Let the chaos begin...

Warning: Death threats, weapons, anarchy, mention of rape

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating the characters, though.

America

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Alfred suppressed anxious whimpers as he hurried around his apartment, opening drawers, going through cabinets, looking for anything that may prove useful to him later on. Hell, he didn't know what would help now that the world had gone to shit. He packed whatever he could into his backpack, having abandoned his suitcase for it shortly after coming to the realization that he wouldn't get far with such bulky luggage.

As he peered out of his window down to the hectic streets bellow, swelled with distant angry mobs and riddled with the constant sounds of gunshots, Alfred wondered if the rest of the world was in just as worse a state. He could try to find out, but it was highly unlikely he'd get much information. After all, the television networks had gone down days before as well as most communication lines.

He sat at the edge of his bed, breathing heavily, satisfied with what he'd managed to fit into the backpack. As he stared almost blindly up at his cracked ceiling, he thought back to when this all began.

It was a year ago that the world economy had gone down the shitter. Every country was in deep debt. Even China had to admit that he was broke, having given most of his money to Alfred who in turn put it toward solving the economical problems in his country but to no avail. And with Yao having switched from closed market to capitalism a few years prior, the situation only worsened. Every other country after that fell to harsh inflation and limited resources and production which caused widespread poverty, unemployment, and famine. In response, the citizens of each nation rose up to challenge their governments, in a worldwide coup, the very ones who were trying to keep the country together. But some government buildings were completely overrun—or so he heard—and the officials were forced to flee. All those who stayed or didn't escape in time encountered the mobs and were violently murdered. Now, with no centralized superior power to keep order, the mobs were sweeping through the countries, attacking any supporters of the government and burning as they went. Alfred remembered the day he saw Lady Liberty being hacked at and eventually brought down on the news just a few months before. Now, the people were attacking national monuments and symbols, claiming that they were just a hoax to get them to support the supposedly 'corrupt' government. The last that Alfred heard, similar things had happened to other countries, from France's Eiffel Tower, to England's Buckingham Palace and Houses of Parliament, and even Russia's Peter and Paul Cathedral and the Kremlin weren't safe from the mobs' wrath.

He ran a hand through his mussed hair and heaved a sigh. "Damn, I wish I could talk to him." He hadn't heard from Arthur for weeks and was very worried. He was older than him, after all. Probably needed a wheelchair to lug his elderly ass around…

Alfred almost burst out laughing at that before reminding himself of the situation that he was in. God, he wished he could talk to someone—anyone. It could be Ivan for all he cared. He just needed to know that he wasn't the only nation still alive.

And his states. His beloved children. No matter how much he searched, Alfred couldn't manage to locate any of them. Not even here, in the heart of Manhattan, could he find New York. Alfred presumed that he'd been smart and fled long before. He wondered why in the world his son hadn't minded to visit him before he left, though Alfred knew the most likely reason for his quick departure was from the insistence of his governor.

Ah, the governor. He had long since been dead. Alfred wasn't sure for how long, but he assumed that, with all the increased activity, he had been taken out a couple days ago. Alfred smiled in spite of himself, chuckling softly under his breath. The governor had never been the sort of man to just give up in the face of danger. The man was as stubborn as an ox. No doubt he would have stayed and continued to work with the angry citizens until his death. But his passing came too soon to have instilled even the smallest amount of order.

And what of his other kids? Had they been taken out by the mobs as well? He didn't try to think about it, but couldn't help worrying. Sure, he could feel it if one of them happened to be killed, but he was still worried. His mind wandered back to the last time he'd heard from one of them—Virginia. She wasn't crying like the other states who had called him; that was not like her. Virginia was strong, the oldest of all the states, and thus had been through many hardships. Still, he could tell her resolve was wearing thin from her voice.

"They're coming," she'd said, her voice close to a whisper, trembling slightly. "I haven't heard from the others since last week. Pennsylvania tried to contact me but…" She took a deep breath and continued, "You've got to get out of here, Dad. You'll get hurt."

"I'll be fine," Alfred reassured, though knowing the statement was close to a lie. "You know that, Red, better than anyone else."

Virginia scoffed at her long-standing nickname, and he knew at the other end of the phone, she was brushing her ruddy locks back out of habit (1). "Whatever. But this isn't your usual riot, Dad, if you haven't already noticed."

"Trust me," Alfred laughed grimly. "I know."

A pause startled him and he found myself yelling, "Red? Red! Are you there?"

"I'm fine, Dad, just some passing people." Virginia responded, her voice barely comprehensible.

"The mobs?" Alfred asked with concern.

"Look, Dad, do what I say." Virginia said sternly. "Don't come looking for me. I can handle myself."

