This is it; the last chapter is finally here. I'll have the epilogue up next week, and then I'll start publishing WMP's sequel, The Hybrid Wars. Thank you all for your support!

Reviews:

Kitkat—If you want to talk spoilers at all, just PM me. I'm always open there :).

Names:

China—Wang Yao

Ethiopia—Merille Tesfa

New Abyssinia—Ezana Tesfa

Somalia—Rihana Tesfa

Djibouti—Amir Miyir/Rochet Bonnefoy

Eritrea—Lebina Tesfa

1700 Hours; December 17, 2032

Addis Ababa, New Abyssinia

New Abyssinia—Safe: N/A In Danger: N/A Fallen: Sudan; Kenya; Somalia; Eritrea

Front Lines: Addis Ababa, New Abyssinia

Allies—Safe: United States; China; Eurasian Union; European Union; Egypt; Venezuela In Danger: N/A Fallen: N/A

The scene around him was familiar.

Yao sighed as steered his motorcycle through the decimated streets of Addis Ababa, expertly managing to weave through the rubble and do his best to stay on course to his destination. Entire swathes of city blocks had been destroyed over the last couple of weeks as the Allies hunted down the last remnants of New Abyssinia's government and leaders. Abyssinia certainly wasn't making it easy, either. At this point, he had resorted to guerrilla tactics, forcing the Allies to fight street to street, house to house, and room to room. It'd been tedious work, and they'd been at it for the last five weeks.

It was achingly familiar. Yao, over the last few days, when exhaustion threatened to overtake him, kept on having to remind himself he was in Addis Ababa, not Changchun, or Raqqa, or Kaifeng[1]. He was honestly getting too old for this; the battles were beginning to blend together, each more serious and more damaging than in the last. Over and over, history would repeat itself. Who knew what disasters the future held?

America didn't understand. Not really. He hadn't lived a tenth of Yao's five thousand years, hadn't seen the death and lost the children he had. Sometimes that naïvety he and his states held was inspiring—that was, after all, what had prompted him to join the war in the first place. He had looked into Utah's eyes, and then America's, and seen their hope, their optimism, their determination to do what they were so sure was right. It had called to him, the desire to be close enough to perhaps glean a sliver of that innocence from their mere presence.

But other times, like now, it grated. In Yao's experience, foolishness and naïvety went hand in hand, and World War III was certainly no exception. America thought that all this would end when Abyssinia was captured? Pheh. The African had ten times the experience the young superpower did. Yao was certain that whatever he was doing, he was doing it for a reason.

Which had brought him to his current situation. America and his allies wouldn't be happy once they heard what he was doing, if anything they would be furious, but Yao honestly didn't care, and neither did his government. They would get the influence they needed in helping rebuild Africa, through trade deals and company mergers. No, Yao was out here because he, on some level, understood exactly what a certain rebel was going through. Understood on a level only beings who had existed for the millenia they had could.

He slowed down as his GPS beeped. Double-checking it, he nodded to himself and stopped completely, dismounting and walking over to the ruins of a house and the man standing over it, back to him.

To be fair, Merille Tesfa was still half his age, but with so many of his peers now gone Yao would take what he could get.

By the gods, he was old. Too old for this.

"You're supposed to be back at base, Merille," he called out, lax as the newly returned nation turned towards him in surprise, then winced at the sudden disturbance of his torso. Yao noted the movement with approval. Taking back a country was difficult: mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually. To his credit, Merille was honestly taking it better than Yao had expected.

"You're supposed to be back in Beijing," Merille replied slowly, eyes darting from a piece of glass he held in his hand, and then to the Yao's helmet as he took it off and let it dangle from his right hand by its straps.

"Eh," Yao shrugged, stepping towards him and kicking some rubble out of the way as he did so. "Figured I might as well be here for the peace conference. Make sure I get my fair share out of it. You know the deal."

Merille frowned, not saying anything in reply. He turned his head slightly back to the house. Yao idly wondered whether it was his house, or a leader's, or perhaps a favored citizen's. In the end, it didn't matter, and he decided enough was enough. It was time to cut to the chase.

