. "I still do not understand why you, of all people, are here. Please, enlighten me."

"I told you already, frog. I don't trust these men and their ideas. Thus, I'm here for strategic purposes. Someone needs to be in a position of authority to set things straight if they spiral beyond control," England rationalized, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "I don't understand how anyone could ever volunteer for these experiments. I think I have a right to be skeptical."

"It is science, Angleterre. Haven't you ever wondered what we are capable of? There are so many questions that we cannot even begin to answer. I want to know."

"Unlike you, I know my purpose," England huffed, crossing his arms in an affronted manner. "It's instinctual, but I couldn't expect someone like you to have any inherited sense. We are mere representations of our land and populations—that is all."

France scoffed, noticeably irritated. "There is more than that! Do not deny it!"

"No, there isn't. We shouldn't be placing our wellbeing in the hands of some crackpot scientists. Did you know that I was recently asked to check up on America? Don't you think it's suspicious that they need me to talk to him—to put his mind at ease? Don't you wonder what's gotten him so anxious? I've never witnessed any of these 'experiments', but I suspect that I soon will," England reasoned, nervous tendrils running up the length of his spine.

"Oh, so Amérique is the problem," France concluded, nodding with a knowing smirk. "He volunteered, did he not? I'm sure he understood the consequences."

Forming an impressive glare, England sighed peevishly. "America can take care of himself. I just think we should be more informed about the procedures going on behind closed doors. Even someone as daft as you must be able to see how suspicious it is that America's request to join the head committee was rejected, but he was still accepted as a test subject. "

"Perhaps he didn't have the qualifications. You know how Amérique gets. It's hard to keep him subdued and serious."

"I beg your pardon?"

Taking a step back, France held his hands up in surrender. "I did not mean to offend anyone. I just don't see a reason to be nervous. I'm sure that the IBPN is doing everything they can to keep the testing humane. We need answers, Angleterre. We need to know if we can do more to benefit the world. We need to know the extent of our power."

"I refuse to stomach that ignorant propaganda that they've been feeding us," England insisted, storming away from the conversation. "Do as you bloody well please, but I won't stand for it."

France glowered, swiveling back to the rest of the nations, directing his interest at the other nations.

Some just didn't understand the elegant beauty of innovation.

There was something so reassuring about the chilling stillness of bitter silence when the whole world seemed to be underwater.

Just the stifling ringing of utter nothingness…

"We're not here to hurt you, you know. In fact, we plan to do quite the opposite. We can make you stronger than ever before."

"No! Damn it!" He twisted out of his captor's grasp, throwing himself on the floor with strength that far superseded that of a human's. The foundations of the house seemed to shake with the sheer force of the impact.

"GET. AWAY!" He was heaved upward once more before he countered by slamming himself down again, splintering the wooden floorboards this time.

There was an impressed whistle near the other end of the room. "Such strength."

If he could just escape the house, he'd be able to find help.

But a tremendous amount of pressure on his back held him firmly in place.

For a moment, Alfred F. Jones was floating between sleep and wakefulness, picking out fiction from reality very carefully. If he brought himself into enough of a state of awareness, he could feel the presence of people surrounding him, their warmth and touch pulling him closer to the surface of consciousness. Yet, every time he nearly succeeded at chasing away the fog above him, he was ripped back down—forced to stay put in his hazy mind.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

He crashed into the coffee table upon flailing upward again, banging his head on the sharp edge of it before grabbing the nearest intruder by the leg and yanking him down to kiss the ground.

Then, there was a delighted chuckle of amusement from above followed by someone sucking in a shuddering breath.

"There, there. We can't have you throwing fits like this every minute, can we? Hold still. This might pinch just a bit."

And that was when he became nothing more than a number.

Or more like a science experiment that had gone terribly wrong.

He was growing restless—peaceful bliss turning into torturous enslavement as the deathlike quiet preyed upon him. He fought with himself to wake up and hear the world speak to him again, but his resistance proved futile until his eyes snapped open without his accord.

"Dyspnea is still persistent… The nasal cannula isn't enough."

