The Fear of a Nation

Canada's Session

Canada got a call the morning following Russia's completion of the test. "Hello? This is Canada."

"Matthew Williams? Hi, this is Dr. Daniel Miller. We need you to come in tomorrow for your session at nine o clock, sharp." Canada swallowed. "I'll be there," he said. "What was that?" Dr. Miller asked. "I said I'll be there," Matthew told him louder. "Great! See ya then!" "Bye," Matthew mumbled as he hung up the phone. We're all Americans that cheerful, or was it just Alfred and that guy?

Kumajiro nuzzled Matthew's hand. "Who was that?" He asked sleepily. "A scientist. He wants to pick out my brain without using surgery," Matthew explained somewhat sarcastically to the bear.

"... Who are you?"

"I'm Canada. Your owner?"

"Oh."

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Canada made himself a large pancake breakfast the next day and absentmindedly drowned the poor things in syrup. "Can I have some?" Kumajiro asked. "No, Kumamoto, this much sugary syrup will give you a heart attack." "Who are-" "I'm Canada." Matthew chewed his food thoughtfully. What could his worst fear be? If he didn't know, would the test work on him? He'd just have to wait and see.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

At nine- o- clock, Canada slid the door open and stepped in nervously. There was a hospital bed- the kind that periodically read your vitals out loud and alerts doctors to changes. The occupant of the bed at the moment was a dummy, with real heart and lungs, along with blood pressure and heart rate. All over the walls were screens that had some part of the dummy as the the focal point, the brain, heart, and lungs, along with other vital organs.

Canada coughed to announce his presence. The short platinum blonde female scientist smiled warmly at him and gestured him to lay in the hospital bed while the small Asian took the dummy away. She gave him a muscle relaxant so the restraints wouldn't be necessary. As soon as Matthew made contact with the bed, his eyes felt heavy and he wanted to sleep, never mind the coffee he had only half an hour ago.

When he opened his eyes, he was confused. He didn't remember closing his lids. Oh well. Where was he?

The air smelled dank and musty. Moisture dripped from cold stone walls, and the wooden bench he was on was uncomfortable and possibly rotting. He shivered; it was a bit chilly. His wrists felt heavy, he lifted them to inspect them. He was shackled.

He was in a cell.

"Hello?" He called. His voice bounced around the stones and echoed slightly. He stood up and peered through the bars of the cell. The whole jail seemed to be of stone, like the ones built back in the days of colonization and fights between France and England. Actually, it was exactly like that. The bars made up the door and the ceiling was in the shape of an arc.

"Guard!" He called. "Guard, I need help!" He needed to know why he was there. He heard footsteps rush towards him. "What is it, scum?" The guard hissed. He was dressed in the armor of soldiers from the seventeen hundreds. "Why am I here?" Matthew asked, trying to hide his relief. "You play games?" The guard sneered at him. Matthew just looked at him. "Fine. I'll play your game, murderer."

Murderer?

Matthew's mouth got very dry. The guard fished out a warrant. "Matthew Williams is under arrest for the murder or Francis Bonnefoy with the accomplice Arthur Kirkland. He is sentenced to hang by the neck until dead, after watching Arthur Kirkland suffer the same fate." Matthew couldn't seem to catch his breath. A tear leaked out if his eye. "Papa... Dead?" The guard snorted. "Did you forget, scum? Did you forget stripping him of his uniform and hanging his buck- naked corpse by the wrists from the tree outside of town? Did you forget carving the English king's name on his chest?" "STOP IT STOP IT!" Matthew shrieked. Any inkling that this wasn't real slipped his mind.

"Repenting, boy? Good, God may pity you." Matthew slid down to the floor and cried in heaving, racking sobs. He put his sticky hands over his face- sticky? He pulled his hands away from his face and put them in a shaft of sunlight for a better look.

Blood.

"Guard?" He said in a panicked voice. "Guard, who's blood is this?" He heard the guard's dark snicker. "Not yours, kid. Not yours."

Matthew screamed. "PAPA! PAPA!" "Papa's dead," the guard drawled. "Your knife killed him." Matthew scrambled away from the cold bars of the door and pressed his hands over his ears. "SHUT UP SHUT UP! PAPA!" He screwed his eyes shut and his lips twisted in a grimace. He pressed himself further and further into the wall. "PAPA!"

He cried himself out, although he'd never stopped shaking. "I killed him, I killed him," he thought over and over. As the sun rose, he made peace with his crime. He'd killed his father, it was time to accept the consequences.

Time to pay for his sin.

The guard from the night before fetched him shortly after dawn. "Boy. It's time." Matthew picked himself up off the ground. "No more games," he warned Matthew. Matthew mutely shook his head.

He was led in shackles to the gallows in the bright of the new day. A gallows had been erected in the center if the town square. On the opposite side was Arthur, who was smirking at him knowingly. His green eyes glinted evilly. Matthew flinched and avoided his gaze. There wasn't a lot of pomp and ceremony; the priest simply said a halfhearted prayer and Arthur was marched up to his noose.
The noose was placed around his neck and the hood over his head. The trapdoor under him was triggered, and to the disappointment of the crowd that had gathered, Arthur's neck immediately snapped. No show for them. Whatever blood that had been left in Matthew's face had drained away.

I deserve this.

Matthew opened his eyes, disorientated and very confused. "Canada, can you hear me?" A concerned voice asked. Matthew was back in the sterile room, white light blinding him. "Yep," he croaked. Dr. Miller was fussing over him. The gallows were gone, as was everything nightmarish and freaky. He was still trembling.

"There's maple tea in the waiting room, and cookies. Help yourself. You are free to go," the Czech woman told him. He nodded and walked out, dazed and quivering.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"Interesting. That only took about thirty- six hours. I thought it might take longer."

"Indeed. The stimulus had an odd way of presenting itself."

"How do you feel about the way he handled it?"

"Not exactly ideal, but he made peace with it and accepted the consequences of his actions."

"Is this degree of submission desirable in a nation?"

"Quite the contrary: I believe that the fact that he realized he was a threat to his loved ones caused him to be submissive. If there was threat to his family, I don't doubt that we may have seen the rare dark side of Canada."

"I vote Canada is fit to keep his status as a nation."

"I second this."

"I concur as well."

"Great. Who's next?"