Series: Condemned

Title: Book One: Condemn the Free

Summary: The end of the world is coming, and it all started with the disappearance of the United States of America.

Pairings: FrUK, implied RusAme, OC/OC pairings

Rating T, may go up

Warning: Eventual torture, excessive use of OCs

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

"So what do we do?"

Boss K stared around at the scientists, his grim, dark eyes taking in the mismatched group. Dr. Ziegel was leaning against the far wall and still clutching his laptop close to his chest, occasionally cracking it open to check for changes in the current situation. Dr. Koliabskaia was standing in the center of the room; his presence and current expression made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees. Dr. Von Arx was standing nearby, face crinkled into a scowl, arms folded tightly across his chest. Alistair was leaning against the wall next to Ziegel, his sharp eyes surveying his male compatriots, but avoiding Dr. Shay at all costs. Said Frenchwoman was tapping her heel unconsciously, nibbling her bottom lip, leveling an intense stare at Boss K. It had been Shay who had finally broken the silence.

"I would like to check on my family. Make sure they are safe." Dr. Von Arx interjected, his fiery blue eyes daring anyone to deny him the right. No one did; it was a perfectly reasonable request, given the circumstances, and honestly, no one cared. Von Arx could've been dancing on the desk in a sparkly pink tutu and no one would have cared.

"Yes…that's a…good idea." Boss K said tiredly, rubbing his eyes with one hand and reaching for his coffee with the other. However, a second after his hand had wrapped around the handle, he thought better of it and reached for his phone instead. He held the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring and completely ignoring the incredulous stares of the others in the room. When the person finally picked up, he said, "Mia. Hey. Do you mind bringing down…?" He looked to the ceiling, counting silently, before saying, "…5 shot glasses and some of our—" K blinked in surprise; obviously, 'Mia' had suggested something he hadn't thought of. "Yes, that will do. Thank you."

Alistair shifted his position, standing up straight so he could see Boss K better. "You are a saint, Boss, but I fail to see how drinking will change anything."

"Sure as hell does help with the pressure," The Boss muttered in response, being careful to not be too loud.

As simple as Dr. Shay's question was, none of the five people in the room had a concrete answer, or even the beginnings of one. At first, they'd assumed that the explosions had caused their subject's spasms. It had been Dr. Von Arx who'd introduced the possibility of the exact opposite. What if—what if when Alistair had electrocuted America earlier, it had caused parts of DC to explode? For all practical purposes, they didn't know a thing about their subject—for all they knew, it was a two way street. Even though they knew they would not be punished harshly by the President—this was an astonishing discovery—the thought that they might've just blown up part of Washington DC was…humbling, to the point of sickening. They didn't know what they were playing with; at the moment, they were small children fooling around with a father's gun. And they didn't know if the thing was loaded.

"Either way," Alistair said firmly, reaching into his pocket for his notepad, "We can conclude that America the person is connected to America the country."

Startled, the other people in the room stared at him. Then, Dr. Koliabskaia nodded in agreement; the Russian's iron grey eyes became frigid cold. Slowly, he adjusted his collar and turned around, walking toward the door. He paused in the frame, and said, "I will be in my office if anybody needs me. If it's not an emergency, please do not disturb me."

Then, he left.

The rest of the people in the room shuddered, glad that the tall Russian scientist was out of the room. He scared the crap out of almost everyone in the building.

There was a long, heavy silence; no one wanted to fill the space that Dr. Koliabskaia had so recently vacated. Finally, Dr. Von Arx took a step backwards, his pale blue eyes watching them warily. "I would like…to check on my family. They…are residents of Washington DC." Then, much less dramatically then the Russian scientist before him, Dr. Von Arx spun on his heel and bid a hasty retreat to the hall.

The four people left in the room all stared at each other, wondering who'd snap first.

Dr. Ziegel, not one able to stand under pressure for very long, hugged his computer closer to his chest and muttered, "I should…I should go." Then, he left, his long legs carrying him out at a record pace.

The Boss watched Ziegel go until the door shut behind him. Then, the Boss's gaze traveled to the two others remaining (they probably just wanted to out-do each other—again). It rested on Dr. Shay momentarily, taking in her suddenly tense posture, and then Alistair, observing his equally restless figure. They stared back at him, resolute, and the Boss sighed. "For now, there's nothing we can do about what has happened," He hesitated. The two were still attentive. "I asked you two to lead the project because I trust your judgment. Do whatever you see fit about this incident."

