POSTING SCHEDULE CHANGE
The Good News: The Editor has a new job!
The Bad News: Due to New Job Training, the Editor will not have nearly as much time to do edits going for the next several weeks and we're going to have to shift out posting schedule to every TWO weeks, instead of every week. Sorry, folks. The next several chapters are INTENSE and we really need to make sure we give them the full editing treatment they deserve.
Warning: verbal abuse, threat of sexual assault, violence
"This heat, it is unbearable," Aleksey complained, stripping off his camo jacket and revealing a sweat soaked green t-shirt beneath. More sweat beaded his forehead and upper lip.
"You are wrong, my friend. In Israel, it is hot. This, this is humidity." Yosef drawled, rearranging the cards in his hand.
Scowling, Aleksey turned to the leader of their small group. "Bobby, this is not good working conditions. You are being unreasonable. We open the big doors, there is air, everyone is happy."
"For the last time, I'm not opening those doors," Bobby snapped. "Get it through that damn thick Russian skull of yours. We are here incognito. That means we keep everything locked down tight. We can't afford for some aircraft to go flying over the top of the island and notice that there are a bunch of people running around. Our orders are to stay out of sight, and that's exactly what we're going to do. So shut your damn trap and play cards. Yosef and Nathan are kicking our asses. Thought you said you knew how to play Hearts."
"You know," Nathan interrupted, "you could use the fancy satellite phone you are so stingy with and ask them to deliver, ah, air conditioner. Ce serait magnifique." He paused to mop at a drop of sweat running down the side of his face, then threw the last trump on the table, he caught the trick and smiled. "I believe that is the game, messieurs."
Defeated, Bobby threw his cards down on the table and unleashed a volley of curse words. He knew he shouldn't have been betting on this damn game. Now he was out $500. Frustrated, he pushed away from the table, looking around. "Where the hell is Carl?"
"He went to take a piss. The phone?" Nathan pushed.
"You can't be serious," Bobby gaped for a moment, then stared pleadingly up at the ceiling for a moment before glaring. "How in the world did I get stuck with such morons? The sat phone is for official business. We are here on a mission. It is probably the single most important, most significant cause you will ever have the opportunity to be a part of in your pathetic lives, so stop whining like a bunch 8-year-old girls and do your damn job!"
"Why all the shouting?" Carl groaned as he pushed his way through the heavy steel doors leading into the room.
"Please, you talk to him, get him to see reason," Aleksey implored the German soldier.
"What is the problem?"
"What is the problem?" Nathan mocked. "Obviously, it is sweltering in here."
Carl nodded his understanding. Without hesitating, he drew his sidearm and shot out the windows on either side of the building. "Problem solved," he announced in satisfaction, holstering his weapon.
The others sat shocked, their ears ringing as the sound of the gunshot ricocheted around the room.
"What in the fucking hell-"
The beginning of Bobby's tirade was cut off by the walkie-talkie on the corner of the table crackling to life. Tosetti's voice came out in a static fit, "Decontamination room, what the hell is happening over there? Report, now!"
Bobby snatched up the device before any of the other idiots could make a move. "Everything is under control. Carl's being a damned idiot, is all. The packages are still secure," he snarled, glaring hatefully at the man still lingering next to the doors.
"Get your people under control. We can't afford any mistakes."
"If these were my people," Bobby snapped back, "we'd have this under control. I can only work with what I'm given. And you gave me shit."
"Just fix it."
"Yes sir." Bobby placed the walkie back on the table, crossed the short distance over to Carl, and slammed a hard fist into his face, sending the German to the ground. Bobby glared down at the man, "You pull another fool stunt like that, the next set of bullets that fly will be the ones I put in you. What is happening here is too important to let some pissant like you to screw it up." With that, he delivered a sharp kick to Carl's ribs, then turned to the men at the table. "That goes for you too. This organization saved you from your miserable, worthless lives, not out of the goodness of our hearts, but to do a job. We have given you the opportunity to be part of something great. So get your shit together."
Needing some distance from the second-rate soldiers, Bobby grabbed a chair, drug it closer to the cell and waited for the prisoners to wake up.
