Thanks to Time Turner, Space Trooper, Skye Phoenix Dove, Terra, reddishpirate0614, flyneza, yanrulim, pastaaddict, topaz3 and ScandinavianTrash for reviewing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Chapter 35

Yemen jumped when there was a knock on the door. His bunker was isolated and well hidden. Who could be there?

"Yo, the heroes have arrived!"

Of course. America.

Yemen considered not opening the door. Chances were that America would think that he wasn't home. Then again, there was the possibility that America would try to break down the door because he thought that his silence would mean that Amodi had gotten to him.

It was the fear of the second one realising that forced Yemen to go towards the door. Undoing all the locks took a while, but eventually he managed to get the door open, only to see America's smug grin. He also noticed that there was a young girl with him who he assumed was Michoacán.

"So, what took you so long?" America asked.

"This is a bunker," Yemen said. "It's supposed to have decent locks."

"Told you that you should have patience," Michoacán sighed.

"How did you find my precise location?" Yemen asked.

"Oh, I had the CIA and the NSA track you through your phone," America said.

"…I don't appreciate that."

"Let's get out of here," Michoacán said. "We should probably get Saudi Arabia out of the line of fire next."

"Saudi is dead," Yemen said.

"What?" Michoacán asked. "Who else?"

"I only know about Iran, but I suspect that Iraq is also dead," Yemen said. "I can't reach him."

"Damn."

"Where to next?" America asked, looking between the two.

"I think Oman," Michoacán said.

"That is a good idea," Yemen said.

"Okay. So let's…" America started, before he froze.

Yemen and Michoacán watched as America gasped for breath. Yemen's eyes widened, and he quickly dragged America inside, Michoacán following.

"I thought you said they don't attack the country?" Yemen asked.

"America seems to be the exception," Michoacán said. "I think it's because Canada and Mexico are handling that. They want to hurt America as much as possible."

Yemen watched America closely as he tried to regain his breath. He wondered if they were right when they said that they would only get him to a safe location. Because if they intended to force him to fight, then he knew that he would be doomed.

"You said that you would just get me to a safe location," Yemen said. "Where exactly would that be?"

"We have yet to decide," Michoacán said. "But I don't think America is really safe, and my own land is out of the question. And I'm not sure if it's a good idea to go to a country that hasn't been conquered yet, since it's only a matter of time before they decide to go there."

"And going to a country that's already been killed or captured is out of the question," Yemen sighed. "Proceeding without a plan…"

"For now, we're travelling. We're staying on the move."

"It's harder for them to get us then," Yemen said in realisation.

"We'll sort out a safe location in due time," Michoacán said.

They turned their attentions back to America once they realised that his breathing had become easier, though he still looked to be in pain.

"What did they attack?" Michoacán asked.

"New York City," America said. "I forgot about Little Italy. And there are quite a few Canadians and Koreans."

"It is a major city."

"So," Yemen said. "Oman? I'll call to let him know we're coming."

"Thanks," America said.

…

Turkey and his group arrived at his house in Istanbul. Everyone was a little tense. Once they got out of the car, a small figure ran up to them.

"North," Cyprus said as his brother threw his arms around him.

"Nice to see you, kid," Turkey said, placing his hand on TRNC's head. "Let's get breakfast before we go look for Egypt."

"He's probably out of Iran by now," Hungary sighed. "Where should we go then?"

"I'll see if I can get in touch with Syria," Turkey said. "He's good at being hard to find. I'm sure even Egypt will have trouble getting to him."

"Are you trying to make this hell?" Greece asked.

"I don't like this any more than you do, but we have no choice."

…

Poland stared at the map, a thoughtful frown on his face. Italy entered the room, throwing his arms around Poland's shoulders.

"What's on your mind?" Italy asked.

"Central Asia," Poland said. "There's not much going on there."

"Do you want to start?"

"Tak. Once France and his group are taken care of. I want to personally handle Mongolia."

Italy smiled, before he kissed Poland's neck. Poland smiled as well.

A throat was cleared, and the two rolled their eyes, before they turned around to see San Marino standing at the door.

"France's group is on the move," San Marino said.

"Grazie," Italy said. "Let's get going, shall we?"

Poland nodded, and the two left, anticipation for victory in their eyes.

…

"I'm worried about Will," Northern Ireland sighed.

Ireland looked up from the book he was reading to regard his brother.

"Why?" he asked.

"He's been sleeping the whole day yesterday," North explained. "The pills couldn't be that powerful."

Ireland was about to answer when he saw New Zealand entering the room, looking a bit tired, but also frustrated.

"Breakfast will be ready in a bit," New Zealand said. "And someone needs to get groceries. This place is seriously lacking."

"Well, you know what we're like when it comes to food," Ireland said, smiling sheepishly.

New Zealand huffed.

"And you're leaving Oz and me to handle the cooking," New Zealand said.

"Hey, we're keeping Artie out of the kitchen," North said. "Be grateful."

"Yeah," Ireland said. "At least the rest of us know that we suck at cooking."

New Zealand sighed.

