Aurora, See What I've Become, The Game Has Changed, Birth of an Idea, Starvation, False King, Am I Not Human?, Fatal Fury, Archangel, Stand My Ground, Memories.

Still a bit rough, but it does its job.

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Recovery

The Principles of Seborga

"Seborga, slow down." This was what Romano had been dreading since he'd first been told there was a conference all the way in Asia. God forbid it be in Istanbul, or Paris, or Cairo, or anywhere within six hours travel from Rome. No, his first international conference had to be in fucking China. "I said slow down, are you alright?"

"Please come home!" And stop crying, oh God, why was he crying?

"I will, just talk to me."

"I have to go back to my village. I have to stop them before they do something terrible!"

"Okay, but just calm down." If he had to go home then go back fucking home, it wasn't that big a deal. Vatican was right there in Rome, he could be convinced to stay with Veneziano for a day until Romano arrived back tomorrow. What was going on?

"Seborga, just tell me what's happening; are you okay?" He wanted to ask if Veneziano was the one in trouble, but somehow that felt like it would short-change the panic screaming through the phone line. Seborga wouldn't do anything that might threaten or harm their brother, whatever was happening had to be effecting just him. "Seborga?"

His plane wasn't leaving until tomorrow morning, the delegate's dinner was still carrying on in the next room, and Romano had only ducked out to take this call. He'd stuck by his boss's side for almost everything after his last conversation with Spain, he hadn't even been there for the throw-down between the Spaniard and France. He'd hoped that maybe he could sneak in a calm conversation with someone, anyone, at the banquet, but that was just not going to happen.

"I'm just waiting for Papa to get here and then I'm leaving." Answer him, damn it. "Just please come home as soon as you can. I'd take him with me but I think that would be too much for him."

"Seborga!"

"Luca." W…What? There was a quick sigh and a nervous laugh through the phone, Seborga's voice fading rapidly before it came back slowly. "I… I was trying to calm him down earlier, so I… But, Luca. My other name is Luca."

Just hearing the words made his blood start to freeze, and Romano found himself staring at the wall without actually seeing it.

After decades of speedy travel being half the world away had lost its impact on him, but now he could feel it again. He could feel how far away from home he was, how foreign the materials used to raise this building were, how the filtered air didn't smell right, how the spoken words didn't sound the way they should. His brother was speaking to him in simple, standard Italian, and Romano could barely hear him over the trill of super-sonic wave lengths and satellite stations hurtling around in space.

"I'm sorry."

Seborga hung up on him and South Italy was too many thousands of miles away to bring him back.

Four months was enough time to bring a nation's infrastructure back to life. Not all of it was finished yet, there were still thousands of miles of roads left to repave, and millions of yards of train tracks to straighten and reconnect. That wasn't even counting the vehicles themselves that had to be rebuilt and replaced to run on them, but after four months of reconstruction, transportation across North Italy was possible.

Seborga wanted to go alone, but Veneziano wouldn't let him. Leaving the house and leaving Rome were two completely different things though, so when Seborga couldn't get hold of his boss after an hour of calling every number or neighbour he could think of, his brother pointed sharply at Hutt River, Molossia and Sealand and gestured for them to leave the house with the fourth Micro-nation.

He was still too irritated with them to go along with the idea, but Veneziano was firm. When Papa stumbled into the house in confusion after another phone-call summoned him to the house, the decision was finalized. Annoyed but anxious to get home, Seborga composed himself after his call to Romano and left Kudgelmudgel and Ladonia behind to explain everything.

A taxi carried them to the airport, because Seborga wasn't willing to waste an entire day on the trains up to the French boarder. As soon as they arrived in Departures he almost told the three of them to get on another plane to anywhere else in Europe, but the anxiety of not hearing back from anyone in his government kept him quiet.

Why wouldn't anyone contact him? If they were getting ready for these kinds of changes then they should have been looking for Seborga, not turning off their phones and refusing to talk to him. He spent the entire plane ride in an exhausting fit of nerves just waiting until he could turn the device in his hand back on. He didn't even pay attention to his friends when they dared murmur quietly to one another.

