Wrong Reflection

A Strange Visitor

Alfred had been procrastinating on doing his paperwork when he felt it, the feeling of another country entering his lands. Sighing deeply, Alfred stands before pausing, realizing he doesn't recognize this nation. In fact, whenever he tried to identify who entered his lands, he kept receiving a blank.

"What the–" Alfred said, brows furrowing in confusion, "Are you a new micronation?"

The presence wasn't that far away, whoever it was, so Alfred decided to go out and find them. If it was a new micronation, at least Alfred could get some answers about how that happened.

Although it was New York City, there was bound to be a micronation here eventually.

As he followed the weird tug in his chest, Alfred became more and more convinced it was a micronation. There was no other reason an unidentifiable country would appear in the middle of New York City, not in one of his airports.

Although, it was weird. Whoever this was didn't feel like Molossia or any of his other micronations.

Alfred resolved to put off all his questions until he found whoever this was so he could ask them if they knew why this strange feeling was there. That is, if this person wasn't hostile, and the reason behind this weird feeling was because they wanted him dead or something.

That would suck—a lot.

Alfred turned the corner and was shocked to see a man, who must have been in his thirties, sitting on the ground, having a panic attack. Alfred threw out all his plans to find the mysterious country as he approached the man, hoping to coax him out of his panic attack.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked. The man shook his head.

"Can't..." The man began trailing off as if speaking was hard for him, his breaths coming out in short bursts. Alfred started wracking his brain for ways to pull someone out of a panic attack, as he didn't like how pale this man was becoming.

"Hey, do you wanna try and name five things you can see?" Alfred asked, sitting beside the man but taking great care not to touch him.

"Yeah...uh...yeah," the man gasped, "my shoes...trash... asphalt...your jacket, and a dumpster."

The first step of the activity seemed to calm him down, and the man continued to go through the exercise without any more prompting from Alfred. Although the man's breaths slowly evened out, his hands clutched over his heart, didn't leave their spot.

"Are you feeling better?" Alfred asked. The man nodded, cheeks red like he was embarrassed.

"Sorry, you had to see that." the man said.

"Don't apologize for having a panic attack. It's not your fault." Alfred said. The man laughed like Alfred had just said something hilarious.

"Yeah, sure." the man said before picking himself up off the ground, brushing off his jeans, before he paused and stared at his hands like they were some fascinating discovery. The man then relaxed as if whatever his hands were showing him showed him something positive.

Alfred knew there were some weird people in New York City, but this guy was weird with a capital w.

"Will you be alright?" Alfred then asked. The man nodded.

"I'll be fine. I just got a bit overwhelmed, that's all. Once I reorientate myself, I should be fine. Thanks for the help, Mister..?"

"Oh, Alfred. Alfred F. Jones." Alfred said, holding out his hand to shake. The man smiled.

"Nice to meet you, Alfred, I'm..." The man stopped, inhaling sharply before starting at Alfred with barely concealed shock in his eyes, "What...but I'm..."

Alfred shifted uncomfortably as the man's dark brown eyes seemed to bore into him. The man seemed to be saying so many things with his eyes, and Alfred felt he was missing whatever the man was trying to say. The man didn't find out Alfred was America, did he? Because if he did, Alfred would be in so much trouble.

"Is something wrong?" Alfred asked. The man blinked.

"Do you not feel...?" he asked, question trailing off. Alfred then gasped as he realized what the man was talking about. Returning his focus to the man in front of him, he realized the weird country feeling was coming from this guy.

Wow, he was old for a micronation. After all, Alfred was the United States of America and only looked nineteen.

"Who are you?" Alfred asked, "What are you?"

The man glared, "What are you? Really? That's your best question?"

Deciding actually to read the room for once, Alfred acknowledged that that probably wasn't the best question he could ask, "Okay, maybe that was a bad question, but you can't blame a guy for being curious."

"Are you sure we should do this here? You don't know who could be listening." The micronation asked. The man was almost as paranoid as Alfred had been in the 50s.

"Dude, we are in a shady New York alley. No one's coming in here." Alfred pointed out. The micronation snorted.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. It's New York." He pointed out.

"You know, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave," Alfred responded. The man smirked, but there was something akin to worry in his eyes.

"Oh, is that how we are doing things? Fine, I'm the United States of America." the micro–the alternate–the lia–the man said, holding out his hand in such a way that both their bodies hid it, as the almond-colored skin seemed to fade away to reveal a white star on blue skin.

Alfred stared at the man's hand in shock. Well, he definitely wasn't human.

How was this possible?

Alfred hadn't realized he had said that out loud until the man answered.

"I'm not human, so I don't have to look human. Now you. Who and what are you?" The man-America snapped, the bright colors of his hand fading back into the human tone.

"Grumpy," Alfred muttered.

"I'm not grumpy, just practical. Now who are you?"

"I am also America. Nice to meet you."