【 D4y 2, B453m3nt, Curr3n7 T1m3 L00p - 1t4ly 】

Italy stands outside the cell room, the door closed firmly behind him as Germany's yelling echoes around the hall, slowly sinking into the dark. Italy can't help the frown, his eyes falling to the floor as he releases a heavy sigh. He begins slowly roaming, his feet inching forwards as he thinks over what just happened.

"They got really mad at me. Germany's face was so scary... straight out of a nightmare." His voice fades, his eyelids falling. He takes a deep breath, attempting to calm his heart. "Maybe... next time it won't be so hard." His throat tightens; it becomes harder for him to breath. He hears a noise. He jumps, his feet coming off the floor as his arms raised into the air, goosebumps covering his skin.

"Germany! Japan!" He yells, looking around for his friends. Then he falls silent, the fear ebbing away as his eyes sting. "Oh, right, they're not here..." The noise continues. "My phone?" He pats himself down. He furrows his brow, removing it from his inside pocket. "Scary... Who is it? And how can they call me, anyway? It's not meant to work here..." He purses his lips as he reads the caller ID. "Cosa?!" He widens his eyes before bringing the phone to his ear and answering it. His eyes dart around, trying to think of what to say. "Um! Roma--"

"You idiota!" The voice yells. "What took you so fucking long to answer, goddammit?! When the phone rings, you're meant to answer it after two seconds, max!" The angry Italian shouts down the line, impatient and fuming.

"What?! What? No way!" Italy clutches the phone with both hands. "It's true?! It's really you?! How? You are Romano, aren't you?!" Italy panics. "It's really you?!"

"No, it's Santa. Merry fucking Christmas." Romano drags on, before snapping back in an obvious tone. "Of course it's me, you dumbass." Romano yells through the line. Then he makes a pained noise. "Hey, wait! Spain!! You can't take my phone! Give it back!" Romano's voice becomes faint as the phone is moved away from his mouth.

"Spain, too? It can't be true..." The hopeful expression is removed, morphing into worry. "Why?" Italy breaths, a lump forming in his throat. "Mio Dio..!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now shut up and listen to me, Venezian--" he stops, shuffling around to bring the phone closer to his ear. "Are you crying?" His voice jumps from rough to soft in moments, worry flooding him.

"No," Italy sniffs, shaking his head as he gives a negative hum through the line. "I-I'm just so happy." He rubs his nose. "Hey, Romano." His voice is tiny now. "Can you fill in for me at work tomorrow?"

"Huh?"

"Tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and forever and ever and ever." Another staggering breath. "Can you?" Italy takes a shaky breath, holding in his unshed tears. Romano is quiet, and Italy almost begins saying something before his brother cuts him off.

"No."

"Roman--"

"It's your job. Just get your Italian ass back here, and fucking take care of it yourself!" He groans, but it begins to glitch. "An--real--idio--well--ly--"

"Romano?" The static continues. "I can't hear you!" Italy panics. He listens quietly for a moment, but no reply. "Ci-ciao!" He looks to the screen and furrows his eyebrows. "It got cut off..." he then chuckles, smiling to himself. "Their voices. It's been so long!" He wipes his eyes, ridding them of his unshed tears. "I wish I could go home."

【 D4y 2, 2# 54f3r00m, Curr3n7 Tim3 700p - F74vi0, 4ndr3s, Xi40, 4773n, M477hi3u, Fr4nc0i5, 07iv3r, Gi773n & (F/n) 】

Flávio pulls up your wrist, making you stand up. Your arm stings, his grip tight around the bruise. Your heart hammers. You are sure he could hear it, feel your pulse even, with that unsettling gaze. Your body tenses as he brings up his other hand, and you turn your head away, protecting your face by raising up your other hand.

"Flávio!" You shout. He stops moving, his clothes no longer shuffling. The only thing you can hear is your heart, all other sounds drowned out by the immense pumping. "You're name is Flávio Vargas." You whisper. When he replies, it is in a hushed tone. You're surprised with how delicate you sound.

"Did those horrid monsters do this to you?" His grip loosens, a finger now running gently over your wrist. Your skin crawls as he does this, and you finally shift your gaze to your wrist. Snatching it away from him, you frown. You cradle your arm, looking down at it sadly. "I wasn't going to hurt you." He moves towards you, but you step away, the back of your knees hitting the chair. You look up at him, surveying his face slowly. He looks pitiful, and you feel your insides tug. He hadn't done anything to you really, but it scared you. Scary with how you could at any second be hurt, or the wrong words or actions could endanger others. By the time you sit, you scolded your face into a neutral expression again. You stare at the arm of the chair as you settle, hands in your lap.