This was ludicrous. Seborga wanted recognition, he'd always craved it, but this was the wrong line to cross and the worst time to try it. Some referendum wasn't going to make him a nation, it was going to anger the townships across the local area and send them to their elected government. Romano could explain and Seborga could apologize all they wanted, but if the humans in charge of the Italian government decided enough was enough, then the Principality couldn't say for sure what the outcome would be. His brothers' boss ignored him most of the time, he didn't know what he'd do if the President or the Prime Minister moved from indifference to anger…

It was terrible, waiting to hear back from someone.

But it was worse having no answers at all.

Frustrated. Worried. Upset. Disturbed. Irritated. Suspicious. Angered. Cautious. Annoyed.

Helpless.

There were many more words he could think of to identify this, this feeling, this agitation (agitated!). He could think of them in many languages as well as none. They were almost overwhelming (overwhelmed), and the only thing which stood to make them worse was inactivity (useless).

It was physical: burning ears, tight throat, stinging eyes, heated back. His stomach kept rolling, the acids hissing and bubbling enough to try making him sick again. It was insulting (insulted) when the pale Micro-nation from Vienna tried helping him into the bathroom because he said he looked too pale, but he resisted (resistant).

He was so sick (ill) of feeling this way!

"Veneziano?" Papa tried to help, bless him he tried to help, but there was no aid for this. The aid wasn't working, the pain wasn't subsiding, and the heat of all this burning anger (outraged) and choking hatred (hateful) was killing him (dying). "Where are you-?"

It was actually, physically, killing him.

"Italy? Is there something upstairs that you-?"

He shut himself in Romano's office and refused to open the door. He'd had enough of dying.

They had to fly to France's city of Nice because it was the closest airport, and again, Seborga almost left his friends behind. Hutt River and Molossia both had questions, but Sealand took advantage of his age and experiences from the Second World War to answer most of them. Yes, Micro-nations could secede like this, and yes they were perfectly capable of doing so either by force or through more peaceful methods. Sealand was thinking specifically of moments during the dissolution of the British Empire, like when Pakistan had split from India, and Molossia had quietly likened it to events in the Americas like the formation of America's states and his wars with Mexico and Canada.

This was not the same thing, but Seborga couldn't bring himself to say it. The history was different here. The nations who had died for America to rise up in the New World and the independence India and his sister had fought for were not the same thing. North Italy had been more or less whole during Grandpa Rome's time, and then he had fractured into the tens of little republics and principalities that had relegated him to life in the eastern corner of the peninsula. He was "Italia Veneziano" for a reason, and Venice was still rubble sinking under the mud of its ancient lagoon.

Seborga was only a very tiny hill in a relatively small commune, but the fracturing had happened before, and he would not let himself act as a catalyst to set it off again. He'd sworn as much to Romano before the catastrophe and he would not let everything his brothers had suffered and fought for to go to waste on his behalf.

They rented a car in Nice and Seborga had never driven across France's territory so fast in his life. He didn't even notice the sign on the highway that indicated Miss Monaco's home coming up to the south, they just sped by it and crossed the border back into Italy.

Something was wrong. Something was actually very, very wrong. It wasn't just a feeling anymore, it wasn't just the silence from home or the spontaneity of everything either. He could feel it in his gut now, not quite the pain Veneziano was suffering with, not the flesh-rendering agony of separation and collapse, no, it wasn't that serious. But he'd felt something like this before, and he knew what this was.

"Are you alright?" Sealand broke the low murmur of conversation with a louder question, and Seborga let his eyes flicker up from the road to the rear-view mirror. "You… seem calmer than before." Pursing his lips as he heard the rest of the talk die down to hear his answer, Seborga went back to watching the curving highway. At the end of the day it didn't really matter how much land a nation had, it was how long you could hold it for and what you did with it in that time.

