The Soldier and the Weapon (Wattpad | Ao3)
Oceania's jaws had clamped around New Zealand hard and fast, and before he knew it, he was trapped, unable to fight, and so horrifically afraid of him.
It had been so sudden, and suddenly everyone was gone, and New Zealand was under the watchful eye of the Ministry of War that Oceania loved to say was about peace.
New Zealand wasn't an experiment to them, but he was something less than human; he knew that for sure.
His power was useful in the medical field, the ability to create blood and organs for transplants, and New Zealand had used it for such purposes before, but that was nothing like the automated process it was turning into now, and New Zealand hated how he was already becoming numb to it.
He didn't know what was happening. He didn't know what was real and what was fake, with how Oceania propagandized everything.
He just knew he was alone, trapped in this prison that was meant to be his home, terrified of Oceania in a way that made him so terribly ashamed of himself.
He knew—he knew Australia was dead, most likely. Oceania had renamed New Zealand, called him the Australian Administrative Region.
New Zealand had asked about his sister. He was pinned to the wall as Oceania's voice curled into his mind and commanded him to never ask that again.
He was a coward. He didn't think he was before, but Oceania had a power over him, a power made of fear, a power that could silence his voice before it ever left his throat.
It was a power that terrified New Zealand. It made him all the more grateful that Oceania was traveling a lot, trying to consolidate their control over the world, and he didn't have to see them very often.
He was lucky, most days, just being made to do mindless work and push his powers to the limit.
When New Zealand woke up in his cot that morning to the unwelcome sound of the propaganda that never went away and was driving him insane, he just wanted to curl over and fall back asleep.
He had days like this sometimes, when everything was too much, and he just wanted to cry and grieve for all that he had lost, for all that he didn't know.
(He had cried about it once. Oceania had come two days later and tortured him until even the thought of crying sent phantom pains of electricity shooting through his body.)
New Zealand, by now, knew better than to disobey, so as much as he didn't want to, he knew he had long since lost the ability to choose in his life, and stood up and mechanically got dressed, no longer bothered by the cameras in his room.
When he was done, he walked to the door and stood there, knowing exactly what was expected of him and hating every minute of it.
He wished he could fight it.
Oceania had long since ensured he was too scared to.
New Zealand knew the scars would never fade. He didn't know if he wanted them to.
The door was opened with a click, and New Zealand saluted as it did so. He had never wanted to join Oceania's military, but they had chosen his place and made it clear that unless they willed it, he would get nothing else.
"At ease, Australian Administrative Region. Follow," Commander Hutchins said. New Zealand did, silently and obediently, his head bowed and staring at his feet, as if it could hide him from his shame.
Once, they had needed to lock his door. Once, they had needed to handcuff him and control him as they brought him from place to place.
They hadn't needed to in a long time. He didn't know how long. He had lost track of time a long while ago.
He knew his schedule, and that was all.
As they walked, New Zealand looked up a little to see where they were going, and his stomach began to sink.
He knew where they were heading. He was only ever there when Oceania was around.
His breath quickened, and his hands began to shake.
He didn't want to see them. He didn't…he didn't…he thought he had been doing everything right, to avoid the pain and punishment, even as he hated every part of it and…Oceania only brought pain.
New Zealand didn't want to know what kind of pain it was now.
Commander Hutchins unlocked the door and gestured for New Zealand to go inside.
His mouth was dry, and his hands were clammy. He was terrified in a way that only Oceania could make him, and he wanted to scream and cry and run away, away from the pain and the hurt and the suffering.
New Zealand silently entered the room.
Oceania was not there, but that did not ease the fear.
New Zealand might be a coward, but he wasn't a fool.
The door wasn't locked behind him, even as the commander didn't follow him inside. They knew New Zealand wouldn't escape. They knew he had been brought under their heel.
The shame squirmed in his stomach, and mixed with the fear until there was a horrific cocktail of emotion in his stomach.
He walked across the room, going to put his back against the wall. It was some of the little things he could do to feel in control that made…that made things easier.
It was hardly anything, but it was all he had left.
Shortly after he did that, the doorknob began to turn again, and New Zealand tried to force himself to relax. He knew that Oceania knew New Zealand was terrified of them, but he didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing that fear.
The little means of control.
But all of that preparation meant nothing, for as soon as the door opened, New Zealand's jaw dropped.
There was Oceania, as expected and as terrifying as before, and then, just behind him…it was America.
