Thank you all so much for the responses I got for the first chapter! It's always great to see new reviewers. I hope you like this chapter just as much; don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

1000 Hours; March 15, 2042

London, United Kingdom

"Blergh."

Alfred F. Jones, more commonly known as The United States of America, slumped down on the couch, face flushed and looking overall miserable as England entered his home. Dressed in his old World War II Air Force jacket and a regular pair of jeans, he looked to be very much the 21-year-old young man he was, if not a year or two younger. England, also known as Arthur Kirkland, hardly even reacted when he came in to see that his former colony had commandeered his living room (again), instead setting down his groceries in the kitchen before returning and pulling out a chair to sit in. Clicking open his phone, he scrolled through a couple texts from the King and Chancellor of the Exchequer[1], answering a couple and putting in a couple new events into his calendar, he turned to the younger male.

"Another recession?" He asked disinterestedly. Alfred moaned into the couch cushions in assent. Well, at least Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland were up in Glasgow for the weekend. He wasn't in the mood to be dealing with both Scotland and America at once.

"How did you deal with this?" The younger man asked, rolling to face the ceiling. Arthur shrugged, looking through the current news. "I just can't get this migraine to go away!"

"When it happened to me, I was currently trying to rebuild from fighting Nazi Germany, so the pain kind of blended together. Toughen up, chap."

"You're no help at all."

Arthur shrugged. Sure, on one hand, he felt bad for Alfred. Losing one's superpower status never was very pleasant. But he honestly thought that his younger brother was being a tad overdramatic about the whole thing. America's lessening of power had been pretty gradual and very peaceful after WWIII. The prime reason, everyone knew, was because he'd been late to pick up hybrid energy and replace his modern technology. By the time America had started issuing hybrid energized cars, the UK had already made it a staple of public transportation for the better part of three years.

"What brings you to my place again?" He asked. Alfred shrugged.

"I was visiting Madrid to see Spain. You know how he's been considering joining our alliance, right? I just thought I'd pop by."

"How'd that go, by the way?"

"He's considering it. Nothing's certain yet, though."

Arthur hummed, closing his eyes in frustration and letting out a long breath to disperse it. Not many nations had been interested in joining their alliance, which America had appropriately named the Hybrid Energy Research Association, or HERA[2]. It was much easier just to accept that Hybrid Energy existed and harness it to make more and more advanced weaponry. When the Italies and America had founded the faction, he had been the only one to join, having done so a year ago. Spain had been showing interest in helping for several months now, but the slow pace at which he debated whether to or not was just as promising as it was infuriating.

"ASEAN revealed a new technology a couple days ago," Alfred announced abruptly, drawing Arthur out of his thoughts. There was a tinge of jealousy to the younger's voice. "Have you heard? They've developed a near-perfect brand of night-vision contact lenses."

"Yes, I have," Arthur nodded. It was another addition to the list. Along with his own MBT[3], Iran had developed a sort of rock-like uniform for their army. China had developed water filters to make his rivers drinkable and less polluted. Even the African Elites had found a way to use it to fertilize the soil in their country, resulting in very high crop yields. "Yet we have no idea where it originated from."

"And no one cares!" Alfred exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. He groaned a moment later, the intensity of it no doubt triggering his migraine.

"Do you want some green tea[4]?"

"Nope."

Arthur rolled his eyes. Alfred definitely had his own "special" brand of patriotism. "How's your spidertech coming along?" He asked instead.

"Alright. We're almost done fusing it with hybrid energy. You?"

"I have a meeting with The Elites this evening. We're trying out that new form of communication. Want to come see it?"

"My plane leaves at three, sorry. It's about time I get home, anyways." Alfred made an overdramatic sigh, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and sitting up.

"Want to get lunch before you go?" Arthur offered with a slight smile. "There's this really good deli that's opened up a couple blocks down. I've been meaning to go there for a long while now."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You want to feed me?"

Arthur stood, rolling his eyes again. "Don't make me change my mind."

"Fine! I'm coming!" Alfred laughed. Arthur chuckled to himself, putting his phone in his pocket. Together, they left the house to get lunch.

