Chapter 3. Pride and Prejudice

When your fate is sealed by your beliefs.

Thanks for the encouraging reviews, favourites, and follows! I have never expected this and I'm overjoyed to see that you are excited for this fic's next installment, I hope this does not disappoint. By the way, the rating has gone up given the content of this chapter. And this is awfully long too, almost double the length of the previous chapters…

Disclaimer: I wish I own Hetalia, but I sadly don't. This chapter is inspired by The Facility by TianShan, whose idea has given me a plot focusing on the aspect of "re-raising" as a form of punishment.

Warning: Nudity, sexual violation, violence, languages, and humiliation. Poor Arthur, he doesn't deserve this at all. Sadly, this is just the beginning of Hell. It will get disturbing, since our dear Arthur is strong and the asylum aims to break him and mold him into an obedient doll.

"It's not given to people to judge what's right or wrong. People have eternally been mistaken and will be mistaken, and in nothing more than in what they consider right and wrong."

― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

Eyelids fluttered as they gave way to reveal the forest green irises, blinking as only darkness greeted him. With a throbbing pain on the back of his head, he was reminded that he was knocked unconscious. Searching for the last memory in his mind before he had ended up in this predicament, he remembered being attacked by a group of armed guards amid his sleep in the hotel. The thought jolted him wide awake with panic.

Where is he now? What do they want from him?

The amount of men that were sent after him confirmed his suspicion that it was a designated attack against him; an assault in afterthought would not be so well planned and executed with such precision. His train of thoughts was interrupted as the door of the van slid open and the dim lights from the lamp post lining the streets slipped past the crack of the door and shroud him in a gentle, glowing light.

Two figures leaned forward and grabbed his arms, the chains rattling as he was roughly pulled out the vehicle. Looking downwards, he found his limbs shackled like a prisoner. England tried to stand, but the cramps resulting from the bondage had him swaying on his feet. Before he could fall over, he was lifted to the broad shoulders of one of the guards and carried like a sack of potatoes.

It didn't take long before they entered a building. The receptionist looked up, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"Another new one." Came the gruff reply from one of the guards as he lifted his helmet, his comrades following suit. "Man, what a catch. I am done having this stuffy helmet on."

"Doctor Myers is waiting for the new patient on the fourth floor. Please hurry up to send him to diagnosis, he is getting impatient."

England was steered to the lift, squeezed tight as the squad entered right after him, leaving him no room for movement and forced to be on the receiving end of their hungry looks. He was relieved when the arrival bell rang and he was pushed out of the lift, finally able to breathe again. Though it was getting late, the doctors in clean white robes were still walking around, carrying folders and clipboards containing documents and the conditions of their patients as they spared a glance to the British nation before refocusing on their work.

Stopping in front of a room located at the end of the corridor, the head of the guards knocked at the door with labelled with "Dr. H. Myers".

"Come in, I have been waiting." Came the voice behind the door, a hint of impatience apparent in his tone.

Yanking the door open, England was ushered inside the room. A middle-aged man was sitting in front of the desk, scribbling with an astute posture. He only turned to his visitors when his door slammed shut, his grey eyes scanning the guards critically.

"You look roughed up. This one gives you a hard time?"

The men nodded in agreement. "He's violent. He did fight surprisingly good for such a little thing."

The doctor nodded before turning to England. "Mr Arthur Kirkland, right? Welcome to The Sanctuary Psychiatric Hospital. I am Hector Myers, your doctor."

England nodded numbly. It wasn't hard to come to the conclusion that he was transferred to a hospital with the sanitised environment and the attires the staff were wearing.

"We have received a call notifying us that you display symptoms that require our services. I will ask you questions and you would answer them truthfully for your own benefit. I advise you to think twice before lying, we do have our ways to detect lies. Am I clear?"

That had confirmed his theory that someone had sent those men after him.

"Let's begin, shall we? According to our contact, you claim that fairies are real and you can interact with them. Is that true?"

