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COLOMBIA
Global High had a few certain years in which it had went through varying states of internal turmoil. There were scandals. Many in particular. Almost one every year, like some doomed prophecy foretold one miserable event to befall every time the group had returned to school hoping to start fresh.

Four years ago, NATO got into a fist fight with one of the other teachers. There were rumors for months after for the reason; most likely regarding his controversial backing of France and Britain despite his teacherly duty to the school. Three years ago, the air conditioner broke, no one could fix it, two Representatives were hospitalized, and it took two weeks to fix. They called it the Dust Bowl. Two years ago, bits of the Yugoslav friend group went through a crisis where everyone seemed to hate everyone all of a sudden and none of them attended classes. Someone planted the idea in people's minds that they were all coming to blows behind the gym and everyone was gathered in said gym for a bit of a collective therapy session. One year ago, America broke up with Philippines, and it preceded a very prolonged period of yelling, shit-talking, and rather vicious gossip that had significantly been quelled after the two decided to leave it on neutral-but-secretly-still-spiteful-terms. And sometime before that, Third Reich had found Facist Italy and JE, and his rampant bullying ceased.

But nothing had gotten to a scale as dangerous as this.

She wasn't sure how or why she hadn't noticed before. The thoughts in her mind were all a senseless blur of Romania, Vietnam and Switzerland, and the underground bunkers, and she supposed for a long time that the silence in conversation about the current circumstances were just a result of the warnings she and her friends had given. She was horribly wrong.

The quietude was a sound barrier. It halted the vitriol, the resentment, the simmering ire at being left in the dark while some other group, as disputed as Representatives of world hegemons and former nations of genocide and harm could be, got their hands dirty and their minds clear. It could be one thing, the visceral reaction at eventually discovering that the absence of memories had rendered the Representative body entirely naïve, and it was a whole other thing to not be able to do a thing about it.

If word got out, the stopwatch would tick to an inapt end, she realized, especially with the state of things now. It was how it was like, in war, with people clinging onto possibility and losing themselves in sharp words and serially taking sides; choosing red choosing blue, like it would do them any good.

That unspoken vow of silence was the only thing that was buying them time. Now it was just time. Only time, quickly decreasing in amount, the one saving grace after tens of thousands exhausted already.

She raised her head.

"And so which ancient empire built the first known system of roads?" EU was asking her when she snapped out of her thoughts. No one really paid attention in Ancient History anymore.

"The Persian Empire," she replied, and EU gave an accepting nod. Next to her, Brazil was literally folding a paper airplane.

America and Russia. Global leaderboards? Maybe there was something to do about that. She shut her eyes tightly, thinking. Portals and leaderboards.

"You look constipated," Brazil whispered. Her eyes flew open, ready to spit something snarky back, but stopped in her tracks when the shelf behind her rather agitating friend was practically, metaphorically, flashing to gain her interest. It was piled with a stack of books; yearbooks. Every year, Global High gave out yearbooks, and perhaps, it was a tradition that had continued ever since before the memory wipe. How had she not considered it before?