Yo! Hikou no Kokoro here! Woo, I thought that this chapter might not have made it on time. But luckily, vacation stumbled in and I managed to go from 1k words to 4k-5k in only a day. Wow. I must have really been on a roll; either that, or my writing sucks here. Hopefully it's no the latter. I'm planning to write around 3 new fics soon, and I want my writing style to be halfway decent before I start on the new projects. I hope you all get to read the fics when they come out.

Oh, and mentioning my new fics, I have a poll relating to one of the in-progress fics. Please go to my profile to find out what I'm talking about. Please vote on the poll! If you can't vote, you can always stick in an anonymous review here, or go to my profile and message me your vote. Thank you so much for your input!

Anyway, thank you so much firelight3 for reviewing my last chapter! I much appreciate your input and support! People like you are why I continue writing!

Well, with that done, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot.

To Create Perfection

"If you're going through hell,
Keep Going."
—Winston Churchill

"Law 9: No More"

Two days passed since Francis took a day off. The first day seemed awfully depressing, to Arthur anyway. The two went to Sadık, and Arthur simply watched Francis talk about an upcoming operation with Sadık, whose words rolled off his tongue and a smile didn't quite reach his mask. Arthur didn't know why he was there in the first place, and his mind wandered until Francis told Arthur to record doses of some unknown medication on a formal request sheet. When Arthur asked about the medication, Francis gave him the same smile as always, but this time the man replied, "I think you're ready for it." But Francis didn't explain what he meant by that. For a split second, Arthur wondered whether Francis believed that he was ready or Francis was following some orders in higher administration.

Arthur didn't dwell upon it, however. He followed Francis to Alfred's and Matthew's room. Arthur and Francis only stayed there to talk, much to Arthur's supposed chagrin. Before they entered the room, Arthur complained that they were wasting their time valuable time "visiting" people who didn't need any company besides their own. If Francis were anybody else, he would take account to Arthur's suggestion; instead, he only looked at Arthur, quirking an eyebrow, and opened the door. Immediately upon entering, Arthur was tackled into a large hug.

"Artie is back!" Alfred shouted, grinning. Peering over Arthur's shoulder, he added with just as much enthusiasm, "And you brought Franney here too!"

"Actually, I brought moody Arthur here," Francis corrected, cracking a small smile as the door closed behind them. "He seemed to be absolutely desperate to see you all." He looked at Arthur, raising an eyebrow; Arthur knew what Francis was trying to do, and he scoffed and looked away.

"Yeah, I don't care. Brought any candy?"

"Of course."

Francis dug into his pockets and pulled out a handful of citrus-flavoured hard candy. Unlike last time, though, two hands snatched up sweets. Matthew had crawled to the edge of his bed and grabbed about a third. While Alfred was counting all the flavours, Matthew smiled at Francis, as if he knew something, and nodded in thanks. He seemed to be fine, albeit his arms and legs trembled as he leant forward. Nothing would have demonstrated that he was in pain: he didn't moan; his body didn't keel over.

"So are you guys here to play a game with us?" Alfred asked, stuffing his cheeks with wrapped candy. Somehow he was skilled enough to unwrap the sweets with his top row of teeth and tongue. Saliva-soaked plastic sheets piled up at his feet.

Arthur glanced at Francis, an eyebrow raised. He had never heard of an "appointment" that contained games, but Francis was quick to recognise the purpose, although he never told it to Arthur. Between his pointer finger and thumb, he held up a packet of cards decorated with Marvel superheroes.

"We can only play one game today, but I finally managed to get the special edition that you wanted."

A shining grin flashed across Alfred's face, reaching up to his blue eyes and revealing the artificial food dye soaking from the candy. "Awesome!" He turned on his heel and bounded over the end of his bed. He unplugged the lamp and moved the table to the space between the beds. Then he brought two plastic chairs, both of which Francis and Arthur had used before, over.

