Why does it have to be so dark in this place? Why does it have to be so wet? I don't really mind it that much, but it makes walking around this place really difficult!
America continued to complain to himself. As much as he hated to admit it, he truly loathed this situation. Sure, he was the fun loving adventure type. He was always the one to run out and look for excitement, but this was not exciting. This was just scary.
He had always been easily terrified. Everyone could see it. How many times had he called Japan or England over to his house because he was too scared to sleep at night, simply because he had watched some stupid horror movie? America, as optimistic and heroic as he was, was truly terrified at the moment.
With a shotgun by his side, he felt a bit more at ease. He could blast away any opposition that came across him. He could do it pretty quickly too, if he had to brag. The young nation felt that he was more than prepared to handle a zombie apocalypse. He had the strength, the skill, the leadership qualities; but he lacked the bravery. Everything he had been showing off to France and England since their reunion had been nothing but bravado.
The blond nation knew that he couldn't leave the bravery part up to his companions. Someone had to be a leader—a hero—and that person had to be him. America knew he had the best leadership qualities out of any other nation, and he had to show the others just how well he could protect them all. What hero would he be if he couldn't even keep his own fear in check?
Had it not been for him, England probably wouldn't have been standing very well at the moment. That zombie would have torn right into him, and America couldn't even fathom how that would have turned out. Would England have even lived through that? Just how would zombies affect nations?
These were of course questions that he had no answers to. How could he? None of those video games he played with Japan ever portrayed nations being affected. The existence of nations was fairly low key, so of course games would never be able to portray scenes like that. Aside from video games, the only movies America had ever seen about zombies had been movies he himself had made.
He vaguely wondered how England's opinions on those movies had changed since this entire incident began. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to criticize and discredit them after this.
But, he had to keep focus! He couldn't become distracted by thoughts like that. If he wanted to ensure survival among his fellow nations, he had to be on alert. Again, who else would do it if not him?
France was obviously off in his own little world. He always was; America could tell. Any time he and France had come across a zombie or two, the Frenchman would immediately complain about how his outfit was being ruined, or how bad the zombies themselves smelled. This was a zombie apocalypse! Leaders couldn't allow themselves to be distracted by their clothes or the stench of putrid death. Or the stench of England's puke for that matter, and that stuff did smell absolutely terrible.
No! America was a true leader. He had to keep telling himself that. As a true leader he could not be scared. As a true leader he could not become distracted. As a true leader he had to know the right decisions to make. As a true leader he needed to be smart! Was the blond nation any of these things? He would have liked to believe so, but he knew that his current companions would blatantly tell him that no, he was not any of those things. They would tell him that he was delusional, and that he needed to start getting serious about their situation.
The whole issue here was that America was being serious. He was being more serious than he felt he had any right to be. All of those years of zombie movies, all of those years of zombie games; they were preparing him for this very moment. Now, more than ever, America needed to prove himself. He needed to show France and England just what he was capable of as a leader.
These thoughts continued to invade the nation's head. Penetrating his every idea and action to the point where some might say that he was completely obsessed. Maybe he was obsessed about it, but the point was that he knew it would take his guidance to help his companions and himself to the facility's exit. If they were lucky, they might even be able to discover the cause of the so-called zombie apocalypse, and why they were in the facility in the first place. But before any of that could be accomplished, there were some issues that needed to be attended to.
"What do you mean it's blocked off?" America questioned.
"I meant exactly what I said. It's blocked off," England deadpanned. He gestured at the caved-in doorway as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Beside England stood France, who let out a soft but familiar laugh. America would never admit it, but he had to agree with everyone who thought the man's laugh was the most annoying thing in the world.
"Monsieur America, have you gone blind?" the Frenchman asked, following England's lead and shining his flashlight beam into the doorway, emphasizing the destruction that lay in its wake.
England responded by shoving the older man's arm down, resulting in France nearly dropping said flashlight.
"Stop shining that thing everywhere, you git. It's not exactly helping my migraine."
France threw a hand to his heart, mock gasping and over exaggerating his every movement. "Now, England. Just because you're a skinny little wimp does not mean that you have the right to bring the rest of us down."
