Operation Red Herring (Countryhumans Alternate History)

Chapter 15

TW: Implied sexism, one instance of ableist language

It was laughable, how easy all of this was. Of course, he knew he was good at convincing people, but at this point everyone just seemed to be his puppet. All he had to do was tug on the correct strings and they would dance to his tune of perfection.

Third Reich sat at his desk, straightening his assortment of pens. He arranged them so that their points stuck outward like little spears, pointing towards whoever was on the other side of his desk. He knew the room was already pristine- every surface dusted, every file organized, his orange and cream colored copy of Mein Kampf sitting proudly next to his pens- everything as it should be. The chair on the other side of his desk was shorter than the one he sat on, which was done with intent. Afterall, he had to give the illusion of height wherever he could, seeing as his figure, albeit perfect, was a bit shorter than most.

Illusion. It was one of the most basic aspects of art. The illusion of depth. The illusion of light. The illusion of good intentions. It was something all artists needed to master, and by proxy, something he had perfected long ago.

Illusion was especially easy when working with an untrained eye. Like an uncultured ret*rd looking at an abstract piece, even if he does not understand why it is great, he will still praise it, simply because the more educated have told him it is worth praising.

Working with America had been like that, not to Third Reich's surprise. She was woefully bad at hiding her opinions and feelings, which made it extremely easy to utilize them in his favor. His thoughts traveled back to her letter to the Dominion of Canada, now burned to ash at the bottom of his fireplace. It was almost amusing, watching her desperately wait for a response to a letter that never left his office.

It was too easy.

Third Reich glaced up when he heard a singular knock on the door. He heard the door open, and didn't have to look up to know it was the Japanese Empire. Italy's knocking was timid, America's was always a few quick knocks to some rhythm, and Japan's was a singular knock to which she didn't wait for a response. It wasn't permission, it was a warning that she was entering, a notion that Third Reich found highly amusing. Of course, he kept those thoughts to himself, as voicing them would most likely end in his decapitation.

"Hello, Japan." He said, flashing a grin he knew would irritate her. "What do I owe this pleasure to?"

She shut the door behind her, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "Cut the sh*t, Reich."

"I presume you're upset with me?" He asked nonchalantly, gesturing with his hand towards the seat opposite of him. "Care to tell me why?"

In reality, Third Reich was a bit surprised at this. Japan was arguably the most competent in their group (besides himself, of course), and it was rare for her to be more than mildly annoyed at him.

"What are you planning?" She asked, standing opposite to him. She seemed to loom over him, and if he didn't know her well enough he would be nervous. He shrugged, deciding to answer vaguely in order to lure more information out of her.

"I'm always planning." He responded, picking up his book and flipping through the pages, purely to piss her off.

"You know what I mean." She snapped back, "What are you doing telling America to land-raid London?"

Third Reich paused his flipping for a moment, a rare expression of surprise on his face before he quickly schooled his expression. How did she find out about that? He glanced up at her, noticing how her eyes pierced into him, almost daring him to slip up.

That was the frustrating thing about Japan, unlike Italy and America, who were equivalent to the aforementioned uncultured morons, Japan was an art critic, someone knowledgeable enough to point out flaws if she looked closely. When she cared enough, she could tell when he was pulling the strings on those around him. That was part of the reason he respected her (to a degree). Because even though it was infuriating at times, her intellect also made his work that much more interesting. An artist can respect an art critic, as they only serve to help the artist improve his grand design. He thought for a moment before responding.