Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/n1: I have had my first two days of school! 8DDDDDDD It was a lot of fun, but it was also kind of… a lot. I mean, I have homework. HOMEWORK. My GOD. It's been ages since the last time I actually had homework! Now I have it, and I have TONS of it, too. But oh well.
There are 55 peeps in my class and I'm one of the youngest. ONE OF THE YOUNGEST OH MY GOD I FEEL SO CUTE~ Everybody's really nice and smart, too!
For the following weeks, I'm going to study language-psychology, syntaxes, grammar, literature, professional didactics and textual explanations, just to name a few subjects. All in DUTCH. All crazily HARD. But I'm liking it so far, and that's what matters the most.^^

A/n2: Funfact: the European Council is getting a new president. For the past few years, it was a Belgian man – hence why Femke (you know, Belgium) always was supposed to be the chairman of meetings (however, England, Germany and France constantly managed to take over control anyway since… well, since Belgium just isn't as vocal about what she thinks what's important as they are).
Anyway, the new President of the European Council is going to be a Polish man. So Poland will be the new chairman. And that's going to be, like, totally, fabulously awesome! 8DDDDDDD
I can't wait for a personification-meeting with Poland as the chairman. It's bound to be GLORIOUS.

A/n3: I'm sorry. I really tried to avoid a cliffhanger, I really, really tried very hard, but in the end – ugh, it was just bound to happen again. Once again, I'm sorry, and gah, and ugrrrrgh, and let's score some icecream! *takes you to cute little icecream-store close-by my place* I RECOMMEND THE WHITE CHOCOLATE FLAVOR.

A/n4: I'm also sorry I took my time answering some reviews! It's just that life got a lot busier now, so… well, there is a chance I'm not replying to reviews as swiftly as I used to do anymore. Just so you know!

~~ And Three Makes Five ~~

Chapter 66:

Society only cares about an individual only in so far as he is profitable.
The young know this.
Their anxiety as they enter in upon social life matches the anguish of the old as they are excluded from it.
Simone de Beauvoir
(French author and existentialist philosopher)

Mr. Pita made some pretty interesting facial expressions as he thought about the next thing to say. He probably was very much aware of the fact that he needed to handle the subject he was talking about with us personifications with the utmost care.

Therefore, there was a short, almost uncomfortable pause, before he continued his explanation.

'England had been experimenting a lot. With whom or with what – we don't know. But England's a very peculiar country with a lot of mysteries surrounding the nation. It's my motherland – I can tell. Cryptic stories, sages, legends and rumors have been going on in England for years, so I never was surprised when we found out England might had found a way to make our deepest wish come true – to actually create brand-new personifications, based on the DNA-profiles of the current ones.

After multiple horrible failures, failures that came from a disturbing and depressing obsession that eventually even repelled his own lover, England thought he had finally found a way to create children. But, as Mr. England told us, England didn't have enough money or materials, or the right circumstances and facilities to actually execute his hypothesis. He had done a great deal of amazing research, but now, he was stuck because of the lack of minor, but inevitable conditions that were needed to make his fantastic plan work.

So we, the PPSS and the Leaders, decided to invite England and made him an offer: if he would not only create a child for him and America, but also a child for the other European personifications, we'd help him out. He'd get everything he needed to execute his plan. He wouldn't have to worry about means or money anymore – we'd take care of all that. He could even work in our own lab, if he wanted to. The only thing he needed to do, was create a child for each and every couple of personifications.

Why one kid per one couple of personifications, you ask? I'll explain. You see, we were very much aware of the fact that most personifications don't stay single. Many are dating another nation, some are even legally married to one – or half of one. Wouldn't it be a lot more… say, romantic to create a child out of the DNA of two personifications? That way, they could even strengthen their bond! Very cute and endearing, and not at all unethical. Don't you agree?'

'Let me guess,' a emotionless, blank voice spoke up from the audience, 'you guys didn't want to spend too much money on England's experiment – so instead of giving all personification one kid, you divided them in couples. That way, if the kids indeed turned out to be immortal, you'd have a lot less personifications to look after – one kid would be like both his parents, after all. That's a lot of money you'd spare.'

