Summary:

Humans have found a way to clone historical figures and have created a school called "Prototype Academy" where the clones will be trained to surpass the originals. Historical figures such as Napoleon Bonaparte, Queen Elizabeth, Julius Caesar and even Adolf Hitler are recreated, to help further enhance humanity. And then comes Alfred F. Jones, a somebody who is a nobody, the only person in the school who isn't a clone, and his only friend is the special case clone albino named Gilbert Beilschmidt.

It's been twenty years since America and several other nations have disappeared. When Canada and England follow a lead that brings them to Prototype Academy, they find out that the headmaster's intentions aren't as sincere as he puts out to the rest of the world. They also find several of the missing nations who don't remember who they are. Or so they say.

HEY YO AN AUTHOR'S NOTE. Thanks for the reviews, and I would reply but your reviews are kind of signed as anonymous. SO ANYWAYS, yes this fic was inspired by "After school Charisma (?)". A friend mentioned it to me because they knew I was a history fanatic and they basically explained the summary of it and I thought "Shit that sounds pretty cool and that has hetalia written all over it." I would actually appreciate it if someone could send me the link to the manga because I have yet to read the actual thing (I'm kind of iffy on it because my friend also mentioned that there's some nudity in it)

Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Eventual USUK and PRUSCAN and many historical figures used.

The year is 2203, and technology has become so advanced that man has been able to reproduce clones of others by using the slightest amount of D.N.A. Flying cars have not yet been invented, but the idea which seemed just a part of fiction 200 years ago is finally being realized.

Prototype academy. The name basically describes everything about it. You had to be special to enter into that school, and the requirements weren't determined by your athletic ability, your ingenuity or even your artistic creativity. The requirement was that you had to be a clone. But not just any normal clones. You had to be a clone of a famous historical figure, be it a hero or a villain. Of course, no one would clone someone who was unimportant, so only historical figure clones existed. The school has a variety of students ranging from Hitler to Joan of Arc.

And they weren't even accepted right off the bat. The clone usually grew up in whatever country the original resided in. For example, Queen Elizabeth had grown up in England. The clones would speak whatever language it was of the country they lived in, but it was required to learn English. The only academy for clones was in the United States, because only they had the budget to supply the needs of the clones. Prototype academy was the place where clones would learn of their originals and strive to become better than them. And because they were special, they would graduate at the age of 25. The longer they stayed, the more they learned.

And yet Alfred F. Jones was the exception. He was a normal human being, someone who was born out of the womb of his mother. He had great aspirations, and was constantly trying to prove himself. He was different. He was envied. He was hated.

Because he was normal.

He had gained admittance into Prototype school because his parents were wealthy and big time donators to the school. Or so he had heard. He never actually saw his parents much; he couldn't even really remember them. You know how you remember your mother's smile, or the way your father held your hand as you crossed the street? Alfred had none of that.

In essence, he was just the same as the clones. He never experienced proper love.

And then it was during physics class that everything changed. Alfred enjoyed physics. He enjoyed the prospect of being able to fly in space, to discover something more. He wanted to become something great, something big. A hero, you may say. Someone who would some day be cloned as well. His eyes wandered to outside of the window. His class was on the third floor, and he had a clear view of the entire campus.

Including two blonde figures who were standing on the rooftop. He recognized one of them as Francis Bonnefoy, the school's very own man whore. Francis was special as well. He had told everyone that he was a clone of one of those very important people who had been erased from history. No one would have believed him if the teachers didn't back him up. But because they did, he was revered. This meant that he would be able to create his own history, because he would not have to follow in his original's foot steps. There were only very few people in the school who were like that.

The other figure was someone who was quite famous, the poster child for woman's rights everywhere. She was the clone of Joan of Arc. It was ironic to see these two as a pair. Francis was a lecherous pervert while Joan's original was claimed to be a virgin. And yet these two would always dance on the rooftop during school, skipping class, holding hands, holding each other close. Francis had this way of staring at her through melancholic eyes, as if he had witnessed the fate of the original Joan.

Joan was nearing the age of when her original died, so the teachers let her do as she pleased, with the phrase, 'History repeats itself' lingering over her head.

The two of them were a casual sight to Alfred, but what picked up his interest was a figure who also watched the two. He sat in a trees, silently watching. Alfred wondered who that could have been. No clone besides Francis and Joan had ever dared to skip class. But they didn't mind, because they were given many luxuries and free time, as long as they excelled in classes the originals excelled in. During the transition period between classes, Alfred chanced a glance outside the window and saw that the figure was still there sitting in the tree, still watching Francis and Joan. Alfred thought about his next class. History. How ironic was that, for a school made of clones? He decided he could skip that class; none of the teachers actually cared if he went to class. They only cared about the clones.