A resounding no would be the safest bet, but England knew his magical companions would be hurt from his denial. The sad eyes of the kappa he had a brief encounter within Japan's home had made its mark on his mind; and he was afraid that they would suffer the same fate, lying abandoned and forgotten. His childhood friends had always tried to soothe him when the future seemed bleak, and to deny their existence was a betrayal in itself. The last thing he could do was offer his loyalty and belief; it might not be the smartest choice, but a faithful one.

"Yes." He gave a short and brief answer, unwilling to tell any more information for it to be used against him. He knew his friends would be telling him to lie, to say he wasn't blessed to witness the world of magic and wonder, shaking their heads and tears welling up as they realised the nation they had watched over for centuries had sealed his fate with his honesty. The memories of the nights he spent with fairies, nymphs, and unicorns were vivid as if it was yesterday. instead of a time so ancient that the land was still largely inhabited. The age of science and industry had made humans turn against them, the dwindling belief made the thread tying the world of the faeries and the reality wither and shrivel. He refused to participate in severing the ties his lifelong friends depended on for their continued existence as the figure of the kappa retreating to the woods pulled his heartstring again. He would not trade the very essence, the life and soul of his friends to save his own skin.

He would gladly take the pain and torture if it meant they could dance in their elusive movements and sing in their angelic voices again.

"Surely you understand they are just your imaginations? They are just a fairytale with no proof that they ever existed."

"You're wrong. They are my friends."

"That's bold of you to say so, Arthur. Ask anyone around here and they will say the opposite. And you say you befriended them; next you will say magic exist and you are going to put me under a spell."

Admittedly, England did have a strong belief in magic as well, seeing he frequently performed sorcery and had always taken pride in it. Keeping his gaze to the floor, England decided against speaking his mind, knowing it would only dig himself a deeper hole.

As if he could read his mind, Doctor Myers moved on to another topic, one that could rile the temperamental nation up without fail.

"They also informed us about your obsessive tendencies towards your younger siblings, with an inability to see them as adults. Do you think you are acting in their best interest by manipulating them into obeying you?"

"I did no such thing! Are you implying I am simply controlling and using them to my own benefits?" His sudden rise of voice caught the guards off guard and he shrugged them off and marched to the doctor, rage clear in the bright green eyes. "I love them. Of course I care about them! They are all I have as a family!" He rarely expressed his affection, too embarrassed and shy to put his heart on display, but in a spurt of anger, he had let it slide.

"No? Why are you furious, then? They must be annoyed at you and eager to be rid of your presence. Deny all you want, but it won't change the fact; it can't be twisted like how you shape your siblings' opinions on you in your mind."

Raising his fists, England was about to give the sententious doctor a piece of his mind before he was pulled back a guard who recovered and yanked the chains on his wrist, tugging him away from Doctor Myers.

"Tsk, what a violent specimen, resorting to fists when he can't face the truth." He snorted, turning his attention away from England to scrawl more notes on his booklet.

"Well, Mr Kirkland, I regret to inform you that you suffer from severe schizophrenia. You clearly show symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, seeing how attached you are with your younger siblings. I bet you can't let them go and always suffocate them with your so-called love and affection. Being as controlling and temperamental as you are, it makes a highly probable case for personality disorder. Not to mention your explosive temper, it sounds like a case of intermittent explosive disorder may also be observed."

"There's nothing to worry about with you in our care, however." Doctor Myers's lips tugged upwards, morphing into a pleasant smile that many would find attractive if not for the words coming out of the thin lips. "It will be easily fixed by having a fresh start, after all. All it takes is a re-raising."

"You will be staying in Room 704 during your time with us. Don't think of escaping, it is a maximum security ward. From now on, you will be treated as a newborn baby as you start anew."

"No, I will not have you treat me in such a degrading manner…!"

