Author's note: The story was done by two authors : myself and my wonderful friend Julia who, without her, I wouldn't have a story at all! I love her very much~ Please keep in mind that this story is originally written in both Russian AND English, and we're trying to be mindful of any translation issues.

Please enjoy!~ ^J^ 'Cause that's what it's all about, yes?

I - Operation Eagle Cry
[Операция "Орлиный крик"]

It looked sinful. Yes, she was waiting for this moment for what seemed like years. The oozing cheese that seeped out from the very corners of the familiar American cheesesteak made her salivate profusely. It looked so scrumptious - this little concoction handcrafted by Satan himself! The intricate folds of sizzling beef only made the impulsive young woman shift in her seat uncomfortably as she attempted to brush off the beads of sweat forming on her palms on her jacket.

A rich aroma of freshly-made beef permeated her sinuses as she hovered over the plate with a devilish look in her eye. She figured she'd exercise twice as hard that day to make up for the ridiculous amount of calories consumed from just one savory bite. Besides, it was all a part of her daily ritual to keep her fantastic "girlish figure." After all, she had to best that dreadful England in everything - especially looks, but that wasn't too hard to do.

But nevermind all of that! The blonde grew increasingly impatient and reached for the sandwich. It was so inviting and non-judgmental. Yes, this was true love at last - something worth dying for: that special thing which made her feel a thousand times better day after day! It called her name like a broken record player, over and over, as her long, slender fingers began to quiver around the treacherous sin.

Pulling the piping hot sandwich to her lips, she cocked her head to the side and eagerly opened her mouth…

"- Amelia! Are you listening?!"

The young woman's bright, sky-blue eyes shot wide open with a sudden gasp. She shook her head frantically from side to side, brushing away the lingering fog of her dream. The voice was booming and unpleasant, similar to nails on a chalkboard. The American learned to hate the voice throughout the course of her complex yet short history.

"Pay attention!" The man demanded as he slammed his fist down on the wood once more, almost splitting the surface in two. If he was just an arm's length away, he would already be pouncing his daydreaming representative.

She shifted her gaze back to the window as she relaxed the muscles in her face. That's right - she was stuck in this horribly boring meeting with her boss. How the ill-mannered girl hated these talks. They seemed to lead nowhere: it was just wishful brainstorming sessions on how to bring democracy to this land and that land… something of that nature. As much as she enjoyed being the heroine of it all, the human side of her began to feel fatigued after many years of traveling back and forth as she pursued distant lands.

At that instant, the girl yearned to be transported to another time and place once again. She fixed her attention on a lone baby blue jay enthusiastically chirping and singing its morning songs just on the other side of the glass. It was beautiful, how free it was: it could bathe in the sunlight without a care in the world and without anyone to answer to.

"...son of a bitch. This crap again..." She grumbled. Reluctantly lending an ear, she crossed her arms against her chest, disturbing the fabric of her bulky bomber jacket. She showed her boss a flawless poker face.

The man did not seem to hear her protesting. Instead, another slam left the antique table shaking. "This is serious! If you don't start listening, we will be at their mercy!"

"At her mercy, is it?" She shot her boss a quick glare, her voice unusually flat. His multiple, unrelenting demands started to get on her nerves. Amelia didn't care much for politics and was even more turned off by the way her boss would always debrief her... and weekly, too! Wasn't her government built to deal with such issues (even as unstable as it was)? She had more important things to do like... watch all the home openers for baseball. Yeah, she was missing all of those! Who woulda thought? And who exactly was winning the Dodgers-Phillies game, anyway?! Amelia would have loved to know.

Then the American girl remembered the countless summer get-togethers she hosted with her allies. She missed those. It was a shame that she couldn't watch the various blunders England made when she was shitfaced during these things, or the delicious cannolis Italy made for their dessert. But she certainly didn't miss the part when France took off all her clothes. That was a sight she would love to soon forget!

"But what about little ol' me? You never let me do anything fun...like having barbeques on Saturdays! You took that away too!"

"Things like that shouldn't be part of the budget, Jones..."

She could only let out a deep sigh as her eyes returned to the little bird outside. Without a care, it fluttered its wings and flew away in a heartbeat. She gently shook her head, her soft, dirty blonde curls cascading over her shoulder as she fixated on the vacant branch. "What do I get outta this...?"

