A/N: I understand this may be a sensitive subject as COVID-19 is currently an ongoing pandemic and there is a lot of false news circulating, so I will try to start at the beginning where the news has been confirmed and move on to the current global panic when it begins to settle down in a few months or so.

Also, I apologize for any inaccuracies, whether it be in events, statistics, dates, governments, representations of the WHO/UN, or anything else.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia; I own only my mentioned OC's.

WARNING: Story contains mentions of racism/xenophobia, death, sickness, violence, and strong language. (I will add warnings at the top of a chapter if such topics appear.) This particular chapter contains strong language, violence, and a bit of racism/xenophobia.

China straightens himself in his chair and sighs, watching the sun slip below the horizon. Today had been no different from any other day; resuming work, keeping up with his nation, "Happy New Year" all around. He had frequently been considered "lucky" by other nations as he is always one of the first to see the new year, but for him, the new year wouldn't pass until about a month later. For the sake of convenience, China had chosen to adhere to the Gregorian calendar (or, as his country likes to call it, the "Western" calendar), though he had always felt more deeply connected to the Lunar.

"New year, new me," they say, but for a country to become "new" or even the slightest bit different at the start of a year is, well, complicated. No goals to set, no habits to change. If a country were to truly change, it would involve laws moving, attitudes shifting, society transforming. Had such changes happened before? Of course—China can still remember who he was millennia ago, and how different he is now.

And what should change and what shouldn't is the true question. For the past decades it had been, for every nation including China himself. Things would happen, he knew, but what things were up to him, his government, and his country to change? To fix? To make? Climate change has become a growing issue the past year, and he admittedly takes part of the blame. Australia is having an especially difficult fire season—poor guy, what of the smoke? America is struggling with his 2020 election and tensions with Iran, England is busy leaving the European Union . . . all of these busy events around the world, and China seems to have little to nothing.

The Chinese man flips open his laptop. No matter how much he tells himself to relax and forget, he can't help but start planning for the following year. He has one day left, after all. He browses through his brain, thinking about what to do next. Perhaps he shouldn't plan on his own; soon enough, his government would be pressing on him, and he would have no choice but to follow. But Lord knows, no government can handle everything themselves.

Out of plain curiosity, China decides to check on the news. He anticipates nothing—it would all be about new year's celebrations around the world, surely—and stifles a yawn as he scrolls through the many, perhaps hundreds, of articles.

Soon, a particular headline catches his eye. He remembers reading about the same situation weeks earlier, but hadn't heard from it since. The article had been published only an hour ago. The man shrugs and clicks on it without hesitation, silently groaning at all of the advertisements flooding the page—they never stop, do they? But as his brown eyes gloss over the words and his brain processes the information, his face goes pale.

China tucks his long hair behind his ears and squints. He clicks away from the article and scrolls back through his news feed, and sure enough, several other headlines spill out similar news, almost as a warning. According to nearly all of the articles, Wuhan's Center for Disease Control had already been notified days earlier.

Well, certainly, it appears to be happening . . . again.

China reaches for his phone. He types a number, but hesitates at hitting the dial button. His palms clam up with sweat and he inhales and exhales deeply before finally deciding to make the call. The phone buzzes as he holds it up to his ear, and seconds later, a familiar voice can be heard.

"Um," The Chinese man sputters in response, unsure of how to break the news. "Over here, there's been something new . . . yes, uh, I believe it's an emergency . . . of course, we need to have another meeting, as soon as possible . . . well, um, I'm not sure, but . . ." China gulps as he reads out the headlines of several articles in front of him, almost exactly the same.

Outbreak of a New Coronavirus Detected in Wuhan

Germany brushes his slick blond hair away from his face and makes his way down the hallway in a perfect stride, clearly in no mood to waste time. China can't help but feel a small pang of envy; the German always knew how to manage everything and everyone so well, calming the chaos no matter how bleak the situation, not to mention how respected he is by the other nations. If it weren't for him, every meeting would end in disastrous war. The chaos within all the other nations is unmeasurable.

"China," he says, his voice slicing through the silence, almost startling the Asian man.