"My government's been dissolved." He said the words slowly and heard Hutt River take a breath next to him, but remain silent. "It's a bit… numbing." He didn't mean dissolved as in it no longer existed, but his council members weren't doing their jobs: they'd been dismissed for some reason and he didn't understand why.

His mind was very slow about thinking up with answers for it, but there were reasons coming to him. He'd been in Rome for months, never leaving and hardly remembering to check in with his Prince and see if there was anything he needed to do. There never was when he'd remembered, so he'd kept forgetting as a result. Being in his brothers' capital had been overwhelming at first, it was a bit hard to remember who he was sometimes just because the city was so overwhelmingly "Italian".

Rome was the keystone of Italy, without it the North and South would hardly be able to manage as one. A tiny provincial town like Seborga had been slowly losing focus…

This was his fault. He'd been busy, yes, but he shouldn't have let things get out of hand back home. Taking care of Veneziano wasn't as time-consuming now as it had been back when he'd first come home. He could be left alone now, not for more than a few hours, but he could handle being on his own in the house or at least in a separate room. He wasn't so good about preparing meals on his own, but he could cook alongside someone else, and he'd started, hesitantly, to let his eyes wander over the newspapers and journals left by the front door. He was not an infant who required every waking moment of Seborga's time and attention, and so he had no excuse for not having done his due diligence and looked after his affairs at home.

So more than he was irritated at his friends for showing up in Rome and setting off that whip-lash of emotions, he was angry with himself. The sun vanished in the west and Seborga adjusted the headlights on the winding highway in front of them, minding the quiet around him in the full car and the numbness pooling in his gut. It kept getting stronger, and he just couldn't rationalize with himself how he'd let it get this bad.

There was a catch-22 about helping his brothers. This referendum was a joke, it couldn't happen, and where the hell had anyone found the money to fund a legitimate bank in his name? He was too small in size to support himself as a real nation, and as generous as Veneziano could be he would never surrender the kind of territory needed to grow a population and provide for himself. San Marino had won the right in a war against Grandpa Rome to secure himself enough arable land and a stable population to sustain himself. Papa was the heart of the Roman Catholic Church with a network of influence and finance that spanned the globe. Seborga needed Italy to be alright and prosper because he didn't have the financial strength to provide schools, or doctors, or police, or even basics like food and water and electricity for his people.

Whoever had thought up this ridiculous political play was going to find himself dragged out of bed by a very angry Principality. That was what Seborga decided when the highway checkpoint came into view and he turned off into the darkened hills to find his way home. If someone was going to attack his well-being and harass his brother's borders, then they would have to put up with Seborga himself.

The first place to start off was the Stone Palace. He didn't care how tired he was after such a long, full day. There would be plenty of time to sleep after figuring out what exactly his prince thought he was doing.

The car whined and rumbled its way up the main road through the township, Seborga breathing a bit easier once he felt himself pass from North Italy into the territory he claimed for himself. The numbness in his fingertips and gut didn't fade, but at least he got to feel that brief flood of endorphins that meant he was back where he belonged. Driving quickly and without fear, it didn't surprise him that his streets were empty in the dark, but everything was… quiet.

"Calm down, I'm sure everything will be fine." He was a small town with a smaller population, it was supposed to be quiet, but not like this. Something was wrong. "Seborga." His hands were shaking on the wheel and he tightened his grip trying to stop it, able to forgive Hutt for calling his name like that as it started getting harder to breathe.

"I know, just- we're almost there." He wouldn't drive much further, and as soon as they reached the dark turn in the road towards the palace, he dropped their speed.

The stone palace was the government house where Seborga's councilmen met for important business relating to his health and well-being. It was an old, converted abbey that had been spruced up for tourists and general appeal in the town, and he pulled over just to the side of the road as the three story structure at the top of his hill came into clear sight in the twilight. They were still a good ways away from the building when he stopped, but there was a good reason for it.

He pulled over so far away because he could see the black shapes of three unrecognizable cars in the darkness. They weren't parked there trying to hide in the deep shadows cast by the building's pale body either, they seemed almost comfortably placed on the road. But Seborga couldn't recognize them, and he knew every car in his territory.

