Hey there! Thank you to Poisonlilie for reviewing and to the rest of you for reading! Sorry for the short chapter, the next one should be longer!

This time, I finally get to use Norway's P.O.V, which was a lot of fun! Oh, and the last part is supposed to be sort of confusing, so if you don't understand everything, it will make more sense later on.

Character list:

Leo Johansson: Ladonia

David Smith: Molossia

Marco: Kugelmugel (in case you forgot from one of the previous chapters)

Luciano: Seborga

Emil Steilsson: Iceland

Diev Bachchan: India

Warnings: minor swearing, physical violence, mentions of torture

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

Please enjoy! Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Chapter 5

Lukas was confused. Very confused. First of all, he'd woken up in the Isle of Hetalia, a safe-isle off the Atlantic Coast, then he'd discovered that the people there had no idea who the Army was, and finally, the guy he'd punched just a few seconds ago was treating him like a good friend. Were the fae playing tricks on him again?

Suddenly realising that his body ached and he felt weak, he sat back down on the bed, keeping an eye of the Islanders. The smallest man was smiling, yet his eyes were sharp. Lukas recognised him straight away.

Tino Väinämöinen. Ex-Sniper in the Finnish Secret Services. What's he doing here as a nurse?

Then there was the albino. He reminded him of someone. Someone who died years and years ago. Someone who he thought was out of his life forever.

Julchen Beilschmidt's little brother? The fae really are playing tricks with me.

The third guy, however, was a total stranger. The Norwegian quickly set his mind on remembering him.

Mathias Køhler, blond, gravity-defying hair, blue eyes, tall, patroller.

"Are you hungry?" the nurse asked him.

He thought for a moment. He was hungry, yes, but what if they poisoned him? Wait, why would they poison him? They didn't know about the Army, so they wouldn't know about him. What's more, they seemed friendly enough…

"Yes, please."

"Mathias, go and fetch him something to eat. Gilbert, you can leave now," the Finn ordered the other two.

"Yep, I'm on it! See ya in a minute, Luka!" the happy-go-lucky man ran out of the room.

"It's Lukas," the smaller man grumbled quietly.

The albino hesitated before leaving, shooting a worried glance at the nurse before he left the room. As soon as he was gone, the smaller man turned to the foreigner. His violet eyes immediately narrowed.

"Why did you lie about your last name?" Tino questioned him.

"Have you told them you're a sniper?" Lukas fired back.

His words had the desired effect. All of a sudden, the Finn paled at his words, eyes widening.

"How did you-?"

"Tino Väinämöinen, twenty seven years old. You were found and trained by the Finnish Secret Services when you were eight years old. By age eleven, you'd become one of the best snipers in the regiment. But then, for reasons unknown, you left and fled to a safe-isle," the blue-eyed man recited.

Now, however, the sniper just stared grimly at him, realisation dawning on his face.

"You're a spy," he stated firmly, without hesitation.

"No, I just have a good memory. I assume you won't tell anyone about this?"

Tino gritted his teeth as he agreed with the manipulative stranger. Lukas allowed himself to relax. Good. This would be easier than he thought.

Wendy groaned as she went through the papers for what felt like the hundredth time. Still nothing. No clues whatsoever as to what their human database had been trying to tell them. The small team she had put aside to study the language wasn't faring well at all.

Leo was swearing angrily as he furiously smashed the keyboard, Marco was grumbling about how ugly the drawings were, Luciano was sighing tiredly, David looked about ready to shoot the valuable sheets and Charles was pinching his nose in concentration.

Finally, the red-head spoke up.

"This is getting us nowhere! I say Lukas was barking mad and we call it a day," he shouted.

"Lukas wasn't mad. These definitely mean something. However, I agree that I have no idea how we're going to decode them," Charles sighed.

"I don't like the drawings. They're a disgrace to art," Marco whispered.

"Hey, don't we know a language specialist of something? He'd probably figure it out sooner than we would," Luciano suggested, stretching his aching limbs.

Wendy thought hard. Language specialist. Did they know anyone like that? Suddenly, David spoke up.