As Alfred was moving everything else, Francis went to the table, ducking down and reaching a hand underneath. A click followed; the surface of the desk elevated up, and a set of steel boards slid out. Matthew scooted himself to the edge of the bed, and once Francis had backed away and took a red chair from Alfred, he pushed against the boards. Another click sounded. The boards fanned out, expanding the little nightstand into a larger round table. Finally, Alfred, Matthew and Francis took their respective seats: Alfred on his bed, Matthew on his own, and Francis on the green plastic chair on the other side. Only Arthur was left standing.

Slipping out the deck of cards from the box, Francis nodded towards the red seat. "Sit down, Arthur. You're playing too."

"Why?" Arthur frowned.

"Because it's fun!" Alfred declared, slamming his palms against the steel boards. "We're playing with hero cards! Look—look! It's Captain America and Hulk! They'll beat all the bad guys. Grr."

"You're bleeding," Francis remarked as he finished splitting the deck into fourths. "Stop flashing your cards or else you might lose."

"Oh, sorry." Alfred put the cards facedown again.

"I don't play cards."

"You are now," Francis replied, picking his cards up and organising them.

"I don't know how to play."

"We'll teach you!" That was Alfred.

"I really don't want to."

"You don't know if you like something until you try."

Arthur's gaze darted towards Matthew. The blond boy was smiling up at Arthur, wrinkles showing up below his eyes. The voice was small; it chimed, though raspy, like a Christmas bell, or like a dropped pin. It sounded like the words had hurt. For a moment, Arthur didn't know what to do. No answer was given. Matthew looked away again, and proceeded to organise his cards in a similar fashion of Francis and Alfred. None of the three seemed to be paying attention to Arthur at all; it wasn't like that bothered him, though, but it did influence his decision in the end. Arthur, not one to stand around doing nothing, slipped into his seat and picked up his cards, glancing up and down in order to mimic the actions demonstrated by the other three.

"So, what are we playing?" Arthur asked as he moved his two ace cards somewhere in the middle of the fan.

"Presidents," Francis replied.

"Yeah! That's the game we always play! It's awesome!" Alfred declared, neither of his eyes leaving his cards. "Since we have four players now, the rankings are 'President,' 'VP,' 'Citizen' and 'Scum'!"

"Presidents?"

"It's an old game Alfred, Mathieu and I have been playing for a few years. I first learnt it from Yao."

"Yao? You mean Mr. Wang?"

Francis smirked, sliding his cards together and placing the stack on the table top. "Yeah, Yao. We used to work together, you know, before he went off to start his Chinese restaurant." He tilted his head. His mouth went askew for a moment. "Hmm, not exactly work-work together though. He was in a different department, dealing with bacteria and cultures. He wasn't a big fan of larger creatures, like I am."

"Oh…"

"Dudes, stop acting like old men and let's start! I want to show you all how an expert becomes president!"

"Of course, of course." Francis chuckled. He picked up his cards and fanning through them again. "Arthur, do you know how to play?" he asked, peering over the edges.

Arthur shook his head. "No."

"All right then, the goal is to get rid of all your cards by placing higher value card or cards over the pile."

"Sorta like 'Bullshit'!"

"Yeah, Alfred, sort of like 'Bullshit,' except we get to see the cards you put down and the first one to lose all his cards is called 'president,' the second 'vice-president', the third 'citizen' and last 'scum.' But anyway, take for example, if I put down a three, you can put down a three or a higher value, and if you don't somehow have a card to play, you can pass. Or, if the pile has two threes, you have to put down two threes, two fours, or two higher values. Sounds simple, right?" Francis paused, looking at Arthur, who nodded back. "But, once you get to king, the highest value is the ace. The only values that can beat an ace are twos and tens, and if there are none left, the pile clears and the last person gets to start the next pile."

"Wait, what?" Arthur asked, wondering how one of the lowest values can beat a higher value.

"Twos and tens are clear cards, an 'all-encompassing' wild card. You can clear any pile with only one two, and then you get to start the next pile. However, for the ten, you have to follow the pile—for example, the pile ends with two aces, so you have to play two tens in order to clear it—and the person after you gets to start the next pile."

"Oh… I got it."

"Great. Let's play." Francis reached into his hand and pulled out an ace of spades. "I get to start."

"Dammit!" Alfred whined. "Mattie, I thought you would back me up! You failed me!"

