Author Note: Sorry for taking an extra week off! I really wish there was an easy way to post notifications and messages for all you wonderful readers. The Editor's new job training is more intense and time consuming than we expected, which is why we weren't able to post last week. We may have another three week lull between updates for the next chapter, but after that, we'll be back on a two week update schedule. And the next several chapters are LONG.

Enjoy!

Scroll to the bottom for news about future updates! Updated 7-24-2018

Warning: violence, description of violent events

Italy stared into the leering face of the terrorist gripping tight to his shoulder. The scent of foul breath and sweat filled his nostrils as the former plane steward grinned maliciously at him.

As Syd leaned in, Italy heard a barely-there voice whisper in his ear: "Soldiers must either vanquish or die; there is no hope for survival in defeat."

Grandpa Rome.

Without thinking, Italy snapped the blade up, his fear giving unexpected strength to his arms. Syd lurched back, screaming. His hand fell to the floor. Almost on its own, the sword lashed out again, this time catching him across the ribs and sending him flying.

The sight of the Syd falling back in pain and terror - it did something to him, to Italia. Fire erupted inside him and a wolf howled in anger.

His grandfather's voice hissed again: "There is no room for the notion of retreat! This is your test of courage - of honor!"

With an enraged scream, Italy launched himself at Nathan, thrusting the sword out in front of him. The blade stabbed perfectly between the guard's ribs and into his heart. Before the sword could catch on bone, Italy yanked the blade free and lunged again.

These horrible men wanted to use him, to hurt him, and kill him. To kill Germany. Not again! He would not lose Germany like he had Holy Rome! A burning, bottomless madness suddenly swept over him. The world narrowed until it was just him and the sword.

It didn't matter anymore that Italy's hands were bound. It didn't matter that he preferred running from a battle to standing firm. They had threatened him. They had threatened Germany. They had frightened Germany and treated them both as though they were some sort of private freak show. He wouldn't let them hurt anyone else ever again!

He attacked.

Germany watched awestruck as Italy's blows accelerated, each attack moving faster and with more surety. The faint ghostly outline of a ravening wolf surrounded him, snapping and snarling as he tore after his quarry. The guards were terrified, screaming as they struggled to flee. They forgot their guns, forgot their training, and were reduced to a mob of terrified prey.

Italy was tearing his way through the last of the guards when Germany heard the cell door bang open. Turning, he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the shocking and violent scene. Carl, clutching at bleeding wounds, was dragging himself into the cell. Germany didn't hesitate. He leapt forward, ripping the handcuff keys off the guard's belt, and rushed out.

The last of the guard, Yosef, fell, the sword buried in his chest.

"Italy!" Germany roared, rushing towards the normally relaxed Nation.

Italy spun around, tearing the sword out of the guard's chest. His eyes were wild and unfocused. He looked for a moment less like the Italy Germany knew so well and more like a rabid dog. Suddenly, those wild eyes sharpened.

"Germany!" Italy wailed. The sword fell from his hands and hit the floor with a loud clang. He rushed forward and latched onto Germany's shirt, buried his head in his chest, and burst into tears.

Awkwardly, Germany, raised then lowered his arms around the sobbing Italian, still clutching the keys in his bound hands. "It, it will be alright," he offered, desperately trying to find the words to comfort his closest friend. "I promise that- Italy, this would be much easier if I could free my hands."

A bark of hysterical laughter suddenly exploded out of Italy. Wild giggles started to intersperse the sobs. After several long moments, Italy managed to raise his head. His face was blotchy and red, snot running from his nose while tears continued to stream. A half smile, half sob overtook his face and he shifted, turning slightly so he could see Germany's hands. Spotting the keys, Italy reached forward and unlocked the metal cuffs with shaking hands.

As soon as Germany's hands were free, he grabbed the keys from Italy and freed his hands as well. As he moved to comfort Italy once more, he froze, noticing a trail of blood leading out through the doors. He spun immediately, surveying the room, counting the bodies. Short, they were one guard short.

"Italy, I know you are upset, but one of the guards has escaped. We must move quickly."

Italy, heeding the urgency in Germany's voice, closed his eyes and took a few deep shuddering breaths. Finally, he looked up, "I'll be okay."

"There is one guard left to question," he said swiftly, nodding towards the cell behind them. "I am not certain how much he will be able to say."

"Well, we won't know until we ask him," Italy responded, still shaking slightly.

Germany nodded and moved purposely over to the dying man.

Carl was lying on his side, clutching at his wounds as he lay limp on the ground. Italy recognized that he would not survive without immediate medical attention. 'I did that,' he realized.

Terrified eyes looked up at Germany as he approached. "En-entschuldigung," the guard whimpered. "Vergib mir," he begged, his voice growing weak.

"He's one of your's," Italy whispered in shock.

Dismay filled Germany. No. He couldn't walk down this dark path again, not the path of murder and genocide. Germany stared at the guard, trying to decide what to do. The guard was fading quickly, their chance at learning what in hell was going on slipping away.

"Germany, can you. . . " Italy's voice trailed off for a moment. He started again, speaking slower. "I know not all of us can but- Can you lean on his mind?"

That- that honestly hadn't occurred to him. It- it wasn't something their kind talked about in the open. Germany felt his stomach twist. He had managed it before, but it didn't come easily or naturally to him. He wasn't Austria, constantly reveling in the symphonies and concertos playing in his citizens' minds. He was much more like Prussia, grounded in words and actions, not the half-true imaginings that filled humans' minds.

