Alfred F. Jones is a normal teenager. He's fifteen years old (sixteen in four months!), lives with his parents on a small farm, has two horses named Freedom and Liberty, and likes football and horseback riding and hamburgers and astronomy. Arthur Kirkland is not a normal teenager. (In fact, basically no one is a normal teenager, or a normal person. Just Alfred. Only Alfred.)

"We don't have to be monsters," says America, "I believe in a better world, don't you?" Canada's eyes flicker over to him again, pale violet and tired. Like all of their eyes are tired. "Belief is too much like pretending, sometimes," he says stiffly, gaze dropping down into his lap.

"I forget, sometimes," says Arthur, cigarette hanging idly from his fingertips, eyes unfocused and gaze far-off. "I forget that we're Gods." "You mean monsters," corrects Francis. "Same thing," growls Arthur.

There was once a boy in England. There was once a boy in China. Through a series of interesting events they both became immortal. That made killing each other so much harder. It starts in 1937. Or does it start in 1928? Either way, the deadly game that spanned from England to China, America to Japan, and the frozen tundra of Russia is coming to an explosive end. (crime AU)