Matthew merely smiled and shook his head, watching Francis place the ace of spades in the middle of the table. Then he took out a pair of threes. Arthur raised his eyebrow as Matthew somehow managed to suddenly change the rules of the pile, but he figured that as long as the cards were higher value and a bigger set than before, then it was all right. Silently, Arthur picked out a set of pairs low enough to barely beat Matthew. The only pair he had was jacks. They felt awfully overshot to simply step over Matthew's pair of threes, but he didn't want to pass his turn. In the end, he set those jacks down. Alfred slammed down three fours, wooing and cheering for himself.

"Alfred, those are fours," Francis said.

"Yeah, I know! Beat that, Francis-pants!"

"Fours are lower than jacks."

"I know!"

Francis reached into the pile and gave Alfred back the three cards. "Try again."

"Goddammit! Not cool! Arthur, this is all your fault!" Alfred scanned through his cards again, and slammed down a queen.

"Pairs." Francis once again sent back the card. "Try again." Suddenly, he got up from his seat, casting Arthur a strange glance. "Make sure he plays fair, Mathieu. You can skip my turn after." He walked to the cabinets and shifted through the shelves.

During the time, Alfred grudgingly placed a pair of kings; Matthew followed him with a pair of tens, clearing the pile. Then the two boys looked at Arthur, waiting for him to start the next pile. Arthur wasn't paying attention to the game though. His eyes were following Francis as the man moved. His heart clenched. Francis pulled out a vial with a strikingly familiar colour. Arthur recognised it as IN-42. Shifty green eyes looked between Francis preparing the injection and Alfred's painfully oblivious expression. Alfred didn't seem to even notice what was going on as he whispered to himself about his "amazing plan to gain presidency." Matthew had a neutral expression; the boy didn't say anything to warn Alfred, although he never said anything in the first place. But Francis was whom Arthur was afraid of. He wondered how Francis managed to figure out that he didn't inject Alfred with IN-42, as he was instructed to do. What did Francis think? What was Francis going to do? Was he going to reprimand Arthur for the insubordination? Call him out?

But Francis did none of that. He glanced at Arthur, as if he were to say, "This is how you do things," and tapped Alfred's shoulder. "Roll up your sleeve," Francis instructed quietly.

Alfred first looked at Arthur, eyebrows knitting together. Then he looked back at Francis. Finally, he rolled up his sleeve and looked away. Luckily, Francis moved quickly. The injection only took a matter of five seconds, and Alfred didn't complain or flinch at all. If Arthur had blinked a little longer, he would have only seen Francis placing a small, circular bandage with the caricature of Marvel's Loki on the site of the blood.

"There we go. That's a tough guy." Francis smiled and patted Alfred's head. Alfred smiled back. Afterwards Francis took his seat back, fanning out his cards again. "Now, where were we?"

"Arthur's turn! He starts the pile!" Alfred declared.

"Oh, right!" Arthur frantically looked at his cards, and placed his lowest card, a four.

The game continued without many hiccups afterwards. Arthur easily got the hang of the game. Beginner's luck must have been smiling at him, for his got rid of his lowest cards in a matter of minutes until he only had a queen, a nine, a seven and six left. Matthew played in a consistent manner, slowly chipping away his hand. Not once did he pass his turn unless he desperately had to. Alfred placed cards blindly for a while, slamming down cards merely because he felt like it. After a while, however, he started paying attention, and Francis didn't need to correct the blond boy anymore. Francis himself had a strange technique, however. He would only ever place down his lowest cards in the beginning of the game, and passed his turn if the pile got any higher than a nine; for a while, Arthur was wondering if Francis truly had a terrible hand, until Francis set a pair of kings over a pair of nines. When Francis did, Arthur gapped his mouth, staring at Francis as if he were crazy. Alfred and Matthew seemed unfazed, continuing to play as they had. By then, Francis' hand was the quickest to deplete.

It was at that point that a knock sounded, and the door slid open for Roderick Edelstein to step in. The game stopped, and all four looked in his direction.

"Francis."

Francis set his cards down for the third time. "Yes?"

