Holy cow, an update? How cool!
Check the notes after the chapter for more information on the delay and what the update schedule will be for this story.
WARNING: DESCRIPTIONS OF MEDICAL PROCEDURES, TORTURE
The harsh fluorescent light bounced off the peeling pale green walls, throwing Aleksey's desperate flight into sharp relief. His feet pounded against the unyielding concrete floors.
The metal door gave way as Aleksey slammed into it, the blood dripping relentlessly down his arm smearing the cold, dented surface a bright, gleaming, succulent red like the coating on a candy apple.
He turned sharply up the hallway, gasping, gasping, dragging oxygen into greedy airways, never once breaking stride. Finally, he burst through a plain wood door into the primary command center.
"They're all dead!"
"What do you mean they're all dead?" Tosetti demanded, face like flint.
"Syd, slaboumnyy, gave the Freak a sword."
"And the prisoners?" Tosetti questioned, a look tor firy on his face.
"I do not know. I did not- did not stay to find out." Aleksey leaned back, resting heavily on the table, tremors coursing through him from exertion and blood loss. He cradled his injured arm close to himself as it continued to bleed profusely, the blood landing with soft, wet plops and seeping into the thin industrial carpeting. He'd never thought the freak from Italy could be so vicious.
"So you've told us everything you know?" Tosetti casually withdrew his pistol.
"Da."
"So, in summation, you stood by like a moron while your comrade released a prisoner and gave him a weapon, and then, when the prisoner started killing everyone, you turned tail and ran like a gutless coward," came Tosetti's blasé recounting.
Despite his injury and flagging energy, Aleksey's nostrils flared, his eyes aflame as he retorted, "I am no cow-"
BAM.
Aleksey's body collapsed to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring fixedly ahead under the neat, gunpowder-stippled hole that now graced his forehead.
From behind Tosetti, another soldier shot to his feet. "The hell you go and do that for? As if we're not shorthanded enough already," Bobby shouted.
"This wouldn't have happened if you'd done your goddamn job. Your job, your only job, was to put together a group of competent men who could do whatever jobs we assigned. But instead, you dragged along that damn useless nephew of yours, and now he's gone and gotten himself and the other men you chose killed, and if you hadn't been here, you'd probably be dead too."
"If I hadn't been here, I would have been there to stop it."
"You shouldn't have had to be there! We need people that can do their damn jobs without a babysitter! You're better off anyway. Syd would have gotten you killed sooner or later. Now that this has happened, maybe you'll choose your people more carefully in the future. Because rest assured, if you don't, you'll be the next one lying on the floor with a bullet through your brain. You're damn good at your job Bobby, but if the people you pick ever jeopardize another mission like this again, you will have outlived your usefulness. Our objectives, our mission, is too important to be screwed up because of stupidity, and I will not tolerate another failure like this one.
"Now, let's move. This is a goddamn fucking island. If we move quickly, maybe we can contain this mess. Round up whatever extra men you can and start searching for the prisoners. Tell them to start in the hzxzsolding area and then work back to where the other Subject is being tested. It's reasonable to think they will try to rescue him, so maybe, just maybe, we can trap them in Medical. Be sure everyone is armed and do not, under any circumstances, underestimate our enemy. They are very old and possess the experience that comes with that age along with some very interesting abilities. This is your opportunity to show you are not the fool your men turned out to be."
"Yes sir," Bobby ground out, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the room intent on catching the freak bastards.
Tosetti picked up a nearby walkie-talkie, "Attention all personnel, the prisoners have escaped and are armed. Be on the lookout. We suspect that they will try freeing the other, so all security needs to converge on the medical wing. Over and out."
Quickly turning the knob to switch to a private channel, he began transmitting, "Marcus, come in."
"Boss, what the hell is happenin' man?"
"Syd fucked up. He's dead and so are all the others in his unit. Now the prisoners are free on the island and armed. We have to get Junior and the doctor to a secure location now."
"I don't think the doctor lady gunna be too keen on stoppin' her work."
"Marcus, you have my permission to hog tie her and drag her out by her hair if that's what it takes. Just get her to the hangar, so we can get her and Junior out of here."
"Copy that." There was a brief pause. "Boss, Bobby, he dead too?"
"No. He was with me planning for our departure, not that those plans make a damn bit of difference now. Get the doctor. Get to the Hangar. Over and out."
