Shadows graced the walls, and the moonlight drifting in from the windows glinted sharply off of the gun in ItaCat's paw. No one dared move, or even breathe. In the scramble to get upstairs, Spain had somehow ended up in the front of the pack, and was now the only human barrier protecting them. As much of a reassurance as that was, it wasn't very comforting.

"H-hey there, little gatto(1)!" Spain stuttered nervously. The cat merely glared harder, it's eyes, open surprisingly, were not their usual golden hue, but rather a deep, blood red, duller and darker than Prussia's, like dried blood. "W-where's I-Italy?"

Silence. Obviously. Did you honestly expect a cat to talk?

ItalyCat simply gestured curtly towards the kitchen door. The countries glanced at each other, before hearing the telltale click of the safety going off. That kicked everyone into gear. They hurried into the kitchen almost as fast as they'd run up the stairs.

Once they'd reached Germany's kitchen, the large double doors leading to the dining room were slammed shut, by two men in black clothes and fedoras. ItaCat appeared in the doorway they'd just come through. He meowed, rather forcefully, before that door too was slammed, leaving the four countries alone in the dark.

"Well, this is a durcheinander(2)!" Prussia noted, leaning up against the counter. "Now what?"

"We look out the window." Spain replied, ripping open the curtains in front of the small window above the kitchen sink. It was a small window, but it still gave something of a view, and they all crowded around it.

Outside, a sleek black limo sat in Germany's driveway, its engine still running. A few men, like the ones they saw earlier, we're standing guard outside the car. Most of them were holding guns, larger and obviously more powerful than the small pistol Italy's cat had used. Speak of the devil, there he was, waltzing sleekly out of the front door and up to the car, where one of the guards opened the car door for him. Instead of climbing in, he stood just out of the way, and out stepped sweet, innocent little Italy. Or, at least, it looked like Italy.

Before any more observations could be made, a loud bang resonated from upstairs, just above their heads. More scuffling noises and footsteps followed.

"Wasn't Germany... sleeping, when we got here?" France questioned, fear creeping into his features.

"Yeah..." Prussia replied. "He WAS."

Looking back outside, they could all see Germany being dragged outside. He was brought up to the Italy-like figure. All guns were aimed at him, but none were fired. Instead, the figure stepped aside, and Germany was shoved into the back of the limo, obviously against his will.

"WEST!" Prussia screamed. He raced to the nearest door, frantically trying to turn the knob or yank it out of the doorframe completely. The others just stood there, watching at first, before they decided to help him.

"Prussia, you best move. I got this." Taking a few good steps back, Ireland slammed her shoulder, and all her weight, into the locked door, with as much force as a middle linebacker(*). The door slammed open, its hinges obviously loosened, and with it went Ireland, tripping over her own weight and into the adjacent wall. "Ugh..."

"Ire! You ok?" Prussia asked, kneeling beside her.

"Yep, perfect. Just fine." She smirked up at him, holding her sore arm but shaking it off as she spoke. "Now get going, your brother needs you."

And with that, he took off, France following. Spain stayed back a moment to help Ireland up before they followed too.

Prussia got outside just as the sleek black limo was pulling away down Germany's long driveway. He stood in shock, watching it leave with his little brother. And that was when the Awesome Prussia almost cried.


TADAA! I understand that this chapter might not make much sense now, but (hopefully) it will soon! Eventually...

(1)"Gatto" = Cat

(2)"Durcheinander" = mess

(*) American football position