That was the benefit of being so small as a nation. With well under five hundred humans to look after, even if Seborga couldn't remember their names, he still knew each and every one of his citizens…

"Those're nice…" Molossia was the one to point it out from the back seat, but at least he had the decency not to sound too impressed or enthusiastic about it. Seborga was thankful for his discretion, and popped his door open before nearly pulling it shut again.

"Stay here," he told them, and when Sealand took a loud breath to argue with him, Seborga spoke right over his protests: "I don't know who's in there, Sealand, and I don't want anyone to get hurt. Just stay out here and I'll come back and wave or something when everything's sorted out." His friends were in no way convinced by this.

"The fact that you're taking this so seriously just makes things worse." Hutt dropped the comment without any fuss, keeping his opinion short and blunt as he glared a little bit under the yellow glow of the car's internal light. Seborga wanted to shoot him down or disregard him, but if he really stopped for a moment and thought about it, Hutt's words made sense. He was taking this seriously, but he couldn't say too seriously because the numbness wouldn't let him write this off as nervous fussing.

"Just please stay here, alright?" They could do that much for him, couldn't they?

They had to.

"You said to just ask if I needed anything?"

"Yes, within reason."

"A seat on the next plane from here to Central Europe. Charter one if you have to, just do it now."

It took Hong Kong approximately four hours to fulfill (South) Italy's sudden request, because the last commercial jet from his airport departed approximately ten minutes before Italy came up behind his chair at the banquet dinner and asked for a seat on it. At least Italy had the courtesy to quietly inform his President of whatever was happening before stating that he was leaving as soon as Hong Kong could arrange it, but that had only served to send a flutter of conversation through their bosses. The Italian President had departed half-way through the third course and hadn't come back.

"Did Seborga say anything else?" A private jet was chartered, which wasn't so much difficult to do as it was hard to explain. The human members of the Italian party still intended to leave at a decent hour, but at almost three in the morning Hong Kong and Italy were making their way across the black tarmac in the brisk winds whipping the city. Weather conditions were not ideal, but the European wasn't about to be swayed.

"Don't you Micro-nations have your telepathy thing? And no." They had cell-phones, but Hong Kong wasn't privy to much communication from beyond China's Firewall. Ladonia was blacklisted, as were most of the other Micro-nations. It was frustrating. "If he left when he said he would then either they've just arrived in town, or they're on the highway."

Italy was going to be at least sixteen hours behind his brother's arrival the north-western territory. There was no way to just "go faster" and speed across the planet: the distance was just too vast.

The two of them in were hunched against the wind in their long jackets, and had to stop when a foreign vehicle shone its lights across the tarmac and roared up through the incoming storm. Italy swore openly, but Hong Kong tried to hold his in as a standard military jeep rolled to a stop between them and the revving jet.

"You told him where to come?" Italy seethed, and Hong Kong straightened up at the scoff.

"You have to fly across his territory to reach Europe, how did you think you were getting home?" Hong Kong was a city, not his own country. Flying from his home to anyplace else in the world required China's permission, even if he usually granted it without a fuss. This time however, Hong Kong hadn't expected him to see the request until later today…

"Leaving without saying goodbye to your host, Italy?" China had changed out of his fancy traditional red outfit from the good-bye banquet already. He didn't usually dress so casually, but he hopped out of the jeep in a black trenchcoat and, from what Hong Kong could see, black runners instead of dress shoes or boots. His long hair was braided behind his head, a thin grey scarf wound around his neck as he gestured to the plane with one gloved hand. He was smiling. "And at such an early hour too."

"I told you I was leaving." He chose to let Italy handle this, there was no point getting in China's way when he was already smiling. "I have a situation back home and I have to go."

"Ah, you're so aggressive!" Now China was laughing, and the city-state was less certain about following so closely behind his guest. Italy kept walking until he was almost abreast with China, then he stopped again and did that angry scowling thing with his face. "But what kind of host would I be if I didn't try and find out what was going on with my guest?"

