Author's Note: Tada! And would you believe that it's on time with no hitches either? I know it's a stretch. I wouldn't have believed it myself, except I was there.

"What is it, Thailand?" England asked.

"The Dalek fleet seems to be moving in on the other side of the planet, ana~," Thailand reported.

Iceland looked over at the screen. "Oh, skit! That's Europe!"

Austria mumbled something under his breath. With anyone else, England was sure it had to be a swear word, but Austria was far too dignified for that.

"My sister's in Europe," Switzerland realized, the color draining from his face.

"So are my brothers," England replied. "We need to get to Europe, now!" England dialed the radio and tuned it to the right frequency. "Hello, Japan? This is the Valiant. We need immediate emergency clearance to leave the airspace. Inform all incoming and outgoing air traffic so they don't hit us."

"Wait, we haven't yet decided what to do," Japan said, but it was too late. Iceland, manning the helm, had already set a course for Europe as fast as the Valiant would go.

"Let's just hope we make it in time," Mexico said darkly.

Slovakia snuggled a little closer to Czech. Czech opened a sleepy eye and smiled warmly at her.

"Hey," Czech said.

"Hey," Slovakia replied, smiling slightly.

"That was some night."

"Yeah."

"We should do that again sometime."

"Yeah. How about…tonight?" Slovakia suggested.

"Sounds like fun," Czech said, laughing gently.

A shadow passed over the curtains, silhouetted against the background sunlight. It was the first time Czech and Slovakia had actually noticed the sun was up. The silhouette had a rather stocky silhouette, cylindrical, with a longer appendage sticking out the top.

BAM! The door crashed inward, revealing, to Czech and Slovakia's shock, Poland, who had wrested the frying pan from a slightly crazed Hungary (she had been getting a bit wild with the swinging it about) and was holding it from the pan end with the handle sticking into the air. His girly cloak had given the illusion of a cylinder, and his sister had tackled him in her attempt to get it back.

"Like, calm down, Hungary!" he yelled, rolling out of the way as she launched herself at him.

Hungary jumped again, catching Poland on the third jump, and started wrestling with Poland for the frying pan. Czech and Slovakia watched in shock.

"Hey, a little help here!" Poland yelled.

Slovakia leapt out of bed and grabbed Hungary by the shoulders. Czech said a quick prayer to thank God that she had been wearing a nightshirt and panties, at least.

"Hungary! Hungary, it's me! It's Slovakia! Get off him!"

Gradually Hungary's blood rage subsided and she let go. Poland gasped for air.

"Now what's the problem?" Slovakia asked. "Why were you attacking Poland?"

"Was it something he said?" Czech asked from where she had surreptitiously slipped out of the bed and was putting on some clothes, using the bed as cover so no one could see her.

"She was like totally overreacting too soon," Poland said. "Hungary, they haven't even landed yet. How do you, like, own them with a frying pan when they haven't even landed yet?"

"I guess you have a point," Hungary conceded.

"Who haven't landed yet?" asked Czech. "Why does Hungary have to beat them with a frying pan once they've landed? And how do you 'overreact too soon'?"

"What the hell is going on?" Slovakia yelled.

A shadow crossed Hungary's face…literally. She looked toward the window to see something—or rather several somethings—partially blocking out the sun's rays.

"It's begun. The Daleks are invading."

Russia hurried outside with the other Soviet nations in tow. He, Ukraine, Belarus, and the Baltic States looked up at the sky.

"Well, that's not good," Russia said, surprisingly calm under the circumstances.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, what are we going to do?" Ukraine shrieked hysterically.

"Calm down, Double D means Double Dumb," Belarus grumbled. "Big Brother is calm, so we should be calm too," she reasoned. "After all, who wouldn't want to be more like Big Brother?" The Baltics bit their lips to keep themselves from responding.

"I feel faint," said Latvia, his face growing pale. He swayed a bit, his eyes rolled back, and he began to fall backward.

"LATVIAAAAAA!" Estonia screamed. Latvia fell into Russia's waiting arms, and the much larger nation picked him up.

"Russia, the Daleks are serious business. We can't just sit around while they take over," Lithuania said, trying to reason with him.

Russia turned and smiled, and Ukraine, Estonia and Lithuania suppressed a mutual shudder. "Well then, Liet, we need a battle plan, don't we?"

The sky darkened as Dalek saucers, already eclipsing large portions of the sun, began disgorging dozens—no, hundreds—no, thousands—of xenophobic, murderous pepper-pot cyborgs into the skies. Down below, Earth was in chaos. Order had become a concept of the most unlikely of theories. People were running back and forth across streets, desperately searching for a place to hide. What most of them failed to realize is that there really is nowhere to hide from the Daleks.

In the European capital, as people ran back and forth, desperately searching for cover that ultimately was incapable of saving them, one woman walked straight. She had short, strawberry-blond hair with a ribbon in it, green eyes, and a mouth that under less dire circumstances would have been turned up in a catlike smile. In her arms, she carried an enormous gun, big enough to turn any gun nut with massive compensation issues green with envy. She walked down the street through the chaos, never stopping, never flinching. She looked around at the chaos around her, as her city was already being torn apart by people trying to hide before the invasion, and the mass exterminations that would accompany it, even began.

Off to the side, something caught her eye. The front window was smashed in an electronics store. Inside, two men were hastily stuffing everything they could get their hands on in a canvas bag. They had seen opportunity, and their greed had overcome their far more sensible original reaction, which of course was fear. Belgium turned and walked into the store through the open door—she briefly wondered why they had bothered to smash the front window in the first place—and headed over to the two men. They were so involved in their task that they didn't even notice her until she crouched down next to them. Then they looked up.

Belgium raised an eyebrow at them, before speaking in a perfectly innocent-sounding voice.

"Do you like my gun?"