EDIT: You won't see a lot of the nations until the Chapter Three: Acceptance. There'll be some brief appearances before then, and then their appearances will be off and on for a while before the plot kicks it into high gear.

I've had this story idea in my head for ages and ages, but whenever I started writing, I kind of lost track of the plot and went off in some random direction. I finally just wrote down the entire story line and laid it right smack in front of the computer screen, on our giant OfficeMax calendar, with a note that said, "DO NOT MOVE THIS OR I WILL HARM YOU WITH A WOODEN SPOON! Also, to myself, THIS IS YOUR PLOT LINE. FOLLOW IT." The plot's still pretty malleable, in case I get an idea that I can somehow work into the story just for giggles (because comic relief is fun) but other than that, hopefully I can actually stick with the plot and actually finish one of my longer stories before I'm struck with more inspiration. I think I will, because I love the main character so much. I actually based her on someone I know! :3

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz, obviously. Nations that don't have official designs yet belong to, well, uh... whoever created them. The normal, boring, human characters in the story are mine.

Jaded Angel

Prologue: Conspiring Minds

June 22, 8:45 PM - Private Address, London, England

"I propose we settle this dispute with a contest," the accent of the old man rang clear and loud in the office. He exhaled cigar smoke. "What do you think, Claudan?"

The figure, cast in the shadows, only responded with a quiet chuckle. "Go on," they mused after a long moment.

"I know how important your siblings are to you, and, obviously, to my disgrace of a daughter, so we'll exclude them from this. You are the head of the Claudan family at present, and I am head of the Hartwig," the old man mused. "So we will head this operation together and yet separately. The victor shall decide the fate of the loser, hm? The challenge, my dear Claudan, is to reveal the world's greatest secret: the personifications of nations."

"It's an interesting proposition. How will we go about this?"

"I have already created an organization that I've divided into two sects. You shall command one and I shall command another. Their mission is the same: to capture and reveal more of these personifications than the other sect. The commander who reveals the most shall be the victor."

"And how do I know who these individuals are?"

"I have provided you with that information, as well."

The figure hummed thoughtfully. "Surely, there must be people who protect these personifications," they said after a moment.

"Ah, but of course. The organization is called the International Shadow Agency, commonly referred to by its agents and those who know of it as Night Watch or ISA. The organization, although global, consists of less than two thousand five hundred members, excluding the nations themselves, their leaders, and the central team. ISA is divided into small, tightly-knit teams, averaging twelve strong, one for each national personification, and they are very incredible people with the best military and academic training in the world. Their leader can even give orders to heads-of-state the world over, as long as those orders pertain to the protection of the personification. They are formidable enemies."

"They sound like it."

"Of course, everyone has their weakness. I assure you, I've yet to discover ISA's, so both you and I shall be racing each other to discover and then hide that weakness from one another."

"Hm," the figure replied. "Well, then, I'm agreeable to this. Forgive me if I sound rude, but I can break down my sect and rebuild it with people I've selected myself, correct?"

"Why, of course," the old man agreed. "Be careful of how you go about it, though. I've picked some of the most intelligent people I could find, but that doesn't mean they're all sane." He put out his cigar and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and staring intently at the shadowed Claudan.

"Do we know the identities of any of ISA's agents?" said Claudan spoke. "Specifically, their team leaders?"

"Only the leaders of smaller countries; they don't strike me as significant. Normally, the greater the nation's role in international affairs, the larger and stronger the team. It's not always true, but it seemed like a fair warning," the old man answered. He chuckled, looking down at a file on his desk. Then he picked it up, opened it, and flipped through it. "There is some information on one of the future agents of American branch. She's been hand-picked by ISA's leader, from what sources have told me, and she's quite a dangerous individual, too."

Claudan chuckled again. "Who is she?" they asked.

