Dawn of the New World Order

by BlazeSilvermageVIII

Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, a number of nations have hidden their true selves. They have fooled the world, they have manipulated events and no one even suspected. Now, these nations will tear off their masks and show the world what they can really do. They will make a new world order. They will change the world... or die trying. Current arc: Schism

83. Mourning the Old Days

Thanks for the reviews! Once again, I'm sorry for the delay. I think I'm gonna give up on saying that I'll update earlier. But in my defense this time, this chapter was really HARD to write. I can't tell you how many times I rewrote it or edited some parts. Not to mention how this chapter is over 20,000 words long. I know it's a lot, but I kinda wanted to make up for the constant delays. Well, I hope you enjoy! Now, on with the show!

Well…

That took care of that.

Chuckling to himself again, Turkey relaxed back into his big comfy chair and resettled into the comforting yet slightly boring silence of the dimly lit room that was present before those two morons barged into his lovely abode, even as the big confident smirk never left his face. Ah… Man, it felt so weird to have everything so quiet and… peaceful now. Sure, it was like that before the break-in, but it was still weird before.

It's almost a little boring…

Screw it. It was boring.

Not that that's a problem he couldn't fix. If he's ever feeling bored or just plain wanted to rub his bloody victory in those two poor saps faces, he could always just use the mic for intercom. And if he wanted to see the wonderful show going on down below, then he could always just watch the security feed and watch his pal rip them apart.

You know, that guy truly surprised Turkey when he showed up at his doorstep. Like, super surprised, he was even left gawking at his friend's new appearance, or body rather, for about ten long seconds. He rather liked the new 'do. Of course, if you. He's a completely different person now, an amalgamation.

Something beyond human comprehension.

Turkey sniggered as he scooped up a thermos of coffee he had left in a nearby table, filled of course with a huge amount of sugar. Oh, he's always wanted to use the zingo button, particularly on Egypt, especially on Egypt.

His sniggering then transformed into wicked cackling as he banged his fist on one of the arms of his chair. God, you should've seen the look on their faces when the floor just opened from under them. Seriously, he perfectly witnessed and caught the moment of 'Oh, shit' on their mugs before they vanished to the darkness below to endure a vicious game from one of Turkey's dear friends.

You know, he never would've really expected Egypt and Hungary to have grown into such a weird but competent team, like, never ever did he expect that and Turkey normally had good foresight. Who knew?

Then again, it's not like they're the most bizarre pair Turkey had ever seen in his many years in this gig. In such a diverse group of interesting people, once in a while there's bound to be two people who have never interacted with each other much before suddenly form some interesting friendships or interactions.

Friendships…

…

…

Huh.

…

Now then… Should he continue with the trip down memory lane?

He smiled.

Yes. Yes he definitely should. Just because Egypt and Hungary were too preoccupied with that guy to watch the flashes of the past, didn't mean that Turkey couldn't do it himself. Oh, it'd be fun. Yeah, that'd be lots of fun. Why not go relish the nostalgia and laugh at the good old times now that they're at this point in the war?

This time, since he's in this whole friendship spirit, how about we go take a look at some of the many heart He always enjoyed seeing the camaraderie and friendship among his comrades. Seeing it always warmed his heart

/ / / / /

Deciding to join the Order was easy enough to do. They welcomed him with open arms and South Vietnam felt himself feeling a new burst of confidence, although at the same time admittedly feeling unnerved, at all the thing he's leaning. He really owed America for giving him this opportunity. The hard part was adjusting to his 'unique' situation.

There's getting used to the 'real' versions of people he thought he once knew, or at least had figured out. But that ended up being a little easier than the other thing. South Vietnam got a much warmer welcome than he anticipated. He could feel that they indeed wanted him with them. Some of them, namely Hong Kong and North Korea, even offered. You know, to start making up for the whole deception thing.

Speaking of visits and staying over, that brought him to the other issue…

Showing up his face again anywhere was unacceptable. That's obvious enough and didn't need any further explaining. So he had to stay semi-secluded with America, since he was the nation who went through the trouble of (to his surprise) begging to let South Vietnam in the Order and saving his life, meaning that South Vietnam was basically America's responsibility.

America himself was the one who told him this. He seemed rather happy to be given the task. He always seemed happy with South Vietnam, even if his smile and his eyes were often accompanied sadness and regret. He handled South Vietnam's fits and screams and wails with all the patience of a monk while a fly was buzzing around his head.

I still can't believe you went that far for me. Am I really that special? Do I mean that much to you? Of all the people you've been forced to help screw over to varying degrees, was I… really the one that mattered the most to you? I… I…

You don't deserve to die like that. You don't deserve to die period.

He decided on staying in California, as well as in Texas whenever he wanted America's company (which was a lot). A lot of his people seemed to have moved to those two places especially, according to America. And he could feel it – feel them. And he wanted to be with some piece of his home, his identity. He wanted to at least have that comfort while he waited for the day he'll finally stop living as a walking, living, talking corpse.

Heh. South Vietnam chuckled to him, though it came out hollow. Bitter. Wasn't it something? This… The current nature of his existence. He's dead, really was, but his soul won't realize that as long as the magic forcefully kept it chained down to his body.

His chuckling gradually evolved into full-blown broken laughter, which echoed in his currently empty house. Oh, but he digressed…

Unsurprisingly, even to himself, his people quickly grew on him. He always loved how their faces would lit up in joy and relief when he spoke in their native language, realizing that he too was an immigrant (well, he essentially was, wasn't he?) and have suffered the horrors of war.

They understood. They understood unlike the hippies, the traitors and American socialists and communists. Victory of the communist government was nothing to celebrate over. There was no real winner. They could erase the damage, destroy or ignore the proof of how the North was no better, improve the country's situation.

But it will not be the paradise the communists have promised.

There won't true freedom.

The government will be just as corrupt and close minded as the South's was (yes, he'll admit that much).

Communism will not magically elevate the people living below the poverty line. Many poor will remain poor, especially the minorities.

People will still flock to the other countries rather than remain in their home of lesser opportunities.

Only here will they be able to be truly free to express themselves, to practice any religion they desire, to criticize without 'disappearing' or getting punished.

South Vietnam found himself spending a lot of his time helping his people adjust and assimilate to their new home. He had helped teach the humans English, America would come help out too every now and then in his free time (and to offer comfort South Vietnam when he'd inevitably break down in tears on the way home), he would help them find decent jobs, teach them the differences in culture of Vietnam and America, sometimes babysit their children.

As it turned out, contrary to his pessimistic expectations of himself despite how quickly he accepted the job, South Vietnam was pretty good at taking care of kids. Granted, he was always the one better at talking to the little ones than North ever did. Sweet, quiet, socially awkward, worry-wart, haughty, self-righteous North North North NORTH NORTH I WILL KI-

He was doing a lot more to help his people than North will ever have done.

His people accepted his help with many smiles, tears and countless words of thanks which South Vietnam would humbly accept with an awkward smile while he felt his own face heat up but not in a bad way. He would wonder, wistfully, if some part of them knew what he was, despite the fact that, technically, he didn't exist anymore. But they still smiled at him so brightly, South Vietnam had to wonder...

Maybe they didn't know, but they knew that he was someone who they could always trust, who understood their pain more than anyone else.

It gave him hope. It gave him this – this odd feeling of euphoria and victory. It made him want to laugh and laugh and break anything he could find. See? See, Lien? You may have taken my land, my people, but you will never NEVER be able to take away my people, the ones who see through your hypocrisy!

He liked it. He liked them. They ended up helping him as much as he helped them.

But it'd be idiotic of him to give them all the credit. No. How could he ever forget? The reason why he's here right now, still walking on this damn earth, talking with his people and helping them however he could, and especially why he's regaining his sanity was all because of America. South Vietnam was indebted to him far more and most of all.

It… did take some getting used to always seeing the serious but dry-witted person America really was, a side that South Vietnam thought was only reserved for the most serious of situations. But it wasn't difficult or anything. Serious or not, it's still America. And the real America would always be there for him, which was more than what he could ask for.

Not to the point of fussing over him, America didn't constantly ask him if he was alright (they both knew that deep down, he wasn't). But he always knew when something was wrong, and he always knew how to help South Vietnam through it.

He sat on the sofa of 'his' warm home in Texas, his eyes staring blankly at nothing even as the TV was on in front of him, and he was wringing his hands as he dealt with the maelstrom of negative emotions in his heart. He had just heard on the news. South Vietnam still couldn't believe it. How did the years go by so fast?

"I'm home!" America called as the sound of a door closing followed.

Miraculously, South Vietnam managed to find his voice to politely respond as always, perhaps compelled by habit. "W-Welcome back, Alfred! How are… things?"

"Not bad, actually. Anyway, do you have a minute? 'Cause I think I need to…" America stopped right as he came into to view to come face to face with a grieving South Vietnam, and he was immediately worried. "Hey, what's wrong? You– You look…"

This time, South Vietnam couldn't answer. His eyes drifted over to the television screen, hoping that would answer the question.

"What's going on?" America demanded as he strolled over, his eyes darting between South Vietnam and the television, only to then stop to stare in shock at the screen. "O-Oh… You… found out about... oh."

"Thailand's king died." South Vietnam's voice was quiet, cracking in the middle, only a little above a whisper. Despite this, America lifted his head and gazed at him, first with surprised widened eyes before they hardened.

"Yeah, I know. I heard about it earlier." America replied grimly, though his tone implied no grief. "Thai's taking it pretty hard."

'Oh, I can imagine' He wanted to reply, but he couldn't find his voice as he briefly mouthed the unspoken words. Instead he turned the TV off and devoted energy and strength to push his grief for Thailand down to where all his regrets, rage and laments about the War resided, always trying to claw their way back into the light to tear apart his sanity like before.

"It's too bad. He wasn't that bad of a guy. But at least he managed to live a long life; eighty eight's a lot for a human." Sighing, America looked to the side, arms still crossed. "But I don't blame Thai a single bit for grieving over him. I… I… can understand grieving over…"

The rest of the words remained unspoken as America fell into somber silence. South Vietnam thought that he had a very good guess to what he meant by that, but he respected his friend and did not try to comment on it. Instead, South Vietnam focused on the question in front of his mind, the one that's been eating him way, taunting him, killing him…

"Is he okay?" South Vietnam had managed to ask shakily, quietly. But the answer was obvious, wasn't it?

For several long quiet seconds there was no answer from America, he only stared down at the floor with an unreadable expression. The silence was too suffocating for South Vietnam's comfort. When he slowly began to think that the other didn't hear him and opened his mouth to speak again, louder, America finally spoke.

"No. No, he's not," Came the blunt reply. America wasn't normally one to mince words, even though he never liked hurting South Vietnam.

Swallowing his tears, South Vietnam chewed his lip and his hands formed into tight fists. "I-I see…"

How bad was it? Was he crying non-stop since he was hit with the news? Were the tears streaming down his face and his sobs unheard while he sat in his house, all alone? Or was he just sitting there somewhere, deathly still and blank puffy eyes staring at nothing as he refused to let himself break?

"I mean, I haven't seen him myself, but that's what I heard from Philippines." America then added as his ex, a cup of coffee in one of his hands. "I don't doubt it though. Poor guy's probably crying his eyes out. He…"

He suddenly stopped at the beginning of his next sentence, and turned wide-eyed at the glass-eyed South Vietnam who was staring at him in slight curiosity, before averting his gaze again with a pained face.

"Shit. I'm not helping at all, am I?" America cursed, now becoming pained in guilt.

"N-No. Please don't. It's not your fault," South Vietnam shook his head, mustering up a smile for him. "I was the one who asked, and I appreciate you telling me this. Thank you."

"Even if it's breaking your heart?"

"It's not that bad," South Vietnam protested weakly. Okay, that was obviously a lie. A big lie. But he hated being seen like this. "There's no way of telling me that wouldn't end in pain. I just hope Kasem is alright. He always liked keeping all his grief inside him where no one could see them. It's not healthy."

It's always nice to see him smile, no matter how little or broad they were. But it wasn't right, no, it wasn't right for him to force himself to smile and say 'no worries' when he's so obviously in pain.

"Yeah, I hope so too. It's never good to always keep your feelings cooped up." America nodded in agreement, his tone unmistakably sympathetic. Yes, he realized that he and the others would know a lot about that. "Luckily, it seems his friends are going to make sure he's okay. I'll try to help him out too, if I can."

South Vietnam muttered a very grateful 'thank you' and nodded. They soon fell into a grim silence again with nothing but South Vietnam's stifled sniffling and America shifting uncomfortably being heard, that is until America spoke up again.