Thus, the two nations escalated into yet another one of their arguments, leaving America to take charge.
He looked over the rubble blocking the doorway the three were standing in front of. Yes, it was certainly caved-in, and it seemed that there wasn't anything they could do about it either. So what would they do now? The three of them had traversed all through B2 of the facility, and now here they were on B1. Just where on B1 were they? Well, they were at the stairwell leading up to the first floor of the facility. That stairwell was blocked, as England had so eloquently put it before.
Blocked. Their only escape. Blocked. Caved-in. Rubble everywhere.
Hell, there were even support beams trapped between the concrete and, (for lack of better words), boulders of fallen ceiling. How inconvenient was that? How was that even possible? Did the zombies know how to create bombs? Had the zombies blown up their only means of escape?!
No, that was ridiculous. America could realize that without even conveying his ideas to England or France. So that added even more questions to the current mystery. How had the three nations ended up in this facility? Why had they all woken up feeling so ill? Were there other nations still in the facility? How had the zombie apocalypse begun? Why was the stairwell to F1 so inconveniently blocked off?
These questions would have to wait until later. America had more pressing issues at hand. There were some shuffling noises approaching from a corner to his left.
"Hey, you two. I think some more of those creeps are coming by. Maybe we should move on?" America inquired.
His fellow nations broke themselves from their heated debate about nothing in particular, and took notice of America's suggestion. The looks on their faces told America all that he needed to know, as it was obvious they heard the incoming zombies as well.
The two "enemies" glanced at each other before agreeing to a temporary truce, finally following America as he began to wander in the opposite direction of their company.
"Well America, since we're going to ignore that staircase entirely," France began, "just what do you propose we do about escaping?"
The addressed nation responded with bright optimism, "Well, we just check out the lower floors, right? Maybe there's like an elevator or something down there."
The three took a corner on the right and passed a few more storage rooms. A thorough look of the place revealed that the entirety of B1 was destroyed, causing various areas of it to be inaccessible. Despite this, the area was surprisingly dry compared to how damp B2 had been. It was even a fair bit brighter up on B1, though the three couldn't explain why. Maybe it was just their vision finally adjusting to the complete darkness that engulfed the entire facility. Either way, they all could agree that the conditions of B1 were much more preferable than those of B2 or, (in America and France's cases), B3.
Needless to say, none of the nations really had any hope that they would find a form of escape. If anything, they would just be at a higher risk for injury and, though they loathed to even consider the possibility, death. In the end, they knew that they would probably end up attempting to move the rubble blocking the B1 stairwell. That would also probably result in severe injury, but they had to escape somehow. Until then, they would just traverse the lower levels as America had suggested.
If both France and England had relented and agreed on the idea without a fight, then it was at least worth a try.
Back on B4, things still weren't fairing very well. In fact, the trio that had hid in the storage room earlier had made next to no progress since they had taken their leave. Just what was it that they had been doing? Well, Germany certainly had no idea.
At first, he had been wandering around the expanse level of B4 with Romano and Italy hanging close behind him, and their progress had been decent at best. Then Romano swore that he thought someone was nearby. Italy asked if it was a zombie. Romano said that no, it was someone alive. Germany asked how he could have possibly known that. Romano replied that he just knew. Italy then decided that they had to find this mysterious survivor.
So much for their attempts at escaping. It seemed almost as though the brothers' need to find this person had overridden any fear they once had. Italy had been near tears earlier in the storage room! The man had been completely terrified of their situation. Now he didn't seem to have a care in the world, and was happily prancing around the dark, damp facility with his older brother.
If Germany didn't watch it, the two of them were going to run off and get themselves killed. Sure, they were bad company. They were not the first two people you would want with you in case of a zombie apocalypse. In fact, you wouldn't want them with you period. They were still better than nothing. Germany would not let himself live with the fact that he got Italy (or even his brother) killed.
