Cast your votes now, guys! The paintball match is underway, but who will win and taste sweet victory?

⭐️🇺🇸 Team Alfred! 🇺🇸⭐️

💥🇨🇦 Team Matthew! 🇨🇦💥

Let's find out together, in this chapter of 'Split'!
Buckle up and enjoy!~

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"Alright, team, who's up for defence?"

"I'm more of an offensive kinda guy," one blonde said, "so not me. I'm in a shooting mood."

"I can." another blonde said. "Bonuses of being quiet, right?"

"That's something I can vouch for." Matthew smiled. "If you're sure you're OK with that, Charles, Jones and I will head off in a second. We'll take the route around to the East."

"Sounds good to me." the latterly mentioned blonde replied as he checked all the features of the gun and the number of paintballs he'd been given.

He thought it was a shame how they weren't proper lead bullets—that would've been way more fun—but he had to make do with what he had. Besides, he kind of liked the green colour he'd been given. It reminded him of the fields near where he had lived before . . .

"It's fine with me." Charles reiterated. "They won't even know I'm here."

As the Canadian and American began to head off, the former said, "I would warn you of Alfred's aim, but I guess you already know about that, eh?"

"All too well." Charles replied with a nod and only a fraction of a smile.

Was everyone going to keep bringing up the civil war? Was that what he'd been reduced to now? Charles, the ghost of the losing side of the American Civil War! A strong fighter but no match for the likes of Alfred! He could hear the taunts and the jeers of everyone inside his head, he had to fight hard to keep it all inside and under control while others were in the vicinity. Only once Matthew and Jones had disappeared did he decide move into position and hide, a lion in wait, gun at the ready.

Matthew and Jones moved quickly and quietly past trees, up and down small hills in the terrain, and even had to leap over a small brook at one point. He accidentally fed his gun, launching an orange paintball at the ground and scaring himself. He felt ridiculously embarrassed, but Jones only told him to be careful in response. Maybe he wasn't so merciless after all . . . ?

Matthew had made it a personal goal to try and get to know all of the other Americas better, and he was currently with the hardest-to-crack version of America, so he figured it was a good place to start. Start at the top, work your way down.

"So, uh, I know you haven't really known me for long, but I was wondering . . ." he began. "Do you have a first name?"

"I told you when we first met that that's classified information, I'm afraid." the enigma replied. Jones took the lead as Matthew slowed down, but he couldn't help his own curiosity. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"Everyone has a name. Surely you haven't been called 'Jones' your whole life, right?" Matthew further pressed, determined.

"Of course not! I just . . . I stopped using it a long time ago. You don't need a first name in my world. No one cares." Jones stated. "Now please drop it before I drop you, got it?"

"R-Right . . ." Matthew said.

He didn't like how quickly the other blonde's demeanour had changed, and was especially not fond of the sudden threatening nature he'd adopted. Matthew could only remind himself of where he came from—a dog eat dog world, where no mercy was shown and teams weren't a thing. He could only sympathise, really. He was just disappointed he hadn't gotten further than ten short sentences with him.

Some silence-filled ten minutes later, Matthew and Jones were only some two-hundred metres away from the others' base and drawing closer. They stopped when Amelia came into view, clearly having been left by the boys to look after their flag.

"Tactical . . ."

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked.

"How many people have morals that let them attack a woman?" Jones said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the Canadian. "Understand?"

"Ohh . . . But is that really a strategy? I mean, maybe she just volunteered—"

"Definitely a strategy. I'll loop around to the other side, you wait here." Jones said and he got up from the hiding spot cautiously. "We attack simultaneously, grab the flag, and run for it. Clear?"

"Sure thing." Matthew said, stifling a sigh.

'Talk about competitive . . . If we lose this, I don't want to see how he reacts, I'll be running for the hills . . .'

He watched anxiously as Jones disappeared and reappeared in the distance, now opposite him by some way. Amelia seemed bored out of her head, pacing aimlessly back and for occasionally stopping and staring out in the direction her teammates had gone. Jones gave a quick wave to Matthew, grabbing his attention, and he signalled for them to move, a five-second countdown on his fingers. However, when only two fingers were up in the air, the countdown was interrupted and all three people were distracted.