"I know you liked the guy, even though a lot of us don't, but maybe this is for the best." America's words were far from soft, but were not harsh. The blonde was frowning, but his eyes still showed sympathy. "Look at it this way, dude. We're only like a couple years away from Judgment Year, so at least this way we won't have to kill the guy and Thailand won't suffer. You won't have to worry about that."

South Vietnam took a few moments to mull over that in his dazed state, then was completely startled back to reality when the truth of those words hit him. His eyes went wide. Yes… Yes that's right. This way… He and the others wouldn't be accomplices to the king's death. Thailand won't be angry at him for letting his king get murdered for the sake of the Order. It might not mean much, considering what South Vietnam wanted to do, but it'll make things less worse.

It was awful, he knew. To be thankful that Thailand's beloved king died. But it's better to die by natural causes than by the New World Order.

"Yes… Yes, you're absolutely right, Alfred." South Vietnam breathed, feeling the corners of his mouth turn up slightly into a sad yet relieved smile. "At least this way I won't have to be an accomplice to his beloved king's murder."

"Yeah," America said, smiling slightly. "That's one thing we can take out of our to-do list."

South Vietnam nodded and said nothing more to that.

The silence became lot better to bear this time, but the guilt still plagued him in his heart and mind. He could not simply get over it. He–

"…Be honest with me, Chinh. It's not that old relic you're crying over, are you?" America accused bluntly, his eyes now arrowed. South Vietnam nearly flinched at the rude manner he referred the king, that wouldn't fly well over in Thailand. He didn't care anymore though. "It's more than that. I'm right, aren't I?"

South Vietnam nearly choked in surprise at how America caught on, but he composed himself as he nodded. His face was blank. "…Yes. I guess it was too obvious."

America's hard gaze softened, and he slowly went and took the seat next to South Vietnam. "What's with you, Chinh? Is this cause Thai's hurting or…?"

"Yes, that's correct," South Vietnam replied immediately, he found himself not struggling to breathe anymore. He fidgeted his fingers. "But it's a bit more complicated than that, Alfred. I feel like despicable trash."

"What do you mean?"

"Kasem loved his king, he really… I-I don't feel the same way, but he cared for that man so much. " South Vietnam began with a low voice, and he unknowingly raked his nails on his palms as his voice grew louder with intensity. "And now I'm here, far away from him. I can't see him. I can't see his tears. I can't hear his sobbing. I don't know how hard he's grieving. And I can't be there to help him and now he thinks he lost someone else precious to him and I can't take it! I can't take it knowing that he's hurting and there's nothing I can do but sit here!"

He inhaled sharply and let his head drop after pouring out all his anger to the one who was always there to hear it, to listen and try to help however he could even thought right now, in the end, there's nothing else they could do but wait. And that's what he'll end up doing. Wait. Wait to get justice and to meet with someone who'll probably reject the person he had become.

Tired, tired of everything, South Vietnam finally allowed himself to cry.

"Hey."

What could he do if Thailand did reject him? He didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to think that Thailand wouldn't understand. Please understand. Please, please, please, please–

"Hey, Chinh." America called out even louder, and South Vietnam was startled out of his thoughts at America grabbing his shoulders. "Listen to me."

Hesitantly, South Vietnam lifted his head up to meet America's gaze, and he was met with serious but remorseful blue eyes.

"I won't sugarcoat it. I can't take you to see him, not even just to watch him. I'm sorry, but we can't take that risk for multiple reasons." America stated in a tone that barely concealed his feelings of guilt regarding the matter. "I know this is hard for you. Believe me, I do. But we've come so far, Chinh. We've got a couple years left, and then you can see him again."

South Vietnam gnawed on his lip, and averted his gaze, his heart pained. "I-I… I know."

"It's not the first time Thai's grieved for a human he was really fond of, and you weren't always there to grieve him with, were you?"

South Vietnam's response to that was only to swallow, further clench his fists and murmured a very quiet. "…No."

"Besides…" A ghost of a smile flickered across America's face. "Even if you're 'gone', he still seems to think you're with him, or at least watching over him."

South Vietnam felt his mouth drop in disbelief, and maybe, just maybe, he . "Wha- Wait, really?"

Thailand– He thought that South Vietnam's watching over him? He dared let his heart soar at the thought. Truly? It almost seems too good to be true.

"Yup. He told me this one time at the anniversary of you-know-what." America's eyes darkened at the term, but it disappeared just as it appeared. His lips twitched upwards. "Remember, dude? It's… Yeah, it sounds corny as hell. But you know how superstitious Thai is. He really does seem to believe it."

He was speechless. Did Thailand truly deeply believed that? Yes, he's superstitious, but… South Vietnam felt his face warm, along with his heart. "He thinks I'm there with him? But- But I'm not. I– Does he honestly believe that?"

"I told you, yes. Jeez, I wouldn't be kidding about something like this." America sighed, but his lips finally formed a small smile. "And he never seems to stop believing that."

South Vietnam was so stunned by this information that he was completely unaware of the tears falling down his face. "I… I don't know what to…"

"So… the point is, even if you're not there with him, he doesn't think you abandoned him." America said softly, reaching out a hand and resting in on South Vietnam's shoulder. "He probably thinks you're there, grieving with him. He knows that you'd never stop caring or ever truly leave him."

Even after what happened in the Vietnam War? Even then? The hope gleaned from such a discovery made South Vietnam sob in joy.

"He… Oh, I can't… Yes… I guess… I can imagine him thinking that I'm there with him as a spirit, watching and smiling even though he can't see me." South Vietnam chuckled breathlessly, feeling a sad smile tug at his lips. "He was always such a romantic, saying all kinds of sappy things..."

"In other words, you don't really have anything to feel guilty over." America told him earnestly, his smile broadening just a little at the sight of South Vietnam's own. "Even if you're not actually there with him, he thinks you are. And plus, you know what lovers say when they say goodbye or whatever. 'A part of me will always be with you,' or something like that. Well, maybe there is. Here you are, crying your heart out like Thai is."

The former nation's eyes widened at this, just as he realized the tears dripping on his clothes, as well as the fact that, yes, he was crying.

"Yeah… Yes, you're right. I guess I am grieving with him."

"Good to hear. So, don't worry about anything, okay? Everything's gonna be fine."

South Vietnam nodded fervently, his confidence restored.

America sighed in relief. If South Vietnam didn't know anything, he'd say that he didn't look far from crying as well. "I'm glad. Are… you starting to feel better now, dude? You know, now that you know about…"

"I guess so. "Thank you, Alfred. I'm serious, thank you so much."

"Come on, let's get you nice some chocolate ice cream."

"Do you promise not to deliver any shocking news while I'm in the middle of swallowing this time?"

"Jeez, that was one time!"

They laughed like the good friends they've become over the years they lived together, and suddenly, South Vietnam didn't feel so worried about his future anymore.

/ / / / /

Malawi knew what he was doing was crazy. Maybe even stupid.

He wasn't a moron despite what some people might say. He didn't forget how South Africa laughed at their faces, how he callously threatened to nuke Lesotho and Swaziland as if all the time spent with two kids and all the times he spent fussing over them meant nothing. He didn't forget how South Africa enjoyed seeing Namibia in pain. That same cruelty could easily extend to him, in spite of his history with South Africa.

This was dangerous. Like, really, really, dangerous. Still, it hardly deterred as he hastily looked for South Africa. The others were starting to leave, so he didn't have a lot of time left.

South Africa wouldn't throw all that history away like nothing too, not after how Malawi had stuck up for him in the past… right? N-No, he wouldn't. There had to be more than that. There's always more to South Africa than meets the eye. Malawi had seen how he was in the Apartheid. Under all that hostility, xenophobia and contradictions was a tormented soul.

Malawi also wanted to know why South Africa's like this. It was insane, but he didn't feel nearly as terrified as he felt curious and maybe even intrigued. Yeah, he's angry and pretty upset that South Africa had done this to him. But he needed answers, and hopefully his old friend will give them to him.

South Africa wouldn't have actually bombed him if he hadn't signed, would he? Malawi signed because he wasn't stupid, he pretty much guessed that there's no point fighting and he's got enough problems in his land already. But… But there had to be more than that, right?

He didn't tell anyone what he was going to do. Why bother? It's not like they would understand.

Not to mention he seriously doubted that anyone would take his decision to want to help South Africa well.

And so he carefully went out to find South Africa, and when he saw the direction where Namibia stormed out of, Malawi knew where to go.

When he heard South Africa address him from the other side of the door, Malawi nearly had a heart attack from shock. And he may or may not have started panicking right there, so much that he practically stood there frozen solid like a statue long enough for South Africa to call out to him again.

"I never took you for a coward."

Malawi instantly forgot about his so-called fear when that remark reached his ears, and the old warrior from within him reared its angry head at the insult. He growled. He may have fallen, he may be pathetic compared to how he was back then, but he wasn't a coward. Blinded by red, he swung open the doors and scowled at the person who called him a coward…

South Africa smiled at him. Malawi felt his anger dissipate at that moment, seeing that the other didn't even look the slightest bit angry but he kept his guard up.

It was… weird seeing so South Africa so at ease and smiling with Malawi's violation of privacy while DRC kept shooting him terrifying glares and growling threats. The fake South Africa would probably fly into a fit of rage, and Malawi didn't see why there wouldn't be any consequences with the real South Africa. But here he was, smiling like nothing

"No need to be so rough on Chisulo, DRC. He's a loyal friend, he would never lie to me, and no harm will come to him."

The sincere words took Malawi completely by surprise.

He couldn't believe it. Part of him was worried that he might be lying, but Malawi couldn't believe that. There's just this undeniable sincerity in South Africa's words and in the way he smiled at him. He meant those words. H-He… Did he really believe in Malawi that much…?

It turned out he did.

Malawi might've rambled on for a little longer than necessary, explaining that he didn't want to join the Order as much as he wanted to just want to be of help. He didn't think that'd be of much use as a member, and even less if he'd have to do any of the stuff South Africa's been doing. He hoped that South Africa wouldn't find any of that suspicious and see that Malawi really was being sincere, but he was worried for nothing.

South Africa laughed. He clapped Malawi on the shoulder and happily accepted him. Malawi couldn't even begin to describe his relief.

DRC still found it necessary to stare at him in what had to be suspicion and distrust. Malawi would've been more irritated if South Africa hadn't assured the man that, yes, Malawi could definitely be trusted and there's nothing to worry about. That, and when South Africa later asked him to leave to check if the other nations were making trouble and give him and Malawi some time to... you know, catch up.

So they did, and Malawi found many surprises along the way.

"So!" South Africa smiled in what could only be excitement, releasing the skinny nation to walk over to the meeting table and pat one of the seats. "Let's talk."

Not having any reason to refuse, Malawi mutely and admittedly a little warily took the seat while South Africa took the one left of that one.

"I see you're still a little nervous around me," South Africa noted in a casual tone like he was discussing the weather.

Malawi tensed in his seat, it almost sounded like an accusation. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all! It's okay, I don't blame you," South Africa waved it off casually, "In fact, I'd actually be disappointed in you if you didn't. You're crazy, but not stupid."

"Um… thanks?" Malawi replied awkwardly, shrugging. There it was again, he called Malawi crazy. He looked at South Africa worriedly. "Aside from the obvious, is there another reason why I shouldn't trust you?"

South Africa looked pensive as he stared up at the ceiling. "I don't think so. I never planned on hurting you or anything. I doubt you'll ever give me a reason to."

The way he said all that with ease and without the slightest trace of worry or any other undertones, took Malawi aback by surprised once again and he considered it pretty… touching, to hear that from South Africa.

"But enough about that," South Africa declared. He leaned his head on his palm on the table, looking weirdly eager. "Go ahead. Ask, and I'll answer."

"Okay then," Malawi shifted on his chair before he glared at South Africa. "Since when did you put on the whole act?"

"Since I joined, which, if I remember right, I already mentioned to everyone when that was." South Africa answered smoothly. "All the other encounters before that were a hundred percent genuine."

"Really?"

"I have no reason to lie to you now."

"Fine." Malawi huffed. He still wasn't so sure about that. "…Why?"

South Africa cheerfully hummed. "I'm afraid you're going to be a bit more specific, Malawi. I can think of a lot of 'why' questions everyone would want to ask."

"You know what I mean," Malawi narrowed his eyes, trying not to sound hurt. "Why did you lie to me?"

"You sound bitter." The other nation noted rather blankly.

"Well, yeah, duh." Malawi snorted, not helping the resentment seeping into his voice. "You lied to me too, Chris."

