Not very happy with the way this chapter flows, so I might rewrite it later on. For now, enjoy this rather later chapter!

To all the Guests who reviewed, the cliffhanger in the last chapter is explained here. I'm glad y'all liked the fight scenes more than I did. And Abyss101, if you manage to read all 40+ Warriors books in a decent amount of time, I will write you something and give you my respect.

Chapter 4:

Jason found the flash drive again the next day, when he was doing laundry. He'd been sorting through the whites and darks when his cell phone rung, and he paused, pulling up a white button-up shirt in one hand and answering the phone with the other. The caller I.D. revealed the identity to be Chairwoman Jordon Marie, head of the Nation Police Division in the DDIL and a second-in-command of sorts to O'Brien.

"What is it?" he asked, tossing the button up shirt into the whites pile and picking up a pair of jeans. "I'm busy."

"It's about Secretary O'Brien and America."

Jason paused in his work to scowl despite himself. He'd been informed about the new personification of America the previous night, and how this "Rebecca Jones" had been a kid of Alfred's before dying in 1850 and reviving on the 4th. Personally he found it to be a new level of tomfoolery and wished fervently that both she and O'Brien would stay far away in Washington where he would never have to meet her. Now that he wasn't the primary representative of the USA, he wanted no bigger of a part in what was going on up there than necessary.

But no. They had to come down to Alfred's Virginia house to "adjust." Hogwash. They just wanted more work and stress to get piled on Jason's back. Now they had to get some 16-year-old girl accustomed to 2018 culture, history, and politics, which would take years if even possible at all. Things were just getting worse and worse.

"Don't call her that," he finally replied. "She's Rebecca." —because there was no way he was referring to the girl as "Miss Jones," either— "I'm more of the representative of America than she is right now."

Jason could practically feel the woman's frown, but thankfully she didn't comment on it.

"They were attacked thirty minutes out from your house by an assassin. Secretary O'Brien is in need of medical care, and America" —never mind, that was definitely accented to annoy him— "is wounded. They'll be here momentarily."

Jason's hand tightened around the phone slightly, the fact that Marie had referred to Alfred's house as his flitting past with hardly anything more than a passing thought. An attack on a nation? That hadn't happened since that whole Mexico fiasco back in 2016, and a the one before that had been a whole decade earlier. Whoever the attacker was, if they were targeting a nation that only half a dozen people even knew existed…. Suddenly, he didn't feel so safe in his public status as a micronation. "O'Brien? Is he alright?"

"The NatPD were escorting them, so they contained the situation before the assassin to get what they wanted. He just has a head wound, maybe a concussion. They're bringing him here for evaluation."

Well, that was a good idea. If there was any place that could survive a disaster, whether it be a terrorist attack or nuclear war, Alfred's Virginia House was it. Jason let out a sigh, forcing his heart to slow.

"Alright then. I'll expect them shortly."

"We'll get the full debriefing then. Have a good morning, Molossia."

We? Ugh. like he was ever going to have a good morning again, especially if Marie was coming down. Jason turned off his phone, shoving it rather violently into his pocket. He and Marie had never really gotten along, not like him and O'Brien, and he had to wonder just what she had done to have been appointed as the head of the NatPD. The woman always seemed to expect him to act like he was as old as China (not that said nation acted anywhere near his actual age), and just as often was ready to deal out scathing rebukes, which seemed to be a good portion of the time they'd spent together in the fifteen days since Alfred had died.

Not only that, but this attack was worrying. There wasn't much he could do about it, and O'Brien was alright, but he couldn't help but feel nervous about the whole thing. Whoever the assassin was, they certainly didn't sound like they'd been trying to stay hidden.

Jason huffed to himself, checking the pockets of his jeans absentmindedly as he thought. A moment later, his hands caught a large bump in the right pocket, and he frowned, pulling out a black flash drive with a the back painted purple. When did he get this?

Oh, right. It'd been dropped in the flower pot yesterday, and he'd picked it up on a whim. No doubt it was one of the numerous flash drives Alfred had kept to store military documents. He'd pass it onto the DDIL when they came by, and they would sort through the information. No big deal.

But Jason couldn't help but look at this little flash drive, and wonder just what it had been doing in a flower pot.

Whatever. Laundry could wait until tonight, anyways. He tossed the jeans in the colored pile and left the laundry room, taking the stairs down to the main floor. The living room was at their base, and Jason picked up his laptop from where he'd left it on the table and plopped down on the sofa, disturbing Americat as he dozed on the couch. The Maine Coon cat blinked his eyes open, and after shooting Jason a look that conveyed a serious annoyance, jumped to the ground and trotted out of the room.

Good riddance. That dumb cat was annoying anyways. Jason booted up his laptop and plugged in the flash drive, opening up the files as he did so. As he pulled up the file tab, he frowned suddenly.

