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
Click. Click. Click.
There was a very short pause, before the sound of clicking shoes started up again.
Click. Click. Click.
Russia had always yelled at him for pacing. England could still remember it clearly; those cold violet eyes watching him as he wore a path into the carpet, a nervous habit he hadn't picked up until after the bombing of DC. Then, the larger nation would abruptly stand up, startling England slightly, and say that if he made one more move Russia would rip off his legs. England would stop, and all would be fine…until he started drumming his fingers on the table.
At that point Russia would get up, break the table in two, and walk out of the room. But he would always have to come back, because England only paced when they were waiting for something. Usually it was something important.
England stopped, and dropped in a chair next to the table, pressing his hands together nervously, feeling the sweat on his palms. God, he hated waiting like this…all he wanted to do was start screaming. He couldn't take it anymore!
Three weeks. He hadn't gotten any word from Russia in three weeks.
The last time they had been in contact was a day after England had given Russia an important mission that would hopefully help them take down the Wall. And the message had only been two words.
I'm safe.
Then nothing. At first England hadn't been all that concerned; if Russia was smart (and England knew he was), he would lie low for a few days, avoid anything suspicious. But after two weeks, he had gotten concerned. Russia understood the need for contact; both countries had agreed to rescue the other if one of them was in a pinch. More often than not the two of them referred to this agreement as a sort of alliance—and England remembered the seriousness of alliances.
Tomorrow it'll be three weeks on the dot. If Russia's not back by then…I'll have to go over myself.
It could be a trap; the president could be trying to lure England out with Russia…but he couldn't not take the chance. His ally's—his friend's—the rebellion's victory was on the line.
England stood up slowly, eyes tired and mind weary. I wish it did not have to come to this. He thought, eyelids drooping heavily. Alfred…if only you could help us. Where did you go? I can't believe you would betray us…but then where are you?
He was done with this war. It wasn't even his problem. Hadn't he been the one who was always nagging America about getting involved in other people's business? He'd even had a choice—he was such a hypocrite.
He missed his home.
A knock on the door to his office—well, his and Russia's. "Mr. Kirkland!"
England twitched. Why did those infernal Americans insist on calling him that? He had told them again and again, Arthur would do! It was so frustrating! Americans weren't supposed to be polite—especially not to him! It didn't work like that! Augh!
Trying not to let his annoyance show, England responded through gritted teeth, "Yes?"
"We have news from—grk!"
…what?
"If you will excuse me, I must converse with Mr. Kirkland here…"
England's eyes widened. That voice!
"Sir, you're not well!" The American was back—he was pleading now. England almost felt sorry for him. "Please, let the doctors look at you!"
England's feet jumped into motion; he was halfway across the room towards the door before he knew it, and the door snapped open under his excited hand. The two people standing in front of the door looked up in surprise when England came into view, an expectant expression on his face. As soon as he caught sight of Russia's travel-battered frame, his eyes smiled.
Normally he wouldn't have been so excited to see Russia, but England hadn't seen him in almost three years—and it felt like longer. He liked the Americans, sure, but he couldn't really talk to them like he could Russia. They didn't understand what he and Russia were going through—what they were doing for this country.
They only had each other.
"Ivan!" England said, feeling a bit like a housewife whose husband had come home from the army for Christmas (and immediately resented the thought, because he was not some pining house sitter). He reached out to catch hold of Russia's arm, and they shook hands warmly—well, as warmly as one could shake hands with Russia. "What happened? Why did you return?" Happiness gave way to worry. "Did something happen?"
Russia must have noticed the change in England, because he hurried to reassure the anxious nation. "Nothing is wrong. In fact, it is much better than wrong. I found it, England. I have found a way to take down the Wall. That is why I have returned."
England's eyes widened with shock; his voice froze in his chest, lips parted with a response sitting unspoken and forgotten on his tongue. Then, his face split into a happy, shining beam.
The person who had been begging for Russia to get some medical attention seemed to realize that he was intruding on something very private; he backed away, muttered, "Call me if you need anything,", and fled.