It's probably his imagination, but he could've sworn he saw South Africa's smile falter for a brief second. "I didn't have much of a choice. And despite that, you came to me, wanting to help and understanding me instead of understandably shutting me off like everyone else."

"That doesn't mean I've forgiven you, you know."

South Africa's smile fell and the expression that replaced it was hard to describe. It looked like a frown but Malawi couldn't pinpoint the emotion that's causing it along with the unreadable look in his eyes. He almost looked… confused? Worried? Maybe even… pained?

"I see," South Africa said in a disturbingly emotionless voice. "I'm sorry presuming otherwise. I guess I got overexcited."

"You… Do you… feel bad for lying to me?" Malawi asked.

"I never enjoyed it." South Africa said airily. "And I… suppose it felt harder lying to you than the others."

Frustrated at what he felt was South Africa deliberately avoiding the question, he became blunter. "Why can't you give me a more direct answer?"

"I've very rarely felt anything resembling genuine remorse my whole life, Malawi. You'll have to forgive me if I don't know how to pinpoint it well and describe it. And I know better than to assume that saying 'I'm sorry for lying to you' will automatically make everything better."

Malawi frowned at this. "Wha– Are you really that heartless?"

"I think what happened to Namibia and the wonderful screams you've no doubt heard could answer that question." South Africa answered gleefully with a cruel smirk on his face, emotionlessness gone. "But ja, I'm what you might call a monster. I tricked everyone I knew with a façade and happily watched their reactions to my cruel betrayal. I like watching people I 'love' writhe in agony. I love watching people, innocent or not, die in horrific ways. And I just love engaging in cannibalism whenever I can. If that's not a monster, then I don't know what is!"

It took a bit effort from Malawi to not gulp as South Africa laughed loudly over it. He may have decided to come here to see if he could continue being friends with South Africa, but this whole new side of him was going to need a lot of getting used to. But…

"Is… Is that really all there is to it, though? Are you really just a monster?" Malawi dared ask, ignoring the sweat beading down his beck.

Instantly, South Africa stopped laughing and stared oddly at Malawi. "Wh-What?"

There's something weird in how he sounded genuinely baffled by that.

He tried not to feel uncomfortable under that stare. "W-Well, you're obviously not a good person. None of us are. But I don't think its right to just write you off as a monster. I mean, a monster wouldn't have accepted me, right? A real monster wouldn't have cared and rubbed this whole deception in my face or call me a fool for trusting you. I just… I just think there's a lot more to it than that."

He expected to get laughed at his face despite how South Africa's been nice to him so far, but like everything else today, he was surprised to see that it didn't happen.

"You know…" South Africa began with all the cheer gone from his voice. "Technically speaking, you don't know me that well. You haven't seen the things I did, and you might not see or hear about the things I will do and savor every last drop of. If you did, then you wouldn't be so optimistic."

"Maybe, but, in case you kind of forgot," Malawi rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You're talking to someone who just told you that he wanted to help his friend, who he just discovered to be insane, with getting revenge and that he wanted to know the real you. I don't think I'd really care about any of that…"

He really didn't. It's not his business what happens to other nations or their people. It's too bad, but England needs to go. And as far other nations, well… It'll be a tragedy, what'll probably happen to the other guys South Africa and his allies might be after, but that's war. Malawi couldn't bring himself to feel that guilty or ashamed about it. He had enough of his own problems with his problematic country.

Already too used to being surprised, Malawi didn't even suspect that South Africa might continue arguing with him. So he didn't even flinch when South Africa's expression morphed into one of surprise for several seconds before the smirk returned, along with the laughing.

"Ha! That's right. I can't believe I forgot who I'm talking to," Guffawing, he smirked almost knowing at Malawi. "A fellow lunatic."

"Who are you calling a–"

"Oh, you're too cute, Malawi," South Africa practically cooed, clapping the nation in question's cheeks affectionately, to the latter's annoyance. "I'm so happy you decided to help us. The others don't deserve to have your support."

Just so you know, Malawi wasn't blushing, not at all. He shifted again, confused on who 'won' the argument, but he supposed it didn't matter that much. Either way, Malawi will get to know South Africa better, right? He'll reach his own conclusion and maybe prove him wrong eventually. Either way, he felt like he'd learned more about him already.

So South Africa was a sadist, plain simple, probably one of the worst. He's fully aware of this and he almost seemed to brag about it. But he happily accepted Malawi with no apparently no strings attached, which did seem a little suspicious to the more cynical part of himself, but the rest of him didn't care that much. He still needed to know more about… all this. He needed to be completely sure.

"Yeah, well, it's gonna take some time for me to… you know, wrap my head around all this, and forgive you."

This time, the smile didn't vanish. "I understand. Guess I'll have to make it up to you then…"

"That's nice to hear. But there's more I have to ask," Malawi cut in sharply, which South Africa thankfully didn't seem to mind to. "Did you seriously plant bombs in my land without me knowing? Would you have bombed me if I didn't sign?"

"Me? Put bombs in you? Why, I'd never do that!" South Africa gasped dramatically, as if offended, and then simply laughed like nothing. "If I wanted a demonstration, I would've gone with Zimbabwe or Somalia and enjoyed the show… or maybe Swaziland if I wanted more shock value."

Malawi supposed he should comment about that, but he could care less right now. "S-So you didn't–"

"In your case, it was a bluff. I promise you that. You were never in danger."

"But… Why? Why me?"

"I knew you'd be smart enough to not resist and become part of our glorious New World Order. And plus, how could I ever be so cruel to you?" There was a disturbing glimmer of adoration in South Africa's brown eyes. "You, one of the few friends I had during the Apartheid?"

"You say that, but," Malawi gnawed on his lip, dreading this next question. "What would've happened if I didn't sign?"

He half-expected to see that indescribably emotionless face again at being asked that question, that South Africa didn't expect him to say that either, but he didn't. if anything, the grin seemed to broaden even more.

"Aw, don't worry about that," To Malawi's bafflement, South Africa happily patted his head. "For you, and just for you, I would've gone with a more peaceful approach."

Malawi stared at him, certain that he looked completely befuddled. "How?"

South Africa's eyes were practically glimmering. "Why, by telling you about all the wonderful benefits you'll have, which you now also have thanks to you signing, by becoming part of our wondrous New World Order."

"What benefits?"

"Healing, reconstruction, repairs, and most of all, peace!" South Africa declared proudly, spreading out his arms. "You see, Malawi, I don't know what you were imagining.p, but we aren't an empire. The New World Order is bent on crushing the status quo and creating a new world where we can all leave in peace and happiness. And that includes you and everyone else in this damn continent."

"You mean – You're going to… fix us?" Malawi muttered slowly in disbelief.

"Basically, ja. In fact, we're already having people over in your countries, now under our domain, solve all your problems."

"I-I… What? What? But– But how–?"

"Think, Malawi." There was a crazed look in South Africa's eyes as he went and grabbed Malawi's shoulders. "Your economy's been improving these last years, but now our help, it'll soar in just months! You eventually won't have to heavily depend on other nations for aid. Your unemployment rate will plummet to the ground, your people's education will improve, schools with have better materials and the attendance rate will rise. AIDS will disappear. Deforestation won't be a problem. Your government won't be corrupt anymore."

South Africa was going so fast that it's getting hard for Malawi to keep up. "W-Whoa, Chris. This… This almost sounds too good to be true, I…"

"This isn't a joke!" South Africa snapped, startling Malawi. "You'll finally have more meat on those skinny bones of yours than you've had in years, you'll get less colds from your economy, you won't ever have to worry about getting sick or going hungry ever again, you can walk your streets without. Your boss won't ever bother you again. I promise."

It sounded like something from a dream. All his problems will disappear like that, after so many years? It shouldn't be that easy to do it but South Africa sounded so confident of it, had been so sincere to him, that Malawi had a hard time doubting anything no matter how ludicrous it really was.

"…Why?" Was the only thing Malawi could say in the face of… all of this.

"Because that's what the Order wants, a better world," South Africa said simply with a gentler smile. "But I do really want to help you. I even personally made sure that they start fixing your country first."

Malawi stared at him in shock. "You– You'd really do that for me? Even though I didn't really know the–"

"We were always friends," South Africa cut him off, and out of nowhere, that emotionlessness was back. "I hate my neighbors. I hate everyone here. I hate my people. They could all burn in hell for all I care. But you? I would never hate. Unlike the other way around, you do have reason to hate me. But you don't. We can never hate each other."

He swallowed, too many emotions welling up. "You really mean that?"

There was that smile again, warm and friendly as the old South Africa. "Of course I do."

"I… I don't know what to say." Malawi stammered, feeling torn between breaking down in tears or laughing in relief. He wanted to do both.

"You don't have to say anything." South Africa assured him, "Your friendship as a fellow madman is enough."

Oh good God, here come the tears.

"B-But then, why didn't you…?

"Huh? Oh! You want to know why I didn't tell you this earlier?" South Africa finished in an overly sweet voice, and he patted Malawi's head again. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't have shown any favoritism towards you at the meeting. The others would've gotten suspicious and you'd probably end up isolated."

Oh, Malawi didn't doubt that. He didn't doubt that at all. He probably would've had trouble believing it at first as well.

Malawi was still having a little trouble processing all this. "W-Well, yeah, but that's not I meant. I mean, I wouldn't really care but… Anyway, why didn't you mention any of this peace and stuff back at the meeting?"

South Africa tilted his head, ever smiling. "Hm?"

"I mean, maybe if you toned down the fear and brutality and instead tried to show how good it'd be for everyone to hop on board, especially how a lot of us would kill to get ourselves out of our messes. It could have saved you the trouble, you know.

"Ah! There are actually two good reasons for that," South Africa brightly stated. "First is that I doubt anyone would be willing to believe a word coming from the quintet of newly-revealed liars. If you were hesitant before talking to me, imagine what the others must feel."

"Oh…" Malawi hadn't thought of that. "I guess you're right. But then what's the other–

"Because scaring the shit out of people is fun!" Suddenly yelled South Africa maniacally, nearly sending Malawi jumping from his chair.

Of course that's the other reason…

Despite himself and that scare, Malawi snorted. "Oh, I can see that."

"Well, there you have it." South Africa looked a little smug. "I answered all your questions. I assume I have a little more trust from you now, I hope?"

Malawi nodded mutely, still reeling from everything.

South Africa pumped his fist, cheering. "Eish! I knew it. I knew you wouldn't disappoint in any way. Someone as crazy as you never would."

At this point, Malawi's curiosity just about had it with that. "What's with that, anyway? Why do you keep calling me crazy?"

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me that it's never crossed your mind, old pal!" South Africa smirked mischievously and nudged Malawi with his elbow as if he's supposed to be getting some kind of hidden meaning that he's not getting. "You're obviously just as crazy as this magnificent bliksem!"

"What are you talking about?" Malawi asked in puzzlement. He really didn't get it.

"Still don't get it? Fine, let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?" South Africa suggested dreamily.

Malawi wasn't sure if he should feel intrigued or worried.

"Remember, Chisulo? Almost everyone hated me back at the Apartheid, they hated me, even though it wasn't my fault and it's thanks to England and the Netherlands that my people were like that in the first place. I didn't choose my government. I couldn't help my own madness. Most of the nations abandoned me, shut me off. They didn't even try to reach out to me, they just put sanctions instead."

"Y-Yes, of course I remember." Then he realized something. "But wait– Didn't you have–

"True. I had the other members, but they hardly had the time or the ability to drop by to see how I was doing. No one in Africa wanted anything to do with me." South Africa said flatly, but as he looked again at Malawi straight in the eye, the emotionlessness was slowly replaced with joy. "…No one except you."

Malawi still didn't get it. He raised an eyebrow. "…That's right. Is there… something wrong about that?

South Africa chuckled softly at that. "Oh no, it's not bad, not bad at all! It's why I like you so much. You were there for me. You hung out with me when no one else could or wanted to. You argued with everyone else who called out on it, hilariously called them out on their hypocrisy, and ignored them even as they threatened to isolate you too."

It felt tempting to laugh at the memories. "I remember. But what's so crazy about–"

"Ooh! And how can I forget about the surprise plot twist that your president was helping the ANC all along?" South Africa clasped his hands together in delight. "You know, back when they were actually reliable. I know you had a hand by maybe begging your totalitarian boss to help them."