"My men have caught sight of your brother."

Merille froze, then straightened, looking up at Yao in a mixture of excitement and fear. "What?" He asked. "Have you caught him?"

"I haven't told NATO yet," Yao elaborated. "He's your brother. If you take my motorcycle, you should be able to catch him. Head east towards Menagesha. Or, if you want, we can call America and get him to encircle the area. It'd be messy, but we'd be able to capture him."

Merille blinked in surprise. He was caught off guard by this request, and Yao could relate to that, in all honesty. For a moment, he was back in time again, standing over Baekje's[2] corpse and watching 14-year-old Yamato—no, Japan—race to escape with what remained of his life and his fleet, tears streaming down his cheeks as he was forced to leave his brother behind without so much as a goodbye.

In that moment, so young and drunk off being a victor after many years of war, he'd expected to feel elated at such a decisive victory. Instead all he'd felt was sorrow as he'd held Baekje's corpse in his shaking hands, remembering how, long ago, he'd raised him, Silla, Goguryeo, and Yamato[3] as his own. Years and years later, in Nanking[4], Japan had whispered to him, as his buildings burned and people massacred, how this was only the beginning of the revenge he planned to take on China for cutting Baekje's life short so soon and so brutally.

Yao did not want that fate to befall Merille and his siblings no more than it already had. He wanted this so desperately it hurt, made him want to take Merille by the shoulders and scream "What are you doing?! He is your brother!".

But the people came first. It left Yao with a sour taste in his mouth. The people always came first. So he said nothing of that.

"I know what it's like to lose a brother," he muttered, just loud enough for the rebelling nation to hear. "Whether he gets away or is captured doesn't really matter right now. It's time for you two to say your goodbyes."

Merille let out a long, shuddering breath, a thinking breath.

He dropped the shard of glass on the ground and strode away from the ruins of his house. Sending a grateful smile to Yao, he spotted the offered motorcycle nearby and mounted it. In a moment, he was off, heading due east to Menagesha National Forest.

To his credit, he didn't look back.

1805 Hours; December 17, 2032

Menagesha National Forest, Ethiopia

Evening had fallen by the time Merille crossed into the forest.

It'd been quite easy, actually, to trace his brother's path as he rode through the forest. After all, it was the same route they took when they hiked through the forest when on vacation, or when they just needed a moment to be away from everything.

Memories swirled in Merille's mind as his motorcycle blared through the forest, throwing up leaves in its wake. Menagesha had once been a beautiful tourist spot in his country, with thin, tall trees and sloping hills. But in the past decade that had changed drastically. New Abyssinia had flattened large swathes of the forest, replacing it with farms and warehouses to fuel the war effort. Nearly everything was deserted or destroyed as the Abyssinians fled the advancing Allied forces, save for the fresh tracks of the jeep that Merille had been following since coming up to the forest.

Merille looked up, watching the trees as he passed into one of the last remaining forested plots, the canopy blocking out the last of the golden rays of the sun as it settled down for another night. Silently, he fished out his night vision glasses and put them on as he came to a fork in the path.

Merille slowed his motorcycle to a stop, dismounting it and walking it off the path he'd been driving on. He'd have to go out on foot from here. Any closer and the sounds of the battle in Addis Ababa wouldn't cover the roar of his engine. Disposing of the vehicle as best he could, Merille took his rifle out of its place on his back, bringing it into both hands and checking to make sure that it was loaded, then adjusting his shotel, sheathed on his hip.

The silence in the forest was deafening, and Merille's heart thudded in his chest as he walked down the road, following the jeep tracks closely but keeping to the shadows. This was most definitely not the first time he'd found himself battling his brother—many times they had represented opposing kingdoms and tribes—but this was the first time it was on such a large scale. Even his conflicts with Eritrea and Somalia hardly held a candle to this World War.

World War. He still could hardly believe it. His country had served as the catalyst for World War III. All because of New Abyssinia.

