A/N: Okay so sorry this chapter is kinda crappy, but this is my first fanfic so... BTW this is supposed to be set in the near future, so there shouldn't be anything majorly different from how it is now (like the names of countries and big stuff like that). There are some differences though, like the weapons being more high tech (and technology in general). Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia (oops i forgot that in the last chapter NO ONE SUE ME!)

Matthew was awoken by someone shoving him roughly out of his seat. He landed hard on the floor of the bar. It was surprisingly clean for a place in The North Side. He looked up quickly and saw a huge man standing above him. The man had an ugly sneer on his face, and he seemed extremely angry. Matthew was terrified, and he couldn't imagine what he had done to make this bear-like man mad.

Then suddenly Matthew recognized him. He had a faint memory of this man sitting in court, watching while his wife was put on trial. Matthew himself had made the arrest. This man must remember him as well.

"Hey, kid! You're the one who arrested my wife! I knew I'd find you someday, bitch." The man's voice was deep and gruff, and it sounded as though he had been smoking for quite a few years. Matthew took a moment to access the situation he was in, just like he had been trained to in the police academy. He hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep until he was so rudely awoken, so he was disoriented.

The man was leering at him from quite a height. He was even larger than the man who had been sitting in the corner earlier, and two times as scary. He had a tattoo of a coiled silver snake, which Matthew found rather cliche, on his exposed right shoulder. He wore a leather vest and a pair of black pants. His shoes were large black boots. Matthew glanced out the window of the bar, and he saw that it was still light outside. He deemed it to be about 5 in the afternoon.

Matthew rose to a crouch, and then leapt out of the way, just in time to avoid the chair that the man threw at him. The man then punched at Matthew's head, but he easily ducked out of the way. He saw that they were the only two people in the bar, save for the bartender who was the same as before, and quickly cast aside the idea of getting any help. He could handle this on his own.

Matthew ran to his left as the large man threw another punch at him, and then he leapt the bar. The bartender let out a startled gasp as he grabbed a bottle of alcohol and smashed it on the counter. This provided him with a suitable weapon for the time being. He took another bottle too, just in case.

Matthew knew it would be much quicker, and safer, to use his gun for a weapon. However, the gun was far too high tech for someone who lived in The North Side to own. It was small and thin, and it had deadly accuracy. Its size was such that it could be concealed invisibly in a pocket on the inside of Matthew's coat. Said pocket was on the hem at the bottom of the jacket. It was heavily padded so that not a trace of the gun could be seen, and it was also unlikely to be felt.

No, Matthew thought. I can't use it and blow my cover already. It's only my first day on this mission! Though there weren't many people in the bar, someone was sure to hear a shot. He didn't want rumors being spread: a young man with an expensive gun in The North Side. At best it would sound unbelievable to those who heard it.

Instead, Matthew leapt forward onto the counter, holding his makeshift weapons in front of him. The man, Matthew now remembered his last name to be Smith, advanced on him menacingly. Matthew jumped onto the top of a table to his left, narrowly avoiding another punch from his attacker.

Smith laughed. "What? You gonna fight me kid?" After Matthew ducked the next punch, he saw an opportunity. He stabbed the broken bottle upwards into the underside of the man's arm. He then quickly jumped away onto another table behind him and to his right. Smith decided that it was better to stay farther away from Matthew, and he began to throw chairs again. Projectiles were something Matthew struggled with.

Matthew was able to dodge a few chairs before one hit his shoulder hard and knocked him from the table he was perched on. He managed to catch himself so that his entire body didn't hit the floor, but it still cost him a few seconds. This gave Smith enough time to advance again, seemingly abandoning his chairs. Numerous strategies flashed through Matthew's mind, and he tried to gauge his opponent.

Too large to be terribly fast. Much stronger than me. Smirk. That means he's cocky. He didn't expect me to fight back in the first place. Matthew, strategy in mind, waited for the large man to be directly over him.

"Not so tough now, are you, you little bastard?" The man roared down at Matthew. Suddenly Matthew jumped as high as he could, putting him level with Smith's face, and brought his hand back to smash the previously intact bottle across it. Some of the glass got stuck in Smith's face, and alcohol sloshed everywhere. The man fell to the ground, stunned. Matthew landed softly on the floor, dropping the two jagged, broken bottles directly after.

"Perhaps I'm tougher than you thought," Matthew said softly. Smith turned his head to look up at Matthew groggily. Matthew hoped he was no longer able to fight after that blow. Matthew watched him for signs of alertness. At this point he seemed only able to manage small movement. Matthew smirked slightly at a job well done. He had done it without his gun.

Matthew was startled by the door to the Eagle's Nest slamming opened, jarring the wall beside it, and he looked up from Smith in surprise. Matthew gasped. Before him was the most handsome man he had ever seen. He felt a blush begin to creep onto his face, and time was suspended for a moment.

The man had silvery-white hair and smooth porcelain skin. He wore a pewter, collared shirt, with the top two buttons undone, beneath a black jacket. His pants were black, as well as his combat boots, and fit him perfectly. They came to rest right where his legs connected with his hips, held in place by a thick belt, and were tight enough to show off his muscular legs. The most striking thing about him was his eyes. They were not only an extremely rich color of red, but seemed to reflect his emotions and personality.

This was Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was dangerous. He was possibly a murderer. He was Matthew's target. But more than anything, he was beautiful. For a moment, Matthew felt as though he couldn't breathe.

Then Matthew's breath was truly taken away. Smith took Matthew's distraction to his advantage. Avoiding distraction was the first thing they had perfected in police school, and Matthew had succumbed to it. Smith brought up his foot to catch Matthew in the stomach, his aim perfect. It was enough to send Matthew flying into a table five feet away. Matthew felt his head hit the table leg, and he started to black out. The breath was knocked out of him, and though he struggled he couldn't get it back.

Through his spotty vision he thought he saw Gilbert walk across the bar towards Smith.

"What the hell do you think you're doing. Piece of shit!" Matthew couldn't be sure, but this is what he thought he heard a thick German accent say before he passed out.