Malawi rubbed the back of his head with a bright blush covering his face. "W-Well, I wouldn't say I begged. But I wanted to help you, it didn't feel right to just–"

"Exactly. Against all advice, all warnings, and all threats you continued to be a Nazi's friend and even helped him," South Africa cut in eagerly, his grin wide and crazed. "You even secretly helped him tear down the stupid regime that's responsible for all his suffering. How crazy is that? The answer: very crazy."

Crazy? Malawi's eyes widened and his mouth was agape in shock. So South Africa thought that Malawi having reached out to him when everyone else shunned him because of his government… was crazy? That's why he called him crazy? That's what it was to him? Wh-Wh… but…

"You saw the truth and reality everyone else was too delusional to see." Finishing, South Africa's smile was still plastered as he looked at Malawi kindly. "You really are not like the others. And that, my friend, is why you're insane. You're just as crazy as I am."

"You're wrong!" Malawi yelled, ignoring how he completely startled South Africa for change. "How could you say that? I didn't stick up for you because I'm crazy."

South Africa stared at him speechlessly in surprise. Malawi didn't wait for him and started ranting despite his better judgment.

"I've seen how the others live. I've seen their people kill and let their whites get screwed over for all they cared. Zimbabwe's people still treat the whites like crap, driving them out of the country and killing them and stuff, and he never seems to give a damn about that. They don't have the damn right to call you or me heartless and demand that you pay for all your human rights violations when they have a lot of blood on their hands too!"

They didn't know. They didn't understand. Why couldn't they understand? Why couldn't South Africa understand?

"The others are all just idiots! Some of them may have meant well, but they couldn't see how much you're suffering! You needed help! I wanted to help you. I wasn't crazy. I just couldn't stand seeing you hurting!"

Out of breath from his long pent-up angry rant, Malawi slumped back onto his chair breathing heavily. He looked up expectantly, hopefully, at South Africa, who was now staring

"When you put it that way, it doesn't seem so bad," South Africa started saying in a blank tone. "But you're forgetting something. From all this, you have more reason to hate me than anyone here. We were friends and I lied to you like that. But now you're here, talking to me without any hostility and…"

A hollow laugh came from South Africa.

"And now you want to continue being my friend, despite everything," He said as if he almost couldn't believe it himself. "You don't care. You sought me out. You accepted the real me, the real horrible me. How is that anything but crazy?"

Oh. Oh. When he put it that way, it did sound insane of Malawi to do all that, didn't it? To just trust South Africa after what happened recently, accept the new real South Africa just like that with no strings attached. No sane person would do that.

"Maybe… Maybe I am a little crazy, but what does that matter?" Malawi shook his head, looking down at his shoes with a scowl. "I didn't want to abandon you."

"So you didn't and you won't" South Africa's smile was oddly comforting. "Don't feel ashamed of yourself."

"I'm not," Malawi grumbled, hoping that he won't have to go on another rant.

"Good." South Africa nodded approvingly. "Besides, it's not like I'm criticizing you or anything. I'm happy to have you here."

Malawi's head jerked up in mild surprise, and then he found himself smiling back. "Thanks, Chris."

"Don't mention it."

Maybe being crazy wasn't as bad as it people made it sound.

/ / / / /

Austria so wished he could say that nothing had ever surprised him since becoming leader of the New World Order. That everything always went the way they wanted them to go, as it should be, all according to the grand plan.

Oh, how he wished that was the case.

He stood waiting out in the lobby of the town hall, not feeling the slightest bit comfortable at all as he had been finally allowed an occasion where he could express his emotions freely without appearing to 'break character'. The archduke's yelling sounded muffled to his ears, incomprehensible and inconsequential to the indifferent nation. And his own wife's warm presence felt nonexistent to him.

It was necessary. It's how he managed to stay in control for so long. Ignore everything and focus on the task at hand.

Boredom and the ever-pleasant feeling of annoyance with everything and everyone were the most constant emotions in his false life, so much so that he felt that he had become numb to them at times. Now, he could numb himself to emotion while he played his part. But the freedom of expressing himself without fear or worry was indeed refreshing.

Of course, he had no one to thank for the brief freedom he was having except for himself and those who have aided him. This visit had been proceeding exactly as they wanted to.

He had to admit, the action from earlier did provide him a brief elating feeling of excitement despite the objective and the people injured. A Bosnian had decided to protest the authority of the Austrian-Hungarians by throwing a bomb at the car of the archduke and his wife, which of course as planned had missed (and by missed, literally bounced off the car, it would have been hilarious if Austria was in the mood), botching the assassination attempt but instead injuring about a dozen civilians and a few members of the motorcade in the process.

Strangely, it was ironically one of the most thrilling welcomes Austria had ever had the fortune of receiving. The success surely put him in a better mood. But it did not last long, for now he had to deal with the fallout. Bosnia and Herzegovina had insisted that they had nothing to or had no knowledge of this 'nefarious' plot. Even the normally short-tempered and critical Herzegovina had been reduced to begging Austria and Hungary to believe them and in their loyalty. Austria believed them, obviously, for he knew what was really at play.

He still needed to 'vocally' stay in character though.

"He certainly does sound angry, rightly so," Austria muttered without any real thought, his mind anywhere but here.

Hungary looked at him, her green eyes vibrant despite the incident yet still slightly wary, and said something optimistic in return. What? Well, he did not know for sure Not even her charm could drag him out of his perfectly-concealed coldness.

"…You looked just as furious. I'd almost say you looked ready to join in on beating the bomber to death."

Austria huffed at the implication that he would do something 'ungentlemanly'. That's what false Austria would do. "Tempting, but I most certainly would not have…"

Why should I? The injured were part of the plan too. It's miniscule price to pay. Why mourn for a dozen or so humans when we have millions of others?

Hungary must have mistaken his frown for a worried one, because she rested a gloved hand on his arm and smiled.

"It'll be alright, Rod. At least the worst seems to be over," Hungary said, her words more kind and genuine than Austria had been all day. "The bombers have been taken into custody."

Oh, it's not over yet. Shouldn't you know better than that, Elizaveta? Foolish. Foolish.

Numb to any and all feelings at the moment save for boredom and with the objective being the only thing on his mind; Austria forced himself to return the smile.

"Thank you, Elizaveta."

For the first time in years, he found himself unaffected by Hungary's radiant smile. Remember why you are here, Roderich.

They, as well as the archduke and his wife, were visiting the Bosnian capital for reasons that Austria currently could not care enough to recall. It went without saying that it'll be inevitably dreadful to the uncaring and admittedly impatient Austria. But the fact that he would be seeing Bosnia again did put a genuine smile on his face. So did the sight of the aforementioned cheerfully greeting him.

However, there was one hidden objective to this visit.

Austria was plenty aware of the rising tensions throughout Europe and especially in the Austro-Hungarian Empire and Serbia. It was quite difficult to not be aware with someone as loud as Serbia barking at you every time he saw you. He truly was becoming dreadfully worse with every passing year.

How? Well, did you know? Around a decade ago that deranged fool joined a coup with a an equally deranged and delusional human to brutally murder his own king and queen in order to make way for a supporter of Serbian nationalism to lead the nation. And since then, he had grown increasingly more arrogant and aggressive than he was before, obsessed with his idea of forming Yugoslavia, union of him and his fellow Balkans... which he now believed was a guarantee with Russia's aid…

With someone as painfully direct and unsubtle as Russia, you'd think that Serbia would've started catching on that he was being used and the former was pulling all the strings. But alas, the power of delusion could cloud even the most stupid of minds. Then again, Russia was decently good at manipulation, and Serbia's endlessly self-righteous. So… Not that there was much point in the end, they're both deluded. They have gone all these years thinking they're above everything while being completely oblivious to the real puppet masters. Neither of them were ever a player in this long game the Order made.

How... amusing. Yes, how hilarious of Serbia to believe that he was ever in control of anything.

…It's also quite hilarious. Serbia and his people honestly thought that they could cover their own tracks. The Serbs won't even try to act subtle, no doubt. Well, good. Today and in the future, the Serbs will be playing right into the Order's hands. They will further the Order's goals.

Speaking of which, what's keeping the heir apparent?

"We shouldn't continue staying here for long," Austria said slightly irately, tapping his foot impatiently. Come on, human. Hurry it up! "It'd be best if we return home as soon as possible."

Austria knew this well. He cared about Bosnia and Herzegovina, mostly Bosnia though. He would honestly love nothing more than to keep them away from Serbia's greedy deluded clutches, and this plan

Hungary rolled her eyes, her smile mirthful. "You're such a worrier, Rod. If anything happens, I promise I'll protect you."

You are too confident of your abilities.

"Even so, please be careful," Austria felt the need to tell her, feeling concern for the first time day. He did not want to see her caught by the assassins' fire. "This might not be the last surprise see today."

The smile fell from Hungary's pretty face, and what replaced it was a frown. "Roderich, is something wrong?"

Was there something wrong?"

"No." Austria said in a normal tone for his character. "Not at all. I am just advising you to be careful."

Any wish Hungary had to press further was interrupted by the archduke and his wife reappearing. Austria then blocked out everything afterward. The archduke said something, Hungary and the archduke's wife smiled at each other for one reason or another. The Escort was there, he supposed. But he did not care about any of that It would not matter. He did not care. He did not care. He did not care. They went on their way to the cars. But what did Austria care?

He cared about the mission. That was more important than anything.

He was snapped out of his blurry world, however, when spotted Bosnia peeking from a corner, wildly gesturing for him to come over. His face was pale. Everything about him practically screamed 'Please! Please! Please!'

Subtly convincing sweet-doting Hungary to keep the humans distracted with her chatter, with the excuse being that there was a lot on his mind (which was true) and he was tired, without even cluing her in on his real desire. No one even noticed him slip away from them. He kept his back to the wall, slowly inching closer and closer until he was at a place where he could hear Bosnia without needing to turn around.

But Bosnia pulled him over instead of going for the subtler option, the action not bothering Austria as the look on the former's eyes did, and his eyes were wild and frantic.

His grip was right and he whispered harshly, "There's something you need to know."

"What is it?" Austria asked immediately.

"There's another nation in the land. Lejla said that we should keep it ourselves so as to not make things worse, but…"

He need not say more. Austria immediately understood. Who else would it be?

"I see. I understand." Austria calmly, turning his back to them. "I'll be on guard then."

"Be careful," Bosnia pleaded, dripping with desperation. They did not have much time left.

"You as well, thank you for sharing this information with me." Austria replied with the first real emotions he had expressed all day. Concern. Guilt. "This conversation never happened."

So it never did. And so Austria returned to his patient wife, apologizing for the short delay in that polite manner he always did. And– He did not care. He did not care. He did not care. They will go to the hospital to offer their condolences to injured from the bombing (like that would do anything). He wasn't invested, but dammit, he admitted how Hungary genuinely cared about those harmed.

Though he blocked out everything and let himself near mindlessly play his role, Austria could recall and see a few things. He saw himself hold the car door open for Hungary and offered a hand, less out of gentlemanly manners and more than out of thinking that the polite gesture would the least he could for what would come next. Even this and other actions were little things – it was the least he could do. Hungary appeared amused, but she took his hand anyways. Austria appreciated it more than he should, especially at how she smiled at him…

Hungary's boundless optimism and bright outlook was something Austria will most likely never be able to understand, but they were a couple of the things he loved most about her, along with her good heart. It was impressive, that and how she could endear herself to even a apathetic creature like Austria, a cold warrior like Mongolia or a sadistic monster like Turkey. Her faith in him… while misplaced, was vastly appreciated by Austria, especially when she stood by him in the most unexpected of times. She was probably the only good thing in his false life.

She would have made a good member, but she didn't have the right heart for such a duty. But it would be a complete crime to kill such a wonderful woman. That was why when the day came when the Order unleashed their anger upon the world, she will be spared. Perhaps she will never forgive him, but she will live to see the dawn of the new world. She deserved it. Let it be proof that he loved her.

…Did he, though? Even he wasn't so fully sure. He loved the Order, his and Prussia's wondrous creation. And that love was much grander than the love he possessed for his own wife. Why else would he willingly put her risk of harm for his plans? But there was no doubt that he did care greatly for her, even as if he lied to her each and every day.

Feeling some disgruntlement from within him, he discarded his troubled thoughts and focused on the view in front of him. Now the first car was… turning… to… side street… leaving Appel Quay… and the other cars… but…

Wait a minute.

Wait.

They're going the wrong way.

"What is this? Driver, we're going the wrong way!"

The car pulled to a stop just as the imperial couple's car did. And from there, everything went completely downhill, as one might say.

