Monica Wichfeld, 48, Baltic Mentor

I waited patiently for the German soldiers to come back into the cell, holding my bloody nose gingerly. Even though they hadn't intentionally meant to hurt me, - yet - one of the soldiers had accidentally tripped me onto the cold ground. I could see the drops of blood slowly sticking onto the cement, hardening slowly. I shivered. How long would it be before they lost their patience and more of my blood would spill onto the floors of my cell?

A scream echoed through the cells of the prison, and I turned to the door of my cell to hear a gunshot. More screams started to reverberate throughout the prison, and I listened to the weakened psyche of most of the prisoners around me collapse at the sound. It had been too soon since we had heard that shot ring out, killing our family, our compatriots, our friends. The gunshot only signaled death in our prison.

I tapped the bottom of my bed in boredom, making a rhythm to pass the time. I fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, just waiting… for something, anything, anything at all. "It's just… mind-numbing how spending a month in a cell can be."

"Would you like to change that, miss?" I jumped back from the voice, bumping my head on the back of the wall. I rubbed my head gingerly and looked at the person who was standing at the edge of my cell, her hair seeming to glow through the light. "God, I must be dreaming of angels or something. Who are you?"

The woman smiled, holding her hand out through the bars. "Your new agent, Mrs. Wichfeld. Are you able to leave for Berlin in the next five minutes?"

Lucie Vanosmael, 17, Northern European Mentor

"Ja!" I exclaimed, leaping up from my bed and walking out with the woman. She laughed and took me by the hand, leading me out of the camp. The others stared blankly at me, their pinstriped outfits blending in with the rest of the camp. It was all dull, faded, and dead. There was nothing for me here in the camp. But why would they want me to teach children to survive?

Careful, Lulu, you're only a child yourself. Don't get cocky.

I shook my head and kept walking, past the stained blood of the man who had slept in the bunk above mine on the corner of the hut. When he had protested against how children were being imprisoned in the camp, the guards had gotten frustrated and killed him. He had spun in such an odd way, smiling at us all strangely as he had collapsed onto the ground, his head smashing against the hut and the blood flowing out, his life flowing out of the side where the bullets had hit him. I had been one of the ones to bury him. He had suffered a better fate than others in the camp. Even the guards didn't know what would happen to them yet. We had all been imprisoned for fighting against the Third Reich. Now we were invisible, overlooked by the system and beaten every day until we were almost on the floor, senselessly trying to get back up and survive. I would likely never see them again.

I walked along with the woman to her car, climbing into the backseat. I looked incredulously at the wigs littering the back of the car, causing the woman to blush and adjust the brown wig she had on. "Oh, don't mind those. Now, let's go!"

I felt the stubble on the top of my head, feeling where my hair was starting to grow back. "Zelfs de machtigen moeten vallen."

They would fall. And until then, I would help my fellow countrymen. I would help them beat the rest of Europe, and laugh at Germany as the Third Reich crumbled. Not even the greatest king could outlast a revolution.

Fahrettin Altay, 62, Turkish Mentor

"Cehennem yok!" I spat at the face of the man, grinding the paper that he had handed me under my feet. Did he really think that I, Fahrettin Altay, would honestly agree to work with the German nation after they had bombed my beautiful nation to pieces? Why would I do such an idiotic thing?

The German officer laughed, a dangerous laugh that rang through my office. "General Altay, the Fuhrer möchte nicht that response. Bitte reconsiders, General Altay. If not, we'll just have to take you by force. I do not think that your wife would have liked to see you dragged by force to our nation, would she?"

I growled, standing up from my seat and walking slowly out of the building. Even though my nation of Turkey had not surrendered to the Germans yet, they walked around like it was their beautiful empire to reign. How could they just force two of our youth to fight in this competition? Why would they want someone to teach them how to fight when it was so clear that they didn't want to have Turkey win?

"Now, now, General Altay, I don't want you to be down about this!" The German officer smiled as if he had gotten the best of me, escorting me out of my office towards the dozens of armed guards, waiting for his command. I could see the bloodstains of my employees on the wall behind them. At least they had bothered to clean up the bodies.

"Anani sikiyim," I sneered at the officer as I climbed into the jeep, gingerly sitting down next to two armed men. The officer smiled and sat next to the driver. "I'm sure that you'll love our country as well, General Altay. Now, let's move. We have a schedule to keep, you know, and the Auswahl der Namen is only a few days away!"

