Hey there, Fang here.

Next installment! Enjoy the beginnings of the whump.

Waking up from unconsciousness hurt. One didn't wake up slowly. More like one was jolted awake.

Too many thoughts.

Head hurts.

One thought at a time, Arthur.

His head throbbed.

His head throbbed, and he was bloody cold.

His head throbbed, he was bloody cold, and something hard was pressing against his back.

And all of this was before he had even ventured to open his eyes.

Arthur gritted his teeth as he rolled over on the hard surface. Pressing his hand against it, he surmised quite quickly for being so disoriented that he was lying upon a rather un-cot-like cot. A cot. Darkness. Nothing so far was giving him any answers he needed.

Not trusting the world outside his eyelids would be pleasant just yet, Arthur settled for trying to remember what had happened right before this new…unfortunate happenstance. The meeting, and the bench. He had been injured. The fight between Alfred and Russia. Yes, it was coming back to him through the pain still pounding a heavy tempo in his head.

Russia. Shit, Russia. Shit, he had been drugged. The voice was Russian. The pieces began to click, and Arthur finally opened his eyes apprehensively.

A single bright light hit his sight like a bullet, and he shut them quickly, turning his head to the side to try again. This time, he was met with a mottled grey stone wall, large dark bricks, rough with the light hitting the uneven surfaces. He stared at them until his vision began to finally swerve back into focus.

He swept his eyes around the room from where he was lying, making sure to keep his eyes from looking up to avoid the light. It was a surprisingly spacy cell, as it didn't quite constitute as a room. There was no window to break the pattern of stone on all four walls, even stretching down to cover the floor. A metal door was on the far wall, heavily reinforced from what he could see. A pair of shackles hung from the wall about midway down, and Arthur shivered.

Whether it was out of realization of the rather freezing temperature of the room or the implications of the bands of metal, Arthur didn't know. In all probability, it was a combination of the two. Arthur wrapped his arms around his torso and shoved his hands underneath his armpits to try and save some semblance of body heat. Seeing as how his sight had finally become acclimated to the shadows cast by the light, he looked up to see a single light bulb hanging from a corner of the cell.

"Cheery place…" he rasped out, more to see that his voice worked still more than anything else.

"I thought you would like it, Britain."

Arthur seized upright and backed up to the wall, his eyes wide with the sudden pump of adrenaline and fright.

Directly in front of him from the shadows of a corner stepped the smiling psychopath, his familiar coat and scarf only adding to his imposing presence.

"I see you have awoken, yes? Good. I trust you have slept well? You are not badly injured? That would make things much less fun, you know."

Arthur's nails dug into the horrible excuse for a mattress as his face contorted into one of utter contempt.

"You…You son of a bitch!"

The Englishman launched himself at the smug Russian, his fists ready to fight his way out of this nightmarish predicament. In his fury and rage, he was more than a match for his opponent, and got in a few good hits upon his abductor. However, Russia drove one well-aimed blow at his solar-plexus, sending all the air out of his lungs and leaving him doubled over and gasping for breath. One more hit to his jaw sent him to his knees, unable to defend himself against the incoming Russian. A hand snaked its way around his neck and squeezed around his airway, cutting off his means of breathing. He struggled for air as he was lifted straight off his feet and smashed into the stone wall behind him.

Arthur flailed, quickly losing his working faculties as he frantically grasped for purchase around Russia's hands at his neck. He opened his blurry eyes to find that Russia didn't move a muscle, and only stared at his struggling face with a smoldering hatred in his eyes. Arthur clutched at the hand choking his life away. His vision became greyer, his lungs strained to breathe. Arthur's struggles became more and more half-hearted as he lost strength and feeling in his extremities. His eyes shut.

Arthur felt himself falling suddenly as Russia's hand disappeared, only to be drawn back up by a rough grip on his hair. If he had the air, he would have cried out in pain, but as it was he gasped like a blasted fish upon dry land. The restricting horrid hand was gone though, and he was choking and sputtering on his own air, drawing in as much as he could through the pain surging through his scalp.

He was lowered to the ground and pushed into a sitting position none too gently; his sluggish movements brushed away like a child's. The clanking of chains reached his ears and he felt his arms each violently pulled outwards from his body. Freezing metal came in contact with his skin, but he couldn't do anything while still gasping for oxygen. His vision began to clear as his brain found itself again with plenty of oxygen. Arthur stared into Russia's grinning face once again.

"Much more comfortable, no? Britain? I created this room for people such as yourself." Russia's slithering smile betrayed all the perverse pleasure he took in this rough treatment of his prisoner. Arthur pulled valiantly against the manacles chaining his arms above his head, but the links of metal stayed strong and steady to the wall.

Russia laughed gleefully at Arthur's futile efforts, but only said, "You shouldn't resist, you know. Your wrists will rub raw, and I doubt a gentleman would want that."