"I have another job for you and Kirkland." The doctor pulled the tablet from under his arm. "JP-606 is reaching its limits. Beilschmidt is ordering for it to be euth—"

Francis' chair clattered to the ground. "Let's talk about this outside." Despite his turn being next, he walked to the exit where Dr. Edelstein waited. "I pass all my turns until I get back. You three, be good, okay?" He smiled and winked, walking outside with Edelstein before the door closed behind the pair.

There was a pause of silence before Alfred spoke again, "What was that all about?"

"I don't know." Arthur shrugged. "Bonnefoy and I must be getting a clean-up job or something. I've done something like that for some bioengineered lungs before. Nothing big."

"Oh. Okay. But what's youth? You know, the last word the doc said?"

Arthur furrowed his brow. "Youth? It means young."

"So you're going to make something new too? Make it young? Not old?" Alfred asked curiously, tilting his head.

No, that sounded strange, but Arthur didn't note that aloud. Instead, he shrugged again and said, "I guess."

"Okay. That's cool."

The three continued their game of "President," going by Francis' word to skip his turn until he got back. Unfortunately, Francis didn't come back until he was the only one with cards left. Alfred had gotten rid of all his cards within the first ten minutes; Matthew placed his last card, a two, shortly afterwards; Arthur simply placed his whole hand as a pile afterwards until Francis entered the room again.

"You're late!" Alfred shouted, pouting at Francis as the man took his seat again.

"Really? Am I the only one left?" Francis asked.

"Yeah! See? I'm president, Mattie's vice, Artie's citizen, and you're scum!"

Francis laughed. "Oh, I see. C'est la vie. Better luck next time for me, right?" He began to put away the cards.

"Right! Come back soon so we can play a real game."

"Of course."

"Good game, Francis, Arthur," Matthew rasped out.

"Good game, Mathieu." Francis smiled and patted the boy's head. Then he gave Alfred the same treatment before he turned back to Arthur. "Let's go soon. Come on, help me clean everything up."

Arthur nodded and followed closely behind Francis as he reached under the table so the nightstand could return to its default surface area. Arthur moved the two plastic seats back into the corner and once the mechanisms retracted the fan of panels, moved the nightstand to the end of Alfred's bed. Finally, with polite farewells (except for Alfred, of course), Francis and Arthur left the room.

"We're done for the day," Francis said immediately after the door slid shut behind them. "Let's go home. We have a bigger assignment tomorrow."

"JP-606?" Arthur asked, walking at Francis' side.

"Exactly. We're going to have to do a physical and mental examination. I'm going to finally teach you how to use those psychological readers."

Arthur frowned. "Right…"

"Aw! I thought you were going to get more excited about that!" Francis pouted. "I remember you kept asking about them all last month! They're amongst the most technologically advanced readers we have!"

"Yeah… But they're all for preparations for euthanasia, aren't they? That's why you never let me use them before."

Francis' expression dropped. "So you heard Roderick." He sighed, running thin finger through his long hair. "Well, they aren't always used for preparing for euthanasia; they're only used to measure hormones and brain activity, like data collectors. But in this case, we're going to use them in order to see if the patient is still… salvageable. We're not actually going through with euthanasia; we're just checking if we'd be more merciful by giving death than by letting him live."

"Oh…"

"Don't worry. It'll be all right." Francis draped his arm over Arthur's shoulder and led him back home.

Because of this event, Arthur went to the medical facilities with a resolution that might, in the end, hurt him more than if he never had one. He wanted to save whoever JP-606, also known as Kaworu Nagisa, was. The process was in theory relatively easy. He wanted to make sure the subject would have positive readings in hopes that the numbers would be enough to persuade the administration to allow Kaworu Nagisa to continue to live. Ideally, the numbers would be innately positive, and Arthur only needed to let the events run their course. However, he realised that might not be the case; after all, the administration wouldn't make an examination if it didn't have a speculation already. So as Francis taught Arthur how to use the devices, Arthur would try to alter the readings. Then, maybe, just maybe, the system would be fooled into thinking Kaworu Nagisa was "salvageable." To Arthur, everything was salvageable—that was purpose of BCWD, to save those who were impossible to save. Likewise, Arthur placed his faith in the impossible; maybe he too could save those at Death's door.

