Blind Carbon Copy (8/?)
Title: Blind Carbon Copy (8/?)
Author: weird_number
Genre: Adventure, Drama
Ratings/Warnings: PG13/Angst/Humor
Summary: Japan's new teleportation machine goes awry, and an America from a world where his Revolution was disastrous comes to visit.
Pairings: US/UK. Germany/France side.
Also at ff.net: [8], Previously on LJ: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7]
If America could compliment himself for anything, it would have to be his ability to bluff. Because when he'd bragged to Canada that he had other ways of winning a "war", his mouth had been running faster than his brain; he had very little idea how he was going to win anything.
He had decided that he would join the protests, although whether that would actually do anything he couldn't say. After all, he knew it was England's people protesting, and that had to count for something, right? It was usually difficult to determine exactly how one's people could affect their nation-sometimes, if the opinions were too polarizing, the nation could end up bipolar, with only moments of lucidity.
(He'd experienced it himself over the years, hadn't he? As his people had become ever more polarized, ever more angry, he'd felt his sanity dissolving bit by bit, and if it weren't for his friends...)
There was no way to determine what England's reaction would be, but he had to try, right?
-
Halfway through his trip to the local market to buy a semi-automatic pistol (because this America wasn't armed and he just didn't feel comfortable going into a protest without a gun by his side), America remembered that he needed to check his inbox. Japan might have replied to his message earlier, and if he could head back to his own world before starting a shitstorm in this new one, he'd certainly take the chance.
Some help was needed. He reached for his-the other America's-phone and dialed Canada's number.
"Hey, Canada! You holding up okay?"
The response from the other end was clipped. "Fine, I'm doing fine."
"That's good, that's good. Listen, I need a favor, alright? Can you find that machine-you know, Japan's machine that I told you about? I think I left it on the kitchen table-that's where I was last working on it."
There was some shuffling from Canada's end before he heard a response. "Alright, I found the...thing."
"Great! So can you, uh, turn it on and connect to the internet? You know how to do that, right?"
A grumble, and then, "Of course I know, I'm not dumb, America!" A pause. "Wait, are you saying connect to the internet on Japan's machine? Is there a specific reason why I would need to do it through his machine?"
"Oh, well, technically you shouldn't need to use his machine. Just use any computer with internet access and you should be good. Basically I just need you to open my inbox, check my email and let me know if you see anything from Japan."
Some tapping, followed by, "...Wait a second, America, I don't know the password to your email. And you know what, if whatever you claim about this travelling across parallel universes thing is true, you wouldn't know either, so I don't see how we could-"
"That might not be the case, you know! Considering that we're almost the same person, we might've just chosen the same passwords. I mean..." America trailed off, thinking about the chances of his own email password being the same as the other America's. His passwords had changed quite a ways over the years-in the early 80's he'd stuck adamantly to 'fuck!Russia!fuck' (Russia had somehow guessed his password and made a mockery of him at the following World Conference, the damn bastard).
Then, with the fall of the Soviet Union, he'd started a habit of changing his password every few months, mostly to mourn over whatever unfortunate travesty had befallen his people. His most recent password had been fueled by a combination of jealousy and fear- 'damn!China!nooo'.
Given that the America in this world was still a British colony, the likelihood he would complain about China was very, very small. Unless, of course-
"Hey Canada, can you give me a quick rundown of my relations with China?"
"Your relations with China?" Canada asked, incredulous. "Listen, I don't know how many times I need to tell you this, but you're with the British Empire, so whatever England decides, you go with. And England, he..." Canada trailed off, remembering how he'd overheard the last conversation Russia had with England on the matter.
He could hear the clink of the teapot against the teacup in the background, could hear Russia's harsh breathing and hoarse voice: "Do you ever learn from history, Angliya?" Russia sounded calm, but it was clear that his words were meant to rile. Canada could only hope that this wouldn't break the fragile peace between the two countries.
England ground his teacup onto the table. "I don't think you're the right nation to be telling me that. Who was the one who started yet another land war in Asia?"
"Don't bring up pointless interjections," Russia growled, "What I have done does not concern you in the least. You are better off focusing your energies on reviewing your foreign debts, don't you think? If I recall correctly, you are repeating history in a most unfortunate way, allowing your debt to accrue with China."
"Repeating history?" England asked, harsh laughter escaping from his lips.
(Something was off. Canada could tell, because he'd been observing the Empire for so long now, and it was obvious that something was wrong again, and England was refusing to tell them because it wasn't proper to complain about his personal life with his colonies, though it was perfectly alright to attack any one of them when he was angry.)
"It's all the better, Russia, for if I repeat history, I will come out as the victor. But if you repeat history, well, I don't recall the great Land of Rus evoking fear in the common man's heart a hundred years in the past."
