Dun, dun... DUN!

Warning: Violence, threats, weapons, gore, fight scene, mental torture, abuse.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

"Live free or die: Death is not the worst of evils."

—General John Stark

Blame

Just their breathing. Black-gloved fingers clenched, leather bunching, almost tearing. I can't stand it. The bastards don't deserve to breathe.

He hated standing there, in a nice, neat little row for the Overlord's liking. He hated being garbed in the stifling black turtleneck with that gray spiral insignia. He had done away with Texas, already damaged and irreparable as they were, to become just another perfect soldier in another perfect rank. To conform.

His eyes darted back up to the looming building on one side of the honeycombed street, searching the broken windows. Was Yao in there, the epitome of perfection, wanting to strangle those next to him just as much? Surely not. Yao was always level-headed, acted on duty instead of desire. He would kill quickly and efficiently. The men around Alfred would receive no such mercy. They would die bleeding from more holes than they could count, and Alfred would stand over them and watch as their life poured from them in slow, pulsing waves, letting them know that they weren't nearly so perfect. He could practically hear Red's scoff.

"So you can tell Matt not to go batshit crazy but you can't tell yourself?" She was leaning on the wall outside of the room Alfred had just come out of, green eyes piercing him with accusation. "Sad to say I'm not that surprised."

"You heard?" Alfred shut the door behind him and prayed that Matthew wouldn't follow him out. He didn't need anyone else hearing his daughter berate him, as she so often did. "I'm not surprised either." He turned on his heel and made his way down the hall, not knowing for certain where he was going or what he was trying to accomplish. He just didn't want to talk about his shortcomings at that moment—it was hard enough preparing himself to meet death, he needn't confront his own demons on top of it. "Don't bother bringing it up. You already know convincing me is no small matter."

He could hear Red following him, boots clicking along the floor so very similarly to his own. A snort of derision echoed off the cold walls. "How can you even speak with all that hypocrisy strangling your words? Amazing, really. But you always find a way."

Alfred sighed and stopped, turning to meet a daring, freckled face. "And you always wondered why you were punished so often as a child."

Red shrugged. "No, I knew. I was a little bitch—still am."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "However much hypocrisy I possess you have just as much insolence. It's never left you no matter how many lessons have been drilled into your head and it's gotten you into trouble."

"I could say the same for you."

Alfred scoffed. "Many have. But when you've experienced as much as I have you'll quickly learn to ignore the jibes. I've already made it clear that I'm not changing for anyone." He removed Texas from his face and studied the bent frame, the scratched lenses, the disaster that it was, perhaps a reflection of its namesake. "It's not as if I'm the only hypocrite. Everyone's just already made their mistakes and now feel like they have the right to advise me. But no one can help you but you." He lifted his eyes to Red's and folded Texas up, sliding them into his vest. "Everyone's problems are different, and in the end we have to confront them on our own in the best way we know how. Save your advice for your younger siblings, Virginia. I have no need for it."

"And so that gives you the right to tell Matt to keep his temper in check?" Red practically laughed in disbelief. "Why don't you drop the act and admit you're just as bad as me?"

"Mattie is my brother—"

"And his own person," Red reminded. "He's just as old as you and can think for himself. The Red Wookiee told me what you did to that man when Marge was killed." Alfred's head snapped up, eyes wide, caught. But Red was predictably calm. "It felt good in the moment, didn't it, pounding that guy to mush? But then you were disgusted afterward, weren't you? Don't you think Mattie needs to learn in the same way? It would match your theory."

"I… I don't want Mattie to get hurt…"

"Hurt reminds us of why we sacrifice," Red told him, pushing a lock of red hair behind her ear. "I thought you already knew that, what with all your experience."

Alfred was uneasy about everything now—it was amazing how he could weave a protective mat to stand on and Red could so easily come around and snatch it right out from beneath his feet. She made him question everything, but then again it wasn't from him that she inherited that sense of authority. He could almost imagine her hair was blond instead of copper; the eyes, however, would still be the same. "I'm going to the Core today," he stated firmly, and Red's thick eyebrows rose into her fringe almost skeptically. "I'm gonna kill the bastard sonofabitch who thinks he has a right to take everything away without a price. He and I both may think we're entitled, but at least I have the human desire to protect what I care about. He's taken everything—my friends, my children, my trust in humanity, the ability to do my duty as a country, my ability to be a country, he even went so far as to try and change my name." Alfred let his words sink in, and although Red's expression changed little he could tell from her eyes that he had made an impression. "Can't I at least have the freedom to do anything I can to ensure that everyone I love is safe?"