"Her real name is unknown; she has yet to receive a false identity," Hartwig mused. "She's a Marine who was split from her unit during her first tour of duty and was found by a British unit. Some important figure in the American Marines issued her the order to work with the unit until arrangements could be made for her to return home. There's a note here made by the scout who observed her: 'the American worked with us well. She takes orders from someone else without arguing, gets along well with the British military, and shows an overall willingness to accept other nationalities, too, based on the stories she's told us. Definitely shows potential; would like to see her as a liaison officer someday.' That's the extent of what we know."

Claudan hummed, eyes glinting even in the darkness. "She sounds very interesting indeed," they commented. "I suppose that ordeal is why she's joining ISA?" 'So much for keeping them out of this.'

Hartwig chuckled, "That's my theory, as well. Either way, she's one pest I'll be glad to, ah, exterminate."

"Meaning 'kill?'"

"Is there a problem with that, Claudan?"

"Not at all, Hartwig. I just wanted to know."

"I see. Yes, I do mean to kill her."

"Let's make that a part of the challenge, then. The agent's death is the equivalent of ten of these personifications. It should make it more interesting, no?"

"Ah," Hartwig laughed. "You have a cruel mind, like your grandfather did. Yes, I'll accept that. By the way, I'd heard it was your birthday. Happy birthday, Claudan."

"Thank you." 'That doesn't mean I trust you to tell me everything you know, though. First order of business: to find out what you really know.'

June 22, 4:45 PM – Arlington, Virginia, USA

A young woman knelt and laid a single rose on the grave, as well as a card. She smiled faintly, lingering, and rested her hand on the gravestone. "Happy birthday, Aidan," she said. "Tate joined the Marines today in your honor. Mina left for her second tour this morning. Your twin brother wasn't able to fly from London to wish you a happy birthday, either. His wife's father doesn't want to let him out of his sight." She chuckled. Then she pushed herself to her feet.

In a tree nearby, a bird warbled.

The woman looked at the bird for a moment and then turned back to her older brother's grave. "As for me… well, I should've been with Mina, but something came up. I'm not even sure about it myself," she laughed dryly. She fell silent, lifting her head and turning to watch as a nearby funeral drew to an end.

The woman had seen the funeral procession coming. Though she'd felt a sense of urgency to get to her brother's grave, she'd kept at a respectful distance until they'd passed Aidan's tombstone.

A Marine had been with the procession. A possible relative or friend of the soldier being laid to rest, he'd actually taken time to stop and salute her when he'd seen her waiting, watching as they went. It was a small gesture of recognition, in her eyes. She only wanted to get down to the site before her white rose wilted in her fingers, gentle though she was being.

The woman looked back at her brother's tombstone again, as if praying silently.

"I'm sorry for your loss," a voice spoke.

The woman focused on the speaker: the very Marine who'd saluted her. He wasn't much older than she was, and he had handsome features. Her blue eyes locked onto his hazel. "I'm sorry for yours," she replied.

The Marine shook his head. "He was my cousin," he said. "He was killed in Iraq."

The woman smiled faintly, sadly. "He was one of my older brothers," she said. "It's a memory grave; he's been MIA for five years now. How long have you been serving?"

"Five years," the man answered. "I'm Staff Sergeant Lloyd Eisenberg, by the way. You?"

"First Lieutenant Alana Claudan. I'm actually leaving the Marines today, but I've only served for about two years," the woman said.

"Ah, a college grad. I regret not having done that," Lloyd said, and gave her a peculiar look. "Why would you be leaving after such a short time?"

Alana looked unsure. "I really don't know. I've been told that I haven't done anything wrong," she said. "But apparently I'm not supposed to know anything about it until I meet certain people."

"Sounds suspicious to me," Lloyd remarked. "But if it's so secret, we probably shouldn't talk about it. So, where are you from?"

"Detroit," Alana mused.

"Really? Is Detroit as bad as they say?"

"You want the truth?"

"Definitely."

"The Detroit you're thinking of is what they show on TV. They only show the bad parts. Honestly, my siblings and I grew up in a bad part, too. But beyond that, Detroit's a nice enough city. The problem is that whenever something good is brought to Detroit, people say, 'Okay, that's good! What else good can we bring in?' They never try to improve the good stuff that they bring in, so nothing gets done to improve Detroit."