Tosetti looked at Lord Wallace, standing just a few feet away looking shocked and queasy as his eyes occasionally drifted to the dead body on the floor. Tosetti snorted in derision. "Let's go. We should be able to contain this, but I can't risk you or the doctor getting hurt, so we're getting off this island. Damn nightmare."
Junior looked up at Tosetti, ready to protest this departure, but thought twice about that when he saw the look on the security agent's face. He did, however, feel the need to address an issue he had overheard during that last radio transmission.
"I believe we've discussed that I dislike being called Junior," he stated haughtily.
"You have discussed it at me on a number of occasions, and, as I don't answer to you, which has also been discussed on several other occasions, each time I have ignored you. We need to go now." With that, Tosetti grabbed his arm and proceeded to escort him to the private jet that awaited them in the hangar.
Matthew's vision blurred as the pain intensified.
"Alright people, I think we're done in the abdominal cavity. Let's move onto the thoracic region please."
He staggered the last few steps up the stairwell before reaching the door to his floor. Desperate to get back to his room before the pain completely consumed him, he had bypassed the elevator; he didn't think he could wait the requisite amount of time for the elevator car to arrive without potentially causing a scene.
Marje could barely contain the elation thrilling through her. The examination so far had been incredible. The data they had gathered so far was fascinating. She grasped the gleaming scalpel firmly, sank the razor sharp edge into the flesh right atop the breast bone, and pulled down in one slow, precise motion, enjoying the sight of the rich red blood that came seeping up out of the fresh incision.
Matthew's hand trembled as he tried desperately to slip the key card into the slot. Fresh pain seared through him suddenly, the key card dropping forgotten to the floor as he clutched at his chest. 'Why, why is this happening again? Why now? It's been so long since the last time I was like this.' Steadying himself against the wall, he gasped for breath as a ripping sensation filled his chest.
The skin and muscle now pulled back, Dr. Jenkins had her first look at the anomaly's heart. She watched in fascination as it continued to beat despite the torture they were putting its owner through. It was truly marvelous. "Prepare the bone saw. I want a closer look at the lungs."
Prussia entered Canada's room just in time to watch as The Great White North collapsed onto the floor screaming in pain. He rushed to his fallen friend's side and searched desperately for the source of Canada's agonized screams.
BAM
Silence.
Dr. Jenkins immediately killed the power to the bone saw when she heard the door to her sterile operating arena slam open. "What are you doing you Neanderthal?" she practically screamed at Marcus. "You are compromising the integrity of these proceedings." She set the bone saw aside quickly and addressed her staff, "Cover the specimen now. We have to reduce contamination as much as possible." They snapped into action immediately.
Soft whimpers now filled the hotel room, and, while they were painful to listen to, it was a relief that the excruciating screams had ceased.
Marcus never broke stride as he approached her. "We are leaving now."
"The hell we are. I am not yet finished with my examination. I was assured there would be ample time to fully assess the specimen."
Prussia hesitated to move Canada from the floor as tremors continued to jolt through his pain wracked body. But the soft bed would offer at least some comfort, so carefully, ever so gently, Prussia took Matthew in his arms and moved him the short distance to the bed.
"And you would have had that time if the other freaks hadn't escaped. Tosetti says we're leaving, so we're leaving. You can come with me, or I can drag you all the way to the hangar. Your choice."
"You will not lay your filthy hands on me."
"Then let's go."
With quick, careful movements, in his continued efforts to lessen Canada's suffering and discomfort, Prussia stripped off Canada's restrictive suit and redressed him in warm, soft sweats and a soft, cotton shirt emblazoned with the Northern Nation's favorite hockey team.
In a move that took Marcus by surprise, the doctor reached out and ripped the walkie-talkie from where it was clipped to his belt. Depressing the button, she spoke quickly, "Tosetti, what the bloody hell is happening?"
Tosetti's voice was tinny as it came out of the small device, "I'm sure Marcus has explained exactly what is happening. You will come with him to the hangar now so I can ensure your continued safety, or he will bring you here by whatever means necessary."
"Or you can do your damn job, catch the other two freaks, and let me do my job," She snapped back.
"Doctor, this is not a negotiation. Marcus, if she's not moving in 15 seconds, drag her out. Over and out."
She let out a primal scream of pure fury at the walkie-talkie before hurling it across the room and into the wall, the shattered pieces clattering to the floor. She snapped off her gloves while she snapped out orders. "Prepare the body for transport. Seal as many of the wounds as you can before you are evacuated. Once this has been dealt with, I don't want any delay in moving the body to the next laboratory. Damn over-cautious security guard," she finished to herself as she preceded Marcus out the door toward the hangar, the security officer following close behind.