Red hadn't had an answer for that; she had simply nodded and walked away back down the hall, hands clasped behind her back. Alfred could say she appeared almost contemplative, but then again that wasn't Red. She didn't dwell much on the possible outcomes, the scenarios, even the planning, choosing to observe the now almost exclusively; Penny was usually the one who made her stop and acknowledge that harboring such a strict mindset was dangerous and irrational. Now that Red was missing her sensible half, Alfred wasn't so sure if he wanted her anywhere near the frontlines. But then again, she had proven a great asset to their mission, infiltrating the Organization and gathering allies with unexpected efficiency. Who was he to deny her the right to whatever retribution was set aside especially for her to claim? Similar thoughts arose about Matthew and Arthur and Ivan. They all had their own unique hatred for the Organization. Should he just step aside as well when it applied to them?

Please, don't let anything bad happen to them, Alfred begged to any entity he could think of. I don't know what I would do if they were gone. I'd gladly hurt for them a thousand times over, just please remind them that they have someone who will miss them if they put themselves in too much danger.

Alfred didn't address the fact that he was basically begging for everyone to be sensible while also excluding himself. The Organization had taken hold in his country, his capital. He owed everyone, and he would set it right by taking down what he had, by all intents and purposes, allowed to infect everyone and everything. He had made many mistakes, had neglected to fix some, and now all of those screw-ups were being thrown right back in his face. He deserved it and he was glad to confront them, to finally throw the weight off his back.

Mattie was tortured because they thought he was me, Alfred reminded himself, teeth grinding together. The ache that bloomed in his jaw was almost sweet. Artie almost died, Ivan was shot, Francis was raped, Sadiq and Gilbert were killed, Lovino killed himself, Mattie thought he was so alone that it wasn't worth living, countless others have suffered.

"Your mission is to kill the guards in HQ and makes sure none of the Organization get past you. You will wait for Yao and Team Bravo to join you and once Todd has all the defenses down, you will all venture down into the Core together." He could see Red's piercing green gaze on him as if she were standing before him, leaning over her 'Checkmate' plans and eyeing him critically. "No excuses, no deviations."

I'm sorry, Red. But you knew what I was going to do when you put me here. I wasn't about to let anyone else die for my mistakes. Alfred peered up at the gray clouds swallowing up the pink morning sky and saw a snowflake drift down to him. I even explained it to you, told you after you overheard me with Mattie. And still you put me here. Then he came to a realization, the snowflake barely felt against his forehead. He recalled those green eyes, how they had regarded him not with suspicion but something else he had not altogether perceived. And now he did.

Her mouth had been warning him to follow orders but her eyes had been saying You made a promise, now keep it.

You wanted me to do it. You understood. He held down a smile. Still so predictable. Still my Virginia.

As soon as he heard so much as a wisp of a voice through his earpiece, Alfred had his knife in his hand and a handful of an opposition guard's hair, snatching the man's head back to expose the soft arc of his throat. Before the man could gather the breath the gasp, the blade had bitten into him, blood pulsing out. Alfred's hands and arms felt warm and sticky as he dropped the dying man, meeting another who was rushing at him with an upward stab beneath the ribs. Not a sound passed the man's lips as he fell forward, and Alfred stepped over him, satisfaction pooling in his core just as the soldier's blood pooled beneath his dying body.

That was for Arthur.

He heard someone trying to sneak up behind him, boots whispering over blood and disturbing a dropped knife. Alfred turned and drove the point of his own through the soldier's head, his blade submerging only halfway, blood trickling down and streaking the man's face red. Even as Alfred forced the knife deeper, determined to slice into that empty brain, to evoke some sort of reaction, anything to know that this man felt just as much pain as all who had encountered the Organization had, the face remained blank and the eyes unfocused. Growling in frustration, Alfred twisted before tugging his weapon free, watching the man fall to the ground, head carved open and leaking like a melon.

That was for Mattie.

He moved to search for another soldier to down but was stopped in his tracks. He stared, shock rippling through him at the sight of the man's mushy brain; it was dribbling out, completely black, just like his uniform. Oh God, he thought, bile burning its way up his throat. His hand shot to his mouth and he had to look away. What he'd killed wasn't human, how could it be? It was just a shell, harboring the sinister extension of the Overlord's mind. He had stolen their identities just as Alfred's own had been stolen, liquefying their personalities with his preaching until they were so mundane they couldn't help but be controlled. The revelation came to him seemingly out of nowhere, and he stood there among all of the death and combat, feeling so very apart from it all, as if he shouldn't be there, as if he should—

"Find me."

