"How ya feeling, Star?"

Cath blew air out of her nose, leaning out of the open door of the helicopter. The night sky was cool on her skin, and the sun would was just disappearing below the western horizon, leaving them in an inky sea of blue and violet. The rhythmical thumping of the rotor blades cutting through the air was almost meditative, in a way. Still, she didn't really like this. The anticipation was always the hardest part.

"I though Cali didn't have these sorts of nutjobs," Cath finally said. "Not in such massive numbers, anyway."

"You only think that cause you're from San Francisco," said Matt.

"Yeah, come further south," said Isaac. "I'm sure some of my neighbors think I'd be better off picking cotton."

"Seriously?"

"Did I not tell you? Old lady down the street's a complete bitch. Called the cops on me on three different occasions."

"Why doesn't she move to the Confederate States, then?" said Matt, genuinely curious.

Isaac snorted. "Why would she? She's already too old to be some Hitler Youth's wife and you know how the Confederate States are when it comes to welfare."

"What a hypocrite," said Cath, disgust seeping into her voice.

"Yeah, well, point is, there are plenty of them even in California," said Isaac. "Just not as many willing to put their money where their mouth is."

And where they were going, Cath thought, they were more than willing to put their money where their mouths were.

Confederate Republic of California. God, what a stupid name. She supposed she couldn't expect much out of racial purity idiots, given they'd been parroting the same talking points for, what, seven hundred years? Since the founding of the republic — the real republic, that is, not some mockery of democracy made by these dumbfucks. Cath sighed. How hard could it be to just… not be a total asshole?

She turned her attention back to the ground below, and then the sturdy G-Shock on her wrist. The little glow-in-the-dark hands told her that it would barely be a minute before they passed the perimeter of the compound. She took a deep breath, inhaling over ten seconds, and exhaled just as slowly. In her mind, the briefing played along in her mind for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Our drone flyovers have found that they've been collecting firearms," said the FBI guy. "Enough to arm a good quarter of the commune, so around fifty to sixty. Possibly more. Keep in mind that those who do not have firearms also possess Quirks and are more than willing to use them. We do not know what the Quirks are, but they are willing to kill. Consider every person in that commune to be an enemy combatant."

"What about the children?" One of the National Guard guys said.

"I'll leave that up to your judgment. If you can afford to take them down nonlethally, then do so." The FBI agent sighed. "If your life, or your comrades' lives are threatened, don't hesitate to take them out."

She mentally shook herself from her thoughts, and flexed her fingers. She would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. It wasn't her first rodeo with secessionist states — God knew there were plenty of them on the border with Nevada, all claiming to have the best blackjack and hookers — but this was the first time she was stepping inside of one. She relaxed her hand, directing a look of frustration at the durable, but itchy, fingerless gloves she'd been made to wear.

She wouldn't be prancing around in nothing more than spandex this time. She had proper body armor on, just like the rest of the boys and girls, and the weight of the Glock 26 on her hip was a bit unusual, but not unwelcome.

Then she saw a streak of smoke, and her eyes widened.

"Get the hell outta there!" Cath cried, but her warning, if the other helicopter even heard it, was too late.

Heat and noise crashed into her as the tail of one of their allied craft disintegrated in a ball of flame. Immediately, it began to topple over onto its side, and spiraled down into the trees below.

"This is Osprey," Cath heard in her earpiece, the voice remarkably composed for someone falling in a fireball. "We have sustained damage. We are going down. Mayday. Mayday."

"Of course they have anti-air defenses," Matt swore. Cath clutched at a rail as the Black Hawk veered away from the others.

"Star, do you copy?"

"Copy," Cath said, through gritted teeth.

"Change of plans. Find and destroy the air defenses. Lancer will assist."

"Roger," she said, and nodded quickly at her bros, before tipping over the edge and freefalling down to the woods. And then, with all the confidence of All Might announcing his entrance, she spoke: "Cathleen Bate can fly."

James ran through the forest, towards the fireball. If he could help someone, then they would help back, right? Quid pro quo, the Other Half agreed, and James ran with the energy of a boy who had everything to win and everything to lose. The smell of burning fuel made him gag, but he continued on.

The helicopter had hit a few trees before landing heavily on the ground; while the trees involved in the collision were now splintered or aflame, it meant that the helicopter itself had barely managed to survive the crash-landing. As James approached, the heat uncomfortably hot, he found the pilots splayed across the dashboard, unmoving. He turned instead to the passenger cabin, half of it crushed like a tin can. But one person was moving, crawling with one arm away from the crash site.

James ran up to them, and they raised their head, squinting their eyes.

"You're just a kid," they slurred.

