Fun detail: the weapon distribution really was random. I did up a list of weapons and used a random number generator to assign them to the characters. Oh, Prussia...that couldn't have worked out better if I had tried!
I'm not going to portray every character as they leave. Just some. Then get to the others later. I ought to post a character list/death chart somewhere...
Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.
Canada clutched his bags tightly against his chest as he walked down the hallway. He was only the sixth in line, but any one of those five before him could be lying in wait. Or four. He was pretty sure his brother wouldn't murder him. Right?
China would be next, he figured. Would China be a threat? Impossible to tell. Canada wasn't personally afraid of him, but...anyone could be an enemy now. Would being one of the oldest among them make him more or less likely to be determined to win and continue living at the expense of everyone else?
Shaking away such thoughts, Canada reached the exit and cautiously pushed the door open. Blue-violet eyes squinted out into the harsh light. He could not afford to dawdle, though, and he hurried on outside.
There was forest nearby. That would be a good place to hide and get organized. Canada trotted in that direction, tripping over something with a curse. He stumbled, but managed to regain his balance and remain upright. He glanced down, and whimpered. It was a body sprawled in the path...
"B-Belgium..." Canada squatted down, brushing red-stained blond hair out of her face. Another had fallen already! They had barely begun! And that answered his previous musings. One of those already outside was willing to play this game.
He ran for the trees, trying to force down his nausea. He wouldn't have stopped running at all, except a pair of arms caught him, one hand clamping over his mouth. Canada bucked wildly, whimpering, panicked thoughts racing through his head. He was going to end up like Belgium, he just knew it! Dead within minutes of the stupid 'game' starting. He prayed it would at least be quick, and his people would be taken care of...
"Cut it out," a voice hissed. "I'm not gonna hurt you, geez."
America! Canada's struggles ceased and he sagged in his brother's arms. The hand covering his mouth dropped away. "It's you..."
"Yup." America released him entirely and leaned against a tree. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
"You scared the shit out of me!"
"I said I was sorry."
"Wh-who killed Belgium?"
"Belarus."
Canada winced. "Not surprising, I guess." She could be scary.
"Belarus had a stupid weapon. Flowers or something. Then Belgium came out behind her with a nifty little gun, so she decided to take it. That wasn't long before you came out."
"Oh man...Shouldn't someone move her body?"
America glanced the way they had come. "No. She'll serve as a good warning for everyone else; that this is real and some are indeed participating. Make them more wary."
This, coming from the man who had recently suggested they find the missing Central American nations by setting out food traps. "I suppose you're right."
"So what did you get?"
"Huh?"
America pulled something cylindrical and metal out of his pocket. He flicked it, and a blade sprang out. "Not bad, huh? Better than flowers."
"Oh." Canada shot a quick glance around to make sure nobody had ventured too close, and hunkered down to inspect his supply bag. He pushed aside water bottles and unappealing-looking rations, until he found his own weapon and pulled it out. His twin's blue eyes widened.
"Mattie...I love you..."
Canada's lips curved slightly. "You want to trade? I know how much you like guns."
"Oh yes! Yes yes, thank you." America tossed the switchblade over (thankfully, after retracting the blade) and eagerly took the handgun, like a new mother accepting her baby. "Lovely."
"There's more." Canada dug out some extra magazines.
"Score!"
"Shhh. Don't get us killed because you're hollering over a gun, eh?"
"Sorry." America checked the gun over, and tucked it away somewhere on his person. Canada did the same with his knife.
"Let's go. I don't want to stay right here."
America shook his head. "I'm waiting for England."
"But...!"
"I'm waiting for England!"
America's use of "I" rather than "we" was ominous. Canada stopped protesting.
"The food's lame, don't you think?" America asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Shh. I think I hear someone..."
They stood, still as statues, straining their ears. The sound of crunching leaves soon reached them, accompanied by muttered curses. Canada thought it might be England, but as the voice drew near, he was able to make out the thick Danish accent.
"A lamp shade? Really? I got a lamp shade?"
Canada sagged in relief against the tree. Denmark was nobody to fuck with, but they were a bit better armed than he was, if he proved dangerous.
"This is ridiculous. I'm gonna die because I thought about grabbing that bag, then I grabbed this bag, because I figured with my luck, my first choice would suck!"
America silently laughed, and Canada couldn't help but smile, too. The poor guy.
The grumbling Dane drew ever closer, then finally passed them by. They didn't completely relax until all sound of his passing were gone.
"Who's next?" America whispered.
"Denmark, then..." Canada went over a mental list of the meeting attendees. "Egypt?"
"Getting closer. Then we can get the hell out of here, and figure out how I can save everyone." America stepped out from behind the tree.
"Whoa, wait, where are you going?" Canada refused to budge. As long as nobody dangerous spotted him, he wasn't leaving his hiding spot until they had collected everyone and were seeking a better hiding spot.
"He might not go this way. What if we miss him? I'm getting closer."
Canada chewed on his lower lip, weighing his options. He certainly did not want to return to the warehouse. But he didn't really want to be left alone...Well, whatever. Nobody ever noticed him, anyway. And America had already left.
