A/N: I am finally back, after something that some might classify as a hiatus (it was that long, I didn't even realise). But here is finally the next chapter, and I apologise for taking so long. I'll try my best to get the next one done faster, but the fact remains that the chapters are becoming heavier in terms of content and action etc. that it might take a while once again.

Without further rambling, here you go!

"Bad things do happen in the world, like war, natural disasters, disease.
But out of those situations always arise stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things."
- Daryn Kagan

It was disaster that struck, a disaster none could fathom (before it was too late).

He could barely hold his thoughts together long enough to understand half of what he was being told, people talking to him from left and right while he tried to deal with everything the best he could. He could hear telephones ringing off the hook everywhere around him - the one in his office had been ringing continually since the moment he entered the room, and not once had it been answered by anyone. He had piles of papers on his desk, while people kept coming into his office to do one of many things. Whether it was to ask for advice, demand something that had to be done, giving a report about the progress of the situation or something else, they all needed him for something.

And despite being one of the eldest - if not the oldest - nation in the world, Yao still found himself as confused as a nation of a hundred years. The confusion of modern times still struck him sometimes, with the head-spinning speed of technology and communication and the efficiency of people, the destructiveness of weapons and the ease of healing. He still remembered the days when messages came by horsemen, who travelled hundreds, thousands of kilometres if to deliver only a small but well-written and carefully crafted message. Each one had a meaning, could have a number of meanings, gave all the necessary information in as much or little as necessary. Yet, today, it was not very rare for him to receive a message that was easily misunderstood, that had a great number of typos, from which half of the information was missing, and which could give little to no indication as to what it meant.

And that was exactly why right now, he felt at an utter loss of what to do. He didn't know where he should look nor whom he should answer nor what he should do, but he knew he should be doing multiple of these at the same time.

He had a feeling that before, everything had been slightly in their favour - that he had had the upper hand, if only slightly, if only for a moment. Except now, he knew that that was gone, their opportunity had expired, they had passed their chance. Of course, hindsight was always a very good judge... after the events. And now, well, hindsight was just a bitch bothering him when he should try to focus on the present.

So far, he had managed to post the army at the edge of the territory that had been lost to his counterpart. There had been no warning, no reason, no foreseeing that Xiao would attack the moment he was giving a speech to rally his people. This was getting out of hand - Yao honestly blamed all Hollywood movies for his overlooking reality.

It had been years, decades, since a war of this scale had arisen. He had a feeling this would be remembered as the war of worlds, the worst war of the planet - that is, if there were anyone remembering it any more. He had thought that a speech - that words were a good idea, that they could solve this problem. He had forgotten what he had learnt over thousands of years, over centuries and millennia: that while words could be a useful weapon and destroy a man internally, they could never kill anyone until his heart stopped beating and blood poured from his veins. He had always known that the only way to kill someone was by the blade, and this he had forgotten, a fact he had forlorn in favour of an idealistic and surreal view of the world in which words really were mightier than a sword.

It never worked that way.

In this world, peace was a default setting. Peace was what everyone wanted,what everyone knew. Peace was also what had settled the world into a deep slumber, a coma, a state of unconsciousness. And they had forgotten that another world existed, where peace was sneered and laughed at, where crimson was the only accepted colour, where death was a perfume.

And now he had to find it in himself to be cool-headed, to remember those teachings he had forgotten. To be the Empire he used to be.

He could only hope every other remaining nation could do what was required of them.

He stood, brushing past everyone who tried to ask him questions he could not answer, and made the decision that he would no longer sit back, behind a desk, go through all of the unnecessary bureaucracy required for every decision to be made, approved, vetoed, thought over, chatted about over coffee and tea. He was having none of that.

No, instead he would be the nation his people wanted, needed and expected. He would be the leader he should have been, that he could be, that he had been. He would take control of his own destiny, fate, karma - whatever you wanted to call it. And that started by getting himself a fucking weapon and military outfit and being the powerful nation he had always been.

He had a little statement to make to someone before that. Marching into the President's office, he looked the man dead in the eyes as he strode up to the desk.

"Mr. President. All due respect, but there is something I must point out to you."