'How predictable, Netherlands.' Mr. Pita's smile got somewhat twisted. 'And what a blunt, cruel way to put it like that.'

'But he's right, isn't he?' Switzerland, sitting not too far away from the Dutchman, loudly said. 'It was cheaper this way! And as for single personifications like me, well – we'd just get a kid with DNA that was partly mixed with a random human being!'

'Not a "random" human being, Switzerland,' Mr. Pita defended himself. 'The DNA of the single personifications got mixed with that of some of the most amazing human beings that have ever lived. Your DNA, for example, was combined with that of Jean Henri Dunant – the man who's efforts inspired the creation of the International Committee of the Red Cross. He even received the very first Nobel Peace Prize! You call that a "random" human being?'

'I don't care how wonderfully Swiss Dunant was – it's still no excuse! You shouldn't mess with DNA!' Switzerland aggressively barked back. 'Not with ours, and not with mortal DNA either! Not behind our backs! You should have at least asked us!'

'Yeah!' someone else yelled. 'And just who's brilliant idea was it to create some very creepy, unfitting couples, like my sister and – and freaking Russia?'

'Shut up, Maxim,' Femke hissed somewhere.

Mr. Pita nodded. 'Good question, Luxembourg. Unfortunately, I can't blame our organization for that. It was England who ensured us he knew exactly which personifications were a couple and which weren't. We had no idea he actually didn't exactly know. Perhaps he put countries like Russia and your sister together in an attempt to make sure the new personification wouldn't get as… um… interesting as Russia is.'

'How smart,' someone else sarcastically replied. 'Was that before or right after you mixed Belarus' genes with Rasputin's?'

'There's nothing wrong with Rasputin's genes,' Belarus breathed out from a dark corner.

'He's not from Belarus, though…' Ukraine softly reminded her sister. 'He's from… um… well, Russia. Ivan knew him pretty well…'

'I fail to see your point,' Belarus, dead serious, handwaved her comment away – and Ukraine sighed, giving up.

'I admit, we made very crucial mistakes. We probably should have been there with England as he selected the DNA of the human beings he was going to use. But that was the problem – England didn't want anybody to be present during his experiments. He hadn't written anything down either – it was all in his head, and we couldn't convince him to share his ideas with us. He was afraid we might misuse his knowledge. He acted a bit paranoid, to be fair.'

'He was right though,' Lovino mumbled – but thankfully, we sat too far away from the podium to be heard.

'Did England know you were planning to replace us?' I ironically enough heard Feliciano speak up on that very moment – Feliciano, of all nations!

'Yes.' Mr. Pita said. 'England knew what our plans were. But frankly, he didn't mind to be replaced by a new, fresh personification. He said he would like to retire, and he was sure the rest of Europe wouldn't hate it either. He wanted to be a mortal, human being – he wanted to live. Raising a kid with the one you love, getting older, feeling satisfied and fulfilled as you watch your child get his or her own life—'

'What "life"!' Finland cried out at that point, sounding fairly upset. 'You call giving our kids the burden of being an immortal thing a life? Did England really believe that we'd have liked to die while knowing that our children would get a never-ending life just as unforgiving as ours?'

'Finland—'

'Olaf's my child, not your handy, do-what-you-want-with-it-personification!'

'Finland, please—'

'I love him – and I'd rather die a thousand times before I'd let that happen, you heartless piece of sh—'

'Sweden?' Mr. Pita suddenly gave Finland's partner a look that could stun even the most bloodthirsty of men. 'Calm Finland down, please, or we will be forced to do to him what we did to America.'

What they did to America? My heart started to race again and I had to watch holding on to Lovino's hand too tightly. Did he mean they would shoot darts at all of us if we didn't stay calm? They would just… stupefy us and drag us off to some creepy laboratory to… to perform all kinds of tests of us? Or to wipe our memories? Did they really wipe America and England's memories?