"Set him up on an oral nasal mask."

He was bombarded with light as he blinked fervently to clear his vision. An involuntary groan escaped the bowels of his larynx before an instinctive hand came up to yank at the mask that was resting on his face like a muzzle. He flung it sideways but ended up hitting himself in the process as the mask snapped back at him in retaliation.

"BP is a hundred over seventy."

"Oxygen saturation has gone up to ninety-six."

"Pulse: eighty-two. Mild tachycardia from the medication."

"The patient is stable once more."

Patient? Had he been in some sort of accident? That would explain the pulsating headache and overall fatigue. He groaned once more to make his presence known, finally focusing his eyes on a pair of doctors accompanied by a nurse in the room.

Before he could attempt to make more of an intelligible sound, one of the doctors shined a light into his eye, blinding him momentarily as his eyelids were firmly pulled back.

"Pupils are responsive to light. No signs of lasting head trauma."

"The patient is to be brought back to his room under heavy surveillance until we can evaluate his mental state. Give him two milligrams of Valium and we'll call it a day."

"Yes, sir."

A series of clicking noises followed by his bed being rolled out brought him to his senses as his surroundings violently tilted and contorted. Immediately, he swung his head to the side of the cot and vomited over the railing, wincing as he unknowingly pressed against the IV connected to his hand, jostling the inserted needle.

Nausea and a massive headache— he'd had this sickening feeling before, and it could only be the result of a concussion.

He moaned discontentedly, eyes feeling heavy as he noted how much more miserable he was feeling by each passing second. He brought his fingers to ruffle his hair, finding a square of gauze covering a painful bump on the back of his scalp.

"Ugh."

Hopefully, if he'd really been the victim of some terrible wreckage, he would have visitors that would explain the situation to him shortly. After all, he was the human personification of the United States of America, so it was natural for him to have some company when severely injured. In the back of his mind, he knew exactly who he wanted to see at times like these, but fought down the childish vulnerability that was blossoming in his chest. He chewed at his worry and spit it aside, assuring himself that he'd probably just gotten a little too rowdy with Canada during one of their hockey games again.

There was absolutely nothing to worry about. Right?

He let out a strangled whimper through his oxygen mask as the nurses settled him in his room and flushed the hep lock of his IV, giving him the prescribed Valium to calm his hyperactive senses.

America's gut feeling was shouting at him that something was terribly wrong, but he swallowed his fear and blamed it on his white coat syndrome, leaning back into his pillows as his muscles relaxed and the drug was administered.

All was fine.

Why was he so paranoid, then?

And, holy crap, going back to sleep seemed like such a good idea.

His eyes fell to half-mast, blearily scanning the barren room as oxygen forced its way down his throat and up his nostrils. It wouldn't hurt to take a nap. After all, it would probably do him some good to catch up on some shuteye.

"America?"

Damn it, had he even fallen asleep? It felt like only seconds had passed since he'd closed his eyes, but judging by the stiffness of his muscles and his new surroundings, he'd been snoozing for a while.

His eyes fluttered open again with a wince, a small cry of pain emanating from his throat upon finally coming to his senses. Staring up at the ceiling, he mustered the energy to roll his head to the side, realizing that he was still lying in a hospital bed. Panic promptly followed, swelling in his chest as his phobia of doctors resurfaced to the front of his mind.

"Thank goodness you're in one piece."

That voice.

America knitted his eyebrows together quizzically, reaching up a hand to prod at the gauze on his scalp again. He finally took a moment to roll his head to the right, visibly relaxing upon seeing a familiar face peering at him with growing concern. He allowed himself a tiny smile of amusement, fingers still hovering over the dressing on his head. "England?"

"You ought to be more careful," said nation whispered, pulling America's hand back gently to keep him from irritating the injury. "From what I heard, you took a nasty blow to the head."

America narrowed his eyes in suspicion, unable to recall ever bashing his skull. If he thought about it, he did feel like he had a bit of a hangover. Maybe he'd gone a little overboard with his ol' drinking buddy again. "Where am I? And more importantly, what the hell happened?"