The President looked up, then back to the paper he was reading. "Yes?"

"And I demand your undivided attention."

The President sighed, then folded his hands on the papers as he looked back at Yao, who was staring intently at him.

"Yes?" The man prompted.

"You heard the speech I made yesterday-?"

"Yes, but I never approved it."

"Do not interrupt me. Well, if you did hear said speech, you must realise that now my people know who I am, and will probably follow me anywhere I go. The most patriotic and nationalist of them will stand by my side even if I walked straight over the edge of a cliff. And therefore, that means that I am the one who should be in control of this country. I am the one who the people will listen to. And I am taking that position, I am filling that role from now on. And you do not get to object, just sit and smile - you are not the nation, you are not the people, you no longer are the sole leader of this country." Yao straightened up. "Thank you, and have a good day."

The President looked silently stunned, and more than confused. Yao simply left the office. Even though he despised being so demanding or rude with any of his bosses, sometimes the situation demanded it. And this time, it had been far more than overdue.

He belonged in the streets, in the cities, amongst his people - with his people.

And that was exactly where he would be.

Down the hallway - down - was it right or left? Where was the exit? Right? He'd have to chance it - rubble, collapsed walls, stone everywhere, dust clawing at his throat as he hacked uncontrollably. There was a shout - was that his name? He didn't really register it if it were. Don't trip - don't trip don't trip do not trip watch out for the stone-!

"Help!"

Where did the cry come from? Desperate - pained, hurt, so desperate, confused (as was he, so, so confused), in need of help - help he couldn't give, where did it come from? Other shouts, more of them, just a bunch of garbled jargon, he couldn't hear it, were they calling him?

The ground shook - why was it shaking? Take a hold of something, he was falling, the floor - he found the floor, crashed down, too hard, was something broken? Maybe - he couldn't see, couldn't hear, didn't know why did he not know a thing? A stab in his leg, hard, was that his scream? Was it someone else?

Stand up, but he couldn't - why couldn't he stand? A stone, his hands shot out and arms pulled his body upwards, hearing more shouts - they were louder, they were getting louder, maybe he could shout back to them, but he couldn't because his throat was ridden with dust and dry and it felt like it tore apart every time he tried to speak. Around - look around - what is there? Slippery, the floor was slippery, he tried to stand up - it worked this time, but his leg screamed in pain (or maybe that was him) but he still could stand and advance - he had to work through it he had to he had to but he couldn't, he couldn't because everything was too close but too far, he didn't know where the exit was, he didn't-!

A sound, someone calling his name, maybe, hopefully, it was an off-chance, it was a slim possibility - look around, look, is someone there - but how could he make himself known if his voice clawed at his throat every time he tried to speak? His chest hurt so much - was it his lungs or his heart?

What had happened? How had he ended up in this situation? What was going on? He couldn't remember, something must have happened - he tried to work through his memories, but his mind seemed to freeze, it seemed to block itself from remembering...

People - voices, speaking and shouting and huffing and barking, some ordering and some questioning. Voices...

He remembered being with people - where were they all now? What had happened, where had everyone gone? Everyone but that lonely cry for help, or that one shout of his name - where had it even come from? He tried to walk, it was painful - excruciating - but he had to keep going if he wanted to find someone, anyone, who could tell him what had happened-

A terrified, panicking shout, every voice suddenly going silent - everyone but that one voice shouting above everyone else, the sound echoing around the room -

What had been said? Voices, he remembered them, all the voices, male and female and - and - but who were they? Where had he been, where was he? What had been said that so many people suddenly went quiet as a grave?

Attacks -

He halted, his mind stumbling across the single word, that one word that brought everything crashing back, every memory flooding his otherwise thoughtless mind. All the people and the voices and the words and the places and the emotions and the thoughts washed over him like a tsunami, he couldn't hold them back once the dam had broken -

"Attack! They're attacking! We're under attack, we're-!"

"... evacuate -"

"Who?"

"... We're late!"

"Aim?"

"... too late -"

"Headed towards -"

"Why?"

"Too fucking late!"

"Evac-"

"Find somewhere!"