'A-Antonio – you're fucking hurting me, you ass,' I heard Lovi hiss next to me.

I hastily let go of his hand and pulled mine back. 'Oh – I-I'm sorry…'

Meanwhile, Sweden didn't do anything special to calm Finland down, at first sight. But then I noticed he had slowly put a broad hand on the other blond man's shoulder, softly pushing the jumpy, anxious nation back down on his seat. He didn't say a word while doing so, but it was enough – Finland may have gritted his teeth angrily in response, but he did calm down. Somewhat.

'Thank you very much.' Mr. Pita took out a handkerchief and casually wiped his nose before continuing. 'As I was saying, England thought that getting replaced was a good idea. Besides, he also thought he was almost certain of it that all the other European countries wanted a child. So he wanted to cooperate with us – and thus, our fruitful collaboration began.'

Canada raised from his chair. 'You are such messed-up people! It's no wonder England agreed to do all of that – you said it yourself, he was at the end of his wits! He was desperate to reach his goal – he would do anything to create kids at a certain point! I mean, I spoke to him a few days before Emile appeared, and the man looked like a wreck! You don't do deals with persons that are physically and mentally drained – you don't!'

'I have no idea what you're talking about, England looked fine to me,' Mr. Pita said.

'But—!'

'Please sit down, Canada. It's for your own good.'

Canada uttered some barely audible profanities – now that was a side of him I hadn't seen all that much yet – but he did sit down, if only because Gilbert practically begged him to do so.

Mr. Pita gave the two of them some very strange looks – looks I couldn't quite place – but after that, he carried on.

'After having performed a certain number of much-needed experiments, and after having prepared and collected everything that was needed for the "real" work, England told us he was ready to create children. What the exact reason was – we didn't know, but as the doctors, Leaders and I watched him tinker, he said he was going to "make" Spain and South Italy a kid, first.'

Everybody gave me and Lovi a concerned glance. It all happened pretty sudden, so we both looked around with slightly embarrassed faces. I even managed to squeeze an awkward smile out.

'It kind of went wrong, unfortunately enough: instead of just one kid, he accidentally created three of them. A girl and twins – two boys, if I recall correctly?'

Mr. Pita gave me a questioning look. I couldn't move, but from the corner of my eye, I saw that Lovino nodded.

'Right.' Mr. Pita coughed. 'Three kids. Three. Well, that wasn't meant to happen, of course. England himself didn't count on that to happen as well – he mused he might had forgotten to keep their vastly different personalities in mind – but the good news was that after the creation of the kids of Spain and South Italy, England successfully learnt from his mistakes and all the other personifications' children did turn out exactly the way we wanted them to. England saved his own and America's DNA for last, because by the time he created a kid for the two of them, he knew precisely what kind of kid he wanted – and eleven-year-old Jonathan was "born". In short, after having created Spain and South Italy's kids, the other kids that were made were all pretty much perfect, just as we had hoped.

…

More or less.

Because later, it turned out that certain kids still had many faults. Some had a lot more in common with one parent, while the genes of the other parent turned out to be barely there. We all have some dominant genes, certainly, but – well, just take Germany and North Italy's child as an example. She's just like her Germanic father. She may act a bit like her Italian dad, but – well, you could hardly say she's a copy of both her parents…'

As Mr. Pita told a lot more about all kinds of… of genetic, scientific things and discoveries and what-not, I was starting to realize that that jerk England had used my and Lovi's genes to try and see if his plan would actually really work, as if we had been his personal guinea pigs. And he had failed, in a way. Also, it sounded like those PPSS-bastards looked at Luisa, Matteo and Alejo… and Mimi, for all that matters, as if they were mistakes – failed experiments.

That very thought made me feel so mad. One quick look aside confirmed that both Lovino and Feliciano were getting increasingly more furious as well. I had never seen Feliciano so incredible angry before, and Lovino – well, let me put it this way: there was a very big chance he might needed to destroy another spare bedroom after this meeting. He was shaking with rage.