1658 Hours; March 15, 2042

London, England

England strode into the meeting room, papers in hand. Letting out a breath, he surveyed the room before him. The room was semi-sectioned off into five parts, each (save for the section England had entered) with a glass orb fastened to the intersection of the wall. England's section, on the other hand, only had a chair, which he sat in, and a small table where he placed his papers.

"Sir?" He looked behind him to see one of his secretaries peeking in through the door. "The meeting will begin in ninety seconds."

"Thank you," England nodded, shuffling his papers as she closed the door behind him. America had left for D.C. several hours earlier after practically eating him out of house and home (sadly, losing his superpower status had not taken away the boy's abnormal strength—which required a fast metabolism to keep up). Now he almost wished his younger brother was here to witness this meeting. His country had been working alongside the African Elites for over three years now developing it, and he was quite proud of it as it was.

There was a chime overhead, and England looked up to see that the glass orbs had started glowing, signaling the beginning of the meeting. All at once, the orbs projected holograms of the four African Elites, each sitting in a differently styled desk, each still in their respective country, sputtered into being. Unlike the modern era, with its 2-D, black-and-white holograms, these were fully sized and colored. It was by no means a perfect system (yet), with grainy coloring and pixelated forms resembling 80's TV, but a vast improvement compared to the technology of a mere decade ago. Expanding on the biometrics field of the modern era, only those who were authorized for the meeting could enter these chambers. Only five existed in the world—one for each country in the room—and it used a special wavelength and technology that made it almost impossible to hack into. In another decade or so, the need to move around to attend World Meetings and the like would fade into the distant past as this "Unique Way," as the developers had code-worded it, replaced transportation.

The African Elites certainly seemed to be doing well in the year since England had last seen them. 16-year-old Djibouti was positively glowing, staring at the rest of them with ill-concealed awe at the technology he was using. 25-year-old Somalia, sitting cross-legged in a western-style suit, smirked in pride. Ethiopia, who had opted to wear a more African outfit, looked much the 32 years he really was, which, along with his actual age of 2,500, made him the eldest in the room. Eritrea, at 24, was the youngest of the three siblings, sitting in a white-and-gold dress.

"Good evening to all of you," he greeted amiably. "I see that at least Djibouti can see me." The youngest in the room ducked his head in embarrassment. "Can the rest of you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Ethiopia smiled as the other three nations voiced their assent. The eldest in the room couldn't keep the awe out of his voice. "I'm just astonished that this actually worked."

"Hopefully it'll become more widespread with time. America and Italy both are very close to having their own chambers installed," England replied. "Thank you for cooperating with us to make these advances possible." What he didn't add, and what the other three knew, was that in exchange for receiving the technology, the Elites had not gotten the ability to generate their own signals. To make a long story short, Britain, and later America or Italy, had to be present for a meeting like this to take place.

"This is great and all," Somalia drawled, twisting a lock of her hair around one finger. "But I'm sure you didn't summon us here just to test out this new tech of yours."

"Correct," England nodded. "We—that is, NATO—are becoming quite concerned with the Democratic Republic of the Congo; we are also hoping to discuss the advances of hybrid energy in naval technology."

"You're referring to the construction of our own navy?" Eritrea put in, raising an eyebrow. Despite her half-accusatory words, there was a definite tinge of pride to her voice. "The construction of our four elite naval ships."

"As we announced in the last World Meeting," Ethiopia continued. "One will go to each of us. I will receive the YBHM[5] Morningside. Eritrea will get the SIWI Enterprise. Djibouti will get the ND Dike, and Somalia the MQS Safeguard. Construction will be finished around mid-2044."

"I'm more concerned about the DRC," Djibouti changed the subject once his friend had finished, fingers tapping on his armrest. "He's starting to frighten a lot of people here in Central Africa. What's going on over there?"

"The DRC has one of the highest hybrid energy usage rates in the world," England answered the teenager. "He's going fairly crazy with it and just overwhelming his people. Some are reporting that he is abusing it, restricting their access to the new technology, especially with the new hybrid energy-type cars."

