A blinding flash which is followed by searing heat and coursing agony, ending in a mass of pure destruction for miles around. Such is the power of the atomic bomb…

And he'd invented the damn thing.

His body had lost even the strength to twitch in his pain as he lay face down on what was once his famous Fifth Avenue. In places his skin had been scorched, in others completely shredded, and in others still had become a hideous dark purple as the cells inside him began to die. The screaming, both his and that of his people, had died down hours ago. Now there was nothing but the crackling of flames and his own haggard breathing. Stinging sensations traveled down from his lips each time he inhaled, and with each exhalation, blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. To top everything off, he'd impaled his torso straight onto a broken, metal window pane. The jagged end of it stuck about a foot out of him, and blood oozed from that wound as well.

He felt ruined. Utterly decimated. His body had become completely immobile, save for his eyes and lungs. The agony coursing through him was white-hot and unbearable as it rippled through his entire being. He wanted to die; he wanted to drown in icy cold water, to numb the pain and stop his insides from pulsating sickeningly as they were. He wanted his heart to still.

Alfred had just felt the impact of six atomic bombs, dropped simultaneously on Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago, Phoenix, Philadelphia, and New York City, where he now lay in his tortured state. He hadn't the slightest idea who specifically had dropped them, and from his perspective, it didn't matter anymore. Six bombs had been dropped, millions upon millions had been killed, and still more millions were suffering the terrible after affect.

He had no shortage of enemies, both passive and aggressive in their hatred of him, and he knew each one of them was easily capable of ordering this kind of attack. He knew each and every one of them wanted to see him dead, and it was beginning to look as though they'd gotten their wish. He hacked suddenly, spewing dark scarlet onto the dusty ground. His vision began to blur, and as his thoughts began to race he thought of Kiku and the identical pain he must have felt all those years ago. A tear stung his left eye.

If only he'd let Arthur raise him a little longer and become more mature, if only he'd been more peaceful and accepting to the other nations as he met them, if only he'd not tried to help others and end up causing more damage than they'd originally been dealing with. If only he hadn't become a country for the world to despise, something like this never would have happened to him.

Alfred knew he'd failed his people, and that truth alone hurt more than any of his wounds.