"Awkward." Xiao croak, lifting up his feet and placing them on the coffee table.

"Shut your ugly trap, Chi..." Flávio furrows his brow, then looks at you. "What's his name? I bet it's a trampy name." He crosses his arms, a snide expression as he looks down at the opium addict.

"It means 'respect your elders'." Your lip curls up involuntarily as you look over to Xiao. "Well, it depends, but, normally, or as far as I'm aware, it means that. Or 'small'." Your eyes are half-lidded as a smile tugs at your lips, watching him watch Flavio. You look down, thinking. That's why you picked his name. Xiao squints, turning up his lip as he looks heavenward. It is quiet as he thinks, and you smile. "Xiao Wang." He then sends you a crooked grin.

"Fuck yeah, I have a wang." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "See-ow." He speaks phonetically. "How's it spelt?" He questions, looking off into a corner. You think he's speaking to you, so you answer hesitantly.

"X-I-A-O."

"How the fuck does that spell see-ow?" Allen asks, his nose twitching.

"It's Chinese." Is your answer. "'Sí, like yes in Spanish, and 'ow', as in I hurt my toe. Sort of like the Chinese numbers, but not exactly." You explain. "When there are numbers, it's a 'sh' sound for x, but for things such as names it's pronounced 'sí'. I think, anyway... Er, maybe Xiao can explain it better for you, as the actual embodiment of China..." You cross your arms over yourself, scratching. Allen forms an 'o' with his lips, nodding. Then he laughs through his nose.

"More like Xiao off my none exists Wang." He slaps his knee laughing. Matthieu and Francois chuckle too, and Xiao is too high to even realise.

"Please keep from being so vulgar in the presence of someone impressionable." Oliver scolds, but it holds no real weight to is as Flávio flaps his hand at you, getting your attention.

"What's Spain's name?" He points to his caretaker. Andres looks at you, slowly surveying in the most uninterested gaze you think you've seen. He seems so lethargic, apathetic to everything around him.

"It's Andres," You smile, remembering the meaning. "Fernandez Carriedo."

"That's a mouthful," Francois grumbles.

"What was that? Ferdez Cardeo?" Flávio squints, trying to pronounce it.

"Andres Fernandez Carriedo." You repeat, a soft smile now on your face. Both versions of Spain had your favourite name. It was such a mouthful, but you loved how it felt pronunciating it. The roll of your tongue, teeth on your lips, and the deep feeling of it.

"Why do you say it with an accent?" Andres speaks up finally, his voice gruff. You feel hot at being called out, perking up.

"I learnt it with an accent. I just--you know, thought it'd be offensive if I pronounced your names wrong, so I learnt them in your language." You explain, jittery. Andres nods slowly, eyeing you.

"You put all that effort in, dear?" Oliver appears from behind you, bracing his hands on your shoulder. You feel intimidated by the action as it blocked you. Inhibits from getting up and running. Possessive. But you look back to see his freckled face looking at you with genuine interest.

"W-well... yeah." You feel the air around you grow hot, your muscles straining as you tense up.

"No need to be so embarrassed." Oliver giggles at you, giving a reassuring squish before letting go. You otp for hunching your shoulders and look at your legs.

"I mean, not learning someone's name is rude. For me, anyways... Someone's name is their identity." You finish awkwardly. You wanted to go off on a tangent, but you didn't feel like this was the sort of place. And how would you explain that you are only embarrassed because you put so much effort into learning the names of fictional characters on the off chance you jumped dimensions and met them? There is no way you can say that out loud without sounding like a crazy psycho fan. Imagine what they will think of you if they found out? Learning how to pronounce names of fictional characters that are barely even canon? They'd think you are strange. But at the same time, not learning how to correctly pronounce someone's name is ignorant. English imperialism at its finest. You lift your head, feeling the intense stares on you.

Oh god, this is embarrassing!

"So, is there any beer left?" Allen asks his brother, changing the subject as they start talking about other things. You are thankful, the centre of attention no longer on you. You absently cradle your bruised wrist. You sigh through your nose, relaxing a little. Well, as much as you could in a room filled with serial killers.