A dark shape loomed in the darkness, drawing Merille out of his thoughts. A couple steps closer revealed it to be two lone warehouses, their gray, metallic walls glinting the finals cries of the sun a myriad of orange, red, and yellow.

There! Merille could just make out several moving figures in the shadows. Crouching down, he watched them as they rushed in and out of the second warehouse, holding wooden crates, most likely filled with supplies. They were trying to escape!

A man in his early thirties, leaning on the jeep and supervising the work, caught Merille's gaze first, and he scowled. Every person in Africa knew that man. Yessuf Biruh Abebe[5]… the human leader of New Abyssinia. Whether he was really in charge or just a puppet of New Abyssinia's, Merille didn't know, but it was a safe assumption to go in assuming the man was very dangerous. And there. His eyes flickered over to the right. A man strode out into his line of sight, sporting full military gear. Even though his hair had been shaved to a buzz cut, and he held himself with the air of a king, Merille could easily recognize his elder brother.

New Abyssinia hadn't gotten off from the war scot-free, however. His left arm was in a sling, and there was definite bruising along his left eye. More wounds were no doubt concealed beneath the uniform, and it'd most likely be worse if Merille hadn't been sharing part of the burden.

Merille let out a sigh, fingering his gun.

He was so going to regret this.

"Ezana!" He called out, standing and striding much more confidently than he felt into the clearing. The men froze, most of them pulling out their guns and training them on him.

Yessuf began to walk forwards, but Ezana held out his free arm, motioning for him to stand back. His weary eyes locked with Merille's, and he struggled to hold his brother's gaze. Ezana had always been the more intimidating out of the four siblings.

"Merille," Ezana inclined his head. "I promised myself long ago that I would destroy you. I failed during the coup. Yet here you are, walking into my arms."

Merille did his best to remain nonchalant over the situation. "I'll revive," he shrugged. "I did before and I definitely will now." He let out a sigh. "We're so different, Ezana. I can't help but wonder how things became like this. We may share the same blood, but you are no longer the man I grew up beside and fought together with. Your reign of terror has ended!"

Ezana rolled his shoulders, loosening. They both knew each other much too well. They both knew that this was Merille's way of saying goodbye, just as said nation knew that his brother understood his intentions. Even now, when Merille could figure so little from Ezana's actions, he could at least infer that.

"You really think that stopping the experiments and taking my land will end me?" Ezana chuckled. "You fell into my little sanctum. But I suppose you would call it a trap."

Merille's blood ran cold, but he still stood tall. He had come here knowing that he was going to get killed. Whether Ezana got caught or not depended on whether the Allies could find this convoy.

Merille had just come to say goodbye to the brother who he had grown up alongside, and who in turn helped him raise their sisters.

"And a new age shall rise!" New Abyssinia exclaimed, drawing Ethiopia back out of his thoughts. "The modern world has come to an end!" He sighed forlornly. "Of course it had to come too soon. I wasn't ready. The world certainly isn't ready. You will have to prepare our people—and humanity—for evolution when I am gone."

"I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about." Ethiopia frowned deeply. What was his brother going on about?

"Of course you do! Did you really think I expected to win this war?!" New Abyssinia exclaimed, laughing in a half crazed manner and running his free hand through his hair. "No! Of course not! I'm no European, brother! My fate was sealed when NATO declared war on me. I know when I am beaten."

"And yet you fall as Germany did."

"No! I—" New Abyssinia, suddenly looking very tired and frustrated, cut himself off. He turned away, waving a hand at his men. "Nevermind. You'll understand eventually." He nodded to Yessuf. "Kill him."

Yessuf flashed a harsh grin, pulling out a pistol and pointing it at Ethiopia's head. Ethiopia sighed, gazing at his brother as he strove to commit every part of that turned back to memory.

Then there was a symphony of gunshots and a flash of pain, and everything went black.

December 18, 2032

Addis Ababa, Occupied Territory

"There."

Eritrea placed a piece of paper on the table, looking up at the occupants of the room.