…

That wasn't good. What if they did something drastic and got shot down by Mr. Italy behind them? I had to keep the both of them in control – I had to. I was just as mad as they were, but at least I still had some sensible thoughts left. Plus, I didn't look like a cornered bear in human form, waiting for a chance to blindly charge to the podium in the middle of the room. Not yet, at least.

So I shove my seat closer to Lovino's and took his hand, again, to gently stroke it. No idea if it would calm him down, but – but what else could I do?

By the way, it turned out Mr. Pita had been yapping on and on this entire time, so I probably missed quite a bit of information. Not sure to feel bad or good about that.

'…and no, before you ask, we don't know how England managed to send all of the children to your Houses. But if the man's able to summon Russia out of his basement's floor, then of course he's able to – how should I put it – teleport people to other places as well,' he reasoned.

Then Iceland raised his hand. 'But I thought that that whole Russia-summoning back then wasn't supposed to happ—'

'Anyway.' Mr. Pita ignored the white-haired nation and clapped in his hands. 'Moving on. You woke up, and you all of a sudden were the proud parents of a child – or in Spain and South Italy's case, three children. You panicked, you didn't know what was happening – but we were prepared, and a meeting was organized to talk about the strange phenomenon that was the appearance of the children.

England made a pretty impressive performance. He admitted he was the one who created the children, based on your DNA, DNA that was taken from you during the tests you all had to go through a couple of months ago, remember: you even got separated from your loved ones for that. However, England acted like he didn't know how it had happened. He lied, of course, but he promised he had discussed the matter with the doctors and the Bosses (which was true, on a certain level), and they would help you out. The doctors would try and find out if the kids really were yours (even though they already knew – they even knew the official human birth date of the children, which was the same of one of the parents), and they'd look for disorders and other unwanted problems…'

…unwanted problems?

'…and, most important of all – and the main reason why the doctors needed to examine the children – the doctors needed to find out if the kids really were immortal. Because we didn't know that for sure.

Yes, England had succeeded to make kids with the help from throughout research, biology, science, impressive amounts of DNA and a lot of mystery – but had he created immortal beings? We didn't know. We needed to test the kids. So we did.

We don't need to tell you the details – and yes, sure, some children might have cried a lot during the examination, but I doubt any one of them got seriously traumatized.

Anyway, after the tests had been taken, we were so sure the kids were immortal – some children even spoke and understood their parents' languages flawlessly, even though they didn't even know what language it was! – that another mistake was made: we gave you the task of taking very good care of the children. The Leaders even gave you all the money you needed to make sure you could take care of them. Heck, some of you even went on a delightful holiday – although I understand that that wasn't a very big success in the end…'

I remembered the suffocating vacation in Turkey, Hungary's Homo Bus, the first signs Femke was starting to lose it, the first signs that things were actually pretty twisted. The first signs of Mr. Pita. I mean… he was the one that gave us the vacation.

Had we all been just playing along with his sick little game? Like a bunch of oblivious, slow-witted and ignorant puppets?

Mr. Pita continued – and he looked kind of ashamed as he talked.

'During the three months you looked after the kids, we took the samples we had taken from the children and discovered in our laboratories that they were, in fact, not immortal. They were humans – just normal, simple humans. There was nothing abnormal with their DNA. We compared it to the immortal genes we had used to create them, and they were exactly alike in many, many aspects, but – but there were no signs of immortality in the kids' genes.

And that's when we figured it out. That's when we came to realize that you don't… like Switzerland very rightfully said… you don't play around with DNA of beings that aren't mortal. It's not right. Besides, you cannot create immortal life from immortal beings. There is a reason why you all can theoretically live forever: you are all sterile personifications. You were made to live, and not to reproduce. Maybe new personifications only appear and start to exist when the old personification is about to pass away. That's what could have happened to deceased nations like the Roman Empire, or Ancient Greece, or Ancient Egypt…

According to some of our oldest sources, sources we have recently rediscovered, the old personifications suddenly started aging very rapidly in a very short amount of time after new personifications had appeared. They lived for a few more months, some even a few years longer, but then – they simply disappeared. The new, young nations automatically took over control.