So here he was, babysitting the two as they ran around in complete naïveté. They weren't so naïve before when they were running from that first zombie hoard. Maybe now they forgot that zombies inhabited this entire facility. Germany certainly wouldn't put it past the two of them. It could have been some strange case of selective naïveté or something like that. The younger nation had never heard of something like that before, but he didn't doubt that the Italy brothers could pull it off.
Lost in his musings, Germany momentarily lost track of the two brothers, and of course that was enough time for something to go completely wrong. Italy's sudden familiar scream snapped Germany out of his thoughts, and he immediately ran to where he had heard his fellow nation.
Once he arrived on scene, he noticed that the two were back at a line of prison cells. Most of the cells appeared either rusted, locked, or simply left wide open. Italy and Romano were hanging around at the end of the hallway.
"What's going on? Italy, are you okay?!" Germany yelled as he approached the two.
Then Romano was gone. The nation had lunged into the open cell the two had been staring into. This couldn't possibly mean anything good.
"Romano!" the Germanic nation exclaimed.
Instead, Italy turned to look at his approaching companion. "Oh, Germany! Check it out! We found big brother Spain! He jumped out at us and scared me!"
The nation was so cheery that it was painful. How did he go from being so terrified to cheery and oblivious? Figuring that he would never understand his longtime ally, he peeked into the open cell to figure out what Romano was up to.
He found the nation, and as Italy mentioned, Spain was there as well. Romano was standing pretty close to him, as Spain relayed just how worried he had been about his former charge. Looking at Romano, it was obvious he was excited to see the older nation, despite the attempts he was making to come off as uncaring.
"Spain?" the Germanic nation finally managed to spit out.
"¡Hola, señor Alemania! ¿Comó estás? ¡Me preocupé por tú!"
The nation in question had to sit and process just what the hell Spain had said. What possessed him to speak in his own language like that? He knew that not all of his acquaintances completely understood Spanish like him. The guy was always so cheery and oblivious. Perhaps the Italy brothers got that from him? Then again, Italy had grown up with Austria, so that would only make sense for Romano. Still, Germany had to wonder sometimes. Or all of the time. Then he decided that it would be better for his mental health just not to wonder about his fellow nations. They were all insane and incompetent. That was certainly it. He was the only sane man in a world of crazy nations.
"Spain," Germany finally began to reply, "I'm fine. What are you doing hanging out in that cell?"
The epitome of cheerfulness seemed as though he just realized where he was, and looked around before answering.
"Well, señor, I was trying to avoid the living dead! What else would I be doing?" Through the dim shine of Romano's flashlight, Spain could be seen grinning. "I woke up in this cell, so I figured I mine as well stay in this area until someone happened to show up!"
"That's…that's awfully optimistic of you," was all Germany could say in reply.
Romano glared over at Germany from the sanctity of his longtime caregiver, "Hey, we found him, didn't we?" Germany sighed, but the older Italy brother took it as reluctant acknowledgment. "Yeah, you potato bastard. You know I'm right!"
Spain just laughed, completely misreading the situation as always. "Oh, Romano! You're still just as cute as ever!" He put his hand on top of the younger nation's head and began to ruffle his hair. At this, Romano became quite flustered, immediately shutting up and blushing. He continued to give Germany the same glare as always, trying to ignore the unwanted attention from Spain.
Italy finally decided to speak up at that moment. "So, now that we've found big brother Spain, we can finally leave this place, ve~!"
Separating his gaze from the glare of Spain's southern Italy, the Germanic nation took a good look at his own Italy. He was still quite optimistic it seemed.
"Yes, Italy, we can finally leave this place." Or we can attempt to, a thought which Germany kept to himself.
"No way, not yet!" Spain intervened. "I'm pretty certain I heard Austria while I was running around. I haven't been able to locate him yet, but we should find him before we escape this place."
You've got to be kidding me, was the next thought that Germany decided to keep to himself. "I thought you said you were just hanging out in this area until someone happened to walk by," he mentioned.
"Well, yeah! But I've also been looking for Austria. I heard him maybe only fifteen minutes ago!" Though Germany thought it wasn't possible, Spain's grin grew even wider as he patted Romano on the back. The southern part of Italy apparently decided that he had had enough of Spain's treatment, and finally retreated to his younger brother's side. Spain kept grinning. He was simply too cheerful. It hurt Germany's very soul to even think about always being so happy.
