A cramped but lively household kitchen, circa 1915. The Countryhumans of WW1 powers live under one roof. Breakfast is on the table—black bread, sausages, and tea.

Germany (fatherly, strict): slams newspaper down “Another front, another problem. Britain, you block my supplies at sea again, ja? How am I supposed to feed everyone here?”

Britain (prim, sipping tea): “Well perhaps, dear Germany, if you didn’t try to march through Belgium’s front door uninvited, I wouldn’t have to keep you in check, would I?”

Belgium (offended, arms crossed): “I told you not to step on my carpet! And look at it—still muddy from your boots!”

France (dramatic, waving a butter knife): “Mon dieu, every morning the same argument! Germany barges in, Britain scolds, and I—I—am left cleaning up the trenches in the backyard!”

Russia (yawning, scarf wrapped around head): “Could you all keep it down? Some of us are dealing with revolts in every room. It’s exhausting to keep the family together.”

Austria-Hungary (frazzled, stirring porridge): “Don’t talk to me about family problems! Half my children don’t even want to live here anymore, but they still eat my food!”

Ottoman Empire (from the doorway, coughing a little): “At least you all get food. Half my pantry’s been invaded, and everyone keeps asking me about oil like I’m a barrel, not a person!”

Italy (fidgeting, avoiding eye contact): “Eh… about the rent… I might… switch sides on paying it soon. Just saying.”

Germany (glares at Italy): “…Traitor.”

United States (cheerful, leaning in the window): “Howdy, neighbors! Don’t mind me, just selling supplies from outside. Totally neutral here. For now…”

Everyone else (groans): “Of course you are.”