Zaltana walked into her home, alone. It was somewhere around ten at night, the other nations already asleep. She'd put fresh groceries away in the mansion kitchen after she had heard France complaining, pulling out what she had gotten for herself- two six-packs of beer.
She took one of the glass bottles in her hand, popping the tab with her claw before taking a long sip. She was restless, even when she was so tired. She'd already checked on Connecticut, done everything she could to help the nations, now she should be able to sleep.
It didn't seem that would be tonight, though.
God, where was Alfred? She looked down at the bands on her arms, sniffling. She didn't want to add another- she only raised five of her siblings -Conner had been mainly taken care of by someone else- and Alfred had been the only one that survived.
She had been close to him, taken care of him since he was little, and he lived! The only one. And now she might have to add another band for him- no! He wasn't dead yet.
She chugged the rest of the beer, placing the bottle on the coffee table before walking upstairs. She wasn't in a good mood now, having to shut her eyes tightly. No. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead until they found a body.
Her feet almost fell out from under her, and she placed a hand on the wall to steady herself, holding her head. She took a deep breath, before walking into her room, flopping onto the bed.
Despite everything- her practically wasting her energy transforming, her stress, her pain, she couldn't sleep. The knowledge pressed into her like a nail in the forehead, and she turned onto her side, facing the bedside table.
She pushed herself up, her arms shaking, and she reached out to grab the Apple watch that Latvia had found in that cave. She stood, walking into her office. Tech was scattered around- tablets, computers. It wasn't exactly as armed as Connecticut's area, but enough for her to do extensive research.
The big computer booted up quickly enough. She entered the code on the watch carefully, before searching for an owner. Someone had to have bought this.
"Trevor Garcia," she mumbled, before starting to search for a place of work. She immediately noticed that he had an armed robbery charge from five years ago, as well as a kidnapping charge from last year. She wondered for a moment why he was walking free, before she rolled her eyes. The place of employment was easy enough to find, and she went on a private network to search through it.
It was indeed a laboratory. One where they tested chemicals and weapons, which casually meant it was where they tested chemical weapons. And by tested, she meant made.
The laboratory itself seemed to be big- had about the same square footage of the mansion that the nations now rested.
She didn't know whether to risk popping the bubble- checking the cameras. It could bring her useful knowledge, or get her location discovered, and she rather liked the fact that no one could find her house.
Her eyes scanned the satellite images carefully. This one would definitely need a plan. She could spot a heavy armory, a bomb testing area- so many things that could make one of them have to grow back a leg.
She wondered for a moment if any of them would risk this trek. She knew she would- fighting had always been fun for her, especially when she was visibly outmatched. This place also seemed like somewhere that she could see Dyami being held, which would grant her a bit of peace.
Carefully, she started marking out approximates. Where things should be. This was always questionable, especially when you went off only birds-eye view.
She fell asleep at her desk.
Conner growled, pulling on his wrists. He was surprised he still had the feeling in his arms, strung up like he was. His ankles hurt- his arms were tied so high he was forced to stand on the balls of his feet. His back was full of lash marks, crossing over each other. The liquid from broken blisters was running down his back, and he scowled.
He'd been tied up like this for three days, being constantly moved around between this, some sort of pen, and being chained in what was essentially a storage closet.
He heard someone walking behind him and twisted his head to see.
"Hello," the woman, who called herself the 'Ringmaster' said, "are you ready to be moved again?"
God, he hated her. If not for keeping him chained up, then for yapping NAZI propaganda behind him for hours every night, no matter where he was. No, black people were not evil. Fuck no, leave the Jews alone.
"Yes," he said, and she walked away. He rolled his eyes, and she appeared about a minute later at another level, releasing one of his lips. His arms dropped to his sides and he flinched, taking a few steps back.
He was rubbing his arms, trying to get the blood back in them, before she came back.
"Come along now," she said, holding out an arm like an escort, and he almost let how he felt onto his face. He took her arm, glaring straight ahead, and she led him to the pen, unlocking the other cuff before pushing him in, shutting the door behind him.
He sat down in the dirt, grumbling about something or other.
He noticed her again, in the glass area above the pen, watching him. Another woman was beside her, with a clipboard, writing things down. Watching her hand move the pen, knowing she was writing about him- it was pissing him off.
He heard a noise, and looked over to a door that was sliding open. A doe jumped out, running into the opposite corner before running around him.
"You're hungry, aren't you?" Ringmaster said into the microphone, the speakers making her voice much scratchier. He glared at her, before looking at the doe. The door had already closed.
He walked towards the deer slowly, making sure not to be loud. His stomach seemed to growl just from looking at the meat. He waited until he was close. The doe was watching him out of the corner of her eye, and he took another step- to the side this time, coming closer to her front. He wanted to make her backpedal and allow him to run forward.
His methods proved successful- she took two small steps back and he took only two steps forward, slashing her neck with his claws. He stood over her, sitting down, petting her as she died. He was gentle when he took the meat off her neck, being careful not to damage the pelt. He didn't want to skin her, that would be a waste to him- putting meat in the dust, that was. Might as well keep the wrapping on some of it.