"So, big brother Spain, where did you hear mister Austria?" Italy questioned.
Spain gestured over to the doors at the end of the hallway, opposite from the side where Germany, Italy, and Romano had happened to find the cheerful nation. "It's over there, compadres! I was checking out some office rooms that are in the section, and I'm pretty certain I heard the guy complaining when a zombie hoard ran by. What's with those zombies anyways? They're everywhere!"
The nation had changed subjects just like that, and Germany was honestly quite surprised. That was something he would have expected from Poland or Italy. Maybe Spain was a bit tenser than he was letting on. Germany knew that Spain did often try to hide his true feelings from others, but he did let his stress show through in subtle ways. He probably didn't even realize that he let it show like that. Instead of pointing the abrupt subject change out, he tactfully chose to go along with it.
"We don't know much about what's going on," Germany began. "We mine as well just go search for Austria and get out of here. While we're trying to escape, we can keep a look out for anything that might help us figure out this situation."
The nations around him agreed. Spain turned around and grabbed a sniper rifle from the back of his prison cell.
"Spain? What the hell are you doing with that thing?" Romano blurted out, not expecting his former caretaker to have pulled out an M21.
"This?" Spain asked, holding up the rifle, "I found it over in those office areas! It was in one of the private offices." He held the rifle in his hands, though he didn't gaze at the weapon too fondly.
Once again, Germany wasn't too sure of what he should make of the situation. Spain seemed to be quite the enigma, even next to Italy and Romano. It was very possible that Spain wasn't too thrilled at the idea of shooting zombies. They were people, and Germany knew that the cheerful nation was much more comfortable at home throwing siestas than being out killing. He would be slaying zombies of course, but Germany bet that Spain still viewed them as people.
There was definitely more to Spain than the nation was letting on. Germany could see that from the short minutes that he had spent with the man. How could he still try to be so cheerful if he was truly hurting on the inside? To someone as intuitive as the Germanic nation, Spain's inner dilemma was quite obvious once the time was taken to actually peer into his feelings.
Most people probably wouldn't have seen through Spain's façade though, as the man was an impenetrable wall of happiness and optimism. Behind the huge smile on the man's face, there was a bit of sadness and stress. It appeared only minimal, but to those who took the time to search, it could have been much more immense than those emerald green eyes were letting on.
Again, the best thing to do was to let everything go for now. The group was now tasked with the mission of finding Austria.
I brought this upon myself, I know it. I should have never said I preferred Austria's company over running around with Italy and Romano. A horrifying thought struck Germany in the middle of his internal rant. Oh god, I'll be stuck with Italy, Romano, and Austria! He immediately threw a hand to his face. This day was just getting worse and worse.
Italy ran ahead of his three companions, bursting through the double iron doors at the end of the hallway of prison cells. One moment and a loud scream later, he came running back, taking cover behind Germany. Some zombies shambled into the hallway after Italy's mad rush, and Romano followed his younger brother's lead and quickly planted himself behind Spain. Apparently it was much safer hiding behind the two larger nations.
Once more, Germany found himself sighing at the antics of the Italy brothers. Spain might have had some hidden depths to him, but if there were any to Italy and Romano, they were hiding them much better than Spain ever would.
The luger in Germany's holster quickly came out, and three of the zombies fell at once. Two shots from Spain's rifle caused the other two to follow in their fellow zombies' leads.
Once all was said and done, the Germanic nation turned to the Italy brother hiding behind him.
"Italy, do you remember what I told you back at the storage room?" Germany sighed, holstering his gun once more. He glanced at the blood splattering the walls and floor. Why did zombies still bleed if they were the living dead? Why was he randomly thinking about this now?
The addressed nation looked down at his feet, avoiding eye contact with the much larger nation. "You wanted me to shoot zombies, I think."
"You weren't listening, were you?!" Germany yelled.
"No, Germany! I'm sorry! Don't strangle me! I'll listen better next time! I promise!" Italy practically begged before his ally could even move.