"So this is how you wish to play?" Russia asked, "Your debt with China in the trillions, and you intend to repeat the Opium Wars to relieve it? Yes, you were certainly the victor, Angliya, but history has not looked favorably upon that victory." Russia leaned forward, a look of distaste on his face. "Let me put it in simple terms for you-if you foist illegal drugs into Chinese harbors, China will not take the matter lightly."
England snorted. "He did not take it lightly the last time either, but it's rather funny-nations can change quite dramatically when they're high, can they not?"
"I will not allow it," Russia snapped, with a cold glare to match, and Canada understood. Something was obviously going on with Russia and China, even if China had officially declared himself a founding member of the Non-Aligned Movement, declared himself to be neutral in their insane network of alliances.
"So what about England?" America prompted, impatient for an explanation.
"He's just in a lot of debt, and relations between him and China are...passably cordial, I guess, with a few flareups here and there."
America's eyes widened. England was in a lot of...debt? If the matter weren't quite so serious in his own universe, he'd have laughed out loud at the insanity of it all, because after all the times he'd listened to England rant about his rampant spending sprees, this one was in boatloads of debt, and to China, of all people. Then he realized something-because if both he and England were in a lot of debt to China, and assuming that this England had a tendency to use his passwords as a personal diary of some sort, then-
"Hey Canada, I've got an idea. You know what England's email address is, right?"
"Um, yes?"
"So can you pull it up and try the password 'damn!China!nooo' with his account? That's three o's at the end, by the way, and China with a capital 'C'."
"What the hell are you-Alfred! For god's sake, I am not helping you illegally access England's email-what are we going to do if he finds out?"
"Oh come on! He's not going to find out, 'cause we're not going to do anything once we're inside it. Think of this as a proof of concept-I just got an idea and now I want to test it out! Please, Matt, pleeeaaase?"
A long sigh at the other end, but then America heard typing noises and silently cheered on his own persuasiveness.
"Shit...that was..."
"What?"
Canada sounded breathless at the other end. "It worked, America, it worked! And I'm...I'm in his inbox right now. This-this is insane..."
-
Canada had wanted to speak to America more about the matter-like exactly how he'd managed to guess England's password and what the hell was he supposed to do now that he was logged into the Empire's inbox, but America had insisted that he was in a hurry and had to leave right now. Canada could only guess it was that protest he'd accidentally let slip to his brother and hope that everything would turn out well. 'Well', of course, was defined as 'England not killing America for jumping onto the bandwagon'.
He glanced at England's unread emails, most of which were announcements from the [urgent-world-news] mailling list. The Empire clearly needed a filter for that-it was overpopulating his inbox. Then Canada realized something-something very, very bad-England's mailing system had logged him onto an instant messaging system, and a person (nation?) with the screenname 'capitalistpig' was currently messaging him:
capitalistpig (15:30:01): this victory of yours, rather empty, isn't it?
capitalistpig (15:30:54): how is it angliya, to feel like you have no control over your colonies? unfortunate, i presume
'Angliya'? Damn it, Canada moaned into the computer screen, sinking his head into his arms. It just had to be Russia.
If he typed something in reply, England would obviously find the logs and figure out exactly what had transpired. If he didn't reply, Russia would surely ask England why he was online at such an hour and had refused to respond.
What the hell was he going to do?
He could pretend to be another nation-preferably one of Russia's allies, proclaim that he had hijacked England's account and confuse the hell out of Russia. Canada thought about pretending to be Lithuania-then decided against it, because there was the possibility that Lithuania was still out of commission from whatever Russia had done to him, and he felt a sudden wave of disgust at their earlier actions that had brought Lithuania to make such a sacrifice.
Or he could pretend to be one of Russia's other allies...and given that conversation he'd overheard, perhaps China?
But what would he say? Should he actually reveal that he wasn't England?
He tried to think from China's perspective-if China were able to gain access to the British Empire's email, what would he want to accomplish in a conversation with Russia? If he revealed his identity, it would be recorded, unless he went off the record and-that was it!
Canada switched the chat to 'off the record' and rapidly tapped out a greeting:
commiebastard (15:33:04): hello russia. just fyi, i'm not 'angliya'
England's screenname was most disconcerting-it seemed to exist solely for the purpose of insulting Russia. But then again, Russia had the same thing going on with his name, so Canada supposed it was only fair...
capitalistpig (15:33:48): unfortunate. who are you then?
commiebastard (15:34:36): china
capitalistpig (15:35:23): really now? kitaj...hmm how very interesting.
capitalistpig (15:35:59): now then kitaj, since we are very good friends, perhaps you would like to share the contents of angliya's inbox with me?
Share the contents of-Canada groaned. What had he gotten himself into? England was going to kill him if he found out, and what the hell was he going to say in response to that? Even if England didn't find out that Canada had gained access to his inbox, he would surely be irritated that China had managed to get in. What if Canada started a world war? Could he justify that-could he justify not telling just because he didn't want to face England's wrath?
(Such a coward, he told himself, because he was forever running away from reality.)