Henri Guisan, 68, Swiss Mentor

I buried my head on my desk, trying to ignore the television blaring in the corner. But it was true, Germany had finally conquered Switzerland after all of the precautions that I had taken, and true enough, the Nazi flag was being risen in Bern's town hall. I watched the thousands of German soldiers march in, chanting that mesmerizing chant. "Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Heil Schnee!"

I shook my head and turned off the television, walking out of my office and into the kitchen. Mary was there, calmly eating the meal that she had prepared for the two of us. I sighed and sat down, taking the now-cold plate of food and eating the mashed potatoes. "Bern is taken, Mary. How will our nation survive?"

"C'est la vie, Henri." Mary continued to eat calmly as the rain began to fall upon our home, pelting off of the roof and onto the garden. I smiled slightly, looking at the plants that Mary had painstakingly put out almost reach out for the water falling down from the sky. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and I reached over for Mary protectively before sitting back down, ashamed of myself. The bombs had gotten to us both a bit more than we thought. Switzerland had been more easily taken than we had thought. I pitied those who lived in the mountains. They would be coming down now, thinking that their shopping day would be a normal day, but they would be questioned for days by the Germans before they were allowed to be let go. They had no idea that our nation was taken over by, by, by these heathens.

I listened to the radio that Mary had set up start to blare out another round of German propaganda, proclaiming that even America and Canada had fallen to the might of the German empire. I stood up, reaching over the stew to turn the radio up. Mary protested, trying to keep her stew upright on our small table. "You can't do that to the table, Henri-"

I shushed her, listening to the radio. "Our honourable Fuhrer Schnee has announced a competition to test the spirit of the new acquisitions of our German Empire, where children from 14 regions, including Canada and America, who have graciously made peace with our nation, to fight to the death. Mentors from each region will teach these children to win, and the one winner will come back to his nation, that region exempt from next year's competition."

I pushed away my meal, grabbing my coat and walking out of the door. Mary grabbed my arm as I walked out, pointing at the kitchen. "Where are you going, mein mann? What is so urgent that you must leave at once?"

I nodded, shaking Mary's arm off of me and walking into the rain. "Switzerland needs a mentor to save them from next year's competition. I will be that mentor, my love. I will bring glory to where I have failed as a leader amongst our country. Switzerland will never have to fight again when I am finished with the two children selected. We will come home with honour at our side and pride in our hearts."

Josip Broz Tito, 50, Slavic Mentor

They had called me their son.

I was born in a small town in Yugoslavia, my mother and father faithfully raising me among the rest of my brothers and sisters to be a good man. They were all dead now. Schnee's right-hand man, Himmler, had murdered them after I had failed to surrender to the German forces.

They had called me their sergeant.

I had been the youngest sergeant-major in the Yugoslavian army in WWI, at only twenty-two years of age. I had led my men into battle against the Russian army, fighting valiantly and distinguishing myself among the rest of the men. How funny it was to think that I had once fought for the German empire. Of course, that was when they were a true empire. Now they were a facade of a monarchy, ruled by a man who had found his way to power through smoke, mirrors, and poison. He deserved to be in his position no more than me.

They had called me their friend.

When I had joined the Communist party of Yugoslavia, I quickly made an impression amongst other men. Some admired my spirit and had me stir up agitation amongst the workers of Yugoslavia, while others spoke ill of me, behind closed doors, of course. Even in prison for my actions, I had still been relatively admired. I was a good man, after all.

They had called me their leader.

I had risen to power when the Germans invaded, taking control of my party and fighting against them. I had been a good leader, and I knew that the men and women I had commanded respected me. We had been close to victory. If the Germans hadn't brought out their bombs, our knowledge of the terrain would have won the day. But we hadn't, and the Germans had crushed the soul out of our country. Yugoslavia was broken.

The Germans had called me Judas.

The Germans had hated me for fighting against them instead of complying with the regime, killing my family and friends. They had banished me to a remote townhouse, biding their time until they figured out what to do with myself. From the look of the men escorting me out of the building, they had finally decided their punishments.

I had been called many names in my life. But now, the children I was chosen to save would call me their mentor.

Virginia Hall, 36, American Mentor

I frowned as Cuthbert started to slow down once more, causing my leg to slow down. "Ugh, it's going to be another one of those days."

