I purposefully made this part simple in the beginning to show Italy's innocence and simplicty. And this chapter is a long one, so put your reading caps on! Other than that, I don't have much to say. This is longer and what I hope is good, so I hope many people will read it!

Remember to review! Also bring me a bag of lemons. I'm feeling tangy and acidic!

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A Hex Chapter 13

He screams, but nobody is around to hear it.

3 months prior

Italy stared at the ceiling. It was cold here. And really scary too. And he's hungry. And lonely. There's nobody to talk to.

His stomach growled. He sniffled. It was cold.

"Hello, Itallllllly~" A voice suddenly came out of nowhere. He doesn't realize it, but the voice is taunting him.

"I surrender!" Italy cowered on instinct, as he had done so many times in the past.

"I'm just here to have a nice conversation."

A naïve Italy brightened, happy to hear any kind of friendly sound.

"Do you have any pasta?"

"No." The voice is sharp and curt, but Italy failed to hear it.

"Oh…" Italy frowned, but then his face lit up in joy.

"That's okay! Do you want to be friends?"

There was a long silence. Italy failed to notice a door

"Yes. Want me to show you something?"

"Sure!"

"Turn around and go into the next door."

Italy turned around and saw the exit. He went to it cautiously, as something about that door not being there before stuck him as odd. Nonetheless, he pushed the white door.

The room was exactly the same as the last. Confused, Italy looked around.

As he turned around, a blunt force propelled into the side of his head. He staggered away. The world split into two and he cried out in pain and shock. Another hit made the world grow black and he fell into the splitting world.

The last thing he heard was "What I have to show you is super fun, friend" Italy did not miss the venomous undertone this time.

When he awoke, he was sitting in a white chair. He was also strapped to it, as restraints on his neck, abdomen, wrists, and ankles kept him anchored to the seat. He tried to struggle to no avail. The chair nor the restraints budged. He began to cry genuine tears as his head pounded. It didn't help that his head was also unable to move, but instead was stuck straight ahead, where a screen of some sort was black.

The blood in Italy's body flowed quickly, and his heart raced. His fingers were itchy, but he could not manage to scratch them under the stiff and unwilling ties that bound him. He began to bawl and writhe. The tears were uncomfortable, sticking to his cheeks.

"Hello, friend."

"W-What's going ooooooonnnn?!" Italy whined.

In a loud, frustrated tone, the voice boomed "I ALREADY TOLD YOU." A ferocious, electric pain raced through his body, though Italy was not hooked up to any machines or technology.

"I'M SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!" Italy's mantra repeated in a quivering manner. His choked voice was scratching and horrible. And with that, the pain was gone.

"Well, you stupid twit, I was going to show you some things, before you so rudely fainted."

Italy said nothing, but was still shaking panic.

"So pay close attention."

A bright flash turned the screen in front of him on. Italy winced as his eyes burned slightly, but focused.

The film was grainy, but still very viewable. It was a picture of a room exactly like his own, except for two main differences. One, there were no chair or screen. Two, there was nobody there. Then, a girl walked in. Italy instantly recognized who she was. It was Liechtenstein! The smaller country looked around nervously as she timidly walked in. Her garb was different than he had seen her wear before, and was a simplistic white dress.

Italy knew the girl well enough. They hadn't interacted much, but she had never done anything to him that was bad, so he had a positive opinion of her.

They once shared some savory pudding during a world meeting. Italy believed it was vanilla, but it was such a long time ago that he couldn't recall the all specifics with accuracy. It was during China's presentation, which had long since turned to rambling. He was staring out the window. The skies were a calming color of purple which soon soothed Italy to…a…very….deep…slee…..

He was awakened suddenly by a spoon smacking him on the forehead. Before he could start babbling about surrender, Germany clamped a hand over his mouth, and tilted his head towards Liechtenstein. Liechtenstein put her finger over her mouth, a silent plea for his silence. Evidently while trying to open a stubborn label off of her secret lunch (Eating during a meeting was generally considered rude, not that America cared.) , her spoon had flown from her hand and onto his head, at which point Germany intervened to keep the calm in the room.

"Sorry." Liechtenstein mouthed to him.

"It's okay!" Italy mouthed back and smiled, not really mad about a bump on the head.

They continued to look at each other for a small bit until Italy asked if she had any extras. She didn't, but she (secretly) shared anyways.

The screen abruptly went black after she walked in. The transition was choppy and rough. Obviously, it wasn't a professionally made movie. It flickered back to life a second later. The video footage from earlier was nowhere like this one, which was high-quality and detailed. The video footage from earlier was nowhere like this one, which was high-quality and detailed. Italy nearly vomited at the sight presented before him.

Liechtenstein was in strings. She wore a revealing blouse and underwear that was in tatters. She hung limp from the ceiling, tied from white ropes. There was a knife deeply stuck into her upper thigh, and the fingers on her left hand were thoroughly mangled and broken. Her body would occasionally quiver, and Italy swore he could see small teardrops falling from her delicate chin. Occasionally, she would shiver. Or maybe it was her body shaking itself. In front of her was a man whose face he couldn't see, wearing a black trenchcoat. In his hand was another knife.

"LET HER GO! LET HER GO RIGHT NOW! RIGHT NOW!" Italy hollered at nobody. There was no response, and it didn't even look like the torturer heard his words, but that only made Italy yell louder.