Although-there was something off about the way Russia had said 'how very interesting'. This was the problem with chatting-it was difficult to determine if Russia had meant it sarcastically or not, but 'how very interesting' sounded decidedly sarcastic. Which, of course, meant that Russia did not believe he was China. Perhaps he thought that England had finally decided to do it the Russian way and take up trolling? Which meant that the test was to see if 'Kitaj' was willing to share the contents of England's email...
commiebastard (15:37:36): all information comes with a price
capitalistpig (15:38:20): i am willing to pay
capitalistpig (15:38:55): does getting hong kong back sound like a fair price to you?
commiebastard (15:40:01): i don't see how you can do that, HK is not yours
capitalistpig (15:40:34): ohh, i have my ways! surely you know me better than that, kitaj
capitalistpig (15:40:57): have some faith in me, please
commiebastard (15:41:39): i don't believe you russia
There was no response for a while, and Canada wondered if Russia had decided to end the conversation. But then-
capitalistpig (15:46:01): how very nice, because i don't believe you either
capitalistpig (15:46:35): explain to me, kitaj, why would you use china and not zhong guo? i thought you were not a fan of us westerners calling you 'china'?
capitalistpig (15:47:05): you know, angliya, i think your trolling abilities are not quite up to par
capitalistpig (15:47:14): unfortunate, no?
Canada's eyes widened-how had Russia figured him out? He knew it-he should've never pretended to be someone he didn't even know that well, because now he was really dead, because Russia believed that he was England, which meant that Russia would seek the Empire out in person and mock him for his piss-poor attempts at pretending to be someone else. Then England would be confused and demand that Russia provide citations for his lame attempts at mockery, and then both of them would know that something was horribly off, and-
He snapped the laptop lid shut, cursing himself for listening to America. This was the stupidest decision he'd made all day, and how was he going to face England when the Empire came back?
And all that advice he'd given to America before, what right did he have to give it when he couldn't even handle this? All those years they'd spent pretending to be someone they weren't, all those years for naught!
-
(Because they'd both forgotten how to smile, and Canada knew he was at fault. Because that night, those words of his-
"There, America, that's it. Make sure to do it whenever he looks at you, and you should be fine."
They'd practiced smiling in the mirror after, trying to figure out how to replicate a genuine one. They'd read books-the smile starts in the eyes, not the lips, they read, but their eyes were glassy and cold and how could they ignite a smile with eyes like that? They'd lost their ability to smile, lost it to the recesses of that mask they plastered onto their face and they wondered if they should feel sad.
But it was easier this way, they told themselves, clinging on to the bitter memories of better days, of childhood dreams. They weren't children anymore, and adolescents didn't dream.)
-
England had walked into the middle of the protest zone. Alone and unarmed, he raised his fist into the air, like everyone else.
Then he screamed, letting his throat run dry, because this was for a good cause, a righteous cause. Because his people would not stand for a corporate takeover of the nation, because they were not going to allow the wealthy few to run the affairs of the many.
He looked around, looked at the faces of his people, their passion, their anger, their devotion and their distress.
(Everything about them was beautiful.)
And in a fit of revolutionary fervor, he called out, "Corporate tyranny must go! Take back our country! Take back what is ours!"
The yelling continued, and England soon found himself clambering onto the shoulders of one of his citizens. He stood there, feeling tall, grand, larger than life, and he waved his sign of choice about madly, because for once he was right. And the man below him was shouting too, screaming himself hoarse, with beads of sweat lining his face, and England felt proud.
He was proud of himself, of his people, and he was free to show it.
It wasn't the first time he'd felt pride-no, he'd remembered feeling it that night when the world's first atomic bomb had ripped its way across America's land, the time he'd outdone France at a World Fair, but not like this, never like this. He'd never felt so free to express himself before, because he'd always been under orders to keep that stiff upper lip, because it wasn't right to show emotion, it wasn't right to be passionate.
(A sign of weakness, he was told, but he couldn't remember where he'd first heard it.)
Except this time he wasn't weak, he wasn't weak at all. He was stronger than he'd ever been, his empire reached every continent, every ocean shore, every coastline. And there was no longer a need to contain his emotions, because he wasn't playing a poker game anymore. He'd already won, and now he could celebrate, take back what was rightfully his-
A shot rang out, and England felt a pin prick his left arm, and a stream of blood run down his limb.
Someone had died, one of his citizens, and he could see the limp, lifeless body in his mind's eye-the woman's glassy eyes were still half-open in shock and her body had tumbled to the floor, getting trampled under the angry roar of the other protesters.
(He wiped at the blood on his wound, smearing the traitorous liquid about in circles around his skin.)
How had this happened? Who was responsible? They were in Russian land, but Russia would never bother restraining his people, not when they were protesting against the British government, not when they were protesting against British interests, so who had shot her?
His eyes scanned the crowd, and across the sea of faces, there was one he recognized.
That blasted fool.