"I'm me and that's the plane I'm getting on. That's what's happening." Italy flung a hand sharply at himself and the jet, just to over-emphasize his blunt words. "Thanks for your hospitality and all that, now will you-?"

"Ah, if your grandfather were here I know exactly what he'd say right now!" Oh, that wasn't what Hong Kong expected to hear. Judging by the look on his face, it surprised Italy too:

"What?"

"I can almost hear him, he'd shout 'Sino, stop wasting his time! You take-a things much too slowly, little boy, hurry it up a bit, ya?'" The only sound after China's mock-accent was the roaring wind. The weather was turning fouler by the minute as Italy gave a panicked glance at the sky, then he stared back at Hong Kong's boss and fumbled for words.

"Why are you telling me this, China?" The Sleeping Dragon made a point of never mentioning any empire or nation whose time had come and gone. Be it Ancient Rome, the Khemar Empire, or anyone else on any continent, China never spoke of the dead unless he had to. Over the last six months, the personification of North Italy had been added to that list of unspeakable names, but now… "Why now? This isn't a ploy, China, I have to-"

"I know it isn't a ploy, Italy, you're too much like your grandfather to play those sorts of games." Italy was half-way through taking a step when that comment got him under the throat, freezing the European in place. The serious way China's smile fell just made it all the more poignant. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen so much of Rome in you as I have over the last few months. But he was a soldier and you've always been a tradesman: there isn't one politically savvy bone in your body."

Italy hissed through his teeth and Hong Kong winced on his behalf, because he was too easy to read sometimes. He couldn't even play off his reaction as anger, because that exhausted, hopeless kind of hurt that had been following him around like a cloud all week was back again before he could try. South Italy was no statesman, and he never had been.

"So I'm an easy read, fine, now will you just-?"

"Why hasn't the Vatican City State trained you yet?" China went for the throat again, and he did it with his thin brows drawn down and a slow shake of his head in the wind. He was dragging this out in a storm, so either he wanted the weather to ground the plane, or he was looking for something… "He's one of the best speakers in the world. He's the institute that institutionalized rhetoric in your European bubble."

No, he couldn't have known about- maybe he just had an inkling?

"You aren't collapsing," China continued, "you're overworked and out of your depth: it's written all over your face." A face that was so overwhelmed and wide-eyed Hong Kong was convinced Italy was going to start backing up soon. His backbone was broken. "You haven't walked amongst or talked to any of your people outside your office in months, have you? You're completely out of touch with them! What's been keeping everyone in Rome so busy that your health keeps slipping and the Church can't spare a few hours to educate you?"

"I- I…" He could answer that question. South Italy was the only nation with the authority to answer it, but Hong Kong could see just from the way his mouth was hanging open that he had no words. It didn't matter whether he knew what to say or not: he couldn't get the words out.

"I won't let you die the way they did, Italy, but you're making this too easy." China's voice changed and Hong Kong… he didn't quite... know what that tone meant. "If you're wearing yourself out because of Euros and Dollars, then stop waiting for the EU to help you: the most powerful nations on the planet are watching you now, so don't shun us." Italy's economy was still rough and struggling. With the damage to his tourism reputation last year, and the Euro-crisis affecting his debts for the last five years, everything was crippling his efforts to rebuild from the earthquake.

Italy was such a bad investment right now for the Union that personal debts between Nations probably weren't going to matter come the Spring Quarter, and without Europe only two other world economies would have the power to help him. One was temperamental America, the other was Hong Kong's big brother China…

"China, I-" Italy had been good about avoiding too many conflicts or getting bullied into a corner, but China had planned this approach carefully. Either he knew something about Italy's brothers already, which was unlikely but not impossible, or he was making an educated guess and had opened with family just to throw him off-balance. Regardless, Italy pulled his phone out of his pocket and it was the weakest way to break eye-contact. Whatever he saw broke him a little bit more though, because he went slack-jawed and just stared at the screen after noticing some kind of message staring up at him. "I have to go."