"New Abyssinia has officially surrendered," she continued, tone serious but with a joyful tinge to it, matching the celebrations that were currently taking place across the city and the world. "We will continue to hunt for the nation himself and his leader, but World War III is officially over."

There was a unanimous sigh of relief across the room. Eurasia smiled softly to himself as India slumped in his seat. Romano exclaimed several praises to God in Italian while Veneziano let out a cry and embraced Germany.

America simply smiled to himself. Finally, this was all over.

"Ethiopia is still missing," Somalia reminded the group of nations, dampening the mood somewhat. The Allied powers, African rebels, and countries occupied by New Abyssinia had all gathered in Addis Ababa to finalize the treaty to end World War III. Yet some nations were still absent from this historic occasion.

Ethiopia and New Abyssinia were two glaring examples, both lost in the chaos of battle. Less obvious was China, who'd been expelled from the peace deal after admitting to sending Ethiopia after his brother alone and not informing the Allies of the war criminals' position. Venezuela had also abruptly been forced to return to her own country when a strange fog had sprung up over the South American continent several days earlier, sending the entire Western Hemisphere into a panic.

(America may have ignored a call from his boss to return home to attend the peace conference, but that was neither here nor there).

"Well, can I assume we are agreed when I move to give the African rebels control of their countries once again?" Romano spoke up after a couple minutes.

"I'm all for it," England put in. "As long as they accept influence from us for a couple of years to come. Not too long; enough time to make sure we don't have a repeat of this whole war again."

Somalia's eyes flashed, but she nodded stiffly.

"And, of course, we can guarantee the destruction of VEV once we gain enough control of the countryside," Egypt put in from his spot next to India.

"That isn't a question," Eritrea agreed.

"Then I suppose we'll leave it to our governments to work out the particulars of the treaty," Germany added. "I would like to change the subject for a short while. England," he turned to the island nation. "What is this 'Hybrid Energy' we've been hearing so much about lately?"

All eyes turned to the blond. England sighed, long and hard, before speaking.

"The catalyst for the end of the modern era," he declared solemnly. America stiffened. "It was the source of energy for the MBT, as some of you may have figured out by now. I discovered it in my home shortly after PXT 2020 was launched for the first time. It was kept top secret for a long time until we understood it better."

"So you're saying that this hybrid energy is some new source of fuel?" India questioned.

"A clean source of energy," England clarified. "No carbon or other toxic emissions of any kind are formed when it is harnessed. It's mined, like oil and coal, yet we've never even heard of it up until a decade ago. Not only that, but Hybrid Energy deposits around the world have been rising sharply, especially in New Abyssinia's old territory. We have no idea how. It was no doubt how he was able to survive taking us all on at once while embargoing the rest of the world."

"Well, that's comforting," Romano muttered.

"I've heard that Venezuela's started using it for transportation," Veneziano confessed. Romano sent his brother a look, no doubt annoyed that he hadn't been informed, but it lacked the sharp edge it usually held, and it was soon gone. The war had changed Romano a lot, America noted to himself. The personification of South Italy was less judgmental and rude, and had become more analytical instead.

"No wonder I'm seeing strange vehicles in the Eurasian Union," America muttered, making sure it was loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. Russia sent his longtime rival a look, and America just grinned at him in response.

Still, this whole Hybrid Energy was honestly sort of worrying. America couldn't help but feel a little frustrated with England even as he grinned. He felt completely behind on this scientific revolution, having no such advances in his own country. He'd have to fix that, and soon, if he wanted to retain his status as a superpower.

"More and more nations are developing this new energy," England was musing as America thought. "New machines, new technology, revolutionary advances discovered practically every other week. The prime question going forwards is—and I'm sure you all agree—where is Hybrid Energy even coming from?"

December 19, 2032

Addis Ababa, Occupied Territory

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The first thing he was aware of was the beeping.

Then came the music. It was distant and muffled, but he could tell that it was a jolly tune with a quick beat and chipper tone. He could not place the exact type of instrument was playing it, but it sounded nice, so, for a time, he was content to listen.