It was America, and he was screaming something in broken Russian to a guard (when had America learned to speak Russian at all?)-something about-
"What the hell was that? You shot us-you went and shot us! What the hell is wrong with you? This is supposed to be a peaceful protest, a peaceful protest, and you shoot at us!"
As America screamed, England realized that his colony had a matching wound on his left arm, the blood was dripping down his skin in the same manner, and the two of them had even smeared it in the same circular motion-the two of them-so this citizen identified as both-both of them.
(And England felt at a loss, because he was supposed to protect America from this. He was supposed to see the world, deal with the blows, but they weren't. They were supposed to be nicely cocooned in British North America, shielded from the death and destruction the world wreaked upon him.)
America continued unleashing his stream of profanities at the guard, streams and streams of words that even England did not know. (How did he know so much Russian? And England thought back to Russia-just how much contact did Alfred have with the nation? They were doing this behind his back again, weren't they? Exchanging culture when he'd explicitly told the boy not to go anywhere near Russia-could Alfred have been any more irresponsible?
England looked up just in time to see the guard, sufficiently angered, raise his baton and swing wildly at America's face, causing the nation to tumble back into the crowd.
And then America did the unthinkable. He pulled out the pistol from his pants pocket, the new one he'd purchased earlier that afternoon, pulled it out and directed it to the guard's face. There was a wild, wild look on America's face, for he too felt larger than life, because he wanted revenge, and he was powered with that fleeting feeling of invincibility, giddy with a sick sort of glee.
(Because this Russian bastard had attacked him, had landed a hit on his face, and he couldn't allow this to pass.)
His fingers snapped around the trigger, and he imagined himself pulling, once, twice, three times.
Bullets would rain into the man's body, and he would fall back back, body jerking with the impact. Then the two guards standing beside him would immediately trained their rifles on America, and they would probably aim for the kill. (And America wondered-would he feel satisfied? Happy, even, to see the demise of someone who'd attacked him for a few choice words? He-)
"America, for god's sake, what the hell are you doing? Put that blasted thing down," England yelled, hoping his voice was audible over the roar of the crowd.
But America did not move, it was as though he hadn't heard England at all.
So England strong-armed his way through the crowd, shoved himself between angry protestors armed with signs, and made a nose-dive for America's location. He forced his colony to the floor with a well-aimed kick to the shins, and ripped the gun out of America's hands.
Then he pointed the gun at America, disgusted.
"Do you think this is a toy?" he asked, pressing the butt of the gun into America's neck.
There was something horribly blank about the look on his colony's face. It was as though the boy hadn't understood, hadn't comprehended that his actions earlier were the mark of an insane man. Because revenge wasn't conducted by shooting at random Russian guards, no, this was not how the British Empire obtained vengeance, and England was not about to have a wayward colony of his ruin his reputation.
"Listen," England snarled, voice barely audible above the screams, "With this, you can senselessly murder a man, and if you're going to do that, I expect a bit more discretion. Here, all the world can see you, all the world will be witnesses to your crime." England crouched down, pushing the barrel of the gun against America's windpipe and spat out, "You will be a disgrace to the art of war."
And America looked back, horrified, but for very different reasons.
Because he'd almost done it again, he'd almost broken that promise to Canada. And the world, they would point at him, whisper behind his back about how he was supporting some blasted dictator because he wanted money, how he'd abetted in the killing of innocents because he was thirsty for revenge. England had tried to defend him once too, saying that he was young, that he didn't know better, but America knew it wasn't true.
(Because they were born that way, because even when they were children, they were already capable of the worst kinds cruelty.)
"I'm...I'm sorry, damn it, I got carried overboard, I..."
England's fingers relaxed for a moment at America's apology, but he did not move the gun from America's neck. He couldn't take the risk, he told himself, not when a colony of his had almost taken arms against a foreign country, against his will, not when a colony of his was talking with Russia behind his back.
notes:
- Um, yeah, revolutions aren't always conducted so straightforwardly or with everyone in the right. It's kinda like Animal Farm or the French Revolution, there will be shades of gray. Robespierre started out fine, didn't he? But don't worry, no one will turn out like Robespierre. ;)
- England as the British Empire is really, really strong. He's got a giant empire and nukes, so if he put his mind to it, he could certainly crush a rebellion. Just saying that it won't be that easy. :P
- The debt thing is the reason why China's not as pissed at England (read: voted for him) as he could be over Hong Kong.
- The Non-Aligned Movement (in real life) is an organization whose member states were not identified with either the Eastern or Western blocs. It was started by leaders from Yugoslavia, Egypt, India, and Indonesia. In the AU, China is one of the founding members.
This chapter basically wrote itself. I don't know what happened, but I started writing and random ideas came to mind and I applied them. Also, I've done similar things with my passwords when I was younger, which probably explains the inspiration behind America's password-evolution. And yes, America has slight lapses into over-anger (don't we all); his lapses just have more consequences because he's a nation.