Francis walked beside Arthur, leading to room 578 in the medical facility. Small gadgets filled all of his lab coat pockets, weighing the white fabric down. He held two disc-like devices, pointing at each part and doing a sample reading on himself in order to demonstrate how they worked before Arthur was to put them into real practice. In general, they were simple enough, as were the other devices Arthur was allowed to use. When Arthur asked about the other readers they had, Francis smiled and said that he would show them later, that the devices given to Arthur already were probably enough for the day, and that Arthur didn't need to be that ambitious and juggle too many things at once.

They had taken a few detours before reaching their destination in thirty minutes. Arthur himself didn't mind the extra walking though. Francis used the time to teach him, and that Arthur would never complain about.

"All right, here's the stuff I want you to use at the moment—careful, don't drop the tablet. You're going to import readings into there. Remember that! You can make analysis on-the-go, but we have to have the charts to prove it."

"I know, wanker," Arthur sneered, stuffing some into his pockets and trying to balance the rest. Sometimes he wished he had a lab coat with as many pockets as Francis'. It must be convenient, and then Arthur wouldn't have to use one hand to carry a heavy bag either. "You sound like a mother hen, worrying over me like it's my first day of kindergarten."

"Sounds about accurate." Francis' smile revealed his teeth.

Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Git."

Francis only laughed. He entered in the necessary precautions to open the door, and as with all the others, the door slid open and revealed the inside.

The room wasn't white.

The walls and floors were smeared away in red by handprints and footprints. They trailed a sickening path of objects splattered with blood as if used to crush body parts. The path went around and around until the lights reflected the crimson. Then it ended at a counter next to where a body lay crumpled on the floor. Upon the table surface was a board ripped from the top of the nightstand. Underneath the board, liquid, slime and flakes of shattered ivory dripped down, staining the once clean scrubs.

"Shit."

Francis covered Arthur's eyes. "Don't look. Don't look," Francis whispered, but it was too late. Arthur had already seen, his mouth hanging open in a choked groan.

Francis ushered Arthur back outside and slammed his hand against the wall. Blue strings glowed from the impact point. In matter of only seconds, pairs of feet stomped to the scene. Arthur vaguely saw the batch of military-clad persons cast calculating glances at Arthur and the room, and Sadık run up to Francis to ask about the event. Francis replied, voice level, "Shattered skull. Top priority, bring Arthur somewhere else. Room 29."

Then Arthur felt two strong hands grab his shoulders. He flinched but unable to whirl around; instead, he looked up to see Sadık. The tall man's mouth was flat, unreadable at first, and then quirked into a skewed grin. He said something, but Arthur didn't hear him. Blood was rushing through Arthur's head, and all he could hear were waves crashing against his eardrums. He felt as if his temples were compressed. Sadık's grin didn't waver, and he led Arthur down the hallways and down the stairs. The next thing Arthur knew was being ushered into Room 29, where Alfred and Matthew sat on their beds with large, wondering eyes, and Sadık leaving.

"Something wrong, Artie?" Alfred asked, tilting his head. "I heard alarms. Something about room 578?"

"Yeah…" Arthur breathed. He sunk to the floor, eyes ingrained with the image of a bloody room. It appeared as if somebody was tortured there or slowly pulled apart by the limbs. "I don't know… Maybe." A sensation prickled the back of his eyes; it felt as if he couldn't breathe at all.

"What happened?" Alfred got up from his bed and stumbled to sit in front of Arthur. "Franney hit the alarm."

Arthur only nodded. His mind zoomed in on the image, focusing on the red stained blue scrubs. A figure cleared through the blur. It wasn't bent grotesquely; in fact, the arms and legs were bent only slightly, as if they were relaxing against the back. Only one elbow, knee and hand were shattered, jammed probably between drawers before being wrenched back out. Above the neck was a melting face. Red streams flowed down, drawing lines from eyes, mouth and nose. But that wasn't right. There was no drawing; it was merely an illusion caused by dripping liquid against wood. The body was headless. Arthur remembered that Francis said that the skull was shattered. It must have been crushed by the board on the counter.

Chunky, burning bile rose in Arthur's throat. He gulped, again and again, eyes not seeing Alfred's hand waving.