He guessed he wouldn't get anything that would count as fire, so he took in a deep breath. Fire came from his throat, scorching the top of the meat completely black, but disinfecting the rest of it.
Ringmaster seemed pleased, he noticed as he started to eat. It was still mostly raw in the middle- putting meat directly into fire didn't exactly cook it, especially how he'd done it.
It was tough, but he could tolerate it. He'd had much worse than scorched deer meat in the past.
Ivan took a deep breath out. He didn't know why he was still in Alfred's room. There was no real reason. He just wanted to be here. He'd cleaned off the burn marks on the walls, fixed the broken chair- in all, the room looked like it had before.
Although, now, the curtains were drawn around the bed, filling it with filtered moonlight, a deep red. He felt lonely, and he rolled over. He was sleepless, although he had succeeded this afternoon. It felt like he missed something.
Everytime he closed his eyes he could see him. His memories were all in one piece, his emotions all rolled up. God, how had America been that malicious with him? He knew he loved him still. Those little glances when he thought he'd been snooping were really him just wanting to make sure he was okay. He wasn't out to get him all the time.
He didn't want to be his enemy. He didn't know how he wanted to feel about him, but it sure wasn't hate. He knew the love of him- he'd seen him at his worst and his best.
Now, all he craved was someone to hold- that had been something he'd felt for a long time, but now he knew it. Or at least, he remembered. It was like an addiction to someone he didn't know- or didn't believe he knew.
It felt fake yet it was cemented.
Why did this have to be him? It could be anyone else having to deal with these emotions. Having to deal with their own memories getting removed, then getting put back in place. He hated it.
But did he really hate it? Did he really hate all of this happening to him, or just the sparks of love and lust and the memories he had once adored? The taste of his lips, the feeling of him against his body... It was such a driving factor that ended with him staring at the top of the bed, a neutral face. He was worried about him. He'd admit to that much. He didn't know what to do about his worry though- there was nothing really to do.
He heard the curtain rattle and shot up, seeing Rico standing there. His face settled into fondness, motioning that the child could come up onto the bed. The little boy pushed himself up, crawling over to lay beside his father.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Rico was a little beaten up, but he looked much better than Guam, who was still unconscious. Nobody knew when he would wake up.
"I didn't want to be in the same room as Guam," he whispered, "he was making me uncomfortable."
Ivan nodded, the boy snuggling into his arm.
"I missed you, dad."
"I missed you too, little one."
When Zaltana woke up, she was still tired. She woke up mainly out of her own discomfort, checking the time. Four in the morning. She recalled she'd gone to sleep somewhere around eleven, which meant she got at least five hours of sleep.
Enough for her- better than many nights.
She drank three cups of black coffee, too lazy to add anything to it. She showered, washing her hair, before getting dressed. She went to her office, and started organizing her notes from the night before. When her own notes were up to her standards, she went back to what she had been doing the night before.
When she had everything she believed she needed- handwritten notes, a few printed pictures, a latitude and longitude, she watered her garden, before starting the trek down to the mansion. She noticed the blind dragon had been placed back into the stables as she passed, and it gave her a feeling of normality that quickly faded.
For a moment, she wished that blind dragons could fly. It would make their lives much easier- a fire-breathing war machine was an easy advantage, but a blind dragon was just scared.
It was one of the few ailments that a dragon would be better dead than with, but she understood that Koko was close with this dragon. She knew it was his own, his older dragon that he had for almost fifty years. She knew the poor thing would be willing to live, even grounded for life.
It was only around five in the morning when she was downstairs. The sun hadn't yet risen, none of the automatic lights were on- if there were still people here, the alarm wouldn't have even gone off yet.
She walked into the living room, sitting down. At this time, nothing felt real. She'd always adored that feeling- that everything around you was fake, just waiting to disappear. It made her feel better about the years she'd been alive.
Japan walked in- he still looked disheveled, his hair a mess and bags still under his eyes, but she looked at him and she saw the power behind his movements- that was only until he noticed her, and he pulled back into his soft power.
"Normally I would have Germany do the examination of extraction plans, since he seems to be the metaphorical leader of Europe," she smiled, "but you're the most powerful out of that whole group, aren't you?"
He seemed taken aback, before looking over to the wall. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, "I can grade a plan, but don't go telling around. Everyone has to know-"
"That you're Hello Kitty and sunshine, of course," Zaltana pushed the files towards him on the table, and he took them into his hands. The front was taken down, now he was himself. She found it comforting. He didn't say a thing, reading through all she had written.
"You're consistent, and good at scheming," he said, placing it down, "I was staying surprised the entire time."
"Really? Because you that would mean you were much better at hiding your expression than I thought you'd be," Zaltana replied, narrowing her eyes playfully, a smirk appearing on her face.
"You are very good at guessing strengths and weaknesses," he continued, ignoring her words, "you were correct about every nation's abilities and limits. You know how to work with people well."
"Would it work?" she said, "That is really the only question I was asking."
"Yes. I believe it will."
She smiled, "I only tried. What are your own additions?"
He seemed to think for a moment, "Why don't we do something with the bomb testing region?"
"What do you have in mind?"
Japan let a bit of a smirk come into his face, "How good are you at acting?"