As always, Romano threw a glare Germany's way. It was enough to calm the blond nation down, at least.
"No, Italy, that's fine." He glanced over at Spain, who was checking out the area beyond the double iron doors. Despite this, he still addressed Italy, "Just stick with me. I'll protect you." He looked back at Italy, who was sheepishly looking back up. "Just promise me you won't run off and get in trouble."
"You'll really protect me?" Italy questioned, his voice filled with hope.
Germany heard a quick "bullshit" muttered by Romano, and internally he groaned. He thought that Italy would have gotten it through his thick head already that yes, Germany would protect him.
He gave the smaller nation his word yet again, and all four of them finally set off to discover the elusive Austria's whereabouts.
Germany was absolutely dreading this.
Spain was indeed correct in assuming that he had heard Austria earlier, so the group's searches were certainly not in vain. The man in question had been running around the facility for quite some time, not that he had noticed Spain before.
Then again, Austria had spent a majority of his time escaping from a hoard of zombies. No matter what he tried or where he went, that same hoard seemed to catch up with him every single time he stopped to rest.
That is the last time I go check out a hallway that had gunshots coming from it, the sophisticated "young" man thought.
His breath was still ragged and hurried due to his constant attempts at escaping the hoard. All his mind could really comprehend at the moment was that he still wasn't out of the hole yet. In fact, even though it seemed that he had escaped his pursuers for the moment, his current situation was probably even worse than before.
The floor was incredibly damp where he was, but he still sat in the puddles that surrounded him. There was no way he could keep going at this rate. Although he couldn't give an exact estimate, he had to guess that he had been running from those cannibals for over ten minutes. Maybe even longer.
At the moment, there was no way he would be recovering any time soon. Every inch of his body ached, his legs nearly numb. All the aristocrat could do was sit and allow his breath to return to him.
He could allow this for now, as not only had he managed to lose the hoard for a while, the door to the room he had collapsed in had a lock on it. There were a whole slew of people he could be thanking due to that one act of mercy towards him.
Thank Hungary, thank Germany, thank Spain, thank Italy, thank…hell! Thank Prussia! I don't care anymore! Thank everyone!
Austria took another good look at his surroundings. He had managed to lock himself in a small private office. The whole place looked as though it had been hit by a flood. Then again, the entire facility had apparently been hit by a flood, as far as he could tell. Sure, it was pitch black and he had no source of light on him, but it was obvious that there was water splashing with every step that he had taken before. It didn't help that he was slouching in a fairly large puddle at that moment either.
Look how far I've fallen. Prussia would be proud. Similar thoughts continued to invade his overactive mind
It suddenly struck Austria that had he listened to some of his peers earlier in life, he probably wouldn't have been so exhausted and defeated. It's not like he had been running for his life for that long. Hungary could have gone on longer. Hell, Hungary could have run from those things for days.
Wait, what was he thinking? Hungary would have torn those beasts to shreds with her bare hands. She would have never even bothered with running.
The pampered, aristocratic nation had never been a man of war. There had never really been a war that he had done well in on his own, and it was obvious that all of his neighbors were much better suited to fighting than him. Back in the days he had relied on Switzerland. Then he relied on Hungary. Now it seemed that he relied on both Hungary and Germany. Perhaps it would be in his best interest to start becoming more independent. But would that involve dropping his music?
Life without his music would not be life at all. Of course, music was no where to be seen at the current time and place. Music would not be able to help him in this time of need. What would benefit the pampered nation would be a good nap. Much rest was still required if he had any hope of escaping from wherever it was that he had woken up in.
The problem here was that he still couldn't seem to catch his breath. His legs were still completely numb. His arms and upper body still ached all over. It must have been quite a while since he last ran like that. There wasn't even any way that he would be able to fight back either, as not only was he not a man of action, he also had no weapons on him.
Austria supposed that he could substitute something in his current location as a weapon, but of he was too exhausted to even think about moving around. There was of course the messenger bag that he had at his side, but there was nothing useful within it.