Oceania stepped inside, America following, eyes snapping to New Zealand. They…his eyes were disturbingly blank, but New Zealand was sure that his were no better, with how hard he tried to hide every emotion behind a mask of placid compliance.
They weren't even the worst part about America.
No, the worst part was his wings, missing, a sure sign they had been cut off, and his mouth…it…it had been stitched shut.
New Zealand had never been close to America. He still knew his brother was a loudmouth who said what he believed and didn't regret it. It…it was no wonder Oceania had found a way to silence him.
New Zealand hated it and felt all the more lucky at the same time.
"America—" New Zealand then said, his voice tearing out of his throat with desperation and relief. Not everyone was dead. He took a half step forward before pausing, wanting to rush over and feel the weight of someone else who was like him and wasn't Oceania, and nearly tipping over as he paused.
New Zealand looked over at Oceania, heart thudding in his chest.
He was breathing heavy. He wanted to pull his brother into a hug, because even if they were never close, it was someone who was still alive, but Oceania's eyes stopped him.
Oceania looked at him, their face vaguely amused.
New Zealand looked away. He could never stand looking at them.
He took another small step forward.
"Stop! Hands behind your back and straighten up," Oceania commanded, their voice sharp and cutting, and New Zealand hated how quickly he obeyed, how quickly his body responded and froze.
He could practically taste his own fear.
There was still nothing in America's eyes. He didn't react to how quickly New Zealand obeyed, how conditioned by fear he was to comply and obey and…and…New Zealand wondered if his brother didn't react because he had gone through the same thing.
America had been taken early. It made sense if they needed that time to break him.
New Zealand had so many questions he wanted to ask, even if…if America wouldn't be able, just wanted to talk with him, and…and the fear kept him silent.
"Now, Australian Administrative Region, I don't know why you think my weapon is a person, but there are only two people in the room, you and me," Oceania said, and New Zealand wanted to ask what they meant, wanted to…he wanted answers.
He knew he wasn't going to get any.
"I need my weapon here just to help me do some things, especially since I will send it out to combat soon," Oceania said, and New Zealand felt sick; he felt so horrifically bad, seeing his brother like that, and hearing how Oceania was talking to him.
The worst part was that damn blankness in his eyes and body. Did he…did he really believe that? Did he…had Oceania made him into that?
New Zealand wouldn't have believed it before, but after everything, it made a terrifying amount of sense that Oceania could, because so many things that New Zealand hadn't thought were possible, Oceania had managed to do.
"Australian Administrative Region, please take off your shirt," Oceania commanded, and New Zealand started to obey before he could think, fingers twitching as he wanted to cry and then remembered what that would mean for him.
As he did, he watched Oceania lean down to whisper something to America. His brother saluted stiffly and left, nothing about his face or body changing from the blankness.
New Zealand straightened and awkwardly held his shirt, as Oceania walked closer, causing New Zealand's body to stiffen more and more from the fear. There was an energy in the air that he didn't like.
New Zealand wanted to ask what was happening, what had been done to America, what was being done to him, but the command to stop was still ringing in his ears, reminding him of what he needed to obey.
"You'll be seeing more of my weapon, I am sure, since you do such great work with the military," Oceania said, their hand tracing a pattern on his chest that had New Zealand's breath stop in his throat. Oceania backed away, just as America reentered the room, holding a rod whose tip was glowing a bright red.
New Zealand wished he could react. Every part of this was terrifying in ways that words could not describe.
"Weapon, hold him down," Oceania said, and New Zealand's eyes widened as America moved over, not rushing or swift, but fast enough to grab New Zealand and force him to the ground, arms still trapped behind his back.
New Zealand didn't try to run or fight it. Oceania didn't need to hold him down.
They did anyway. It was a show of force designed to terrify New Zealand even more, to show him how his brother could be used against him, how…how the only thing both of them were good for was obeying, how they had long since forgotten how to do anything else.
America's body was warm, and his grip was strong, and if New Zealand closed his eyes and ignored how his hands were trapped, maybe he could pretend like this was a hug, like they weren't being tortured and controlled, and were just…just being family.
It was a useless thought that only made New Zealand feel worse.
With things so bad, how could it do anything but hurt to think of all of the ways that it could be—should be—better.
"Don't scream, Australian Administrative Region," Oceania then said, raising the rod—the branding iron, New Zealand realized with abject horror, before Oceania raised it and shoved it into their chest.