Everything slowed down. Austria became completely numb to whole world around him and all that was happening, almost disconnect to it all, but he remained aware of the events that followed, at least somewhat. Yes, he remained aware. No, he wasn't in character, he was out of character. False Austria would be yelling and panicking. The real did not panic. He never panicked. He only became concerned. He never panicked. He had long become desensitized to fear long ago.

He quickly assessed the situation, and the overdue realization came far too late. Everything was going wrong. This was not the plan.

The ensuing incident happened too fast in Austria's blurry memory in contrast to the dreadfully slow pace from just a little bit earlier. He recalled a man charging to the archduke's vehicle, a series of gunshots, Duchess Sophie screaming. It did not take long for him to realize that everything was indeed going horribly wrong. He could hear Hungary exclaiming something, but he could not hear her. His rage was further clouding his mind.

There's something else. Oh, of course there's something else.

It was then when Austria realized that he recognized that hair and Bosnia's warning came crashing back to him. He yelled something he could not hear. There was no need for the 'driver' to turn to face them when he did; Austria could recognize the oozing arrogance and that smirk from anywhere. He was greeted by ever-so smug Serbia's face.

Austria could only stare, eyes blank but his face anything but as he remained stuck in character, as Serbia said something haughtily before pulling out a gun, taking at him. What a surprise.

"No!"

What?

Click.

Suddenly, Austria must've blacked out, he couldn't recall what happened next. But he blinked a few times to find Hungary slumped over his legs, completely unmoving. His eyes widened in disbelief. Hungary was slumped over him, completely unmoving. Serbia had shot Hungary. Serbia had shot his beloved Hungary, his wife.

It was shortly after this realization that the anger within him, kept well hidden and numb, had now been kindled and brought roaring back to life. And It was shortly after this realization that he saw that Serbia was aiming to shoot again, looking a tad bit confused.

Ha. As if Austria would be anywhere near or in a dangerous plot he himself has concocted without wearing any bulletproof armor just in case.

That idiot.

He probably expected an easy kill. Just shoot the fancy-dressed, spoiled pompous man who hadn't fought in his own wars for years, Serbia probably thought. How pathetic. Well, too bad Austria wasn't actually that kind of man.

Allowing the warrior within him, he did not hesitate to lunge at Serbia, slapping the gun from his hand. There was a surprised cry from the idiot. If Austria didn't feel so cold, he would've relished in it. He did not give him time to react. He wrapped his two hands around the fool's neck, apathetic to his pitiful struggling.

It would be so easy to kill him right here. So, so, pathetically easy. Just dig and pull out the meaty, beating organ from his ribcage while he still breathed, and take a bite out of it for good measure even though it'll taste disgusting. Why bother with the whole plan? This way he could avenge all the carefully laid out plans he made with Prussia.

Fingers twitching, pleading to pry the fool's chest open, Austria raised one of his hands…

And punched Serbia's face, not even letting him his head hit the driver's seat before Austria grabbed his enemy's dark hair and yanked it back, slamming the fool's head down hard. And then he did it again. And he did it again and again until he heard enough cracks, smelled enough of the metallic of blood and absolutely certain that Serbia was down. Once he was certain of that, he stopped, and let himself

No. The plans have been thrown into disarray enough. A nation's sudden permanent death here and now would only make the situation tremendously worse.

Surrounded by two inactive nations, the plan having just been ruined, and with the sound of the sirens outside, Austria could only block it all out.

…

Austria had found himself absently holding Hungary when the ambulance arrived. That's what he remembered anyway. Now he was here at her bedside. He ignored the looks of pity he received. He ignored the news of the archduke and his wife's death. He did not care. He did not care.

All he could do was silently seethe over the plans ruined and remorsefully watch his wife's corpse, waiting for her to return.

Austria was well aware that Bosnia was standing beneath the doorframe, eyes filled with sadness and remorse.

Bosnia said nothing, and so Austria did the same. But he did not shoo away the other nation's presence. The presence of a friend was always welcome.

"You may have won, Serbia," Austria hissed, his blood boiling. "You may have gotten what you have wanted, but it'll all be for nothing. Your dream will crumble. Your Yugoslavia is nothing but a fantasy destine for failure. And this, just for this, for ruining our plans, I swear on my mother and father's names that you'll suffer worse than all the people will in the war and more."

Broken and no longer numb, with emotions flooding his cold heart, Austria laughed wildly at nothing.

In the midst of his mad fit, for a brief moment, he saw Bosnia smile at him.

Much later, when Bosnia was no longer here and Austria's apathy had returned, Austria nearly gasped when Hungary finally opened

Austria, numb to all emotion except for his pain for Hungary's pain and the rage within him that he had long kept suppressed and was not flaring to life, forced himself to grieve. However, he chose to remain with her with no hesitation.

…

To his rather mild surprise, Austria's indifference to the death of the heir apparent was shared by… well, everyone in his land. It was almost hilarious, so much so that he would've laughed all the way into the night if he wasn't so invested in his tumultuous thoughts and so angry. If he had to wager a guess, he'd say that Serbia was aiming to send shockwaves through the nation, strike terror into the hearts of every Austrian.

Serbia definitely was the kind of arrogant man who believed himself capable of such a feat. Oh, he probably thought so highly of himself, even as he acted condescending towards Bosnia and Herzegovina and Austria and the others. Phew! How absolutely pitiful.

But the everyday people of Austria did not care, just as their personification himself did not care that his leader died, he was only throwing a fit like the noble houses were doing because this ruined everything.

"How could this have happened?!" Austria would later scream after he punched one of the walls of his other secluded house.

He had organized a secret meeting with fellow-conspirator and leader Prussia as soon as he and Hungary were released from the hospital and allowed to return home. Austria made sure to douse the food with something that'll keep Hungary asleep for many hours while he ran off to meet with Prussia and discuss about what the hell just happened

Prussia stood there on the wall in front of him, lying against it with a tense posture and a deep frown, obviously not "It was a simple accident."

"More like a mistake! The fucking driver made a wrong turn and the assassin just happened to be at that wrong street waiting for us! How did we not foresee this could happen?!"

"Because it was so simple," Prussia answered resentfully. "The driver of the motorcade containing such important people making such a simple mistake was something one wouldn't normally take into account, so we did not either."

"Damn right we didn't! We were so confident that our plan would work that it didn't even occur to us that the driver might make a wrong turn and fall right into the assassin's trap! We let ourselves grow negligent with our confidence, and look what it's caused us!"

Now Prussia allowed himself to scowl. "Our primary plans, Russia and Serbia's downfall, my 'return'…"

"Exactly. All of that, gone just like damn archduke and his wife. All the months we spent planning for that moment were all for nothing."

The stupid archduke wasn't supposed to die today. No, that sentence was reserved for a later date. He and his wife were supposed to survive, continue be puppets for the Order as, with the Serbs exposing more of their ugly colors as they committed terrorist attack after terrorist attack, the death toll of innocent Austrians and Bosnians rising with each consecutive attack, with even some foreign officials caught in the fire.

With evidence of the government officials' involvement coming to light, public opinion of Serbs would plummet, but the Russians would support their lap dog as they always did even in the midst of their current instability. This would cost them. The Ottoman Empire with side with the Austrian-Hungarians but this decision would cost them. Germany will assist them and France will along with England…

Eventually, with careful planning, it would lead to the total collapse of Serbia and result in a heavy loss of Russian power and land in which they could never hope to recover from. It might even lead them to total destruction. The Ottoman Empire would have to give up his territories and the empire itself would dissolve. Prussia will soon regain land and become a threat to others again. And in the process unveiling war horrors beyond human imagination. All of this will end of facilitating the Order's interest and future conquests.

"It is too late do anything now," stated Prussia, visibly gritting his teeth in frustration yet his tone was as calm as always. "The noble houses are in shock. This will trigger another wave of events that we didn't desire."

Austria muttered a string of curses. "Well, obviously. We will need to do something about this."

It was a simple mistake, a twist of fate. A simple, simple, simple coincidence.

But it was so, so stupid that it made him want to tear his hair out.

This... This ridiculous twist threw a huge wrench in their plans. It was the accidental smudge in the canvas that ruined the perfect painting. The wrong key pressed in a piano that threw the whole performance off.

"We cannot fix this. You should know that."

"How do you propose we improvise then?"

"Well, Rod, it's a good thing we have a backup plan then." Prussia attempted a more light-hearted tone as he smiled at Austria, an attempt at comfort, that while appreciated did little to quell the rage in Austria.

Austria seethed nonetheless at what Prussia pointed out, rubbing his chin. "Plan B… The harder way."

"Ja, the longer, harder, way," Prussia nodded, only looking a little pleased. "There will be a lot of suffering guaranteed for many of us, but it is the only contingency plan that I think will serve us best."

"So it seems," Austria reluctantly agreed. He kept his mouth shut tight, before the next question left his mouth. "You do know what could happen to you in this plan, right?"

"I know." Prussia said quietly. They already have that discussion years ago.

Austria left the matter at that. "We will still grow more powerful with the other plan."

"Indeed we will." The calmer man assured him.

"And…" Austria looked at him darkly, lips twitching upwards. "We will still gain more recruits this way, correct, if I remember right…?

While their numbers were impressive and their progress since day one had been fantastic, having more nations join their cause would most definitely be welcome. Every member was skilled and valuable in their own way. And the more members they acquired, the easier their war will be for their side and the happier those nations will be. Yes, Austria would love to welcome more nations to their wonderful family.

"Definitely. We are still investigating Africa, there is a lot of potential there," Prussia assured him, and he smiled again. "I feel that in the Plan B future, the other nations will make way for more resentment to grow, more atrocities to be committed. We'll find more recruits there and in other parts of the world."

We may not be able to destroy Russia or Serbia in the near future, but our organization will continue to grow either way. And since Russia will live, he will no doubt cause a lot of resentment and hatred for more than a couple of nations."

Austria smirked at that, pleased that they'll at least be getting something out of Russia's continued troublesome existence in the world. If that bastard will cause trouble, let that trouble benefit them in the long run.

"And Serbia? With Plan B, he will still be alive."

"Correct. It's unfortunate, but he will still live to bother us for a century." The albino grimaced. He was hardly any happy with the idea than Austria was. "At the very least, we'll be able to reduce to nothing but a loud nuisance."

"Serbien muss sterben, Gil."

"Ja." Prussia agreed wholeheartedly. "One day he will. You're not the only one who desires that, Rod."

"Good."

Scowling and still burning with hatred, Austria staggered toward one of the chairs and let himself fall on it, sighing and burying his face in his hands. These last few days have been hectic, thought that would be putting it mildly. He then felt a hand on his shoulder, and found Prussia frowning at him.

"I know you are angry, with Serbia and yourself," Prussia said softly, quietly, a far cry from the false Prussia. "But please, be at ease. Everything will still fall into place. We should be thankful that we at least managed to think of a backup plan in case anything did go wrong."

"We must not make such a ridiculous mistake again."

"I agree. We will be even more cautious in the future."

Sighing again in relief, he managed to smile a little for his friend. "Thank you for putting up with me, Gil. I know I'm insufferable when I'm angry."

"There is no need to thank me. You are my friend, and I understand your anger." Prussia's warm smile was pleasant to see. "It is unfortunate, but we can't always count on our plans to always work perfectly."

"Ja. How unfortunate indeed…"

/ / / / /

Mexico's relationship with America was… complicated. That's what people normally say when describing their relations, no? Complex, love-hate, 'I can't stand you but I can't live without you', etcetera, etcetera.

There was a lot of drama, essentially. The real Mexico and America, however, had no such hatred in their real relationship. They were friends, brother and sister even! She was extremely proud to say that she had a much better understanding of him than other nations ever will. North Korea and Canada couldn't ever hope to compare. They stuck together, supported each other, practically lived right next door to each other.

Ever since they would meet each other in the old days before the Europeans came, there was… something that drew them.

And most importantly, despite all the flack she got thrown her way, she always did everything she could to protect her poor titan from that poisonous, heartless little Asian shit.

But the truth was… in reality, their relationship was still something one would call complicated.

To her chagrin, she'd be lying if she casually said that she held no grudge against America for anything, act or not. No. There were times where Mexico got legitimately and very, very mad at him in his... moments of poor judgment. But he was a genius without peer, so of course she'd be angry that he'd let the stupidity of the world infect him.

Then there's times where he'd accidentally mess up or let deep suppressed rage get the better of him. Mexico had ended up getting horribly scarred from one or two incidents involving those two causes, where she also learned a few things about herself that she hadn't noticed before.

Two notable instances were in the Mexican-America War and the American Civil War.

