The bedroom was crowded with nations trying to see Alfred-or Andrew as the man said- who was still in the closet with Arthur. Arthur couldn't believe this-Alfred had to be joking- ther ewas no other explanation. "Who the hell are you and where's America?" he screamed. "Andrew." the man cocked his head and took a few steps forward, "Alfred is taking-" the man paused for a moment, "-a break right now, he sent me to take over for a while while he sleeps it off."
Canada face contorted in a rage and he flung himself at the man and grabbed his collar roughly before anyone could stop him. "The fuck is Al you bastard! What did you do to him!" Andrew head was tipped back and he looked down at Canada passed his nose. His eyes looked different too. They were sharper and colder. "Get your hands off me boy. Yelling at me is going to do nothing. Now release me or I will not hesitate." Canada froze when he realized that there was suddenly a gun pointed at his temple. Prussia gasped and Germany had to hold him back from ripping the man's head off. Canada let go of the man's collar and the gun disappeared back into the confines of the man's jacket.
"Now that that's over with let us get down to business- I am not Alfred Freedom Jones, I am Andrew Fighter Jones" Arthur made a face, "Fighter?" "That's right-I'm the one who takes over the tasks of war and serious business like nuclear attacks or tactical war plans. I am the one who stains his hands with the blood the fallen-Alfred doesn't like the job so I do it for him-" Andrew's eyes lit up, "-and I love it. Being able to have the world's power at your fingertips is an amazing feeling. I can end you all with a push of a button while I lounge in a chair, or I can go out into the battlefield and shoot until I run out of bullets. I love my job." the man ended his little speech with an unnerving smile.
"W-What are you talking about? What do you mean you do the job for him?What exactly are you?" France stuttered, his arms still protectively cradling the pale englishman. "Me?" The man pointed to himself. He frowned and fished for something in his back pocket. It was white and thin and it was the label.
He handed it to Canada who snatched it angrily. His eyes scanned over it once. His face lost color and he sunk to his knees, his gaze still frozen on the sticker. "Ma-Mattie what's wrong?"
"...They're" Matthew trembled as he struggled to find his voice, "They're pills for Multiple Personality Disorder..."