"But what if…" Dr. Shay quickly interjected, her eyes wide, "What if we inject him with a drug and we end up polluting the American water supply?"

"I don't usually say this," Alistair rumbled, not giving their boss any time to answer, "But for once, I agree. There are too many 'what ifs'. America is…something we definitely did not expect. It's a humbling experience for scientists of our stature to come across anything like him."

Boss K did not respond, instead just staring at them again. They shifted uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze, trying not to sweat.

"I knew it was a good idea to have you two lead this project."

They momentarily jumped at the words of praise, quickly masking their surprise with quiet indifference. Praise didn't come from their boss easily, no matter how praiseworthy the act or result produced for him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the hard work of those around him, no; he was simply not given to restate sentiments that he felt were already reflected through his actions. Shay and Alistair could probably count the number of times they had heard their boss give out praise on one hand.

"I'm glad I have someone here I can trust," he continued, rubbing his face in his hands. "You two are…dismissed."

They glanced at each other, unsure of exactly what was going through their boss's mind. Shay shrugged. Alistair sighed in response; then, he left the room. Shay sent one last worried look at Boss K and said, "Boss…I know that you trust us, but if you ever need to talk to someone…I have been told I have a good listening ear."

Then, she left as well, shutting the door behind her.

Boss K peered through his fingers after her, listening to the door as it snapped shut. He remained like that for a very long time, staring blankly at the door, simply mulling over his thoughts. For a moment, he actually considered going after her, talking to her, sharing this heavy burden he was carrying on his shoulders. He quickly shoved that idea aside. After all, if he said anything—anything—to his employees—friends—they would be in such danger! No, he couldn't risk it. There were powers greater than they realized in play with his troubles; he was an extremely dangerous man, and—

"Aw, how sweet. Very endearing."

Boss K jumped; he'd been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn't realized he had left his pager on.

"Mr. President," he responded, quiet, eyes darting upward to make sure no one else was present. "This really isn't a good time, sir…I haven't…well…"

"Did something happen to the project?"

His voice was…cold. Eager. Did he not care that half his capital had just blown up?

"Well, yes. We did a scan, and—well, burns have appeared on his—its—heart. Any normal human would be dead. Any normal living thing would be dead. But…when the building exploded, that's when it happened." Boss K took a deep breath, knowing that he was about to take a step into very dangerous territory. "Earlier, one of our scientists electrocuted the subject. We have to consider the possibility that…well; our earlier treatment of the patient caused this."

The president didn't even hesitate. "Ah. Excellent. Just as I predicted."

This stopped Boss K in his tracks, eyes popping out of his sockets. "W-What? Ace, are you insane?"

"Don't call me that!" the president—Ace—snarled; Boss K could almost hear the spit flying. "We have an agreement, correct? Kaspar?"

Boss K—Kaspar—felt a small smile curling at his lips, but his heart really wasn't in it. Not after the president had seemed almost gleeful about the destruction of his own capital… "Ace. Don't be so cruel to your older brother."

There was a short, stunned pause; then, Ace let out a cold, chilling cackle. It was a far cry from the innocent trills Kaspar could remember—was that ever even Ace's laughter? "I keep forgetting who I'm talking to. Even now, I cannot push you around, can I?" He chuckled mirthlessly. The sound was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

There was a long pause, the silence between them deafening.

It was Ace who spoke first, his voice soft and unsure. "Have you…seen Celina lately?"

Kaspar stiffened. "I thought we agreed we'd leave her out of this."

"I—I know. But…it has been so long since I've seen my dear little sister…" There was a shuffling noise; Kaspar could imagine Ace running his fingers through his hair. "She seems like a distant memory, does she not?"

Kaspar glared into thin air and said, coldly, "Don't speak of her, ever. You don't even deserve to utter her name."

"Kas—"

"If you say another word about Celina, I will hang this phone up right now. Not. Another. Word."

Any thought of having a normal conversation had ended abruptly with the mention of their little sister—a contentious topic even at the best of times, let alone now.

Ace's voice regained a chilly tone. Any semblance of friendliness he'd tried to assume for the sake of family vanished. "Very well. Continue with the project as you were. I can assure you this; whatever you did to America did not affect the capital."

"And how do you know this?" Kaspar hissed, narrowing his eyes viciously.