Reviews are awesome. :)
Author: weird_number
Genre: Adventure, Drama
Ratings/Warnings: PG13/Angst/Humor
Summary: Japan's new teleportation machine goes awry, and an America from a world where his Revolution was disastrous comes to visit.
Pairings: US/UK. Germany/France side.
Also at ff.net: [8], Previously on LJ: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7]
If America could compliment himself for anything, it would have to be his ability to bluff. Because when he'd bragged to Canada that he had other ways of winning a "war", his mouth had been running faster than his brain; he had very little idea how he was going to win anything.
He had decided that he would join the protests, although whether that would actually do anything he couldn't say. After all, he knew it was England's people protesting, and that had to count for something, right? It was usually difficult to determine exactly how one's people could affect their nation-sometimes, if the opinions were too polarizing, the nation could end up bipolar, with only moments of lucidity.
(He'd experienced it himself over the years, hadn't he? As his people had become ever more polarized, ever more angry, he'd felt his sanity dissolving bit by bit, and if it weren't for his friends...)
There was no way to determine what England's reaction would be, but he had to try, right?
-
Halfway through his trip to the local market to buy a semi-automatic pistol (because this America wasn't armed and he just didn't feel comfortable going into a protest without a gun by his side), America remembered that he needed to check his inbox. Japan might have replied to his message earlier, and if he could head back to his own world before starting a shitstorm in this new one, he'd certainly take the chance.
Some help was needed. He reached for his-the other America's-phone and dialed Canada's number.
"Hey, Canada! You holding up okay?"
The response from the other end was clipped. "Fine, I'm doing fine."
"That's good, that's good. Listen, I need a favor, alright? Can you find that machine-you know, Japan's machine that I told you about? I think I left it on the kitchen table-that's where I was last working on it."
There was some shuffling from Canada's end before he heard a response. "Alright, I found the...thing."
"Great! So can you, uh, turn it on and connect to the internet? You know how to do that, right?"
A grumble, and then, "Of course I know, I'm not dumb, America!" A pause. "Wait, are you saying connect to the internet on Japan's machine? Is there a specific reason why I would need to do it through his machine?"
"Oh, well, technically you shouldn't need to use his machine. Just use any computer with internet access and you should be good. Basically I just need you to open my inbox, check my email and let me know if you see anything from Japan."
Some tapping, followed by, "...Wait a second, America, I don't know the password to your email. And you know what, if whatever you claim about this travelling across parallel universes thing is true, you wouldn't know either, so I don't see how we could-"
"That might not be the case, you know! Considering that we're almost the same person, we might've just chosen the same passwords. I mean..." America trailed off, thinking about the chances of his own email password being the same as the other America's. His passwords had changed quite a ways over the years-in the early 80's he'd stuck adamantly to 'fuck!Russia!fuck' (Russia had somehow guessed his password and made a mockery of him at the following World Conference, the damn bastard).
Then, with the fall of the Soviet Union, he'd started a habit of changing his password every few months, mostly to mourn over whatever unfortunate travesty had befallen his people. His most recent password had been fueled by a combination of jealousy and fear- 'damn!China!nooo'.
Given that the America in this world was still a British colony, the likelihood he would complain about China was very, very small. Unless, of course-
"Hey Canada, can you give me a quick rundown of my relations with China?"
"Your relations with China?" Canada asked, incredulous. "Listen, I don't know how many times I need to tell you this, but you're with the British Empire, so whatever England decides, you go with. And England, he..." Canada trailed off, remembering how he'd overheard the last conversation Russia had with England on the matter.
He could hear the clink of the teapot against the teacup in the background, could hear Russia's harsh breathing and hoarse voice: "Do you ever learn from history, Angliya?" Russia sounded calm, but it was clear that his words were meant to rile. Canada could only hope that this wouldn't break the fragile peace between the two countries.
England ground his teacup onto the table. "I don't think you're the right nation to be telling me that. Who was the one who started yet another land war in Asia?"
"Don't bring up pointless interjections," Russia growled, "What I have done does not concern you in the least. You are better off focusing your energies on reviewing your foreign debts, don't you think? If I recall correctly, you are repeating history in a most unfortunate way, allowing your debt to accrue with China."
"Repeating history?" England asked, harsh laughter escaping from his lips.
(Something was off. Canada could tell, because he'd been observing the Empire for so long now, and it was obvious that something was wrong again, and England was refusing to tell them because it wasn't proper to complain about his personal life with his colonies, though it was perfectly alright to attack any one of them when he was angry.)
"It's all the better, Russia, for if I repeat history, I will come out as the victor. But if you repeat history, well, I don't recall the great Land of Rus evoking fear in the common man's heart a hundred years in the past."
"So this is how you wish to play?" Russia asked, "Your debt with China in the trillions, and you intend to repeat the Opium Wars to relieve it? Yes, you were certainly the victor, Angliya, but history has not looked favorably upon that victory." Russia leaned forward, a look of distaste on his face. "Let me put it in simple terms for you-if you foist illegal drugs into Chinese harbors, China will not take the matter lightly."