Putting all of that aside – we are very aware of the fact that we were wrong. We did you wrong. All of you. And if we had done a better research, if we had thought about those old sources about Rome earlier, if we… if we had offered England some sort of medical or psychological support instead of pushing his buttons even further… then all of this wouldn't have happened. You'd all could have lived your lives like you wanted to live them.'

Mr. Pita suddenly bowed deeply – and with him, all of the other PPSS-members, even the ones that stood behind us.

'So, we're… we apologize. From the bottom of our hearts, we apologize. We are extremely sorry we treated you like replaceable objects we could just cast to the side the minute our continent would give you a bad time. From start to finish, it was a despicable plan, a plan with no respect for the people that represent our nations, and I feel deeply ashamed for having put all of you through these atrocious months. I hope you can, somehow, forgive us.'

…

…

You know what, it felt kind of… mweh.

Yes, we received apologies, and yes, they sounded genuine, but…

Getting apologies from a man that could switch between emotions and point of views so easily? Not very reassuring. It was like Mr. Pita was participating in a huge play. He had played many roles: of a man that just wanted to do what he thought was best for the continent, of a man that ignored the arguments of the personifications representing that same continent, of a lax man, of a man that didn't think he did anything wrong, of a man that suddenly was very much aware that he did do something wrong…

Like he studied and learned all of his movements, emotions and words by heart.

I didn't know what to think of it. I didn't.

But most of the other countries in the room, they started to clap their hands a bit and seemed to be satisfied with these apologies he offered to us. I noticed Lithuania sighing in relief and even smiling, while Austria and Germany exchanged faint smiles, and it even looked like Denmark was cracking jokes already.

Wondering how Lovino responded to all of this, I looked next to me again… only to notice that he did the exact same thing (meaning that Feliciano was ignored once again – but nothing I could do about that right now).

'And?' Lovino said, his face not telling me anything. 'Feeling better now that Mr. Weird Breadname has given us his apologies?'

'No,' I replied. 'You?'

'Not at all. Also, I don't really understand why everybody's acting like everything's better now. Didn't they get the message he gave us?'

'What message?' I said.

'They wanted to kill us.' Lovino gulped and squeezed his hands as much as he could, which wasn't much with his right hand. 'If… if the kids had really turned out to be immortal, we would've died. Slowly, but surely. Just like Grandpa Rome did. There can't be two Spanish personifications wandering around, for example – the oldest one would have needed to go. My brother and I are exceptions since we represent different parts of Italy, but… you get what I mean, right…?'

I stared at him and thought to myself what I should feel about this - apart from feelings like fear and utter disgust.

'It only makes you wonder what they would've done if both the kids and us turned out to be immortal…' Lovino muttered.

'They would've killed us anyway, Romano.'

That was Francis, sitting in the row in front of me and Lovino – I actually just noticed. His blond head popped up from behind Miss France, who he simply pushed a bit too the side with the murmured words 'please stand aside, Marie, my faithful maid – or should I say traitor'.

'You think?' Lovino said, for the first time in his life not scared to actually have a normal conversation with my friend in these far-from-normal circumstances.

'Absolutely.' Francis nodded, gray bags under his blue eyes. 'You heard how important money and saving money is for them – you really think they still would've taken care of us if there were even more immortal creatures to look after? Of course not. They would have tricked and then killed us. Like animals.'

'Francis—' I started, since I wanted to try and say something as well, but Lovino cut me off.

'I just can't understand why we seem to be the only ones who are aware of this. Look at the rest – they are so fucking gullible!'

'Really?' Francis smirked bitterly. 'Maybe you should look at them a bit better. The little gears in their heads are starting to turn, Romano – just watch them.'

Lovino and I obediently looked around the room once more. Some nations still seemed to be relieved and even upbeat, but others, like that joking Denmark, were all of a sudden looking a lot more serious. Most of the nations were now talking to the country next to them with agitated, hasty voices. Hungary hadn't moved in what seemed to be forever. And Germany and Austria now plucked their chin and discussed about something that appeared to have ruffled their feathers badly.

