The sky grew dark, the grey clouds of England looking over the city in a gloomy blanket. America sat on the old stone balcony that extended from the old hotel that sat between a café and a tailor's store, ivy growing on its body. He held a cigarette between his middle and index finger, the smoke floating in the cold, moist air. Normally he'd detest cigarettes but he'd always smoke one when the next escapade was coming up. It kept his excitement down so that he wouldn't be all jittery and accidentally do something that'd blow the whole thing up.

He looked at his watch. 6:14 PM. He dropped the cigarette and stepped on it, making sure he didn't leave it smoldering. He walked back in and closed the door to the balcony, grabbing the curtain and pulling it over the glass door. He went to the single queen sized bed and grabbed the red duffel bag that sat on the middle of it. He checked the inside, making sure everything needed for tomorrow night. Tonight, though, he was going to spend the night out, enjoying the city and collecting a few things he needed.

He grabbed a few things out of the duffel bag and put them into a tourist's backpack. He then grabbed a hat on a little coffee table in his room and put it on. He started out the door and down the stairs, waving and giving a smile to the old woman behind the counter who had a little tea cup in her hands. She returned the smile.

"You might want to bundle up there Mr. Jones. It's going to be chilly tonight." She remarked before he made the final step out the door.

"I'm alright Mrs. Harris. You take care tonight." He made a final hand gesture and walked out the door into the bustling streets of London.

He looked at the slip of paper from his pocket with the names of all the people he had to visit that night, some sooner than others, but all under the radar. He made a left, making sure to look out for anyone who had been at the meeting earlier since many of them decided to stay in London since everyone was sure it'd go on for quite a while. He took a left into a dark alleyway and into a backstreet where the most festive thing was a hole in the wall of a tavern. He glanced inside but quickly began again when he saw a familiar face that came after him.

"Hey America!" It was England who had just come out of the bar.

America's teeth clenched some when his back was still turned to him, but then he turned around acting surprised. "S'up dude! Getting' hammered?"

England stopped wide eyed and then looked away. "Tch. Of course not you twit I was just enjoying the night as a gentleman should."

America looked at the tavern and then back at England's face which had turned red. "Well…whatever then I just came to…er…ap-ol-ig-ize for everyone kicking you out of the meeting hall. That may have been a bit much."

"Whatever man that's totes cool I didn't wanna be there anyway!" He gave one of his cheesy American smiles and began to turn. "Well see ya dude!"

"Wait. Would you like to share a pint with me?" England asked.

America stopped. The last time England had asked of this was when he was apparently just trying to coax information out of him and that just ended with England screaming and crying. America wanted to turn back and go in and see that again but he had a mission to complete. He kept on walking.

"No thanks man I gotta bounce. Maybe next time though 'kay?!" He looked over his shoulder as he walked and saw the expression on England's face, solemn and a little hurt but hidden behind a wall of tsundere.

"Well erm. Alright then, it's not like I wanted to have a drink with you anyways." He walked back into the pub.

America sighed and continued on his way, taking off his jacket and putting it into the backpack, taking out a black one in the process which covered his hands and went down to the middle of his thigh. He pulled his hat downwards to cover his face when he turned to another dark corner of the street and then continued on where another man was leaning against a cracked stone wall, a large bag next to him. He had a thick Scottish accent.

"Oy where ya been ya dobber? I've been waiting here for twenty minutes for ya." The place reeked of back alley booze.

"Do you have em?" America ignored the man's snide remark.

"Yeah I got it ye goat. Where's the money?"

America reached into the backpack and pulled out a thousand bucks in cash neatly banded together by a rubber band. He held it up and then signaled for the bag at the man's feet. He kicked it to him. America grabbed the bag and looked inside to find a variety of state of the art tools.

America could get these things in America but he preferred to scatter his payments so that there'd be no trail back to him. Plus what he had in storage was meant for something much bigger.

"Now where's mah money?"

America threw the wad at the man who examined every bill in a quick flip. "Aight then off with ye."

But America didn't move. Instead he pulled out a gun and pointed it at the man, no remorse in his face. The man's face hardened.

"We had a deal laddy!" He screamed, though the streets were so desolate no one could have heard.

"I had a deal with Callum, Mr. White, not you." America had known this man was an undercover spy sent into the underground to deal with things like this. This man didn't know his motives though or his name. He just wanted a face to identify with when ratting out a dirty deal.

Mr. White went for the gun in his waist pocket, but before he could even pull it out a bullet went straight through his head. He fell into a dirty puddle, his blood mixing in it. America walked up to the body and examined it while wearing a new pair of gloves he had taken out of his bag. He grabbed the money and then pulled out the bullet with long tweezers he had brought. He checked for a bug and found that this man didn't have one; rookie mistake. He knew what he was doing. He had done it before a few weeks ago when a French officer had caught him red handed in a dealing.

America knew what he was doing was wrong, but he didn't care. War had sullied him. He knew the world was cold and cruel, and yet he stayed in denial for so many years, but things had happened. Things that could never be unseen had opened his eyes to a life of intricate crime behind his smiling mask.

America looked at the body one more time, knowing that he wouldn't be able to hide this body like he had with the French officer. He went through every outcome that would happen if he left the body and came to the conclusion to plant anything incriminating on some drunken bum.

And so America did just that, finishing off his night and getting some drunken bum's fingerprints all over the murder scene before he passed out from intoxication. He went back to the hotel around midnight with a burger in his hand and a coke in the other. The old woman was still at the front, but now she had a book with her.

"How was your night Mr. Jones?" She asked politely.

"It was nice. I went to go see some friends and grabbed a bite to eat." He held up the burger, his smile remaining. "You have a good night now!" He went up the stairs and into his room, shutting the door behind him and taking off the backpack, examining everything he had gained that night plus the bonus thousand bucks from the botched deal. He then made the proper preparations to make sure nothing on him could trace back to anything.

He finished everything and plopped onto the bed, looking at the tan, crackled ceiling. He couldn't help but smile.

(I do not own Hetalia or any part of it)