Alfred sprinted into the meeting room, panting.

"Sorry I'm late guys!" He said, going to his seat near the front.

"Why are you late again, America? And why aren't you in uniform? I thought I raised you better than that," a sarcastic Brit cut in, glaring at the nation before taking a sip of his tea.

A screech sounded from the back of the room. "Oh mio dio! Germany! America's bleeding!" Italy screamed, rushing forward, his old mafia training kicking in. "America, what was it? Was it a bullet? Where is it?"

America backed up, away from the frenzied Italian. "Dude, Italy, I'm fine! It's just some red dye from earlier, I swear!" Damn it! I must have moved the bandages when I was sprinting in here. What if they find out? I won't be able to keep up the oblivious hero act anymore! Damn it! he thought to himself. What was the point of keeping up the act if he was too clumsy to keep work away from this personification fiasco.

"No, you're not, America," the German cut in, frowning. "I've seen dye and blood; that is blood."

"America, bro! How did you get stabbed? I was beginning to think you were untouchable!" Prussia yelled from across rthe room.

"Damnit Prussia! No one else was supposed to know about that!" Denmark put in, earning him and America a stare from everyone else in the room.

"Know about what, America?" England asked, looking rather confused. America sighed, turning towards the door.

"Let me show you," he said, disappearing and returning shortly with a duffle bag and a notebook. He threw the bag on the table and opened up the notebook, which was filled with names and numbers.

"This is a book of all of the people I have been paid to kill, along with how much I was paid to kill them. There is a red highlight over everyone who is already dead, and a yellow highlight over everyone who I have in captivity and I'm waiting to deliver to the employer," he explained, flipping through some of the pages and point at different examples. A few of the countries fainted, most of them were white with fear, and Russia looking at him curiously.

"Oh mon dieu..."

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL AMERICA!?!?!"

"Maple...!"

"It isn't much, and most of my better stuff is still at home, but I had to bring this job's tools with me this time, so you can see them if you want," the American said, the proceeded to open the bag and take out various different weapons and things that he may have needed, along with some medical supplies in the case that he got hurt, which didn't happen often.

"Oh, yeah. I should probably tell you that I'm a hitman."