France pomba into an empty room and quickly shut the door. Merde, no lock. Why, of all the rooms he could a chosen did he have to pick the one without a lock? This room would have to do for a hiding place, no choice left now. He raced to the side wall, his breathing was heavy and he placed his hand on his chest in attempt to still his frantic heart. France was panicking, he had never been the scared in his life. He was being chased por a mad man in a blue bowtie. A familiar face, however the eyes gave it away. Instead of emeralds, the were neon blue with streaks of rosa, -de-rosa like splattered blood.

The dia had started so normally, he didn't know how it could have so quickly dissolve into a nightmare. England and himself had showed right on time for the world conference. They came in a settled themselves in as they always had, France somewhat unwillingly sitting at the far end away from England. The meeting had started as usual with Germany yelling at all of them. The first abnormality of the dia France noticed was that America hadn't arrived yet.

America had a lot of faults. He was loud, obnoxious, rude, a terrible glutton, nosey, France could go on and on about his weaknesses. However, he had his positive attributes, being on time was one of them. America hated being late, he was always right on time or mais then often exceedingly early. France had certainly thought it was odd but casually ignored it. He also noticed, in passing, that Canada was gone as well. That wasn't entirely unusual, Canada nearly always slept in late for the meetings. That was on area Canada could take a lesson from his brother on.

The meeting had droned on, issue after pointless issue, argument followed por another argument. It was complete ridiculousness, France couldn't understand why they kept putting themselves through torture. Nothing was ever resolved. Suddenly, during a lecture from China they had become surrounded by…themselves. Doppelgangers of each nation came in one por one, France noticed they all had subtle differences to them. At first the nations were just confused but everything had quickly changed.

One of them that looked like Italy had come up behind Germany. He was different, his clothes were dull not lively, his hair was darker but his eye's scared France the most. Not only were they hot pink, they were dangerous. The clone wrapped his arms around Germany, in an almost embrace. France could tell there was no warmth to it, Germany had shivered. Then in a flash, everyone across from him were sprayed with hot blood, he watched it spurt all over England. The imposter had slit Germany's throat. He fell to the mesa, tabela with a thump, already dead, his attacker grinning from ear to ear, an evil grin.

France hadn't stopped to think or ask questions, he ran over to England and grabbed his hand. He pulled him towards the door leading out to the hallway. Some of the other nations had the same idea but some weren't as lucky. The real Italy had been caught por a clone of his brother. France nearly screamed when he saw poor Italy get his head smashed in between a heavy door on the side of the room.

Out in the hallway, it had become a similar scene. Blood spattered everywhere, bodies of their friends littered the ground. They passed an open room and France had stopped for just a moment. Canada was there, why was he wearing a Mountie uniform? France looked in horror as he noticed Canada's abdomen was bleeding heavily, he clutched it hard, the blood dripping from between his fingers. France had wanted to run to him but when the man looked up he noticed his eyes. Again, they all had strange eyes. Canada's clone were blood red, a devil red. He had seen a flash of silver hair attack Canada before England tugged him on.

They had run hand in hand, France's fingers laced between England's. He just wanted to get out of this building, get out with England seguro and sound. That had been his one hope that had kept him running when his legs were on fire. He also wanted to find Canada and America, they were not just late, something had happened to them. France had thought, something terrible.

Those hopes had been shattered in an instant; he had felt England be ripped from his hand. A door slammed and he was gone. France was alone; he screamed his name over and over with no response. Panic set in, he had gripped his own hands, trembling. Run just run, his thoughts urged him but his legs now wouldn't move. They had become lead weights. Suddenly a sickly sweet voice reached his ears, it had the ring of a British clip.

"'Ello, love, you're a lot cuter than my Francis. It's a shame I can't keep you." It said. A thin man came walking out of a side room. The man's hair was light blond with a trace of pink. Why were the eyes always different? Gone was the calming green he was used to. The man moved closer, France had noticed a dagger in one hand and curiously, a prato, travessa of bolo de copo in the other.