At least he managed to lose those creatures. He had been beginning to believe that he would never lose them. A thought appeared at the back of his mind, and he vaguely began to wonder whether or not those creatures would even be able to kill him. Even if they couldn't kill him, he knew for a fact that being eaten alive would not be a fun way to spend the time. Actually, it sounded rather horrific.
Hey, I think I'll thank Mozart for that door's lock as well.
Austria knew that his thoughts were a bit disorganized. He knew that very well. There was nothing he could do about it, though. Anyone's thoughts would be a jumbled mess after being hit so hard by exhaustion, fear, and stress. At least he was safe for the moment. He wasn't in a very good situation, but he was safe. He could finally rest up a bit.
The one scenario that truly scared the pampered nation was still penetrating through every other disorganized thought he had. What if that hoard happened upon his safe haven? What if they happened to burst right through that door and swarm the collapsed nation? He knew for a fact that there would be nothing he could do about it. If any zombies found and burst into his safe haven, then he would just continue slouching against his damp wall. He would probably scream, and he would probably piss his pants, but there would be absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.
Once again, Austria was struck by his thoughts. It appeared that the more he thought about his situation, the more humiliating his thoughts became. At that moment, he truly was a pathetic man. "Prussia would be proud" indeed.
He closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. All he needed to do was relax. If he could relax, his body could continue to rest, and just maybe he could finally catch his breath.
It was so silent. Never before had the ringing in his ears been so excruciatingly painful. The sound of true silence was quite possibly more painful than any ache in his body. Austria almost let himself tear up. He wanted his music. He wanted to be home with his piano. He wanted to be back at home with Hungary so he could play his newest composition for her. She would always take the time to just sit and listen to him play. Those small moments were the happiest of his life.
Breath evening out, the muscles of his face loosening up, Austria was finally allowing himself to relax. Just the thought of playing his music for Hungary brought him peace. Perhaps he could play for her once he returned home from this hell. That would be ideal. Too bad he still doubted that he could escape from the facility. Thoughts like those would not ruin the peace he had strived so hard to achieve for himself. The best chance for his survival would be to calm down. Thoughts of his death would only serve as a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Austria, the ever loyal man that he was, would not do that to Hungary. He could never do something like that to the young woman that had always been able to capture his heart. It was almost as if allowing himself to die here would be a dishonor to her. Hungary was such a strong woman, and she always had Austria's back. It was time for him to prove that he could handle himself. He would return to Hungary as a new man. It would be a true sign of his loyalty to her. If he could protect himself, then he could protect Hungary. Isn't it always one's goal to be able to protect the one you love?
Hungary watched over Austria for so long, and she was always so devoted. He would repay those favors. He would survive this. He had to for Hungary…
Those thoughts seemed to be doing the trick, as the aristocratic nation was finally slipping into a light rest. His body still ached, but he was recovering. Recovery was what he needed more than anything else if he was going to escape. And he had to escape, not just as a promise to himself, but as a promise to Hungary.
The sound of silence began to die down. The ringing of his ears fading away into the abyss of nothing. Sleep was finding its way into Austria's life, and with it would bring his much needed recovery. A second wind. A chance to attempt an escape once more. No run-ins with hoards of once imaginary creatures. Just rest and recovery. This was the time to—
BAM! The door of the office room vibrated with the force at which it had been impacted at. Something was out there, and it wanted in.
As predicted, Austria did nearly "piss his pants", as his thoughts had so eloquently phrased it before.
No. No way. They can't do this to me now. I'm not allowing myself to die here! The thoughts sped through the nation's mind faster than he could even comprehend them.
How had the hoard found him? Could they break into the room? How sturdy was that door? Austria was in no way prepared for this. Since he had allowed himself to relax for a few moments, he felt that he could at least move around a bit more. That didn't necessarily mean that he could fight off and escape the hoard once again, though.
Without even thinking about what he was doing, the nation reached into the damp messenger bag at his side. He had found it in an office room before the entire fiasco with the never-ending zombie hoard. For reasons not even known to himself, Austria was reaching into the bag to grab one of the only two objects within. The object in question was completely nonsensical for the situation at hand, but it was the only thing in the pampered nation's reach.