He felt a pang of regret suddenly, realizing he hadn't even thought of his friend Cuba since leaving the warehouse. Poor Cuba... maybe they could have joined up, had Cuba not gotten himself killed? Not with America around, that was for sure. And then Canada realized that the whole scenario might not have worked, at all. He'd have seen me, thought I was America—armed and possibly willing to kill him America—and he'd have killed me! Maybe it was better that Cuba had been removed from the game before that could have happened. And then the pang of regret became a stab of guilt for being at all glad about his friend's death.
It wasn't a long wait before the sound of footsteps returned. Two sets of footsteps.
"I left him around here somewhere," America was saying.
"Was that a good idea?" England's voice. Good, now they could get the hell away.
"He's got our supplies and weapons. And he kicks almost as much ass as I do! He's fine."
Canada smiled slightly. His brother could be nice sometimes. "I'm still here."
"Ah! Found him."
England stepped around the tree, and rolled his eyes. "You didn't find him. He called out to us."
"I brought us into the right general vicinity."
"Hi, Arthur." Canada waved.
"Matthew. Shall we get out of here?"
"Yes!"
"Wait, wait." America held up his hands. "What's your weapon, Artie? I got a knife, and he got a gun, and we switched."
"Oh, I don't know yet." England investigated his own bag. What emerged was a tennis shoe.
"Ah well." America chuckled. "I suppose it was too much to hope for that we all got something useful."
"You could throw it at someone," England muttered. "With your stupid strength, it could become a deadly missile."
"Yeah, about that..." America picked up a nice thick stick and attempted to break it. He should have snapped it like a twig, but barely cracked. "When he said we're like mortals, he meant it."
"Our strength is gone? Normal, that is?" Canada gaped. He hadn't even noticed! Now that he thought about it, though, lugging those bags around had been a bit more work than they should have been.
England folded his arms, scowling. "That could pose a few problems."
"We'll work around it. We're armed, anyway." America shouldered his bag. "Now let's get the hell out of here."
"Brilliant idea," England said. The trio turned resolutely away from the warehouse, and walked off at a brisk pace.
Though he was relieved to finally be on the move, Canada couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that they were forgetting something.
"Hello?" Avoiding the body of poor lovely little Belgium, France desperately looked around each tree. He had overheard other nations making plans together back inside, where to meet and whatnot. So where were they now? Oh sure, he was only number fourteen out of forty—or whatever number they were down to now. But one of those thirteen had to want to wait for France! What about England? What about Canada? Did nobody want to be with France?
"Anybody? It's your big brother here!" He walked deeper into the woods. "I'll be your loyal protector!" He didn't want to be alone! This sucked.
Giving up, France settled down to take stock. His weapon turned out to be a small sickle. "How vulgar." He set it on his lap, and waited. Some lucky person would wander by eventually.
Chopsticks. That was what Germany discovered in his bag. Since there was nothing else weapon-related, he had to assume that's what they were intended to be.
Whatever. He was on a mission. He and Italy had planned to meet up on the north end of the island, so that's where he was headed. He frowned at the map in his hands, noting the layout of the small chunk of land. The northern area didn't look too far. He squared his shoulders and marched onward.
"Austria!" Hungary flew into his arms. "You waited for me."
"I said I would."
"Did you see Belgium?"
"I saw."
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know. I don't want to kill fellow nations." Austria sighed. "But we might need to defend ourselves. I've got a pretty nice gun. A big one."
"Do you?" Hungary's eyes widened. "Good. I'll take care of anyone who messes with us! Can I have the gun?"
Austria scratched his head. "Let's find somewhere else to stay first."
"Where do you want to go?"
"The map shows a cave. Let's go there for now."
"Okay."
"What the hell is this shit?" Romano scowled down at the item in his hand.
"Ve...it's kind of cool, actually." His brother smiled.
"MP3 players are cool. But not when it's supposed to be a weapon!"
"Play some really bad music, really loud."
"Funny." Romano shoved it back into his bag and stalked away.
"Wait for me!" Italy jogged to catch up. This was the last place he wanted to be left alone.
"Why? You want to go find him."
"I know you don't like him," Italy whined. "But you have to admit, he'll make a good ally!"
"Someone I want to punch in the face is not a good ally!" Romano shoved his unoccupied hand into his pocket. "What's your weapon?"
"Ta-da!" Italy pulled a white flag out of his personal bag.
"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!"
"Oh." Italy next pulled a handgun out of his supply bag.
"Now that's more like it!" Romano grabbed for it, but his brother held it out of range.
"Hey, it's mine, it was in my bag!"
"Do you even know how to use that?"
Italy ignored the question. "It's going with me. The gun and I are going to meet with Germany."
"Dammit, bastard, you'd leave me to die out here?"
"No, because you're coming, too."
"I can't believe this shit..." Romano growled, stalking along beside Italy. As if it wasn't bad enough he could die, he might die allied with Germany. Could this day get any worse?
38 nations remaining
Poor France. I'd wait for you, France!
For the characters who've left, but weren't mentioned, assume they've wandered off on their own, or are waiting for someone(s). It's not that I dislike writing anyone besides the 'main' group, they just don't have anything exciting going on yet, and we want to get on with it, yes?
Should just be one more chapter before the REAL fun begins (well, there is some fun next chapter, mwahaha). Bear with me!
