Prepare yourself...

America's POV

France was dead.

He had died during the middle of the night, in his sleep. Worst of it was, he was better off than the rest of us.

What I wouldn't give for an infected bullet wound now...

Allan came to get me. In his hand was a nail studded baseball bat.

I knew he would come.

He dragged me off into another equally dark room and released my chains.

"How's my least favorite country?"

"Dude, your basically just insulting yourself.."

The bat cracked across my face, tearing skin. White hot pain flared through the cut. I grasped my face, sinking to my knees.

"Surrender to me."

"Never!"

Allan toyed with me for several hours until he got bored, saying I was to easy.

I didn't mind.

Long cuts ran across my arms, legs, and face. After Allan had gotten bored of his bat, he had taken out a wicked looking serrated knife.

At least the cuts were slowly healing.

I was chained back into the wall. Italy looked up at me, his large brown eyes wide and bloodshot from crying. As soon as my 2p was gone, he rushed over to me. Italy had gotten bits of France's shirt to use as bandages before they had taken the body away. It was a smart thing to do. He pressed the cloth against my cheek, doing his best to mop up the blood.

"America.. I'm scared.."

"It'll be okay Italy."

But it wasn't ok.

They came for Italy next.

Bit gory, not that good of a chapter.

And no, Italy and Murica aren't going to be a couple.

Nononononobody ships that.

GERITA FOREVER