//Paris, 1940///

"I like you very much France," he said as he looked out onto the Paris sky.

There wasn't much of a view. The beautiful blue had been shackled by dark gray smoke and clouds from days and days of war and bombs. Ugly repulsive things they were. Destroying all there was until nothing remained but rubble and bones.

"You're nothing like those Mediterranean brats or those animalistic commies." He scratched the tip of his finger against the blade gripped tightly in his hand. A slip of blood came down his thumb, showing her exactly how sharp it is. "You and I both want to see our people and family happy, right?"

France stood opposite of him on the balcony. The door behind her was locked shut and even at that it was bordered with the same soldiers that marched on the streets. The only escape was the balcony... no she couldn't do that just yet. She snapped back at him, "Of course! My people are the only people I can think of caring for! Not your disgusting vermin ass—"

She choked on her breath as she was shoved into the wall behind her. A knife was planted just by her eye. "See that's exactly why I like you! You think you can win even when you have a knife to your throat. It would be inspiring if you weren't pinned against the wall as I'm deciding whether or not to burn your city and you with it."

He pulled his knife back and spun it around a bit. "You want to protect your people and your family. I want to give everyone here a rat free life. I think we can find some common ground and handle a... agreement."

She furrowed her brow and asked, "The same agreement you gave Norway and Denmark? The same deal you gave Poland?"

"Poland was a ghost that needed to be put back into his grave," he said sharply. He turned back to her with a gleam in his eyes she could only recognize as bloodlust. "I want to put our... complicated relationship aside and work together for an armistice. A friendship. I heard you have lovely wine."

France recoiled back from him like he was made of fleas. "What?! You expect me to just forgive you after all you have done?"

"France you're a smart girl. I won't mind burning a city and a few troublesome countries with it. You will either join me and do exactly as I tell you, or you can jump off this balcony." He said with a serious tone replacing the facade of friendship.

France weighed his words. Troublesome countries. He would kill her family and let France die by her own hand. What a way to pass. She took a look at her scared people. They locked themselves in their houses, looking at the outside world with a fear she knew all too well.

She had only one choice. Such more painful one than the hard Paris roads.

"Fine," she choked out. The words felt like poison on her tongue.

He smiled, grabbing her chin and turning it up to him. "That's a good girl. Now, let's change that flag of yours. It's been bothering me all day."

//London, 1940///

The sound of old and battered shoes hit against the mansion's floors. They were running as fast as they could to the study. A simple man from the airforce swore he was rushing down these halls for days before he reached the beautiful doors.

He shoved the gold and sliver glided doors to reveal a scene. A man with blue curly hair was going through reports and ramming his pen into various numbers and letters. Next to him, a women with white and red hair up in a old bun with a pencil in her mouth, lecturing him on the various needs of the war at hand.

"Brother?" England said, looking up from her work and snapping, "What do you want Wales? Are you blind? I'm trying to get work done here."

"France has surrendered," Wales said quickly to his sister and nephew.

Britain stopped what he was doing. He put his things down on the desk and looked up. "What?"

"We just got word from our remaining French allies and intelligence," Wales repeated as calmly as his rising heart could let him. "France signed an agreement just a few hours ago. France had fallen."

Britain shoved himself up from the desk. He looked mad, either with fury or worry. "Where is she? Is she alive?"

"Yes. A puppet government but she's alive." Wales said. It was the only good news he had.

Britain looked like he was about to respond rather rudely before England put her arm infront of him and muttered. "It's the best we can hope for."

"A colonizer becoming a colony," snorted a girl looking through the books stored across the shelves. She pulled out one and turned to continue with,"It'd be funnier if it was Britain."

Wales stepped back just a bit to ask, "Why are they here?"

Multiple groans were heard across the massive study.

"Forgot I'm so scary to you, Princess," British Raj snapped before delving into a sarcastic curtsy.

"Lay off him," another, deeper voice countered.

British Raj rolled her eyes and said, "Oh looky here. Mr. Daddy's boy! Didn't know you still had that stick up your ass."

Canada didn't respond for a bit before sighing and saying, "Screw this. I'm going to have a smoke break."