"Yes?" China gulps.

Germany gazes at him with his stern, icy eyes as they walk. "What of this new 'coronavirus'? How dangerous is it?"

"That I don't know," China sighs. "And that is exactly why I called this meeting. We need to know how to protect against it in the case it ends up spreading. I thought it was pneumonia—and they are quite rather similar, at that—but clearly, it isn't." He shrugs and looks away, pausing in his words. "I don't believe it will be very serious, but only the health experts can know the truth."

The taller man inhales. "You said 'coronavirus', correct?"

China nods. "And it's new."

"Though you, and whoever you may have gotten information about it from, say it is new, is it of any relation to your 'SARS' coronavirus of 2003?"

2003. China can still remember the vivid flashbacks of receiving the horrifying news and watching the death toll climb. He can still remember abruptly testing positive and being hospitalized (though as a country, he can't die) and how miserable he had felt for weeks on end. Poor Canada had fallen sick, too. Thousands more had been sickened by the virus, and hundreds had died—not only within his country, but outside as well. Fortunately, by the end of the year, it had been controlled and by the end of 2004, the outbreak had ended. And it had been confirmed that the coronavirus now, of 2020, was indeed a new strain of the previous.

"Yes," China confirms. "It is a new strain that causes the same illness. But this time around, we'll take action quicker and better, and it won't be as widespread. I'm sure we can contain it before the outbreak gets worse, but as said before, how bad it truly could become is up to the health experts."

Germany purses his lips. "I remember, a few years ago, we were warned such an outbreak could happen," he quietly reminisces. He lets out a short sigh and shakes his head. "Of course, if there would have been a way to stop it, those measures would have been taken, surely. Do you, by any chance, know where—"

The blond man is abruptly cut short when a short man with dark, messy hair and olive skin bursts in between them and storms down the hallway to the meeting room. He's dressed in a suit, like all the nations would be at the meeting, but China instantly recognizes him as Iran. He seems angry about something, and he hasn't ever been this early, arriving before Germany had.

Less than a second later, a taller blond man with an unmistakable cowlick and glasses also bursts through in between Germany and China and storms down the hall, following Iran's steps. He, too, appears to be fuming with anger, and like Iran, he has never been this early to a meeting before.

Germany sighs in exasperation. He scowls. "Well," he snarls, loud enough for America and Iran to hear, "looks like someone is short on manners today." But by the time he says it, the two men have already vanished around a turn. He clenches his fists and sighs once more.

China tightens his lips. Many nations knew nothing of manners—that had always been a fact, and what typically led to the chaos of all their meetings. Why, however, did Iran and America both seem so upset? China wants to know why, but he decides he has no time to think about it. Instead, he turns back to Germany.

"Germany, you were saying . . . ?" China starts.

The tall man sighs once more and shakes his head. "It can wait until the meeting," he answers. "We'd better get it started." He resumes his stride and walks past China to the meeting room. Shrugging, China follows him.

"It is a new coronavirus, and is believed to have started in Wuhan," China explains. "We are trying to prevent it from spreading further."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" Netherlands questions.

China thinks for a moment. "Quarantine, perhaps," he answers. "The best that we can do right now is try to contain the virus. It isn't very widespread right now, but it spreads easily. If we don't take action soon, it could be like the last outbreak. Should it worsen, we all must—"

"Hold up," America interrupts. He raises an eyebrow. "Hang on for a second. What kind of bullshit are you talking about?" His tone is harsh, and he sounds just as angry as he had seemed earlier when walking down the hallway. His hair looks less tidy than usual, his eyes shadowed from fatigue.

China takes a step back in shock. Bullshit? Is America not trusting the news about the virus? He narrows his eyes. "What do you mean, 'bullshit'? What I'm saying is true. If we don't contain the virus, it'll spread worldwide like the SARS outbreak. That's all."

"It's still in your country, and in your country only?"

"As of right now, yes."

"Then it's not our problem."

Taken aback, China shakes his head. "That's not what I mean. Of course it's not a 'problem'—I wouldn't call it that. All I want is for you to understand that there is the possibility it could spread, and you should be warned that it is inevitable."