Things were problematic back then in that time, though that might be putting it mildly… maybe really, really mildly. You see, the civil war wasn't really meant to happen, or at least, not with such a grand scale of bloodshed. But alas, the little puny insects caused America so much stress that they basically broke free of their reins to fight amongst each other as all humans did, all the while tormenting the man who'd go to extreme lengths for them.

It was a little over a decade since the Mexican-American War, which inevitably caused more than few scars, although the blame lied more on Mexico and her repeated failure to admit that she couldn't manage such a large, still-developing poorly-managed country majorly populated by idiots than on America's assertiveness. So, other than still recovering,

She herself was dealing with her own infighting involving a foolish, suckered Austrian emperor and her equally out-of-touch Belgian wife. Why did Austria have to let that man walk in her land like he owned the place? Oh, right, because they still had to prove that empires were ridiculous.

Honestly, why couldn't her people just make up their damn minds or just accept the change?! It's a miracle she hadn't developed a split personality by now.

Anyway, she was busy dealing with the ever-annoying conflict, which was made worse by France and his accursed emperor's devious meddling. But through a few pretty threats, she managed to make time to check up on her northern neighbor. He would do it for her back when he got independent and she was still trapped or dealing with Spain-related issues, so why not return the favor? She would gladly do it.

With an iron resolve and a vow to kill anyone who got in the way of getting to America, she set off. It wasn't easy. But she managed. She always found a way. And through more threats, some harmless torture, and connections, she found him locked up in his home over in Pennsylvania. Two Union soldiers stood outside, they were hardly worthy of being called obstacles.

He found him cooped up in his bedroom, sitting slacked against a chair, and did not look as nearly surprised as he probably should have been when Mexico unlocked the door and gleefully entered the room.

"Hola, Alfred."

This probably should have been the first where she saw a smile lit up America's tired blank face and, maybe, try as to force himself to his feet and she ran over to embrace him out of relief and before he could stumble.

No such thing happened, unfortunately.

"Why did you come here?" His voice was raspy, as if worn out from too much screaming.

"To see you, of course. Why else?" Mexico answered simply, and she found herself frowning the more she stared at his disheveled state and the bags under his eye. "Are you alright?"

"You shouldn't have come here." America spat with surprising venom, hissing. It very nearly made Mexico flinch away from fear.

But she straightened herself up, so that he could see that she was unafraid and there's nothing to be concerned about. "I am not scared of the humans, Alfred."

"That is not what I meant." He mumbled, almost sounding annoyed.

"Then what is wrong, hermano?" She asked gently, but she winced when America whipped his head to face her with a dangerous anger in his eyes.

"Tell me the truth, Rosa. Why did you really come here?" America demanded hotly, glaring at her with a hatred she had never seen before directed at her. "Have you come here to gaze at me in disappointment, to mock me?"

Mexico was taken aback "W-What? Of course not.

"What the hell are you going on about? I wouldn't have come all the way here if I didn't care about you. I w-was… I was worried!"

"But to what end? To see that your tool is still operational and that as mad as he is, he's not losing sight of the goal to kill for you?" America snarled as he whipped his head to face her, hands desperately clutching his head.

"Because I have realized the truth about you, Rosa." He stated with a coldness he reserved for enemies. "You're nothing but a vengeful, self-centered witch whose love for me only exists as I'm willing to commit terrible crimes and enjoy them. You love me as long as I'm willing to shed tears and blood for revenge."

Mexico gasped. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "How could you say that to me? You are like a brother to me! I would never use you in such a way."

"Do not act innocent! I know what you are!" Snarling, America's hands gripped the seat and pushed himself to his feet. "I know you do not truly care!"

"Oh, is that so?" Mexico scowled. "Would a witch really go through the pain and trouble of coming to visit you, in spite of everything that is happening in my own country? The French and the conservatives are tearing my home apart. I am dealing with a forced government. I will need to fight sooner or later so soon and yet you–"

"Don't use your humans as an excuse! You don't care for your people, just like you don't care for mine. You've grown to despise humanity. They're nothing but tools to you. What's more, you are now a hypocrite. You talk of avenging Aztec and Maya, but you've become disgusted with blood sacrifice. You have grown disgusted of them."

Mexico recoiled back in. How – How dare he?

"Como te atreves?! Don't bring them into this and don't you dare think that I would be ashamed of them. They have nothing to do with any of this!"

"Wrong. They have as much to do with this, Rosa. You know what I'm talking about and you are avoiding it. We've changed; you don't want to accept it!"

"No, we adapted, and not even our ancestors were right in their ways." Mexico admitted through gritted teeth, it was a truth she had begrudgingly acknowledged and one she had yet to admit to herself until now. "And who are you calling a hypocrite?! You do nothing to stop the slaughter and discrimination of the natives because you've seen that they could be just as despicable as the Europeans! You let your precious Washington attack the ones who supported the British!"

"I have no reason to mourn anyone who shows any support that bastard. They were obstacles, Washington was only bring " America retorted coldly. "And you mean to imply that unlike me, you actually had no disdain for your natives that supported Spanish rule, who betrayed for their own gain as all humans do?"

Gritting her teeth, Mexico could not rebuke that statement.

"Such is human nature. You do not the things I've seen in this war, Rosa. I have not been spending every day in seclusion. It does not matter the color of the skin, gender or their social standing, they're all human and all equally rotten to the core. You now know this as well, as you have gradually began to distance yourself from those who cling onto their past."

"…That's…!"

"So do you acknowledge your own hypocrisy?"

"Only if you acknowledge yours!"

America growled like an untrusting dog. "Fine. I concede. I spat on my mother's legacy. What of you? Do you acknowledge that Maya and Aztec would sneer in disgust at the woman you have now become?"

"Even if they are, all will be forgiven once I slaughter España. They'll see that I haven't forgotten them!"

She hoped this would make him see. However, to her dismay, a wide grin spread across his pale face.

"So that's what I am, then? The key to your forgiveness from them? Ha… Well, good to know!" America cracked up in loud, boisterous laughter.

Mexico wanted to cry out in frustration at this point. "NO! That is not what I meant!

"STOP! STOP LYING TO ME!" Abruptly, America began screaming at the top of his lungs, tears suddenly threatening to spill from his tired eyes. "WHY DO YOU CONTINUE TO TORTURE ME LIKE THIS?!"

She jumped, not expecting the outburst, and then, suddenly remembering that America was in the middle of a civil war, immediately tried to calm him down. "ALFRED–"

"YOU ARE JUST LIKE MY MOTHER! YOU WANT NOTHING MORE FROM EM THAN TO AVENGE, AVENGE AND AVENGE, WITH NO REGARD TO HOW IT WOULD AFFECT ME! YOUR VOICES AND EXPECTATIONS HAUNT ME IN MY EVERY WAKING MOMENT! SHE LIVES ON IN YOU! I JUST WANT IT TO STOP!"

Her words fell on deaf ears, and Mexico felt very small when America whipped her heads toward her, the word anger not doing his terrifying flared up expression any justice. Suddenly she was that terrified little girl in Tenochtitlan again, scared and helpless against a fierce and stronger power. It seemed like an odd comparison, but that was what she felt then: She felt very, very afraid.

"AND NOW I WILL MAKE IT STOP! YOU WILL NOT EVER TORMENT ME AGAIN!"

Mexico had never heard of any nation being literally torn to a million shreds before or anything like it. She had never even imagined it. So, she had no idea how it'd feel until America's deafening yells nearly shattered her eardrums and Mexico found herself screaming her throat out for him to stop killing her while he called her all manner of hurtful insults.

And it was that moment that she had noticed his accent change, when the odd yet hurtful insults came, Insults that America would not ever use, even when angry.

The Confederacy wasn't too fond of her, apparently. What a surprise.

The pain and torture lasted for no more than fifteen minutes, but for her it seemed for like fifteen years. She had the misfortunate of remaining alive even after, but the blood loss and shock put her out of her misery soon enough.

She woke up in a bed, bandaged and given new clothes. He saw America sitting in the darkness near the end of the room, watching her. They stared at each other, Mexico still unable to believe what happened.

Then without warning, he lunged.

Mexico did not scream. She couldn't even find her voice to make a sound. But then he stopped, looming over with a feral expression that clearly told her that he would like nothing more to tear her limb from limb as he did before.

He did not call after her, nor was she followed.

It was more than a matter of fear and trauma. She realized that there's nothing she could do for him. To stay would be suicide, or at least that's what she said when the guilt began to eat away at her approximately an hour later. Or maybe she was still bitter… or maybe she wondered…

Was it the Confederacy who said those cruel words? Or did those words come from a hidden place of resentment after all?

"I am not a witch. I care about Alfred. He is not like Canada, so I would never hate him." She told herself confidently several times on the way out of the country and forced herself to leave it and the several doubts floating in her mind at that.

But… But. She hadn't really been pressuring him, had she? Was his duty and his future becoming too much of a burden for him?

After the war, after America's mind had been healed, after Mexico had dealt with the French and the false emperor, they met again in peaceful circumstances. Well, as people as it could be for their rapidly evolving countries. But they met, and Mexico was relieved to see a calm, rational America who wasn't glaring or throwing curses at her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," America kept muttering to her desperately, tears falling from his eyes.

"You hurt me, Alfred." Mexico said blankly, clenching her fists. It had to be said, regardless of what caused it, right? "I was in the middle of a civil war, dealing with France's attempts to conquer me through a puppet emperor, and. I put that all aside on the back of my mind for you. I left my home in a troubling time for you. I traveled across the war-torn Soutern states to see you. I did all that, and you accused me of not caring and you tortured me until I died. You killed me."

America did not try to make any kind of retort. He merely stood there in front of her, his tired blue eyes staring at her with a mixture of guilt and resignation. He did

"How could you do that to me? How could you kill me, and in such a brutal? Do you…" Do you know how much it hurt? But Mexico stopped herself, no weakness, she reminded herself. "I cried, I screamed, I begged for you to listen. But you did not. You tore me apart like you would to your enemies. You tortured me as if I was someone who did you so much wrong. Why?"

"If it were anyone else, I would have turned my back on them and remained stubborn on letting." "But you, you are not just anyone. And what you said… I… I… It made me wonder…"

America looked even more pained.

Did I hurt you? Am I truly a witch? How did I not notice this?

But she forced those doubtful thoughts down and waited patiently (desperately) for America to give her the truth. And so, she finally asked the question that had been plaguing her for a few years now.

"Did you mean it?" She asked in a low voice. Weakness. Weakness.

America pressed his mouth tightly and offered no answer.

"Well, did you? Be honest with me. I do not want our relationship to become as sour and bitter as yours with Canada's."

"I was not in the right state of mind," The bandaged man said quietly, deliberately avoiding her gaze.

"Alfred…" Mexico growled, glaring at him with all her might.

Thankfully, the glare did make him wither as it normally did, and he grimaced. "You are not a witch, Rosa. I do not hate you. I could never hate you. You understand me at a level no one else can. But…"

"But?" Mexico echoed, bracing herself what was to come.

"It's just so difficult," America's voice cracked somewhere in the middle. "Do you know how painful it is? Do you know how maddening it is to bear with the responsibility of our ultimate success, and have so many expectations from everyone thrown you? And I do not mean just your people. By everyone you know."

Including me?, Mexico wondered. She bit her lip, suddenly finding her sandals very fascinating. "No. I cannot say I do."

America chuckled, it was a broken, pitiful noise. "I thought so…"

Mexico couldn't bear hearing him like this. "But has it really been torturing you this much, this responsibility and the things you have to do for the Order?"

The question immediately made the half-formed smile vanish and have it be replaced with a dark look. "There's no point in complaining."

"So it has been torturing you."

"I brought this on myself!"

"That does not mean you do not have the right to complain!"

"You are wrong I need to grow strong. They–" America emphasized, both knowing who he referred to, with just the slightest bit of resentment. "–want me to grow strong. If this works, I will be the strongest. I agreed to do this because I knew how painful it would be, I did not want anyone else to deal with the burden, especially not you."

Mexico could feel her heart start to break. "I know. I know, Alfred. We are all thankful of what you are doing for us."

She wanted to apologize, but what good would that do?

"But why would you think that I am just using you?"

"Revenge. Almost every time we meet, you talk mostly of your anger." America responded listlessly. "I do not think it is because we do not see each other as often as you used to. You ask me how I am faring, and then you talk about how strong I am becoming, how powerful and fearsome I am. You talk of how you simply cannot wait for the day when you will. You never ask how my sanity is faring. None of you, no one in the Americas ever asks how I am doing under all this work and pressure… and how I feel that I will have to hurt all of you."