【 D4y 2, B453m3nt, Curr3n7 T1m3 L00p - 1t4ly 】

Italy now stands in the room with the burnt ladder, pacing the rocky path with a series of thoughts on his mind. What had his brother tried to tell him? Did something happen to him? Is he going to come search for him? More importantly, where is that key? He shakes his head, scrunching up his face in distress.

"It's no use." Italy looks at the floor. "It's not here, after all. Where did I hide it, again...? Was it on the third floor, maybe?" He thinks aloud, looking up. "Maybe not." He groans. "I'm really anxious now. But if I calm down, I'll remember..." he takes a deep breath, stopping. "There was another one that I hid with America. And then... um..." He purses his lips, biting his tongue.

"I found you, Veneziano!" A voice echoes from above. Italy jumps, staring in horror up to the light shining through from above.

"Cosa?" Up, at the very top of the ladder, are two figures. Both have a head of brown hair, one darker than the other. The one on the left, his hands cupped around his mouth, the same brown eyes staring down in irritation. The man beside him smiles in bliss, oblivious to the wrath beside him, his green eyes greeting Italy happily. "Ro-Wh-why?!" Italy stumbles over his words, his eyes wide in fear.

"Good thing the front door didn't open. Just standing there would do nothing, so I was just walked around here and I finally fucking found you!" Romano complains. "What the hell have you been up to?" Romano leans forward, trying to get a better look at his brother.

"Ita, mi pequeño! Gracias Dios! Why are you all alone? It's dangerous." Spain speaks, trying to look around for any other figures. "Where are the others?"

"What-what are you doing here?! We didn't ask you to come here!" Italy shouts, tightening his fists. He is angry, nervous, worried: every negative emotion shoved into a small Italian man. "You weren't supposed to know about this place!"

"What did you do with the clocks? Did you break all of them?!" Romano asks, his voice echoing. Italy feels all the emotions leave him at that moment. His arms fall to his sides, staring up at his brother.

"How did you..." Italy becomes quiet. "How did you know about that?" He whispers, his voice not making it to Romano's ears. It isn't often that he hasn't got anything to say; not before it hits him again at full force.

"Answer me, dammit! Did you break the last clock?!" Romano repeats himself, agitated.

"It can't be... No way." Italy shakes his head. "You weren't supposed to know about that... What are you even doing here in the first place?"

"Roma, I know you're happy to see him, but don't get too excited." Spain tells his henchman, eyeing Romano cautiously. He knows Romano is prone to outburst, but this was directed at poor Ita. And it is much more... tense than usual. Sensitive.

"Veneziano, don't you dare move from that spot! I'm coming over there." Romano turns his back, swinging his leg over the ledge and placing it on the first step.

"N-no!" Italy shrills. "Don't come here, no matter what!! Go home!" He orders, stamping his foot. "What are you doing here?! How-how did you know?!" Italy shouts, pleading with his brother. "Please, go!" Romano stops, then turns on the ladder. One foot was off, his left foot and hand firm in the rope. He scowls down at his brother.

"Try saying my name." Romano watches his brother.

"R-Romano..." Italy stutters.

"No! Say my full name, you fucktard!" Romano grits his teeth. If they were any closer, Italy would be able to see the veins popping on his neck and across the back of his hands. Romano swears his brother loves to irritate him. Italy swears his brother doesn't know when to stop.

"Italy." He says hesitantly. "Italy Roma... no..." He stares up at him, realising. "Southern Italy."

"Damn straight. You're not the only one who stands for Italy!" Romano points a thumb at his chest. "I don't know everything you remember, but I do plan on carrying a little of that burden on my shoulders! You haven't been alone all this time!" He becomes quiet suddenly, but inhaling. "You've... broken quite a few clocks, haven't you?"

"S-si... but..."

"Thanks to that, the time over there synchronised with the time outside." Spain says with a firm nod. "That's why we were finally able to find you." The Spaniard pushes his shoulders back, hands on his hips as he chuckles. "But its not just us. A lot of other nations are on their way to help you!"

"I finally found you. I've been trying to find you for ages with no success." Romano complains. "The phone wouldn't work, and sometimes I felt these weird-ass shocks, like half of me had disappeared, every single time--" He shakes his head, and Spain throws him an empathetic smile. "It was over and over and over and over again, you idiot. It hurt so damn much!" There is a pause, Italy's eyes darting around to search through his thoughts.

