Phew, hiatus over. Let's get this shit done, and let's get it done right with some kick-ass Germany!

Warning: Violence, weapons, fight scene, gore, psychological torture, references to the Third Reich, bashing, sad stuff, sensitive material, possible character deaths, OC, and a hint of GerIta.

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

"Each one of us must carry within the proof of immortality, it cannot be given from outside of us. To be sure, everything in nature is change but behind the change there is something eternal."

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Rise

"I thought I would never find you."

The words rang off the gritty walls, stretching down the tunnel until it was swallowed by the dark and dank that was the Organization's refuge. But it seemed like ages until Ludwig truly understood them. Even then he could not fully comprehend the sight before him.

"Shawn," Ludwig addressed, weakened lungs protesting at his efforts to hammer his tone emotionally flat, "Why are you here? Your job was to—"

"I damn well know what my fucking job is," Shawn cut in venomously. Everything about him was unnaturally steady and constant. He didn't so much as blink. Except for his mouth. That smirk twitched impossibly wider. "I'm here to blast your head open and show everyone just how much of a fucking gullible idiot you are."

Ludwig had heard worse, but the weight that clung to such words had never been so heavy. He braced himself further against the curving wall, praying his bruised legs didn't give out. This time, he trusted his voice to work the way he wanted it to. "But Shawn, why are you doing this? I thought you were with us." Innocently frightened. Good enough.

"The Overlord usurped the government," Shawn said. "You of all people should have taken that as a sign that he has eyes everywhere. You have your moles, but the Organization has better ones. They can dig deeper."

Ludwig was transported back to those woods in Montana, staring at the back of Alfred's head as the man pressed his weapon to Higgins' forehead, the look in the captive's eyes as he said, "I-I can't, man! Please, you don't understand! He works for a higher power. He has connections. They'll kill me if they find me and find out I told you! They have eyes everywhere!"

How little they had believed such a thing until that river, that house in Chicago, that wind-parched tree with the braided twine.

"How could you?"

"How couldn't I? It was too easy." Shawn took a step forward, the sound of his heel striking the cement floor echoing off the walls until it seemed a roar to Ludwig's ears. "But I knew I could fly under the radar. You countries have lost everything but your arrogance. You think you always have everything under control, even though you led the world to shit. Well, this is one wakeup call that will be your last. After this, there will be no waking up for you. You don't deserve it and you're just holding us back."

"Back from what?" Ludwig asked, sincerely curious. His hand had been slowly sliding up his thigh. When his fingers met textured plastic, he began counting seconds.

Shawn scoffed. "You really are blind, aren't you? All this shit that's going down around you, everything the Overlord has built… it's how the world is now. There's no room for you and your shitty ideals. This is a new era and you're keeping people from what they really want."

Fingers curled around the grip. "And what is that?"

Another step forward. "Harmony. Efficiency. Peace. Everything pieces of shit like you have kept us from."

"I'm sorry, then," Ludwig said, just barely keeping his voice in check. His hand was trembling with rage, and disbelief, and how dare he, how dare he? "But I don't consider peace something that's given through the barrel of a gun."

Shawn's leer changed then. Just a little twitch, and Ludwig was staring at the most sinister expression he had ever beheld. "Oh yeah?" the man scoffed. "Have you lost all memory of your own history along with your wits?"

The last thread of Ludwig's patience snapped and everything in him ignited. He was through with tact and subtleties. And he was through with being ambushed. His fingers wrapped around the butt of his weapon and snatched it from its holster with speed only rage could prompt. He found his feet and forgot all the pain he had suffered and everything went numb, every nerve humming and ready for a single purpose. It wasn't hard to take aim at Shawn, despite memories of his deceivingly soft face gnawing at Ludwig's gut. The memories spurned him on, made him all the more determined to destroy what creature had taken root in Shawn's body and was tarnishing all the good that was in him. Because everyone was good at one point. Whether already turned by the Overlord's ideals or not, when Ludwig had met Shawn he had glimpsed what could have been a great man. In Shawn he had seen himself, and in the man's madness he saw his future.

And that scared him more than he could describe.

But when he brought his gun up at the end of a stiff arm and white-knuckled fingers, Shawn merely grunted derisively, lowered his own weapon, turned on his heel, and ran.

Ludwig's mind was muffled by instinct, finger twitching on the trigger, sending bullet after bullet in Shawn's direction until he disappeared around a corner.