England sighed in a way that usually signified that he was in deep thought over something. He sat in a conveniently placed chair by America's bedside and took the younger nation's hand in his own under the blankets, surveying it with interest for a long moment before speaking again.

"You're in the hospital after collapsing at your house. You hit the back of your head on the coffee table, so I imagine that's muddled most of your memory. They're running some blood tests and the like to see what caused you to faint. With some rest, I'm sure you'll be fine. It might have just been stress related."

"Oh…"

Someone who didn't know England for their entire life and hadn't battled by his side in both World Wars, would've probably bought his brief and well-rehearsed explanation. They certainly wouldn't have noticed the gleam of urgency behind England's otherwise neutral face. And that was just the thing; if America had really passed out as England said he had, the man would've been climbing up the walls in anticipation and suppressed worry, harassing nurses and doctors to update him every second of every minute.

He would in no way, shape, or form, be perched stiffly by his bedside, trying his best to appear cool and collected.

However, before America could begin to question him on his recent lying streak, England had flashed him another critical look that silenced him. The elder nation turned over the American's hand that he had been holding palm-up, tracing strange shapes on it under the cover of the blankets.

It took America only a moment to realize that England wasn't just drawing shapes meant to soothe him out of his increasing sense of panic; he was slowly writing out various letters.

America kept the conversation going on casually to keep from raising suspicion, having had many years of practice in the area of putting up a decent façade. "Well, that's good. Hopefully they bring me up some food soon, cause I'm starving!"

He began registering the letters, taking extreme caution in making sure that he didn't miss a single movement of England's fingers against his hand lest he get lost while deciphering the message. He silently repeated each letter in his mind, forcing himself to remember them and not lose track of the message due to his sluggishness from the painkillers.

"W. E," he thought to himself, stringing the first word together.

"I'm afraid you'll be waiting quite a while. The doctor ordered you to stay NPO," England replied, keeping eye contact with America and playing along while he continued to get his secret message across.

"A. R. E."

America took in a quick breath, eyes bewildered. No food, and he might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown any minute now? Food was a good source of consolation in these types of situations. "What's that mean? I'm dying here, man!"

The next word England was spelling out seemed much longer than the others, so America had to work that much harder to remember the sequence of the letters and not give into his drowsiness. He repeated them over and over again in his mind, stomach suddenly aching at the mention of food. "W. A. T…"

England rambled on, eyes perfectly neutral. "It means, 'nothing per oral'. You can't have any meals until the doctor clears you. The IV fluids will have to suffice for now."

The last letters were inscribed into his palm. "C. H. E. D."

America tried to keep his surprise contained and out of sight. He put on his best pout, trying to make it seem like he was genuinely only upset at the food predicament. "We are watched," what did that mean? How? They were completely alone. In fact, the lack of noise and movement in the hospital finally seemed to make themselves blatantly apparent.

He contributed to the conversation once more, hoping to eventually get the answers that he wanted. "Aw, this bites! No pun intended there."

England managed a strained half-smirk as America looked the elder nation squarely in the eyes and tried to scan the room using just his peripheral vision to keep from making too much obvious movement. Then, everything seemed to click as he caught the flicker of a little red light attached to a surveillance camera in the corner of the room.

How had he not noticed that sooner?

He was pretty sure having cameras in a patient's room was illegal.

Perhaps he was losing his touch, but it was still at times like these that he was grateful for all of his military experience. He began formulating some careful questions in his mind, knowing that England would exploit the hidden meaning behind them in the blink of an eye.

"Do you think I can take a walk to the bathroom on this floor? I really havta pee."

England looked convincingly disgusted, a bushy eyebrow raised in thought. "No, it's best if you don't get out of bed and just rest for a while. Use the bedpan if you must. After all, you took a spill just this morning."

Alright, so England didn't want him leaving the room, but since when did America do what the other man wanted anyway? He wasn't about to start now. Still, the quiet but firm emphasis on the ending of the statement made America's stomach churn uncomfortably. Clearly, he hadn't just been admitted into the hospital that same day, which raised an inevitable question; how long had he been here?