"I wish I could say that I was surprised," Eritrea sighed, folding her arms. "The DRC's been under an semi-dictatorship for decades, and the corruption there is institutionalized. Their leaders care little for the public."

"Surely their nation has some sway in these matters. The DRC's representative is a personification of the people and land. Surely he will not side with his government. You are the superpowers of Africa; have you heard from him?"

"No." Ethiopia shook his head. "Not a word. The DRC's never been very social. I don't even know his human name."

"Well, I speak for NATO when I say that we fear that Africa will return to its state at the turn of the century. Africa has a chance to shine; we'd like to advise you to consider interfering with the situation. You have the power here. I would suggest sanctions or even direct intervention if the situation is dire enough."

"I understand where you're coming from, but we cannot just police the continent like that. You forget that we're still recovering from World War III. Can't you or America do something about this? It certainly hasn't stopped you before."

England's eye twitched. "The rest of Africa looks up to you, the Elites," he responded curtly. "If NATO got involved, we'd be seen as outsiders, perhaps even colonizers. You are currently only seen as regional powers; you can use that to your advantage here."

Ethiopia leaned forwards, making as if to respond, but Eritrea cut him off before he could speak. "We can watch over the land and do our best to aid him indirectly," she compromised. "We will only directly intervene if we have no other choice." She shot her elder brother a look. "Like Namibia and Botswana, he may share a link with New Abyssinia."

The mood darkened. The sudden deaths of the two nations had caught the world off guard, and although there was video evidence to attest to America's innocence, the much of the world had yet to relax around him.

"It's been an honor to test this technology, England," Somalia nodded. Ethiopia muttered something to himself, too quiet for the rest of them to hear. "We hope to see you soon."

"Likewise," England nodded. "Do what you think is best, and NATO will support you."

Ethiopia nodded, farewells were exchanged, and the meeting ended.

March 18, 2042

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Merille crashed into the ground, rolling in the dry dirt before rolling to a stop. Hot, sticky blood trickled down the left side of his face, and he groaned, struggling to stand once again. A yellow-orange mist surrounded him, preventing him from seeing anything but the rocky ground around him. Gritting his teeth, he barely managed to get to his hands and knees, feeling as weak as he did in the years after New Abyssinia had taken power.

"It's over now, brother!" A voice boomed out from the mist. Merille looked up in time to see Ezana, larger than life, emerge from the mist, looming over him with an evil, triumphant grin. "The world has fallen; all that remains is your own death!"

A foot flashed out of nowhere, and Merille couldn't find it in himself to dodge the limb, forced to take the blow to the chest that sent him sprawling onto his back.

"I told you this day would come! My patience has served me well. Farewell, brother!"

Merille could do nothing but watch, absolutely nothing as Ezana, grin still splitting his face, placed a foot on his chest, and pointed a gun at his forehead—

~.o0O0o.~

Merille jolted awake, sweat streaming down his face as he sat upwards, gasping for breath. His elder brother's laugh echoed in his ears, his wound only a phantom pain from the scar on his temple. He'd had a nightmare. Again.

Something was on his face. Merille frowned, pulling away a thin tablet, now damp with his sweat. Squinting at it to try and make out the now gunked-up words, he realized that it was some trade agreements he was making with Australia. What in the world…?

He looked around, finding himself in his office, the sun in the window behind him making its swift descent to the horizon. Below him, Addis Ababa was just passing rush hour, cars trickling away and lights beginning to twinkle on as the sky darkened.

Merille groaned, running a hand over his face and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake up. He must've fallen asleep again while filling out paperwork again. His nights hadn't been very stable since New Abyssinia had killed him and fled the scene. He wished that he could say that his last nightmare was an anomaly.

"Merille?" The door to his office opened, and the African nation looked up to see a young Native American boy step through the door, a tablet tucked under one arm. He looked up, seeing his elder friend's face, and a look of understanding dawned on his features. "Oh… did you fall asleep? Was it that dream again?"

"I'm fine," Merille sighed, standing up and stretching. "What brings you here at this time, Manuel? I thought you'd be on your way to see Somalia by now."