"Coward!" Ludwig yelled and took off after him, heart kicking into overdrive when he rounded the corner and was met with a maze of rubble and open sky streaked with threatening jet streams. He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning over the wreckage, furious at himself for allowing Shawn to slip into hiding. But though he could not see the man, he knew Shawn had not left him. The man knew Ludwig's determination would drive him to chase.

"Lost, are we?" Shawn's voice rang out, bouncing off the crags, distorting his voice until it was just as jagged as the rocks he was hiding amongst. It came at Ludwig in many different directions, attacking him from all sides and leaving him no choice other than to enter Shawn's sanctuary. One that hid everything behind sharp corners and amplified a simple scuff to a giant's footstep.

"Well, come on, Germany," came the mocking provocation. Ludwig took a few steps to his right before his ears detected movement elsewhere and his feet took him to his left. "You sought people out back then, didn't you? You didn't have a problem tracking them down and killing them without a care."

Ludwig's lungs burned to reply, but he forced himself to remain silent, to place every footstep like he was walking on thin ice. He reached a protrusion of shattered concrete and twisted piping, ducking beneath the haphazard arc they created and was confronted with a towering slab of fissured rock that used to form the slanting wall of a tunnel. He peered upward to the sliver of gray sky he saw and heard the dry shuffle of boot soles behind him.

"You think you're so right," Shawn went on as Ludwig held his breath, watched the shadows of feet moving languidly beneath gaps between rock and floor, the spaces widening until the debris yawned into the arc Ludwig had passed beneath only seconds before. "You, who mere decades ago indulged in the beliefs of a mass murdering tyrant. Tell me, how can you say you know best with a past that despicable? You may have been forgiven, you may have progressed, but still, inside, you know you are capable of such atrocities. A thing like that never disappears. All you nations have it, but you, oh, you're unique. And I must admit, I'm quite surprised."

The footsteps stopped just around the corner, and Ludwig crouched and braced his back against the wall, hand traveling down to grip his weapon only to slip and catch himself—and find a large opening just off the floor. The boots began to move again.

"Considering your past, you should be substantially susceptible to propaganda and pretty rhetoric. It's a wonder you haven't already sided with the Overlord, as weak-minded and malleable as you are. You think you can fix this world by being a leader, but how can you be when you're such an avid follower? A few innocents killed. Women, children, the disabled. Nothing you couldn't handle. No questions asked. Such a loyal dog. You'd be perfect for the Overlord. Perfect—once you discard that pesky, superficial morality."

Shawn's voice faded a bit even though his words rang in Ludwig's mind, those shadows retreating beneath the rock, away from the arc. Ludwig's hand slid toward his escape route, the jagged hole battered into the concrete. But he could not convince himself to move any further.

A follower, he thought and the more he thought it, the more he believed it. Could he be capable of something so vile—again? He thought he had learned his lesson, but what had he done to the man who had confronted him earlier? He had raged and taken out his eyes. All because he hadn't seen what he wanted to see. Because he had been caught up in a moment of violent indifference. How many more of those moments could he have? How indifferent could he yet become? Shawn's voice returned, a leer evident within the tone, nowhere and everywhere at once. In his head.

"You call the Overlord a monster. It's laughable that such an accusation can be made by a man who has yet to take responsibility for all that he's done. What kind of hero do you hope to be if you can't even call yourself a monster? If you can look at someone else and their ideals and not see the same flaws in them as you have in yourself?"

Ludwig remained crouching, legs starting to shake with the immense weight of Shawn's vicious words. Who was he? All those years… were they merely spent building lies of morality to smother desires that were lying dormant? He slid to the floor and ran a hand through his mussed hair.

"Ti amo, Luddy." Suddenly, Feliciano was there, smiling. And Ludwig was peering up, covered with soot and blood and tears he refused to let fall. The Italian was soiled as well, but his smile never faltered. It was the sun when there was no sun to be had. He extended a hand. "Come with me, Germany. You are hurt and you need help."

"Leave, Italy," Ludwig had said, turning away to survey all that was left of his broken world. "I will be shunned. No one will want to help me."

