After deciding that America had had enough for now, I made my name to my next victim. I think France would appreciate a visit. I walk to
his cellar with a nod to Italy, and he let's me in. France is there cowering in a corner. Approaching him I see him tear up. I suspect he
heard America's pleas. I pull a knife from my belt and slash his leg open. He let's out a blood curdling scream, more out of fear than pain. I
smirk awkwardly. I then command him to lay down, and he does just that, for the fear that I will hurt him. Oh, I will hurt him alright.
Italy watches through the bars of the cell and laughs at his pathetic little friend. A sink down to the floor on my knees, and experimentally
run my knife across him chest. He flinches and starts to shake even more. Then I begin to get even more adventurous.