The building - it had - the entire building had been under attack - but what had become of the city? What was outside the building, the street, the city-? Was that why he was bleeding? What had become of London? How had they been too late, how had they not known, to seen this coming? They had been faced with a threat from the beginning and continued to blatantly be unprepared, never expecting anything, never in their lifetimes-

He tried to call out, his throat still straining and rasping as his voice tried to force itself out. Another call of his name - and he finally managed to make himself known-

He could hear shouts growing louder, could barely see anything - had the corridor collapsed in on itself? The lights were out, he didn't know, he couldn't see who was coming his way. He heard their calls better, he could hear them approaching - maybe five metres, maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less, he couldn't be sure - what could he be sure about? - and he waited, tried to walk as best he could, his leg threatening to give out beneath him.

"Mr. Kirkland! Sir - Christ, I need help with him - leg's busted-!"

Arthur tried to listen, he could feel someone grabbing him by the arm and helping him steady himself, holding him up. He let some of his weight fall off his other leg, leaning against the other person. Another person came, and they helped to half-drag, half-carry him through the rubble. When they reached something that had once been a door and an exit, the too-bright light of the sun assaulted his eyes and blinded him momentarily - he could see shadows and silhouettes moving in the white light, and they gradually became clearer, but he still did not recognise anyone.

"We need help here! Kirkland - his leg, he was walking on it, I don't know how -... lost a lot of blood-"

"He's a nation -"

"Doesn't mean he can't die!"

"Is that-?"

"London under attack... what do you think?!"

He could feel the pain spreading - his leg, his chest, his head and his eyes and his throat and he wasn't really sure how long he could hold himself up any more, but he tried his best -

"Mr. Kirkland, we're going to get you to a hospital," someone said, a voice too clear and too loud, his head hurt, throbbed, pounded, it was painful-

Slipping, falling - he could feel the brightness dimming-

"Mr. Kirkland?"

Dimming-

"Sir!"

He tried to stir, but it felt so enticing, so calming - he was slipping downwards into unconsciousness - was he dying?

"No, sir, you are not, I need to to try to stay awake!"

He couldn't - it just felt so safe and warm and -

"Into the ambulance, quickly! Hurry and get him under care as fast as possible! He can not die!"

The sounds became softer and the blinding light began dimming and he felt so calm-

"The media has gone haywire!"

"I know that-"

"All over the world!"

"Yes-"

"Did you even think of the consequences?!"

"Of cour-"

"No, you did not! None of you did!"

"All due-"

"Do not test me - you lot have made a mess enough of this already, I swear, how am I supposed to deal with this?!"

"I would gla-"

"The people are demanding answers! Questions that need to be addressed! You're lucky no-one has tried to kill you yet!"

"Could you ple-"

"And now we are awaiting the appearance of your so-called evil counterpart who no-one knows where or who they are!"

"If you'd just l-"

"What do you suppose I do from here?!"

"Excuse me!" Matthew snapped, loudly for the usually passive tone he adopted. He did not particularly like raising his voice, that was his Southern brother's signature more than his. However, when he was being so blatantly ignored (even when he was most certainly not trying to blend in, as he usually did during meetings), he saw fit to take measures he otherwise dislike. And in this case it was to raise his voice at the person who was temporarily in charge of the country.

Keyword being temporarily. Matthew would see to it that this man would not get another day in office after this whole mess was cleared. If he was this kind of a mess because of a couple of media issues and some social media questions, then what the hell was he going to do in the face of an actual threat?

The man had paused mid-rant, and seemed awaiting something.

Right. Matthew had yelled "excuse me" as if to start a sentence.

"I know that those speeches were bound to stir up some unrest and response from the people, but that is exactly what it was meant to do! If you did not perhaps realise, the Prime Minister died yesterday, and it was a miracle I even got to give the goddamned speech. It was an appeal to the people, and if it got them talking, that's for the better! We need as many people on our side as we can, seeing as otherwise you'll end up with a psychopathic, blood-lustful lumberjack as a nation! DO you really want that?"

The other man did not respond.