He swallowed heavily, rubbing the scruff on his chin, which signaled that he hadn't shaved in a while. He was dressed in the customary hospital gown, but instead of a plastic bracelet around his wrist to join it, he found with growing horror that he had some sort of inky barcode etched into the soft skin of his wrist. Since when had he consented to getting a tattoo that had "RESTRAINT" written on the bottom?

He felt his blood boil. Who the hell did these people in this hospital think he was? He wasn't going to play any mind games. He was getting out of here as soon as possible, and he didn't give a damn whether or not England wanted him to stay put.

"Alfred," England said sternly, forcing the other nation to meet his eyes and relax. "Please, just rest for now. It's all going to be alright. I won't allow you to go strutting about the hospital, causing harm to yourself and others. You can take a trip around the floor another time, but not now. I need you to trust me, can you do that?"

America puffed his cheeks out like he had always done as a child, sighing heavily as he huffed in a disgruntled manner. "Fine."

He supposed that if there was anyone in the world that he would ever trust with his life and wellbeing, then it was his twin brother Canada, and this stodgy old mentor of his that was currently bossing him around.

England mustered a somewhat reassuring smile of satisfaction, placing a warm hand on top of America's head, mindful of his injury as he did so. "Very well," he muttered.

He was so relieved to see that the only harm that the American had encountered so far was a simple head wound, and he was planning to keep it that way.

America wearily laid his head on his pillow once more, back hurting from the uncomfortable cot that he'd been bedridden in. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes, you numpty?"

"Can you pass the bedpan? I still really gotta take a piss."

England yanked his hand back, grimacing at the young nation albeit with a tad of fondness that he could not suppress. America was always one for playful innuendo. "Revolting wanker."

'For the benefit of science… Ha! What a load of rubbish that had been', England thought, and that frog had brushed off his concerns. Now that he had access to the patients, his suspicions had been confirmed.

It was time to get out.

He was a rare circumstance—an unusual exception to the conventional rules that were mostly associated with national personifications. After all, he wasn't really a nation anymore, but his existence was as present and real as always, looming over a people that he had once called his own before merging under another identity.

And that's exactly why they wanted him; he was the oddball of the group.

Prussia raised his blood-stained irises at the "doctor" looming over him, watching as he swabbed his arm and injected some type of medication into his arm, unable to do anything in retaliation. He had tried lashing out at the team of doctors that had been tending to him before, only to be sedated to the point where his entire body had gone into a state of paralysis. Now, the only muscles he could move were those on his face. He winced as the needle hit its target, biting his lip to keep from cursing profusely and making the situation a thousand times worse for himself. He warily watched the doctor step away from his cot and fumble through his lab coat, eyes trained on Prussia the entire time.

"You must be aware that your brother is here as well," the doctor finally commented, shining a penlight into Prussia's eyes. He went about the procedure with a frightening patience and serenity, almost humming to himself as he worked.

"What have you done to him?" Prussia roared, unable to keep from shouting no matter how hard he tried to bite his tongue.

The doctor put on a strained smile, pulling back the nation's eyelid as he examined the dilation of his pupils. "Nothing that won't benefit the field of science."

Filled with overwhelming wrath, Prussia spit into the doctor's hovering face, watching as the man tensed up and reeled backward, bringing a sleeve up to his chin.

"Go to hell," Prussia hissed, begging his body to regain mobility again.

The doctor sneered. "I would, but it looks like you'll get there before me. The medication I just gave you will cause your heart to stop, making you clinically dead. We'll see how defiant you are then, bastard."

Prussia took a long gasp of air, suddenly feeling like his heart was going to explode.

There was an inexhaustible flash of pain that followed before he went still once more.

He didn't know how long he'd been hovering between levels of consciousness, but he couldn't be held under the influence of the medication for very long, and soon he was opening his eyes again, proud of his body's own resilience and its ability to manage chemical imbalances with ease.

"Remarkable."

His skin felt as though it were stinging and on fire while his heart stuttered with skipped beats. His eyes were unbelievably dry as he faced the figures that were towering over his bed menacingly, confused and exhausted from whatever that sadistic doctor had done to him previously.