Doctor Myers had ignored his protest as he leaned down to unlock a drawer under his desk, a victorious smirk on his face as he reemerged. "Be a dear and wear this for me, would you?" England's face paled in disbelief and disgust as he saw the fluffy white item on his hand.

A diaper. As though he was an incontinent infant.

"No, I am not going to wear a nappy for God's sake!" Struggling against his shackles wildly, England's fear had reached its height as the physician stood up and approached him, still holding the diaper.

"Oh, you are not the only one. Most of the patients we received have refused to wear one when we ask nicely, but all of them have begged us to diaper them afterward. I look forward to seeing you in one, and I know you will soon be yawning for it."

"Take him away. I expect him to start his treatment tomorrow morning."

Two guards stepped forward, grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the office swiftly. "Get along now, you have to be cleaned and changed before you are sent to your room. There's no time to waste. We need to inspect you thoroughly and shave your hair down there." The one on his left laughed heartily, sneaking a hand down to stroke his privates. "Bald as a newborn baby, you heard the doc, didn't ya?"

The Briton held his head high, trying to ignore how he was touched. His fair share of being groped by France had made it easier to feign indifference. Yet, France would never treat him like a toy, a mere plaything. His lingering touch might be a ploy to tease him, but England could always sense the emotions behind.

Love, care, respect.

They might banter every time they met, but France had always been tender and thoughtful in his touches, even if they were quarreling at the same instance.

He was once again led to the lift. which stopped on the seventh floor. The ambiance of the seventh floor was a deep contrast to that of the fourth floor, transforming from a hospital to cell-like wards that resembled a prison.

"Well, that's the maximum security for ya. Now off to the showers you go, you will be cleaned and shaved there. You will have a more comprehensive tour of the facility tomorrow. Tonight you will change into your garbs and head straight to bed. Understand?"

England glared at him. He didn't feel like talking after being vulgarly touched and knowing he could do nothing to stop them.

Passing by countless numbers of cells, they finally stopped at a barred gate. England was escorted inside to the open space, standing in the middle of the guards on the white tile.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Off with your clothes, we need to give you a frisk first."

Raising his arms to defend himself against any attempt of the guards ripping the shirt off, the Briton shook his head. No. No. No. They can't see me naked...!

"A stubborn one, I see. Let's see if you still proud after this!" The arms of a guard standing behind him circled his waist and he worked to unclasp the belt and tugged his trousers down.

A soft gasp escaped from England's lips as he felt the cold air sweeping at his bare legs as he leaned down to grab his trousers. His hands were yanked away before he could touch the fabric, and his shirt was removed in an instant.

His struggles had earned him a harsh shove to the wall as his captors tore his Union Jack boxers down, laying him bare for their ravenous eyes to see.

With his hands chained, England could not cover his modesty and the only thing he could do was look away in shame, finding the white tile of the bathroom to be the most interesting thing to stare at as he tried to take his mind off from how his crotch had been ogled at.

The commander laughed as he reached out to pat the golden patch of hair between the nation's legs, causing trembles to his sensitive body. Delighted at the response he received, the man grabbed England's cock and started to stroke it mercilessly, grinning as he saw the blush on the Brit's face. Tears welled up in the wide green eyes as he was forced to endure the humiliation, unable to escape.

"Not so proud and strong now, huh? Touch his needy hole, would you? It will surely do this little slut a favour."

His call was soon answered by his followers. A man had taken on the order as he stepped forward, a malicious glint shining in his beady eyes as calloused hands grasped at his bottom and pulled it apart. A stubby finger prodded at his puckered hole before pushing it in forcefully. His head thrown back as he screamed at the pain of being entered without any lubrication, but no mercy was given by his assailant as he rapidly added a finger and started scissoring him, drinking in his misfortune gleefully. His shame had multiplied when he felt a sticky substance started flowing out of him and dripped down his thighs.

"Look, he's wet already! Man, you're right, he must be desperate. Hey, bitch, enjoying yourself?" The fingers inside him started to poke around inside him, trying to find the sensitive nub of nerves.