"But—!"

"There's a flight leaving JFK in 2 days at 9:00 p.m. It's bound for Guam. The Uprising hasn't spread there yet, so it's the safest place to be." Virginia whispered, surprising him. "You don't have much time."

"You… you got me a flight?"

"Yeah, I have connections. But I'm afraid they've gone down lately, so this is your only chance unless you have another plan to get out of the country."

A warmth rose in my chest. As much as he wanted to say no and instead come get her, he knew that this opportunity had been gained through sacrifice on Virginia's part. It was her gift to him, and she'd be angry as hell if he turned it down. "Thanks, Red."

He could practically hear her smiling. "No prob."

A loud banging noise followed by shouts and gunshots rattled off on the other end of the phone, and his heart skipped a beat. "Virginia! What was that? The mob?"

"I-I've gotta go, I'm sorry." The stutter in Virginia's voice scared him half to death. Virginia was never one to falter with her words. Then, in a wistful voice, she added, "Love you, Dad."

"I love you t—" Before he could finish, the noise disappeared to be replaced with a dial tone.

He would forever remember that moment, for it might have been the last time they would speak again.

A loud gunshot outside made him jump. It sounded very close to his apartment. Too close for comfort.

He'd spent a whole two days already trying to gather his things and deciding an escape route to Queens. He'd have to cross the Queensboro Bridge somehow… if only he could think of a way to avoid the mobs that were likely to see him as he did so.

Alfred gave an exasperated grunt as he heard another gunshot, this one sounding like it was directly below him. He cautiously crawled over to the window and peeked out.

His heart immediately sank.

It was a man dressed in riot police uniform, though Alfred knew that the whole squad had been eliminated near the beginning of the rebellions. No, this was one of the murderers… a man who had managed to kill a trained officer and took his uniform to catch government officials unawares. The uniform still had several blood stains that Alfred was sure belonged to the officer he'd stolen it from. In his hand was a 12-guage shotgun, which he fired every so often, possibly to keep others away. But why?

Alfred sighed. It looked like he'd be taking the back door out.

Not wanting to waste another second in his now dangerous apartment, Alfred snatched up his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder and grabbing his handgun off the nightstand. He cracked the door of his apartment open, being sure to thoroughly assess the long hallway for any signs of danger and concluded it was safe enough to venture out. He quietly stepped out, locking his door from the outside before sliding the key underneath it. If anything, he wanted to keep those looking for him as busy as possible, and he definitely would not be coming back.

It was almost an awakening for him. From now until this hell ended, he would be on the run.

Alfred moved down the hall with the tentativeness of a deer. Every time he passed a door or turned a corner, he paused and examined his surroundings. Every creak, every bump he made, he stopped and held his breath, waiting for someone to jump out of one of the rooms or around a corner and shoot him dead.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Alfred reached the back staircase. He started down them too eagerly, though, forgetting that the old steps screeched every time any kind of weight was put on them. He halted, wincing, fingers digging into the wooden rail nervously.

A gunshot went off then, making him jump and nearly drop his backpack. Alfred hunched over, preparing himself to receive a bullet in the head, but being met with nothing. Surprised, he stood straight, waiting for another shot, then proceeded down as many stairs as he could before the echoing of the blast stopped. After a few more agonizing shots, Alfred was at the bottom, just about to head out the back door before soft mutters reached his ears.

"… is he? Jack said he'd be here."

Alfred froze, unable to move, unable to breathe.

"Dunno."

"Well, that can't be right, then. Jack's been keeping surveillance over this building for days now, and he swore no one went in or out."

The voices were approaching the stair cellar, until the door finally swung open and two burly, hard-looking men entered, dressed in bullet-proof vests, and holding small handguns.

But Alfred had already slipped under the stairs, hoping the shadows were enough to conceal the glint of his glasses.

"Dammit!" The taller one kicked the steps under which Alfred was crouching. The nation had a death grip on his own gun by now. "I can't take much more of that arrogant prick, John. Thinks he's all that in his officer getup, staying up all night to 'keep watch'. Keep watch, my ass! I shoulda gone with my wife and kids when they boarded that ferry in Buffalo."

The man named John regarded him with accusing eyes. "Yeah, but you chose to stay here instead and kill off the rest of the Deceivers."

"Ya don't need ta remind me. But my family deserves vengeance for what those bastards caused. Where's Mary gonna have her baby now, hm?"

John smirked. "In a manger, maybe?"

"Shut your trap, smartass."

Deceivers? Alfred tried to process what they were saying. So is that what they're calling government workers?

"Cool it, Hank." John said almost soothingly as he looked around the cellar. "When we catch this guy, we'll take all our anger out on him, 'kay?"

