Setting Sun

Germany's never looked so vicious. Sure, England knows that Germany's been dangerous, but here and now, at the feet of his victor, Germany's smile is ruthless.

"I've waited for this." Was the cold whisper, full of malevolent glee, "Last time you left me in ruins, but now, now it's my turn."

England stares resolutely ahead, avoiding eye-contact. He turns inward, feeling the heavy shackles on his wrists and the metal collar around his neck rubbing against blisters and open, festering wounds.

"The mighty British Empire. Stripped to his roots and in chains." Here, a chilling laugh that sounds his doom. "I heard you released some of your colonies. Smart move, but futile. They won't be able to cope with sudden independence; especially not some of the smaller ones."

England closes his eyes; he knows Germany speaks the truth, but some, hopefully most, would avoid falling into ruin, and it is better than anything Germany would do to them. England would like for them to have help, but France is in the next cell over and has been here longer than England has; he can not help them. After France fell, China had become more directly concerned with Japan, and Russia, wisely, pulled out before he lost anything. While China and Japan fought in the east, England was left to fend off both Germany and Italy (who became surprisingly more confident on the battlefield when he wasn't likely to lose) advancing from all sides of the continent. England had resorted to calling for troops pulled from colonies all over the world. But Canada, Australia, New Zealand and others were just too far away for their soldiers to arrive in time. England had sent telegraphs to his colonies, advising them of his defeat, their independence and telling them to recall their men immediately moments before Germany had barged in through his barricaded door. Best that something could be salvaged from all this.

A boot-clad foot comes down heavily on his head and England crumples from his kneeling position, sliding down the wall, feeling flesh blood trickle down the back of his head.

"I think," Germany muses as he places his boot on England's head, pressing down with increasing force, "that I'll move to the west next. Spain's been a pain in my ass. I'll take his provisions by force."

England can barely hear Germany's next words through the roaring in his skull. "Or south? We'll see how quickly Turkey stops being 'neutral'."

Germany finally releases England's head and the fallen nation gasps in ragged breaths, the sound of the blood rattling in his lungs intensifying the pain in head tenfold.

"Or north? Sweden. Blonde hair and blue eyes; that's what Hitler wants."

That cold, cruel laugh again, and Germany leers over England, "Of course, they're all neutral. Isn't it wonderful? I don't have any enemies left in Europe." A malicious smile crawls over the new super-power's face, "The British Empire, the last pin to fall. And what shall I do with you?"

A cane prods at England's cheek and continues to jab him sharply until his head rolls to face Germany, who's mockingly contemplative expression fades to a disgusted one, "Abandoned by America. Hilarious." But he doesn't laugh.

"To think," Germany breathes, "thirty odd years ago, I was where you are, and you were where I was." he pulls back and smiles almost wistfully, except there's a sadistic twist to his lips that just renders his expression grotesque. "Beautiful."

Germany's voice is almost a hiss, "And last time, you let me go. You left me desolate. But" and here Germany's voice hardens, business-like, "financial ruin made me what I am today, and I will not repeat your mistake. I will not let you go. Ever. You and that French bastard will never leave this building. I'll rule over your lands with an iron fist, and I'll watch everything. Your lands will fall into ruin and I won't care. You will never get the chance to defy me."

England licks his dry lips, readying himself for speech, "No."

It is the first word England has spoken in days. It rasps as it claws its way out of his throat.

"What was that?" Germany asks, face darkening. The standing nation takes a step forward, onto England's chest, pressing down hard.

England forces breaths into rattling lungs, bidding the coughs not rise. He speaks, barely a whisper and pausing often to gasp in raw, painful gulps of air, "When you spread yourself too thin, you will invariably collapse in upon yourself."

Germany's eyes narrow and England finishes with a breathy, "What do you think happened to the Roman Empire?"

The victorious nation flinches and pushes off England's chest with a vicious stomp that leaves England coughing and spluttering as he rolls onto his side, chains clanking.

Germany stares coolly as the other country coughs until he spits blood. He turns to the exit. "You underestimate me. I will not fail. Unlike you, I have allies."

The door slams shut with a finality that rings through England's bones. But he is too caught up in the irony of the Germany's last word. Intentional, no doubt. But still, it's funny. Crumpled in a cell, burdened with chains that rub him raw, the once-empire giggles. Giggles turn to chuckles, until he is rocking with the force of his laughter. And at last, it is England's turn to laugh, alone, and hysterically.