"YOU LET HER GO NOW! NOW! LET HER GO! STOP HURTING HER! SHE'S A NICE PERSON! STOP! LET HER GO!" Italy's howls remained unanswered.

He raised the knife

Ever

So

Slowly.

"NO! PLEASE!"

The voice laughed at his pleas in some sort of high-pitched laugh. Liechtenstein gave no indication that she heard either of them, not that she really could in the state she was in.

With a certain swiftness, the awful man plunged the sharpened blade into her lower right thigh.

"NOOOOOOO!" Italy's voice cracked into a fit of rough coughs.

The film cut off again. Then it flickered on again.

Liechtenstein was still wearing the ripped lingerie, but now her injuries were healed! Hope surged through Italy's heart, which plummeted a minute later. The injuries she received couldn't be healed that easily, so this footage had to be BEFORE the torture. As if to prove him wrong, the screen zoomed into knives covered in blood, and the blood-soaked floor. What? That doesn't make sense. How could she not be hurt after being STABBED. Not to mention by those monstrous, sharp-edged knives.

Liechtenstein got up slowly, still shaking. Though she certainly wasn't stable, she seemed to be having minimal trouble getting up from the floor, which was still splattered with her blood. The film cut off again. This time it didn't flicker back on. Italy's eyes pooled with tears that had been suspended during his rare breakdown.

Italy hadn't noticed his hands naturally covering his face, the restraints gone from them.

"Now clean it up." The voice instructed him. He barely heard the instructions before the electricity caused him to fall from his chair and writhe in pain. Curled into a ball, Italy laid in a sweaty twitchy ball until he agreed to wipe the blood from the room.

His shaky legs brought him to the door, and then to a rather long hallway. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Italy's feet tapped down the hall. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. The scene of the cruel blade being driven into Liechtenstein's leg, flashed to his mind even though he was trying to wipe the memory from his mind. Hiccups wracked his body. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

…

Italy tripped on his own feet, and landed on his face. He paused for a second on the floor before pushing himself up from the ground. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. At last, he arrived at the opposite door and, with hesitance, opened it.

He entered and sank into the puddle of scarlet blood adulterating the pure white floor. He didn't bother to catch his balance, and slammed flat into the wetness beneath him. His face was coated in her suffering. He grasped it with shaky hands. The realness of the liquid was too much. Even worse was that it was so very cold.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Liechtenstein."

With an empty expression, he began to mop up her blood.

This was the 83rd torturing. Italy finished the job promptly, and left the room. The hallway seemed shorter than usual. A dull observation was not vocalized. He stopped trying to halt the senseless hurt long ago, but failed every time and eventually quit.

That was all it was. All there was to life. Watching an innocent girl endure horrible cruelty, then cleaning up after the mess.

When he reached his room, he went in and sat in his chair. Soon after, he fell asleep. As expected, he was tied up when he awoke. He looked at the screen drearily, expecting it to flicker to life any second now. But what came on was nowhere near normal. On the screen was not Liechtenstein, but America! His limbs were skewed in awkward, terrifying positions, and his right arm was destroyed. And by destroyed, it was obliterated, horribly disfigured. He was mainly on his back, which redness seemed to be seeping from. America was host to a gory scene. Italy was very glad he didn't have to see this one.

One thing, however, was like usual. Blood was under the person, and Italy would probably have to clean it.

The tape cut off, and Italy waited for another to play, showing America heal. Realization dawned on him that America was not a target of the recovering process. Whatever Master used to heal Liechtenstein was not being done to America. America would have to heal himself from his vomit-inducing injuries.

At that moment, Italy realized the cruelty did not end with Liechtenstein. At that moment, he realized he had no idea who or how many other countries were here. At that moment, he realized his close friends and family could be here. At that moment, he realized Austria and Hungary could be here. At that moment, he realized his twin, Romano, could be here. At that moment, he realized Germany could be here. At that moment, he realized he truly wanted to die.

This had to be the hundredth time he had done this. After that single time with America, Italy had lost count of the amount of times he had cleaned. He had seen America once, but that was it. He was not sure if he was dead, as he was breathing when Italy saw him. After that, there had been no word of him from Master, not that he was told these things anyway.

However, today was different. Italy had been instructed to bathe. Italy really didn't bother to think into what this meant. Usually the blood was sticky and itchy, but Italy really didn't feel annoyed by it. Actually, he didn't feel at all these days.

He poured a clear bucket of ice-cold water over himself and cleaned himself. Oddly enough, he had also been given a new shirt and pants. Both, of course, were a pure white.

"Are you done yet, friend?" Even the use of friend didn't stir any emotions, as it initially did. In the beginning, Master had mocked Italy for what an idiot he was, how weak he was, and how nobody would ever actually be his friend, occasionally making him breakdown and sob, which Master would also taunt him about.

"Hurry up and leave the room. There you will find Germany." Germany! Italy looked up slowly, but the numbness of the situation dulled his emotions.

"If you speak a word of this to him, I will not hesitate take him and torture him to death, got it?"

"Yes, Master."

He left the room and walked over to the room.

Italy looked at the door. It was like any other. It was white and rectangular.

He wasn't sure if he still wanted to die.