Consciousness returned slowly. There was a weight pressed against his side, painful pinching at his wrists, a horrific pounding in his head. Then came the smell of bleach, metal, blood, and sweat. The vague roaring in his ears started to form coherent sound and the bitter, aggressive words echoing and bouncing off hard surfaces sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Finally, Germany cracked his eyes open, only a little bit at a time so he could adjust to the light.
He purposely lay still, trying not to alter the pattern of his breathing and moving his eyelids in slow increments. The smell of blood, he realized, came from himself and from the weight next to him. Bleach and metal surrounded him and there was a painfully hard surface under his back.
Even with how slowly he opened his eyes, Germany found that the light only aggravated the pounding, piercing pain in his head. He bit back a pained whimper, wanting nothing more than to curl up and hide until everything went away.
But he couldn't hide. Something had happened, he was in danger. And- there had been others, hadn't there?
Germany shut his eyes once more, mind racing as he struggled to piece together scattered memories. After lying still for several long moments, he started to gather the fragments. There had been a meeting. Italy, America. And dinner somewhere - he remembered watching America eating plate after plate while telling stories.
And then- what?
Struggling not to furrow his brow, Germany slowly dredged through his memories, feeling as though he was swimming in molasses.
Japan - they had decided to go see Japan.
And the meeting had been in Washington, so-
Plane.
The plane had filled with smoke. They had worn oxygen masks, bracing as the plane desperately raced to safety. The pilots had landed the plane successfully. There had a been a moment of silence, when there were no shouting stewards or Italy crying. A moment where they realized they had made it.
And then . . .
Gunshots. Pain. Darkness.
Then, he'd started to sit up in his seat. America's head exploded in a shower of blood and brains. Darkness fell and he knew nothing.
Mein Gott. They had been captured! It was just like Austin, he realized. Panic started to build within him. Not again, he couldn't go through that again.
A sudden pained sound abruptly interrupted Germany's growing panic.
"I hurt all over," Italy whimpered.
Germany felt the smaller nation burrow deeper into his side.
"Make it stop." Italy's voice vibrated against Germany's side. "I feel like I was shot."
"Well, well, well, looks like our guests are finally awake!" a booming voice cackled from nearby. The sudden words were far too gleeful, and disturbingly familiar, for comfort.
Deciding it was pointless now to continue to feign unconsciousness, Germany opened his eyes and slowly sat up, pulling Italy up along with him.
He and Italy were locked in a cell, their hands bound before them in painfully tight handcuffs. The cage looked as though it had been assembled in great haste; the sides of the cages were crudely welded together at their edges with the door of the cage at the end farthest from them.
The room they were in was very unusual. It appeared to be a strange overlarge shower, complete with green tile and at least forty or fifty shower heads and matching drains extending down the long space on both walls. Past the bars of their hastily constructed cell, several guards sat around a rickety folding table playing cards. Solid looking steel doors, each with a small window, were visible past the guards at the far end of the room. Two broken windows on either side of the building completed the room.
A man stood in front of a chair sitting near the cage, staring at them with a twisted sneer. And Germany knew this man - it was one of the stewards from the plane. Bobby. The name floated into Germany's sluggish mind. Even with the distance between them, Germany could see the hate in Bobby's eyes. The palpable hostility was a stunning contrast to the lighthearted cheer the steward had feigned hours earlier in Hawaii.
Behind Bobby, the four men at the table all turned to look at them, and then, there was a faint snicker.
"What do we care about these étrange créatures?" one of the men sneered. "Especially when they are Nazis and fascists?"
"Shut up, Nathan," Bobby snapped, shooting a sharp look over his shoulder.
At Germany's side, Italy stiffened. Small hands bound tightly together clutched at his shirt, short nails scratching against dried blood.
"Germany, what's going on?" Italy whispered. He cast a fearful look at the men gathered around the card table. They were all clad is green camo patterned fatigues. Handguns were strapped to their hips and some even had knives sticking up out of their combat boots. Several rifles were leaned against the wall near the table.