Prussia sat helplessly next to Canada as the other nation continued to whimper and shake. He needed to fix this. But how? He didn't know what to do.
Scrrrrch.
The walkie-talkie crackled to life in Germany's hand. "Attention all personnel, the prisoners have escaped and are armed. Be on the lookout. We suspect that they will try freeing the other. All building security personnel are to converge on the surgical center. Over and out."
"Germany, what do we do? They know we have escaped," Italy questioned, palpable fear in his voice.
"They would have found out eventually. We must stick to the plan. We will find America, and we will escape," Germany declared grimly. He glared briefly at the walkie-talkie before shoving it into a pocket.
"But Germany, we don't even know where they are holding him," Italy said. "And now all the guards are moving there to stop us."
"Then we follow them. They will lead us straight to him." As he spoke, Germany slung a bag of weapons supplies over his back and started selecting weapons.
"That seems so dangerous. Germany, there are so many more of them than there are of us. I want to help America. I want to rescue him like he rescued us. But how?"
Germany crossed the short distance between them, so they stood face-to-face, eye-to-eye. "I know it is frightening, and if I could do this alone, I would, but I need your help. America was also facing impossible odds when he rescued us, so we cannot let the risk stop us. We must be our very best selves, and fight for our new friend. I need your help."
Italy stood stunned, absorbing Germany's words. Germany never asked him, Italia, for help. He told him to go away, to shut up, and to be serious, but never before had he asked for his help to fight. So Italy gathered all his strength, all his courage, all his resolve, and responded in the only way he knew how, "You can always count on me, Germany!"
Pleased, Germany gave a single nod. "Good, then let's go rescue America."
Germany eased open the door of the the room that had imprisoned them, and as quietly as they could manage, they slipped out, moving down the hallway intent on their mission.
They crept with speed and stealth through the harshly lit hallways. Germany listened carefully for signs of a commotion, desperate to tail a guard to America's location. It was a foolish plan really, and very quite possibly a trap, but with no other way of finding where he was being held, they had no choice.
It seemed fate was with them when a few minutes later they heard two guards coming up an intersecting hallway. He opened the nearest door, ushered Italy in, and then entered, pulling the door nearly closed behind him, leaving just enough of a crack so that he could tell when they had fully passed. Once he was sure they were a sufficient distanced passed them, he and Italy began the dangerous task of following them. Fortunately, the two men were so intent on following orders and reaching their assigned destination, they failed to detect their shadows.
Just as Germany was beginning to believe that they would be able to follow these two all the way to America, they approached a bank of elevators. One elevator dinged its arrival, and Germany backpedaled quickly retreating back behind a corner and out of sight.
The heavy tread of several men's boots echoed off the hallway walls.
Germany's mind raced as he considered the situation. There was no way they could hope to follow that many men and hope to remain undetected, but the presence of that many men exiting onto this floor meant America was on this level, and, possibly close. Their best option was to allow the men to completely clear the area, and then go the same direction they had. Maybe they could determine exactly where America was, backtrack to a stairwell, go up a floor, and then circle around and come up on the place from behind, taking their enemies by surprise. He nodded to himself. It was the best plan they had.
He waited a few moments longer, listening closely. When he was certain they were well ahead of them, he motioned Italy to move.
Germany picked up their pace. The order that had come over the radio had been clear. All security was converging on America's location, so there shouldn't be anyone to spot them now. Everyone should be in front of them. At this point, speed was more of an ally than stealth. So they moved quickly, down the hallway, around a corner, up another hallway, rounded another corner… then froze.
The hair on the back of Germany's neck stood straight up. He stood, stock still, a fluorescent light flickering, humming, flickering overhead.
Italy reached for the hilt of the sword at his side, grasping it tightly. "Germany, I have a very bad feeling," he whispered quietly.
"As do I," came the quiet reply.
They had moved quickly to their destination, but now that they were here it was quite clearly a trap. They had seen no one, heard no one. The hum of the light overhead was the only sound that accompanied their soft breathing. And, right in front of them, a set of double doors, one slightly ajar. Certainly America was behind it. It was the door they had been looking for, and they wanted them to go through it. What other explanation could there be for the fact that every other door they had passed on the way here had been clearly, completely, tightly shut while this one stood open, ever so slightly, beckoning them in.
Germany's mind flew through strategy after strategy, plan after plan, only to come to one very simple conclusion: if America was behind that door, they were going through it.