"Exactly. And the way to do that? Get the people moving! Trust me, I might look young to you, but if you didn't know I've lived a bit longer than you. Just a little bit, you know, enough to know what might work and what might not. So, for fuck's sake, will you please let me do the job that I have been doing since way, way, before your family even came to Canada! I'm trying to work on it, I'm trying to find the bastard, but you," he took a step forward. "Are." Another step forward. "Not." Another step."Helping." He was in front of the other man, and what with Matthew being taller than even Alfred, he looked down slightly on the man, enough to get his point across.

The other coughed. "Ah, yes, uh, fine. Do - yes, do what you want. I'll - er - stay out of your way."

Matthew smiled, satisfied. Sometimes it was useful not to be the stereotypical Canadian "nice guy". "Good. If you don't mind, I'm gonna go outside for a bit and see what I can find."

Halfway out the door, he turned back to his current leader. "I'd prefer it if you didn't send the CSIS (1) running behind me, it might distract me. And to be honest, they're not going to help me find him." He paused. "Please," he added with a smile, before vanishing out the door.

"Why hasn't he broken yet?!"

"Well, he's a nation-"

"So am I!"

"We don't know-"

"Well you should start knowing, and soon, because my patient sure as fuck isn't as good as his pain tolerance!"

"What would you-"

"Okay, see, let me tell you what I would like. I would like to know where his support comes from. Where the people who still stand behind him are. Why half of the country isn't on our side, especially after the crappy couple of years they've had!"

"Mr. Hond-"

"Don't fucking call me that," the man snapped. "Oh, and last thing - I want all those people dead."

"Sir, that's not an easy task, it will take quite a while-"

"Guess what? I suggest you start working then!" Kuro snapped, his patience wearing thin on all ends. With humans, with Kiku, with himself.

"はい," the man said and left the room.

Although, at the moment, he wagered he was the one doing best out of all the alternate nations who had been key to planning this attack. He had heard Allen was wreaking havoc in West USA, but not nearly enough to claim nationship. Oliver had done some impressing damage in London today, which was to be respected. Dmitri... who the hell knew what he was doing, collecting people on the outskirts of main cities and turning them against Moscow (something like that). Matthieu, Xiao, and Francois had not yet been seen in public. Lutz's plan was to go into action today. Luciano and Flavio had apparently capture Lovino, but he knew nothing else about that.

He had time to break Kiku. He would break. They all had time - something their counterparts did not have.

"Hey, West?"

The other gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

"Does this remind you of something?"

Ludwig looked curiously at his brother, who was holding a shotgun in one hand and a handgun in the other. Neither of them went anywhere without at least one (usually two) guns under hand. People had taken to streets, and though the police and army were doing their best it was nearly impossible to contain. They were protesting either against what was called the "New Revolution" or the old government. The people were divided, standing on opposite sides of a spectrum whose middle was blurred out, non-existent. Everyone had grown an opinion, taken a stance, or was probably dead - either called a "sympathizer of old" or an "anarchist of death". There were many more nicknames and labels by which each side was known, and Ludwig hadn't heard half of them. Right now, he could hear outside the sounds of some commotion stirring up, decided on checking out what it was about. If it was another protest, he could just return - he couldn't do much on his own, but it might be something else. He wanted to verify it.

"What do you mean?" He asked, confusion edging on his voice. He was currently checking the state of his own gun, which seemed to be fine.

Ever since the Reichstag building had collapsed, the government had been considered gone. Any authority was dismissed. Its position shattered, because the revolutionists did not want to abide to it, so they most certainly did not. It was like being projected into a complete alternate world, a dystopia where there was no rule or order, it was a matter of killing or being killed.

"Having the country divided and nearly up in arms against itself."

Ludwig sighed. That had been over for nearly three quarters of a century, his brother still liked to remind him of that. He also liked to piss Ivan off with it. The Prussian was not very fond of the colder nation.

"Gilbert, bitte, can you focus on what we're trying to do, now? Surviving? And not reminiscing times that really are far gone?"

"Jeez," Gilbert said as he rolled his eyes. "I'm just trying to get your mind off this for a minute. Lud, I hate to admit it, but you're over working yourself."