"Could you tell the others that we'd be eating in just a little bit?" New Zealand asked.

"Sure," Northern Ireland said, standing from his seat at the couch.

New Zealand turned around, going back to the kitchen.

"I know he's evil and all," New Zealand muttered, "but I miss his cooking. At least he's good at it."

The two Irelands heard the other's muttering and smiled, before those smiles fell. It was a harsh reminder that someone they had considered as family hated them and wished for their destruction.

"I'll go get Will," Ireland said. "You can wake Alistair and Art."

"Aw," Northern Ireland whined. "Why do you hate me?"

Ireland chuckled, before the brothers separated to retrieve their other brothers. Ireland kept his smile as he walked into Wales's room.

The smile fell, however, when he saw Wales.

The Welshman was getting dressed and was currently shirtless, his back facing the Irishman. Ireland could see the bruises from Amodi's attack, but he also saw scars that looked red and angry. These were old scars, and he could even recognise one of them as a wound that England had inflicted after Harlech Castle fell to England in 1409. The wound was inflicted as punishment for Wales trying to break free.

Wales was looking at Ireland over his shoulder with wide eyes. Ireland snapped out of his stupor and walked closer.

"What happened?" Ireland asked, placing his hand near one of the angry scars.

Wales hissed and flinched, and Ireland retracted his hand.

"How long has this been going on?" Ireland asked.

"A-after the attack," Wales muttered.

"What did they do?"

"I don't know. Leave it, okay?"

Wales grabbed a shirt and quickly pulled it on, before rounding on Ireland.

"Is there something you want?" Wales asked.

Ireland felt a twinge of fear. He had never seen Wales like this. Wales was always the gentle one… Though when he was abruptly awoken he reminded them why the dragon was the national animal of Wales. Ireland could feel cold rage coming from his brother.

"B-breakfast," Ireland said. "It's almost ready."

Wales nodded his head, and Ireland could feel some of the rage dying from the other. He swallowed nervously.

"Will, is something wrong?" Ireland asked.

"Nothing," Wales said. "It just hurts."

Ireland nodded in understanding. Looking at the bruises from the attack, he could imagine that it would hurt. But what could cause that to happen to the scars?

Wales sighed, running his hand through his hair before he fixed Ireland with a gentle look. Ireland breathed easy as he saw the familiar expression on his brother's face.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell the others," Wales said. "I don't want them to worry."

Ireland nodded his head, and Wales smiled, before he left the room. Ireland hesitated for a moment, before he left as well, making a mental note to keep an eye on Wales. And if what he saw got worse, then he didn't care if he was betraying Wales's trust. The others would need to know.

…

Hutt River was lurking near Wales's room, and he smirked as he listened to the exchange between the two brothers. He knew exactly what was happening.

The Bonds of Hate were particularly vicious, even to those that they bound. They sought out someone with hatred in their hearts, no matter how buried it might be. Any grudge would do. Then it increased the amount of hate, based on the hatred in the hearts of the ones previously bound. And the hate spread between everyone bound by it. And if one of them didn't have enough hate, the Bonds would do anything to get it to an acceptable level: manipulation of emotions, flashbacks to the bad times to remind the nation why the hatred existed, and if there were physical wounds the healing process would be reversed.

That was what was happening to Wales.

Wales's love for his brothers was being smothered by the Black Ribbon. Any guilt he might feel for the inevitable betrayal was drowned by memories of the brothers' relationship at their worst.

But carrying a grudge… it was not in Wales's nature. Hutt River wondered what would happen once Wales was allowed to act on his hatred. What would happen once Wales crossed the final line?

Wales was a wildcard at the moment. He didn't have the Bonds of Love or Desire to balance out the Bonds of Hate. And perhaps having someone like that on their side would be a good thing. He couldn't betray them, and he wouldn't think twice about killing someone.

Hutt River had to keep himself from chuckling. Italy would certainly be happy to hear about this.

…

"Here we are," Russia said, stopping in front of what looked like a run-down shack.

Czech and Slovakia looked at it incredulously, before turning to Russia.

"You've got to be kidding," Czech said.

Russia merely smiled, before he got out of the car. Ukraine, Czech, Slovakia and Vilnius hesitated before they followed after him.

"Ivan?" Ukraine asked.

Russia held out a hand, his smile still in place. He led them to the shack, and once he opened the door, they saw that there was absolutely nothing inside, save for a rug.

"You can't be serious," Czech said.

Even Vilnius was looking doubtful as they watched Russia going to the centre of the room, before he pulled the rug aside, revealing a trapdoor.

"That's starting to look promising," Slovakia said.

They followed Russia as he went down, only to be met with total darkness, but not for long. Russia pulled a lever, and the other four gasped when the lights were turned on.

It was a bunker, with glistening silver walls and bright lighting. In spite of its appearance, it didn't feel cold at all, and they wondered if there was a fire burning somewhere inside. They followed Russia as he led the way further inside.

"Ivan," Ukraine whispered, "what is this place?"

