A/N: This chapter was insanely hard to write, mostly because I wasn't sure which people to follow in this one. Then, I went through the process of writing it about six times. I hope the end product is worth it!
Warning: character death.
The grey EuroNet (British Isles Division) uniform was both disgusting and uncomfortable. Disgusting because it had been in Arthur's closet for years now, uncomfortable because it was just a bit too small.
Fortunately, he didn't have to wear it often, only when something like this happened. After all, he wasn't a very high-up government official anymore. He was only ever called upon when something like this happened, where they couldn't kill somebody.
His drive to EuroNet Headquarters (British Isles Division) wasn't very long - it was in the center of London, and he lived just outside the city. However, it was filled with his own terrifying thoughts. Who would the nation he had to kill be? He knew nothing of a nation's roles outside of Europe - would they still be a nation? Or human? Or what?
...Thinking was getting to be too hard.
It had been so easy not to think, for all those years. To just listen to the world go on around him, and never once leave his house, because his house was so comfortable and familiar and easy and -
Focus.
When he made it to the tall, dark grey building, he almost ran back home. This place used to be a real building, he remembered; a real building where real people lived and worked. Now, though, it was all about the EuroNet, all about getting the people in order. There were no houses around it, only smaller apartments for the workers who couldn't leave the grounds. He missed the warm brick it used to be made of...but that old building was torn down and replaced with stone.
Kind of like the country.
He took a deep breath, then started forward, putting on the self-assured, somewhat conceited expression he'd developed through working with this government.
The door swung open to meet him with a swoosh, and even that sounded institutionalized and sterilized to perfection.
Inside the building, it was pristine and white. It reminded Arthur, ironically, of a hospital. The lights gave it a somewhat greenish glow, almost like vomit. Swoosh. The door had closed.
The projection on the wall in front of him told him exactly where to be.
Samantha Bates, 54B FLOOR 2.
Owen Miller, 19D FLOOR 6.
Arthur Kirkland, 74P.
74P. Prison.
...
The other eleven floors of the building had up to fifty rooms, each room liberally sized and having enough space for people to conduct business. Thirty-five of the rooms were permanent offices; the other fifteen changed constantly. They were often used to entertain workers for other EuroNet groups, like the Iberian Division, and the Scandinavian Division. It was just to keep up appearances, really - everybody knew what every EuroNet Division did. Back when the EuroNet was new, sure, the different Divisions had different jobs. Now, though, the only differences were their regions and their uniforms.
The Prison, though, was entirely different. There were one hundred cells exactly, each cell small, with a hard bed and a sink that ran rancid water. The occupants were always changing, always, and the cells were never totally full. Maybe twenty at a time, at the most.
At the end of the Prison hallway, there was a large room. The room had one unspoken purpose: to kill. The walls were stained with blood, the floor with tears, and the air with fear.
This was where Arthur was told to go.
The blond stood in the center of the room, his hands behind his back and his business face on. Behind him stood another ten guards, just in case the prisoner were to try and attack Arthur. He wouldn't be surprised if it happened - it had before, after all.
The room was silent for a while, save for the sounds of dripping water in one of the cells and the heavy breathing of one of the newer guards, obviously nervous. Eventually, someone handed Arthur his weapon: a gun. Quite frankly, he was amazed. Guns had been outlawed...and this one obviously looked like someone had taken care of it. When he asked, the tall man who had handed it to him answered only that "it's being used for government purposes, and therefore legal," then left with his assistant.
It was another several minutes before the inmate was brought in, hands chained behind his back and a hood over his face. He was being escorted by four or five guards - obviously a rebellious one. They sat him down on the hard metal chair at the far wall, attaching the chains to the back of the chair to keep him in place.
"Take the hood off," the prisoner said suddenly, his voice hollow. "I want to see who's going to kill me."
A few of the guards looked over at Arthur for permission, and he nodded slightly. Without a word, one of the guards tore off the hood, and Arthur's eyes widened at the sight.
Dirty blond hair.
Sky blue eyes.
Broken glasses.
Alfred.
A minute of silence passed through the room as the two men stared at each other. Then another. And another. One of the guards coughed; another hissed, "Get on with it!"
He couldn't do it he couldn't do it he couldn't he couldn't he couldn't.
He couldn't kill the man he'd been waiting to see for decades now. Not Alfred. Not his far-off lover, who was so close to him now, but so damn far away and impossible to reach and damn it the guards were here and they couldn't do anything because the guards would see and Arthur would be labelled a traitor and killed just as quickly and -
"Kirkland!"
Arthur blinked, his entire expression quivering as he looked over at the guard. "Y-Yes?" he stammered, trying to recompose himself (even though he was dying inside).
"Get on with it, or I'll do it myself!"
He knew that the guard couldn't do it. A human couldn't kill a nation.
Slowly, he turned back to Alfred, who was looking at him with such an expression of deep love that he could barely stand it. 'It's alright,' he mouthed silently. 'I love you.'
