AN: I know, I have no excuse. I haven't updated this story since March. I hope that the readers I have will still stick with me through this journey! Please enjoy this newest installment. I just began reading Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, and it reminded me of Nineteen Eighty-Four, so I am rereading it.

The landscape was desolate and the air smelled of something burning; perhaps it was a eternal smell, now. The bomb had just alighted, and Canada could feel the energy crackling in the air- the explosion had been close enough to send debris his way, cutting lightly through his cheek as he winced at the sudden pain.

Matthew did not know how to respond to bombs. He was not well acquainted with them, by any means, and he knew how destructive they were especially in the wrong hands. He could not comprehend why America would bomb itself. Although wars usually did not cause physical injury to a country's personification, there was a certain internal, maybe even mental, pain that was associated with it. That was why civil wars all over the world- Spain, Russia, and, of course, America- were so painful. A country should not attack itself. Canada knew that the reason why America acted the way he did now was because this revolution or whatever that America was enduring was tearing him apart from the inside.

Canada quickened his pace. He needed to see America immediately.

The first squad sent into American territory consisted of England, Russia, Italy and Germany. Finland was still recovering from his physical injury, with Sweden assisting him, and the other countries agreed to send a small party into the territory before attempting to send them all in. Prussia was slightly upset that he was not part of this initial squad, but he was appeased with being the "leader" of the "backup squad".

"I feel sorry for all of these people," Italy said. "They are getting bombed a few times a day, and some of their loved ones are bound to die."

"I just don't understand why the bombings are continuing," Germany observed. "If they kill all of the citizens, then who will they have to rule over?"

England frowned. "And who is 'they'?"

Italy paused. "I… don't know."

England sighed. "I think we need to find out who the real enemy is. It isn't just America- I think that his strange actions are just a side effect of whatever is happening here. We need all of the facts, and then we can confront America and try to help him."

"We get that. How do we go about it, though?" asked Germany. "I think just asking people about it will raise suspicions."

"Oh, maybe a newspaper!" Italy spied a rack with the Times stacked up in it. He ran over and grabbed one of them, his eyes scanning the front page. As he read, his expression slowly turned into one of slight confusion. "I… What exactly does this mean?"

"What does it say?" England asked. Italy turned the paper so the bold-lettered words were clearly visible to the other three countries.

Big Brother Praises the Success of the Three-Weeks Hate in Latest State of the Union

"Big Brother?" England asked. "Who is that?"

"I think Kiku mentioned that America said that name, yes?" Russia spoke for the first time.

Germany thought for a moment. "Perhaps Big Brother is the leader."

"Like the president?" Italy asked.

"Why give him such a name? And what is the three-weeks hate?" England continued his inquiring, trying to make sense of everything.

"If we continue standing here and asking questions, we shall go nowhere," observed Russia. "What does the rest of the periodical say?"

Italy turned the paper back around and turned the pages. "Something about the chocolate ration going up to forty grams; something about the Oceanic army winning against a Eurasian force in Spain… Are all of these stories made up?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, honestly," England sighed, reading over Italy's shoulder. "Goodness, there's so much optimistic positive stuff; it's like nothing really bad happens here."

"Why don't they write about the bombs?" Germany asked.

"I think that the regime itself is doing the bombs," England said.

"Still, why not write about it?"

"It must be that commonplace," answered Russia. "Let us keep moving, shall we?"

America set the glass of tea before Canada. Canada accepted it with a small smile, his eyes trained on America's movements carefully.

"How have you been, Matty?" Alfred smiled, sounding almost like his normal self again.

"I have been doing well… You remember my name?" Canada asked incredulously.

"Of course! Why would I not remember my own bro's name! How crazy!"

Canada relaxed slightly, taking a sip from his tea. It seemed like there was nothing wrong with his brother, not at all.

"You are the only other country in Oceania- we have to stick together!"

Never mind. Canada's eyes glanced over to the large map on the far wall, feeling a little strange, seeing his country outlined in green.

America noticed him and laughed. "I like to keep the places straight. It is very goodful, is it not?"

Canada turned his gaze back over to America. "Goodful?"

"It means, uhm, good. I'm sorry. I suppose you haven't gotten the latest copy of the Newspeak dictionary? Edition 11?"

"I… suppose I haven't." Canada said quietly. What was Newspeak?

"I'll arrange for a copy to be sent to you immediately. That way, you can brush up on the grammar and semantics of the language. Isn't it interesting? It is the only language in the world that decreases in size with each revision. Of course, the only language in the world is English, but Newspeak is of an entirely different caliber."

Canada just stared at America for a moment, dumbfounded that he thought English was the only language in the world. This was America- he was fluent in all of the major languages in the world; how could he have changed so much? REalizing that America was waiting for Canada's response, he hastily spoke.

"Yes, that is something."

"Of course, soon Newspeak can be applied to other places too," said America in a sort of morbid excitedness. "Perhaps once we have quashed the Eurasian army once and for all, we can introduce Ingsoc to them."

"Ingsoc?" Canada asked.