"I will try," he grudgingly promised. That was all he could do. Reluctantly, he bent down, grasped his cursed citizen's head in his hands, and dove into his mind.

Germany was silent as he gently arranged his countryman's body into a more dignified position. He did not agree with the decisions the man had made, the cause he had devoted himself to. He could not reject, however, the sincerity with which he had acted, the desire to improve the world that had motivated him. The true tragedy was that the path he had chosen to walk to serve and protect mankind had led to such horrific acts. He was painfully familiar with how easily perverted those intentions could be. It was not in Germany to forgive the acts he had committed. Instead, he felt sorrow: sorrow for the perversion of noble ideals, sorrow for the loss of life, and sorrow for having so utterly failed one of his people.

Nearby, Italy quickly checked the bodies of the guards he had killed. He forced himself to move from one still-warm body to the next, confirming they were dead and checking their pockets and belts for tools and supplies he and Germany might be able to use. He pushed down the grief and guilt that threatened to overtake him. He ignored the fear that was trying to poison him. He had to be strong, reliable, dependable. Germany was hurting and America was missing. They didn't have time to deal with his weakness, not when one of the guards had escaped. They only had minutes before the alarm was raised. If it hadn't been already.

As Italy was bent over checking the last body, he heard Germany moving behind him. There was a sudden complaint of metal being bent and twisted out of shape. Glancing up, he saw that Germany had forced the key into the lock of the cage, twisting it until it was jammed and immovable. They wouldn't be locked away in there again, at least.

Finishing with the last guard, Italy swiftly gathered up the small arms and ammunition he had collected and moved to put them in his now empty leather duffle. He'd also hastily grabbed a few items that looked useful: watches, ration packs, a medical kit, and string. He only allowed himself a brief look of longing towards the personal items he would be leaving behind.

He'd arranged the larger weapons along the wall, close to the rifles leaning untouched against the green tile. Germany was now going through them, his hands were steady and unhesitating as he rapidly checked the chamber, checked the clips, and made sure all the components had been correctly assembled. He went down the line quickly, checking each rifle with the confidence born of experience.

Italy stood nearby, absently fingering a stray thread sticking out of one of the seams of his bag, watching anxiously as Germany moved quickly from one weapon to the next. A solemn silence filled the room, as Germany began to methodically concealed as many of the weapons as possible on his person.

The task complete, Germany turned to Italy, who promptly pointed to one final item: "There's a radio," was all he said.

Germany hurried over to the table and picked up the device. It was a simple, short range walkie-talkie. Useless for calling outside help, but it would allow them to track the enemy. He clipped it to his belt and turned back to Italy.

"We are on a small island near Hawaii named the Johnston Atoll," Germany began without preamble. "It is American territory but unoccupied. It was previously used for weapons testing and chemical weapons storage."

"Is this really the same group as in Austin?" Italy asked, staring at Germany with a mix of hope and dread. If it was, then they had a decent understanding of the group's motivations, although this would mean they had far more resources than any of them had thought.

"It is," Germany confirmed. Pressing his lips together, he mentally reviewed the information he'd been able to glean from Carl's mind. "They call themselves Custodes Populi. As we already know, their goal is to eradicate us." He couldn't suppress the grimace that overtook his face. "Unfortunately, they appear to operate in cells. Carl did not know as much as we would have hoped he did. But with luck, it should be enough to allow us to escape."

"What are they doing to America?" A sick feeling had been sitting like a lump in Italy's stomach ever since they guards had taunted them about their new friend. "Why didn't they kill us? Isn't that what they wanted in Austin? To kill us, forever?"

"They were not expecting us," Germany admitted. "They expected to capture America only. As such, they do not have the materials on hand to copy the method they employed in Austin. And America. . ." he hesitated. His citizen hadn't known everything, but he'd been a smart man, smart enough to look at the specialists assembled on the island and draw his own conclusions about what was going on.

"They are experimenting on him," Germany revealed unhappily. "They appear to have been lacking detailed information about our kind, so they are using this opportunity to better understand us. There is a doctor here, brought in specially for this mission. I am uncertain if they will keep America alive when they are done with him."

"Experimenting?" Italy whispered in horror. Memories flashed briefly in his mind, leaders who had begged him to allow them to just explore his capabilities more, to see if there was some knowledge they could gain that could benefit the greater good. He'd never agreed, never allowed them to pursue the dark desires he could feel lurking in their minds. They were never truly thinking about the so-called greater good.

Italy suspected Germany was remembering similar conversations.

"We have to rescue him, Germany," Italy exclaimed. "America saved us in Austin. We cannot let them hurt him any more!"

"Agreed." Germany hefted one of the rifles, a plan forming in his mind. "There are many guards between us and him, and then between us and escape. But if we are cautious, I believe we can work around their numbers."

"We will be like Japan's ninjas!" Italy exclaimed. Tossing the duffle to Germany, Italy hurried over to pick up America's cavalry saber. He studied the bloody blade for a moment, frowning, then wiped it clean on one of the body's shirts. Stripping the laces from one of the guards' boots, he threaded them through the loops on the sheath and hung the weapon on his belt. Finally, he turned and faced Germany, planting his fists on his hips. "I'm ready, Captain!"

Update schedule, as of 7-24-2018!

This story has not been abandoned! Some MAJOR Real Life things reared their head back in November 2017 and interrupted our plans to finished revising and posting. After almost nine months (at the time of this update), we're finally starting to get back in the groove of things. It's a slow ramp up, however, so I can't give a good timetable for when the next chapter will be posted.

Sorry for the delay and thanks for reading! We'll be back soon!