Sometime later the sensation of sheets being wrapped around him flooded his body. Following that, slowly, ever so slowly, feeling came to his body itself. First it was his breathing and heartbeat, both distractingly out of rhythm with the music. Then came his arms and legs, all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

And after what felt like an eternity, Ethiopia found the strength to open his eyes.

A gray ceiling loomed above him. He blinked several more times, mentally contrasting it with the hues of black, brown, and green of the forest had displayed his last memories. Grunting to himself, he sat up slightly. It took nearly all of his strength to do so, and a tugging on his arm prompted him to look down to see an IV drip fastened there. The music—the instrument playing was a violin, he realized—continued to waft through the room, now with a distinguished source from the area outside a closed door.

"Glad to have you back in the land of the living, brother dear."

Merille blinked, turning to see Rihana striding up towards him. She seemed haggard and tired, but there also was a certain joy in her eyes, a sight he had not seen in his sister for centuries, long before the Europeans had arrived in their land.

But that just brought up even more questions. Why in the world was Rihana here, and not celebrating the end of the war with her people?

"Somalia..." he finally murmured, watching her closely. "I don't understand. Why did you…?" He trailed off, not certain how to phrase the question without seeming to be insensitive.

But his sister seemed to understand nonetheless. She looked at him, tired and worn.

"Have you ever been in a situation," she sighed. "Where you feel as if you are incapable of doing something alone?"

His mind flew back to the entire duration of the war. Abyssinia's betrayal, his own temporary death, the struggle to stay alive as his country and people were tortured and torn apart. Then it went back even further, to the eve of World War II and the sight of Romano sticking a loaded pistol at his head[6].

"I visited the labs. While you were recovering." The joyous light in Rihana's eyes flickered away at the memory, and she ran a hand over her face, looking very tired. "It's almost like Germany's concentration camps. I don't even want to describe them to you."

"Don't," Ethiopia murmured, waving her off weakly. He had felt the terror and pain his people had gone through for years. For now, his memory was more than enough.

"I can't imagine what they did to you and your people," Rihana pressed on. She sat down in a chair placed next to the bed, eyes staring into the recent past and the horrors that had plagued them during the war. "People are rounded up, usually the young men of every city, and subjected to horrifying experiments. Those who resisted and didn't make it to us were captured and executed. The rest were turned into completely obedient super soldiers.

"You. Me. Djibouti. Eritrea. We all suffered the most during the campaign. We don't know how to recover the super soldier's free will. Our cities are devastated. Our farms have long ago fallen fallow. We won't be able to survive without heavy foreign help these next few years. And you know how well that worked out for Germany."

Merille sighed, a sense of despair falling over him. The rebels had all known long ago that at least some loss of independence would probably be the price they paid to take back control of the country and free their people. It was a price he had been and was still willing to pay. But the task of simply continuing to stay sovereign in the years to come was so daunting that he couldn't help but hesitate for a moment. Germany had been split into two nations and stuck in the middle of the Cold War after World War II. What would happen to him?

"That's why I have proposed that the four of us enter into a full alliance," Somalia forced the first sentence out in a single breath, voice uncertain. "Economically and militarily. Djibouti and his government have already agreed, and Eritrea is close. Your new president wanted your take on the matter before he agreed, however. Despite our past, an alliance is the best idea for us."

Merille froze. An alliance… it was tempting, that was for sure. Before the war, the only country in the Horn of Africa that he'd had good relations with was Djibouti, and Merille wasn't even related to the young African. Somalia and Eritrea, for centuries, had been his enemies. Could they really just forget all of that after a war like this one? It seemed almost too good to be true.

"Somalia—"

"Rihana," his sister corrected gently. Merille's heart leapt in surprise. She was letting him use her human name?