Russia gently put his hand on England's back and steered him into the office, and lightly pushed him into the couch, forcing him to sit down. The larger nation sat down next to him, and didn't wait for England to recover before speaking again—the little blonde was still grinning goofily, almost euphoric because of the news.
"I have also found something else."
England's eyes landed on him, still a little shocked. As soon as he'd heard those words, that the Wall could be brought down…his insides had turned numb. But there was something else—a fire in his belly that he couldn't ignore, roaring and shrieking with conquest, with victory so close in his grasp—
"I have found America."
Ice.
"What?" England gasped, eyes shooting wide as he turned to look at Russia.
"He has been under our noses the entire time." He took a deep breath, before continuing. "He did not betray us—"
Relief fluttered like a hummingbird in his chest.
"—he protected us, claiming to be the only country, when betraying all of us would have saved him much pain—"
Something broke inside.
"—but he is far beyond our reach now."
England was very quiet for several minutes, face blank and apathetic. Finally he spoke.
"Tell me everything."
Russia slowly got up, went over to the liquor cabinet in the corner, and pulled out the last bottle of vodka and two crystal shot glasses. Then he walked over to England's desk and pulled out a plastic baggie of blackened scones and Russian pancakes. After a second of juggling the assorted items, he managed to sit himself down next to England and spread out the food stuffs. With an air of purpose he gently poured some vodka into the shot glasses, then put the bottle to his lips and gulped down some of the drink. England watched him solemnly and expectantly, waiting for him to speak.
"Okay." He finally said quietly. "But you are definitely going to need a drink."
File Title: The Wall
Page 1, Introduction
Date: July 21, 2022
Description: The Wall is a giant electrical field that is designed to keep anything from going in or out of the United Republic of America. Its design shows that it is to be powered by a living organism, which can survive for hundreds of years; this prevents malfunction, and allows the Republic to use a clean energy source. Also, this organism's heart is very strong; the voltage increased almost 200% when it was used, vs. a strong, genetically engineered superhuman. However there are two stations that must be monitored at all times; the 'connection', which allows us to control the Wall, to some extent. The connection station will be placed as close to the Rebellion as it can get without entering the Dead Zone or potentially risking its safety. A backup station will be placed near the capital; it will not nearly be as strong as the original station, but if the original station breaks down it will serve sustain the Wall until the old one is fixed.
This type of technology is extremely advanced, so it has been automated, with minimum maintenance on either side of the Dead Zone. That way, it can be kept hidden from the general populace more easily.
The Wall will be kept up until the resistance has been defeated; even after then, the electronic messages and letters will be strictly controlled, as well as travel to foreign countries. The only individual allowed out of the United Republic without question will be the president.
Signed,
Céline Shay
"Ano'der one." England slurred, eyes glazed. "Dun skimp. Giv'it aaaaall here."
Russia, who's cheeks had pinked slightly, grinned happily and poured some liquor—no longer the vodka, it was some sort of scotch—all over England's hand, only managing to get a small amount in the shot glass. "Of course, comrade."
"A toast!" England shouted, leaning forwards, shaking his almost empty shot glass in Russia's face. "To 'Merica!" Then he slumped back and poured the meager amount of alcohol down his throat. "A good man." He hiccupped.
"Yes. A very good man." Russia's dusted pink smile nearly split his face in two. "Come. We must try to control the pain of his loss by making the sweet love of war."
England wobbled unsteadily for a second, nose crinkled in confusion, before he threw the shot glass at Russia's head. It bounced off with a loud, painful clunk! and fell to the floor, not even cracked. "You!" He howled, flailing his hands. "You're tr'n ta…ta…" He hiccupped again, eyes searching for his shot glass; he'd already forgotten he'd used it as a weapon against Russia's head. "Make meeeee...cheat." England paused. "Oh my lover. My sweet, beautiful Francey. If on'y I had you to moleeeeeest me I wouldn't be feeling so sexually inactive!"
Russia settled down, admitting defeat. "I miss America." He said gloomily, in a mood swing only a drunk—or a bipolar woman—could pull off. "Then we could make the sweet love of war to each other." He sighed, shaking his head at the loss.
