So you know, I will probably not use any human names. If I do, you'll figure out pretty quickly who it is. I will also probably refer to Northern Ireland as "North" a lot, because writing out NORTHERN IRELAND every time is a pain.

DISCLAIMER: Me no own, you no sue. Seriously. This is fanfiction for a reason. That goes for the whole story. The content is mine, though

Northern Ireland yawned for what felt like the 100th time that night.

He scowled and rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other shoved deep in the left pocket of his only nice suit. England had forced him to wear it to that day's meeting.

The meeting had gone ridiculously late. If it could even be called that, North thought irritably. He hated it when England hosted the World Conferences. A car whooshed by him in the dark, and he winced at the sudden brightness of headlights shining in his eyes.

Why do they even have those meetings? he silently asked the darkened sky. It's not like they ever get anything done. Morons... He hated that his brother forced him, as well as Scotland and Wales, to go to all the meetings he hosted. Some blather about "Representing the United Kingdom to its full extent". At least the older two could get away with tormenting England about it.

The bloody arseholes, North thought, viciously kicking a beer can that was lying on the pavement. Tonight, he wasn't in a very favorable mood. Scotland and Wales had dragged England off the minute the conference had ended. Probably to go to a pub, get drunk, and yell bloody murder at each other about all their past troubles. As usual

Which meant that he was left to walk home. Alone. At night. In the rain.

"I hate them all!" Northern Ireland yelled at nothing in particular. Fortunately, there was no one there to see him screaming like a crazy person into the rain-drenched night. Because they're not mental, and are actually inside and asleep, instead of mucking around out here.

He finally turned the corner that lead to the walkway directly outside his house. England had had a small one reserved for him when he forced all his brothers to stay in England. Which was often.

Maybe I should just declare independence like Ireland did... North thought tiredly. After processing that thought (he was exhausted, and it was making his thoughts a bit sluggish) he scowled, furious at himself. Why the hell am I even considering doing anything like that bastard?! I don't care if he is technically my brother...

Still fuming, he dug his keys out of pocket and unlocked the front door. Shoving the door open with perhaps a bit more aggression than necessary, he stepped gladly out the chilly rain, welcoming the familiar warmth inside.

North wiped the water off his face and tossed his keys and phone on the table as soon as he got into the living room. He was NOT going to go get his brothers if they called. They could suffer on their own.

When he had changed out of his damp suit and into a much more comfortable T-shirt and jeans, his irritability cooled a bit, but the previously controlled exhaustion was now demanding his attention.

North was just coming out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his drenched hair, when he felt that something was wrong. He hurriedly checked the living room again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But still...

His brothers had always told him to go with his instincts. And right now, even in his tired state, they were buzzing like crazy.

Frowning, he lay the towel down on the back of the only armchair and started to make his way towards the kitchen.

He had made it halfway across the room when he was roughly tackled from behind and slammed into the hardwood floor.

North cried out in surprise. Twisting, he managed to elbow his assailant in the face. The man let go with a gasp of pain, and North scrambled backwards, out of his grasp.

The man was wearing a brown jacket, with dark hair and a nondescript face. He looked like any one of England's normal citizens. Northern Ireland barely had time to register this before he was grabbed from behind again and pulled upwards, off his feet, arms pinned behind his back. Two other men.

North struggled, trying to wrench his body around and get loose. How many of them are there? He thought frantically. Who are they?

"Let go of me!" he spat. He managed to work an arm free, and struck one of the attackers hard across the ribs. There was a loud CRACK and the man lost his grip on North, clutching his abdomen.

North felt grim satisfaction as he kicked out as one of the other men. He might not be as strong as his brothers, or say, America, but he was still a nation.

A order was barked in a language he didn't catch, and suddenly, a sickly sweet smelling cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose.

North panicked, knowing what they were trying to do, and thrashed violently, trying to get out of his attackers' grip.

One of them hit him in the stomach, and he gasped, involuntarily breathing in.

He could feel himself going numb, and black spots were starting to dance across his vision.

North's struggles were gradually getting weaker as the chloroform set in in. He tried shaking his head to get it off, but everything was fading away.

I can't... he thought groggily. I have... to... stay...

He didn't even register his collapse.

The six assailants stood, breathing hard, and nursing their various injuries. Two of them were still holding the young ginger nation, who was limp and unconscious, having finally succumbed to the chloroform.

One of the men cursed, holding his ribs painfully. "Holy shit! That kid is strong!"

A few of the others nodded, and the two that were holding their target laid him down on the floor.

"This is the correct one, right?" The first assailant asked.

Another man knelt by the unconscious nation and studied his face. "Almost definitely. Our orders said slender, ginger haired, looking to be in his middle to late teens. This is him."

"How long does the chloroform last?" the tallest attacker asked, picking their captive up and slinging him over his shoulder.

"It should last for about two hours, but we don't really know. We don't exactly have records on them. Nothing concrete, anyway."

"Right. Get back to the cars. Follow your orders to the letter, understand? We're just the first leg, we need to get the target to the next checkpoint. Move."

It was all very well planned.