Feliciano had done something astonishing then. His face had taken on a look of determination that Ludwig had only seen once. "I will not let them hurt you, Germany. I promise." When Ludwig made no sign of getting up, Feliciano crouched down next to him. "You are not a bad person. You and Prussia and Japan and me… it's just been our time. Everyone becomes misguided. It's not a hard mistake to make. And now that it's over and the lesson has been learned, we can start again. Now that we have been at our lowest, we have more incentive to rise to our highest and stay there. You are not a bad person, Germany. You didn't know, but now you do. So, Germany," the hand was extended again, and that smile returned. "Will you rise with me?"

Yes, Ludwig thought, lowering himself to his belly and pulling himself to the gap. He had to be at his lowest to rise to his highest. To be indifferent he had to be incapable of compassion. What had been those tears for his brother? What had been that flutter in his chest when Feliciano said 'Ti amo' after their time in the cot together?

His arm disappeared through the opening, through to his second chance. Then his other arm. I didn't know then, but I know now. He ducked his head and pushed through, clawing and groping, taking back his confidence and banishing his doubt. And I will never let it happen again.

He held his breath and crammed himself through, muscles straining, fingers clenched around his gun. Shoulders free, he lifted his head but an inch and his heart jumped into his throat. The shadows had returned.

Shawn was peering down at him with the same over-wide leer. "Still think you can take back this world?" He raised a boot and brought it down on Ludwig's hand. The German grunted, dropping his weapon and watching helplessly as it was kicked away. "Trapped like a mouse," the man scoffed. "But I'm sorely disappointed. I was expecting more of a chase. Oh well, what do you expect from something so broken?" Ludwig's eyes locked with the barrel of Shawn's gun even as his hand searched the floor for salvation.

It came in the form of a curved steel rod. He hefted it with all his might, whipping it around and catching Shawn's ankle. The man gave a startled shout as he tumbled backward, just barely catching himself on a pile of debris behind him. Ludwig hadn't succeeded in wriggling all of his torso through the opening before Shawn had gotten to his feet again, hair wild, eyes piercing, and limbs shaking with rage. "Just wait. Just wait, you cocky fucker." The gun was aimed again and Ludwig could only stare. "You think this is hell. It's nothing compared to where your sinful ass is going. After I'm through with you, I'll take your brains to show off to that little Italian fag. Show him how rotten you really are inside."

Ludwig dare not close his eyes. If he was meeting death like this, he would do so without a flicker of fear crossing his face. Shawn couldn't break him. Not unless Ludwig allowed it.

The roar of a jet overhead made Ludwig waver in his hard stare, and one blink later something large and metallic was falling into their little maze. Before his mind could process what it was, his body was cramming itself back through the hole and back beneath the precarious arc of piled rock and curling rods. Not a second later, Ludwig's ears were ringing and muffled with the blast of a shell, rolling heat and pressure pressing against his meager shelter until it began to quake and crumble around him. He was pelted with falling rocks and nearly sliced through by a stray bar, but he stumbled out, muscles quivering with the explosion, in time to see the concrete hut collapse into a heap of dust and rubble.

Ludwig didn't take time to assess the damage; all he could think of was that jet roar and how many more were echoing it, zooming across the sky and slashing it with clouds of choking exhaust, how he had to get away, run, run, more was coming. So he picked himself up and set his legs to running, however exhausted or shaken they were, toward where he thought an intact tunnel might be. He ignored the pain that flared in his skin whenever he lost his footing and scraped himself against a crag to catch himself. He brushed off the burns he had received that seemed to be gnawing into his flesh. But when he saw a mop of brown hair and a body wedged beneath a slab of fractured wall, he couldn't help but redirect his footsteps there.

At first, Ludwig thought the man was dead. He was crushed from the waist down and he wasn't moving at all. But within a few feet of what, for all appearances, looked like a corpse, Shawn lifted his head and let out a low grown akin to dying dog. Not wanting to be caught off guard like he had before, Ludwig yanked a steel rod from the rubble and raised it above his head. His arms were weak but corded stiff with the thought of eliminating one more person that stood in the way of what he knew was right. And he knew, no matter what anyone said. He had learned his lesson. It was his time to rise, but Shawn would not rise again as long as he could help it.

That heavy head turned, the groan continued, until dark eyes met Ludwig's own. They were wet and hazy and not as cruel as before. That sinister leer had been replaced with a pained, desperate grimace. "L-Ludwig?"