"Then if it isn't a problem, why did you call this meeting?" America raises his voice, sounding profusely annoyed. He leans over on the table and scowls at China, who suddenly notices that America isn't angry about the virus. He's fuming over something else. "If the virus is in your own country and only your own country, deal with it yourself! What kind of 'virus' is it, anyways?"

China internally groans. "As said before, it's a new type of coronavirus, thought to be a new strain of the virus that caused the SARS outbreak. It started in Wuhan, and our best bet to contain it is by—"

"All I asked is what kind of virus it is, not your containment efforts, whatever you think they should be, or where this virus started," America snaps, almost scaring China. The young nation had never acted like this before. Even during the first meeting regarding the SARS disease 17 years ago, he hadn't. China is sure something is wrong, but before he can ask, America continues.

"So how exactly did your . . . Chinese Virus—"

"Don't call it that," China interrupts. "Call it the 'coronavirus' or 'COVID-19'. Don't call it whatever you just called it. And it's not 'my virus'; don't call it that, either. I didn't start it on purpose."

America rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, 'coronavirus', fine. How exactly did this coronavirus begin? I don't care where it began. I want to know how it began. Is it your lab testing? Your nukes? Your pollution?"

Lab testing? Nukes? Pollution? Where is America trying to go with such assumptions? China sighs and shakes his head. "It was first detected in some kind of seafood market. I believe the virus was transmitted from the animals there."

"There you go! The answer is simple!" America matter-of-factly states, throwing his arms out as if the solution is visible mid-air. "Stop eating whatever animals you're eating, and these viruses won't come back! Seriously, dude—it's not our issue. Not our problem. The virus is in your country because of your habits, so deal with it on your own. Quarantine your own people. Don't bring anything onto us."

China is at a loss for words. An empty, awkward silence hangs in the large room like ropes from the ceiling before England finally breaks it with a few calm words—the words that China had been wanting to ask America minutes ago, yet had never gotten the chance to.

"America," England nonchalantly questions, not looking at the American, "is something wrong?"

"With me?" America appears confused, and his response is as blunt and clipped as his angry outburst from seconds earlier.

"Yes, with you," England reiterates with a nod. He finally turns to face his ally, resting a single arm on the table. "You're not acting like yourself. You're snappish and terse today. Has something happened? Anything I should know?"

The younger nation cocks his head to the side and chuckles. "That you should know? That—" He abruptly stands up and gestures to everyone in the room, all eyes on him. "—everyone should know?"

Visibly taken aback, the Brit hesitates, but nods. "Of course. This is a meeting, after all." But not one to mess around and get off topic with, China thinks, hoping England isn't steering away from the topic; the coronavirus. "If something has been bothering you, say it. There's nothing wrong with letting me, or any of us, know."

Well . . . China would beg to differ at that. Not everything wanted to be said should really be said. But before he has a chance to say so, America takes in a deep breath and spills his news in an extremely rushed manner, as if he has a five-second time limit to speak.

"Iran killed my ambassador, so I killed his second-in-command, and I dumped a couple of nukes on him, so he dumped a couple of nukes on me, and he shot down an airplane thinking it was one of my nukes. Happy now?"

All jaws in the room silently fall open, with the exception of Iran's, which is tightly pressed shut, his lips pursed. China glances over and sees him, and sure enough, the Iranian's face is twisted into a scowl, his eyes narrowed into a glare directed at his American rival. His arms are tightly crossed against his chest and he is bent forward over the table. Another full three seconds of silence hang in the vast room before it is shattered yet again by England, only with an all-too-familiar yell.

"You what?!" he screams, flying out of his seat and slamming his palms onto the table, gritting his teeth at America. The chair from under him falls backward from the momentum. "You godawful asshat, you killed Iran's second-in-command and launched an airstrike?!" His pale hands leave the table and frantically fly through the air with gestures.

"He killed my ambassador first! And he launched airstrikes too, not to mention the plane he shot down! Did I not make his atrocities clear enough?!" America counters, returning Iran's deathly glare. His tone is unusually harsh. China cringes slightly, and so do several others in the room, including England. Strangely, Iran does not; instead, he turns away from the scene with an exasperated eye roll. America had never been this angry before at a meeting. He continues, "What else should I have done, huh? Let him get away with it?"