(Neither countries would remember what had happened that night, though they would feel a sort of subconscious horror that would lead them to wondering what on earth they had said.)
England burst into tears. "My sweet baby!" He wailed. "I hast left thou to suffer in eternal torment! How could thou ever forgive me?"
Russia sighed and poured some more vodka down his throat. "You speak strange words that I do not understand." The larger nation said, the Russian flowing easily off his tongue. "Even after all this time, I cannot truly understand you."
England continued to cry. "He is lost. We shalt never find him!"
2023
July 7
12 years before
Three years.
Three years since America had first arrived at their facility…three years of pain, love, and cruelty. All that time, searching and looking for an answer to the problem that was presented to them; three years of research and needles, blood, sweat—three years of experimentation. And…
Three years of failure. That is what they had gotten from this nation of theirs. And for what? Nothing. There was no way to clone America, no way to use his incredible strength…no way to justify why they were fairly torturing the country—which was what they had been counting on. When the solution to a quick, bloodless victory had been found, the scientists had been counting on everyone being so happy about it that they wouldn't care all that much about how it came about. Yet they hadn't found the solution, and all they had to show for it was a dirty, malnourished, broken nation. Alistair couldn't find pleasure in the thought of having broken such a strong nation, because he had admired America—the way he was before. He had admired that spunk, that fire, that iron will to protect.
He pressed his face into his arms on his desk, ignoring the papers piled around his head. Doing this to America had been a mistake. If only he could go back three years and beg his old self to try and discourage the project—hell, just back off. Don't even get involved.
If only life was that simple.
"Alistair." He didn't acknowledge the voice, though he recognized it easily.
She waited for a moment, the silence hanging heavily over their heads. After deciding that the silent scientist wouldn't respond, she continued. Gently.
"It's time." Shay said quietly, watching him for any sign of awareness. The only sign that he had heard her was the very slight twitch of his shoulder. She sighed, walked forwards, and put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. "Alistair…mon amour…"
He loved it when she spoke French to him. Usually he would turn around and smile ever-so-slightly, a special smile just for her, and say, "Ja, meine liebe?" Yes, my love?
No reaction. Just silence.
"You would allow him to suffer because you are weak?" She asked him quietly; she too shared his sentiment that they never should have bothered with America.
This finally gained a response, albeit a quiet and forlorn one. "…no."
"Then come." She stepped back, watching with slight satisfaction as he slowly to his feet. His back gave a few uncertain pops as he straightened out—Shay sighed and stood back, watching him arch, face twisted up. When he finally relaxed, loosening like an uncoiled spring, Shay gently pressed herself to him and curled her arms around his tense shoulders.
"It is nearly over." She whispered into his ear, hating his pain, his guilt. If she could take it all away, right now, she would. But that wasn't how they worked; it wasn't how the world worked. She couldn't just lift his heavy burden off of his shoulders—it was something that they would have to forgive themselves for, eventually. And it was common knowledge that the people who judged the hardest were themselves. "Hold on, mon amour. Soon you will be free."
Alistair was silent for a several seconds, before he spoke again. "But he won't."
Shay didn't speak, simply stood there with him, basking in his warmth—in him. When he was ready, he would speak.
"We have wronged." The German man shook his head slowly. "I can only hope that God will forgive us both. "
They remained like that, even though the world was rushing on around them, even while time swirled over their heads and touched them insistently. For a timeless moment they were able to forget life and simply be.
The spell was broken by a shaky, heavy breath. Shay settled her head on her lover's shoulder, looking deeply into his eyes, watching him as he mentally shook himself. "I'm ready." He murmured quietly, shaking off Shay's comforting hands. "Let's get this over with."
She stared after him, a little worried, but sighed and followed him quickly. Alistair hadn't been the same ever since Ziegel had been caught sneaking top-secret files from the base. The young man had been like a son to Alistair; no one had been more devastated than him about his betrayal. In some ways, though, it was a bit of a blessing; at that moment, the emotionally hurt man had turned to the only person he had ever trusted—Shay. And she had come through for him…and now they were together. In love.