"AMELIAAAAA!"

"Shit!" she exclaimed, before running immediately in the direction of Alfred's voice, abandoning her post. "I'M COMING, JUST HANG ON!"

Matthew watched in amazement as she vanished into the thicket of trees, not to be seen again for some while. He had no idea what had happened, but he could only assume that maybe Charles had got the slip on the others. He smiled with bittersweet triumph as both he and Jones hurriedly moved towards the American flag.

"That was easy." the American remarked.

"Well, we've still got to get it back across the forest to Charles. Then and only then can we celebrate." Matthew responded.

"Meh. You grab the flag, I'll cover the front. We'll have a better chance that way."

"Are you saying I'm a bad shot?"

"Mmmm . . . Yeah."

"And I couldn't agree more."

Matthew shook his head, still smiling, and grabbed the flag, quickly wrapped the fabric around its pole so that it couldn't be seen flapping about as they raced back to their main base. The adrenaline had started pumping. He was becoming competitive too, and he liked the exhilaration of it.

Jones proved to be a quicker leader than Matthew had previously been led to believe. He had a fun time trying to keep up as the American zig-zagged between the trees, occasionally pausing when a twig snapped somewhere, or a bird stopped chirping. He was so tense, Matthew just couldn't take it, he wanted to scream! Sure, there was probably some tactic in prancing about in a punch a way, but it was so tedious! It was a straight route back!

"Halfway point." Jones eventually said, coming to a halt as the adrenaline rush had evidently started to die down for Matthew.

"Ye-Yep." Matthew replied, huffing. "We'll be back within the next five minutes, I reckon."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure!" a voice called to Matthew's right.

And there they were. Alfred and Amelia were stood there, guns poised, the most smug grin imaginable on the former's face. Had it been a trick? Neither of them looked like they were covered in any paint at all! And where was Alle—

"See you later, losers!"

Matthew watched in astonishment as said auburn American raced past behind his other teammates, Canadian flag frantically flapping behind him as he ran. Jones went to shoot him, but as soon as we saw Charles running after Allen and gaining ground at an immense rate, he stopped.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU YELLOW-GUTTED PRINCESS!"

"Charlie?!" Alfred cried. "What are you doing?!"

While Alfred was distracted, Jones tapped Matthew on the shoulder and signalled for him to run. Canada wasn't going to argue. While Alfred and Amelia were both in a daze, watching Charles run after their teammate, firing his gun relentlessly, Matthew made a sprint for it and managed a ten-second head-start.

"OW, FUCK!"

"DROP THE FLAG!"

"SCREW YOU, CHARLES!"

"Shit . . ." Alfred muttered in surprise. "Well, I guess all that's left to do is—"

He turned around to see that Matthew and Jones had gone with the flag. He swore again and ran after them, Amelia following closely behind. He wasn't going to give up victory so easily! His plan had been so perfect! Plus, if Matthew won, he'd lose his awesome winning streak and Alfred just wasn't down for that!

Paintballs whizzed through the air at an alarming rate, and Matthew was amazed he managed to avoid so many before one of Amelia's yellow ones eventually hit him on the shoulder. He hurriedly passed the flag to Jones, who narrowly avoided one of Alfred's blues, and he carried on ahead while Matthew paused and caught his breath. Alfred said hello as he ran past with Amelia, and Canada just sighed in exasperation, before setting off after them.

Meanwhile, some distance away, Allen reluctantly threw the Canadian flag towards Charles, who caught the pole with little effort.

"Thank you very much." he said, a small smile appearing on his face. "I hope that's not how you fight when these guns contain actual bullets. I'd hate to see you get hurt in such a way . . ."

"Look, I don't know what game you're playing," Allen said, venom and hate now lacing his words as his anger grew, "but I'm not joining in. Alfred is torn over us and what's going to happen, but I guess you can't get that through your automaton head! He just wants what's best for us, and he's prepared to let us ch—"

"You forget, however, that a house divided against itself cannot stand." Charles replied. "If he's torn, then he needs to pick a side before I pick for him."

"Fuck off, Charles! It's like talking to a brick wall with you . . . I'll give you a thirty-second head-start to run, and then we'll see who's the coward out of the two of us."