That was odd. There was only one file, a video at that, dated September 18, 2008. Unless it was some heavily classified video, that ruled out his theory of it holding government documents. And it was from 2008. That was almost ten years ago. If Jason's curiosity wasn't piqued before, it certainly was now. If it was recorded so long ago, it would be at the back of some filing cabinet, not in a flower pot of all things.

Hesitantly, he clicked play.

The screen booted up to reveal Alfred sitting on the same bed Jason had seen in his bedroom upstairs. His glasses were nowhere to be seen, and his whole figure was slumped over, conveying a sense of tiredness with it. He wore a dirty, long-sleeved black shirt, and sported a black eye and split lip.

Jason frowned, but his heart thudded painfully in his chest as he looked down at Alfred again. He had not seen him for the last three months, the last time being them both attending the Dance Parade in New York, back in May. He had hated it. Alfred had, or at least had seemed to, have the time of his life. After his death, Jason had turned down the opportunity to see the body, and once he had gotten here the pictures of him hung on the walls had been the first to go. Seeing him living, breathing, stirred up an unidentifiable emotion in him.

And where in the world had he gotten hurt? The 2008 recession had only just begun, and Alfred's immune system had been the one to take a hit from it, not his physical appearance.

"Hey," Alfred began after a couple moments of silence. His lips lifted, but he didn't smile. "So, uh… Doctor Evergreen says that making a video diary will help, and I figured, 'eh, why not?'"

He shifted, adjusting the camera, which seemed to be positioned between his knees.

Who was Doctor Evergreen? Help with what?

"As for what happened today; not much. Wrote a couple letters, filled out some paperwork for the Prez. There's a World Meeting coming up in October over the recession, so that'll be fun." He let out a sigh, fiddling with his hands. "Man, I just remembered I gotta get Jason outta D.C. in a couple days. Might send him to Santa Fe, get him and O'Brien out of here for a while until everything cools down."

Suddenly Jason felt very uncomfortable. He remembered that trip. The old director of the DDIL, Patton Allaway, had sprung it up on him and O'Brien with hardly any warning, citing that Jason needed some vacation time away from the capital and his own country, and that O'Brien was to provide company (i.e. supervision). It had lasted a month, and while it was nice, Jason had felt more like he was being exiled than sent on vacation. It didn't help that O'Brien had been an insignificant recruit whom he hadn't even met yet. Jason had no idea that Alfred had been the one to initiate it.

Meanwhile, the video was still playing.

"Don't want him getting caught up in Order stuff. He the only—" suddenly, his words choked off. "Anyways, I think Santa Fe is a good option. It's a clean city and out of the way, and Necahual says she'll be able to slip away for a bit and keep an eye on them. If things don't go well enough…" he shrugged, and sat up, now completely serious.

Jason shivered, now enraptured with the video. He had not seen a look like that on Alfred's face since 9/11. And who was Necahual?

"If things don't go right or if I'm no longer fit to fight, then, Jason, you'll be watching this right now, and probably having a lot of questions about this diary of mine."

He froze.

"They'll be after you, Jason, if my plan fails. You'll be representing the United States of America on your own, and I hate leaving you without a goodbye, but…" he trailed off. "It's not your fault. I don't think you believe that you are at fault, but if you do, me dying, going missing, or whatever happened that put this video in your hands is not your fault. I died because my plan failed, or because my depression finally got the best of me. Nothing about that has anything to do with you.

"But not everything is as it seems, Jason. Remember that. You can trust O'Brien—I vetted him myself—Necahual, and Gilbert, but besides that, it's best to believe that everyone else wants you dead. I've planted this video somewhere only you can find it. Destroy it after it finishes, and get out of here. Go to Trinidad, California. If everything goes according to plan, Necahual will be there to help you. If I couldn't get to her in time, then you'll have to go out on your own and figure things out. Gilbert should be able to help you, and try to get O'Brien on your side, too.

"Don't trust the government. Leave as soon as you can. I love you, Jason, and I know you can do this. Go to Trinidad and find the next tape." Alfred chuckled sourly to himself. "Well, this has gotten off track. This was mostly supposed to be a video diary. Good luck."

He reached out to the camera, and the video ended.

Rebecca leaned back, hissing quietly as one of the DDIL medics dabbed a damp cloth over another one of the deep cuts that had been inflicted on her arm. Already, her midsection was wrapped in white bandages to stem the bleeding of a particularly harsh wound to her side, and the medics had soon shifted to the numerous cuts on her side. To make matters worse, most of them had started to heal around the bits of glass still in her skin like slivers, prompting the medics to yank them out painfully.

"So your attacker was Alfred Jones?" Jordon Marie asked, pressing a flurry of buttons on the weird metal… thing, the name of which she didn't know. The Chairwoman and leader of the NatPD looked at her with dark brown eyes, pitch-black hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her head.

