The Division.

Chapter 1

6 Am, James A. Postal Office, New York City.

America was always up by the strike of 6 o'clock. He would get up, stretch, do a small work-out routine before getting dressed and getting something to eat from the small makeshift cantine by the medical bay (As unsanitary as that is, it's needed) before grabbing the rest of his gear and meeting Hungary outside.

He'd always take an apple with him, giving it to the smaller because he knew him well enough by then to know that he skipped breakfast to meet him there. A small seeker mine was beeping around the smaller's feet as he walked around in circles in front of the building, playing a game with it. His machine gun in hand, giggling happily as the explosive beeped at him, circling his legs easily, dancing with the small country as if it was nothing.

A smile peaked America's lips as he called out. "Mornin', Hungary!" His accent slipped through, walking towards Hungary as the seeker mine let out an electric pop, frying on Hungary's command. "Good morning, Star." The smaller greeted, his breath showing in the cold winter weather. The street lights illuminated them, making the light bounce off of Hungary's dark, but shiny jacket. It was always puffy and back to good condition, no matter how many times it was shot through.

America handed him the apple. Granny smith this time. As much as he knew Hun despised it, the country still took a bite of it. "How did you sleep?" He questioned, starting to walk towards a different area. They would meet Germany and Russia at the safe haven in that district. "As well as yesterday. It... Was about my mom this time. Cursin' me out and usin' my full name because I forgot I had muffins in the oven." America adored the laugh that came from the shorter. He shouldn't adore it.

They chatted idly as they walked to Hell's Kitchen. Wolves Den would be next, where they would pick up Poland and Canada. Hungary was often the only one to stay in a completely different district to help little kids. He was often up a whole lot during the night. All of them were, but this was different. Hungary would always go out of his way to play and entertain kids. Even if he was tired of having a patch up at the medical bay, he'd always play with the kids. By the time they arrived at the Hell's Kitchen safe haven, Hungary had finished his Grannysmith apple and chucked it into the street. He could only hope that birds or a dog could get the rest before it gets too dirty. America knew Hungary hoped for the same.

Germany and Russia were talking happily as they joined the other two. Russia had an RPK, while Germany was currently reloading his pistol. Poland often had the sniper, while Canada had an AK-47. Hun was often the one to have a silenced pistol and the machine gun. Its scope was just an extra so Hun could have better accuracy. America himself prefered more heavy-duty guns, so he made one himself. It dealt as much of a blow as a shotgun but was as light as a pistol.

Hungary had quietened down. He was watching the streets instead. A hand gripping his backpack straps, where all his supplies were. Medkits, the magic thing that Division supplied them with, etc. They were all but magic. They healed their wounds, stopped bleeding and got them back to pristine health in only a matter of moments. None of them knew how it could happen. They chose to never question it instead. Saved them from death a lot.

Hun suddenly picked up speed, going over to a German Shepard that was digging around by the trash. The group didn't stop, knowing that Hungary would catch up to them again, but America couldn't help but slow down and wait. Hungary crouched down a bit away from the dog, setting his gun down as he held his hand out. The German Shepard hesitated before sniffing his hand and quickly licking him. Hungary's laugh puffed out in white smoke, petting the dog with delight before getting a bottle of water out for it.