"Matty, you seem out of sorts today; is everything all right?" America frowned and leaned forward, inspecting Canada's face with a concerned gaze.

"I think so, you'll just have to be patient with me today. I don't feel well," Canada half-lied. He truly was not feeling quite well, and he set his tea down, the feeling of dread coiling in his stomach as he looked into the alien face of his brother.

"Of course, Matty. Ingsoc is, obviously, English Socialism. They just shorten it so it is easier to say."

"English socialism? As in England?" Canada asked.

America frowned. "England? What's that?"

Canada's eyes widened in dread.

This part of town looks different," said Italy. The people were no longer sitting on the streets, coughing or smoking or talking about some lottery. These people were dressed in what looked like work uniforms, busily walking across a large square, equipped with what looked like giant television monitors. The only thing on the screen of the televisions was a white background with the simple black lettering spelling out the slogans that England could have sworn he had seen before.

"Freedom is slavery, war is peace, ignorance is strength?" Russia asked. "It sounds like the socializing crap that dictators come up with."

"Shh!" a hiss came quietly from behind them. The party turned around to see a young man standing there, wearing a grey uniform and taking care to stay out of the square. He beckoned for them to come over.

"Are you all crazy? If you say that sort of stuff in front of the telescreens, you're gonna get vaporized," whispered the boy as he drew them back towards the part of town they had come.

"Why does it matter?" asked Germany.

"The Party can hear your every word and see your every action if you are in front of those telescreens. They detect people who stray away from the orthodox belief of Ingsoc and vaporize them. They make you disappear completely."

"What about you?" Italy asked. "If you warn us, won't you be vaporized too?"

The teen shook his head. "I'm just a prole. Nobody cares about what proles think. I could say whatever I want, and people will think it's just mindless babble and they won't listen to me. The only thing that the state does to get rid of proles is the bombings."

"So, they don't bomb places like that?" England asked as the boy led them towards a dingy little house a while away from the bustling square.

"No. If a bomb were to land in the central hub of the city, there would be an outrage, and Big Brother would lose his followers to doublethink."

The four countries merely stared at the teenager blankly.

"What is doublethink?" Russia finally asked.

"It's where you believe two contradictory things equally. A lot of people were born before the Revolution, which was about ten years ago. They still remember what it was like before. They are forced by the language and threat of the police system to believe in Big Brother- and all of the conditioning the ministries do to cover up the past help with that. At the same time, however, they still believe in the principles contrary to the party: freedom, equality, diversity, and such. It is an internal battle, and usually Big Brother wins."

England sighed. All of this was so confusing.

"Did the Revolution happen suddenly, or gradually?"

"It happened gradually. It began with riots and scandals and fabrication of evidence causing the president, along with other policymakers, to lose public support faster than had ever been experienced before. They burned books, they made the schools more uniform, and they cut fine arts programs because music and art tends to open up the mind rather than constrict it to one way of thinking."

"That's horrible!" Italy exclaimed. The teen led the group into the little building.

"What is your name?" Russia asked, looking at the boy. The boy smiled.

"My name is Frank. What is yours?"

"Ivan," Russia replied.

England, Germany and Italy chimed in with their names as well.

"Arthur."

"Ludwig."

"Feliciano."

Frank smiled. "I'm guessing, by your slight accents, that you are not from around here?"

"Uhm," England glanced to his peers before answering. "Yeah. We aren't."

"I wonder how you got into the borders. It's near impossible unless you come in secret. But I suppose that doesn't matter."

"Yeah…" Italy said. "Can you help us?"

Frank shrugged. "It depends on what it is you need help with."

"Ve… well, we have a friend who lives here, and he's been acting differently for quite a while now. We want to figure out what is happening in the country so we know why he is acting that way."

"Hm… I'm guessing he isn't a prole?"

Italy shook his head. "He isn't."

"Does he work for the government?"

"Well… uhm, he used to."

"So you would say that he could be an important Party member?"

"Yeah, to an extent."

Frank smiled. "Then it's obvious. If he is a Party member, then he would epitomize the Party's beliefs. So, in order to figure out his motives, you need to learn about the Party. And I can help you a lot with that."

"Really? You would be willing to do that for us?" Germany asked. "Are you sure you won't be punished for this?"

"Of course not. Nobody knows me."

"In order to cleanse this world of the uncertainty and danger, there are certain measures to be taken. Do you agree?" America stared at Canada intensely. Canada nodded slowly.

America smiled, a little too widely to be cordial. "Big Brother helps us with that. Ingsoc is the only doctrine in this world that can make a perfect, homogenous society. Meanwhile, all of the crimethinkers of this world will be eradicated, and nobody will ever disagree. Isn't it great?"

Canada nodded, and he took a trembling sip of his tea.

AN: Here we are! I am currently toying with the idea of making Canada consider Ingsoc doctrine and perhaps converting over to it... Then again, two crazies might be difficult to write. However, Canada is finally being noticed, by his brother at least, and maybe he will sacrifice his philosophical freedom in order to feel needed somewhere, even if it is "Oceania."