"Hush, Italy," Germany responded in a tense voice, his eyes locked on Bobby.
"You want to know what's going on?" Bobby slowly stalked forward in a proud swagger. He stopped outside the cage, just out of reach. He extended his arms to the side, looking like he wanted to give them some kind of perverse hug. "You're our guests," he boasted with a mocking sneer. "You should be grateful," he continued. "You're sitting in the lap of luxury compared to what the other freak is going through right now."
Italy went white while Germany ground his teeth together. They'd both momentarily forgotten about America, hadn't pieced together that he was missing.
"Who are you?" Germany roared. His voice was booming and powerful, rolling with the air of command. For a moment, he saw one of the men still at the table jerk, almost as though controlling some involuntary movement. "What is the meaning of this?"
"This," Bobby answered, "this is your last stop; it's the end of you and your entire twisted species." He leaned in close. "You barely escaped us in Austin," he hissed, "you won't be so lucky this time."
"Freaks!"
"Monsters!"
"Can't wait for them to slice you open!"
"Gonna make you beg!"
Italy pressed his face against his bent knees, desperate to block out the relentless onslaught of taunts and threats from the sneering, hate-filled guards. The verbal assault of the guards had grown increasing violent and vulgar as time had passed. Unfortunately, they had grown tired of talk and had moved to action. His hand still hurt from the first blow. He hadn't been expecting it. The guard had moved around the cage casually, nonchalant, maneuvering until he was behind Italy before thrusting the butt of his rifle through the bars and smashing it down, crushing bound hands into the tile below.
They'd laughed, evil mirth filling their eyes when he cried out in pain, taunts and jeers once again filling the air as he whimpered and moved closer to Germany for comfort and protection.
They had gotten in a few more glancing blows, one to his shoulder, a few to Germany's ribs, before they were able to get the very center of their cell, just out of reach of the guards abusive treatment.
Germany watched now as the guards began to once again get restless, agitated that they could not reach their prey, could not have their fun. He watched as they started to eye the door, contemplating coming in to get what they wanted, watched as the leader, Bobby, walked up with a new device of torment, torture - stun batons. He pressed his shoulder against Italy's, briefly resting his head against the smaller Nation's.
"Stay here. No matter what, stay here." Germany whispered firmly to Italy, then, straightening up, he shifted away, knowing the only way to keep them from coming into the cell, was to give them what they desired. His pain. His suffering. But this way, at least for a little while, he could stop them from hurting Italy too.
Italy panicked as Germany moved away. "W-w-what? No Germany, you-"
The Mediterranean Nation watched in horror as the first guard reached through the bars and made contact. Sat in silent shock while his brain tried to process the image of Germany rigid, collapsing and writhing on the ground in pain.
Then the scream ripped from his throat. "Nooo! You leave him alone! Stop it! STOP IT!" Just as he shifted to move towards Germany, his friend's words echoed through his head, 'Stay here.' The realization was soul-wrenching. Germany had done this for him, to protect him. The tears came unbidden, streaming unceasingly down his face.
And with each fresh jab, Italy screamed for their tormentors to stop. But never did he move. He would not disrespect Germany's choice by endangering himself.
Just when Italy thought he couldn't bear anymore, the double doors at the end of the room flew open with a loud bang drawing the attention of their captors.
Syd appeared rolling a small cart laden with the luggage from the plane - Italy, Germany, and America's personal belongings.
"Boss said our guests weren't going to need this stuff anymore," Syd announced with a smirk. "Since the freaks live such fancy lives stealing from the oppressed workers, I figured it was only fair that we get first dibs."
"Sounds reasonable to me," Bobby agreed.
The guards moved away quickly, eager to rifle through the Nations' belongs and claim them as their own. As they did, Italy scrambled to where Germany lay on the floor, his breathing labored with tremors running through his body. Biting his lip, Italy grabbed his shirt and dragged him determinedly back to the center of their cell, then huddled protectively over him.
"Oh yeah," Syd realized, glancing back over at Bobby, "you're supposed to go to the main building."
"Why?"