England spins around, glances at Iran, then back at America, then back at Iran, and finally locks eyes with Iran again. He raises an eyebrow and points to him.

"Iran, you—?" he starts, not bothering to finish his sentence.

Iran also stands up from his seat, although he does not jump up like the two blond men did. "Yes," he confirms, "I killed America's ambassador, and I regret nothing—"

"America, Iran, England, please," Germany gripes, "sit down. This meeting was not—"

"—but the plane was shot down by mistake." The Iranian talks over Germany, as though he isn't there. He deepens his glare at America and continues with his claim. "It looked like something dangerous, like a threat."

"Something dangerous, hm? As dangerous as one of my nukes? You thought a Boeing 737-800 was one of my nukes? One of my nukes?" America growls.

"After what you did to me, how could I not?" Iran raises his voice and his face flushes, but this has no effect on America. Instead, he stifles a pfft and laughs again.

"Under another circumstance, I would be flattered, really," he says, dragging his words out in emphasis. "You think a missile of mine is really that big? You think it has big, adorable, floppy wings on the side to help it fly and two hundred human beings who love my nukes so much that they paid to ride in it?"

The shade of red on Iran's face deepens, but China can't tell if it is from anger or embarrassment. Likely both, he realizes, because Iran scowls and averts his eyes from America. But China also realizes that the discussion is spinning out of topic, fast. He needs to—

"They don't like your 'nukes' at all."

This time, the voice is softer, and comes from only a few seats away. China turns his body around in his seat and sees Canada, who has a strange and melancholic expression on his face. He sits firm and upright in his seat and pushes his glasses in place before continuing.

"America," Canada says, setting his arms on the table, "Iran may have shot down the plane, but it was your fault he did."

For the first time that China can remember, all eyes, even America's, are now on Canada, and everyone is intently listening to what he has to say next. His American brother, on the other hand, is staring agape at him; even England looks confused.

Shortly after, America speaks again.

"I had nothing to do with the plane," America counters, crossing his arms and glaring at his brother. "You say it was my fault. How, for fuck's sake, was it my fault? He—" The American glances at Iran. "—was the one who shot down the plane, all because he thought it was one of my nukes."

Canada sharpens his glare. "That's my point," he grits. "If you hadn't launched so many airstrikes at Iran, he wouldn't have shot down the plane. He wouldn't have mistaken it for a missile. You scared him—traumatized him—and you had no reason to do that to him."

"I wasn't . . . I'm not scared," Iran objects. "I would never be scared of you." He glares at America while saying the last word, his voice strong, but the anxiety is evident in his tired-looking eyes. "But Canada is right. America had no reason to nuke me. We killed each other's people, and we should have left it at that."

America stands still, visibly shocked. His mouth hangs open in surprise, and he glances back and forth from Iran to Canada and back. China, blinking rapidly, expects that Iran will be verbally attacked again, but instead, the American settles his eyes on Canada.

"Are you alright?" he says. "Do you have this virus that China was talking about? Why are you acting so goddamn weird, man?"

"What?" Now Canada is the one appearing confused.

"You're defending Iran. Is something up? The plane crashed because of him. He mistook the plane for a missile and shot it down, period."

"He had every right to."

"That asshole had every right to shoot the plane down?"

"No, he had every right to think it was a missile, because of you!"

"Hundreds of airplanes fly through the sky every day; why would that one look any more like a nuke than the others?"

Canada is now seething with anger. He launches out of his seat. "Because it flew in the same direction your missiles would go! Do you know how many innocent Canadians were on that plane when it crashed? If you—America—hadn't done so many airstrikes against Iran, they would be safe at home now, with their families, resuming their lives!"

The younger nation cocks his head to the side and chuckles. He shakes his head. "Huh, okay. That's what you're pissed about. You're pissed that your citizens were passengers on the plane. If they weren't your people, you wouldn't care about them, man. You wouldn't give a damn if they were the last humans on earth."