England snorted. "He did not take it lightly the last time either, but it's rather funny-nations can change quite dramatically when they're high, can they not?"
"I will not allow it," Russia snapped, with a cold glare to match, and Canada understood. Something was obviously going on with Russia and China, even if China had officially declared himself a founding member of the Non-Aligned Movement, declared himself to be neutral in their insane network of alliances.
"So what about England?" America prompted, impatient for an explanation.
"He's just in a lot of debt, and relations between him and China are...passably cordial, I guess, with a few flareups here and there."
America's eyes widened. England was in a lot of...debt? If the matter weren't quite so serious in his own universe, he'd have laughed out loud at the insanity of it all, because after all the times he'd listened to England rant about his rampant spending sprees, this one was in boatloads of debt, and to China, of all people. Then he realized something-because if both he and England were in a lot of debt to China, and assuming that this England had a tendency to use his passwords as a personal diary of some sort, then-
"Hey Canada, I've got an idea. You know what England's email address is, right?"
"Um, yes?"
"So can you pull it up and try the password 'damn!China!nooo' with his account? That's three o's at the end, by the way, and China with a capital 'C'."
"What the hell are you-Alfred! For god's sake, I am not helping you illegally access England's email-what are we going to do if he finds out?"
"Oh come on! He's not going to find out, 'cause we're not going to do anything once we're inside it. Think of this as a proof of concept-I just got an idea and now I want to test it out! Please, Matt, pleeeaaase?"
A long sigh at the other end, but then America heard typing noises and silently cheered on his own persuasiveness.
"Shit...that was..."
"What?"
Canada sounded breathless at the other end. "It worked, America, it worked! And I'm...I'm in his inbox right now. This-this is insane..."
-
Canada had wanted to speak to America more about the matter-like exactly how he'd managed to guess England's password and what the hell was he supposed to do now that he was logged into the Empire's inbox, but America had insisted that he was in a hurry and had to leave right now. Canada could only guess it was that protest he'd accidentally let slip to his brother and hope that everything would turn out well. 'Well', of course, was defined as 'England not killing America for jumping onto the bandwagon'.
He glanced at England's unread emails, most of which were announcements from the [urgent-world-news] mailling list. The Empire clearly needed a filter for that-it was overpopulating his inbox. Then Canada realized something-something very, very bad-England's mailing system had logged him onto an instant messaging system, and a person (nation?) with the screenname 'capitalistpig' was currently messaging him:
capitalistpig (15:30:01): this victory of yours, rather empty, isn't it?
capitalistpig (15:30:54): how is it angliya, to feel like you have no control over your colonies? unfortunate, i presume
'Angliya'? Damn it, Canada moaned into the computer screen, sinking his head into his arms. It just had to be Russia.
If he typed something in reply, England would obviously find the logs and figure out exactly what had transpired. If he didn't reply, Russia would surely ask England why he was online at such an hour and had refused to respond.
What the hell was he going to do?
He could pretend to be another nation-preferably one of Russia's allies, proclaim that he had hijacked England's account and confuse the hell out of Russia. Canada thought about pretending to be Lithuania-then decided against it, because there was the possibility that Lithuania was still out of commission from whatever Russia had done to him, and he felt a sudden wave of disgust at their earlier actions that had brought Lithuania to make such a sacrifice.
Or he could pretend to be one of Russia's other allies...and given that conversation he'd overheard, perhaps China?
But what would he say? Should he actually reveal that he wasn't England?
He tried to think from China's perspective-if China were able to gain access to the British Empire's email, what would he want to accomplish in a conversation with Russia? If he revealed his identity, it would be recorded, unless he went off the record and-that was it!
Canada switched the chat to 'off the record' and rapidly tapped out a greeting:
commiebastard (15:33:04): hello russia. just fyi, i'm not 'angliya'
England's screenname was most disconcerting-it seemed to exist solely for the purpose of insulting Russia. But then again, Russia had the same thing going on with his name, so Canada supposed it was only fair...
capitalistpig (15:33:48): unfortunate. who are you then?
commiebastard (15:34:36): china
capitalistpig (15:35:23): really now? kitaj...hmm how very interesting.
capitalistpig (15:35:59): now then kitaj, since we are very good friends, perhaps you would like to share the contents of angliya's inbox with me?
Share the contents of-Canada groaned. What had he gotten himself into? England was going to kill him if he found out, and what the hell was he going to say in response to that? Even if England didn't find out that Canada had gained access to his inbox, he would surely be irritated that China had managed to get in. What if Canada started a world war? Could he justify that-could he justify not telling just because he didn't want to face England's wrath?
(Such a coward, he told himself, because he was forever running away from reality.)