Then Mr. Pita, still standing on that podium, still oozing calmness and patience as he waited for the personifications to shut the hell up again, caught my eye again.

'Doesn't he notice?' I blurted out. 'Doesn't he mind, telling us all of this? All of this doesn't make them look good, to put it lightly. Besides, weren't they supposed to be anonymous – is it really okay for them to tell us all about their nasty plans like this?'

Francis swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.

'I wonder if we really want to know the answers to that, mon ami…'

/0o0\

Waiting for the personifications to stop talking proved to take too long this time: even after we had been waiting for over eighteen minutes – I kept count – the Hemicycle was still noisy. We talked, hissed, realized, feared and got angry, and we did that in various levels of loudness. That Mr. Pita wanted us to get quiet didn't give us a damn anymore – not now we had all discovered the horrifying truth behind the appearance of the children.

They had never wanted to help us out – not like they used to.

They had wanted to get rid of us, the older, exhausted, beaten personifications, and get new, vivid, young personifications in return, until they, too, would get "replaced", eventually.

And for what? For money.

The once noble, kind and well-meaning PPSS pushed it all too far, got obsessed with protecting us, and proceeded to push it even further by getting obsessed with making money out of us while protecting us. If they even still protected us.

It disgusted me in a way nothing else had ever disgust me.

'Alright, alright!' Mr. Pita's voice suddenly echoed through the room as he walked around on his podium with his hands held up. 'That's enough! Please – I understand you're all a bit upset about the happenings—'

'You're nothing but an ordinary assassin!' somebody shouted.

'How would you feel if there was an organization out there, deciding you're not worthy enough anymore to have the right to exist!' someone else followed.

'You are despicable!'

'We loathe you!'

'Now let us go already!'

The rest of the audience cheered and clapped to empathize their agreement with the words that had been yelled through the room, but not in a happy, victorious way. They were heavily appalled and fed up with this, all of this. They just – we just wanted to leave this behind already. Go back to our Houses, to our mortal kids, and figure out a way to process everything.

However, that was not what the PPSS had in mind.

Out of nowhere, just before things seemed to be doomed to go wrong for the President, all of the Misses and Misters moved forward. When I wanted to ask Lovino what was going on, I felt something hard and cold being pressed against the back of my neck.

I didn't even dare to move anymore, let alone utter one single word. Breathing was okay. Kind of. And if I tried really hard, I could hear Lovino – breathing in and out in just as anxiously as I was. No, as the entire room all of a sudden was, because that's why all the Misses and Misters had moved forward: to press some sort of weapon against our necks.

Mr. Pita sighed deeply and rubbed his temples as he paced the podium.

'I'm very sorry. I didn't want to make things come this far, but you leave me no choice – I have promised you to tell you everything you want to know, and so, that's what we are going to do. Even if that means keeping you at gunpoint.'

A small voice shrieked something I didn't catch. Mr. Pita, however, did catch it – and laughed.

'Oh! Haha – no, no, don't you worry, Moldova, those weapons aren't filled with bullets.'

'Darts,' I heard someone else – I think it was Germany – utter. 'They're filled with darts, aren't they?'

'Precisely,' nodded Mr. Pita. 'Sedative darts. Getting one of those in your body will lead to almost instant sleep – but have no fear, they're not dangerous. They do leave a pretty nasty bruise, though. I don't think you are up for getting some foul bruises. Are you?'

He sounded amused, as if all of this was funny. Either way, his behavior and aloof responses proofed that my suspicions were right: that man could not be trusted. Everything he said that was meant to bring out certain states of minds and emotions, like relief, was fake and part of one big, complicated act.

'Anyhow,' Mr. Pita said, pointing his laser-thing to the last sentence of the list on screen, 'I think it's about time we tell you what our solution is for this huge, irresponsible, bad fault we made – and once again, we cannot stress enough how terribly sorry we are.

Now.

The children are mortal – you, however, are not. Meaning that you will probably witness your very own child getting older and older and eventually, watch them… well, watch them die, to put it bluntly.