"Huh," Lloyd said. "I've never heard that perspective."

Alana smiled slightly. "Most people who've never been there haven't," she chuckled, and lifted her head when she heard her name.

An older woman with long, white hair that was pulled up in a tight bun and a young man with messy blond hair and silver, wireframe glasses were making their way towards them.

Lloyd hummed. "Well, it must be important, so I'll leave now," he said. He turned to her, saluting. "Semper fi, First Lieutenant Claudan."

"Semper fi, Staff Sergeant Eisenberg." Alana returned the salute and watched him as he left. When he was gone, she turned to face the two strangers. She found herself saluting them, too; it seemed like the right thing to do, if they were the ones who'd called her out of the Marines. If they had that kind of power, they were to be respected.

The old woman smiled. "At ease, First Lieutenant," she said. "There's no need to be so formal. I'm not used to military formalities."

Alana faltered and glanced at the blond. Then she relaxed. "You aren't, but that implies that you are," she pointed out, nodding towards the young man. He could only be nineteen.

The blond grinned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he remarked cheerfully.

The old woman's smile widened. "You have sharp instincts, First Lieutenant," she said. "A good eye for detail and I've been told you can hear when someone's lying. You're highly intelligent, too, from what scouting agents have seen. It's a good basis for the mission you're going to be assigned."

"So you've been watching me," Alana said. "I assume you're two of the agents my commanding officer told me about?"

"Yes, since your first year of college, you've been observed," the old woman said. "It was when we first noticed your potential as an agent. You just needed some basic training in combat. That came when we learned that your tuition was being paid for by the Army, and then you left the Army to become a Marine. A British scout sent a recommendation for you, and that sealed the deal."

"And this deal would be?"

"Think of it as an opportunity to protect the nation on a more personal level," the old woman said. "As well as to gain the highest education and combat training the world has to offer."

Alana blinked, remaining silent for a moment as she looked at both of these people thoughtfully. Then she sighed. "Before I give you an answer, I need to know just one thing," she said.

"And that is?" the old woman asked.

"Can I keep a promise that I made a long time ago, to protect my siblings?"

"If it's that important to you, I don't see why not."

"Then my answer is yes."

Author's Note: By the way, I did some basic research on military, injuries, and certain mental diseases which will apply to a few of the characters in this story. While I did do some research, I know it may be inadequate and I would greatly appreciate it if people would point out my mistakes, like the rank:years of service ratio (Someone, please tell me if that's even REMOTELY accurate, because I don't think it is. It's just something one of my friends guessed at while we were having a totally unrelated conversation). I'm not experienced with military. I'm a student with extremely limited time to do research for my own purposes. The only thing I can really be certain of is what Alana said about Detroit; that's the opinion of one of my cousins, who has lived there most of her life.

I also know that what little you saw of the main character's past is probably very, very, very unlikely to happen (okay, PROBABLY NEVER). Remember: it's a what-if situation that established the character's place in the agency, and this is a work of fiction. While I would love to be as accurate as possible, some things that occur are just that: fictional. Those moments should be fairly obvious.

The agency is a huge organization, put in place to protect all of the nations, and there will be heavy interactions with people from other cultures. I am an American; I might come off sounding bias. If I come off as sounding too bias, you have my permission to virtually slap me, but remember that the main character has military siblings. She might come off sounding pretty American when they're around.

International Shadow Agency. Kind of a stupid name, isn't it? But ISA sounds all official and stuff, and if it's supposed to be super secret, I didn't really want the name to tell people what the agency was for. National Entity Protection Agency/Services and International Diplomat Protection Agency just screams, 'IMPORTANT PEOPLE HERE!' and I wouldn't be able to hold a straight face when typing the acronyms for the first options (NEPA or NEPS. They're funny, aren't they? I'm not the only one, right?).

There's no need to insult anyone. I'll be more inclined to fix my errors if you politely point them out to me.

By the way, reviews are lovely. -Has no shame-