"Well, Layla's research team made some really impressive breakthroughs on the VEV virus this morning," the American state of New Mexico explained, running a hand through his hair as he sat down in one of the free seats. "She asked me to stay and help them out on figuring out the data for a couple days. Dad said it was fine, and Virginia doesn't mind staying a little longer, so… yeah. Still here."

"That's great." Merille tried to smile, but it was strained. It'd taken the better part of the last decade for Manuel to convince his father to let him visit the African Elites, and when he had, he'd assigned Virginia (who, his own opinion, was utterly terrifying in her own right) to watch over him. It'd been amazing to have him over, but Merille had had less time than he'd hoped to spend with his much younger friend. Not only did he have to attend those "Unique Way" meetings with the rest of his alliance and the UK, but he was also working with Layla Bekele (a scientist who had spied for the rebels during WWIII and afterwards had come to be one of the most talented and prominent researchers in Africa) to try and cure the remnants of New Abyssinia's super soldiers. Now without the dictator to command their every move, the super soldiers were simply milling about, unresponsive to friends and family unless being given orders. It was a heartbreaking remnant of the war that the African Elites and the UN had been working to cure for the last decade, but reversing the disease was proving to be a much more difficult endeavor than simply providing a vaccine for it.

"You sure you're alright?" Manuel looked at him worriedly, snapping Merille out of his thoughts.

"Yeah…" he muttered, quickly trying to shuffle his papers into some semblance of organization. "Just dreams."

"You want to talk about it?"

Him, talking to a child less than a tenth of his age for therapy? As much as he liked the kid, Merille certainly didn't feel comfortable doing that with his own family, much less an American state.

"Thanks, but I'm good."

Manuel shrugged. "Dreams can be very strange when they want to be, especially recurring ones. I'd know." Merille sent the child a questioning look, but Manuel didn't elaborate. Instead, he swiftly changed the subject. "Anyways, something's been bothering me. About Namibia's last words. New Abyssinia giving rise to a new Africa and all that. Do you think she had a point there?"

Merille sighed, lifting his shoulders as he leaned back. "She was right in that regard, I suppose. In the last decade our economies have boomed even as we struggle with the repercussions of the war. The other African Elites and I, as you know, have long surpassed Nigeria and South Africa as the dominant powers in the continent. All thanks to Hybrid Energy. I suppose the big question now is how long we can maintain it, and if Africa really can become fully developed."

"And no one knows that for sure," Manuel finished, looking somewhat satisfied. He took a couple steps and placed the file on Merille's desk. "Here. You can look at it tomorrow."

"It's only 1900," Merille replied, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure I can look over it before I turn in for the night."

Manuel's eyes twinkled, even as his face remained mostly expressionless. "Layla's invited us to dinner with some of the researchers. You have to come!" He stressed the last word, as if doing so would convince him to take a night off.

Merille sighed, knowing his boss would be upset with him up and leaving without warning, but in the end decided that he needed to spend at least some time with Manuel before he left. Standing up, he cracked his back and stretched.

"Aw, what the heck. Let's go."

[1]- The person in charge of the UK's economy and finances. Basically, it's a position equivalent to the Finance Minister.

[2]- A reference to the Greek goddess Hera, the goddess of birth. They're trying to figure out what "birthed" Hybrid Energy, so I thought it was a funny coincidence.

[3]- Mini Barrier Technology, from the last book

[4]- A tea known for helping relieve migraine symptoms

[5]- Made up abbreviations for the African Elites' navy, since I couldn't find any online. The abbreviations are, in order (Abbreviation—Native language/Latin script/English):

YBHM—የኢትዮጵያ ባሕር ኃይል መርከብ/Ye'ītiyop'iya Baḥiri Hayili Merikebi/Ethiopian Naval Ship

SIWI—سفينة إبحار واقية إريترية/Safinat 'Iibhar Waqiat 'Iirytria/Eritrean Protective Sailing Ship

ND—Navire Djibouti/Djibouti Navy Ship

MQS—Markabka Qaranka Soomaaliyeed/National Somali Ship