"Rihana," he echoed faintly. "You should know that this is a tough call. But I will join you. Like you said, we must rebuild our land and we can't do it alone. Issues like the Ogaden and Somaliland[7] can be addressed later. I can't imagine what our land looks like now, but—"

Suddenly, the door was flung open, and the music from outside became much clearer. Ethiopia turned to see two new figures enter the room. One was a fifteen-year old boy, with curly black hair cut short, the other a woman in her early twenties. The boy's eyes lit up when they fell upon him, and he quickly sprinted over to Merille's side.

"Merille!" He cried, racing over to embrace the much older nation. "You're safe! I was so worried when I had heard that you'd gone after Abyssinia!"

"Don't worry; I'm just fine, Amir," Merille assured him as he hid a wince from his tender ribs. Djibouti[8] was by far the youngest of the nations in the horn of Africa; he'd been born around mid-1800s compared to the Tesfa siblings, which dated back to the 500s B.C. at the earliest.

"You've told him?" Lebina asked her sister. Rihana nodded, and so the youngest of the Tesfa family went on. "We all went through a lot during this war. I believe that this alliance will bring the stability to Africa that we've always lacked."

"Then it's decided," Merille grinned, grabbing Lebina's hand. The two siblings, who had just previously had been locked in what seemed to be an eternal border conflict, now shared a bond that seemed to transcend all of the centuries of competition between them. "We can discuss the specifics when I fully recover."

The tune switched to a strings version of the Ethiopian national anthem. Now Merille had to ask the question that had been tickling the back of his mind since he'd woken up.

"Who in the world is playing that violin?" He asked. Rihana's expression transformed into one of mild annoyance, while Lebina's became slightly amused and Amir's embarrassed.

"It's a fiddle!" Came a affronted call from outside, the anthem slowing before picking up again.

"Just America," Amir shrugged with a helpless smile [9]. Merille blinked at him, uncomprehending.

"He's been out there for at least the last hour," Rihana explained. "Don't even ask me how he got the violin—"

"Fiddle!" The voice, which Merille now indeed recognized as America's, cut her off.

"Violin past security, but he's been playing it for just as long."

"Well, 's not my fault I need a place to avoid the paparazzi!"

Ethiopia sighed. They were going to have to jump that hurdle now, too, weren't they?

"Well, I can assure you that I haven't been here for half as long." A new person entered the room, who Ethiopia immediately recognized as England. America followed suit, still playing his fiddle. Both were in their military uniforms, contrasting the Africans' civilian outfits.

"We need to discuss some things anyways," America added in, cutting off the anthem in its chorus. He set down the fiddle on the nightstand and began to twirl the bow in his hands. "Mostly to request a report of anything you know about your brother. After you feel well enough to do so, obviously."

The three Africans stiffened. Ethiopia clenched his fists. "Abyssinia is not my brother," he corrected firmly. "He is a monster."

"That isn't our business, I'm afraid," England put in. "We've all heard of your proposed alliance. Congratulations on that, by the way. As it is, we were hoping to use hybrid energy to help your land recover more quickly. But we've been detecting a large amount of it here. I fear that your brother may be the source of or know a lot about its origin."

"You think so?"

"Hybrid energy only started appearing once Abyssinia had come to power. Causation may equal correlation. It's the best lead we have."

"Don't worry," America winked at them as he picked up his fiddle once again. "We'll catch him eventually. It's pretty hard to stay hidden in a world as connected as this one."

Ethiopia couldn't help but envy him. America held an innocence around him that the much more ancient Africans had lost millennia ago. Even as a superpower, he had managed to retain an air of carefreeness about him. How could he pull it off so easily?

England's phone rang, and he checked it.

"It's my Prime Minister," he reported, already heading to the exit. "Sorry. I have to take this."

America nodded, raising the fiddle to his chin. He played a single note, winked at Amir, then, without warning, burst into song:

"If I had wings like Noah's dove

I'd fly the river to the one I love;

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well."

Merille, feeling pretty awkward just watching this display, sent a look to Amir, mouthing: "What is he doing?" The young African shrugged, looking just as lost as they were, and motioned for them to listen.