Canada scowls. "They did not deserve to die."

"My ambassador did not deserve to die, either."

"That's not my point."

America slams his hands onto the table and points an accusing finger at his brother. "Listen. I don't give a fuck about what your 'point' is. My point is, Iran is an idiot. He is an insane, crazy, be-damned-in-hell son of a bitch who has no idea how to manage his nukes or his economy properly and instead thinks it's alright to kill my ambassador, dump his nukes on my military, and shoot down any aircraft in sight purely on impulse."

"You scared him, America! He only shot the plane down because he was scared of you attacking him again!"

"He should be!"

"Am I suddenly not present at this meeting?" Iran yells over the North American brothers. "Where's my turn to talk? What about my second-in-command that America killed?"

"For the love of God, all of you . . ." England groans, reaching down for his chair and sitting again. He sighs and buries his face in his hands.

"Yes," America agrees, the sarcasm evident in his voice, "for the love of God." He stresses the last word while glaring at Iran, mocking England's sharp accent. China bites his lip and watches, waiting for the Brit to explode with anger, but he doesn't. Instead, he lets out an audible sigh, and mutters unintelligible sentences under his breath, his face still tucked in his hands.

"Have we forgotten what this meeting is supposed to be about?" China intervenes. He had wanted to warn everyone about the new coronavirus so that appropriate measures would be taken fast enough—unlike last time. But, clearly, this meeting is going nowhere yet again, as always. "America, Iran, can we discuss your . . . tensions in a different meeting? I'd like to talk about what this meeting was held for."

His eyes blank, the American glances at China before turning to Iran. He stands statue-still for a brief second that appears to drag on for eternity, before suddenly turning away from his table area and practically lunging to the other end of the room in the direction of his rival. England jumps up, his chair knocked over for the second time, and launches his body at the American's in a sheer attempt to stop him.

America wrestles out of his former guardian's grip, yanks him by his pale blond hair, and quite literally throws him against the wall. The impact generates a loud bang that ripples across the room. The Brit tries to suppress a yelp, but he visibly grimaces in pain.

At the same time, Iran leaps away from his seat and begins to run full force at America, who is also running freely towards the Iranian, his feet flying. Germany, France, Israel, and even Russia try to stop the impending fight by restraining the two nations, but they are no more—perhaps less—successful than England.

Iran and America forcefully collide together near the back of the meeting room and instantly begin to strangle, yell, and curse at each other. They fall to the ground, out of China's sight, but smacks echo throughout the room, indicating that the fight is getting physical. Instinctively, China and multiple other nations immediately dash to the scene, pushing through the more sedentary members who are observing the brawl from their seats.

Iran is pinned to the carpet floor by America, who is repeatedly screaming at him and yanking at his dark hair. His fists are landing on the smaller man's face and body. China's ear can pick up "nukes", "war", "ambassador", "sanctions", and other not-so-positive subjects throughout the men's angry back-to-back cursing. Iran, however, is attempting to kick his rival to the side, also angrily yelling at him.

Another earthshaking voice bellows over the two. It's Germany's, and he is not happy. He frantically barks at Iran and America to settle the fight, but it is to no avail. Neither of them respond. Instead, Iran manages to catch America off guard and skitters from under him, standing up and slamming his hard fist into the blond man's face, not once, but twice. America cries out in surprise and practically flips over to the other side of the table, but recovers in a matter of seconds with a menacing scowl plastered onto his face, his gritted teeth bared like a killer dog. He lunges at Iran once more, colliding with him against the wall, his fist raised, but is then pulled back by none other than England.

China realizes this is his chance, and he ducks behind the two blonds, restraining a beaten-up Iran, keeping him pinned to the wall. The middle eastern man begins to retaliate, his eyes wide and burning with rage. He struggles against the older nation, flailing around and yelling to be let go, but when Russia appears from the side and grabs his left shoulder, Iran stops, gulping. Only then does China realize the damage that Iran has taken; blood trickles from his nose, a bruise is starting to stain his olive skin around the jaw, and one of his eyes is already slightly swollen. His hair is even messier than before.