"I'm eight," James huffed, and they cracked a bloody smile.

"Fair enough. What are you doing here?"

James hesitated, but then the Other Half nudged him, and the words tumbled out of his mouth. "I'm going to escape."

The adult only nodded. "Best of luck to you, kid. I don't think I can follow, but…"

James grasped them underneath their arms, and they winced in pain; James felt a bit bad, but he needed the grip. And then, focusing his energy into his shoes until they glowed a warm orange, he slowly began to drag the wounded soldier away from the helicopter. Try as he might, James couldn't get enough power out of the shoes to do more than drag the poor soul across the dirt, and given their legs were all messed up, they were definitely feeling a lot of pain. But it was probably better than letting them be nearby when the helicopter could explode… right?

"That your Quirk?" they rasped, and James nodded. "Handy. Can you prop me up against that tree?"

James did his best, and the soldier sucked in air through his teeth. They used their one good hand and reached over, slowly, to their other side; they pulled out a handgun and examined it with the glint of the firelight, and fumbled with the safety switch. Slowly, they turned to James, who stood frozen.

"You should get out of here," they rasped. "You can't carry me everywhere, we just saw. I'm not a good shot with my left hand, but… well, needs must."

"But you could die," said James, softly, and they smiled.

"You're a good kid. Ever thought about going into superheroics?" James only tilted his head, and they sighed. "Guess you kids wouldn't know about heroes, trapped in this place… their job is to make sure innocent people are safe from villains."

"Like knights and dragons?"

"Sure. Superheroes are like knights, sort of." They smiled. "We have a few with us now. There's a big gal called Star and Stripe, that's probably her now, actually." James turned, and he found a massive, semi-translucent barrier spring up just in time to stop another helicopter from going down.

James, for lack of anything else to do, sat down beside them. Their breathing was more ragged than before, and they seemed to have closed their eyes. James bit his lip. If he were a real knight, then he would be able to rescue this person. But he'd tried, and he just couldn't get into the air…

"You'd make a good knight," they said.

No, I wouldn't, James thought, but said nothing. Then, he heard a rustle of leaves, a crunch of heavy boots on twigs, and he felt his heart beat faster. He turned back to the soldier, who had once again opened their eyes, and gave him a hard look. With the hand carrying the gun, he gestured to the trees. James clenched his fists, but seeing the glare directed at him, he reluctantly floated away, ducking into the shadows.

But he didn't leave all the way. Maybe if he could cause a distraction of some sort, throw a rock or something, distract whoever was coming. It wasn't as if he was going to cheer for anyone in the Compound anyway, given the way they all treated him —

"Well, well." James froze. "Looks like we got a feisty one, dragging yourself all the way here."

The soldier only chuckled. "I ain't going anywhere no more."

Eli and two other men, dressed in their faded flannels and jeans, stopped twenty feet from the felled soldier. Slowly, they lowered their guns as the soldier sat completely still, their breaths coming out in wheezes, but James saw that their left hand was still wrapped tight around their handgun, hidden within the shadows cast over them.

"That's good, then," said Eli, perfectly at ease. "'Cause I was looking for someone to answer a few questions—"

The soldier's left hand snapped up, then several gunshots barked out at once, and James clapped his hands to his ears; but his eyes saw a hole get blown in the soldier's upper chest, around his collarbone and neck, and they slumped to the side, lifeless. James felt his knees give out from under him as Eli clicked his tongue in disgust, and one of the men with him groaned pitifully from the ground.

"Really was a feisty one," said Eli. "Adam, where'd you get shot?"

The third man knelt. "Looks like he got hit in the gut."

"So he's dead, then," Eli said flatly, as if he wanted to roll his eyes, and Adam gave a high-pitched whine from the ground. "Whatever. Leave him, we can't help him."

Eli and his companion disappeared from James' sight, but it took some time for them to disappear from his hearing, as well. It didn't really register, as he continued to stare at the one dead, and another dying, person in front of him. He wanted to approach them, but his legs wouldn't move.

Be brave, his Other Half whispered to him.

James forced himself to stand, shakily, and he took a step away; the crunching of twigs alerted the downed man, Adam, to his position. He groaned as he turned his head, but with the darkness, it was unlikely that he could see anything. Or, at least, that was what James told himself. He quickly walked backwards, away from the scene, and instead turned back to the camp. He could hear gunshots still, and occasionally someone shouting, and he saw flashes of golden light that didn't make any noise. He needed to find out of these superheroes were winning. He needed a way out.