"If I had a woman who was long and tall,

Moved her body like a cannon ball -

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well.

"I remember one evening, it was drizzling rain,

And in my heart, I felt an aching pain -

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well."

Lebina was nodding to herself, a look of slight understanding on her face. Merille sent her a look of confusion, and she infuriatingly only winked at him and bobbed her head to the beat.

"Muddy river runs muddy and wild,

You can't care the bloody for my unborn child -

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well.

"Just as sure as the birds fly high above,

Life ain't worth living without the one you love -

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well[10]."

America lingered on the last note for a moment, then dropped the fiddle to his side and mock-bowed to them. Pivoting on one foot, he saluted them and ducked out the door without another word.

"You know, I think I'm in the right when I say that America can get a little eccentric at times," Rihana commented, staring at the door as it closed. Merille found himself nodding in agreement as he stood to close the door behind the westerner. "What exactly did he mean to say by that little song?"

"I've never seen him do that before," Amir put in slightly defensively, almost as if he was trying to defend his own reputation. "I didn't even know he could play the violin, and especially not that good."

"You all need to think outside of the box," Lebina declared, sitting on Merille's bed. At her siblings' and friend's confused looks, she elaborated. "Haven't you guys remembered anything from your time as a colony?"

"I try not to," Merille muttered darkly, as Rihana muttered her assent. Amir blushed slightly, fidgeting.

"Papá never let me in on world politics[11]," he confessed. Eritrea sighed.

"Europeans are very passionate artisans," she explained. "Thus when their governments don't want their representatives to say something that they feel they need to tell another country, they tend to use music, poems, or short stories to convey what they're trying to say. I have to admit that I don't know the name of that song, nor what he was trying to get us to understand by it, but it was probably important and something his government doesn't want him flaunting around. But from what I've heard, that style of communication fell out of use around the late 1800s, though I guess I'm not the best person to ask."

Ethiopia nodded to himself, thinking. What exactly was America trying to tell them?

"Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well."

What was he trying to tell them, indeed.

[1]- The siege of Changchun took place in 1948, when several armies of the Chinese Republic were encircled by the Chinese Communist forces. Raqqa is a reference to Chapter 2, and Kaifeng was besieged by the Mongols back in 1127.

[2]- This is referencing the Battle of Baekgang, which took place around 4-5 October 663 A.D. The state of Japan, then Yamato, and their ally, Baekje (one of the three Korean kingdoms currently on the peninsula) suffered a catastrophic defeat against the South Korean kingdom of Silla and the Chinese Tang dynasty. For Baekje, the blow was a knockout that destroyed any chance of the kingdom returning, thus preventing their personification from reviving when China killed him.

[3]- Modern-day names in order are South Korea, North Korea, and Japan.

[4]- Reference to the "Rape of Nanking," an episode of mass murder and mass rape committed by Imperial Japanese troops against the residents of Nanjing, then the capital of China, during the Second Sino-Japanese War in January 1938.

[5]-This is a reference to the original web series. Yessuf belongs to VoidViper.

[6]- In reference to the Italian "colonization" of Ethiopia in 1935-37. The King of Ethiopia pleaded the League of Nations to help them fight off Italy, but they eventually refused to intervene.

[7]- The Ogaden is an Ethiopian territory that is ethnically Somali, and Somaliland is a territory of Somalia's that has been trying to declare independence since 1991. For the sake of simplicity, both are not personified.

[8]- France, Djibouti's colonizer, originally named him Rochet Bonnefoy, but Ethiopia changed it to Amir Miyir when Djibouti became independent. As a result, the Europeans refer to him as Rochet, and the Africans as Amir.

[9]- There is a pretty major American military base in Djibouti, so they've met and are actually pretty good friends.

[10]- "Fare Thee Well" is an American folk song. Of course, America is using this song as a metaphor to try and convey something to the African nations. Y'all just have to figure out what ;-).

[11]- Djibouti was France's colony. I do like to think that they have a close relationship, since France took him in practically the day he was born, thus Djibouti calling him "Papá."