"You always tell me tha-"

"As I said, you need to clear your mind, and chill for a minute. Because it isn't gonna help anyone if their country's a nervous wreck who's been tense for ages."

Ludwig let his shoulders relax slightly. "Gilbert, we really need to-"

"I know, get to the other side of the street safe, and then the next one, and the next one, and blow Lutz and Klutz's heads off if they come anywhere near us." Gilbert placed the shotgun against the wall for a moment. "But how about we worry about one street at a time, hm?"

"Gilbert-"

"Damn it, West, if you keep doing this you're going to be useless by the end of it! Listen here, kiddo - I've been alive way long before you were born, so I know how this heck of a world works. And if you're strung up, if you don't have the brains enough to sleep, eat and take care of yourself, you'll be eaten alive! I know you're much more of a strategic brain than I am, I know. But you can't plan against total chaos, which is what's happening right now! So, you need to take a moment, when's the last time you slept?"

"Last night-"

"Ate?"

"Lunch-"

"Then sit the fuck down, and I'm gonna go see what's happening outside, alright?"

Ludwig gave in. There was no dealing with his occasionally fussy brother. As Gilbert holstered his handgun, he sat down on the couch and watched as his brother gave him a stern look (that screamed "if you move, I will find you") and went out the door.

Outside, Gilbert stood for a moment, listening out to hear what direction the noises were coming from. It seemed a group of people were agitated for some reason, but it did not sound like they were protesting or such. He had learnt to recognise the different tones people took on with emotions, and this one was more of an awed, slowly-spreading panic, with hints of celebration in some directions. And Gilbert was thoroughly confused. This was not something he had ever heard before. He began heading in the direction the voices were coming from, seeing people moving towards the same direction - to see what all the commotion was about. He kept his hand on the gun, ready to make a move if need be. He came upon a great square near the centre of the capital, where people had gathered around something. He was too far to the side to see what was at the centre of the crowd, when he saw two women chatting hurriedly in shocked whispers - clearly knowing something about what was happening. Gilbert made his way towards them, determined on finding out what exactly was going on.

"Es tut mir leid, was ist los?" He asked.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" One of them asked, surprise etched on her face. Gilbert resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He'd landed on two gossip witches that took pleasure in knowing things others didn't. He could only hope he wouldn't have to wrench the information out of them, or this would take a while.

"No, I haven't, I came when I heard the noise."

"Well, this is really interesting. Do you remember the speeches that were broadcast yesterday? Right before there was the whole attack mess and everything?"

Gilbert was now curious as to where this was going. What did Ludwig have to do with it? "Yes I do, what's he got to do with anything? Didn't he say he was Germany or some shit?"

"Yes, that one. Well now, the - how do you call them? The ones stirring up the revolt? Well anyway, they're asking anyone who knows anything about his location to step up, because they're trying to find him and his brother - who apparently is supposed to be Prussia's representative, although I'm a bit skeptical. I mean, where's Prussia been for hundreds of years now? Non-existent, so,... there's that. But they're giving out all the information about what they look like and what their names are, though I haven't gotten that update yet - we were pushed out just a while ago. This place is terrible, we had such a good place over there, we can't hear anything from here!" She complained to her silent friend.

Gilbert, for once, was glad he had a natural complexion about as pale as a sheet. Because right now, if they had noticed him blanching as much as he felt it, he would probably have given himself away. "Right, okay, well thank you very much. I'll try to see if I can find out anything more. Thanks." He tried his best not to run off, because even one suspicious person would do him great harm. But now he knew that he had to move his ass out of the square and fast to get to Ludwig and warn him. It was looking like they wouldn't be spending much more time in Berlin. Once he was out of sight of the square, he hastened his pace and ran the rest of the way to their home. He burst in through the door, and saw Ludwig startle up from his position (still on the couch). He immediately began recounting what had happened. Just... not very coherently, especially seeing as he was halfway to the bedroom to pack his bags and leave.

"Ludwig you have to pack your bags, we're leaving - take only what you need, nothing more nothing less, we have to go light if we want to make it anywhere before they start looking for us because I think Lutz made his goddamn move and now we're basically being hunted dow-"

"Gilbert, can you please calm down for a minute so I can understand what the hell it is you're trying to say?"