"Sounds like fun." Hank circled the room, peering up the steps. He scrutinized the stairs so closely, that Alfred seriously thought he'd left something behind in his descent. "Now, where do ya figure this fucker's hidin'?"

John pointed upward. "Jack said he's on the third floor."

Hank scoffed. "And how does that son of a bitch know?"

"Remember that officer he found just last week?" John grinned slyly and Alfred's stomach did back flips. "He did more than just rape 'im."

Alfred stiffened. Oh, God… if they find me…

Hank, meanwhile, raised a curious eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Interrogated the bitch, did he?"

"I'm sure of it." John's eyes narrowed. "Our prey wouldn't dare peer out the window."

"Damn straight. Though he'd make it a lot easier if he'd just give himself up instead of hidin' out here like a mouse. Damn coward, just like the rest of 'em…"

"Let's go," John said. "We're wasting time."

Hank laid his foot on the first step and Alfred closed his eyes, finally coming to a realization. They're looking for me… but the only person who knew where I was hiding was… Oh, God, Sam… He clapped a hand to his mouth, suddenly feeling very sick. He fought to keep bile from rising in his throat. The last thing he needed was the puke right now. I did that to him. Jack… you fucking bastard.

As John joined Hank at the top of the steps, he asked, "So, do you think we'll be able to keep this one… you know, for recreational purposes?"

Alfred's nails dug into his palm. No way. No fucking way…

Hank leered. "Heh, you would like that, wouldn't cha? Haven't had a good fuck in a while myself. But ya know what Jack said: the kid belongs to 'im."

A cold shiver shot up Alfred's spine, and the door closed above him. He waited a few moments before he gathered the courage to bolt to the back door. His hand shot for the knob, furiously turning, wanting anything to be out of the building and far away. But, try as he might, the doorknob was simply refusing to turn. He bit his lip and could taste blood. Damn!

There was no other alternative. With only two exits in the building, and one being closely guarded by a rapist with a shot gun, he had no choice but to kick the door in. He just hoped it would work the first time. It would spare him a bullet in the head.

Gathering all the strength in him, and willing his limbs to stop trembling, Alfred kicked with all his might at the door. He could feel it budge a little, but it otherwise remained stoic.

Shouting and heavy footsteps approaching from upstairs made Alfred's breath hitch. He abandoned his method of cool, carefully-calculated kicks and instead began to desperately pound at the door.

He gave a startled shout when the two men burst through the upstairs door. "Hey! Hold it right there, kid!"

"No, dammit, c'mon!" Alfred's hands were trembling and his heart was throwing itself against his ribs.

He continued to kick at the door despite the fact that the two men were gaining on him, aiming guns at his back. But that didn't stop him; he knew from their previous conversation that they wouldn't dare shoot him.

Finally, the door flew open, and Alfred stumbled out, barely catching himself on his hands and knees on the ground outside. With reckless abandon, he forwent the careful observation of the city around him and pushed himself to his feet, darting toward the closest cover he could find: an open warehouse.

"Stop!"

"Or we'll shoot!"

Alfred was panting now, heart racing, adrenaline pumping—but no way in hell was he stopping now. He was already so close to the bridge; his apartment was practically a mile from the river.

He turned into the warehouse, running in between rows of boxes to the other end. Behind him, he could hear the two men racing up the rows, searching for him. "You're just askin' for a bullet to the head, aren't ya, boy?"

Alfred slowed in his running until he made no sound when his feet hit the concrete floor. He continued on like that, hunched over behind the boxes, until he was able to slip out the back door and race toward the bridge.

Please don't let them see me, please don't let them see me! Alfred's thoughts were consumed with worry as he hiked his way up to the road that led across the bridge. He ran all the way to the opening, darting behind an abandoned car just in case and finally gathering enough courage to stop and rest and look behind him.

No one. Great.

He surveyed the length of the bridge as far as he could see. Again, no one.

Alfred sighed. It would be a long walk, but if he could make it across, the airport wouldn't be far beyond. He just hoped he could make it before any mobs swept through.

"Well," he muttered. "I have everything to lose. Might as well have fun risking it while I can."

No translations!

References:

The stanza at the beginning is from one of my favorite poems: "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats. It was written to describe the violence and turbulence of WWI. It also sets the mood for the fic.

1-I use 'Red' as a nickname for Virginia because of the queen she was named after. Elizabeth I had a bad temper, was athletic, and very independent-all the attributes I will use to make up Virginia's personality. And yes, I have named all of the states and you will be seeing more of them later on in the fic.

A Word From the Writer: So... sounds angst-y so far? Good! Continue on, this is a multi-chapter post to get things rolling!