Feeling her previously solemn yet cracking expression further begin to soften, Mexico frowned. "Alfred…"

"Sometimes…" He chocked, even as he struggled to main his calm composure. That's when Mexico realized how hard he tried to be composed even in front of those he could be himself with. "Sometimes I wonder if I mean anything to any of you anymore, if anyone sees me as anything other than one of the most important keys to our victory, for revenge."

"No seas ridiculo. No one sees you as a tool. No one. You matter to us, not as a tool or a weapon, but as a fellow nation who is sacrificing and suffering just as much as any of us."

"I just… I just…"

"And what of your madre?" The question flew out of Mexico's mouth before she had time to properly consider it. "Did you mean what you said about her too?"

Was that why you had become so cold toward her people? Did they remind you too much of your brother? Was it an attitude taken out of spite? Or could you not bear with their expectations either so you would rather have them vanish forever like your mother?

America was trembling, now. Whether in anger or grief, Mexico couldn't quite tell.

"I-I do not know…" He managed to choke out, but the words seem to pain him. "I do hate her. But I… but I… Why does she… Would she care…?"

Mexico had heard enough.

"Shh, shut up. You need not say more. Come here, hermano." Mexico whispered as she slowly wrapped her bandaged arms around his trembling form, ignoring his mutterings of protest.

Predictably, he fought weakly against her embrace, even though he was perfectly capable of sending her flying off for miles, grief or not. But also predictably, he gave up his pitiful pushing and returned the hug, noticeably trying not to completely break down.

"You do not have to do this." Mexico hissed to him in pain. "They never said anything about you being unable to step down. Someone else can do the job. Someone older, someone more prepared for the responsibility"

"No!" He shouted, a bit too near her ear that It made her wince, sounding horrified at the idea. "I must do this. No one else can. I cannot hand off the burden like a coward to someone else because I am too weak-willed!"

"You are not weak-willed. You are young. You had grown too fast for our kind's standards, more than a lot of us did."

The strangled noises were becoming louder, a sure sign that he was crumbling, and it encouraged Mexico to keep at it.

"There is nothing wrong with revealing your pain to me."

America broke, right in her arms, and she held him tight as he sobbed into her shoulder, while inside her mind she cursed at everything and herself.

Mexico did her best to help in spite of all their troubles and how America would often keep things to himself, even after everything that happened. Old habits die hard, she supposed. But it's nothing a bit of gentle pressuring couldn't resolve for the most part.

After that, they slowly managed to patch things up. She forgave him, and he her. Mexico made it her duty to make sure everyone knew his pain, and so they did, maybe helped by a bit of screaming on her part. But as everyone understood, America's mental health recovered, and everyone was more ready to do their part no matter the pain that would surely come.

Somehow, things got better. They weren't good, exactly. But they were better. And that was good enough.

Of course, it would be… wrong of her to say that she was the only one there to support him (which she had absolutely no problem with, you know, none at all). He and Haiti have been discussing and practicing that weird African witchcraft thing for a while now and the latter seemed happy at having someone else to play witchdoctor with. Brazil helped him loosen up more often. Austria taught him how to vent him frustrations via playing Mozart. The Nordics have been… ah… reconnecting with him, rebuilding that bond they had so long ago, and Mexico slowly grew to approve them as well.

They're warriors. She obviously could respect that. Besides, she always admired the ferocity of the Vikings she would hear so much about…

She liked all of them. Yes, even the other Europeans. Austria had a warrior spirit that he had buried deep inside that gentlemanly nature that Mexico was intrigued by. Prussia was understanding and patient. Switzerland was understandably annoyed at everything and understood the desire to want to... support a certain someone.

The others were fine too, she supposed. The Asians, particularly the Philippines, were nice and pleasant. The Africans… eh, they were all a bit too much for her taste, but whatever.

All of them were fine, for the most part. Except…

Mexico had absolutely no idea what the hell America saw in that demon with the stupid braid and who reeked of manure.

They really should've gone with South Korea in her own opinion, potential, smarts and relatable cynicism be damned.

But it's fine. It's fine. She'll take care of that brat one day, regardless if it'll further complicate her relationship with America than it already was with her non-stop complaints and attempts to seduce him away from the Asian menace. She won't allow America to be poisoned by such a self-centered demon. One day America will understand.

…

…You all better not be laughing at me.

/ / / / /

The journey to the truth of things was never an easy one.

For Iran, it was probably the most difficult experience of his life right after the demise of his father. The journey wasn't something that lasted just a few years, no. For Iran, and this was a case that was rare in the organization, his journey had started from a point in his childhood and stretching throughout the many centuries. Was it painful? Heh! Obviously. But he didn't resent that, the pain was part of the process and helped him grow.

For Iran, his long arduous journey to the truth was only made possible by Saudi Arabia.

It's... heh, well, where could he even begin? Their friendship was definitely something people could consider strange.

He and Saudi didn't meet as often as one might think. Strict bosses, busy schedules, political relations strained all brought from the nature of their nations prevented them from meeting even once a month. But when they did manage to see each other in person, Iran would always treasure those moments, from the most pleasing to the most frustrating and the most agonizing.

They did help him realize the truth after all.

He supposed one might be wondering how it all began. Well, well, if you really want to know, just keep in mind that it really was a long story. It'd take him hours, no, days to give a proper and detailed explanation of all the events that transpired. But... he'll try to give a shorter version nonetheless. He'll tell the most important parts, at least.

Now then, without further ado, it all started many years ago back in the days when he still wore the name Persia proudly, when the Arabs came and set the empire ablaze.

It was terrible, that day. It will forever be etched into his memory, no matter how fondly he might look back on it. The screams of his people echoed all over him, their cries for help forever answered as they were sent to their deaths, or worse. A once great empire, great enough to rival Rome, was now being consumed by flames and trampled by the Arab warrior named Umar and his army.

All the boy named Persia could do was kneeling there as the invaders charged past him, leaving him unharmed. They ignored because he had already surrendered, but it hardly brought him any relief. He couldn't move a muscle, fear's hold him over him was total.

Eventually, at some point, it all ended. Persia had found himself dragged away for soldiers to meet the man responsible for all this. He did not have the spirit to resist, not that it would actually do him any good. But will not bow to Umar.

Then, while he waited, sitting on the ground with his fixed on the rough earth, dreading what might come next, he heard footsteps.

He half expected to it be the warriors again, or maybe Umar himself. Scowling but biting his tongue to prevent any shouting from escaping his mouth, his head snapped up to meet the person approaching him.

What he saw was something very different.

A boy stood in front of him, staring down at him emotionlessly. A young man dressed in dark clothes; his eyes were a dark brown and indescribably… empty, as they seemed to take apart and analyze Persia. He shivered.

"Who are you?" He could only ask. He would not care so much if there weren't something so frightening about him.

The boy did not answer. He merely stared, no trace of emotion on his face.

"Who are you?" Persia asked again.

The nameless boy stared at him still, but then he finally showed emotion as his lips curved into a smile, a smile that, for some reason, made Persia shiver.

"I am someone no cares to hear. I may seem important but I am not, yet my land would destroy itself should I fade." The boy stated with his head held high, but there was no pride in his smile or his voice. "I share the same pitiful existence as yours, thrown under a burden we have never asked for and we are powerless to do anything about."

Persia was taken aback by the cryptic reply. He wasn't sure what to say, or even to respond. He did not know who this boy was, and the eerie

"And what of you?" The still nameless boy asked slowly, cocking his head to the side, as if he did not care that much of the answer. "Tell your name and who you serve, so that I can wonder how long you will last."

How long he will last?

Despite his fear and strong grief, Persia swallowed his nerves and answered clearly. "I am Persia, succeeding my father of the same name. I serve Sassanid."

"Not anymore, you are not." The boy's soft voice was heavy with sympathy and even remorse as he coolly answered. "Your Shah is dead, a pity but it was only expected."

The sudden news caught him completely by surprise. "Wh-Wh– The Shah is dead?!"

"Your surprise seems to imply that you actually expected him to last, much more succeed." No longer did the boy's voice carry any sympathy, now it and his words was as harsh as the ground Persia was kneeling upon. "Do not be foolish. How many kings have you had for the past fourteen years again?"

If it hadn't been for the fear gripping his heart and the destruction overwhelming him, he would've lashed out at the boy for his cold, mocking words. But what good would that do? He had lost. All he could hope would that mercy would be granted mercy.

"Please, you may do with me as you wish, but please spare my men, women and children." He pleaded.

To his surprise and anger, the boy scoffed. "Me? You are asking me for mercy, son of Persia? Already you presume too much. I have no way in my peoples' matters. I never did, ever since religion, the so-called 'true faith' had become their first priority."

"Religion? What true faith? What do you mean?" Persia demanded, spitting the questions. Maybe not a wise action, but he was just so tired…

"I am referring to Islam, the 'purest and rightful faith' whose people serve Allah and the delusional man who was supposedly his messenger." The boy explained half-heartedly with his tone barely concealing his disdain. "The man responsible for this, Umar? He is under the fantasy it is completely alright to invade not under the faith of Islam, so that he can spread it like a disease. Pure and rightful indeed."

"Then please, help me convince him to grant mercy! If you do know him then you can–"

"Ha! Umar is not at all merciful, as your surroundings can clearly demonstrate. He might try to convince you otherwise, but I hope you will be better than that. He believes in his hunger for power that he is doing you all a favor with this utter tragedy, and that alone makes him very dangerous." The boy explained darkly. "There is no human more dangerous than the ones who are unaware of their own fallacies and cruelty, who believe that they are righteous. That is what makes these Muslim warriors so deadly."

Persia did not doubt that at all in the slightest. One only needed to look at how his home and armies were decimated.

"Trust my words, son of Persia, for I know the souls of the invaders more than anyone ever will. Killing them would be a mercy. You should know this. Unless they convert, their futures will not be so easy."

Persia was immediately appalled by the very idea. "N-No! I am Zoroastrian. I've followed this faith in my life, I would never–"

But he was cut off by the boy's inhumane laughter.

"Ah, you appear to also mistake my people as understanding." The boy lightly chided with his soft voice, and his smile soon reappeared. "Alas, fear not, for Umar actually has sense and will not force you to convert. Instead he will appeal to human nature for that to happen."

"Appeal? Appeal to what?" Persia dared ask.

"Why, greed, self-preservation and desperation, of course." The boy's smile broadened into a terrifying grin. "He will crush your pride into nothing until you convert, force you to see the benefits of being part of their oh so welcoming religion."

"I will not convert." Persia said stoutly. "Neither shall my people. Many have perished in this war, we are very conservative. They would never–"

"You underestimate the humans in their ability to remain loyal."

"You are wrong! You do not know my people, they would never leave their faith for these invaders no matter what they might do!

"Hmm," The boy hummed, as if he did not believing him. The thought made Persia's blood boil. "We shall see. I like that fire in your eyes. Perhaps there is hope…"

Persia did not follow what the strange boy was murmuring about as he rambled under his breath, staring at nothing as the fires raged around him. The more time passed, the more he was convinced that the boy was mad. No. Perhaps mad wasn't the right word. But there was clearly something wrong with him.

He began to wonder if the boy was like him in some way. He… He felt something from him, but he couldn't… He wondered if he had been conquered by these people too and had been driven mad as a result. The possibility absolutely terrified Persia to the core, but refused to believe that this would be his fate. Persia will not allow it.

"Persia, my heart aches at the sight of the tears you shed, caused by my people." The boy frowned grimly, the sympathy returning to his voice. "I may be powerless to stop them, but I will at least part you this advice: Do not ask questions about the religion. One living under the rule of Muslims who asks such questions will not have long to live. Questions will get you killed. Silence equals obedience, which will keep you alive and untouched. Be silent and you might yourself treated kindly."

The boy leaned closer and closer as Persia slowly and nervously tried to inch away… he leaned in too close for his comfort. And Persia felt tempted to push him away, especially under the weight of such a cold gaze, but all the boy did was poke his chest with a finger.

"Do you understand?" The boy asked in a low voice.

Swallowing, Persia nodded. "I do."

"Good. If you're lucky, Umar's leadership might improve your political situation, if only at the cost of forcing people to literally pay for not being Muslims and eradicating your culture and the faith of your religion."

Persia scowled at the prospect, but begrudgingly he acknowledged that there was nothing he could do at the moment and kept quiet. However, one lingering question still bothered him.

"And what of you? What will you do? Why are you even here?"

Who even are you?