Arthur felt the cold hard blow of Russia's fist connecting to his face, snapping his head around. He clenched his teeth together against the pain reverberating through his cheekbone.

"Fuck you!" he growled at his captor, and earned a rock-hard punch to his gut again. He doubled over, his legs coming up to protect his abdomen. He never cried out though. Arthur would never give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him voice his pain aloud. Russia grasped his chin in his hand, forcing his head forward to face him eye to eye. He tilted his head in consideration.

"Britain…" Russia paused, leaning in closer. "You will be an entertaining man to break…but it will not be easy, no?" He patted Arthur's cheek. "I enjoy a challenge…"

Involuntarily, Arthur felt a cold chill spill down his spine like a liquid fire. He twisted his head away, snapping his teeth in response.

"But of course…You must not think me a mindless savage, yes? That this is all for my own enjoyment. I have my reasons for bringing you here, if you would believe me." Russia stood up and began pacing slowly across the middle of the cell, his eyes boring into Arthur as if sizing up a piece of meat.

"I have often wondered why America will not join me, or at least step down so I may take the power I want. You understand? He has always been in my way, no matter how wonderfully courteous I have been to him. He is indeed much too stubborn."

"Bloody good for him, you fucking bastard!" Arthur spat. He pulled once again at his cuffs, the chains rattling above his head.

Russia lost his grim smile and stepped menacingly to Arthur, pulling his head up by his hair. Arthur bit back a curse as his head was jerked back into the stone wall, sending a new wave of pain through his skull.

"It is rude to interrupt friends, correct? And I do so want to be your friend." Russia's voice held nothing but cold and unforgiving volumes. He let go of Arthur as if nothing of consequence had been said and continued his pacing.

"To be short, as you seem to have no care for my unfortunate predicament, I shall put this as simply as possible. I need America with me, or out of my way. The first option is preferable, for then I am much more able to control him. And he is very hard to control, or even predict, is he not? Unlike you."

Arthur spat a mouthful of blood out on the ground from his split lip to show just what he thought of that particular statement.

"How then, I think, am I supposed to control a volatile American into complying with my wishes? In dire situations concerning me, America is not highly reliant upon logic, but emotion. So who, therefore, would create something like that to work in my favor?"

Russia grinned, obviously quite pleased with himself.

"To my knowledge, there are only two countries in the world who would elicit any sort of emotional response from America if they, shall we say, left the radar. The twin…Canada, you say, for one. While a good choice, he is unattainable. That invisibility trait he has is rather annoying, and makes him more trouble than he's worth. So of course…there is only one option."

Arthur felt that ice fire sliding down his body again as Russia trained his gaze slowly upon him, looking up and down his body.

"America is very protective of you, to say the very least. I'm very surprised he left you alone for so long today…though I do not complain. In fact, I shall make sure to thank him the next time I talk to him."

Arthur scowled, though the icy feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach. He asked the question, already having a few guesses lined up.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" He snapped.

Russia only seemed bemused by the Brit's anger.

"Why, it is simple, isn't it? I use you to 'convince' America to join me, or at least keep out of my way for a specified amount of time. Simple as that."

"He would never!" Arthur roared in outrage.

"Oh? Even if it is to make sure no harm comes to you?" Russia's eyebrows lifted up in utter disbelief.

"That's right, you bastard ." Arthur felt the blood rising in his face. "He may be young and brash, but he's not that idiotic! He knows better than to put himself at risk for my own safety. He will think about himself first, as he should!"

"Are you completely sure about that, Britain?"

"You're simply going to piss him off! And God, I hope you do, because I bloody well can't wait to see your blasted body riddled with bullets!"

Russia's expression expressed perverse glee. "That's what I thought you would say, Mr. Kirkland."

He reached into his pocket slowly, and Arthur stiffened, expecting a knife, a gun, anything that Russia could use to inflict pain upon his person. He strained at the cuffs again. Russia watched his reaction with express interest.

From his pocket, he pulled out a cell phone. Arthur tried not to show his visible relaxation, but even Russia smirked at his anxiety deflating even a little bit. The Brit closed his eyes, trying to gather his nerve and his thoughts again. He could find a way to get out of this. Alfred had no idea where he was anyway, so there was nothing to worry about if Alfred were to come. Arthur could find a way out of this himself. He was a spy, for God's sake. He was used to this kind of thing. As long as Alfred was kept in the dark, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Russia chuckled. "Let us call Mr. Jones for his opinion, yes?"

Arthur's eyes snapped wide open.

Author's Comments:

Oh, I'm so excited...I get to write ALL the torture scenes over again. And make them worse to the maximum. I've got some doozies. Arthur's in for a real treat.

Again, please review, as I do appreciate it. Any feedback makes me a better writer.

Thank you again!

-Fang