"You-IDIOTA!!!" Italy voice sounds like a growl from his throat as he scowls up at his brother and Spain. Everything must have gotten too much for Italy's mental state, and so it latched onto Romano. Romano's eyes widen as Spain crouches down, ready for anything.

"Veneziano?" Romano furrows his brow.

"I'm sorry, Romano." Italy shakes his head, hands trembling. "I have to go. I'm sorry, but... just go home!" Italy turns his back and runs. Runs away from his problem, and closer to his death.

【 D4y 2, 2# 54f3r00m, Curr3n7 7im3 L00p - F7ávi0, 4ndr3s, Xi40, 4773n, M477hi3u, Fr4nc0i5, 07iv3r, Gi773n & (F/n)】

"Want a smoke?" You flick your gaze to Francois, studying him over. Sullen. Unkepmt. A few choice words to describe hi, but most of all lax. Him and Andres have lost in common. Others are chatting in the background, Xiao speaking to the whole room, Allen and Matthieu to one another as Flavio seems disinterested and Andres is disassociating.

"No, thank you." You decline softly, looking up at him through your lashes as he stares at you, impassive. He flicks his wrist, a cigarette popping up as he removes one from the box.

"Do you mind?" He questions. You squint but shake your head. Since when has he ever asked anyone's permission to smoke?

"I think he wants you to tell him his name, dearie." Oliver speaks beside you.

"Pardon?" You blink owlishly at him, before looking back to Francois, eyes widening in realisation. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!" You apologise to him as he lets out a gruff noise, not saying anything. "I didn't mean to not tell you, it's just weird that you guys don't even know you're own names and things." You raise a hand to your lips, covering your mouth to stop yourself from talking. Rude much? "It's Francois Bonnefoy." You finally tell him.

France-wa. It's weird as his name is so similar to his first players. Francois has the French version, and Francis has the English.

Francois nods his head, taking a drag from his cancer stick. You take in his appearance. Sullen purple eyes stare off into the distance, dark bags underneath his eyes along with a melancholic expression present on his face. Stubble that is in need of a trim and dirty blond hair that reaches his shoulders, his hair being split down the middle over his tan skin. His open shirt is a royal purple that is done up halfway, showing his curly chest hairs and dark khakis. And of course, his ever-present cigarette. Then you look at Oliver who is hovering beside him with an almost proud grin? You think?

"And yours is Oliver Kirkland, England." You add with a smile. Watching him be bubbly and help out his friend fills you with warmth. His pale face lights up with a smile. His ginger locks are longer than you excepted, curly like sheeps wool and frizzy. His eyebrows are just as bad as his first players, but his eyes distract you from that. Baby blue eyes, so shallow looking. The type that makes you widen your own eyes in fascination. He has a small frame, like his body stopped prematurely. Maybe even malnourished. An electronic blue bowtie is wrapped around his neck tightly, a white collar bent over, perfectly ironed. His sweater vest has bright blue and pink traingles down it with basic camel slacks and brown dress shoes. It doesn't look too bad. Once again, like Flavio, not something you could pull off. Then you spot something that makes your heart pitter.

Oh my gosh, he has little heart ear percings! that is so adorable!

"Oh, that's such a sweet name. I love it." Olivers shoulders hug his neck as he gives a squeal, smiling brightly. He then glances from the sofa to the chair you're sat on. "Go sit on the sofa, dear. That chair can't be doing well on your poor bottom." You look from Flavios to Xiao ones. There doesn't seem to be any room for you. "Boys, shuffle over please." He motions at Andres and Flavio. One grins at you while the other closes his legs. Oliver places his hand on the small of your back and guides you over. You're plopped between both Andres and Flavio, giving a nervous smile as some watch you. Oliver then pats Francois on the shoulder, the contagious smile still on his lips. "I'm going to go pop off and grab something. Give me a moment!" Oliver rushes off towards the kitchen, but Francois stays put, not even acknowledging him. Francios still surveys you, taking one long drag.

"How old are you?" Francois asks, eyeing you over again. You shift, knowing where this conversation is going. But you wanted to play around for a bit, maybe lighten the mood.

"How old do I look?" You question back, a playful smile appearing. He contemplates for a moment, putting the nub of the cigarette but not inhaling.

"Around fifteen?" He guesses. You chuckle at that.

"Everyone always says that. What part of me makes people think fifteen years old?" The last part is rhetoric, you shrug.