For a moment, it seemed as though Ace was going to answer his question. Then, his Ace in the hole—his little brother—growled back, "I'm sorry, Dr. K, but you don't have the clearance that response would require."

Then, he hung up.

"Son of a fu—" Boss K swore violently, sweeping his hand across the table, sending the phone flying off the table and clattering to the tiles. Then, he jumped to his feet and ripped his chair from the floor, tossing it across the room with an animalistic grunt. He whipped around, searching blindly for anything else to destroy. His eyes landed on his desk. With a spirited, angry cry, he swung his foot into the underside, imagining his brother's face chiseled into the wood.

The desk had endured abuse from far greater men than Boss K. It did not even flinch. Instead, the boss fell backwards, clutching his foot in pain, cursing and raging angrily under his breath. For several minutes he just laid there, his knees up to his chest, cursing—at life, at his lost family, at his brother, for the sake of cursing...

Mia entered the room, tray in one hand and bottle of alcohol in the other, and stopped abruptly, her gaze wandering between the smashed phone in the corner, the scattered papers on the floor, the upturned chair stuck in the wall, and her boss. Though she wasn't exactly the brightest thing that had ever lived, she did recognize the signs of a temper tantrum. So, she carefully approached the still-swearing man, gently setting the bottle and try down on the desk. "Uh…sir. Is everything alright?"

"Just fucking peachy," he muttered, curled up in a ball, still rubbing his foot.

She recognized the sarcasm in his voice, and decided not to comment on it. "I brought your shot glasses and—"

"Fill them. Right now."

Never one to question orders, Mia carefully filled each of the glasses, making sure not to spill. When she was finished, she rubbed her hands on her skirt and turned back to look at Boss K, who was now sitting up, rubbing his eyes blearily. "What the hell took you so long, damn woman?"

Years of being in his service had taught Mia to hold her tongue—usually, whatever she had to say wasn't very smart and often got her into a lot of trouble. Instead, she simply replied, "The chef wouldn't tell me where he'd put the vodka…it was late, and he wanted to get home, after all. I had to bribe him. You're lucky you got anything at all."

Boss K muttered something again, still angry, scooted over to the desk, and reached up for the first shot glass, which he poured onto his head.

Mia blinked in surprise.

He downed the next one he grabbed in a single gulp. He did the same with the next three.

He smacked his lips and stared up at Mia, expectant. "Refill them."

Washington DC was burning.

His heart was burning.

One hand on his chest, America receded into his mind, trying to scope out the damage to his capital, which still ached, red-hot. The sensation wasn't as bad as the intense flaming agony he'd felt earlier—he shuddered violently—but it tugged and pulled at his consciousness. He was getting used to it by now, somewhat, but it was still horrifyingly painful. Especially when…

Especially when…

Oh, god.

His capital.

His heart.

America's eyes parted slightly. He stared vacantly—except America wasn't seeing the white walls of his room. No, he was staring out onto the mayhem currently consuming his poor, terrified capital city.

Flames still licked hungrily at the burning buildings, devouring what remained of their hollowed shells. The once proud, tall structures lay scattered across the streets, while frantic people ran and sobbed and tried to cope—

Oh, his poor people. His poor, helpless, weak people. They sat numbly on the sidewalk, they ran screaming through the streets, they stood together and prayed, prayed, prayed for some sort of miracle to come and save them. They prayed for—for—for a hero. And…where was he? Where was he? While his people were suffering, panicking, he was laying here on a metal table, feeling sorry for himself. But… what else could he do? So badly—so badly—he wanted to reach out to them, put a comforting hand on each shaken shoulder, tell every single resident of the burning city that it was going to be okay, because he was here, and he was a hero…

These people—these wretched lab coats with their never-ending supply of tranquilizers and electric shocks—they didn't know who they were messing with. They considered America to be just another lab rat; more important than most, more dangerous than most, but, when push came to shove, just another lump of warm flesh to prod and poke at will. But America the human…he was not simply one lump of flesh, but many; or, from many people, one man. Whenever America helped people, his residents saw this and, on some instinctual level, knew that this was their leader, their strength, who had arrived to keep them safe. They all knew that he cared, in some subconscious way, as any citizen of any land somehow knew when confronted with their country as a human being.

If America wasn't there, helping his people…then where was their strength? Where was their hope?

Who was going to help them now?

America was so distracted by his people's troubles and his own helplessness that he didn't notice when the door to the lab opened, then closed. He didn't notice when a stealthy presence stole across the floor behind him, nigh-invisible. At least, that was what the strange intruder seemed to think.