"It is a bunker, of course," Russia said. "It was originally built during the Cold War, and it was designed so that America wouldn't be able to find this place. It cannot be discovered via satellite. It is also safe from most nuclear weapons. In recent years, I've been using it to hide from Belarus. This place is where I go to get some work done. You are the first nations to step foot in this place, other than me, of course."

"Why is it so clean?" Czech asked.

"Some of the old KGB members and their families come in twice a month to clean this place, stock it up with food and other supplies, and to make sure that everything still works."

"Can those humans be trusted?" Ukraine asked.

"Da. I was paranoid back then, and only those with Russian ancestry that extends at least ten generations were allowed to be part of the design and maintenance of this place. As you can imagine, there aren't too many of them."

"Why is ancestry so important?" Slovakia asked.

"Because Amodi can control their people, even if they live in another country and were born there," Ukraine said. "According to France, it works up to five generations."

Czech and Slovakia shuddered, and Vilnius looked at the ground. Ukraine sighed, and Russia had grown sombre.

"Feel free to explore," Russia said. "You can pick any room you want. This place was built to house every nation in the Soviet Union in case of emergency, as well as two dozen soldiers. I will call the Balkans later to see if they would be willing to join us."

"I thought this place was a bunker for you?" Czech asked.

"I didn't want to be alone."

…

Argentina was humming a jaunty tune as she walked the streets of Sint Maarten, searching for the nation himself. She had already been to his house, but he was nowhere to be seen. So he was somewhere among his people.

Argentina noticed something out of the corner of her eye and she turned to face it, smirking. A young man was moving away from her, in quite a hurry. Seeing the spiky blond hair, she had a feeling she knew who it might be.

She followed after him, and knew that she was right in her assumption when the other started running. She gave chase, and she felt her smirk transforming into a grin as the other rounded a corner and she saw that he was indeed the one that she was looking for. She picked up speed, and he wasn't nearly as fast as she was.

She tackled him to the ground, and she growled as he struggled, screaming for help.

"Shut up," she snarled, slamming his face into the pavement.

The scent of blood immediately reached her nose, and she saw that his own had been broken. But she had other problems to worry about.

The people had noticed that something was wrong, and were moving in to stop her. She needed to get them away.

She quickly reached into her pocket for her phone and pressed something, just as the first hands started pulling her off. But it was enough.

A nearby building blew up, and the people panicked, completely forgetting about her as they scrambled to get away. Sint Maarten had stopped struggling and had grown silent, staring at the building as it burst into flames.

Argentina tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before she leaned down in order to speak to Sint Maarten.

"This is what happens when you try to fight," Argentina whispered. "Or run. Tell me, how many people were in there?"

Sint Maarten whimpered and started trembling, and she could only assume that there were quite a few people. But she wanted to hear him admit it.

"Well?" she prompted.

Sint Maarten whimpered again and took a deep breath through his mouth.

"It was an orphanage," he said. "All those children…"

"Oh, is that all?" Argentina asked, grin widening.

She derived pleasure out of his anguish, and she could feel her pleasure growing when she saw his face twist as the first tears started to fall.

Her pleasure was cut short when she heard the sounds of sirens, and she sighed as she pulled him to his feet.

"Come on, you big baby," she said as she started dragging him along. "I'm not going to kill you. Unfortunately. I just need to take you somewhere. Don't worry, you won't be alone. Aruba's already on the plane, and Caraçao will be joining us soon enough."

He whimpered again, but this time she didn't pay it any mind. She was starting to hate the humans of Sint Maarten and wanted to get away from the island as soon as possible. She also didn't want to have to deal with the French part of the island. She only wanted the Dutch one, and if she had to deal with the French part at the moment, there was a chance that she might lose Sint Maarten.

And she wanted to get this over with soon, before her craving got to be too bad.

…

Peru drank a glass of wine as he stared at the barely living body of Ecuador. The other's arms and legs were broken in several places, and there were chunks missing from his neck, shoulders and arms. Ecuador's breathing was laboured, and his eyes were hazy as he looked at Peru. His front was completely soaked with blood.

"As entertaining as this is, you're starting to bore me," Peru said, finishing the wine. "So what do you say about me putting you out of your misery?"

Ecuador sighed, before he closed his eyes. Peru walked closer and through one of the lacerations in the other's chest, reached in, searching for the heart. Ecuador whimpered, before Peru wrapped his hand around the organ, pulling it out. He took a bite before he stood, Ecuador's eyes reflecting the light fading.

Peru, Venezuela and Chile had certainly gone wild. The only South Americans still alive, asides from the three of them and Argentina, were Brazil (who was unfortunately off-limits) and Falkland Islands. Peru hoped that it meant they could move to new targets soon.

…

Seborga looked over towards Kugelmugel as the younger micronation jumped up and down, giggling madly.

"I can sense him," Kugelmugel said. "Austria is near, which means the others are close as well."

"Excellent," Italy said, standing from his armchair.

"That means that we could get to work," Poland added.

"Official nation," Kugelmugel said under his breath, smiling insanely, "here I come."

New Zealand was muttering about Canada, in case you're wondering.