"He's alive. How is that possible?"

"Technically, he was never really living to begin with. It all depends on what your definition of life is. After all, he's no longer a nation of his own. In theory, he should have ceased to exist centuries ago. I guess if there's one thing we know for sure, it's that he can't be killed by a short-term trigger. The medication was supposed to make his heart stop, and it succeeded, but after the medication wore off, he managed to regain consciousness somehow. His body is regenerating now—blood is circulating again, lungs are filling up with oxygen—it's like nothing ever happened."

Warmth spread through his core, blood rushing and sloshing as his brain craved the sweet taste of oxygenated cells again. He slowly regained memory of his events at the hospital and tried his best to sit up, surprising the staff of doctors with his sudden burst of strength. Thankfully, they hadn't gotten the chance to inject him with another muscle relaxant yet, meaning that he had regained full mobility of his limbs.

"What does this mean? Is he immortal?"

"No, at least, I don't think so. He just can't be killed through the conventional ways that humans can."

Prussia winced as he straightened his back. He'd show them how damned human he was. With a snarling breath, he struck out his arm, catching a doctor in the ribs and knocking him back. This elicited a violent flurry of movement among the other doctors, causing the nation's head to spin with renewed vertigo as he dodged the pair of hands that made an attempt at restraining him.

Ripping out the IV in his arm with a low growl of pain, Prussia grabbed hold of the two remaining doctors—one in each hand—and shook them by the fronts of their shirts roughly. He drew them close with an animalistic look in his eyes that thoroughly startled his prey as they feebly tried to break out of the nation's rock-solid grip.

"Where is my brother?"

The more skittish of the two began to squirm feverishly, refusing to give him a proper answer as he turned his unsightly face to the side to avoid Prussia's crimson eyes. "Don't kill me!" he squealed. "I didn't want to be a part of this in the first place, but I couldn't decline the high pay!"

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anywhere without pushing the subject matter more fervently, Prussia transitioned his grasp on their shirts to each of their necks, raising them a few inches off the ground as they choked for air in his hold.

He sneered at the pair, priding himself for taking back control of his own body. "Ready to talk?" he inquired in a sickly-sweet lilt, irises flickering over their lab coats before taking note of their physical features should he get the chance to report them to the police.

The man opposite the cowardly one nodded, his misshapen nose wrinkling up in a wince as he blanched. His hands wrapped around Prussia's, cautiously trying to pry the fingers off of his throat as the shade of his lips began to transform into a bluish tint right before the nation's eyes.

Seemingly satisfied, Prussia released the two, eyes still dark and foreboding as the pair dropped to the floor and coughed frantically, nearing choking on their own saliva as they lifted their wobbly heads to face him.

Mr. Crooked Nose finally had the sense to speak up. "W-We don't know much. We were hired for this a while back, but aren't given much of the details concerning other patients then the ones that we're assigned to. Chances are your brother is on another floor, depending on what tests they're conducting on him. The only one who has all of the details on each patient is the Chief Physician, but he isn't here every day and when he is around, he deals with some of the superpower nations, who are on the sixth floor and are kept under extremely heavy surveillance."

Prussia sighed and stood up from the bed, happy to see that he was quite steady on his feet despite his untimely death and resurrection. The first doctor that he had attacked was still slumped against the wall, unconscious for the time being as the other two brushed themselves off and shakily stood as well. "Is he the one who is conducting all of the tests in the hospital?"

Crooked Nose nodded carefully. "You could say that, but there is a whole committee on the outside that is running the rest of the show. They go around convincing people that the experiments are for the good of mankind. Even a few of your fellow personifications are in on it, which is giving the board a whole lot of credibility on the world stage. A large number of nations haven't been brought in for testing yet; you're one of the first groups."

Prussia scowled, hefting up the body of the unconscious doctor and tossing him on the hospital cot to make the scene look less suspicious, though it didn't do much to hide the obvious chaos. "Why have the other nations joined the committee?" he interrogated as he scanned the room for a useful weapon, but came up short.