"What are you doing here?"

Dr. Ziegel froze in his tracks at the sound, still clutching the laptop in his arms. Though America wasn't looking at him, the scientist could tell that he had the country's full attention. He stood up straight, dropping all attempts at stealth, and slowly moved in front of the experiment to look him in the eye. When he finally stood in front of America, he was surprised to see his experiment's normally quick, lively eyes dull and almost unresponsive; even when the personification had been tortured with electricity, he'd never lost that little spark that made him who he was. Now, however, there was nothing; nothing that made America…America. The bonds tying the land of the free (ha!) to the table were clearly not the only things holding him down.

Then, something awakened in those eyes, and they flared to life, leaving Ziegel caught in the ferocious gaze of the leader of the free world. There was something innately powerful about that stare—America didn't even have to do anything but stare at him, and Ziegel felt afraid. What were they thinking? How could they even consider thatthey knew anything about what they were dealing with? Those eyes—they held more than any mere human could hope to know, to feel, to believe, and here mere humans were, toying with the soul behind them!

"I know who you are." America said, startling Ziegel, who released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. But then he went over the sentence again in his mind, and froze—the lab rat couldn't possibly…know, could he?

"O-Oh?" Ziegel sputtered, heat rising to his cheeks.

America simply raised his golden eyebrow. That was all it took for Ziegel to drop the act—America knew, no matter how hard Ziegel tried to keep it under wraps. Now, all he could do was stop insulting America's intelligence and discard his carefully constructed mask.

Ziegel's embarrassed blush disappeared from his face; his shy, hunched posture straightened out considerably; his shoulders pressed back; his meek expression cleared; his face was left a cold, blank slate of indifference. The laptop, formerly clutched in both hands, now settled comfortably against his hip. Now, cold seemed to radiate from his very presence.

The shy, cheerful psychologist had vanished; what was left in his place was a cold, proud man who was perfectly capable of standing up for himself. America immediately decided he didn't like this new Ziegel very much; he'd much preferred the other attitude. However, America would rather have the scientist not lying to him.

"Now. What do you want?" America asked the still man, curiously watching Ziegel's blank eyes.

Ziegel simply stared at him for several seconds, blinking slowly. America, used to unnerving stares from scarier people, didn't flinch, matching the stare calmly and patiently—something that the impatient country very rarely found it in himself to do. Just as Ziegel had opened himself to America, America had decided to do the same; to show a side of himself that nobody, save perhaps Russia, had ever seen before. Ziegel easily recognized the attempt to gain his trust; and to his surprise, he found that he did trust the experiment. For some reason, the scientist suspected that America was a terrible liar.

That was why Ziegel found himself answering honestly, instead of dancing around the question. He shifted onto one leg and answered, "I've been tracking you people for years. As soon as I heard they'd captured one, I knew I needed to see you for myself."

America froze, lips parted in surprise, eyes wide. Then, he emitted a shaky laugh. "Hahaha—no, no! There's only one of me. Well, I mean, there used to be the USSR, back when we were fighting for dominance—"

"Don't fuck with me. I know about you and your people." Ziegel interrupted coldly. "Don't even try."

The country's mouth parted slightly again, and then very slowly shut. He looked away, clenching his fists. "…why haven't you told the others yet?" he asked quietly, squeezing his eyes closed, already imagining Canada, England, all the others in this terrible place with him.

"Your brother. Canada. You care about him, don't you?"

America nodded slowly, not liking where this was going.

"You want him to stay safe."

It wasn't a question.

America's eyes widened; he almost choked on empty air. He wouldn't. "You wouldn't." Oh, God, he'd had enough to deal with ever since he had come to this awful place. The last thing he needed was a threat to his brother's safety hanging over his head. Even just the thought was enough to make him want to cry.

"Oh, but I would. Who wouldn't do such a thing to have the most powerful country in the world in their pocket?" Ziegel curled his fingers a little tighter around the laptop, his face darkening grimly. He didn't even react when America began straining against his bonds, his face red with pent up rage.

The young nation had been very close to snapping for several days—and honestly, it was quite understandable. America was as tough as they come—if not tougher—but the stress of the past few days had really gotten to him. With the destruction of several major buildings in his capital—which still burned, an angry, pulsating wound in his physical and emotional heart—added to the indignity of being poked and prodded by a group of unusually enthusiastic scientists, America had become fed up. Fed up with sitting down and taking it like a bitch. This was not the way he did things—he was America, the scourge of maturity and well-meaning (or not) hard-asses everywhere!