Although-there was something off about the way Russia had said 'how very interesting'. This was the problem with chatting-it was difficult to determine if Russia had meant it sarcastically or not, but 'how very interesting' sounded decidedly sarcastic. Which, of course, meant that Russia did not believe he was China. Perhaps he thought that England had finally decided to do it the Russian way and take up trolling? Which meant that the test was to see if 'Kitaj' was willing to share the contents of England's email...
commiebastard (15:37:36): all information comes with a price
capitalistpig (15:38:20): i am willing to pay
capitalistpig (15:38:55): does getting hong kong back sound like a fair price to you?
commiebastard (15:40:01): i don't see how you can do that, HK is not yours
capitalistpig (15:40:34): ohh, i have my ways! surely you know me better than that, kitaj
capitalistpig (15:40:57): have some faith in me, please
commiebastard (15:41:39): i don't believe you russia
There was no response for a while, and Canada wondered if Russia had decided to end the conversation. But then-
capitalistpig (15:46:01): how very nice, because i don't believe you either
capitalistpig (15:46:35): explain to me, kitaj, why would you use china and not zhong guo? i thought you were not a fan of us westerners calling you 'china'?
capitalistpig (15:47:05): you know, angliya, i think your trolling abilities are not quite up to par
capitalistpig (15:47:14): unfortunate, no?
Canada's eyes widened-how had Russia figured him out? He knew it-he should've never pretended to be someone he didn't even know that well, because now he was really dead, because Russia believed that he was England, which meant that Russia would seek the Empire out in person and mock him for his piss-poor attempts at pretending to be someone else. Then England would be confused and demand that Russia provide citations for his lame attempts at mockery, and then both of them would know that something was horribly off, and-
He snapped the laptop lid shut, cursing himself for listening to America. This was the stupidest decision he'd made all day, and how was he going to face England when the Empire came back?
And all that advice he'd given to America before, what right did he have to give it when he couldn't even handle this? All those years they'd spent pretending to be someone they weren't, all those years for naught!
-
(Because they'd both forgotten how to smile, and Canada knew he was at fault. Because that night, those words of his-
"There, America, that's it. Make sure to do it whenever he looks at you, and you should be fine."
They'd practiced smiling in the mirror after, trying to figure out how to replicate a genuine one. They'd read books-the smile starts in the eyes, not the lips, they read, but their eyes were glassy and cold and how could they ignite a smile with eyes like that? They'd lost their ability to smile, lost it to the recesses of that mask they plastered onto their face and they wondered if they should feel sad.
But it was easier this way, they told themselves, clinging on to the bitter memories of better days, of childhood dreams. They weren't children anymore, and adolescents didn't dream.)
-
England had walked into the middle of the protest zone. Alone and unarmed, he raised his fist into the air, like everyone else.
Then he screamed, letting his throat run dry, because this was for a good cause, a righteous cause. Because his people would not stand for a corporate takeover of the nation, because they were not going to allow the wealthy few to run the affairs of the many.
He looked around, looked at the faces of his people, their passion, their anger, their devotion and their distress.
(Everything about them was beautiful.)
And in a fit of revolutionary fervor, he called out, "Corporate tyranny must go! Take back our country! Take back what is ours!"
The yelling continued, and England soon found himself clambering onto the shoulders of one of his citizens. He stood there, feeling tall, grand, larger than life, and he waved his sign of choice about madly, because for once he was right. And the man below him was shouting too, screaming himself hoarse, with beads of sweat lining his face, and England felt proud.
He was proud of himself, of his people, and he was free to show it.
It wasn't the first time he'd felt pride-no, he'd remembered feeling it that night when the world's first atomic bomb had ripped its way across America's land, the time he'd outdone France at a World Fair, but not like this, never like this. He'd never felt so free to express himself before, because he'd always been under orders to keep that stiff upper lip, because it wasn't right to show emotion, it wasn't right to be passionate.
(A sign of weakness, he was told, but he couldn't remember where he'd first heard it.)
Except this time he wasn't weak, he wasn't weak at all. He was stronger than he'd ever been, his empire reached every continent, every ocean shore, every coastline. And there was no longer a need to contain his emotions, because he wasn't playing a poker game anymore. He'd already won, and now he could celebrate, take back what was rightfully his-
A shot rang out, and England felt a pin prick his left arm, and a stream of blood run down his limb.
Someone had died, one of his citizens, and he could see the limp, lifeless body in his mind's eye-the woman's glassy eyes were still half-open in shock and her body had tumbled to the floor, getting trampled under the angry roar of the other protesters.
(He wiped at the blood on his wound, smearing the traitorous liquid about in circles around his skin.)
How had this happened? Who was responsible? They were in Russian land, but Russia would never bother restraining his people, not when they were protesting against the British government, not when they were protesting against British interests, so who had shot her?
His eyes scanned the crowd, and across the sea of faces, there was one he recognized.
That blasted fool.