Slowly, each step carefully measured, Germany moved toward it, Italy close behind him. Reaching out, he set his hand against the surface and pushed.
The door swung open.
Pain.
So much pain.
Burned, ripped, sliced, broken.
He'd never hurt like this before. Make it stop MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP.
Dimly, Alfred could feel restraints on his wrists and ankles. There was something over his face, hissing, the feel of moving air over his mouth and nose, sweet yet foul smelling. Everything was fuzzy, distant and remote. Everything but horrific agony and the sound of bones being snapped, metal hitting metal, and machines beeping and screaming.
He wanted to scream, wanted to force the hands touching him, HURTING HIM, away. Wanted to break them and stop them and make sure this never ever happened again.
But he couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't even blink.
He didn't know why this was happening. He didn't know anything but pain.
Then-
Everything stopped.
Agony still tore at him like a million swarming fire ants but the hands touching him disappeared. The metal stopped. The machines were suddenly silent.
There were the voices, vague and indistinct but the tone had changed. More hurried, frantic.
Then-
Movement. Shouts. Gunshots. Screaming.
The oppressive weight of his merciless torturers vanished. Things crashed, clanging as they fell. Footsteps and the sound of clothing being torn then everything faded away.
Alfred lay limp on the metal surface he was strapped to. He stared helplessly into the lights overhead, unable to look away. Just as he'd been unable to look away from the masked monsters cutting unconcerned into his flesh.
The door, far away and out of sight, suddenly swung open again.
A new face appeared, tanned, brown eyes, brown hair, a long curl. Blood was splattered across one cheek and the scent of sulfur wafted around him.
New hands touched him, gently instead of brutally. Hands were on his head, his face.
The sickly sweet smell suddenly vanished and the weight on his face disappeared. Then the straps on his limbs started to come loose.
"It's going to be okay, America. Germany and I are here to rescue you!"
With one final kick, Germany launched the body of the last of the enemy soldiers into the wall. He swept his eyes across the makeshift surgical room and out the doors to the bodies lying in the room beyond. Their enemy had thought themselves prepared to face them. And if they'd been mortal, he and Italy would surely have died. But they were not mortal. They were Nations. Already he could feel the bullet wounds dotting his torso beginning to mend. It wouldn't be long before he was fully healed.
Germany turned back to face America and had to fight back a gag. Bile rose in his throat, forcing him to swallow the burning acid back down.
America's body was shattered. Numerous bones had been broken, his skin peeled back at various points, and burns of varying degrees of severity littered his entire body. There were very few spots that had escaped the deliberate, horrifically cruel violence.
Flitting back and forth next to America was Italy. The Mediterranean nation's skin had turned ashen and he looked like he was struggling not to throw up. But his talented hands, so used to holding a paintbrush or sculpting glass, didn't hesitate for a moment as they worked to mend the damage. Glancing up at Germany, Italy wordlessly pointed to America's left arm (broken, the skin peeled back to expose the bone) and the younger Nation hurried to help.
The two Nations worked as quickly as they dared to staple, bandage, and brace America's shattered body back together. The ailing Nation's eyes had finally closed and his entire body had started to tremble as more and more feeling and control returned to him.
It was taking far too long, Germany knew. The enemy was regrouping as they worked and the more time they spent working on America the harder it would be for them to escape. But he didn't hesitate, didn't pause the healing work he and Italy were performing. They would need America to be able to move, even a little bit, in order to escape the forces no doubt gathering outside. More importantly, Germany couldn't bring himself to just take off while America was in such a state.
Finally, their desperate work came to an end and Germany had managed to find some morphine, which he quickly administered to help dull the pain America was in. Once the drug began to take effect, America finally cracked open eyes that had long since fallen shut and looked at them.
"What? Happen?" he managed to croak.
"Terrorists," Germany replied briefly. "Same group as Austin."
"We're escaping," Italy added. "All of us." He looked up at Germany. "Can you find him some clothes?" he asked softly, tilting his head at America.
With a quick nod, Germany turned back to the body lying on the floor against the wall. Shoving aside a cart sitting near the body, Germany got to work stripping the fatigues.
Italy, meanwhile, kept a gentle hand on America's, careful not to exert any downward pressure or do anything that could be construed as restraining. "We're going to get out," he promised. "You, me, and Germany." Fingers tighten on his and America's eyes closed again. Italy kept talking, promising over and in different ways that they were going to leave, get out, escape, and get somewhere safe.
Germany finally stood up and moved away from the body of the guard he had killed, the shirt, pants, boots, and socks bundled up in his hands.