"The blinding sincerity."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." You smile softly. He chuckles lightly, his lip ever so slightly curling up before he looks away again. You give him a funny sort of smile, unsure of what to make of that. "I'm 19." You finalise, crossing your ankles. Francois's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"What the fuck?" Allen blinks at you, then points a finger. "That's a straight up lie."

"Don't go accusing people of lying, America. It's not nice." Oliver chastises, before holding out a bottle of water to you. "Here you go. Don't be drinking it up too quickly, otherwise you'll get hiccups." He smiles before standing up straight again. Then he turns to Allen and Matthieu, both of them eyeing you warily. "And just because you know they're older doesn't mean you can be vulgard and rude. I will not have it." Allen looks away and clicks his tongue.

"Can you prove it?" Matthieu asks, fiddling with his weapon but looking at you. You hum in thought, then look at your bag.

"I could have some official papers, but I think they're either under my bed or my mother has them." You give a strained look. "You'll have to take my word for it for now."

"Dang, I really thought you were..." Matthieu continues to mutter under his breath. You squint at him, confused. Why would your age make a difference? Did he treat you differently because you were younger? And then it hits you. He and his brother had saved you, and Matthieu let you off the hook. He didn't want to bring you back because he didn't want a kid getting messed up with this. But another thought arises from that encounter.

"Yeah, I guess I look young, and that makes it extra weird if someone were to bargain sex with me, hmm?" You close your eyes, tilting your head. Oliver makes some sort of strangled noise at that, looking personally offended.

"That sounds like you're speaking from experience." Flavio raises an entertained brow. He looks between the brothers before back at you. You hadn't said it in so many words, but he knew. You smile.

Ahh, Flavio is big brain. I love him!

"Yep." You pop the p, but look unbothered.

"Maybe if you wore more form-fitting clothing, did your hair a bit, maybe wore some makeup, people wouldn't think you were so young." He offers. You give a short airy laugh at that.

"I don't really have much of a choice in how I dress, but I'll take your advise and store it for later." Then you shrug. "But I can't see why I'd want to look older. Being young has more perks, y'know?" You shrug. Then you look down at the bottle of water. You suck in your lips, before looking back to Oliver. He's chatting to Francis, reprimanding him. Then he catches your stares.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Oh, um..." you lift the bottle up. "Could you open this for me... please?"

"You haven't tried." You jump at Andres giving his two sense on it.

"Yeah, I, ur, can't." You answer back awkwardly, wondering why he's butting in. "Please, Oliver?" You opt for not giving him any attention. He was being a bit rude.

"No problem at all." Oliver grins, oddly pleased with helping you out. He uncaps it for you, holding the two items out. "You need help with anything else, just ask." The conversation dies off and you're left in your thoughts. You look to the door on the left wall. They have been gone a while. When would they come back? What would they announce? Your mood dips. Would they be cover in blood, and whose blood would it be? Maybe they already have the body bags ready. You steel yourself, making fists. The real question you should be thinking about is why? Why were they doing this There are various theories, but none of them settles well with you. Didn't they realise the most important thing of all? The reason why neither side had ever won? Something all Hetalians know? You visibly sigh, glancing back to the door.

"They'll be back soon." Flavio speaks. You hum in confusion, feeling your chest tighten. What happened really made you want to be wary. Most people portray Flavio as not being able to fight, but there is a reason that he was shunned like the rest of the second players. He could hold his own, and is extremely perceptive. Second players. First players. Then that dream. According to the scary man from that nightmare, you are the fourth player, and he is the third. That is weird to think about. Wasn't there already some third and fourth players that aren't really known? Thinking back to when Beek had her asks-aph-England account, which is spot on for Oliver's appearance and personality, she had one post to them reacting to their third and fourth players, but you never thought much of it. You have never seen them be mentioned since.

"You keep on watching the door." Flávio explains. "You don't need to worry, (F/n). Ita--" He stops himself before clicking his tongue. "What's his name?" You catch on quickly.

"Luciano Vargas."

"Luciano has a reason to keep you here and expose us." Flavio attempts to comfort. You look down at your lap. By being here, you aren't helping the first players. What if they have killed Spain, or are doing what Allen said? All the while you sat in here, safe and sound. You glare at your lap, clutching your fist. You could do more than sit here useless. You could do something. You could do something not thought of yet. You just needed a plan.

Let the game commence.