"Ha, good that you have nothing inside you aside from your juices!"

"He is dripping, what a show we have here!"

His spectators whistled at the sight of him being molested. He had been subjected to torture for numerous times in his lifetime, usually for the extraction of information, but the feeling of intrusion into his most private place left a more scarring impact; for once, he felt filthy.

A soap was roughly dragged along his hair and body, but England barely registered it. His body trembled when his sweet spot was being brushed by the fingers. His shiver did not go unnoticed, and the fingers kept their lingering touch on the nub, before it was mercilessly massaged.

"His hair is soft, shame that it has to go. Pass me the foam, this baby is going to get himself shaved till he's baby-smooth!"

Boisterous roars reverberated around the shower room. One of the men opened a stainless steel cabinet and grabbed a labelled glass bottle, checked it before handing it to their leader.

The commander ripped the cap open and poured the content in his palm, working it into a lather and applying it to England's crotch. The foam was evenly rubbed on his privates and inner thighs, until his legs are also covered with the froth. He did not have much hair on his legs and his chest, it seemed like his eyebrows had monopolised all of his hair growth. And they caught sight of it.

"Does all of your hair go to your huge eyebrows? Your legs are hairless."

He jumped when a stream of water splashed him. The guard turning on the water tap had given no warning before he held up the high pressure water hose, the impact of the pumped out water hitting him painfully. It quicked washed the cream and the dissolved hair away, leaving him hairless and exposed.

"There, smooth and clean." The leader was on him once the water tap had been turned off, fondling his now bald privates.

A rough towel was draped over him, wiping him dry. The soap did nothing to cleanse him. He stood quietly when they slipped a pair of white rubber booties on his bare feet.

"Put this on. Be quick, or we are walking you out naked." A white material was flung his way, and laughter once again erupted when it landed on his face. Pulling it off his face, the Briton found himself holding a pair of plain white briefs. His hands trembling as he hastily pulled the undergarment up to cover himself up from lecherous eyes.

"Stand straight." He backed away once he saw the straitjacket the guard had taken out of a closet. The canvas-made garment was rough and hard, uncomfortable, and itchy against the skin and reeking of chemicals and disinfectants. The commander, who had been standing beside him, soon caught him by the arm and pushed him forward as a group of four moved to surround him and keep him cornered for their companions to force him into the restrictive wear. They had refused to let the chance to shame him go to waste as he was pushed against the shower room wall when they secured the clasps on the back and the crotch strap, evidenced by how they had deliberated tied the strap tight enough that his girth was straining against the thin briefs he was wearing, exposing him to lustful stares. Tugging the strap several times, they were waiting in bated breath for the friction created to arouse him again. The men whistled as they saw it came to fruition, a small spot of wetness materialising on the white material. The guards whistled as the commander took the reins again, tugging it and rubbing it against his erection until he was hard and dripping, staining the front of the briefs that it was hard to miss.

"Good boy. See, it's not so difficult, is it? Gotta make yourself memorable somehow, and what's better than being the one who gets hard from being admitted? Let's get going so they can all see you in your glory, hmm?" Signalling his subordinates to start walking the nation to his ward, the commander followed closely behind, watching their prisoner. England kept his head held high, unwilling to think or look at the wetness he felt between his legs. Leaving the shower room, they had taken the path back to the corridor filled with cells.

He was marched down the pristine corridor, forced to parade himself for all to see as he was escorted to his cell. Orderlies and nurses occupied the narrow pathway, carrying food and medicines for delivery; but they had paused in their work to send curious gazes to the stomping footsteps produced by the boots the guards flanking England's sides were wearing.

The new patient had caught their attention immediately.

He was beautiful. Shining blonde locks, soft porcelain skin, shimmering green eyes. He was ethereal, delicate as a rose, complete with a strong spirit being his thorns. Even if he was dressed in a straitjacket and a flimsy pair of underwear didn't dent his beauty.