"I don't know. Rumor has it that they want to spy on and disband the committee from the inside while others say that it's because they are afraid of getting forced into submission. Nations on the committee have special privileges like not having to participate in some of the more…brutal testing sessions. The most they do is donate blood and get the standard barcode," the doctor explained, tone still quivering ever so slightly. "I used to work with the superpowers, but I asked to be transferred because I couldn't handle it. I considered reporting the hospital, but they have a whole team of people who will kill any traitors. Most of the staff is committed and loyal to the cause like our colleague here."

At this, the doctor paused and pointed to the man on the bed. "He's a new guy, and still drunk with his power. He's the one who tried to kill you. Of course, we all knew that it would be harder to get rid of a nation then by just stopping your heart."

Prussia sighed and walked over to the door, peeking through the little window to have a better look at his surroundings. "What other staff is on this floor?"

This time, the skittish man intervened. "J-Just nurses. We're the only three doctors on shift right now. The next round comes in—" he stopped to glance at his watch, "four hours."

"And what nations are here?"

Crooked Nose took a moment to think before responding. "The personification of Canada is down the hall, but he'll soon get transferred to the superpower ward because of the experiments being done on finding the significance of twin-nations. Since Alfred Jones is obviously with the superpowers, Matthew Williams has to be brought up to him. The Vargas twins are around the corner in opposite rooms, and the twin-nation testing on them has already begun. Lastly, Elizabeta is across from Matthew. The patients are all called by their human names, so it gets a little confusing sometimes to match the human name with its nation."

Damn it all. They had Hungary? Well, Prussia now felt obligated to go and find her before he could travel to the other floors for West. "Alright, what are these stupid barcodes for?" he continued his questioning, turning up his wrist to reveal the tattoo along with the word written beneath it. MORTALITY is what his boldly said.

Crooked Nose paused to stare at the mark for a little while, as though mesmerized by it. "Those things are for tracking as well as for logging your information into the database. By scanning your wrist, we can bring up your entire file with your medical records. They wash off if you scrub them with rubbing alcohol long enough, but it doesn't come off easily. It should fade over a few weeks. The word under the tattoo says what you are being tested for. Yours says mortality because the board wants to know if it's possible for a nation to die permanently."

Prussia nodded in comprehension before perusing the pair of doctors critically once more. They had been rather helpful and compliant. They also hadn't caused him any harm thus far, but he still didn't think he could trust the sleazy men.

Weighing his options for a long while, he finally gave his verdict. "I can't let you guys go because I can't trust you not to report me to the other staff. If you vow your allegiance to me, I'll let you guys live. You have to do everything in your power to keep the other nations on this floor safe from the harm of the other doctors. If you do that, I'll make sure nobody comes after you guys when you quit working here and report them to the police. So, what do you say? Your loyalty for my protection?"

Both doctors turned to face each other and contemplated their choices for a moment. They didn't want to risk death by turning against Prussia, and the man was fighting for a good cause. Reluctantly, but still terrified of the nation, the two agreed to help.

Prussia smirked, content in the knowledge that he now had insiders supplying him with information and keeping the others out of fatal danger. "Good. From now on, your codenames are Crooked Nose and Squirmy. Now, I need you two to help me get into Hungary's room. Then, we're going to the sixth floor to give the superpowers a visit. Do either of you know if Ludwig is there?"

Crooked Nose looked more than a bit offended at his codename, but decided to cooperate anyway. "When I worked in the ward, I only got to tend to some of the patients. I saw the personifications of America, Russia, and Japan, but if your brother is here, then he's definitely going to be on the same floor as them."

Squirmy then took his turn to contribute to the conversation. "We can sneak you past the nurses in a gurney. I'll go get an extra one and bring it in, but you're going to have to stay still and feign sleep while we transport you."

Prussia curtly nodded as the doctor disappeared into the hallway, a sense of anticipation growing in his chest as the prospect of seeing his fellow nations began to chill him to the bone. What was he going to see? Had they undergone more extensive damage than he had?

He shook the thought out of his head. His brother and the other nations needed him.

And he was too awesome to back down from a little challenge.