Gilbert dropped the bag in his hand and turned to his brother. "Right, so, I went to the square, yeah?"

"Because of the noise," Ludwig stated.

"Yeah, that's where it came from. Huge mass of people, everyone gathered around something. I don't know, I'm too far, I can't see shit from where I'm standing. Then there's these two obviously gossiping women that are standing just off to the side, that seem to know something. Gossiping women usually do. So I go up to them, right?"

"What did you do?"

"What? Nothing! God damn, will you listen? Well, I went up to them, asked them what the fuck was going on." At that point he paused, not quite sure why.

"Well?"

"Well, turns out Lutz put a price on your and my head. Klaus is probably in on it too, I mean I'm hunted too." Gilbert turned back to the bag, picked it up and resumed the hurried packing. "So how about you get your necessary things, don't take a single fucking book, and then we're off, because I sure as hell don't want to end up an ingredient in a knockwurst," Gilbert huffed, gathering random clothes that would keep him warm (but weren't necessarily the best coordinated in terms of style or colour).

Ludwig stood, momentarily stunned into inaction. "You couldn't say this immediately?!" With that, he flew out of the room.

"I tried, you dummkopf!" Gilbert shot back. "Get your ass moving, I'm out in fifteen!"

Alfred stared at the wall. To an outsider, it might have seemed that he was trying to disintegrate the wall with his frozen glare.

That's almost exactly what he was trying to do.

He didn't even bother listening to the people arguing back and forth around the meeting table, because their ideas were all useless and futile suggestions. He had not yet pointed that out to them, but if it continued any longer, he would probably have to fetch himself some kind of strong drink and then tell them all to fucking think for a minute and not just fire off the first idea that came to their mind.

He was already feeling the effects of a divided nation, feeling like his mind was being overridden by ideas that were not quite his own. He could also feel that darker side of him edge its way forward, as if waiting to seize its opportunity. Alfred would not let that happen, under any circumstances.

He knew he could nuke the entire goddamn city of Los Angeles, eliminating therefore the major base of Allen's operations. He knew he could also send the army marching in across the unofficial border between Western and Eastern America. He knew he could sacrifice what and whoever he wanted. But he also knew that that would be giving in to the inhumane side of him, and he refused to fall so low.

"Alfred, please, the wall is not your enemy, Allen is! And seeing as you are still sporting very lovely bruises and a healing lip, how about you contribute to this and don't just let it slide?" His boss was looking straight at him, expectantly.

Alfred was silent for a minute, before coming up with something that would not piss off his boss completely and have him sent home early from the meeting, but that would make his stance still obviously and painfully clear. "Right, uh... How about you guys," he motioned to the generals and colonels and department heads gathered in the room, "suggest some strategies and I tell you what I think. Fair?"

His boss glowered at him, but nevertheless nodded to the men at the table.

"We could always send a covert operation of recon-"

"Where? Into Los Angeles, and try to find where Allen's military base is? Useless, because I know exactly where it is, so that would be completely unnecessary," Alfred countered.

"You do? Where?"

"L.A.'s Air Force Base. Major military facilities, supplies, defence systems, perfect location really."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Have the air force-"

"Again, useless, because bombing the location would only cause further retaliation from Allen. You can't kill him, he's got too much support over there - he's gaining on me - that by killing him you risk throwing the entire Western half into chaos and who knows what will happen then. Plus there would probably be a shit ton of civilian casualties, which isn't gonna go over great to a rioting people."

"We could send ground for-"

"Are you actually thinking about honestly declaring a civil war? Really? Because if I remember correctly there cannot be American troops on American soil unless that same god damn soil is under attack! Unless we ask the goddamn Congress, but hey, isn't that a great idea? Let's get more bureaucracy in our way, have a little vote, and then argue a bit more because half of Congress isn't even here, having up and left back home or decided to join Allen and his fucking riot!" (2)

"We could plead Canada-"

Alfred snorted. "They've got their own problems to take care of. Did you not hear? Their goddamn Prime Minister was assassinated, the nation was thrown into a panic, and Matthieu has yet to make an appearance anywhere. No-go."