They found it harder to look away once they noticed the wet spot on the white underwear.

"He is leaking when we're tying his crotch strap. What a whore, he gets excited when he's restrained. Probably has a fetish for it too." The nurses blushed as the guard retold the tale, shy to know the details; but the orderlies jeered and leered at him, as if he was a piece of meat sitting on their plate meant to sate their hunger. He was guided along the corridor to his destination, with countless eyes fixed to his body, cruel laughter ringing in his ears and lascivious looks fixed on the stain that had put him to shame.

Room 704 was a forlorn place. The titanium door emanated coldness, cold to touch and cold to feel; devoid of any emotions and warding any hope and cheer off. The lone window on the door was barred, reinforcing the idea that it was more of a prison than a ward, meant to punish instead of heal.

England was shoved inside once the commander opened the door. Ushered into a world of blankness and bleakness, the Brit's eyes blinked as he surveyed the room.

Everything was white. It was a white padded room, void of any decoration except for a bed in the corner. The bed and pillow followed the white motif of the room, the standard of a suicide watch room in a mental hospital.

"Grab me the welcoming pill for the high-risk ones. I am going to ensure he stays down for it." Waving his subordinates away to retrieve the requested drugs. the commander hauled England to the bed, binding him to the bed using the restraining straps attached to it.

"We've gone easy on you for your first day. It's late so take your meds once they return and sleep." He patted the bed as he spoke, eyes burning holes in the nation with a harsh glare." Your rehab starts tomorrow, and we'll come and get you for breakfast at eight. You will be eating at the canteen with other patients under supervision. We don't want our little babies choking their food."

"No, you're not…" England bit back his scathing remark on how false he statement of being kind to him on the first day was, knowing there's a more pressing matter on hand.

"Wait… What are you going to feed me?" England knew it wasn't going to be anything good, and he had to devise a plan to avoid swallowing it. He was never given a chance to do so, however.

"Why bother asking? You're going to take it anyways." There was a knock on the door, and the other guards returned with a tray carrying a yellow pill bottle, a syringe containing a suspicious yellowish liquid, and a glass of water.

"Right at time. Open your mouth, or I'll force you to."

England kept his mouth shut and turned his head away, refusing them in silence. The commander growled as he waved two of the guards to come closer to the bed.

"Michael, pinch his nose. Jeremy, grip his neck. He will open his mouth when he's suffocating just like usual." The two named guards were easily recognisable, with Michael being the one who had stroked him outside the doctor's office and Jeremy as the guard who had fingered him in the bathroom. He flinched away from their touch, but the straps had held him tight in place and he could do nothing to stop their advance. The two didn't waste any time in cutting off his oxygen supply for their leader to force the pill in. Knowing their intention, Arthur held his breath defiantly. They were wrong if they thought he would succumb to them easily.

"Haven't learned your lesson, I see. Being rowdy will get you nowhere." Raising his hand, he smacked England's face with full force, leaving an angry mark in its wake. Slap after slap, the hits didn't stop until Arthur could feel his face burning and involuntarily let out a small cry of pain. That brief moment had become an opening to be abused as the pill was thrown into his mouth the second his mouth was open, and water was poured in so it slipped down his throat before he could spit it out.

It didn't stop there. Putting the now empty cup back to the tray. the commander grabbed the syringe next to it and plunged its needle to his thigh, emptying the content into his veins. His eyes widened and a soft gasp escaped him involuntarily.

"See, you won't escape it. Don't try this with us again or your pretty face won't be the only thing hurting next time." With these words, the group of men left him to wallow in his misery.

The door slammed with finality as England's world shrunk to the small cell he was in.

I would like to say no Iggy was harmed during the making of this fic, please believe me -shot-

Would you like to see more Iggy torture or the return of Francis and the introduction of Matthew and his two Oceanic brothers? These two chapters are interchangeable so let me know what you would like to see next in the reviews!