It was America, and he was screaming something in broken Russian to a guard (when had America learned to speak Russian at all?)-something about-
"What the hell was that? You shot us-you went and shot us! What the hell is wrong with you? This is supposed to be a peaceful protest, a peaceful protest, and you shoot at us!"
As America screamed, England realized that his colony had a matching wound on his left arm, the blood was dripping down his skin in the same manner, and the two of them had even smeared it in the same circular motion-the two of them-so this citizen identified as both-both of them.
(And England felt at a loss, because he was supposed to protect America from this. He was supposed to see the world, deal with the blows, but they weren't. They were supposed to be nicely cocooned in British North America, shielded from the death and destruction the world wreaked upon him.)
America continued unleashing his stream of profanities at the guard, streams and streams of words that even England did not know. (How did he know so much Russian? And England thought back to Russia-just how much contact did Alfred have with the nation? They were doing this behind his back again, weren't they? Exchanging culture when he'd explicitly told the boy not to go anywhere near Russia-could Alfred have been any more irresponsible?
England looked up just in time to see the guard, sufficiently angered, raise his baton and swing wildly at America's face, causing the nation to tumble back into the crowd.
And then America did the unthinkable. He pulled out the pistol from his pants pocket, the new one he'd purchased earlier that afternoon, pulled it out and directed it to the guard's face. There was a wild, wild look on America's face, for he too felt larger than life, because he wanted revenge, and he was powered with that fleeting feeling of invincibility, giddy with a sick sort of glee.
(Because this Russian bastard had attacked him, had landed a hit on his face, and he couldn't allow this to pass.)
His fingers snapped around the trigger, and he imagined himself pulling, once, twice, three times.
Bullets would rain into the man's body, and he would fall back back, body jerking with the impact. Then the two guards standing beside him would immediately trained their rifles on America, and they would probably aim for the kill. (And America wondered-would he feel satisfied? Happy, even, to see the demise of someone who'd attacked him for a few choice words? He-)
"America, for god's sake, what the hell are you doing? Put that blasted thing down," England yelled, hoping his voice was audible over the roar of the crowd.
But America did not move, it was as though he hadn't heard England at all.
So England strong-armed his way through the crowd, shoved himself between angry protestors armed with signs, and made a nose-dive for America's location. He forced his colony to the floor with a well-aimed kick to the shins, and ripped the gun out of America's hands.
Then he pointed the gun at America, disgusted.
"Do you think this is a toy?" he asked, pressing the butt of the gun into America's neck.
There was something horribly blank about the look on his colony's face. It was as though the boy hadn't understood, hadn't comprehended that his actions earlier were the mark of an insane man. Because revenge wasn't conducted by shooting at random Russian guards, no, this was not how the British Empire obtained vengeance, and England was not about to have a wayward colony of his ruin his reputation.
"Listen," England snarled, voice barely audible above the screams, "With this, you can senselessly murder a man, and if you're going to do that, I expect a bit more discretion. Here, all the world can see you, all the world will be witnesses to your crime." England crouched down, pushing the barrel of the gun against America's windpipe and spat out, "You will be a disgrace to the art of war."
And America looked back, horrified, but for very different reasons.
Because he'd almost done it again, he'd almost broken that promise to Canada. And the world, they would point at him, whisper behind his back about how he was supporting some blasted dictator because he wanted money, how he'd abetted in the killing of innocents because he was thirsty for revenge. England had tried to defend him once too, saying that he was young, that he didn't know better, but America knew it wasn't true.
(Because they were born that way, because even when they were children, they were already capable of the worst kinds cruelty.)
"I'm...I'm sorry, damn it, I got carried overboard, I..."
England's fingers relaxed for a moment at America's apology, but he did not move the gun from America's neck. He couldn't take the risk, he told himself, not when a colony of his had almost taken arms against a foreign country, against his will, not when a colony of his was talking with Russia behind his back.
notes:
- Um, yeah, revolutions aren't always conducted so straightforwardly or with everyone in the right. It's kinda like Animal Farm or the French Revolution, there will be shades of gray. Robespierre started out fine, didn't he? But don't worry, no one will turn out like Robespierre. ;)
- England as the British Empire is really, really strong. He's got a giant empire and nukes, so if he put his mind to it, he could certainly crush a rebellion. Just saying that it won't be that easy. :P
- The debt thing is the reason why China's not as pissed at England (read: voted for him) as he could be over Hong Kong.
- The Non-Aligned Movement (in real life) is an organization whose member states were not identified with either the Eastern or Western blocs. It was started by leaders from Yugoslavia, Egypt, India, and Indonesia. In the AU, China is one of the founding members.
This chapter basically wrote itself. I don't know what happened, but I started writing and random ideas came to mind and I applied them. Also, I've done similar things with my passwords when I was younger, which probably explains the inspiration behind America's password-evolution. And yes, America has slight lapses into over-anger (don't we all); his lapses just have more consequences because he's a nation.
Reviews are awesome. :)