Stand tall for the beast of America

Lay down like a naked dead body

Keep it real for the people working overtime

They can't stay living off the government dime

In the Spadean province of America, Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland looked over the unfamiliar landscape. THe province was heavily wooded with dark, fertile soil and gorgeous rivers, long plains with billowing grasses and fields of grain. The province was a peasant's paradise, in Arthur's opinion. Not that he actually knew if the peasantry only wanted farming in life. He was nobility - a lesser noble, granted, but nobility nevertheless - and couldn't possibly know what life in the lower class was like. Still, the commoners had always been content.

Well, they had been content until recently, when they decided to throw a hissy-fit and revolt. That was why Arthur was here with his platoon, overlooking a small settlement. Teal Company had been ordered to quarter here and watch for any rebel activity.

Arthur reined his horse to the side when his commanding officer, an intimidating man by the name of Captain Gilbert Beilschmidt, ordered a march. He felt just a slight pinprick of resentment, that a foreign mercenary was higher up the chain of command than him, but he forced it down. Gilbert was good at what he did. Arthur would just have to learn to be better.

The company follows a wide path of packed dirt, the officers easily distinguished from the crowds of marching violet soldiers by their crimson uniforms and high positions on horseback. A pleasant breeze blew, ruffling Arthur's messy blond hair. Arthur vaguely wondered if the locals would be hospitable. He had heard rumors that the commoners were less than friendly to the Spadean military. It astounded Arthur. He couldn't understand why they wouldn't welcome the army warmly, glad for the extra defenses in case of an invasion.

Arthur was torn out of his musings by a call from the captain. Arthur kicked his tan stallion into a trot and rode up to Gilbert. "Yes, Captain?"

"Lieutenant, how would you describe your observational skills?"

Arthur frowned. What an odd question. "I'd think that they were above average, sir."

"You're not just stroking your ego, are you?" Gilbert gave a hearty laugh while Arthur flushed as scarlet as his coat. "I'm just kidding. Listen, keep an eye out for any rumors about the 'Nighteagle', alright? Rumor has it that this is his hometown."

Nighteagle? "Sorry, sir, I'm not familiar with this man...?"

Gilbert nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess us military men haven't had time to hear the people's rumors. Alright. What I'm about to tell you is strictly need-to-know, and you're the only person who needs to know. Nighteagle is a rebel assassin currently in the capital of Spades. He murders nobility and takes their money and clothing. No one knows why. The only thing we really know about him is he's fast, strong, arrogant, and leaves knife marks on the chests of his victims resembling eagle's feet."

"Should I report anything I discover to you, sir?" Arthur asked, still processing this new information.

"You got it. Now get back in formation, Lieutenant. If you find anything good, I'll tell the higher-ups nice things about you."

Arthur drifted back to the head of his platoon, a grin slowly spreading over his face. Little did the Heartian captain know that that was exactly what the young lieutenant wanted to hear.

In the Spadean province of England, the Nighteagle looked out over the rooftops of the city. It was broad daylight, and yet, no one noticed him. Nobility didn't often check their roofs for thieves. Or, in this case, black-clad assassins.

Alfred F. Jones, better known as the Nighteagle, didn't particularly like his job. Killing people was pretty high up on his list of things not to do. But someone needed to do the dirty work around here, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be his brother.

As usual, today's hit was going to be another member of the light-forsaken one was guilty of tax-dodging. Dirty swine.

Alfred pulled his hood up over his head and made sure his bandana covered his face. Certain that the black cloth was secure on the bridge of his nose, he dropped into an open window.

HIs soft boots scarcely made a sound in the plush carpet. To Alfred's right was a door, from which quiet snoring reverberated. Oh, no. Light, anything but this! Alfred thought. His dislike of killing was strong, but the hate he held for murdering the defenseless burned beyond compare.

I can't do it. I'll have to wake him up. He has to have at least a fighting chance. Alfred swallowed nervously and pushed open the door, wincing when it creaked.

He crept softly toward the lump on the bed. He was painfully aware of the various daggers hidden around his body. When he reached the head of the snoring noble, Alfred tapped the man's nose.

The noble woke with a start, eyes widening when they took in the Nighteagle. He smiled sadly at the man's surprise. "You-you're the Nighteagle!" the man choked out.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah. I have to kill you. I'm sorry." The Nighteagle pulled out a dagger. It burned in his hand like a curse.

The noble stumbled backwards, eyes wide with fear. He fumbled with the handle of a drawer, pulling an ornate dagger out when he opened it successfully.

The Nighteagle judged that this was more than enough of a fighting chance. The dagger soared, its path ending between the ribs of the man, embedded in his heart.

The noble fell and so did Alfred's heart.

Alfred pulled the dagger out of his chest. Mechanically, he cut open the shirt of the noble and made four quick stabs into his chest. The Nighteagle's Strike. His calling card.

Wiping the blood off the dagger with cloth, Alfred cast his eyes around the room, repressing all emotions. No matter how much he did it, for whatever cause, killing never got easier. He pulled two sacks out of his belt and walked over to the wardrobe. All the clothing within it was stuffed into one of the sacks. The blue silk, over some stout wool, would make fine uniforms for the rebels.

Into the other sack went anything that looked valuable. Gold, silver, jewels, and coins all made their way to the rough bag. The property of the tax-dodging citizens would fund the hardworking rebels. Alfred could taste the irony.

Alfred left quickly, not wanting to linger at the scene of the crime. He sped across the rooftops and right out of the city to a small nearby forest, where a gentle black mare and more full sacks waited patiently. Alfred paused only to stroke his horse's nose and murmur, "Howdy, Beth," before setting to work, tying the sacks onto the saddle. When that was finished, he changed into civilian clothing and mounted the mare, kicking her flanks to set her at a gallop. It would take three days of hard riding to get back home to Richmond. One the road, he saw somewhat recent footprints in neat rows. An army was on the march. His face contorting into a frown, he sped forward towards home.

AN: Sorry, guys. I started a new story. I'm in an endless cycle of writing now, haha. See, my Camp NaNoWriMo story is starting out with government corruption, so I've been listening to Beasts of America for inspiration, and this prompted me to write a fanfiction. Which is in the Cardverse AU! Yay! Although Alfred and Arthur aren't going to end up being in the royal family in this one. Whoops.

By the way, the events of this chapter take place at the same time.

So, as this is my current interest, I'll be updating this frequently. I've got quite a few chapters done already. Enjoy!