Alfred ran to the courtyard, where he had last seen the figure. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not, but the figure was still there. From the back he saw blonde hair tinged an orange shade darker than his, and wavy, shaggy hair. "Hey!" he yelled. The figure let out a soft yelp in surprise and fell out of the tree. On instinct, Alfred dove and attempted to catch the figure, but he only managed to soften the figure's fall. By using his own body.

"Thanks, and sorry." The figure said in a soft voice.

"No problem. I'm glad to be the hero." Alfred replied. As he took a mental note; Gravity sucks.

The figure quickly got off of Alfred and extended a hand to help him. Alfred took the hand, and soon they were at eye level. Both boys were in for a surprise. This boy had a face very similar to Alfred's. He had an errant curl and violet eyes. They probably could have passed as twins. The boy seemed just as surprised to see Alfred as Alfred was to see him. The two stood in utter silence, drinking in each other's presence. Alfred was the one to break the ice.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I go to school here?" The young man replied, in a tone that seemed as if he was unsure.

"Oh really? I haven't seen you around before." This guy looked so familiar. Maybe Alfred hadseen him before.

The young man fidgeted a bit. "Well, I'm not very noticeable." Alfred was sure he would have noticed someone who looked so much like him. Did he have a twin brother his parents never told him about? Maybe his parents spent all their time with this guy and bothered to give a shit about Alfred. That would make sense, right? Heck, he looked to be the same age and they were the same height as well.

"What's your name?" Alfred questioned. His mind was racing. Jones, Jones, what if his last name was Jones?

"I'm Matthew Williams." Oh. Williams. Alfred wasn't sure if he should have been happy or sad. Inside, he really wished this guy was his brother. Then again, his parents could have divorced or something for all he knew, or Matthew could have been the product of an affair.

"Are you a clone?" Say no, say no. Don't let me be the only one. Alfred had never heard of anyone called Matthew Williams before, so there might have been a small chance that this person was an original.

After much hesitation, Matthew responded. "Yes. You might not know me because I was one of those people who weren't recorded down in history. I'm Canadian." Oh. So Matthew was a special case just like Francis. And maybe Alfred was a descendant of the original Matthew Williams. That's why they looked alike.

The two stood once again in utter silence. And then Matthew asked,

"Why do you wear that jacket? Won't you get in trouble? I'm pretty sure you have a uniform."

Alfred looked at his jacket and laughed. It was a brown bomber jacket, and looked as if it had seen better days. He wore it over his standard uniform.

"Nah, the teachers don't give a shit about me. All they care about is you clones." And then he eyed Matthew, who was wearing jeans and a red hoody. "What about you? Aren't you outta uniform?"

Matthew's jaw opened and closed, as if he was going to say something but then thought better of it. "The teachers don't notice me. And you aren't a clone?"

Alfred shook his head. "Nah. I got in because my parents were loaded. It kinda sucks though, everyone treats me differently."

Matthew was about to say something when a familiar voice shouted out, "Hey Jones! Watcha up to? You skipped history without telling me, you bastard."

Alfred turned to see Gilbert Beilschmidt, another special case no history known about him clone walking towards him.

"Yo Beilschmidt! I was just talking to this guy Matthew – "Alfred looked back and saw that no one was there. Matthew was gone.

"Talking to who? The tree?" Gilbert laughed.

Alfred just shrugged his shoulders and shuddered. Oh god. What if he had talked to a ghost? Oh shit, that was freaky shit. That was freaky scary shit.

"Beilschmidt."

"Yeah?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

"… You're a fucking tease. You're not even gay."

"But pleaaaase! I'm scared!"

"Suck it up you pussy. And you can suck my cock while you're at it, since you're a pussy."

"Fuck you Beilschmidt!"

The two of them were too busy in their argument (foreplay) to notice that they were being watched, and that someone had taken a picture of them. Eventually, they decided to get back into class because they were hungry and if they skipped the entire history class they would get no dinner. Their history teacher didn't care if they skipped, in fact he encouraged it. Gilbert and Alfred always made such a ruckus during class. As long as they came back at the end of the period so that he wouldn't get in trouble, the history teacher would let them skip.

As they entered in the school, Matthew Williams sinked back into the shadows.

When Matthew arrived back at the apartment, Arthur noticed that he was distraught and looked disoriented.

"Were you caught?" Arthur asked, as Matthew slipped inside. Matthew said nothing, but instead pulled Arthur into a tight embrace.

"We found him." Matthew whispered.

Arthur's body stiffened and his eyes widened. He felt his heart start to beat erratically. They found him, finally. After what had been about 20 years, they had finally found him.

They had found America.

SO SHOULD I CONTINUE THIS SHIT OR NOT?