Alfred's eyes went wide and his heart jumped into his throat. He was suddenly filled with a burning hatred, eating away at his sense. You.

"Find me." The voice sounded amused, and Alfred could almost see the Overlord's sick smile, because who else could it be? "I am waiting."

Bastard, Alfred accused, pressing on into HQ, ignoring the protests of his own guards. Not an enemy soldier so much as glanced at him, as if ordered not to, even when he was inches away, and Alfred was angry that the Overlord had such control over everything, how they were just pawns in his newly constructed world. Alfred defied him outright, discarding his knife and gunning down whatever empty being he saw without so much as a glance. He entered the lobby, a clear path made for him, the sea of black-clad Organization guards parting around him as if he were the plague. Behind him, he could hear the plights of his personal guard, hear them struggle and scream and die, but he couldn't stop, not when he was so close, not when the Overlord was personally guiding him to his lair. Alfred would let the Overlord think he was in control for just a little while longer if it meant wiping him from the face of the earth.

"Find me," the voice mocked. "Come and find me."

Oh, I'll find you, you fucker. And when I do you'll wish you never tried me.

Alfred swore he could hear laughter and grew more and more furious, his footfalls more forceful, his mind more fixated on the prospect of seeing the Overlord lying dead before him, a wound for every person he had ever hurt riddling his body. I'll rip your face off, Alfred vowed, pulling open a door and snapping its hinges from the wall. No one will recognize you, just like you make everyone you touch unrecognizable.

The voice only chuckled. "Find me."

Alfred took the stairs he was met with two-by-two, down, down, until he came across a chain link security gate. He stopped and searched for a way in, coming up with nothing, everything locked and bolted. In utter disbelief, Alfred took to pacing and, in a fit of frustration, began shaking the chain fence like a trapped animal.

"Open up, you sick sonofabitch! If you're so eager to get your fucking face smashed in, open the goddamn door!"

There was a sudden bzzzt and a red light clicked on, the tumblers in the locks rolling. Alfred wasted no time pushing his way in, the chain links hissing as they bounced off the steel-enforced concrete wall. Only then did he realize where he was.

The safe room. Beneath the Archives. If ever there was a threat anywhere near the building, the historic documents within would drop several feet down into the floor and be locked up for protection. Just the thought of such a vile thing being anywhere near what was his almost sent him into a rage. Surely those documents were nothing but ash by now, another piece of his identity lost.

I'm here, you bastard. You gonna come out of hiding or continue being a coward?

A door suddenly slid open on the far side of the room behind a stack of storage boxes and crates. Alfred rushed over, crouching down. It was a small opening, maybe four feet by three. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his conscience screamed that venturing into such an enclosed space would be a bad idea, but he had to, he had to. So he wedged himself into the tunnel and crawled—another of the Overlord's sick attempts meant to break down his confidence. But Alfred was more than confident. He was sure.

"You made a promise," he heard over and over again amid a vacuum-like silence. "Now keep it."

Everything was dark, and then he turned a corner, saw a small disc of artificial red light at the end of the passage, reflecting on how much he hated tunnels. His pace picked up, determined to get out and see for himself what apathy incarnate looked like, how it would feel to have the Overlord's bones crunch beneath the force of his knuckles. He wouldn't finish him off with just a bullet to the head. No, he would see the Overlord's fingers cut off one-by-one, his body semi-flayed, his face burned beyond recognition, his heart pumping all the blood in him onto the floor before feeding his remains to the fat bastards on the Council.

"Remember who you are."

Arthur stood in his home, and Alfred hated the way those green eyes regarded him with such empathy, such regret. "I know what you're going through."

"No you, don't!" Alfred smashed his fist through his table, sending splinters into his skin and all over the floor. He was frustrated to find that he was close to tears and he turned his back, embarrassed and ashamed. He felt like a child when he should feel like a man. "You didn't understand before, how can you now?"

Arthur sighed behind him. "America, you are being torn apart by your own people. Do you honestly think you are the first nation to experience something like this?"

Alfred licked his lips and scrubbed at his eyes, furious at himself, that he could let himself be so weak. "Go away. You're just here to mock me, right? 'Oh, look at stupid little America, thought he could do it all on his own, now he'll go down in flames, shows him.'"

Arthur held down a laugh. "After all these years and your impressions of me are still horrid."

Alfred gave him a solemn look. "Now you're laughing at me. But that's what you came here to do, isn't it?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "America, I didn't come here to mock you, I came here to give you some advice."

"Yeah, well you can take your advice and shove it."