In pain.
Their romance had been rekindled because of an experiment—because of another's pain. It was so wrong to the couple to have such a pure emotion riding on the back of something so horrible. Perhaps that was why they themselves had pushed this very last experiment.
She fell into step beside him, glancing at him every few seconds as they walked. He looked tired, drawn, unhealthy…and though she couldn't blame him—she felt the exact same way—it still hurt her to see him like this. The days where he had been serious but happy, reserved but curious, were now long past. Now he just seemed tired.
She understood. She felt tired, too.
Koliabskaia looked up the minute they entered the room, a clipboard in one hand, looking calm and composed as usual. He looked them over with his expressionless eyes, and then shot Shay a concerned look—he had obviously noticed Alistair's mood, too. However the old German ignored this exchange—or he simply didn't notice it—and walked past them. Shay sighed, smiled weakly at the Russian, and followed her lover into the room.
"Hello." Von Arx greeted the pair of them; he was a little less adept to social situations as Koliabskaia was, and could not tell that they weren't exactly in a chatty mood. "Are you two ready for the procedure?"
Shay smiled fondly and was about to respond, when Alistair quietly interrupted, "Let's just get this over with."
The Swiss blinked in surprise, finally realizing something was wrong. He sent Shay a concerned look—not dissimilar to Koliabskaia's one earlier; the two usually seemed to share a brain. She simply shrugged in response, and followed Alistair towards their station, where notes were piled haphazardly in one corner of the small desk.
"Now that we're all here," Boss K said quietly, ignoring the greetings between his employees, obviously in a hurry to get what they were doing over with. "We can begin. Bring in the subject."
And then he was wheeled in.
America was a mere shadow of what he had been years before; his once impossible strength was diluted to weaker than a normal human, his usually bouncy, cheerful blonde hair long, stringy and oily, strange cowlick subdued. His nails had been cut down to the quick, but only because when they had grown to the size of large claws he had nearly scratched Ziegel's eyes out. If you took off his thin, orange shirt you would be able to see all of his ribs, but you wouldn't even be able to begin to count the scars and bruises dotting his skin.
However it wasn't his appearance that had changed the most; it was his eyes.
Once so cheerful and vivid, America's eyes were dull and lifeless; he had been utterly broken by these people. Whatever was left of the fiery spirit that had only a decade before dominated the modern world was buried deep inside of his mind, protected by a soldier with tattered armor and oozing wounds. A long time ago, people used to say you could stare into those cloudless blue eyes and feel inspired, feel fresh and new; now all you could see was fog.
Alistair couldn't look that broken soul in the eyes anymore. None of them could.
There was dead silence as the squeak of the wheels filled the room, worming into their hearts and their minds. There was nothing to say.
Boss K cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "Put him over there, please." He nodded towards the corner, near a strange cylindrical machine hooked up to a plethora of contraptions, none of which appeared all that friendly.
The man, a trusted employee, quickly nodded his head and pushed quickly over, quite obviously spooked by the almost corpselike thing he was transporting. After he finished with the job, he rubbed his hands together nervously, as though he was just itching to run into the bathroom and clean them off. "Is there anything else I need to do here, sir?" He asked, glancing over at the other scientists curiously.
It was probably because they hadn't shown their faces to anyone else in the building for nearly three years—the absolute secrecy of the project had forced them to do this. Now they doubted they would be recognized if they walked through the building, even though years before they would've been regarded with a sort of awe.
The Boss waved his hand dismissively. "You can go. We'll call you if we need anything else."
The man nodded nervously and ducked out of the room, leaving behind the silence.
The other scientists lost interest in him the minute they'd seen their precious specimen wheeled in—their eyes watched him cross the room, and they fairly pounced on him the minute the man had backed away. They had immediately gone about hooking America up to some of the machines, taking his body temperature, moderating his brain waves, pulse, and the like. They were determined to get this finished as soon as possible—they'd all agreed that what they were doing was wrong, and that America deserved better, but they couldn't think of a better option without outright trying to kill him.