China wonders what to do, and thinks he just might have an idea until England yells again.

"America!" England grips his ally's arm so hard that his knuckles turn white, twisting America around so that they are face-to-face. The Brit is visibly seething with anger and shock, his small framed body shaking like never before. "What the fucking hell is wrong with you?! What were you doing?!"

"Teaching Iran a lesson!" America spits out, his voice no quieter than during the minute-long brawl. His left eye is swollen, his glasses missing, and blood runs from his mouth. "Teaching him the lesson he needs after killing my ambassador and—"

"No!" England shouts. "No, what were you really doing?!"

The American jerks his arm away from England and reaches the other one through the air, but England reflexively flings his own hand up and stops it, his eyes narrowing into a glare. For the first time since the meeting started, America looks defeated.

"Don't even think about throwing me against the wall again." The sentence comes from a gravelly, low growl in his throat, and England takes a deep breath in and out, still visibly trembling from the incident. He gently lowers America's arm back to his side, but intently watches him.

Germany appears from behind China and takes Iran's arm from him. "I've got him. Try to get the meeting back on track," the tall man quietly says, though from the way he says it, he clearly doesn't want a "try"; he wants it to happen no matter the situation. China nods, and turns to the nations twisted around in their seats, shocked expressions plastered onto their faces.

"I apologize for what happened," China announces, clearing his throat. He tries to rewind his mind to see where he left off talking about the virus, but his ears pound with America and Iran's strangled yelling. He sighs. "Clearly, our meeting has gone off track—again—and I believe I've said everything I've needed to say about the coronavirus; know that the spread of it is inevitable, but be prepared with efforts to contain it. I won't hesitate to take any questions—"

"I've got a question," a loud voice pipes up from behind. It's America, and although he seems to have simmered down from earlier, he still appears annoyed and angry. "Why exactly is your Chinese Virus so important?"

"It is not a 'Chinese' Virus! Nor is it 'my virus'!" China snaps, clenching his fists. He turns back to the many seated nations. "We are not to call COVID-19 any located-based name—not 'Wuhan Virus', 'Chinese Virus', 'Asian Virus', nothing! And it is important because this is what had been the predicted return of the SARS outbreak of 2003, and if we don't take action soon, this outbreak may escalate even worse than that one! Have I made that clear?"

Everyone nods, murmuring "yes" and similar. At the same time, Germany appears at China's side.

"Due to the numerous incidents that have occured, I have decided to end this meeting," the blond man announces. "There will be another meeting soon. You are dismissed."

The room starts to stir. This meeting had been even more chaotic than usual, and had, of course, gone nowhere. Sometime during the earlier commotion, China's ponytail had become undone, and his long, dark hair is now falling freely over his shoulders. He drapes it to one side and slowly wraps his spare hair tie around it, sighing. He doesn't bother to spend the seconds to fix it nicely.

As the nations slowly file out of the room, with Russia and Germany making sure to keep America and Iran separated from each other, China catches sight of England leaning an arm against the wall and sighing. That's right—he'd gotten thrown against the wall by America. China runs over and places a gentle hand on the Brit's shoulder, who turns his emerald eyes to look at him.

"England. I saw what happened," China says, "with America throwing you around and all. Are you okay?"

England takes a deep breath. He nods, and one side of his mouth curls upward into a smile. "I'm alright," he answers. "He's done worse to me. What worries me is that he'd do something like that now, when we're not at conflict with one another. He did that to me because he's at conflict with someone else." He turns away and rests his blond head against the wall. "He's impulsive; I would know that. But I'm afraid that after what happened today, he'll do something rash to Iran, something that doesn't need to be done."

"War?" China sighs, though he doesn't want to consider the possibility.

England reluctantly nods. "Once he's calmed down, I've got to tell him that war isn't a reasonable option. It's not worth it; never would it be. I've got to get that through his head."

The Asian man agrees. But something seems to be missing, like a forgotten puzzle piece.

