America's Tactic Room:

"What in the hell…" Alfred massaged his temples, absolutely frustrated. It was impossible to sleep tonight knowing just around the corner could be an attack on major powers of the world. He had absolutely no idea how he could possibly overtake Ivan with so much at stake. It was way too much for one hero to handle. Checking his nation's inventories obsessively, he couldn't hide the fact that his weaponry supply was insufficient to defeat the Russian at the moment. His economy was hurting, showing no signs of healing, and he had no money to bargain with China for missiles. In fact, as he was constantly reminded with a wagging finger, he owed him enough money already.

Arthur walked in, looking equally as exhausted, eyebrows knitted in a distraught state. He sat next to America, bringing with him an inventory of whatever weaponry supplies his nation contained, which wasn't anything impressive. He handed Alfred the clipboard, seeming to stare off into space.

"Come up with anything brilliant yet?" Alfred murmured, his voice sounding unusually tired. His glasses rested atop the bridge of his nose, slightly askew.

"I figured we try to engage Ivan diplomatically. Perhaps a negotiation is in order." Arthur's eyes bored into a stack of papers on America's desk, looking enormously uncomfortable in the cramped room. "As we're aware, Germany is in his custody and Italia is the second hostage Russia's requested."

"Mhmm." Alfred nodded, sipping a long-since cold cup of coffee to keep himself steady.

"So, we need to reason with that Russian brute. Perhaps…I don't know…giving him what he wants will end this problem. He'll release Germany eventually and the problem will solve itself." England rambled, clasping his hands together nervously.

"No, Arthur. That won't solve this! This is Ivan we're dealing with! He's doing this all for a reason!" Alfred shouted, slamming his fist on the table. His nerves were wearing thin as the clock seemed to tick, taunting them.

"Oh." England said quietly, backing off the topic. Alfred was jumpy enough, and had quite a temper of his own if provoked.

"We can't just sit on our asses waiting!" Alfred snapped.

"Well, we know this much. Ivan resides in his own dormitory with his three subordinates. He has a lower level, possibly where he could be keeping Ludwig, and if we could find a way to get into that room without Russia noticing, we can rescue Ludwig, and deal with the repercussions later." England suggested weakly. "I can bring up coordinates via my nation's tactics team in about 30 minutes flat."

"Good." Alfred replied, sighing heavily as England left the room once more. America could feel anxiety build in his stomach, something he often felt when there was deep seated conflict among his fellow nations. "We will attack as soon as the opportunity presents itself."

The darkness was almost maddening. Ludwig leaned against a wall, shivering in the cold basement room. It truly had the comfort of a torture chamber, the frigid air making breathing difficult, the choking aroma of chemicals and coagulated blood assaulting his nostrils. His every nerve was alight with fire, his heart racing despite his current solitary confinement.

I disobeyed Ivan so recklessly…

How the hell can I save my brother and Italia…

If I even attempted to escape or fight back and failed…oh gott no…

They would both be executed…

Ludwig held back a tempting urge to instigate a fight with the Russian. He must've been losing his mind at this point, he was crazy enough to want to fight the Russian. If by the slim chance he won, he could escape and get his brother and his young charge back without complications.

...Impossible.

I could never win against that psychotic bastard, especially trapped in here…

The German searched for any small shedding of light, but on his way out, Ivan must've turned off that little dim light, and now it was impossible to find the switch. He slid against the wall to the cold floor, huddling his body close to the wall. His mind was racing and he was trapped, vulnerable to the Russian's wrath without contact to the outside world.

Russian Control Room:

The small control room sounded off with all sorts of little whirring and clicks and beeps, the sounds confirming his plan, assuring his success. Ivan admired the elaborate layout of the mechanical surveillance system, the intricate way it functioned. It reminded him much of himself actually. Cold and calculating, never considering moral aspects or risks. Doing whatever it takes to achieve a task at hand.

But boredom irked him. It'd been 3 hours since Prussia's release from his bondage, and he hadn't held his part of the bargain. He gave Gilbert plenty of time to bring Veneciano , and even tried to distract himself with his new electronic cameras and surveillance systems that had been installed that day, but even so, time was ticking. And a perfect plan required precise timing.

Ivan emerged from the control room in a huff, unlocking the multi-locked door of the Russian's dormitory. He was quite irritated with having to do his own bidding. He cursed the unreliable Prussian loudly, his boots thumping through the hallway as he began to walk.

Mmmmmm…

So warm against my throat…

Sucking its juices…

Taking it deeper into my mouth…

"PASTAAAA!" Veneciano awoke from his hunched over nap on the breakfast table, quite startled. He'd been watching morning cartoons as usual and must've dozed off. A car commercial had come on, the TV's volume blaring loudly, rousing him from a rather pleasing dream about his favorite Italian food, pasta.

He eyed the kitchen, which was oddly quiet for such a practical morning in the house. Looking around, he rose from his chair, walking to Doitsu-san's office. He figured if he pleaded and whined loud enough that Doitsu-san would allow him to cook some pasta fagioli for lunch. After all, the last time he was allowed to cook anything he only got sauce stains on the walls, cabinets and windows. Not too bad for a first time cook. Sorta.

Peering through the door, he saw the office chair was vacant. Curious, he pushed the door wide open, stepping inside. The Italian could detect a sharp smell in the air, something stale and quite foul. Veneciano's nose wrinkled, turning around to the desk, attempting to locate the source of the nasty odor.