The Joint Chiefs went quiet, not really knowing how to counter the relentless shot-downs Alfred countered every idea with.

"Alfred, could you please try not to attack every idea, and instead make productive commentary as to how we could overcome this situation-"

Alfred slumped back in his chair. "Jesus Christ, do you even know how much of that sentence is just wrong?" Eyebrows rose at the tone Alfred gave his boss, but everyone remained silent for fear of what the nation would do if pushed. "I don't attack every idea, I'm making sure that people of my nation do not go headlong into their unnecessary deaths. I'm trying to ascertain that I do not die in the process, which would be a pretty bad situation for you, because you'd be out of a nation. I'm trying to make sure that you do not strengthen Allen in a way that the power balance between us would shift, lest he become the United States of America. I am trying to make sure that you don't kill yourselves for nothing, that my people live to see another day, that our entire world isn't reduced to ashes at the same time! I am trying to make sure that after this is over, you will still have a nation!" During this time he had stood up, hands placed on the table in an aggressive stance - the wood had splintered slightly under the force he had, unaware, applied. His eyes were flaming dangerously, his chest heaving. His breathing was heavy as he glared at every man and woman sitting around the table, his mind working fiercely, a thousand miles an hour. Slowly, he blinked, and seemed to realise something. He looked at his hands, carefully lifting them from the table. He looked at the slightly stunned people in the room, before muttering half of an excuse to his boss and briskly taking long strides out of the room. He ignored his boss's calls for him, instead heading straight for a restroom. Finding one, he swiftly slammed the door shut and locked it, stumbling to the sink and taking a look in the mirror - in the way he had done such a little while ago at Matthew's.

This was really not what he needed at the moment. Not in the least.

He felt vulnerability coursing through him, and that was the most dangerous feeling he could have. He knew that his tiredness could melt away into power drawn from an almost insane mind. He knew his eyes could darken into a blue that felt deeper than an abyss. He knew that he could destroy and build worlds if he wanted to - but he wouldn't - he couldn't - allow it to overwhelm him. He was tipping off the edge fast, too fast, too far. He was afraid that there would be a point when he could no longer catch himself, when the temporary seal on his ticking time bomb would finally crack.

He felt how he was growing weaker, how his strength was as if fleeing him. He knew Allen was basically gloating at Alfred's gradual downfall, but Alfred knew Allen would gloat much more if he knew.

If he just knew how every citizen that sided with Alfred pushed the current representative of America closer to the edge. How all the strength Allen gained, was paranoia gained by Alfred. How Alfred was spiraling into a state he may not be able to return from - into a state of fear, power, insanity, paranoia. How Alfred was slowly falling, falling from his position of leader of the free world, and may just lead the destruction of the same world he had helped build. If Allen knew that Alfred was possibly the most dangerous weapon in the world. If he knew that Allen himself might need only to push slightly more, and Alfred would do the rest. How Alfred might be the one who would end up doing what Allen came here to do. If he knew the irony of the situation. If he knew how Alfred could easily destroy every country and every citizen on the planet, and that really - if it came down to it, that he would.

He stood, nerves tense and body trembling in the rain. His hands held the rifle, trying not to shake too much. The cold metal was awkward, wrong, it felt like there was much more to the next battle than it seemed. He felt this to be the decisive battle. One of them would have to fall back. One of them would have to bow down. One of them would have to accept defeat.

Either he would lose all hope of freedom or independence, or Arthur would have to recognise him as the colony who resisted his rule. The rule that had raised him, the rule that had extended beyond the seven seas and the four corners of the world. The Empire whose sun never set.

He hated the feeling of the gun in his hands. It didn't fit, it was wrong, it felt like the opposite of safety. He would be lying if he said that he was not having second thoughts.

Could he really do this? What if he failed, what if he failed his people? What if he failed those who had put all their faith into him?

Did Arthur really deserve this?

Yes, he does. And you are more than strong enough to win this battle. Trust yourself.

He didn't know where the words in his mind came from, but the voice seemed alike to his own - only more confident, more sure.

You are powerful.