"Have fun trying to breathe!" New Zealand lectured. Being the youngest, New Zealand might have known better than her siblings... but they rarely cared enough to follow so. Example being Canada showing a middle finger to his sister.

"Is this just a joke to you all?" Britain shouted back to them. "France has been ripped away and all you can think of is jokes?"

"Land ripped away from you? Where have I heard that before," said New Zealand in a sarcastic tone. Her and British Raj shared a high five.

"They have a point sir," Northern Ireland said with her normal sweet English accent.

Britain groaned and put his head into the table. It seemed like he was going into a full meltdown... in the public of his colonies. But the thought ended immediately when blood spattered across his desk.

England seemed to be falling from the same thing. She collapsed to the ground with the blood cupped in her hands. She looked tired too.

It was Wales who felt the effects last. Falling to the ground in agony. His ears ringing with the sounds of bombs.

Had they just been invaded? No, the effects of that aren't this long lasting. Just a simple jolt of pain they would all feel at the same time. This was a bombing. A simple attack.

The colonies stood back, speechless. Australia was the first to act, pulling his father from his chair and helping him to the ground. New Zealand followed suit, helping Wales, who was the least effected, to a seat away from the bookcases. Just now did he realize the immense shaking of the house. The bombing was in London. No wonder England was so sick. But why? There were barely any airfields or army bases near here...

Unless they were attacking civilians this would be a waste of materials. But he wasn't known for being rational or kind in his attacks.

By now Canada had returned from his smoke break. Squinting with a curious eye he asked, "Did any ships crash?"

"Of course not! Have you not looked outside brickhead?" England choked out between her spats of blood. Canada rolled his eyes and worked to help move her away from the desk.

"I didn't know bombing caused this too," he added, his curiosity dying out.

England wiped her sleeve against her mouth and wiped the blood away. "Great. Now I get to be in pain and vomiting up blood for the entire night. Mind getting me a glass of gin? I'm going to need something wash the blood down with."

Canada seemed rather annoyed by her request, but obey her orders he did.

"Miss, are you sure? The bombing is still underway and you two are at least in terrible condition!" New Zealand shrieked.

England rolled her eyes. "Darling, when you have lived as long as I have, simple things like blood are ignorable. Though I have to admit that these technologies are so annoying with their side effects."

"I was expecting this," said Britain softly. "He was going to bomb military bases and factories. I pushed him to attack... different targets."

New Zealand shuddered back. "How? Why?"

"What are you? Dumb?" British Raj stepped in, her hand on her head. "Military and power. That's all these people believe in! That's only thing any country believes in! Sure, sometimes citizens are important, but expendable nonetheless." Her eyes shifted to glare at Britain. "I know from personal experience."

"We bombed Berlin, so now they will return fire with the fury of twice that. You have to give it to them, they're psychotic to their military," Wales said as he glanced out the window into London. "This won't be the last night of this."

Canada poured a glass of gin and handed it to England. He poured one for himself and then for the other ill countries.

England downed it fast before shoving it against the desk. "Then I'm going to need a tad more gin."

//Northern China, 1940///

China and China walked through the streets. Both bloody. Both tired. Both angry. Angry at her. Angry at the allies. Angry at eachother.

Now the angry streets were broken too. Shoved with shattered glass and choked with toxic fumes. Little puddles of red edged from lumps on the ground. Neither dared to look down at what they might've been. Who they could've been if they weren't here.

At least they had received a victory. China felt a slew of relief at that. The monster couldn't slice her throat today. But she never worked that way. She always liked the sight of struggle and suffering more than the act of murder itself.

"She'll kill you eventually."

The words cut the China out of her head.

"She might keep you around while you're young and pretty. But after she uses you and you have no more value..." Communist China did not need to continue. Her sister crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. She wasn't wrong. The monster had made it very clear all she wanted from an surrender. How could China forget? The letter was half about surrender and half about how fulfilling she felt after she... she did terrible things to China. She had cried for an eternity after reading that heinous and disgusting thing.

"What about you huh?" China snapped back. "You think she'll leave you alive too? She seems to dislike communists as much as non-Japanese."

Her sister frowned. "I'll leaving for the Soviet Union then. Somewhere where people actually care about me."

China could only mutter, "Bring a coat."

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