America slowly walked out of his boss's office, skin sickly pale and facial features contorted in fright. Thoughts of their previous conversation whirled around in his head so quickly it made him feel sick.

"...No more money...can't afford this anymore...trillions of dollars in debt...unecessary rescue missions...what kind of a country are you...failure as a leader...terrible situation...what have you done..."

The distrought American shook his head violently, as if trying to shake the terrible thoughts out of his mind. It wasn't working. Not by a long shot. What had he done? He had 'wasted' all the money his country had by funding 'unecessary' rescue missions to save people in other countries that 'did not need saving.' At least that was what his boss had told him. All he had wanted to do was help people! Alfred F. Jones was a hero; He was supposed to do that! And he knew that those people needed saving. Everyone he had saved needed help right then and there, and there was no one else coming any time soon. He had to save them...right? Well, maybe those people waiting in that ridiculously long line didn't, but still.

As he walked into the cold chilly December air, the truth hit him like a pile of bricks aimed at his heart. His people were poor. He could see them littering the streets, wrapped up in anything they could get their hands on to keep out the persistant cold. Children cried from hunger and fear and discomfort, their parents unable to do a thing to help them. How could he have let this happen? How could Alfred F. Jones, the hero for God sakes, let his people starve while he went gallavanting around 'saving people' and pigging out on ? How could he be the hero if he couldn't even protect his own people? The pain of this realization stung him so bad he fell to his knees, hyperventallating. He couldn't breathe.

What kind of country are you...failure as a leader...what have you done...

Where was England when he needed him?!

...failure as a leader...what have you done...

"No...no, no, no, no..." he breathed, panic rising within him.

...what have you done...what have you done...what have you done?!

"Stop, make it stop!" he pleaded, covering his ears to block out the noise. This was too much. Wet streams cascaded down his face. He was drowning in his panic, in his trillions of dollars of debt, in his sorrow, and no one was there to help him. No one would save the self- proclaimed savior now. He was alone. Painfully and pathetically alone. So alone that he failed to see a cloaked man appear seemingly out of thin air in front of him and slowly reach out a horribly pale hand towards him until it made contact with the American's shoulder.

"Keskeskes! Looks like you are in a bit of trouble, aren't you?" the cloaked figure laughed. America snapped out of his panic and stared at the cloaked mystery person. There was something about this man's voice that seemed so familiar...it sounded almost like it had a German accent to it. Where had he heard this voice before, and who did it belong to?

"Who are you?" America asked, hating how small and pathetic his voice sounded. He was a hero; It was time for him to start acting like it.

"The awesome me is here to help you, of course, so be greatful!" the disguised man bellowed, his voice dripping with so much self-pride that it made America's stomach churn.

"Help me? How can you help me? I am pretty sure I have gotten in enough trouble by myself, thank you." he replied, eyeing the other man suspiciously.

"Look at you. You are drowning in debt, your people are starving and your boss hates you. That is completely unawesome. But, I can help you change that. That's right! The awesome me is going to help you become a hero again!" the mystery man proclaimed. America stared in disbelief.

"Ok, dude, this is insane. How in the name hamburger are you planning on helping me?" he asked, slowly beginning to back away from the creep. This guy had to be nuts. There had to be something wrong with him.

"Keskeskes. Come with me and I will show you. It will be awesome!"

"I don't wanna go anywhere with you, dude!" America replied nervously, backing away. The man laughed his weird laugh again and took a step towards him.

"Do you really think you can fix what you have done to this place? You are so unawesome that you doomed your country, and even if you manage to somehow fix it without my help, you will no doubt drag it back down again. But I can keep that from happening. I can bring the country back and keep you from messing it up again! Now wouldn't that be awesome?"

America was stuck. This man had a point. He was unfit to be a hero. He was unfit to even be America. Even if his boss fixed everything, he would probably just ruin the country again. He sighed and rubbed his temple. Where was England when he needed him? He was always there to get America out of sticky situations like this; He would know what to do. But England was not here. It was just America and a strange man in a cloak.

"Come on, now! Making me wait for your answer is totally not awesome! I can help your people, save them even! Which is more than you could do, so how bad could it be?" the man snapped, holding out the palest hand America had ever seen. He knew that this man would not wait forever. If he didn't make a decision now, he might never get the chance to save his country again. With a sigh and a silent prayer that he made the right choice, America nodded and took the surprisingly cold hand and shook it. Suddenly, he saw a flash of bright red in his eyes, and then there was nothing but black...