That, and, unfortunately for his captors, he was 6' 0" and filled to the brim with sheer stupidity, impulsiveness, and the strength to drag an angry Brit's Rolls-Royce everywhere in the goddamn English countryside for an hour.

America had allowed them to amuse themselves with the thick straps they'd pulled over his chest, but this newest threat had moved the game to a whole different ballpark. They could fuck with him as much as they liked, but as soon as they went for his family, well…whatever happened was no.

Holds.

Barred.

The bonds snapped like twigs against the might of a furious America.

The young country leapt for Ziegel's throat, his lips curled into an ugly snarl. The flames practically danced in America's eyes, and his outstretched hands moved to close around Ziegel's throat—

—and then the country let out a primal scream of rage, frustration, and pain, because the little snake had pressed the button on his shock collar, like he was a freaking dog, like he could be controlled—and he lay there on the floor and convulsed, thrashing weakly as electricity coursed through his body. After several seconds of this, the pain ended, and America panted heavily, curled in on himself, now nursing the deep pain of his insides as well as the dull burning of his heart.

He pressed a shaking hand to his face and cried, thick scalding tears that ran like quicksilver down his tanned face. He knew he was finished.

He had lost, and that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Ziegel let out a soft, relieved breath, resolving to keep his finger nigh-glued to that button until he left the premises. He'd been stunned by America's quick, livid reaction, and had only just activated the shock collar in time. A second later and his head would've been popped off of his body. Those bonds were created to hold down a genetically mutated full grown man made almost entirely of muscle (true, he had been living off a feeding tube—it had been a work in progress), but the young nation had simply tore through them as though he had been tearing off vines. Easier, perhaps.

They had called that weakling muscle-man a monster. This was a true monster—and now Ziegel had it trapped under his thumb.

As the country sobbed in defeat on the floor, Ziegel closed his eyes and started to speak. There was something…agonizing about seeing America like this—a wreck on the floor, sobbing brokenly for his brother, himself, and something deeper that a mere mortal, Ziegel was sure, could never understand. Suddenly, Ziegel felt somewhat unsure. He had just made a monster cry. What did that make him?

No, he should not care. Ziegel took a deep breath, shook off the strange feeling developing in his gut, and opened his eyes again, his voice emerging with a renewed edge of determination. "This is what I want from you. First, you will not attempt to escape. If you are ever given the chance, you will not take it, or your allies will be on a one-way trip here," He cleared his throat. No response from the country. He continued on:

"Second, you will not say a word about this to anyone. You will not hint at it, you will not utter anything to suggest I am anything other than an innocent psychiatrist." He paused again. Still no response.

"Third, you will go along with what I and the other scientists say. If they order you to do something, you will do it. You can complain about it, whine for all I care, but the moment you actually go through with one of your bitch-fits…" Ziegel's eyes narrowed. That was the last one. He waited to see if America would respond.

America peered at him from between two wet fingers, blinking blearily. The country stared at Ziegel for a few seconds, blinked again, let out a long, loud yawn—the scientist's jaw dropped—before he said, "Sure, whatever," and rolled onto his side. He curled up into a ball, and just seconds later Ziegel could hear snoring. America had fallen fast asleep.

After all, being upset is a very tiring thing indeed.

Ziegel was not one to show his heart on his sleeve, but his face was the picture of shock.

He had been right. He still had no idea who he was dealing with.

Hey guys! Update right on time this time. This chapter is, without a doubt, a super filler chapter. But trust me, it gets way, way more exciting after this. The next two chapters are very action packed. I was just giving a little background on what was happening, and giving you guys a little bit of an idea of why America had no way of getting out.

Again, criticisms are appreciated.

On to reviews!

Guest: Aw, thank you! You'll get to see what happens to our beloved America, and trust me, it'll be...satisfying, to say the least.

The Rambler: Thanks! I would LOVE some cookies! My favorites are snicker doodles (omnomnom)! I'm sorry if I scared you guys :O I was just trying to make things as believable as possible, which I suppose I succeeded at. I do my best to please the fans. Thanks for your review!

Dragonfire: Thanks so much for your review! I'm glad you liked the story! I like all the exclamation points!

Love from,

IceEckos12