If they had been selfless people, they would have turned themselves in, let themselves be caught so America could be freed fully. But they weren't—at least, Boss K and the president weren't.
"Vitals are stable." Shay announced, voice clear and strong, even past the thick, heavy guilt flowing through her. "He's ready to be put into the stasis pod."
It was a good, clean word; detached and almost emotionless. Stasis. As if what they were doing was anything but clean.
Von Arx brushed some of America's hair out off of his face, even though the sleeping nation didn't acknowledge the gentle touch. The Swiss was never able to understand what was so terrible about this experiment—until almost a year ago. He'd walked into America's room and, like normal, had begun spreading out some food on the blanket laid out on the cart he'd wheeled in. In his mind, America was just another experiment—even though Alistair and Shay seemed unusually attached to the nation, and Kobliabskaia had a strange respect for the guy, there was nothing remotely special about him. He hadn't seen what the others had seen, and he sort of knew it…he'd always been a bit insensitive to others' emotions.
In those days, America still had some personality. He'd even smile once in a while, when he wasn't in a lot of pain. He still wasn't completely broken.
Von Arx had gently placed the bowl on the table near the chained man, watching him carefully—he still sometimes got the terrifying image of America ripping through his thick straps and going for the innocent Ziegel's throat (Now that he knew what Ziegel had done, he completely understood. But at that time, the idea had been inconceivable). Then he turned his back to the nation, who was diving into his meal, and began to clean up.
After a few noiseless minutes, a voice piped up. "What's your name?"
He had nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the voice. It sounded dry and unused, but also a little curious—not at all frightening.
Von Arx slowly turned to look at America—the country had never spoken to him before, mostly just stared. He wasn't sure if the fact that America was speaking to him was a good thing or a bad thing. After mulling over his options for a few seconds, Von Arx decided that telling the captive American his name wouldn't harm anyone—after all, who was he going to tell? "My name is Adrian Von Arx."
"Are you Swiss?" There was a note of disbelief in America's voice.
Damn. He'd never get rid of his accent. "Yes, that is right. I am a…" What was the English word for a person who was traded to another country? He couldn't…ah, yes. A 'transfer'. "A Swiss transfer."
America grinned at him happily.
And it was the most stunning thing he had ever seen. That smile…had just lit up the room, without even trying. It was as though the warmth of the sun was shining around him, warming him to his very soul.
Von Arx gave him a spooked, deer-in-the-headlights look, not sure how to react. No one had ever smiled at him like that before—the people in his family were very serious, and he had been homeschooled until the age of fifteen then sent to some expensive college where no one ever smiled.
God.
This was the most awkward thing he had ever dealt with.
And the idiot didn't seem to understand that he was uncomfortable with smiling. He just kept on smiling and smiling, as though he wasn't locked up in this place, as though all was well within his world, as though everything was turning itself upside down because he was still smiling at him.
"Why is it that you smile?" Von Arx didn't care if his English was currently coming out in a thickly accented, grammatical mess—all that mattered was why, how could he possibly be happy—
"Why not?"
He could only stare at the nation, whose smile had turned bittersweet.
"I don't know if you've ever seen Forest Gump, but…as he said, shit happens. It's going to rain. But there's someone else out there who's probably worse off than me, so I can't just…give up. Not while there's still hope."
It sounded so painfully idealistic Von Arx couldn't help but look away—perhaps at the country's naivety, perhaps it was because of his own guilt. "I have never seen this…Forest Gump."
"You think I'm naïve."
The frankness of the statement—and the truth of it— made him freeze.
"I'm not going to be the same when I get out of this place. I know that. But…" America was still smiling that sad, bittersweet smile, his eyes still staring at him with his sky-blue eyes. "I'm still here. Which means America isn't dead yet…which means there's still hope."
America was…brave. He had to give him that.
While Von Arx was silently comforting the nation, across the room Boss K was watching with unreadable, expressionless eyes. The minute Boss K heard that everything was ready for America, he nodded towards the scientists with a quiet strength that had ridden with him throughout the entire project—even at his lowest moments. "Do it."