"Why didn't he tell us?" he asks, not expecting an answer. "Why didn't he tell us about any of this until now? Clearly, whatever happened—the killing, the airstrikes, the plane—had happened days ago. From the way he told us at this meeting, it's serious, between Iran and him. At the first meeting all those years back when I announced the presence of SARS, he took the warning seriously. The fact that he didn't this time, only because tensions with Iran are seemingly more important, worries me, too."

"I don't know," England responds. He sighs. "SARS terrified him for months on end."

"But you know him the best. All these years, I've been his ally and his enemy, yet I'll never know him like you do," China presses. "You know a way to calm him down and to get him to understand the real danger of the new coronavirus, COVID-19. He's the most powerful country now, and if anyone can make the biggest difference in the direction of this virus, he can."

"I'll make sure he understands." England calmly says it like a promise. However, it's clear that he doesn't care about the virus, either. He, too, is more worried about America and Iran's relations. He starts towards the large doors that exit out of the meeting room, and turns to look at China one last time.

"Until next time, China," he gently says. He then disappears behind the slam of the heavy door.

"Until next time," China answers quietly, though he knows England is long gone and can't hear him. The three words echo throughout the now vacant room, reminding him that he is now alone.

Not wanting to leave, China drags back the nearest chair and sits down, slumping his body over the cold table. He sighs for what he feels is the hundredth time today and, out of boredom, starts twirling his fingers in his loose ponytail.

He recalls the nations' clear disregard for the coronavirus. At least Germany had appeared to think about it; he even wanted to know more before the meeting had started. So, Germany cares—but not anyone else. Netherlands seemed distracted when asking questions. America and Iran are, quite obviously, preoccupied with themselves. England, though saying he cared, clearly wanted to escape. No one besides Germany had even asked a single reasonable question about the virus, at least not out of concern.

"New year, new me." Yet the new year had, as of January, brought nothing but a bad kind of "new". A new virus. A new America. A new Canada. And new problems, but no new solutions to accompany them.

Just over a week ago, China had been wondering what he should do for 2020, in particular what he should change, and he had no clue. But now, a certain goal is in front of his eyes—not desired, but needed. No other nation seems to care about the virus, but he does.

"Deal with it on your own!" America had objected.

If no one else cares, China reasons, perhaps America is right. Perhaps all he can do—and all he can change—is to take matters into his own hands. Even if no other nation does anything to prevent the virus, he will. At that moment, China vows to not let COVID-19 be like SARS, where he didn't take action fast enough. That, for this year, is what he decides he needs to change.

Notes:

The WHO was first notified about COVID-19 on December 31st, 2019. From 2002-2004, there was another coronavirus outbreak (known as the SARS outbreak), but much smaller than the outbreak of 2020 and did not progress into a pandemic. Both outbreaks first began in China and terrified the world.

China's response to the 2002-04 outbreak was criticized by the WHO for not being fast or urgent enough; they claimed that had China reacted sooner and better, the virus could have been contained more. However, China's response to the 2019-20 outbreak was much faster and urgent and praised by the WHO.

Iran in this story is not the same canon Persia character as that "Persia" represents several historical Persian empires and apparently has children/grandchildren that are the actual representatives of present-day countries (similar to how Rome is not a representative of present-day Italy). For this reason, "Iran" in this story will be an OC of mine, though very similar to Persia.

In early 2020, in the midst of the Persian Gulf Crisis, Iran killed an American ambassador, and the US killed an Iranian second-in-command. The two nations made a close call to a third world war with airstrikes. The US and Iran became very distraught with each other after these events and still are.

Flight 752, departing from Iran, was shot down on January 8th, 2020. Iran admitted that they shot down the plane because it was mistaken as a missile or threat. The crash had no survivors and many passengers aboard the plane were Canadians; Canada became very upset about this and blamed the US for the unnecessary escalation that led to the crash.

News about worsening US-Iran relations began to overshadow the coronavirus news as the virus was not yet prevalent in the US or Iran at the time.

Author's Notes:

I've been wanting to write about a present-day/recent event for a while now, and I decided this was one I could venture into. Thanks for reading the first chapter of Breaking Viral! (You can probably expect a new chapter every week-ish or so.) Please let me know how you like it so far.