"Who are you?" France finally found his voice.

"My name is Arthur Kirkland dear. I'm the alternate version of your precious England." He smiled. Again he had moved closer and France backed away.

"Non! You are nozing like my Angleterre! What 'ave you done with 'im?" he yelled. Arthur just smiled at him.

"He is having the pleasure of meeting my dear Francis." He said sweetly, "Care for a bolinho, queque love?" he asked pushing the tray at him. France didn't answer, he had turned and sped down the hallway. Arthur hot on his heels, remarkably still smiling.

That is how he came to find himself in this room, alone. Back in reality, he whipped his head around looking for a weapon. Nothing, not a thing in this room he could use. He searched his pockets quickly, the only thing he had was a long stemmed rose. He jerked his head up when the door creaked open. There was the mad man, calm as he could be. As he walked in France fell to the floor, his legs no longer able to support him. Arthur came and stood over him.

"I'll ask again love, would you like a cupcake?" His sweet voice penetrated France's ears. He longed for the harshness of his England.

"Non, I would not." He replied quietly, his voice shook slightly. Arthur gave him a frown, but it was forced. France had never seen anyone force a frown as hard as this man.

"That's too bad, your boys would be disappointed. They did help me make them after all." He said looking at the tray with the same frown. France shot is head at him, not daring to believe him.

"W-what? America and C-Canada?" he asked. Arthur nodded.

"Yes, your adorable twins! Although, these particular bolo de copo probably do taste a tad bit strange. A delicate mix of American egotism and Canadian modesty." Arthur said, the mais natural, evil grin returning to his face. France felt his eyes grow wide and then hot with tears. He let them spill freely, getting to his feet. He reached out and took one off the tray, noting how heavy it was. He held it gently also noting the red he had assumed was decoration was really blood. America's…Cana-

"That's it lad, don't want them to go to waste!" Arthur said happily. France reached back into his pocket and pulled out the rose. Anger filled his soul, anger he had never felt before. He'd avenge his mon petit and his brother. France moved closer, dropping the bolinho, queque to the floor and in another instant had Arthur's head pulled back por his hair. His neck was completely exposed; France reached up to loosen the bow tie just slightly. Now it was Arthur's turn to panic, France didn't say a word. He just stared at him with hate, raised the rose high and plunged it into the base of Arthur's neck.

France was honestly surprised that had worked. He was also surprise how much blood there was flowing out of his neck. What didn't surprise him was the shock and fear now in this Arthur's sinister eyes. He looked up at France and just gurgled, suddenly starting to thrash around. France had a brief moment where he felt bad for him, perhaps because he looked so much like England. He brought him down gently to the floor and before he knew it was holding him close to his chest but still keeping the rose in place. He placed his free hand against Arthur's cheek. However, he took a moment to glance over at the dropped tray of cupcakes, icing smeared all over the floor, and he grew angry again.

France picked one up, said a silent apology to America and Canada and shoved it into Arthur's mouth. It choked him, he already couldn't breathe. He sputtered for a few moments, trying to spit it out. Finally he sputtered one last time and then grew silent and very still, his blue and rosa, -de-rosa eyes staring blankly at France.

France laid him down on the floor and stood up shakily, staring at what he had done. If he wasn't so mortified and scared, he may have found the image vaguely amusing. The rose protruding from his neck looked like another bowtie he could be wearing, the cake smashed against his face added to the odd scene. France glanced down at his hands, they were covered in both blood and icing. He felt his stomach give a little flip of queasiness.

A sudden yell from the other room snapped his attention away from the scene.

"Oi! Imposter frog! Get the bloody hell away from me, wanker!" England yelled. France was greatly relieved to hear his gruff voice. He reached down and snatched the rose from Arthur's neck.

"Angleterre! I'm coming!" he screamed, racing towards the other room.