"What about that asshole India?"

They fell silent. Diev Bachchan, aka India, used to be a member of the Resistance, until he had decided one day to abandon them during a mission, almost resulting in the death of one of their members. They had never spoken to him since.

"We can't just go and see that traitor! He's allied with the Army!" the Swede exclaimed, shooting the American an "are you crazy" look.

"He might be our only hope. It's not like any of us can translate this damn thing," the black-haired young man shrugged.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I think you're right," Wendy furrowed her eyebrows.

"You do know there's a high chance he won't be willing to help us, or that he'll share everything he's found with the Army, right?" The Italian pointed out.

"Well then, we'll just have to figure out a way to negotiate with him," Charles smiled, brown eyes gleaming.

The cell was tiny. Its walls were a bright white in colour, as were its flooring and ceiling. There weren't any windows, making it impossible to know how much time had passed. The door was a steel grey, locked and sealed securely, preventing all forms of escape. An old light bulb hung from the ceiling, flickering every now and again, sending a dim light around the room. In the centre, a single chair stood. It was wooden, with red cushions padding its back and bottom.

In the chair was a boy. The young man couldn't have been older than fifteen, with silvery hair and delicate features. His pale skin was dotted with bruises and marks, resulting in a canvas of red, blue, black, green and yellow. One of his eyes was closed, a circle of purple surrounding it. The other was open, a vivid violet glancing around the room. He was securely restrained with handcuffs and chains, and a gag covered his mouth to keep him from screaming. There was no way for him to escape.

Suddenly, the door opened and a man entered. He was tall, with coffee-coloured skin and gentle brown eyes. He knelt down in front of the teen and started to speak.

"Where is Norway?"

No answer. As expected, seeing that his mouth was covered, but those violet orbs glared so violently that he didn't need one. The man stood up and sighed.

"I don't want to hurt you."

A scoff in reply. The boy's captor ran his hand through his black hair in exasperation. He then moved his hand towards his prisoner. The boy flinched, but instead of hitting him, the gag was simply removed. The pale teen coughed and licked his dry lips a few times, pulling a face in disgust.

"Well?"

"I don't know," his words were laced with venom despite his cracked voice.

"Iceland, tell me where Norway is," the man repeated.

"I told you: I don't know. And even if I did, there's no way I'd tell a traitor like you, India," the Icelandic teen spat back.

For a split-second, a look of regret passed across the ex-resistant's face. But, as quickly as it came, it faded and one of rage appeared instead. Without hesitation, he punched the boy's face.

"You don't know everything, Iceland," the Indian said bitterly.

A shrug in response. Despite his situation, the teen wasn't intimidated.

"You really don't know where Norway is?"

"Why would I? He doesn't tell us anything, and we were ambushed. I'm surprised he's still alive," Iceland responded coldly.

"He's your brother."

"And?"

"Nothing."

And with that, the Indian left, leaving the young teen alone in the dim lighting once more.

Inside the control room, a man stood staring at the screen. In it, an image of their prisoner was reflected.

"They're brothers?" he asked.

Behind him, Diev Bachchan nodded, cowering.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us that sooner?" the boss's voice was cold, harsh.

"Please excuse me, sir. I thought you already knew," the Indian apologized.

"Well, we didn't."

"I apologise, sir."

"Don't omit information again, Bachchan."

"I won't, sir."

No, he wouldn't. If he did, he would be killed. No doubt about it.

"This is important information. Do you know why?"

"No, sir."

"If Iceland is Norway's brother, and Norway finds out his brother is being tortured, you'd think he would come and save him, right?" the taller man's lips pulled into an evil smile.

"But he's just a child, sir… " Diev's eyes widened in shock.

"And? He is a member of the Resistance, he should have thought about the consequences before he joined. Find out where Norway is and prepare the torture. Don't forget the video recorder and camera. We will capture that criminal if it's the last thing we do."

As the Army's leader stared coldly back at the screen, he crumpled a blurry picture of the missing agent in his fist. His own agent took a step back, trembling.

"…Yes, sir…" he sighed.