The pain was immediate and consuming, as New Zealand's body spasmed as the primal urge to get away from the pain fought with his fear and obedience.
New Zealand bit his lip to stop the screams that were on the edge of escaping his mouth, and the taste of blood filled his mouth as he cut right through the lip.
America hadn't moved, hadn't shown any concern or fear over what was being done to New Zealand.
The iron was removed after what felt like an eternity, and New Zealand went limp, pain consuming him as he breathed heavily, the smallest whimpers escaping.
"There we go. Now no one will think you are anything but my region," Oceania said, a cruel smile on their face, as America released New Zealand. "Thank me for helping show others who you belong to."
New Zealand swallowed the blood in his mouth, the shame reaching a crescendo that compounded with everything else, until all he felt was a consuming numbness that didn't give him any space to breathe.
"Thank…thank you, Oceania," New Zealand panted out. Oceania tutted, walking over to grab New Zealand by the face and pull him to his feet.
"Oceania? Now that's not what you should be calling me, is it?" Oceania asked, and New Zealand gasped weakly, his body feeling so horrifically…weak and….and…
"Thank you, Big Brother," New Zealand said, the words exiting his numb lips, not even the pain of the bitten one prompting any reaction.
Oceania smiled and dropped New Zealand back to the floor, where he landed with a thud that sent a new wave of pain through his body, shivering and broken and weak.
"I'll have Commander Hutchins come get you," Oceania said, before leaving, America just behind him.
New Zealand groaned. He had never been in pain like this before.
Both on the outside, but on the inside.
He hadn't even tried to fight.
Why would he? There was no fighting Oceania.
The administrative region didn't talk often. He woke up, did his job until his body began to give out, and went to bed. It was the same thing, day after day, unless he was needed in the Minipax building for a meeting.
It was a stable life, he supposed, but it wasn't fulfilling. There was an emptiness in his chest that made everything he did feel lifeless.
He didn't see his family often, just the weapon whenever Big Brother visited, but that…that was not the same.
He was alone, and after all this time, it was hard not to think that he was just made to work for Big Brother's army, to help heal the sick and wounded.
There was a cold comfort in the fact that his job was to help heal, not to kill.
It didn't help the emptiness.
The administrative region had been the production room, where he went to produce blood, organs, and other things the doctors needed, working on making another batch of blood for transfusions when a soldier burst into the room, breathing heavy and eyes wide with panic.
"Big Brother is dead," the agent said, and the administrative region froze.
Big Brother? Dead? It seemed impossible. Big Brother was powerful and unstoppable, guarded by the best weapon in the world. What could kill them?
"How?" he asked, unable to say anything else, mind racing, before he began to speak again, "We must kill the thoughtcriminals responsible. We must save Oceania and Big Brother."
Once, New Zealand would have celebrated and tried to fight to break free. He would have seen it as his moment, the beginning of the end for Big Brother.
Now, he had no fight left to give, and in the confusion and horror, he pulled away, just filling the role he was made for, a role in which he didn't have to think, didn't have to be confused by emotions.
Where there was just obedience. It was the only thing he could do at a time when things were becoming this confusing. Obeying wasn't confusing. It didn't hurt the administrative region, not anymore.
It gave him a purpose and a reason to live. It was all he had, so he had to cling to it.
He would…he would be loyal.
Because how could Big Brother be dead? How could someone kill them? It was impossible, it had to be. They had beaten the biggest empires of the time before, and…they could not be felled by any common means.
It had to be a loyalty test. It was the only thing that made any sense.
They…they couldn't be dead. The administrative region didn't know what he would do if they were because…it was so hard to think of anything before Big Brother.
All he remembered was what had happened since Big Brother, the pain and the electricity and his duty and the quiet obedience that calmed things.
What…what was he supposed to do if they were gone? How did he move on?
The administrative region didn't know how. He only knew how to obey.
"I need…I need the commander. I need to know what to do next," the administrative region said, his voice quiet. He didn't want to take initiative here; he knew he was supposed to obey, but if…if this had happened, he was needed in the Minipax Ministry Building, for meetings.
Why are you still acting like you need to follow them? If they are dead, we can sabotage things, and we can work towards freedom.
The thought was fleeting and naive, and the administrative region was quick to force it from his mind. It didn't help to think like that; it only hurt more. The administrative region had a purpose and a duty, and it felt—it was the only thing he could do.
Catch the thoughtcriminials, have them killed and then…then figure it out from there.