Arthur's mind finally began to churn. How did such a thing happen? Why was a convoluted path traced across the floor, walls and empty décor? Had something gotten into the room and killed? But that couldn't be. The room was protected by the state-of-the-art BCWD security; only BCWD workers would have access. Even if something had broken in, there would be visible damage in the system; Francis might not have been able to open the door if that were the case. And it wouldn't explain why there were aimless trails. The death was obviously improvised, tried against various "devices" before the deed was done.

Then a single idea struck.

"It was suicide…" Arthur muttered, eyes widening. His breathing quickened. The body was clad in blue scrubs, thus it belonged to a BCWD patient, specifically Kaworu Nagisa. The very person Arthur hoped to save died, specifically via self-euthanasia. The situation around Kaworu Nagisa must have motivated him, and Arthur couldn't do anything to save him.

Arthur shot up to his feet. Alfred yelped in surprise, falling backwards. But Arthur ignored Alfred and hit his fist against the door. "Open up!" he shouted. Normally, the door opened automatically, but somehow it didn't open on his demand. He was supposed to be carrying his card. He always did though, but when he reached into his pockets, all he found were the gadgets Francis gave him before. The devices clattered to the ground; two of them broke, giving off two low hums. But he found no card. That wasn't right—he never forgot his card. Somebody must have taken it when he didn't realise it.

"Open the bloody thing up! I demand it!" Arthur cried, ignoring the questions Alfred poured upon him and Matthew who was in the background, clutching the front of his collar with both hands, but said nothing. Arthur clawed at the handle of the door, pulling and pushing on it in hopes it would break the wall away.

Suddenly, the door did open, but only because Francis was on the other side. Arthur stumbled back, surprised. He collected himself quickly, and threw himself against Francis, grabbing the lab coat collar and shaking it. Francis' blue eyes squeezed shut once, but remained neutral.

"Suicide, wasn't it? It was suicide!" Arthur screamed.

"The evidence was there," Francis replied. "JP-606 was known for his strength. He must have ripped off a board and crushed his own head."

"A teenaged boy took his own life! How could you let this happen?"

Francis grabbed Arthur's shoulders. "Calm yourself. You're getting delirious. It's just one death; don't think upon it for too long."

"Just one death! Is this what people are being reduced too?" Arthur's knuckles turned a sickening yellow and white. "BCWD gave him the strength! He was supposed to be a weapon too, wasn't he? For the bloody war? And then when he's thrown to the side! Euthanasia! You specialise in euthanasia! You kill people for a living!"

"No," Francis breathed. He gently pried Arthur's fingers from his collar and held them. "It just happened. We couldn't do anything."

Arthur blinked. Francis was right. He couldn't do anything; he couldn't save somebody falling over the edge. A life was lost, condemned to an eternal darkness. Kaworu Nagisa was a teenage boy. He must have had somebody whom he cared about, or somebody who cared about him. The news would certainly crush anybody, or the news would never be sent at all. Nobody but BCWD would know about the life that self-euthanized, or the treatment that led the life to take its own. Something must have pushed Kaworu Nagisa into committing such an act; it must have been the experiments or treatment. BCWD had forced him into despair. Then when he couldn't take it anymore, it planned to kill him off, or simply let him do the job for himself.

No, it wasn't suicide. It was murder. BCWD murdered somebody. Arthur felt like such a child, watching ideals break with reality. And he couldn't do anything about it.

Arthur burst into tears. He wailed, clenching his fists and hitting nothing but air. Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur. Nobody moved. Arthur continued sobbing, leaning against his mentor for support. He felt like his world was breaking down. An earthquake ripped through the sky. A chasm opened up, sucking in buildings and ripping curtains.

"Arthur," Francis whispered, placing a hand on a trembling shoulder. "Let's go home. You've had enough for one day. You didn't need to see what you saw today."

"Why? Why? Why?" Arthur howled.

As always, Francis didn't answer Arthur's questions. He never did and never would, leaving Arthur to wonder about answers that weren't ever there. Instead, he rubbed Arthur's back, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry."

"Why are you saying sorry for?"