It had been exactly 3 weeks 2 days 4 hours 17 minutes and 57 seconds since England ordered his ALFRED F. JONES unit to when he finally received it.

It was a rather dreary day in England. The skies were raining cats and dogs and England was inside his home, reading a mystery while drinking some Earl Grey. He had nearly forgotten that he even ordered a unit in the first place. The memory seemed to have faded once the first week had gone by. When his doorbell rang, he thought nothing of the situation as he set down his teacup and answered the door.

"Ah, hello?"

The man at the door gave him a once over before clearing his throat, "May I please speak with the resident of this house?"

"That would be me." England couldn't help but take notice of the man's shirt. It was a pastel green shade…almost…mint-colored. "Can I help you?"

"I should have specified. May I speak to your owner?" The man looked at his clipboard, "Though…I don't recall any deliveries to this house…especially not an ARTHUR KIRKLAND…"

"I don't have an owner you bloody twat."

The man let his jaw go slack for a moment. "I see. Gosh, they make these units so real these days." He poked England's cheeks a few times. "I mean, the new vocabulary database and the life-like skin. Really…"

England snatched the clipboard and signed it. "I'm not a bloody unit you tosser. I'm the real thing."

The man gave him a sort of pitying look. "Ah, well…I guess that's what you start to think after a while."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I suppose since you signed this I'll just leave the package with you and let your owner deal with opening the box. Make sure to give her…or him I guess…the bill, alright?"

England didn't get the chance to answer. The man in the mint-colored shirt wheeled in a crate, handed England a small package, tipped his hat, and left. England cleared his throat and looked around the room to make sure he was completely alone before opening the smaller package.

Inside was a manual with a neon 'ALFRED F. JONES' title. England inhaled slowly. He was really going to open the box. No turning back now.

He flipped through the manual and scanned the first page.

"Name, Alfred F. Jones. Will reply to USA, America, Hero, Al, Jones, and…Oi Fucktard? Well, I must give this company points on their accuracy…Now then…age is twenty, made in New York, is six foot one, weight fluctuates, length…" England's face began heating up as he hastily skipped a few pages to the unpackaging instructions. "Ahem, right now. Play the anthem, play a superhero cartoon, speak with a British…accent."

England dropped the manual and looked at the box in horror, only to find that it was too late. The crate was shaking violently and England could already hear a faint, "Iggy! Is that you?"

England swallowed his pride and walked over to the crate, which was still shaking. He quickly pried it open, allowing for the unit inside to topple out onto the floor. England was at a loss for words, but the ALFRED F. JONES unit was not.

"Sup dude! I didn't know there was an Artie at this place. Usually they tell us what other units to expect when we're shipped to a new family."

England's mouth felt incredibly dry. The eyes were just as blue, the skin was just as tan, and he still had that adora-annoying Nantucket cowlick. The voice, the posture, the mannerisms. Everything about this ALFRED F. JONES unit was exactly like the original.

"Uh, dude? You ok? Hey, where's the lucky guy or gal we're staying with."

"Actually…it's uh…just myself."

The ALFRED F. JONES unit eyed England very carefully. "What? They let units live out on their own now?"

"I'm England."

"And I'm America, but that didn't really answer my question."

"No lad. I meant that I'm the real England. I'm not a unit like you are."

The unit was silent for a few seconds before breaking out into a large grin. "Man, you're pulling my leg, aren't you? I wasn't aware that the ARTHUR KIRKLAND unit had a version with a sense of humor. HAHAHA, but seriously, quit busting my balls and tell me where our owner has gone off to."

"I'm being serious."

The grin slowly faded off of the ALFRED F. JONES unit's face. He stood very slowly and he made his way towards England.

"You're the real United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland?"

"In the flesh."

The unit swallowed. Then rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. It was shocking for England to see America act so bashfully. The unit gave a short whistle before speaking again. "So…why'd you order me? Can't you just jump the lake and see the real America?"

"W-well. It's not as easy as that you know."

"No, I don't know."

England glanced at the floor. "O-oh. Well, it isn't. Seeing Al-America outside of meetings and such is quite difficult. So I…ordered you. To keep me company. Is all."

The unit glanced awkwardly to the side. "I…see. Damn, you got issues. Do you like, have a thing for the real me? Cuz, even though my manual says 'Length' I don't actually-"

"That's enough!" England interrupted. "I…didn't order you for that. I just…oh, I don't know. It seemed like such a good idea at the time."

The America unit looked at England a bit sympathetically before reaching over and slapping him on the back. "Well, dude, it usually does, but hey, you've got a hero now!" He paused, mulling something over for a moment before saying, "Let's celebrate by hitting up a McDonalds! I'll pay!"

"Erm. That's quite alright. Besides, there isn't a McDonalds for miles in this part of England. Sorry to disappoint you."

"HAHAHA, that's alright buddy. HEY, where's Tony?"

The unit scurried back to his box and started digging through the packaging peanuts. England looked at him curiously, with furrowed eyebrows. The unit finally seemed to find what he was looking for though, as he pulled out a small box.

"Tony, you in there?"

The box rattled a bit. The unit opened the lid and a little grey alien hopped out. He looked around the room and crossed his arms.

"Ah, Tony. Don't be like that. Hey, meet my pal England."

The alien looked in England's general direction, but didn't say anything. England managed a small wave before saying, "Hello there."

"Fucking. Fucking. Fucking. Fucking."

"HAHAHA, man, Tony, I think you're right." The America unit crushed England in a bear hug. "I think we're gonna like it here too."

…how the bloody hell did he figure that out; all I heard was fucking…

Yup. Made a second chapter. I think I might make one or two more after this.

Review?