Glancing at the clothing, Italy gently brushed the fingers of his free hand against America's face. "You need to get dressed now," Italy ordered softly. "Germany has clothes for you. We'll help."
Alfred took a deep breath when he felt Italy's hand brush against his cheek, heard the gentle yet firm order. The pain was manageable now, as distant and fuzzy as everything but the pain had been earlier. His mind shied away from the too recent memory of what he'd just been through and he forced himself to slowly sit up. Hands, one pair small and soft while the others were large and calloused, both strong, supported him and steadied him. These hands, unlike the ones earlier, were comforting and made him feel safe.
Germany and Italy were gentle but hurried as they helped him dress. They did their best to avoid putting pressure on his wounds but it was impossible to completely avoid doing so. The green camo was confusing for several moments until Alfred realized exactly where they had come from. Another shudder wracked his body. Dead man's clothes, dead man's boots.
Alfred took a deep breath and, with Germany's support, slowly pushed himself off the table. The world swam, his vision turned staticky, and he felt himself sway - but not fall. Germany held on to him and kept him steady until everything felt stable once more. When he fully level-headed (or as much as he could with morphine flooding his veins), Alfred also realized that Italy had slipped around the table and had finished pulling the pants up to his waist.
Dead man's pants.
He'd worn worse.
Once he was certain Alfred wouldn't immediately topple over, Germany slowly stepped back and picked up the bag he'd tossed on the floor earlier. Italy began to gather up medical supplies which he added to their bag. He knew the morphine would wear off soon, but Alfred could also tell that his body was already healing. Damage that resulted from national incidents lingered for weeks or months but anything else was practically incidental. He would be fully physically recovered in a week or two, assuming they managed to escape.
"Where are we," Alfred asked, voice scratchy hoarse, as he watched Germany rearm himself.
"The Johnston Atoll," Germany grimly reported. "The terrorists set up shop in an abandoned building."
"Johnston," Alfred muttered. His brow furrowed. Johnston was . . . "This is mine," he realized, blinking as his sluggish mind began to work. "There's an airstrip. We landed here."
Germany nodded. "I am hoping there is a plane here still. We will find it and commandeer it."
Alfred braced himself on the medical table he'd been strapped to. The Johnston Atoll. He had been here before, decades ago. He thought hard, mind racing to recall the shape of the island and the structures built on it. His mind opened, instinctively reaching into the floor beneath his feet - and the land below that. "We're in the Joint Operations Center," he realized. He could see it now, both in his memory and distantly through the land itself. "North end of the runway. The hanger's nearby."
Relief flooded through Germany. They hadn't been able to look outside and find a plane or hanger. He knew what his misguided citizen knew about the island but he'd gone from the plane to the decontamination facility in the back of a truck. He hadn't seen enough of the outdoors to give Germany a good feel for the space. America's knowledge could be what saved them.
"I'm glad you remember," Italy said in response to America's statement. He looked relieved. "We'll definitely get off this island now!"
"Yes, we will," Germany agreed. He gave America a critical once over. He could tell the other man was still in pain. He was favoring one leg and looked ready to fall over. Fresh blood was already appearing on some of the bandages. But there was already more color in his face than before and the glazed look of agony had sharpened to greater awareness.
Germany drew one of his stolen pistols. He wouldn't need the rifle until they were outside. "Let's go."
Prussia sat, staring. By all counts, whatever had been plaguing Canada had, at least for now, stopped, and finally, mercifully, he had fallen asleep, though pain still creased his brow beneath a fringe of blonde hair. The entire episode hadn't lasted all that long, comparatively speaking, but the Germanic Nation was drained. The experience had been harrowing. Something was clearly wrong, and he needed answers. Tiredly, he reached for Canada's phone, typed in the passcode, and located the number of the only person who might be able to offer those answers.
"This is Jennifer Williams. I'm either not available right now or on another call. Please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as I can."
"This is Prussia. We need to talk. In person. The headache is back and more. I think… Something is wrong, Frau. And you're going to tell me what's going on."
I'm so thrilled to finally have this chapter posted! I know how frustrating it must have been to spent over a year seeing Star Wars stories go up while this one was languishing. Needless to say, the last year has some crazy medical stuff going on but things are finally starting to settle down into a more predictable routine and I hope to be able to work on this story more.
I can't promise a regular update schedule, but I will continue to revise and post the remaining chapters. This story WILL be completed, I promise you.
Thank you for sticking with me! All the best.