The scientists began to wrap straps around America's wrist and torso; of course, when the country was actually put into stasis he wouldn't be strapped in, he'd be floating in the liquid that would keep him alive, but they had no other way to put him into the machine. What would happen was that a machine would lift the straps that held America until he was flush against the back of the machine; then, the glass barrier would come up, which would trap the liquid filling the cylinder. When the liquid levels got high enough, America would be released, and he would simply float there, for however long they needed to keep him there.
It sounded a lot worse than it would actually be for the American; before he had entered the room, he had been forcibly put into a medical coma. Considering the fact that he was a country, the scientists assumed he would be fine.
'Assumed' was the key word. However the Boss knew that America was getting into his scientist's minds, and that he would have to emotionally detach them before they got too fond and rebelled against the experiments they were preforming. Alistair's attitude, Shay's tiredness, Von Arx's gentle touch…this was all evidence that his fears were closer to manifesting than ever.
"Start up the program." He ordered.
Kasper didn't want to do this—he really didn't. He respected America, more than anyone else knew, and it killed him to do such a thing. But…he had made a promise to his dead little sister, and he wouldn't break it, not even for someone he respected more than anyone else.
He had promised to her that he would live. Not just waste away in a jail or drinking on the couch, but really live. Do something he wanted to do—be free. And…he couldn't be free if he turned himself in for illegal experimentation.
No matter how much he hated it.
(He knew he was an awful, selfish person. But he had promised, dammit!)
All the occupants watched quietly as America was gently lifted from the medical table—Koliabskaia pulled it carefully away from the stasis pod. There was complete, dead silence as the machine chugged and hissed with its burden, pulling the unconscious body towards its twisted, metallic innards.
Nobody blinked when the machine let off a soft click, signaling that America was fully secure inside the machine. The glass shield began to raise, its surface spotless—it had never been used before. They had never needed to use it—they had never gotten to the point where the scientists were so attached to the subject there was no other way to experiment on it.
The tube closed off; it almost looked like a horror movie, the lifeless, emaciated blonde wrapped in wires inside the clear cylinder.
Liquid began to fill the container. It was so odd that America didn't react, even when the strange stuff began to lap hungrily at his toes. Soon, his entire body was covered—Shay pressed down on the button, which released him from the straps. They retracted, but still America floated, like some lifeless dead creature; he no longer seemed truly alive.
There was dead silence, just as there had been the entire time. They were statue still. The group could have remained in that position for a day, a year, and no one would have noticed. They simply stood, reminiscing.
Alistair broke the spell.
"Creepy." He muttered, before whipping around and leaving the room—almost as though he was trying to distance himself from the nation, almost like he was pretending not to care. Shay sent a pleading look at her Boss, before following close in his footsteps, her silver hair fluttering down her back in a waterfall.
Koliabskaia left next; he did not say anything, simply nodded a respectful goodbye to the catatonic nation before turning with a graceful air and fairly gliding from the room. He didn't even ask permission—he simply left.
The Swiss was the final one to leave—he patted the glass fondly, sent the Boss a harsh, angry glare, and strode out of the room, nose in the air. He looked almost like a pretentious girl.
Boss K sighed, and slowly approached the stasis pod, and stopped in front of it. He stood there for nearly an hour, simply staring and thinking, his face expressionless yet thoughtful. Finally, his words shattered the silence that had been building for quite a while now.
"You understood why I had to, didn't you." It wasn't a question.
America didn't respond. Same defeated silence.
"I remember what you said to me…the last time we spoke." He took a deep breath. "'Do what you have to'. At that moment I knew that you knew better than anyone." Boss K slowly pulled a chair towards him, and sank into it, barely noticing the pain of having stood such a long time. "But still…I don't care if you understood. I'm sorry."
He closed his eyes and pressed his face into his hands.
"I'm so sorry."
