A/N: Here's a preview list list of all the characters that will appear in the story, but none will be mentioned by name or even appear in this chapter. This is kinda a preview for the future.

Lucian: 2p Italy

Axel: 2p Germany

Takeshi: 2p Japan

Adolf: 2p Prussia

Lionel: 2p England

Garrett: 2p America

Our story is set in 2002.

Many years before that, however, all the Hetalia nations gathered together to vote on a solution to the biggest problem the world had ever faced.

Their other selves.

No one knows where they all came from. They appeared sometime after World War Two, having all the benefits and disadvantages of being a nation, such as immortality and a connection to the well-being of their nation.

Not all the alter egos were evil. Some of them were just depressed (Prussia and Poland) while others struggled with minor issues (Finland with drugs). Others though, were the greatest danger mankind would ever face. So the nations voted to lock the dangerous ones in Alcatraz, what was thought to be the most secure prison available.

At least, that's what the Hero said.

Unfortunately for the nations, and everybody in the world, they escaped.

Now they're out there, somewhere. Living double lives, always in hiding. Everyone once in a while, some news will come up about them, and then nothing. They disappear without a trace. But they are always ready to do their worst.

This is the story of Lucian, the alter ego of Italy. We begin, however, in someone else's perspective.

Kendal Zhoey Barnes, to be exact.

I awoke to find myself tied to a chair.

Wow. That's always great.

"You're awake." The voice isn't familiar; it's not deep like my father's or soft like my mother's.

Everything is blurry, so it takes a moment for me to blink my eyes open. My surroundings: a cell. Simple gray cinder blocks, my chair of course in the middle, and a man sitting in front of me with reddish-brown hair, open, thin face and purple-red eyes. He leans on the table between us and fingers the hilt of a smooth silver knife.

I don't know who he is, but I'm not stupid. When you go to bed one night and wake up tied to a chair, you know what's coming next. This man is going to kill me. Slowly. And there is nothing I can do about it.

This is probably one of those moments when any reasonable person would break out screaming, or crying. When they would say sorry to those that they love. I never said I was reasonable though, or even normal. I don't want to show weakness. Not to him. Not to my killer.

He smirks and spins the knife into the air, catching it on the blade. Black gloves split open, but the skin underneath is protected.

"Talkative?" I run through all the cop shows I've seen to try to come up with survival techniques. Keep him calm is the first idea I have. Screw it, I'm not going to suck up to my killer. Sarcasm, my favorite thing comes next. I'm going to be throwing caution to the wind, but I'll be myself until the end. Hopefully it will take me to Jesus faster too while I'm at it.

"Yeah, I often have conversations with myself." I might as well make myself insane since I'm going to die.

"What do you like to talk about?" I shrug, or at least attempt to. I'm tied to a chair for Pete's sake.

"Books. What I want for dinner. School. Whatever I want to." What I really want to say is: why do you care?

"What school do you go to? U of A?" University of Ananhiem. Eww. Do you really think I would go there? It's the town community college, and just about as useless as, well, asking a politician to give you a straight and honest answer.

I'm in high school anyway. A junior, thankfully. I only have two years left, then I can get out of this town.

Well, it would help if I could get out of this room first. Not that it's going to happen.

"I'm in high school."

"Aww, so young. You're practically a baby."

"And what are you, an old man?" He stops flipping the knife and leans in close to my face.

Part of me is beginning to regret the sarcastic approach.

"I'm 18. Only a couple of years older than you. Name's Lucian by the way" How does he know my age?

Huh. Lucian. Very similar to Lucifer...

"If you don't mind, I'd like to breathe my own air, not your stale CO2." He leans back and raises his eyebrows. Then he gets up. I want to follow him with my eyes, but I resist. What's the point of looking death in the eyes? If I don't, then (in theory) when it comes, it should be painless, or at least easier.

Right?

He leans in close to my ear and breathes on it before speaking. I can't deny it's a little sensual.

Yeah, I'm the one who has perverted thoughts before they die.

"Kendal..." I can't help but wince; I hate my first name. Kendal? I mean really? I sound like some mean girl on a soap opera that for some odd reason, everyone is infatuated with.

"Don't call me that." His breath catches slightly on what I think is a snort.

"Fine. Zhoey." He pauses and a adjusts his jacket. "You know that you are playing with fire aren't you?" He pushes the table back and sits on it, straight in front of me. So much for not looking death in the eyes. He throws the knife up one more time, catching it on the hilt, before leaning into me again.

Does he know the meaning of personal space?

The knife caresses my cheeks, and he holds me still with his eyes.

Not that the rope bonds were helping any.

"You've been playing with fire, Zhoey," he repeats again. Slowly he draws a cut across my left cheek; the pressure light, the knife sharp, causing the blood to flow evenly from the cut. His voice drops an octave. "And you might get burned."

I don't bother to react.

A/N: So this is chapter one in by ongoing series that will have a chapter a day leading up to Halloween.

Please Review and let me know what you think.