"A new Ultra Gamebox 4. This is what you want, yes?" The voice sounded irritated to suggest it, but knew the girl couldn't resist two things: food and games. He needed this done.

Amelia's eyes sparkled: now full of life. She instantly shot up from her seat, her fingers spread with force against the table below. The chair flew back violently and slammed into the wall behind her. "R-Really?! You'll seriously do that?! You swear on your life?!"

The boss was thrown off guard, in shock at the sudden explosiveness. However, this was always in her nature. After all these years of dealing with the unruly, gluttonous little nation, he could never get fully used to her over excitable personality. "I-I guess. As long as you carry out the mission –"

" – and go through Liberty City and get our money back, yeah?! And beat up all them thugs, and... and save the beautiful damsel in distress!" The blonde flailed her arms about, not mindful of any bodies potentially sitting beside her.

"That's– no," The older man motioned his young representative to have a seat but to no avail. When he realized this was not working, he brought a hand up to fix his tie. He cleared his throat and, with the other, took out a small recording device bundled up in in thin black wires from his pant pocket. It was a small, gray and almost microscopic microphone that could be easily hidden and hard even for the trained eye to see.

"You are to wire this through your clothing and gather all the information you can. Is that clear?" Her boss threw the device onto the table before the standing American.

Amelia instantly recognized the device as she ran her fingers through her hair to see without any obstructions. How could she forget this little device? It has been at least 10 years since she used a tool such as this, when her skills of espionage were then top-notch. Usually her citizens tended to such complicated matters. But then she remembered the Revolutionary War, World War II, the Cold War, Vietnam – there were many times throughout her short history when Amelia herself resulted to such tactics. She despised sneaking off just to gather 'intelligence'. After all, it usually resulted in some kind of military action. Being calculated and reserved always made her super antsy and irritated.

However, a challenge was always welcomed. She entangled her fingers within the wires of the device and brought it up to her face to get a better look at it. A smirk grew across Amelia's glossy, soft pink lips as she thought of all the discord she could create with this specific advanced piece of technology.

In an instant, she threw her arm to her side, the device still dangling from her palm. The faithful representative stood up straight and gave her boss a whole hearted salute with a quick flick of her right wrist. The words he wanted to hear rolled off her tongue almost effortlessly: "Y-yes sir! For our freedom, sir!"

"Such a good patriot," A smile crept across his face. Business was finished. He had her word and creed. The man brought himself to his feet and gathered up the paperwork before him, stacking the papers and manila folders in a neat pile. "To help you, I have asked our northern neighbors for their assistance. Your sister Maddie will be accompanying you in your travels."

"Oh God, not her! Leave Maddie out of this!" Amelia inhaled sharply as she tensed up at the thought. She dug her rugged, unkempt fingernails into the wood, leaving small, fresh crescent marks where they were dug. She wanted to be the hero... no one else! Besides, Maddie always found ways to ruin her super awesome plans! Damnit, this was not going to happen! She had to say something! Like hell Canada was going to take the spotlight away from her…

"I-I think it's too late for that..." A soft, trembling voice could be heard from the hallway beyond the conference room's doors.

"...fuck."

Morning. The weekend. Peace and quiet. What could be more beautiful than a weekend after a tiring week full of work? That's right, nothing could compare. Anya herself agreed.

"Good morning,"

She involuntary winced, still halfway in the world of dreams. She was naturally a deep sleeper, of course, but in the morning, even ordinary rustling could easily wake her. That's why she liked to sleep alone.

"Morning… good, M-miss… there's some urgent business– "

"...?" Because the sun was hidden behind rain clouds, the room was dark and dreary. It was also cold, due to an open window. The atrocious weather outside was unseasonable for the capital, but after several weeks of enduring it all, she somehow got used to it. She dressed warmer than usual for this time of year, and, as a lady, would not leave home without her little pink umbrella and stylish gloves in her purse.

"There is an urgent c-call,"

The woman instinctively turned to the other side, wrapping herself even tighter within her favorite soft and warm blanket.

After gathering all the will he could muster, the little blonde boy beside her, dressed in a decadent red uniform, clenched his fists tightly and shouted with fast, slurred speech.

"Good morning, Miss Anya! There's a call waiting for you!"