Rebecca shook her head quickly, still feeling shaken. "No, no. I just thought it was him for a second; she looked so similar…"

"She?" Another flurry of pressed buttons.

"Yeah. You could tell she had long hair tucked into a bun, but it was tucked pretty tight under her mask and I only noticed after I got it off. But she had—" another hiss as the medic started bandaging her arm. "His face. Same eyes, skin tone, hair color and texture, but sharper cheekbones and no cowlick."

"And what happened after you saw her face?"

"The rest of the NatPD opened fire on her. I'm not really sure what she did, but she threw something over at them, and it caused an explosion. When everyone was distracted she ran off to the forest. I let her go and went to help the men. We got O'Brien and some of the policemen drove us the rest of the way here. Then I met you."

Miss Marie nodded just as the door to the infirmary opened. Rebecca turned to see a young man, perhaps a year or so older than her, step inside. He had spiky brown hair and an odd pair of glasses with darkened lenses were perched on his nose. He wore a white button-up shirt and slacks, and a scowl adorned his face on his eyes landed on her.

Miss Marie stood. "Mr. Baugh," she nodded at the man curtly. The man said nothing to the woman, instead looking like he would like nothing more than to punch her in the nose. Miss Marie gestured to Rebecca, who straightened instinctively. "This is Rebecca Jones, the new personification America. Miss Jones, this is Jason Baugh, the micronation of Molossia and acting representative of America. He'll be your mentor and help teach you the basics of world politics."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Baugh exclaimed in surprise, whipping back to face Miss Marie. "I was told O'Brien would be taking care of the girl!"

Rebecca flinched instinctively. She definitely didn't want to think about O'Brien. No one had given the specifics of his condition, and head wounds very often had lasting effects on the victim.

The second emotion to rise was anger. Mr. Baugh didn't know her; why was he so against helping her out? Was it because she was a woman? Rebecca had dealt with her fair share of men and woman alike who thought she couldn't be a strong as the opposite sex in her lifetime. There were a good dozen lecherous men in Vermont who all boasted a broken nose from the time she and her brothers had lived there. Well, in 1836 Vermont. The point was that she felt that as long as she had enough time to adjust, she could become a good personification of America.

"O'Brien will be incapacitated for the next several days in order to recover," Miss Marie replied patiently, drawing Rebecca's attention back to her. "And either way, we need to nation to help instruct her on how to behave with other personifications in meetings and social events."

Jason's voice rose. "And you think I have the time to plan the funeral, execute his will, manage the United States and teach this girl everything that's happened in the last century and a half? I wasn't even alive for a good half of it!"

"You'll have help."

"Can't you just get Matthew down here? Canada is the least likely nation to betray us, and I know he'd be more than happy to know that his younger brother is, you know, dead!"

Rebecca froze. Brother? Her Pa had a brother?

"No one outside of the DDIL and Presidential Cabinet can know about this, Mr. Baugh." If Miss Marie hadn't been angry before, she certainly was now. She set down her metal thing on the ground and rose to her full height, perhaps four or five inches short of Jason's six foot. "I suggest you act more professional over your position and respectful of your superiors."

Mr. Baugh scoffed as the medic finished with Rebecca's bandages with a final roll of white material to her arm. Nodding to her and then Miss Marie, he hurried out of the room, most likely sensing as well as she did that this argument was just going to escalate from here. Silently, Rebecca wished she could follow him. If Mr. Baugh was the best the DDIL could offer in terms of help, she was better off figuring things on her own.

"Professional? Professional?!" Mr. Baugh's voice turned slightly hysterical. "I'm 56 years old! Physically 17! I've had hardly any training, I still grieving the loss of the man who was the closest thing I had to a father, O'Brien is currently in medical care and unable to work, and I have to pretend that everything is fine and dandy with the rest of my actual friends! Excuse me if I'm not acting professional enough for you! At this point I could care less!"

Miss Marie's gaze was icy. She turned calmly to Rebecca.

"Would you mind giving a couple moments?" She asked in a clear dismissal. Rebecca nodded, hoping she didn't look too eager. She was never one to listen in on fights, and she certainly didn't want to stay with Mr. Baugh any longer than was absolutely necessary. Hurriedly, she stood, suddenly very aware that she was still in her torn dress from the fight, and hurried out the door the medic had left through, trying to ignore Mr. Baugh's borderline hateful expressful on her.

Closing the door behind her, Rebecca let out a long breath, doing her best to ignore the looks the lower-level DDIL agents were giving her and act like she knew what she was doing. She reddened slightly as she fingered her dress, knowing full well that her skin was open for the world to see.

Well, that was an order of business. Rebecca turned down the hallway, aiming for the stairs that lead out of the mansion (though if she was honest, she still wasn't sure if it was a palace…) basement.

Time to find something halfway decent to wear.

Up Next: Rebecca goes clothes hunting and meets Tony, while O'Brien has to deal with Jason venting his many, many frustrations at him.