I stopped and readjusted Cuthbert, the wooden leg being put back into place under my knee. I stood up and walked into the building, looking in interest at the flag hanging at half mast. Something had definitely happened.

A secretary greeted me as I walked in, handing me a key. "It's our special guest! You're due for a meeting on the top floor, Ma'am. Your meeting is inside the room with the big door at the end; you'll definitely know which one it is from the arguing inside. Good luck!"

I nodded, patting my bad absentmindedly. The gun inside of it shook slightly, and I smiled. I was ready to go and meet whoever had summoned me here. As I walked towards the elevator, I watched the men around the hotel, dressed in dark suits and most touching a hidden pistol in their pockets. Something really was going on, and I was about to find out.

The elevator went up quickly, and I walked out of it and through the halls. I looked for the big door and saw it along with the sound of obscenities wafting into the hallway. I wrinkled my nose and walked in, watching over a dozen men arguing violently with each other, a few seeming to be ready to go to blows. One of the men saw me and left his argument, shaking my hand firmly and holding out a chair. "It's good to see you, Ms. Hill."

I nodded, watching the other men slowly stop arguing and turn towards him. The man nodded firmly, sitting down. "Ms. Hill, you may know that the United States of America has agreed to send a female and a male teenager to Europe to fight in a Competition that Fuhrer Schnee has failed to name thus far. Well, we have nominated you to be the mentor for these teenagers."

I gasped. "Me? Why me? But they all know me from my limp! How am I supposed to keep quiet and unnoticed?"

The man smiled. "That's not the point, Ms. Hill. We want them to know who you are. Even if we've made this deal with Germany, they will still know that we are a force to be reckoned with. You are America's symbol for that. The Germans will not underestimate America when we have sent the woman with the limp."

Richard Sorge, 47, Russian Mentor

I smiled faintly as I was dragged out of my cell, watching the Japanese chatter excitedly to each other. They didn't care that I had been tortured by them for the past few months, brought to the brink of death and back by them. But I had held on. I would never let go to please the Japanese.

A man from the German army stepped towards me, causing me to frown. Germany wasn't in Japan, was it? Not unless they had waged war against one of their allies. It couldn't be. The man looked at me with interest, noting the gaunt lines on my face and my tired expression. I mustered a smile for him, looking at the glow that he had indicating that he was well fed. It was so long since I had a decent meal. "How are you, Mr. Sorge? Schnee would like to forgive you for your traitorous deeds against the German Empire if you come with me, back to Berlin. If you agree, then you can follow me to your transportation."

The man finished quickly, almost gasping for breath after he finished the sentence. I looked at him with concern, judging the honesty of his statement. Why would he want me to go back to the land where I had spied for the Soviet Union? Didn't they want me dead? I looked once more at him and nodded slowly. Even if they were going to kill me, it was better than torture by the Japanese. Anything was better than torture by the Japanese.

The man took my hand and walked me to the Mercedes that he had pulled up alongside the prison, with many Japanese guards looking around it and pointing at the quality of the German vehicle. I wrinkled my nose in disgust but got into it. No good member of the Soviet Union should willingly enter a Mercedes.

The Mercedes revved and went along the small road, kicking up the dust behind it. The man talked quietly to me as we went along, filling me in on what had happened when I was imprisoned. I gasped when he mentioned that Russia was mostly bombed, standing up and bumping my head on the roof of the Mercedes. "But if my country is ruined, what do you want me for?"

The man smiled, pointing out at the horizon. "You, Mr. Sorge, are going to be the mentor for the remainder of the country. When you are taken to Russia, you will take two children and try to help them to kill 26 others. Consider it… a step up from your current position."

I'm back and with the final mentor chapter! Hurrah, these were stressful. So glad they're over! Thanks for all the support and tributes guys, so keep subbing! Remember 2 tributes per person and my other guidelines ;)

Now, what do you think of this chapter? Any interesting mentors? Any cool plot points? I have plans for them, so look forward to seeing more of these guys!

Also, ALL SUBMITTERS, could you please send me all of the languages your tribute speaks in the same email you sent them in if you haven't? Thanks, I forgot to do that in the first form, so yeah, but if you can do that soon, that would be great!

Ok, there's only one more chapter and then I've finally finished the prologues! Keep subbing, definitely review the story, both this and the last mentor chapter, and have fun! Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