Heyo! Me again. So you all finally learn what happened to the other scientists, aren't you all so happy? Haha just kidding. America's plight has been revealed! Will they find him? Who knows HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Next time we actually find out what happened to the rest of the world. Get excited for that ;)
Anyway, I was extremely humbled by the response to the last chapter. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!
The Rambler13: Yeah, the civil war thing is kind of bizarre, isn't it? It was actually a head canon I made up in an earlier fic I made...Drunken Abandon, I think. It's not very good, though, don't read it, it's really strange even for me. And, well...you'll see if Russia and England manage to save America.
GenderBender25: Welp, that's what happened to Al. Sorry, I'm really mean to him, hehe. He's not gone, though, thankfully. He's fine, for the most part. Except, you know, he's been in a medical coma for the last twelve years or so?
Dragonfire78: Awww, I'm glad you like them! I like them too. They're too cute 3. Except when...that one part...yeah. You'll see. Anyway, Russia and England...well, they'll have bigger problems by the time the story comes to a close.
28505 (Ugh I'm sorry if I got your name wrong I'm so mad they don't let you copy and paste anymore :/): Aw, thank you! The next few chapters are going to be pretty...well, I hope I manage to shock and impress you again. Russame...well, there's a little more here, but it won't really be prevalent until the next book. Sorry.
LinkyOkumura37: Yay! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Yes, Russia's finally learned what happened to America...sort of. We get the real picture. (AH, my people, my people! AnE so so fantastic I was so mad when they discontinued the anime ah well at least there's the mange :P)
Hinata28h: Thank you very much. It's reviews like this that keep me writing!
dani221: It's always really bugged me when characters are OOC (unless it's completely intentional), or when someone's writing is choppy or disgustingly lacking in grammar. Sometimes I'll really enjoy a story but either the way the characters act or the writing style just makes me want to pull my hair out, so I do my best to make sure it doesn't happen in the stuff I write. I'm happy to see that it's paying off. Thanks so much!
Guest: (who reviewed on June 30-I'm sorry I have to ask this, but if you review again please review as Guest1? I've just got another Guest over here, and the last thing I want to do is confuse the two of you. That would be fantastic, thanks!) AAOIEHGAEFAAJE PLEASE DON'T HURT YOURSELF BELOVED REVIEWER I WOULD BE VERY SAD ;A;. Good theory, and honestly it's pretty close to the truth; I'm impressed. In regards to the whole Legend trilogy thing...I've...never actually read it, and it actually distresses me a little that they seem similar because I hoped to make this original? Haha, but thanks for the review!
1captain obvious: D'awww, thanks! It makes me happy when people say stuff like this. I work hard to make the story as good as possible, so it's nice to know my efforts are paying off.
Guest: (who reviewed on July 2-I'm sorry, but can you identify yourself as Guest2? It's just I've already had one Guest, and I don't want to mix you two up...if you could that would be fantastic, thanks!) Aw, thanks! I think everyone feels a little bad for America, at this point. Don't worry, things will definitely be looking up for him!...maybe. A little. Not really. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
EmmyKittyAnimeFan: I sort of skim reviews when I start reading them at first, so when I looked over the first line of yours I ducked my head a little and went 'oh, shit' because all I read was 'disgusting' and I've been expecting a flame since the beginning of the story haha. But I do my best to jerk people's emotions around-my friends all hate me because I always write angst fics for them. One of my friends-I love her to death but her reactions are hilarious-always cries and swears at me. You all should make a club. It would be pretty hilarious. About America, he's definitely not fading from existence. He still has a part in the story yet, don't you worry! Unfortunately though, the Rusame doesn't really take off until the second book, which I've already been outlining. I'll drop you a hint about the president, though: an angry mama bear goes after him for fucking with her kids. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
stardustdestiny3: There you go, America!...he's not exactly having a very good time, is he. Oops. I'll try to be nicer! Not really. Thanks for the review!
IceEckos12
P.S. You know, I keep getting all these reviews asking about America...just a warning, you all are going to fucking hate me for what I do during the last chapter of this book. Hah. HAHA. HAHAHAHAHAHA *coughs* anyway till next time!