The boy readily answered the question, the grin nearly splitting his face. "I will be remaining here with you to oversee the new territory and try my best to force reason into my leaders' religiously dense heads. And since you seem to have more bite than my brothers and sisters, I will allow myself to support you, not your people, you, however I can."

Persia blinked, then jerked back. "Wh-What? What do you mean? Why would you want to help me?"

"It is exactly as it sounds like. We will be together a lot from now on, so I do hope we get along." In spite of the grin, the way he said those made it sound as if he had no real hope for that prospect. "As for why, well, I have to do my duty, don't I? Umar will whip me if I ever think of slouching off again."

Persia choked at new piece of information (and the way he said it like it was nothing). "A-Again?"

"Yes, he is very good with that thing. He is very, very strict and has a terrible sense of humor at that. Oh well, at least he knows how to get things done and scare the people into not causing trouble, I will give him that!"

And so the boy laughed at that frightening revelation for reasons that Persia could not ever fathom. He quickly moved on to his other question.

"So, what you are saying is that we will… be friends?" It sounded a little ridiculous, Persia knew, especially since he realized how he sounded hopeful. But there's something about the boy that made want to be near him, to want to hear more of his mysterious words, in spite of how frightening he was.

The grin seem to dim at the question, but it resurged, the boy chuckling darkly. "Perhaps. I will not promise you anything. I've yet to dare let myself hope again."

"What are you–"

"Oh, and one more thing, Persia." The boy cut him off sharply, with his tone strongly suggesting that Persia not bring up the subject.

"Y-Yes?" Persia found himself stuttering, to his own dismay.

"Do you see all this destruction? Are the sounds of your humans' screamed burning into your memory?" The boy spread out his arm, dramatically gesturing at their surroundings, but there was no longer a smile on his face. "Never forget this, Persia. May this day be forever burned into your mind. May you never forget that this was allowed by people who put a madman's claims over the lives of everyone else. Religion is a curse."

He failed to stop himself from gulping, and he nodded warily. But Persia wanted to protest strongly on that last sentence

Oblivious to Persia's resentment, the boy hummed and extended a hand toward him. "Now then, shall we go see Umar? The sooner we do, the sooner the fires will be put out…"

Persia scowled "W-Wait! You have not told me your name!"

The boy stared at him blankly

"You may call me Hejaz," The finally named boy revealed, offering one last smile, but it vanished just as quickly. "Shall we go, please? I would rather not have Umar or anyone else accuse me of insubordination or treason again."

Persia frowned, not pleased at the idea, but he knew that he hardly had a choice in the matter. He grabbed Hejaz's hand. "…Very well…"

Iran knew, maybe from the very beginning. There's no real happiness in that smile he often seemed to have on his face when not speaking to anyone, or even if he was speaking to any kind of individual really. Even if made himself think cheerfully and spoke words with the same emotion, it's completely devoid of anything... well, real. The words were numb, the emptiness in his eyes were impossible to describe. As if he had simply... resigned.

But... to what, exactly? Whatever could have made the light in his eyes vanish? What could've caused him to be so... so...

Calm. He could feel nothing but calmness from him. It did not seem so unusual. But he supposed that one had to be there to see how utterly unfazed he was in general. But why? Why was that? How did it happen?

Persia resolved to find out.

And that, friends, was how the boy named Persia had been set on the path towards the truth.

…

"Your brother is doing well." Iran had said one day as they looked over the view of Riyahdh in the middle of the night, just the two of them.

For a moment there was puzzlement in Saudi's face at the remark, and then he merely raised an eyebrow. "Which one? Bahrain or Emirates?"

'You know, since they were the only ones of Saudi Arabia's brothers who weren't currently dealing with their disastrous governments and corrupt religion, or harshly learning that mixing politics and religion was a horrid idea.' Were what the man's blank eyes seemed to say.

"I was referring to Emirates, but Bahrain is also doing well now that you mention it." Iran smiled at him, earnest in his praise. "They are rich. They are high in human development. And they are also quite stable compared to many others. It is also important to note that they are both genuinely loyal to you."

Iran felt a twinge of guilt when Saudi Arabia sneered in direction at the horizon, bitterness seeping into his tone. "Ah, yes. They are loyal to 'me', their bossy eldest brother who is completely devoted to Islam, uncaring toward Shias, puts up with them, and gives them money."

'Not me. They would not love the real me.' Were the words obviously left unspoken, by a stubborn refusal to let himself be tied down by grief and lament.

"A good point, but you have to respect how they are indeed loyal to 'you'." Iran pointed out patiently, determined to help see Saudi the bright side of things, so he wouldn't have to spend so much time miserable with those empty eyes. "Even if there's a chance that love only exists as long as 'you' are faithful to the religion…."

"And it is," Saudi interjected in a cynical tone.

"They do genuinely care about the man they think is Saudi Arabia."

Saudi Arabia stuck out his tongue. "Pheh. If only that was truly out of genuine support, he has no reason to resent the West when they're showering him with money"

"Ha, true, true." Iran laughed, both at Saudi's childish action and at UAE. Memories of Emirates obsessing over stylish clothes and cars came to mind. "But at least he is supportive. You don't see many extremists out of him; they have no reason to care about covering the world in Islam when they can swim in pools of money from the West."

"Mmm…"

"He is not a bad person."

"I know."

They enjoyed a period of comfortable silence before Iran thought of another topic he wanted to discuss with Saudi Arabia. Iran wasn't having much fun with this. But what better would they be against the ones they hate if they're close-minded?

"What do you think of Lebanon?" Iran decided to ask.

"Well, about her exactly?" Saudi Arabia wondered, still as serenely indifferent as always.

Iran leaned back against the rails. "Hm… First, what about in general?

"A nice girl, if not seriously in denial," Saudi Arabia began saying distractedly. "Then again, I'd like to see who in our region isn't. She is also stubborn. But again, what else is new in this messed up place? Her hair is nice; I like how she sets it up in that ponytail of hers. She is pretty I suppose. And I rather like her sense of fashion."

Iran snorted, smiling slyly. "I didn't know you had a sense of style or a type."

Saudi Arabia gave him an amused smirk. "Oh, hush. There's nothing wrong with liking someone's sense of fashion. And I am about as interested in romance as Palestine is in admitting that maybe he should've accepted the splitting the land deal."

"Riiight."

"Do you even have any idea how tall this building is, Amir?"

"Alright, calm down, calm down. We're getting off-topic though," Iran chuckled at the look at Saudi's face before continuing. "Anyway, Lebanon's doing better than many of us. She is more stable, is much more tolerant towards non-Muslims and members of the LGBT community."

"Yes, I suppose she has that," Saudi Arabia grudgingly admitted while tapping his fingers on the table. "She is so stable and progressive that she supports Syria and houses the man's insane refugees, allows a terrorist group to be a part of her government and actively defends them against anyone who doesn't approve of them, blames Israel for a myriad of absurd things as many do, has incidents of sectarian violence, has had quite a few protests across her land recently, currently has an economic crisis looming and her government is corrupted."

Iran could hardly stifle his own laughter. "…You know, I did say better compared to many of us, not good."

"Ah. Now that's true, very true," Saudi Arabia nodded slowly in agreement, though reluctantly. "But her efforts at recovering aren't so bad. She is still high the Human Development index.""

"Yes. She is, isn't she?"

"...Yes... somehow."

"And Qatar, for all her arrogance, is also-

"Ugh. Why are you insisting on bringing this up, Amir?" Saudi Arabia groaned loudly as he lazily lied back on his chair. "If I wanted to be repeatedly told how 'successful' my siblings and the others are, I'd attend an Arab League meeting."

Iran laughed heartily. Saudi Arabia's sarcastic, cynical and overly-blunt remarks were one of the things he liked most about him. You're always guaranteed to either laugh or facepalm in frustration with him in the room. It made their meetings all the more fun.

When his laughter trailed off, Iran breathed out and finally frowned at Saudi Arabia, getting serious. "Well, I was thinking about… some things."

"We all think about some things, Amir, every day, in fact. The question is what are these 'things' you're thinking about?"

Well, here goes…

"Maybe… Maybe not Muslim aren't… that backwards." Iran mused grimly, narrowing his eyes. "I mean, even Lebanon before her whole messes was pretty popular back then, 'Paris of the Middle East' and all that."

Saudi Arabia scoffed. "Yes. And look at how wonderful Paris looks now. I think Lebanon is just following France's footsteps."

"But she still did well, despite her roots." Iran pointed out. "Emirates is doing well enough despite his roots and devotion to Islam. What could this mean?"

"France helped make Lebanon the country she is today, Emirates is that rich because he supports the West. They are sucessful because of Western influene."

"Wasn't the entire Middle East under the influence of the West? Then– "

"Some have accepted the benefits of the West while others rejected them out of spite or foolish stubbornness," Saudi Arabia retorted coolly. "As you can remember well from your glorious revolution."

Iran scowled at the memory. "Don't remind me."

"I really am curious, Iran. What's brought all of this on?"

"Well…"

"Well?

"The New World Order is against close-mindedness, right?" Iran asked, and at Saudi's nod, he continued calmly. "Then It'd be hypocritical of us if we didn't consider the positives the Islam had granted us all or the things they've done better compared to other groups despite all the trouble it has and still is causing us. Remember that time we went and saw how shitty European doctors are in comparison to ours? Or how they have preserved texts?"

"I do." Saudi Arabia nodded, smirking. "I remember every adventure we had together."

"Good. So even though we're going to basically wipe out most of Islam, along with a lot of religions, it wouldn't exactly be fair if we didn't at least accept some facts…"

Iran smiled at him knowingly, mischievously.

"And besides, it's thanks to Islam existing that we're such good friends, aren't we?"

Saudi Arabia hummed and a pleased smile was spread across his face. "…Hmm. That's very considerate of you, Amir. I'm very impressed with you"

Iran blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Of course!" Saudi Arabia grinned at him. "Indeed. What better would we be than our enemies if we did not consider the bad and the good?"

"Oh… Well, that's pretty considerate of you too, Saudi." Iran chuckled in relief. "I was worried that you wouldn't take it well.

"Come on. Are you still that presumptuous, even after all these years?"

"I was hoping I'd never hear you call me that again…" Iran grumbled.

Saudi Arabia laughed, but then his grin faltered. "Although… knowing these facts make all this all the more tragic."

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Modernized and rich some Muslim nations may be, the same success cannot be said for their open-mindedness," Saudi Arabia spoke in a mirthless, bitter voice. "You've seen how the Sunnis and Shias treat each other, even in Emirates and Lebanon. You've how the Christians or Jews are ignored at best and hurt at worst. And whatever tolerance they had for the gays or the Christians and Jews had long since vanished years ago. And then there's ISIS… It's sad."

Iran nodded his head in agreement.

Pleased, Saudi Arabia continued. "That is why we must vanish it and every single other religion from this earth. We must prevent them from evolving or devolving, either way the world is better off without such foolish ideas plaguing it."

"I agree. This doesn't change anything," Iran stated firmly, his hands tightly gripping the rails. "We're going to wipe the religions out, for everyone's sake."

"Yes," Saudi Arabia stared peacefully out into the city lights. "But I too am thankful to Islam that we are friends. You are my most precious friend, Amir."

Iran smiled, and stared into the night with his friend. "And you are mine."

/ / / / /

Even monsters like them could laugh in normal glee and love.

That's what their enemies never could understand about them. They thought its all twisted, maybe it was in some cases, but it was still love and everyone genuinely cared for each other more than their enemies did for their own.

Losses were inevitable on both sides of the conflict; Turkey had long since accepted that. But it still angered him to the core. Now there are some who will never laugh with each other again, some of Turkey's friends might never even smile again. They will never walk together, touch each other, laugh together ever again for many years to come. The surviving ones will suffer this grief for many centuries to come.

Turkey will not let the friends lost remain unavenged. He will avenge his friends who will never stand side by side with each other ever again.

He will avenge what they lost.

He will make their enemies pay for their stupity.

His very special new friend had a similar idea. The guy might've heard some upsetting news and on top of causing general destruction and death just for the hell of it, he had some people he had to avenge too.

Of course, Turkey also had a few ideas of his own. But he thought it'd only be fair to let his friend have some fun first.

As he reveled in the screams and shouts from the speaks connected the monitors, in the darkness of the house, Turkey laughed.

Thank goodness I finished this in time. At least I updated a little earlier than usual. Next chapter will be the start of the next arc, and in it I'm gonna introduce more nations, advance the plot faster, and get back to plot points or characters that I've neglected like Malawi... which is part of the reason why I put him in this chapter. Hope you liked it! Please review if you have a minute.