War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength.
The administrative region didn't have anything else left.
Every time New Zealand woke up, he realized he was free all over again. After so long, Oceania was dead, and their country was being defeated, and now everyone could…could try to remember what it was like to be free.
New Zealand had only been brought into their headquarters, the building that had been repurposed into a temporary place for countryhumans to stay, safe in the heart of the liberated land.
Not all those fighting against the remains of Oceania were here, but many of those who had been rescued were taken there, a place to remember without being reminded of the war that was being fought.
It was a place where New Zealand could be New Zealand again.
He hadn't realized how much of himself he had forgotten. He thought…he thought he had had a lot of free will, especially when comparing himself to others, but…he hadn't realized how brainwashed he was until Ireland had snapped him out of it.
After he had heard the news of Oceania's death, he had just slipped back into that obedience role, only doing what he thought Oceania would have wanted to do, even going as far as to work against the rebellion that was trying to save him.
Even now, weeks later, thinking about that made him feel dirty, as if he were still covered in Oceania's influence and unable to scrub it off.
If Ireland hasn't found him…
Well, that had been enough to shock New Zealand back to reality. Seeing someone who Oceania had said was dead, someone who promised that Oceania had been killed, and offering an escape…it had saved him, in more ways than one.
New Zealand had cried a lot that day, even as the phantom pain of electric shocks made it all the more painful.
Then he had seen his father again, and New Zealand had curled up next to him and hugged him tightly, taking comfort in his father, feeling like a scared little kid all over again.
It had been almost a week since he had arrived there, and it was still wondrously impossible and exciting, sleeping in a real bed and eating when he wanted to, not feeling weak and woozy and dizzy from overuse of his powers.
(He had asked if they needed him to make blood supplies and other things, talking about how he was all he had done. They had been horrified and refused.)
New Zealand was lying in his bed right now, taking enjoyment in the simple luxury of waking up when he wanted to, chest warm and full from being able to feel his father somewhere else in the building, knowing he was not alone and being watched, but safe.
There was a knock at his door, and New Zealand groaned.
While he appreciated the privacy, he also felt an obligation to speak to whoever it was, so he reluctantly crawled out of bed, rubbing some exhaustion from his eyes and not bothering to change from his pajamas.
They were all a mess, here. No one cared what they looked like.
When New Zealand opened the door, he nearly slammed it shut again.
On the other side was America, life and expression in his eyes again, his wings mostly regrown, his mouth unsewn, and…and New Zealand felt like he wanted to cry all over again.
"Hi, New Zealand," America said, his voice softer than New Zealand had ever known it before, "Dad told me you had been rescued. It's good to see you again."
New Zealand almost would have laughed if he didn't feel the disconnect between his brain and his body creeping in again.
"We saw a lot of each other under Oceania. It is good to see you looking better, though," New Zealand said, not…not really feeling like he was speaking, but still knowing he was. America's eyes darkened, and his face fell.
"I thought…I thought we might have met when I was under their control. I don't…I don't remember a lot about my time with Oceania. I…did I hurt you?" America asked, and New Zealand thought about that moment so long ago, when America held him down so Oceania could brand him.
"No, not really. If anything, we were working together. We were both involved in the military," New Zealand said after a moment's hesitation.
"You hesitated," America said. It wasn't an accusation, but it felt like one anyway. New Zealand looked away.
"Once, Oceania asked you to hold me down, so he could give me the mark," New Zealand said, pulling down his shirt a little and knowing that America had a matching one, "But I don't think that counts because I didn't try to fight Oceania. I was too scared of them to fight. I just…I let them do whatever they wanted, even if I hated it. They…they conditioned me to obey. I was too good at it. Even after I learned they were dead, I…I still didn't fight."
"You worked against us," America said, shifting unsteadily. "Do you want a hug? I was…I was made to be a killer, so I don't know if I am good at it, but…"
America trailed off, and New Zealand smiled anyway.
"Please," New Zealand said, ignoring how his voice broke a little. After so long of the only touches being the cruel ones from his handlers and Oceania, or being from him doing his…his job, New Zealand realized how much he loved just…being able to be held by someone he loved.
America pulled him into a hug, and maybe it was a little too tight, but it was wonderful.
"You're safe now. I killed Oceania. They can't hurt us. We're safe," America said, squeezing tighter. New Zealand began to cry again, knowing America was speaking just as much to himself as he was to New Zealand.
It was really, truly over.