There was another thud at the office door. Austria extracted the object from his bag. It was a disappointing find for him. He couldn't even explain just why he was disappointed, though. He knew exactly what he was going to find in that bag. Had he expected it to be anything different over the last ten minutes? He had been running nonstop since he had reached the private office, and he had never grabbed anything along the way. That didn't seem to stop the sense of disappointment and dread emanating from the nation.
In his hand was a handheld CB transceiver, one of two he had found early on after waking up within the seemingly abandoned facility. Though he was in a complete panic at the time, all the dark-haired nation could do was stare at the transceiver in confusion. What had possessed him to take it out? By itself in a combat situation, the transceiver was useless. Once more, he was overcome by a severe sense of disappointment.
Though his body still ached, though his legs were nearly numb, the nation still forced himself to get up. There was a moment of determination—a fire—that struck his motives. He would make himself stand, and he would fight. He would fight the most impressive battle of his life. Useless CB transceiver be damned, Austria would go down in a blaze of glory. He would not go down in history as the first nation to fall to the zombie apocalypse. Even if he did die at that moment, he would go down in the rosters as having given it his all.
Yet another thud impacted the office door. Hinges creaked, and the weakened materials protested in near agony. One final impact and that door would be coming down. But the impact never came.
Instead, it sounded almost as if there were faint voices coming from the other side. One voice in particular sounded pretty upset. And when Austria said "upset", it was more like "completely ticked off".
The dark-haired nation was still too panicked and shocked to even dare move from his spot against the far office wall. Were there even voices on the other side of that door? They could easily be hopeful hallucinations of his. His mind was playing a cruel trick on him, it had to be.
Still, those voices continued on, despite Austria's doubts of their existence. The angry one sounded as though it finally had enough, as its tone and intensity increased ten-fold. If the aristocratic nation was being honest with himself, it sounded almost as though the voice had just yelled, "Fine!"
Then the moment Austria had been waiting for arrived. One final thud was heard, and the office door came crashing down. One of its hinges flew across the room, landing a mere yard from Austria's position.
Though he was terrified, he was ready. He raised the CB transceiver and readied it. As the body that had brought the door down steadied itself, the transceiver was tossed. Austria had never thrown something so hard in his life. He didn't know whether or not he should be proud of his newest accomplishment, but whatever the reason, he had to take off now!
Pushing against the wall behind him with as much force as he could muster, he began his mad dash out of the office room. Unfortunately, as he had expected, he was caught. He was caught by the person who he had tossed the transceiver at, in fact. Both of the nation's arms were grabbed at once, and he quickly found himself slammed against the nearest wall.
It had all happened so fast that he couldn't even register what was going on. Something horrible was happening, but he couldn't seem to figure out how to react to it. Then the unexpected happened.
A beam of light shined into the private office room; the first ounce of light that Austria had seen in forever. It was nearly as painful as the sound of silence. His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness of the facility, so he definitely had not been prepared to face a light of all things.
Well, this is it. You didn't really put up a fight at all, he berated himself.
He waited for the first bite to come. He prepared for the moment where he would be eaten alive. As usual, the moment he had been waiting for never came. Instead, there was once again the unexpected.
"Mister Austria! It's so good to see you alive! We were all so worried about you! Why'd you go and throw that thing at Germany? That wasn't very nice!" Through the panic and confusion, the dark-haired nation knew that he recognized that voice.
Was all of that rambling coming from Italy?
AN: Hey guys! Thanks for sticking with me and checking out chapter 2! I've enjoyed writing this so far, so I hope it's turning out well.
It's chapter 2, and already seven characters have been introduced. Sorry if any transitions between them are confusing. It also seemed like Germany was over-thinking everything in this chapter. I'll try to avoid that next time. Also, I apologize for Spain's random line in Spanish there. I couldn't remember the proper way of saying "I was worried about you", so the line I put roughly translates to "I worried myself for you!" which just sounds ridiculous. I'm still debating cutting that line out. Anyways, thanks again for reading!