Ludwig knew he shouldn't let his guard down so easily, but the scared look in Shawn's eyes, how he appeared so small and helpless beneath his deathtrap, made him lower the rod in his hands. Shawn's eyes instantly darted to it upon seeing it move, then locked his gaze with Ludwig and let out a quivering breath. "You… aren't gonna to kill me with that, are you?"

Ludwig's hands suddenly became very clammy, and the rod slipped. He barely heard the clatter of it on the floor, barely felt his feet move toward Shawn. He stood over the man for a long moment, assessing his condition, seeing the scared look in his eyes and no longer recognizing the killer who had confronted him earlier. What he saw was a child.

"I-I'm… I can't move," Shawn said, voice barely above a whisper. He blinked and the wetness in his eyes trailed down his cheeks. "Am I going to die?"

Ludwig crouched down next to Shawn before he could think about the possible repercussions, eyes moving to Shawn's pelvis, shattered and flattened by the concrete that had caught him. "Why?" was all he could ask, even though he knew Shawn did not know the answer.

Shawn's swimming eyes grew wide before he screwed them shut. "I can't remember anything. W-why… can't I remember? Urgh." He splayed his hands on the rock crushing him and pushed with all his might. "Move—ah, dammit!" His eyes flew open again, tears sliding down freely now. "Please, tell me what happened. D-did I follow you? I-I—" He paused and seemed to stop breathing for a moment, staring at the rock on top of him. "It was him, wasn't it? H-he wanted me to…" He looked to Ludwig again. "Whatever I did… please forgive me. The voices. It was… was the voices, they're real, they—I can't…" He gave one last push with everything he had, but it was obvious that the heavy concrete could not be moved. Shawn let out a sob and grabbed Ludwig's ankle. "I-I'll lay here and die. I'm gonna die. Please, don't let me. Don't let me…"

Ludwig made to stand. "I will find help—"

"No!" Shawn's fingers tightened on his ankle, pulled him back down. "No, please… p-please, I'm finished, I—just, j-just do it yourself." Ludwig blinked at him, unsure of what Shawn was requesting until the man's eyes trailed over to Ludwig's discarded rod. "Do it fast. Please. That's all I ask."

Ludwig was frozen. This man he had wanted nothing more than to kill mere minutes before he could never imagine killing now. "Nein. I… I will get you help. I will—"

"No one can help me." It came as a whisper, accompanied by a swimming, beseeching gaze. "I'm halfway gone. Please, finish the rest. Please. Quickly."

Ludwig stared at him for what felt like hours before the roar of another jet engine overhead drove him to his feet. He picked up the steel rod and brought it above his head once more. Shawn peered up at him and said, "I never meant to hurt anyone. If I did… forgive me. I-I… I'm not a b-bad person. I swear."

Ludwig's hands shook just a bit, but he forced them steady. His face was blank and his eyes empty, knowing what he had to do, knowing that he only had seconds before his conscience kicked in and he thought better of it. "I know."

It was quick, like Shawn had wanted. Just a single blow to his head and the man's eyes were neither cruel nor desperate. They were just… dead. Ludwig wanted so much to drop the rod afterward, but he had no gun and he had lost his knife. It was all he had.

He left the maze and Shawn's body behind. Voices, he thought, eyes locking on an intact tunnel, weaving through the crags toward it. Voices. Feliciano. If anything, he had to make it to him. The man had been there at his darkest hour. It was only right of him to return the favor.

An explosion down the tunnel had Ludwig pulling up short. He drew an arm over his face, dust rushing up to meet him. His eyes watered and he coughed, and the ground was shivering beneath his feet, but he continued forward, knowing this was the right way. The only way.

He heard footsteps again, running toward him, and forms flitted by on either side of him, not stopping. Ludwig braced, but he was not harmed and he did not stop. They could run, but he wouldn't.

He reached the end of the tunnel and climbed over a small mountain of rubble before dropping down into a shell-blasted crater. Something red and thick was billowing toward him, and he scrambled for his gas mask. He pulled it on and made a dash through the gas, noting how it burned his skin and made his muscles ache. He stumbled around in the red fog, nearly blind, bumping into stray rocks and cutting himself on piping, jolting away when met with the harsh lick of fire against him. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours, but he found a wall and then a gap, and then all he could think about were the voices.