"Whatever you're hiding, do a better job of it." That was a dangerous warning, especially coming from China… "If I didn't owe you enough already I'd be getting on that plane with you, and you wouldn't-"

"That's right, you do owe me!" Woah- Italy clenched his hand around his phone and looked up with such a furious expression that- "So mark me, China: I have the most powerful nations on earth watching my every move, and if anything happens to my family because you decided to power-play me in a fucking thunderstorm then I'll point them all in your direction! Move, old man!"

Hong Kong wasn't sure what to do. The last person to take that tone with China had been America during the war for Korea, and the peninsular nation still suffered every day with the results of being caught between those boasts. China's face was unreadable, his lips pinned in a smile and his eyes open and watching carefully, almost glowing in the ambient light of the airfield and the rumbling jeep behind him.

"Hong Kong!" That was his cue, and with a short breath the city state quickly stepped away from his guest and went to join his brother's side. China didn't even look at him, just gave a short gesture with one hand for him to get in the jeep. Hong Kong didn't argue, not when China was serious like this, and once he was up inside the vehicle he looked back at where the two nations were still staring each other down.

Finally, China shook his head in the harsh wind, and maybe he laughed: Hong Kong couldn't hear anything until his brother lifted his voice over the storm:

"Just like Rome!"

"You've got ten minutes." It took almost twice that long just getting his friends to agree to it.

The air was chilly, but there were still very faint and far off fingers of sunlight teasing the western horizon. Seborga wasn't sure why he'd needed that bit of consent from his friends, but he took it and tried not to look back at the car as he marched off. He walked quickly and tried to fight off the nerves making him tense up, crunching gravel under his shoes and telling himself there was no reason to tread lightly here.

Those cars really were nice though, and as he marched past them Seborga tried not to pay attention to just how nice they were. Sleek and black, new models for sure, and built in his brothers' territory too; not Swiss, German, or French. He brushed close enough by one of them to notice how the only thing marring the metallic black paint was the dust from mountain roads, even the chrome rims were still partially buffed. These weren't the sorts of cars a baker or a farmer would drive, Seborga knew every car in his township and no one could afford something like this.

The prickling down his back faded a little as he ducked under the shadow of the stone palace, his friends finally losing track of him in the night.

The "palace" wasn't very big, but even in the dark the massive flower mosaic in the courtyard caught what light was there and bounced it back at him. There were brick arches, several of them, flanking the bell-tower that had once belonged to the abbey where he'd been born. He could see the faint glow of electric lights, and maybe those were voices hovering quietly in the cold air.

"You there!" EEK!

Okay, definitely voices, but not one Seborga expected as the shout hit him. He wasn't slinking around in the dark, not here, not in his first home, but suddenly the idea of being spotted and stopped in the middle of his own courtyard left him too exposed. It took a terrifying moment to find the person responsible, and that was when he realized there were two of them. "This place is closed, go home."

Men. Men who weren't friendly or confused, but who stood there in the dark with judgement on their shadowed faces. They kept their hands in the pockets of the well-made suits framing their large bodies. It frightened him that he could tell that much just by looking at them. These were not small or shy men, they were tall men, confident, almost foreign.

"I'm here to see my prince." Seborga could be confident too, he wasn't scared. Intimidated maybe, but never frightened. "I'm sure he's just inside." The prince didn't actually live in Seborga's town, but he was here now, he knew it, as surely as he knew this courtyard and the stinging nerves in his fingers and running down his sides. Seborga knew his head of state was here.

"Prince?" These men were Italian, just the way one of them scoffed as he strung the words together was familiar: he sounded like Romano. "You mean the mayor? You don't elect a monarch." Painfully Italian. At any other time Seborga would have let the comment roll off his back without comment, perhaps felt bad that it was so hard for him to exert authority, but now was not the time. "Go home, kid."

