America was at a computer, Russia over his shoulder. You see, their plan was dependent on the fact that they would find Confederate, which, under normal circumstances, would be damn near impossible. But, lucky for them, they were in America. With... America. Thus, America had his ways to find what he wanted and search for what he wanted.
...
They're called cameras.
In any big city, you can find cameras everywhere. Whether it's for security reasons or for overviewing traffic or for really any reason, there are cameras. And, a whole bunch of them are connected to the police.
Guess who has access to the police?
Er- well, pretty much has access to the police. It's complicated.
Anywho, here they were, searching video feed after video feed for a certain X-faced figure. Now, it's not like they were going in blind and going through every single camera in New York City, one by one. No... that'd be pretty dumb. No, they were using facial recognition software- or at least trying to use facial recognition software- to locate Confederate. The only problem is... well, it's just that the only pictures they really had for reference... were pictures of America. Thus, the software was having a tremendously hard time actually locating Confederate.
Thus, Russia and America were left waiting... and waiting... and waiting as the software scrolled and flicked through camera after camera in the blink of an eye, yet somehow still being unable to find any matches.
In that dimly lit room, seconds stretched into minutes and minutes bled into hours. It was practically impossible to tell the time or how much time had even passed.
For all they knew, they had already blown it.
For all they knew, Confederate was already long gone, and they had missed their best snake to kill the snake before it even came out of its egg.
America didn't know how long he had been sitting there, anxiously staring at that bright screen. Simply watching it was exhausting somehow... but he had to do it. He had to find him. America had no avenge what he had lost.
He had to beat Confederate into the ground for what he's done.
And so the time passed... and passed... and passed, Time crawling to a devastatingly slow pace.
America was so bored out of his mind that he almost missed it.
In an instant, America leaped forward, waking the almost asleep Russian up as he practically slammed his fingers onto the spacebar to make the software stop on the video feed it was on.
There he was.
America felt rage and success brew within the depths of his heart.
There that damn bastard was.
He was walking down the city streets, seemingly concentrated on something. If America had to bet on anything, He was probably headed towards Penn station to catch a train to Providence. America growled slightly, narrowing his eyes.
Not on America's watch.
But they really had to be quick if they wanted to catch him.
Standing up abruptly, America raced to the door, calling out, "Come on, we have a confederate to catch!"
Staring bewilderedly at the computer, Russia got up as well, staring at the figure on the screen before growling and chasing after America. He clenched his hands into fists. This time would be different.
This time, America wasn't alone.
This time, Russia wasn't going to let him die.
--x--
'Always be aware. You never know what they might do.'
That was the last piece of advice Puerto Rico sent their way through the medium of DC, right after they had stolen a quick gun. Er- guns. One for each of them.
You know, just in case.
'Always be aware.'
America pulled out his gun as he and Russia stepped into the dark alleyway where Confederate was spotted last. You see, the funny thing about this one, specific alleyway was that it led to a dead end- don't ask how America knows that- so... if he went into the alleyway not too long ago and the cameras haven't yet spotted him come out the same way...
Chances are, he's still in there.
Waiting.
But why? Why?
Surely, he...
Surely...
America bit his lip, feeling his hands start to shake. What could be waiting for them down this corridor? What horrible thing does Confederate have planned for them? America... America didn't know. And, considering Confederate's amazing track record... America wasn't sure that he wanted to find out. He wasn't sure...
America jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. Turning his head to the side, he spotted Russia... smiling? "Hey..." He spoke reassuringly, his smile becoming just the slightest bit more confident, "It'll be okay... We're in this together. I'll always have your back."
America blinked a little at Russia before his heart warmed and he smiled back at Russia. Looking ahead of them, America took in a deep breath, a small, confident smile lingering on his face, "Right. Together."
Together.
He wasn't... He wasn't alone this time. He wasn't alone anymore.
And he'll... he'll probably never be alone again, right?
Right.
Exhaling calmly, America took a step forward into that dark alleyway, his heart pounding as one thought lingered and dwelled in his mind. He wasn't... he wasn't alone!
And, after stalking down the alleyway for long enough, America paused. Just a few paces ahead stood Confederate. But... it was all... off. Like that one scene in a horror movie... because, well...
Confederate stood there completely, almost deathly still, facing the wall ahead of him, his back to America and Russia. He had... walked into the dead end? And just... stopped?
With a sickening jolt, America suddenly got a horrible feeling about all this. A sickening feeling twisting in his gut that something wasn't right. That something was about to go horribly wrong. But... America seemed to be the only one affected by this because Russia didn't react at all. He was just standing there, completely unaffected by this suffocatingly bad feeling as he practically grilled holes into the back of Confederate's head, his trigger finger twitching and yearning to shoot.
Gulping slightly, America cocked his gun, already aiming straight for Confederate's head. America opened his mouth to say something as his hands started to shake, but nothing came out, his gut feeling overwhelming his every sense and his legs and mind yelling at him to run.
But America had nothing to be afraid of.
He had... he had nothing to be afraid of!
Confederate's just a small, tiny rebellion now! America could crush him in a millisecond!
So why? Why was he shaking? Why was every fiber of his being screaming at him to run?!
He had nothing to fear!
...
Or at least, he thought he did.
...
America nervously adjusted his grip on the gun and, after a few terrifying seconds, Confederate's head turned to look at America. America felt himself freeze. Confederate's eye- the one that America could see, at least- was like a miniature void. A black hole sucking him in, peeling and scratching at his skin and pulling him ever closer until he's... until he's gone, reduced to the nothing that ate him. Those... those were not eyes. They were blanks of space- cracks of reality- in which nothing could exist and nothing could truly linger. They reminded America of his own eyes before he... died and, oddly enough, that... that's what terrified him the most.
But it didn't end there.
Despite the void that was Confederate's eyes, a glowing red occurred in its depths, breaking the rules already broken and piercing deep into America's own eyes. Just the sight of those blazing, controlling red eyes were enough to make America freeze in his tracks, his throat closing up on him in instants.
With just one look, America was terrified, unable to move like a deer caught in the headlights.
Up until now, he had never gone face to face with... this Confederate himself, and now?
In that moment of pure, uncontrollable fear, America finally understood what DC meant by Confederate merging with America's nightmares. The terror freezing America's body and making his heart want to run out of his own chest gave a sense of clarity unseen before. America had never been more afraid in his life, looking into those terrifying red irises, and that made him understand.
And then Confederate smiled.
His lips twisted upwards to create a cruel, horrific smile, one that seemed to scream all sorts of terrors and horrors into America's ears. That smile, despite being a smile of all things, somehow struck more terror into America's heart than him almost dying.
America felt himself take in shaky, raspy breaths, his entire body shaking beneath Confederate's gaze. Beneath that... that monster's gaze.
And America thought that he himself was the monster this entire time.
But no, he couldn't have been more wrong. This... whatever Confederate was now... he was the monster, and America couldn't compare if he tried.
He couldn't compare even if he tried.
And, though he had been seemingly deathly still just moments before, Confederate suddenly twisted around, lunging towards America, a devilish grin on his face and his eyes glowing brighter than ever before. America immediately felt his heart shoot up to his throat and choke him, stumbling backwards with pure fear the second his mind registered Confederate's lunge.
Confederate reached his hand out and America, completely forgetting about the gun in his hands in his blinding, screeching fear, stumbled wildly backwards, just trying to get away in his sudden, choking desperation. Reaching forward, Confederate grabbed America by the head, and-!
And, suddenly, everything had returned to dark, as it was meant to be.