He was barely halfway down the tunnel, eyes locked in front of him, just a few more feet, just around that corner, when his foot caught on something soft and heavy. He threw out his hands, the rod flying as he caught himself. Grunting, he dragged himself to his feet and retrieved his rod. He was fully prepared to continue running down the tunnel. Instead, he looked back.

"Mein Gott." Ludwig dropped the rod and rushed over, skidding through the grime on his knees until he came to rest over the body that had tripped him. "Mein Gott. Mein Gott. Nein, nein." But as he rolled it over and pushed back the matted, red-crusted hair, saw those studious, hooded eyes, he knew. Kiku.

He leaned down to press an ear to the man's chest, but Kiku's ribcage might as well have been hollow. He could hear nothing. And, despite himself, Ludwig whimpered. "Kiku. Japan." The man was so small, curled up and covered with red grit. There was no mask in sight. He had suffocated. He had suffered.

Ludwig shook his head and brushed a thumb along Kiku's cheek, suddenly absorbed with the urge to scrub every bit of the horrible residue off of him. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. You were supposed to be cut down by someone powerful. Not by this goddamn gas. Ludwig felt heat gathering in his face and his eyes burning, but he continued to dutifully scrub. And then he stopped.

Because Kiku was still warm. Very warm.

"Nein," Ludwig said and tore off his mask. He tossed it to the side and folded his hands together on Kiku's chest. "Nein, you're not finished. Not yet."

He began rhythmic presses, over and over again, trying to keep himself from shaking. Every few presses he paused and sealed his lips over Kiku's, reassured by the warmth he was met with, forcing air into the man's deflated lungs. When Kiku's chest did not rise, Ludwig returned to his presses with a fury. "Come on, come on. I know you can, you resilient bastard, come on." He leaned over again, breathed for him. And Kiku's chest rose weakly with the air he received. Encouraged and anxious, Ludwig returned to the presses, waiting for a flutter, for a twitch, for anything to tell him that Kiku wasn't gone. A few more presses, another breath, a rising chest. Still, a hollow ribcage.

"Please," Ludwig begged. He lifted his head to the cracked ceiling. "Please, save him. I'm doing everything I can, but it's not enough, dammit. Save him. Make him breathe, please. Don't let him die like this. Help him!" His world was compressions and breaths. Everything around him didn't matter. Please, don't punish me for what I did by taking him, Ludwig thought, mind going to that steel rod, stained with Shawn's blood. It was only right. He begged me. It was only right.

Rise with me, Kiku. Rise, goddammit!

Ludwig kept pressing, was determined to keep pressing until his arms gave out, and then something stirred. His breath caught and he held it, ceasing his ministrations, ear returning to Kiku's chest.

His heart was beating.

And his chest rose.

Ludwig pulled back, not realizing he was crying until his vision became so distorted that he struggled to pick Kiku up, heft the man over his shoulder. He got to his feet and ran, feeling so light it was like he flew. His mind was empty, but his body knew where to go, outoutout, and there he was, standing at a gate with Resistance medics surrounding him.

"Take him," he shouted over shell blasts and jet engine roars. "He needs oxygen. He breathed the gas. Take him!"

A stretcher was brought to him, Kiku laid gently down, still alarmingly limp but chest rising subtly. Ludwig watched them put a mask over his mouth, carry him away, and he turned and ran even as a medic shouted after him, "Sir, sir! Where are you going? You're hurt!"

Voices. Ludwig had blinders on, marching through ash and blackened snow, cutting through swarms of Resistance fighters and Organization soldiers, bullets flying, ground quaking, screams, blasts, blood. But all he saw was HQ, just down the road, almost there, Feliciano, almost there, I'm coming.

But Ludwig would never get to HQ. Because someone shot him in the leg, and he went toppling.

He couldn't feel the wound, he was so high on adrenaline, but he also couldn't get up. And he didn't know why. Frustration gripped him, and by the time his assailant reached him and snatched him up by the arm, he lashed out and only then realized that he had left his rod in the tunnel.

The soldier laughed. "C'mon, blondie. We're having a party. And you're one lucky fuck for being invited."

Ludwig was dragged off at gunpoint and could do nothing but stumble in his attempt to keep up. He was brought to the edge of the fight, through the Organization line where he was spit on and sworn at. Men were lined up, guns at the ready, joking and firing rounds at Resistance captives, laughing as their corpses tumbled into a deep pit. As Ludwig approached, he could see hands and feet and faces. Dead faces.

