Years after the attack between the Axis and Allies, they had formed a bond that could never be broken by war. They all laughed and visited each other, not a care in their minds. All for the Axis' side. Germany had left on a business trip, and would not be coming back for years. The last time they would see each other for several years was then. Germany had entrusted Japan with ownership of Italy until he came back. Soon after, Italy went onto a streak of uncontrollable sobbing. Nothing could cheer him up. He would lay in the bed they had shared and cry and cry, not another thought about the world around him in his mind. Japan had tried encouraging him that he would see him again, but nothing seemed to work. Italy just doubted it and sobbed. After a week of terrible crying, Italy gained some form of control. He drifted in and out of sleep, his dreams fuzzy and distorted. After awhile, the dreams got clearer. Germany was there, telling Italy to kill everyone. Kill everyone because they made him leave. Italy made Germany's wish his own.
He slid the lock on the door off, creeping towards Japan's room. The door was ajar, the sliding lock on the top allowing him no space to enter. He slipped his hand through the crack, sliding the lock off, the door opening silently. Italy walked into the room, Japan dead asleep. Italy walked over to where his katana sat on a rack, with a various assortment of other weaponry. He grabbed the katana's sheath, sliding the gleaming sword out of it's carrier. He placed the sheath gently on it's holder, gripping the katana in two hands. Gently, he slid the sword on Japan's neck, underneath his jaw. Italy smiled. Japan's eyes flashed open, seeing the sword and it's wielder.
"It seems you've seen me. I, the Italian Veneziano, shall make you my slave in return for me not killing you." He gripped Japan's hand, pulling him off the bed, starting the reputation of infamous Italian Veneziano.
And that's how we all got where we are now. The Italian Veneziano brought even the most powerful countries to their knees, sparing them only because of their will to serve him.
I suppose we'll all end up in the same situation. One moment on our knees begging for mercy, the next waking up in a dark room, stripped to our boxers. We all start that way. When we wake up, there is a maid costume fitted exactly to our size next to us. Some part in us tells us to ignore it and continue sleeping, but another half says to put it on and wait for someone to notice you. Most people fall towards the second one, and people that don't do it, eventually do. A young man in a white coat always comes and fetches them once they've dressed in the outfit. No one knows anything about them. Nor the Italian Veneziano.