"Just… listen to me, America." Arthur didn't move from his place, didn't walk over and put a hand on his shoulder or anything. The desire for no contact, at least, was a mutual understanding. "You're in the middle of an identity crisis. It will end. It always does. But what determines if you will be whole in the end or split down the middle is the strength to retain who you are. If you lose yourself amid the violence, well," Arthur took his hat and shuffled past him, eyes forward, sparing Alfred from more humiliation as the younger willed his tears to stop, "you may turn out to be just as bad as the cause itself."

Alfred wished he had asked Arthur to stay instead of watching him leave and having to deal with his troubles on his own. He wished Arthur was here right now, his hand on his shoulder, his snooty, cynical laugh in his ear, but then again he also wanted Arthur as far away from here as possible. Back then, Alfred had chosen to listen for once and because of that he was whole. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling in a huff.

Remember, he told himself. Remember, remember. You learned your lesson once. Alfred recalled with shame how he had beat Higgins to death, had become violently ill afterward at how far gone he had been. Don't turn into the monster that he is. That's what he wants. If I do, then he wins.

Everything was deathly quiet until Alfred was within feet of the exit, his ears met with the electronic beeps of various devices and hisses of white noise from a radio feed. Without the slightest hesitation he pushed himself out and stood, legs locked and fists clenching. Before him stretched a wall of screens, some feeding back the action that was happening throughout the tunnels and central D.C., others depicting symbols and changing calculations that Alfred had never before seen. A control board enveloped a large, high-backed chair in a blinking half-circle, a hand casually stroking a particularly large switch, its owner hidden behind the refuge of the chair.

"I found you," Alfred said with contained wrath. "I found you. Now show your fucking face."

The familiar chuckle returned, manifesting outside of Alfred's head in a sinister, intimidating echo. It was so light and curt, as if Alfred's arrival was nothing substantial. "Don't be a monster, Alfred. Just like the one you let slip in under your nose." The chair creaked as it turned, the hand retracting to rest in the Overlord's small lap. The red light illuminated the face, and just like that, Alfred's resolve turned to dust. At first all he could do was stare, too shocked to feel anything. A name rattled around in his head, but his mind refused to let him acknowledge it, that this was someone he had known for a very long time, someone he had trusted, as oblivious as he had been. Then everything in him stopped spinning, settling into a definite sense reality. The name escaped him, as if it had been fighting to get out, quiet and breathy.

"Tony."

No. You went missing. You're supposed to be dead, not…

The gray Martian regarded him with smiling red eyes, almost lost under the equally red glare of the lights. "Alfred. It is nice to see you again."

Another word escaped that Alfred didn't altogether want to leave his lips. "Why?"

Tony shrugged. "Why not? I am the leader of a mindless race that obeys me without question with the promise of fortune and fame upon completing my mission. I had every reason to do what I have done."

Alfred's heart began to pound, suspicion welling in his gut. "You had a mission?"

Tony laughed, though his smile never showed. It was unnerving how much he had gotten away with, being so expressionless. Had he been internally scowling all those times before without Alfred's notice? "Of course I had a mission! Why else do you think I would land on this shithole of a planet?

"When I arrived here in 1947, I was only one of many sent as scouts to planets identified by my government as 'vulnerable and potentially profitable.' I was only a sleeper cell back then, just waiting for confirmation from my higher-ups and of course for the perfect opportunity to take control, which I thank you for giving me. Because of your negligence I was able to dominate this mundane world in preparation for colonization."

"Colonization?" Alfred breathed, suddenly feeling very small.

"And enslavement," Tony reasoned, lacing his fingers. "Human minds are so very easy to manipulate, it is almost laughable. Just one tiny prick and I can unravel even the strongest of men. Throw in an urge to breed and you have the perfect formula to create an army of trained soldiers, devoted so loyally to my cause. I will do everything to ensure that when my superiors arrive they will be thoroughly impressed with my progress, so much so that my merits and rewards will be higher than any of my peers'." Tony leaned forward, oblong eyes flashing. "And what better centerpiece could I have than you? Your power as a nation intrigues us and I'm sure any scientist would pay a high price to study you, even those from other more violent alien races. But you will be kept by my people, of that I am certain. As for your friends, well, the possibilities are endless. Spread throughout the universe to be poked and prodded at, injected and opened up, bred and sold—and your voice will be nothing, because you have allowed it to become so small. The same could be said for your citizens." Tony sat back in his chair and regarded him arrogantly. "By myself I have already broken your meager world. Just imagine the changes my government will bring. Ah, truly a masterpiece I look forward to seeing painted. All thanks to you and your fellow nations' negligence. A world built by civilization and a world destroyed by civilization. How fitting. You should be proud."