"I still have to see him." He said the words under his breath because he wasn't here to start a fight, and the way the men stayed by the door was enough of a warning. He started walking again and Seborga wasn't going to back down, this was his home, his government, his-

"I don't think you heard me." The same man took a long step forward,

"He's just a kid." –and Seborga came to a short stop, because when the man's partner spoke up the first one had one elbow bent and his shoulders twisting back. He was reaching for something at his belt and froze like that, and it didn't matter how small a nation he was, Seborga knew that motion: gun.

Expensive cars, tailored suits, southern accents and loaded guns. No, Romano, why were these men here?

"Go home, boy."

The winter air was like ice in his lungs, and this close to the sea nothing ever got that cold. The numbness was moving into his chest, because whatever was wrong kept getting worse.

With a long, slow swallow, Seborga started walking again. They wouldn't shoot a boy, and even if they did: he'd just get back up. He belonged here, this was his place, he'd been born here over a thousand years ago and no two simple humans with orders were going to keep him out.

There was no second draw for the gun, just a hiss and a tsk and a shake of the head before the distance screamed shut between them. He'd been born a monk but Holy Rome had needed knights, and he'd worshiped a God of love but the Church had waged mighty wars. Seborga's strength had wilted for the final time after his brothers' crushing defeat at the end of the second world war, but he could handle two humans, especially ones who wouldn't shoot a boy.

He wished the courtyard were made of sand. He wished he had anything on his person besides a set of keys. He wished it were daylight out so when he pivoted around a hesitant grab, he could see what that face peering at him in the dark actually looked-

-a lunge this time and Seborga's right hand swung around to grab the wrist that came swinging out at him. The man wanted to grab him around the arm and probably shove him, instead Seborga locked his hand around his cuff and pulled the arm past him. The other man stumbled and the nation held his breath, powering the flat of his left palm into the back of the human's elbow. Hong Kong had shown him this, he'd never done it, and the resulting crack and scream of the shattered limb made his stomach curdle and clench in horror.

If his friends were listening then they'd hear the scream. Please let there be no more!

Seborga dropped the arm and immediately took a long, low lunge so his head ducked under the fist that came at him, his knee almost hitting the ground before he came up behind the second human and wished (how he wished) there was a longsword in his hands. Instead he grabbed the back of his jacket before the man could spin around, and with a frantic shove the human tumbled over his partner in a furious, screaming heap.

"You little shit!" Oh God, there were more: they were calling for help. Seborga spun on his foot and sprinted for the door. More would be inside but he had to get in there!

He slammed his whole body into the wooden door, hand fumbling for the knob before it swung in and he fell inside to the floor. A pair of polished shoes were in front of him and a bullet cracked the stones where he'd just been standing. The gunfire shocked the man in front of him and Seborga didn't even look up: he knew it wasn't one of his people. He scraped his feet across the ground and sprinted inside, shouldering and shoving his way past two more suits.

The palace was small, only a few hundred square feet. One long lit hallway led to a set of administrative offices, he only had so many choices. No bullets chased him but there was shouting, and one wordless scream from deeper inside pulled Seborga as fast as his legs could carry him. He had no escape plan, he had no battle plan, he had no plan: he just ran.

He ran until the numbness turned into pain and he came to a skidding halt in front of one door; the administrator's office, the prince's work space. When he twisted the knob it fell open, and he-

BANG!

He didn't know who she was. He didn't know her anymore, not with her long red hair hanging over her face and so much red blood splattered across the blue carpet in front of the desk. He didn't know who she was when the hand holding the back of her white jacket let her body hit the floor, chunks of red and white dribbling and falling from what the bullet left behind. Seborga couldn't take his eyes off that body though, not even to count the other men standing around her. He didn't know how many guns were there and he didn't know how many more were coming, he just knew that she was dead.

And he knew this: his boss was screaming in wordless agony, and the Principality felt the cold lip of the gun when it touched his head and the nation's blood joined hers.

Whoops.

Looking for some feedback on the transitions, and how clear the last segment was. Obviously some of it's supposed to go very quickly since it's action, but if it was too confusing then let me know so I can go over it again.

Drop a review and I'll see you next week!