"Some shit about needing your input about leaving. Apparently the doc lady is taking her sweet time, so we might need to move the freaks with us, so she can finish her work. Said our window will be closing soon, and they don't want the extra cargo causing problems."
Bobby rolled his eyes. Did he have to do everything around here? "Fine. Hopefully this won't take long. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone. If anything goes wrong, and I mean anything, you radio it in."
"Yeah, yeah," Syd replied dismissively. He was already eyeing their captives' luggage once more.
Bobby shook his head in frustration, but he didn't have time to kick Syd's ass and make him listen. Tosetti probably wanted him there 10 minutes ago. He moved to collect his weapons and the satellite phone, then headed for the main building. The large metal doors clanged shut loudly behind him as he exited the holding area.
"Well, lookie here," Syd suddenly announced. He smirked unpleasantly as he dragged white linen off the cavalry sword America had planned to give to Japan. Drawing the weapon from its sheathe, the guard began to clumsily swipe it back and forth.
"You are looking like idiot," Aleksey laughed, stepping out of range of the swinging blade.
Syd glared, halting his wild waves with the deadly weapon. A sinister look suddenly crossed his face. "I bet those two know plenty about using swords," he suddenly mused, turning to look at the captured Nations. "Bet they've spent centuries wandering around chopping good innocent folks to pieces just for the heck of it." He paused, taking in the obvious terror on Italy's face. "Well, the Nazi probably did."
Nathan rolled his eyes, "And what, por favor, is your point?"
"My point," Syd snarked back, "is that maybe they'd like to show us how it's done."
With a manic grin, the mercenary stalked up to the cage, unlocking the door and moving straight for Italy. Syd seized Italy's arm, yanking him up and away from Germany and out of the cage.
Germany's addled brain took too long to process the events happening around him. By the time he realized Italy was in danger and had scrambled to his feet, the door to the cage was slammed shut with a loud clang.
Italy found himself shoved into the middle of a circle of guards, all of them leering at him. The fear of what they were going to do to him causing visible tremors to ripple through his body. To his surprise, though, the guard wielding America's sword shoved it into his bound hands and then stepped back.
"Come on, then," Syd taunted. "Show us how it's done. How did all you freaks go around killing innocent people? Any favorite moves?"
Italy stared at the sword in disbelief then back at the guards surrounding him.
"No funny business," Carl smirked, holding up his gun. "Unless you want to be made full of bullet holes."
Gulping, Italy did his best to grasp the sword. "Th-this is a ca-cavalry saber," he began, voice shaking. "I was n-never very good at fighting. I'd much rather paint." Then, for a moment, Italy could see past the guards.
Germany was pressed up against the bars, his bound hands clutching white-knuckled at the iron barrier, genuine terror on his face.
'He's afraid for me,' Italy realized. He'd never seen that look on Germany's face before
"You'd rather paint?" Syd suddenly demanded in an incredulous voice. "And here I thought you were supposed to be a man," he snorted. "Maybe we should drag those pants off you, see exactly what you're packing," he added, a malicious gleam appearing in his eyes.
Spaventoso. They were just spaventoso. Horrible, frightening, ghastly - Italy didn't know enough words to describe these awful, awful men. For a moment, though, the horrible guard's words reminded him of someone else, someone who had never realized he was a boy.
He'd died before Italy could ever tell him the truth.
The memory of Holy Rome, the sight of Germany's terrified face loomed large in his mind for a moment, only to be wiped away by the horrible terrorists surrounding him. They were just like the ones from Austin, the ones who had hurt him, drugged him, and promised to kill him. As the guards cackled and jeered, they began to lash out, pushing and shoving him back and forth, sending him bouncing around like a pinball. Their depraved laughter echoed through the room.
The sound faded, became an incoherent muffle. His blood was pounding, rushing audibly in his ears. As his thoughts continued to swirl, Italy found himself thinking of his grandfather. What would he do in this situation?
A hand clamped down onto his shoulder and wrenched him around. The foul stench of Syd's breath blew against his face as the man loomed over him. The smile on his face was dark and twisted.
'Grandfather, please help me.'
Author Note: See you in two week!