Everything in Alfred snapped then, and he couldn't keep himself from running at Tony, hands outstretched and determined to wring his skinny gray neck. "I trusted you, fucking sonofabitch!"

Tony merely sighed and blinked once, languidly, and the next thing Alfred knew he was knocked onto his back, his head snapping painfully off the floor. He held his head and made to get back up. "Ah! Fucking—"

Tony shook his head. "That would not be advisable, Alfred."

Alfred ignored him and the arm pushing himself to his feet was twisted to the point that he could feel his bones straining to hold themselves together. He gave an agonized wail. "A-ah, fuckingfucker!"

Tony chuckled a bit and released him, allowing Alfred to drop back to the floor, cradling his arm and gasping for breath. "I told you once, Alfred, when will you ever learn? But, oh, I forgot, it does take some time to get anything through your thick skull, perhaps about… six decades?"

Alfred glared with enough force to melt iron. "Go to hell."

Tony scoffed. "Another obscure human belief. Amazing, really, that everyone else in the universe knows that there are no such things as souls, which speaks of how primitive you are. When one dies, it is truly the end. But you won't believe that, will you? Because you are so afraid of the inevitable? You are looking your future in the eyes." The hand extended once more, fingers caressing the switch as it had before. Alfred's eyes followed it and remained fixed, gut roiling ominously. "One flip of this, and I will summon my people. Everything you know about yourself and your world—or rather, what's left of it—will be gone. And you'll have no one but yourself to blame, even as you see your brother's organs harvested for study—"

Alfred shouted defiantly and flung himself at Tony, but he didn't get far. Within moments he was thrown against a wall, limbs stretched and pinned, immobile. Tony's chair creaked as he turned to regard him, fingers still looming over that switch.

"Look at you," Tony mocked, mentally pulling Alfred's head from the wall and dashing his skull back against it. Alfred gritted his teeth, stars erupting behind his eyes. His earpiece flew off and smashed on the floor, his only lifeline. "You're so weak now that I've taken everything from you." He continued his abuse, pounding Alfred's head consistently against the concrete of the wall until he began to bleed and cry out. "The great America is no more, helpless at my feet. How does it feel to know that you caused all of their deaths, every single one? And all because you couldn't look past your own image,"—smash—"of,"—smash—"perfection!"—smash. Tony composed himself and let Alfred go, watching his body slither to the floor, facedown and gasping in his torment. Alfred wasn't allowed any time to rest; Tony had him sitting back up again, pinned against the wall, head bleeding and vision blackening. "Pathetic," Tony spat. "I'll make you realize that. I'll—" The alien paused, eyes flickering across the room. Alfred was too dazed to notice, just trying to keep himself conscious.

A look of wicked glee crossed Tony's features; something Alfred wished he had noticed in all the times he had spent with him. "Ah. I think we have company."

Alfred swallowed, following the alien's gaze until he was met with a red-tinted form manifesting out of the shadows. Everything in him tightened and his heart felt like it would explode.

Tony chuckled. "We meet again, limey bastard."

Alfred could cry. "No."

No translations

A Word From the Writer: So, I wanted to post this last night, but FF was not letting me upload. Well, here ya go, an early post. Again, expect them to come out slowly. My relatives are visiting and I have to mingle. Bleh.

*sheepish smile* Well, it had to be Tony. I said I didn't want to follow along the lines of Hetaoni, but I love my sci-fi, so... Tony it was. That and I didn't want to implicate any one nation. That seems unfair. And if I created something obscure, well... there was no going back once Italy started hearing the voices. If you can make out by now what "The stars will fall" and "bloody head" mean, good on you, if not... I'll clarify later. As for the password Red typed in: 07, 08, 47, Ros, NM basically translates to July 8, 1947, Roswell, New Mexico, which is the date and location of Tony's landing on Earth. Basically, Tony is kinda throwing it in Red's face that she sent America into his grasp and there's really nothing she can do about it now.

It is confirmed: the source of it all is a potential alien takeover! Although most of the destruction can be attributed to how shitty society was beforehand. You wondered where England ended up? No place good. All I can say is expect more torture. Tony's sadism will certainly be depicted. Btw, that little memory with England and America was about America's civil war. Just thought I should verify in case there's any confusion.

Next chapter will begin the second half of the POVs... which means you get to know the fate of Russia and... France! You think I would return to England and the whole situation in the Core so fast? Pshh, that doesn't build any suspense! All of the countries will have their chapters and then I'll combine America's, England's, and... someone else's all into one for the finale. Shit starts NOW.