Under the watchful eyes of the guards, he raised the gun, his hand shaking. Hopefully, it wasn't noticeable enough for the guards to see it.
Everything was in slow motion.
His heart was pounding in his ears, and his vision was getting blurry around the edges. Tears? He didn't know.
The guard that had spoken before took a step forward.
He couldn't do this.
'I love you.'
He couldn't.
"Get on with it!"
He couldn't.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Not Alfred.
"I'll give you three seconds, Kirkland."
Anybody but Alfred.
'It's alright. I love you.'
Please.
"Two!"
His finger twitched. 'I love you, too,' he mouthed back, and Alfred smiled a bit.
That beautiful smile...
"O - !"
Bang.
...
He didn't remember leaving. He didn't remember driving home. All he remembered was watching the light leave those beautiful eyes and the firework of blood shooting out of his head so much blood so much.
The moment he was home, he slammed his hand in the door. It broke with a sickening crack, and it was painful, sure, but he didn't care you cant care anymore nothings worth it NOTHING.
Blood dripped from a small cut in the palm. Subconsciously, he thought to bandage it no one was there to bandage alfreds wound and he bled so so much before he made a mess of the house.
A vase fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces of skull hitting the wall on the floor. He'd have to get that cleaned up.
Nothing was right. Nothing would ever be right again. Why bother acting like it could be?
He slammed his head against the wall once twice three times again again again until he began to bleed, red dripping in front of his eyes and falling to the floor, tainting his hair, running down to his mouth i hope you bleed out killer killer killer.
His computer screen flashed, showing a message of congratulations from the EuroNet congratulations killer. Without even a thought, he smashed his fist into the screen, glass, sparks, and blood flying everywhere on the wall behind the chair behind alfred you KILLED HIM.
Vaguely, he felt the floor coming up to meet him, hitting his head on the small coffee table on the way down alfreds head hurt worse. A knock at the door sounded itll never be alfred again YOU KILLED HIM YOU ENDED HIS LIFE KILLER MURDERER KILLER KILLER KILLER, but he didn't bother to get up to answer it.
As his eyes closed ALFREDS EYES WONT EVER OPEN AGAIN, he heard the door open, heard a scream, and knew who it was. Francis NEVER ALFRED NEVER AGAIN.
YOU KILLED HIM.
YOU KILLED HIM.
YOU KILLED HIM.
'Break, break, break, / On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! / And I would that my tongue could utter / The thoughts that arise in me / And the stately ships go on / To their haven under the hill; / But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, / and the sound of a voice that is still.' - Alfred, Lord Tennyson
It hadn't been more than a couple hours, right? Lovino had only been in here for a few hours. But it felt like days.
It wasn't like he was in horrible conditions - far from it. This room was huge, and had a comfortable bed, and plenty of books to read in the old languages. Not just English. That was...strange, to say the least.
There was also a bathroom with clean water off to the side. A functioning toilet, a shower, everything he would need. Clothes in his size - how long had this been planned? - filled the closet. There was a large window, providing a surprisingly stunning view of the countryside.
Hooded attendants had brought him food three times a day, large meals of high-quality food. It wasn't what he'd expected from a EuroNet prison, honestly, but he wasn't complaining about the quality.
Though...there was a downside.
The window that displayed the beautiful countryside wouldn't open. The door that the attendants came through was locked from the outside, made of thick wood (that was strange; most doors were made of metal). The sound of barking dogs reminded him of that whenever he got too close.
There was more to his imprisonment than possessing a gun, he knew. If they wanted him dead for that, he already would be. The gun was part of it, he knew that for sure, but it was barely a part of it at all.
The voices outside the door sounded somewhat familiar, though he couldn't place why. At least he knew there were other people in here - he'd go crazy if there weren't any others. He'd read a book on that, somewhere in this room.
Autophobia: The fear of being alone.
That was it.
He wondered how Lukas was, if he was looking for Lovino. Or if he even knew the Italian was gone, yet.
The door swung open, and there was another attendant. "If you could come with me," the attendant muttered softly, his voice somewhat accented, though it was impossible to tell which accent it was. Somewhat French, maybe a bit Italian. Definitely Iberian.
Slowly, Lovino nodded, standing from the bed. It would be the first time he'd left this room. He had no idea what was outside the room, or even where he was. He had no idea what would be waiting for him once he left the room.
Even so, he stood, and started with the attendant down the hallway.
'We are all so guilty at the way we have allowed the world around us to become more ugly and tasteless every year that we surrender to terror and steep ourselves in it.' - Norman Mailer
Iberian (Peninsula): The western peninsula of Europe, with countries such as Portugal, Spain, etc.
A/N: Sorry for the long wait, again! ^^;; I hope that this chapter made up for it. I've been wanting to write Alfred's death scene for a while. (I knew from the beginning he was going to die, really.)
Hope you liked it~. Reviews are much appreciated!