"Challenge accepted."

And with that, Charles set off again, flag in hand, back towards his base. He never usually felt so competitive, but he had a point to make. Plus, by getting involved, he could at least see what everyone's strengths and weakness were ahead of time. He'd always been meticulous in his planning, so why change the habit?

A few minutes later, however, he saw something he hadn't expected. Alfred and Amelia were now racing back in the direction he'd come from with their own flag, somewhere off to the left. They hadn't seen him and shook his head in disbelief. He held his gun up and aimed it at Alfred, a black paintball patiently waiting to be fired.

"HEY, ALFIE!" he called out, smiling more when the called-for American glanced over. "HEADS UP!"

He pulled the trigger and the ball went soaring through the air. A long, loud stream of curses came from Alfred as it impacted with his side, and he quickly handed the flag to Amelia and told her to run as fast as she could. She clearly didn't hesitate.

"Hey, Charles!"

Charles looked to his left, but was too slow to move out of the way of one of Allen's red paintballs which hit him square in the chest. He cursed under his breath and glared at the auburn-haired American.

"Drop the flag." Allen said with a smirk.

"Asshole." Charles muttered, before handing the flag over.

"Yes, you are."

Allen saluted with a cockiness that pissed Charles off to an unbelievable extent, and he raced back towards his American base with a decent head-start. At this point, Matthew and the other blonde American showed up, both slowing their pace to a halt as they saw the maple-leafed and star-spangled flags disappearing into the distance.

"Damn . . ." Matthew sighed. " We're screwed . . ."

"You can say that again." Jones said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, if we can't turn it around, there's always next time. I guarantee you that Al will drag us all into another round within the next week or two." Matthew remarked with a small smile. "He never gets bored of it."

"And you do?"

"Eh, I'm more of a hockey person. Ice hockey and every now and then, soccer."

"Really? I wouldn't have placed you as a soccer kinda guy." Jones commented, now trying to imagine the Canadian playing the acclaimed sport. "Each to their own, I suppose."

In the distance, a bell was rung by whom Matthew could only assume was one of the others, signalling their victory. He told Charles and Jones that the match was now officially over, and that it was time to head back to the equipment shed. They reluctantly agreed, and the Canadian led the way, trailing back through paint-covered trees and across the splattered terrain.

When the trio arrived, Alfred, Amelia and Allen were already there waiting for them. Alfred immediately went to Matthew and hugged him, passing on his condolences for their loss, before thanking everyone for a good match. He didn't say it aloud, but he loved seeing everyone enjoying themselves and participating—even Charlie—and he hoped that some of them had had the chance to bond some more. That was the larger reason behind the game really, aside from continuing his awesome winning streak!

"How many's that now, Al?" Matthew asked, shaking his head slightly, still astounded by his loss.

"Overall, seven, and that's just matches against you! In total, I think I've racked up thirteen!" Alfred replied as he unlocked the shed once more and began to put the paintball paraphernalia away with Amelia's assistance.

"That's an unlucky number," she remarked, "so I'd watch your back during your next match. You never know, you could lose your crown."

Alfred gasped theatrically, "Not the crown!"

Amelia shook her head as she laughed to herself, placing the flag away in the corner of the small build. Alfred could always put a smile on her face, and for a moment, she thought of those who'd made her smile before she randomly appeared in that world. Her sister, her family, her friends . . . The laughing stopped, but she still smiled quietly. Man, did she have a story to tell them one day . . .

"Hey, that was some sharp shooting out there, Allen." Matthew said with a modest smile. "Remind me to stay on your good side, eh?"

"I dunno, Jonesy could've easily given me a run for my money." Allen responded, patting the mentioned blonde on the shoulder.

"It's Alex."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Allen frowned, looking to his trigger-happy friend.

"My first name." Jones said. "It's Alex."

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Shoutout to everyone who guessed Team Alfred! 🏅🇺🇸⭐️
You're prize is . . . Uh . . . You get a free virtual hug! Y-Yeah!
*awkwardlyhugsphone*
And hey, if you voted for Team Matthew, don't sweat it! There'll always be a chance for redemption ;3

Also, Alex, apparently.

- S