That's not a very nice thing to witness, now is it? I think there are no parents in this world, or at least no good parents, that want their kid to die before they do. It traumatizes people. It makes them experience pains they will feel for the rest of their lives. It makes everything worse. That's what the death of a child does with people. They never really get over it and they will always feel an empty, hollow hole in their hearts. Also, it could destroy relationships they have with other people – you can read in many articles that parents of a kid that died in most cases decide to spit up, simply because they can't bear being with the other anymore without remembering the death of the child they both loved so much.

I'm just talking about humans here, though.

As with personifications… we don't know. We don't know how much the death of your human child will affect you. But there is a very big chance that the impact of it will cause you to respond in the exact same fashion of ordinary human beings – in other words, you will suffer, for the rest of your lives, with the loss of your children.'

'That-that doesn't need to happen!' Lovino – Lovino? – suddenly gasped out, loud enough for Mr. Pita to hear him.

'South Italy?' he asked, intrigued.

'Listen, you…' Lovino gulped, realizing he was actually talking out loud now, 'you… you can't put personifications in the same boat as humans. When… when human parents lose their kid, it's mostly because of an accident, crime or sickness. Their child probably died way too young, and presumably very awfully, too. It's no wonder they never get over that. But in our case, our kids will most likely die of old age - since we can't! It-it's still very much horrible, sure, but… but it's not as bad as you claim it to be! You—'

Mr. Pita interrupted him. 'South Italy, maybe you're right about the fact that there is a big possibility of your kid dying of old age. Maybe some of your children will indeed live until they're 80/90-somethings. Maybe they'll even get older! But you seem to forget that there's still a pretty reasonable chance that your kid will die before reaching that respectable age. Also, old people tend to suffer from all kinds of diseases. Heart failure, dementia, lungs and other organs that stop working, them being unable to go to the bathroom all by themselves…'

Lovino had nothing to say in response to that, even though I knew he was trying really hard to think of something soothing anyway.

'It's not a pretty sight. Your kids dying, whether it is from old age or by unnatural causes – it's incredibly painful either way,' Mr. Pita went on now that Lovino didn't reply. 'And we actually don't want to find out how you will react to those kind of happenings.'

What?

'You have suffered more than enough already. You watched friends, maybe even people you romantically loved die. You overcame all those dreadful happenings, that's true, but losing a kid is… well, it's like losing your significant other, times 1000.'

What was he trying to say?

'Too much pain. Too much sadness. Too much helplessness. We don't want you to experience all of that!'

No.

No no no.

No, please no.

Mr. Pita cleared his throat again and at the same time, I felt the barrel of the dart-gun behind me getting pressed against my neck even more persistently.

'So, to make sure you and the nations you represent won't get this massive depression, one day in the future… we're going to take the children off your hands.'

I couldn't get air anymore.

'We'll… good care!... othing but the best… ke you forget…'

And now I couldn't hear anymore.

…

…

And now I couldn't see anymo

\0o0/

Oh.

Antonio had actually passed out from the news. I saw it – he just crashed on his table all of a sudden – and Blanca, that mean bitch, backed off in slight confusion. I guess they never told her what to do when a personification whose neck you've been poking with a fucking dart-gun faints, during her training.

…

I didn't even feel bad for Antonio. No, I wish I had fainted, too.

But I hadn't, and what was even worse, I was going to hear the rest of Pita's awful plan.

There had been some sort of ruckus in the Hemicycle, by the way. One quick glance around me told me that some nations had actually been shot: both Sweden and Finland laid on their tables, in the same limped fashion as Antonio – but with a dart in their necks. Same story for Switzerland, Germany, Femke, Poland and even Canada. Others sat motionless on their chairs, just like me. The Netherlands, Russia, Hungary, Belarus, Norway, Denmark and Feliciano – they didn't even twitch. They were just that shocked. And then there was a small, select group of other nations, the group that Antonio belonged to: the ones who had simply passed out. Like Liechtenstein, France and Latvia. Now I could understand wimpy nations like Liechtenstein and Latvia pass out, and since I knew him, I also understood why Antonio couldn't handle it anymore, but France?