"Nope, not in the garbage or under the desk…" the Italian murmured, perusing the room. Lowering himself on his hands and knees, he crawled around in a determined search. He found himself staring at a massive bookshelf, stocked with books written in gold-bordered German font. Lifting a book, he admired its leather bound form.

"Wow…Doitsuu has neat stuff!" He chirped, eyeing every book in slight interest. Leaving the blonde's literary collection, he turned once more to face the door, startled at the sight before him.

"Prussia-san!" Veneciano shouted in alarm, running to his side. The albino's body was crumpled against the wall, and barely conscious. Instinctively the Italian grabbed the Prussian's arm, applying two fingers to the man's wrist. He winced as his fingers grazed over bumpy lacerations on the Gilbert's wrist. A faint pulse thrummed against the pads of his fingers, relief flooding the Italian as he attempted to rouse Prussia.

"Wake up!" Veneciano persisted, shaking Gilbert's shoulders as he heard the man's breathing quicken. The man's eyes slowly opened, ruby eyes meeting his auburn. The Italian and the Prussian both gave an involuntary shiver, the office A/C must've switched on at some point, the warmth in the air gone from the room.

Gilbert coughed harshly, his vision focusing on the young Italian's hysterical face. The young man was crying, grateful that the Prussian was still alive. He couldn't blame Veneciano for crying, he had no idea whatsoever how he'd become so badly injured. And with any luck, Veneciano would never know, or have to experience it firsthand.

"I'm fine, I'm fine Veneciano, stop shaking me already!" Prussia barked, nudging away the Italian man. He breathed heavily, exhaling clouds of air. His bodys shivers became more pronounced, the A/C blasting frosty air was starting to affect his movements and breathing as well.

The Italian backed away, drying his tears on his navy blue shirt.

"Are you okay, Prussia-san?" Veneciano cried, offering a hand to help him up. "You look terrible!"

"Awesomeness is never terrible, idiot!" Prussia roared, attempting a catchphrase with a pained expression, his broken ribs made talking and moving a difficult and almost impossible feat. But feigning the pain would keep Italy's suspicion at bay, and that was important. There was no time for that kid's inane questions.

He took the Italians hand, biting hard on his lower lip as he failed to stand up, but managed to seat himself on Ludwig's rolling chair. Heaving in breaths, he faced the Italian with a serious expression.

"Italia, can you do me a favor and lock the front door please?" Prussia asked, urging the Italian to make himself useful. The last thing he needed was the door wide open for anyone to come in. He needed to buy time and secure the Italian in safekeeping, after all.

"Nooooo...I did it yesterday, you do it!" Italy protested stubbornly, stomping his little feet on the floor, his arms wrapped around his chest in an attempt to keep warm as another cold breeze came through.

Prussia swore at that moment that today was the closest day of any day that he was tempted to strangle the Italian.

"Italy, if you don't lock the door right now, I swear I will make it so you won't be able to sit for a good few months." Prussia snarled, holding up the back of his palm threateningly.

The Italian scowled, turning on his heel to obey the albino man. Exiting the office, he made his way through the hallway, almost passing the kitchen. He stepped into the culinary area for a moment, mesmerized by the brightly colored figures on the screen. He stopped watching the television as he stared in curiosity at his every breath, where a cloud of air appeared and disappeared as the air became increasingly chilled.

Italy shrugged, leaving the kitchen to approach the front of the dorm. He locked the door quickly, turning the bolt with a *click.*

"Stupid Prussia-san, making me lock the door when he's s'posed to…we don't even needa lock it anyway.." Italy muttered to himself moodily.

"You can't really blame Prussia-san though, he's absolutely right. You wouldn't want a stranger just walking in, would you?"

Italy screamed, his knees buckling, his body crashing to the floor.

"…Because that…would be dreadful." A giggle sounded in the distance, a pipe clattering to the floor.

Prussia jolted at a loud noise from outside the office, fearing the worst. He spun the rolling chair around to face himself away from the office door, pressing his knees to his chest, attempting a fetal position against the chair's soft cushions. He wanted to hide himself so hopefully the Russian wouldn't spot him if he decided to check Ludwig's dormitory for anyone inside.

Shit! SHIT! SHIT! He's here!

Calm down…I have to hide myself, survive for the moment…

Maybe he'll take Italia and leave peacefully….

If I can stay behind for awhile, perhaps I can help America and England to rescue bruder and Veneciano…

Prussia stayed silent, pushing a wad of his shirt sleeve fabric into his mouth to muffle his breathing.

"Hmmm?" Ivan smirked, lifting the unconscious Italian over his shoulder effortlessly. He could've sworn he heard a small yelp just then as he'd attacked cute, little Veneciano. He proceeded into a small alcove, the door reading "Amt fur Ludwig."

"Ludwig's office, interesting…" the Russian mused, peering inside. The room was practical, orderly and stocked with hundreds of books and possessions of German culture and history. Ivan was tempted to have a look at the contents of his desk, but he held back. He would've loved to read Ludwig's nations deepest, darkest secrets, but that would have to be for another time. He was on a tight schedule, after all. He turned on his heel, exiting the office with Veneciano hanging limply over his shoulder.

Giving the room a final look around, Ivan left the German's dormitory, a trail of winter weather in his wake, shutting the door with a *click*.

His body pressed to the interior of the office chair, cramped into a fetal position, Prussia exhaled heavily, sweating bullets.