"Here ya go, Germany," the soldier holding him sneered, releasing him and shoving him toward the edge of the pit. The others paused in their snickering long enough to reload and take aim. "Well? You should know the drill better than anyone. Anything ya wanna say?"

Ludwig was silent and just stared, stoic. And the soldier became angry.

"All righty, then. No skin off my back. I got this one, boys." His finger twitched on the trigger of his rifle. "You'll talk later. I'll make sure of that."

This is my punishment, Ludwig thought as the bullet sliced through his other leg and he lost his footing. But I rose. I flew. He fell backward onto limp bodies and jutting limbs. The soldier appeared over the crest of the pit, but all Ludwig had eyes for was the sky. And the snow. Feli loves snow.

"There," the soldier spat. "Now you can scream your brains out when we bury you alive. Give us an apology, and we might put one in your head before we shovel dirt down your throat." More snickers and guffaws, but the soldier's sneering face wouldn't be the last thing Ludwig would see. The sky, marred by jet streams and thunderheads, was still beautiful.

"Hey! What're you—"

Gunshots brought his attention back to the top of the pit to see the sneering soldier falling in. His eyes searched the crest, heart pounding, unsure if he should be relieved or afraid. The dead soldier's comrades followed, corpses before they hit the pile. And then Red and Danny were peering down at him, ruffled, soot-smeared, bloody, but no less stunning.

"What are you doing lazing around?" Red laughed. She and Danny climbed down and pulled him out. Ludwig couldn't stand, so he dropped to his hands and knees, catching his breath as pain returned to him.

"Feli?" was all he could get out, but Red picked up on his question.

"I… I lost him," she replied, guilt heavy in her voice. "He wandered off and I've looked for him."

Ludwig winced as he held his bleeding leg. "E-everywhere?"

"No. Everywhere but H—"

The ground rumbled, the sky lit up, and the roar of a blast sliced through them all. Ludwig struggled to his feet and leaned on Danny.

"My God," the plump, bespectacled man breathed. "They're… they're gone."

Ludwig took an unsteady step forward. He stumbled and Red slung one of his arms over her shoulders. "Not if I can help it," the German grunted.

Red patted him on the back as Danny took Ludwig's weight on the other side. "That's what I like to hear."

Together, they made their way toward the smoking inferno that was HQ. Feliciano's smile was still as clear in Ludwig's mind as it was nearly seven decades ago.

Now it's time for you to take my hand, Feli. I won't let them hurt you, I promise. I will see you rise, because we cannot fall again. We learned. It's our time once more.

Together we will rise. I'll make it happen. You can't fall.

We haven't even started yet.

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Sooo, hey, been a while, over... three weeks? Yikes. Sorry bout that, folks. Had some crazy shit going on with family and screaming kids and socializing and niceties and... ew, thank God it's over. Well, not really. I still got a whining toddler and a screeching baby in my house, but they'll be gone within the week. And then... peace. Sweet, sweet silence. I've said it before and I'll say it again I never want children. The grabby, irrational little buggers. I'd rather jump off a cliff. Along with babysitting and whatnot I also graduated Magna Cum Laude, yay. Woulda got Summa if I had taken a math or science or another college course this year, but, meh, good enough. Valedictorian had a 4.77 GPA. I was like, bro why didn't you get outta this school while you could? XD

Anyway, back to the fanfiction. Yeah, we got Germany here, being all manly and then all tortured and then weepy and then resigned and then determined. Just a shitload of emotions going on. Annnd we got Japan back! It took three weeks of worrying and feels and thinking Japan was dead, but voila, he is alive! Well, if he gets enough oxygen that is. As for Shawn... damn, I took one of my favorite OCs, turned him evil, turned him back, and then crushed him, then had Germany beat him to death with a steel rod. Brutal, but oh the feels. It was worth it. And if I offended anyone with the bashing and the whole pit thing, I'll apologize in advance. I go for the feels and making Germany doubt himself to the point of near mental breakdown is just too awesome a situation to pass up. Also, that conversation between Italy and Germany in italics alludes to the end of WWII. I did it with Japan, figured I'd continue with it.

Next is Canada. And, no, you STILL won't know what happened to everyone who was in HQ. I just keep bringing up the fact that it blows up to irritate you. Jk, it's for the feels. Always the feels.