[Track 1. Lithium.]

This isn't about me.

Get up. On your feet, soldier. Run faster, faster, you can't get away.

This isn't about us.

Sod off, you big lug. You took everything I had and. I won't forgive you for what you've done.

It's about the world, that vastly expanding universe, all slowly drifting away from everything, anything.

You're just as dirty as the rest of us.

This isn't about me.

He controls everything. He thinks he'll put the damn pieces all in place. Shut up. Let's watch him try.

You may think it is, but it's not. Italia Fascista was only one of the factors to start it all, send that ball rolling down the hill. Out of control. Faster and faster, spinning without stop. Just like the whole fucking Earth.

Be a good dog, Italien. Loyal, unflinching, unwavering in your trust, and low as the dirt I step on.

This is about the world. Yes, the world. In all its glory, sin, drowning in cries of blood and ash. Everyone participated, no matter how big or how small that role was. Even late start America, neutral Switzerland, accused Jerusalem. Tortured, enslaved, bloody pulp Jerusalem.

But it's not about them. Us. It's about the world and what happened during that time. That lightless time.

You are nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing.

The Great War. The Great Depression. The rise of Fascism, Communism, Civil war in Spagna. The second World War. The Great Fear in Stalinist Russia. Nazi Germany. The gathering of spies in America. Whore houses. The ghettoes, ghettoes everywhere. Even in Giappone, America.

Silence. Don't you dare waste your breath trying to live.

The Holocaust.

I wouldn't expect one as well-cultured as you to spit in my face. Are you sure such insolence by this point is wise?

The Final Solution.

Your neck is a mere twig by this point. What I wouldn't give to allow my fingers to crush it and hear the bones snap.

This is about a crime committed by the world against the world. How deceit, betrayal, love, heartbreak, allies, axis ruined the world and made it. We made the world.

Speak when you're spoken to, hund.

But it's not about us. It's about this world we melded with our bandaged, filthy hands.

Vermin.

And it only took a moment for the world to fall down.

"I'll see you again, Italien. I'll be back, I swear it."

Don't leave me. Please.

"I love you."

I know what happens. Please, don't go. Don't leave me. Please.

"I'll win this war, and I'll return. I promise."

Don't go.

.

.

.

.

You lied.

The world's falling, the sky's ending. I don't know anymore. It's hard to tell through bandages, the splitting pain in my sides, head, heart. You thought the Black Plague was bad? It's a splinter compared to this.

We have received reports of Italy's surrender. That's right, Italy has surrendered to the allies. Within the week, we'll-

The radio snaps off. Like a slap to the face. Too bad, too late. I look up, past the swollen eye, messy two week old bandages wrapped loosely around my head. Ignoring the twinges in my neck. If he wasn't so damn careful with his gloves all the time, all the fucking time, maybe he'd leave fingerprints. He's too careful.

It's hard to look in general. He sits at his desk, glaring at that radio. He might throw it to the wall, ground, at me. No, not the last one. Too petty. He's silent, hand on his chin. Not looking.

My hands are bound behind my back.

He swears under his breath, rubs his forehead. Slowly. Leather gloves trailing along his skin. Hiding the red. Sexy. It's there and I've lost all over again. No time like now to restart. For the seven hundred, fifty-ninth time. His hands pause, stay against his forehead. "I thought I told you to do your best. To succeed. I was counting on you."

Another slap to the face. I shift my feet against the binds, lean against the wall. I'm not weak. A puppet to do as I'm told, to be kicked around the floor and tied by the strings. Something warm and wet drips down my face. He looks up, finally, and smirks. It's not him. It is.

"No matter. Your sister cannot take you. We'll not succumb so easily as her."

He stands up, walks over. I flinch back into the wall, turning away. The twinges in my neck are nothing, not there. This isn't happening. He crouches down, grabs my chin and forces me to meet his eyes. Blue, so clouded and cold. Like ice. He reeks of war, death. Alcohol, tobacco. Smoke. He smokes like a chimney, leaves no traces. Not even burnt flesh.

I miss it. I've lost again.

His expression twists. Hideous. My legs twitch, stay still. I'd spit in his face if my mouth would work. Shout. Sono pronto alla morte or what the fuck ever. I can't. I want to spit in his stupid face.

I won. Tally it up, over all I still lose. He leans in, closer, and I lean back. Gulp. He growls. "I will still be here. Don't try to run."

Deep. His breath ghosts over my face. Smooth. Alcohol, smoke, blood, vomit. No amount of water can soothe that. No, please, mercy. Pietà. Kiss me. I lose.

"Vermin."

He moves, punches me across my face. Right to the cheek bone. He doesn't know, he can't. He does. He brushes off his hands, stands and leaves. Clicking the door lock behind him. My hands are bound behind my back. My feet tied and twinging. Not trembling. The warm wet spilling down my face increases, reaches my chin and slips down to my bruised neck. Each drop a weight of lead, of burnt bones and ashes.

I don't want this. I do. My neck throbs in time with my heart, trying to jump out my ribcage and break everything more.

The wall digs into my back the more I lean against it. Nothing else in my head than the area around me. The orders barked that I can hear, no one's in the room. I'm low as the floor, as the dirt and blood and filth around me. There's nothing. My lips twitch, refuse to move anymore. No spit, smile, cheeks, heat. No, stop. Too many losses already.

My hands are bound behind my back. And he's right.

A/N: Um. Welcome to the world of Axis Victorious. Feel free to take a look around.