He clutched the weapon tighter, closer to his chest, feeling conflicted - insecure but reassured. He wasn't sure whether he should trust the voice - his voice? It felt alien, certain, but also deeper and darker.

You just need to win this battle to prove it.

He turned on his heels, looking around at his entourage. The field was empty, isolated, there was no-one but himself. This was where he would determine his future.

This was where he would determine himself.

He had an unsettling feeling that he would hear that voice many more times.

Though he had not realised it then, that voice was he, himself, feeding his brain twisted ideas of power and control. It was all born from every nation's natural need to protect its own people - but Alfred knew that his was much stronger. Maybe it was the nuclear power coursing through his veins, maybe it was the sheer firepower that made his heart beat, maybe it was the manpower or the air force or the naval strength, but he was the most powerful and dangerous nation on the world, and when his people were threatened he was that much closer to falling apart.

He felt a sudden surge of anger well up within him, flooding his mind, fogging his thoughts. Anger at himself, for not having protected his people. Anger at Allen, for daring to attack him. Anger at Arthur for not warning them of the danger sooner. Anger, that ripped a growl from his lungs, up his throat, and had his arm drawn back and flung forwards. The mirror shattered, the pieces digging into his skin and tinkling down - into the skin, onto the tile floor. His reflection was gone, that reflection that haunted him, scared him. He drew his hand back towards himself, not even feeling the shards embedded in it. He felt blood well up, his knuckles clenching and flexing from the strain. He ignored the knocks at the bathroom door, asking if everything was fine and whether he would open the door. He leant against the wall to slow his breathing, his heart, the panic that was slowly flooding his mind, the fear that was holding him tighter in its grip. He slid down the wall, ending up sitting on the cold tile, his head in his hands. He could feel blood trickling down his hand, into and onto his white shirt sleeve, sticking to his hair as he ran his hand through it.

He tried to think clearly, rationally, but he found himself too agitated to do so. Standing up, he quickly rinsed his hand and plucked a couple of the shards out of the injured skin. He had to get home, to find a way to calm the fuck down before he did something he would most definitely regret. He tried to wash out the small amounts of blood clinging to his hair, in order not to shock his boss into thinking he had gone completely insane.

Which, in a sense, he was slowly doing.

Translations:

はい - (Japanese) yes

Notes:

(1) The CSIS is the Canadian Security Intelligence Service - basically the Canadian equivalent to the America's CIA.

(2) In America, as far as I could gather from the internet, deploying ground forces while the country is not in a state of war (which Alfred has not yet declared in America) cannot happen unless under special circumstances (which would require Congress approval). I might be wrong, if I am I would be glad to know.

A/N: Here it is, the next chapter, after days and weeks and months of procrastinating and writer's block. God I hate those. To clarify, to all those who got scared - Arthur is not dead. Yet, anyway. Not gonna give anything away. It's just my problem now is to get the story actually moving and shit to go down (action is only beginning, there are going to be so, so, so many other fuck ups along the way, don't worry about that). Maybe a fair warning is in place, but I am not looking to make a cliché story (even though I know I do have a lot of them in here anyway). Point is, I'm trying to steer away from cliché endings and character turns and such and such, but that's all I'm saying. Interpret that as you wish. And as for characterisation, I am pretty happy with the way I'm writing certain characters. As for Alfred (whom I love and focus on too much), there's some dark, twisted thing behind it all, and we're going to keep seeing it. Oh, but next chapter I will include in characters that we have not seen in ages.

I need to start killing off people because otherwise I'm writing too many places at the same time.

Did I say that out loud? Well, write it. Not to scare any of you away.

On an unrelated note, what the fuck is up with 2016? I swear to God, this has been - by far - the absolute worst year I have lived. Though I have a feeling that 2017 will be worse. What with Trump becoming US President, French elections being held, Italian elections being held, Merkel maybe losing chancellorship,... Fucksakes I am done with the world.

Well, anyway, I will try my best to get the next chapter up as soon as possible, but I am probably not getting it done before the end of this year. So, I will say this here: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year and see you all next year! (Or whenever I manage to upload the next chapter).

Bye!