Latvia instantly stood at attention, realizing the terrible mistake he had just made. His already pale skin turned to a new impossible shade of white, and he felt his spirit slowly rise out from his body.

Shouting at a person who is asleep was, to say the least, uncivilized and disgusting. Screaming at your boss while she is asleep was reckless and very brave. Screaming at the sole person who helped shape you was, indeed, suicide.

"Aaaaaah?! What's going on?!" From her sleep, she immediately snapped back to reality, violently forced out from the beautiful dream world. The abrupt nature of her awakening gave her a terrible headache and a bad case of fatigue. In response, she clutched her head. "Uh…"

"Ah! I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean to! I'm sorry, sorry, sor-"

"Raivis, stop it! Please, ...can you get out?" Anya whispered breathlessly and tried to regain control of her mind.

"Y-yeahhh! Of course! Waaaaah-" With unusual speed, the short boy flew out of the room and left his master, quickly slamming the door.

"What did I do in life that was so wrong..?" Her mood was now spoiled for the entire morning.

She attempted to get out of her man-made cocoon of blankets and, when she turned, she stretched out her arm and yawned wearily. Tossing the blanket aside, Anya swung her feet over the bed and let them fall on the cold, hardwood floor. The whole room was adorned with bright, lively colors: white wallpaper with intricate, golden patterns and a German-style parquet floor. On this lay a long, soft purple rug, given to her by her dear older sister Katyusha.* She did not own much furniture, but it would do: a small table with a mirror, her bed, a couple of additional chairs, a coffee table and, of course, her most treasured bookcase filled to capacity (…which supported the notoriety of Russians and their love for reading. From each country she visited, she brought home literature to her liking. Books were her passion: they replaced vain, hectic city life, and transferred her mind to remote, southern islands, undiscovered jungles, vast mountain ranges, and ancient shrines).

"Tch! Well, why so cold?" Cringing at its frigidness, she managed to fight it and rise to her feet.

She was wearing her favorite white lace nightgown. It was something special because her beloved younger sister, Belarus, gave it to her at her last birthday. Belarus had always made stunning textiles, but this one stood out from all the rest.

The Russian gently walked alongside the bed and found her favorite slippers in the shape of dogs. They looked peculiar, but Anya did not think so, and that was what mattered in the long run. Going further, she found her snow-white terry robe that was also woven by Natasha. (Generally, there was an assumption that all of Russia's clothes were made by her sister. The idea sometimes frightened her.) She slid her feet into the cozy fabric of her slippers, simultaneously fixing her chic, light blonde hair after putting on her robe. A small, velvet-upholstered ottoman caught her gaze, and she found herself sitting before a large mirror atop a large cabinet that covered most of the wall before her.

Beside the mirror was a bit of an altar for any girl. On the shelf in front of the mirror always lay trinkets such as nail supplies, hundreds of powders and perfumes, creams and lipsticks, hair rollers, brushes, rubber bands, and other junk. And the jewelry… countless jewelry! It was impossible to list it all!

Anya, by some miracle, fished out her comb from her collection of girl gadgets to begin her daily ritual. It always took a long time because she always had to look presentable, neat and beautiful. She loved to spend her spare time just sitting for hours in front of the mirror. It was strange, but it gave her much pleasure.

She mindlessly combed her long hair and, before she could drift off into her own little world, she heard a knock at the door.

"Huh? Ah… C-come in!" A little taken aback, she dropped the comb out of her hand. She was always a bit clumsy.

Her door opened just a crack. A quivering, young man appeared, speaking slightly above a whisper. "M-miss Anya, I'm s-s-sorry! Someone requests your presence on the phone, my b-beautiful master. I do not know who she is, but-" He halted, and, out of habit, shifted his fingers up his sleeves.

"Okay. I will be right there. Tell her I will be a couple of seconds," In response, Russia turned to Toris and gave a cute little smile.

"C-certainly!" Toris rattled off, frightened, and immediately made way into the hallway with haste.

"I wonder who it could be on a day like this?" She got up quickly, wrapping the robe around her tighter against her slender frame. She effortlessly walked out of her room and into another room further down the hall. There she found an older, black antique phone atop a carved bedside table. It was a moment before she picked up the receiver and held it against her cheek.

"Yes, yes… I'm listening..."