'Very sad,' Mr. Pita groaned, checking the room to see what personifications were still "with him". 'Really – fainting and/or going berserk just when I'm about to tell the good news? Some strange personifications you are.'

'What good news,' Hungary's cold, unfeeling voice said – it wasn't even a question.

'Hm.' Mr. Pita clacked his tongue. 'I had planned to tell this to all of you, so I actually wanted to suggest to wait until your sleeping friends would regain their consciousness again – you need to wait a full hour for that – but since I expect you to tell the others what's going to happen, I'll tell you anyway. Plus, I'm behind my schedule, so I shouldn't waste any more time.'

Maybe we were supposed to respond to that in some sort of way. We probably were, weren't we?

Well, we didn't. So Mr. Pita carried on. And with "carried on", I meant that he suddenly started to act like a damn host of a stupid, popular television show.

'Dear personifications, please welcome… your personal doctors!'

Two well-hidden, black doors, located on both sides of the podium, abruptly opened wide and a bunch of people in white lab coats – awkwardly looking around, looking like they had realized what mean, asshole-doctors they were – came shuffling in. There were about as many doctors as there were nations in this room, so the podium got kind of packed.

Still, I noticed Dr. Tosca. She was standing somewhere in the middle of the group, her abnormally big tummy almost pushing come of her medical partners off the stage (the podium really looked like a stage). If this was any other situation, I would've worried about her: what on Earth is she doing here, she's about to give birth for God's sake, wasn't she on maternity leave, had they forced her to come to this place…

But this wasn't any other situation. Also, I wasn't feeling quite normal. I had just heard my bossy daughter, my creepy-ass son and my weird-ass son would be brutally taken away from me, and yet, I could still think straight. I hadn't burst out in anger, I hadn't fainted and I hadn't felt the need to burst out in tears.

Yet.

So I just watched Dr. Tosca wiggle around, looking extremely vulnerable and pale, and felt absolutely nothing.

Then I noticed someone else – Dr. Delgado. That white-bearded bastard. He looked so arrogant and satisfied to be here, it was sickening - if I had actually felt anything, that is.

'…and therefore, we thought your doctors had the most authority on deciding on not just "decent" parents, but the best parents your kids could possibly get – well, after you, of course – and we're so very happy that the process of having your children getting used to the new, substitute parents went this flawlessly, that I think your personal doctors deserve a round of applause!'

While the PPSS-members started to clap and whistle in admiration, I blinked and tried to pay more attention to what was being said. What – huh, what? What the fuck was that jackass rambling on about?

'My god…' I heard Feliciano mutter next to me. Since I didn't feel like myself to start with, I decided to push my frustration towards him on the back seat, for now, and leaned towards his table desk-thing a bit more.

'What's going on, Feliciano?'

'The doctors have picked new parents for our kids,' Feliciano mechanically replied, his eyes big and watery, 'and apparently, they've been busy with it for a pretty long time…'

'And?'

'The substitute parents are going to be people we've gotten pretty close to, Lovino…'

I wanted to say something sarcastic and senseless about that, but Mr. Pita was faster.

'Now it wasn't easy for your personal doctors to find good, smart, sensitive and simply nice folks (no PPSS-members, don't worry, haha) to take care of your children. There were plenty of human couples that couldn't wait for getting to adopt a kid and raise it as their own – but only those of which your doctors thought they'd be worthy of your child's attention and growth, got selected. They got careful instructions in secrecy and according to my very intelligent employees, you actually all managed to get along very well with them! Your kids even happen to like them!'

…

Why…

'However, this is pretty personal information. It's not up to me to discuss this with you. And that's why I suggest to you the following,' I could vaguely hear Mr. Pita babble on. 'Please come along with your doctors to a more private room I selected for you, and let you get informed about the rest you need to know.'

…

No seriously, why did a certain, goofy face pop up in my mind all of a sudden now?