Cath retreated back to the treeline. Eight choppers full of Rangers and Marines and her very own Special Forces Airborne should've been more than enough to wipe out a bunch of Quirk cultists, but somehow these hicks had gotten their hands on surface-to-air missiles. Primitive ones, judging by how easy they were even for these lumbering helicopters to dodge when they had warning, but missiles nonetheless. They must've been decades old stock that fell of the back of a truck or something. Cath was honestly surprised any of them worked at all.

But it had. And now one chopper, and the twelve personnel on it, were likely dead.

The other choppers, behind her defensive barrier, had finished landing troops just outside the buildings, and now the Black Hawks were taking off again, retreating beyond the tree-line.

"I'm dropping the barrier!" Cath shouted over the din of war.

"Roger!"

The barrier she'd made of air disappeared; immediately, she shot forward, just high enough that the enemy would have to adjust their aim — and that was enough time. She slammed her hand into the face of one of the cultists and kept going, and pushed him right into the building behind them. He hit the wall hard enough to spread small cracks, and he slumped to the ground, blood trailing behind him. The other fighters, shocked by her atack, fumbled for their weapons, giving time for her bros to come forward.

"Weapons down! Drop the goddamn weapons, now!"

They did not put their weapons down. Able to afford SAMs, but they apparently didn't have enough body armor for all of them. They were wearing flannels and jean jackets, for God's sake. Cath quickly floated over and behind the buildings as gunfire lit up the compound. Screams pierced the air, as did the sound of splintering wood and shattering concrete. Cath caught a flicker of fire, not related to the firefight.

"Cathleen Bate is fireproof!" she roared, and charged at them; the pyrokinetic, rolling a massive drum full of fuel, only had a moment to look up in shock when Cath grasped him by the wrist and flew off; he screamed as his shoulder tore out of his socket. He desperately tried to set her alight, but New Order denied him. She spun so fast that she was a blur, looking like a maelstrom of fire, and threw him like a professional hammer-thrower, and he disappeared over and into the trees. If he survived that fall, then he was definitely out of the fight. She felt a little sick. He was still young enough to have a bunch of zits on his face. No time for regrets — she could mourn them later. With one last look towards where the kid had flown, she flew back to the battle.

How should she approach this? Her eyes scanned the Compound. She saw Lancer's bright gold energy beams carve a massive chunk out of a concrete building — which then groaned and fell atop the panicking defenders. A shit way to die, but better these assholes than her friends. She turned to see a man step out from the rubble, wearing a suit. It was untouched by the dust and rubble, and Cath knew he'd be trouble. He picked up a piece of concrete the size of her head with apparent ease, and she rocketed in.

"Concrete is…"

The suited man flicked the block, like it was a goddamn booger or something. Cath grimaced. This was going to hurt…

"Redirectable!"

He fingertips caught the block, and she allowed herself to be redirected by it; she ground her teeth and flung the piece back to its owner. Another piece of rubble shot right at it, and the mid-air collision sent more and more pieces of debris spraying everywhere. Both friendlies and enemies ducked, though thankfully her bros and sisters were all wearing enough armor to make the damage negligible; the same could not be said of the cultists, the closest of whom were torn to shreds. This guy was obviously important, but… did they not care about their underlings? She shook her hand. She didn't think she was injured, but goddamn did that sting.

"Captain!" Lancer landed beside her, their navy-blue outfit brightened by concrete dust. "I can take care of the concrete bits. You go ahead and take them down from behind."

"I'll do my best," she said. Taking down the concrete rule and replacing it with flight once more, she shot off to the side, through the trees, and around the other side. She waited a moment, listening to any sounds, before leaping up and over the wall. She was inside the residential quarters of the compound, now. She floated silently through the buildings, peering over the top of buildings to make sure nobody was there. There were none. Good — it seemed they were all manning the front. She passed through the makeshift streets, one by one, until she had a direct line of sight to the suited asshole. There was no way in hell they could have seen or heard her, not when Lancer was popping off lasers like it was the Fourth of July. She had to admit she gained a bit of schadenfreude watching this most-likely cult leader dancing around trying to dodge the lasers that made it past his rubble barrage.

And then, one of the lasers he dodged came right at her, and she felt a grin coming on.

"The laser is holdable."

The searing light collapsed into a ball in her hands, and then with a throw that would make a Major Leaguer weep in envy, Cath twisted and threw. She saw the suited asshole turn around in slow motion as the light streaked towards him. She crouched, and as she changed her Order once more, she flew.

Lancer's redirected light struck him dead-center, sending out a wave of both heat and force; Cath flew into the smoke and grasped him by the hem of his dress shirt. The asshole wasn't out for the count yet, though, and he glared at her, before reaching up and flicking his five fingers at her.

The moment they all made contact, Cath was sent flying in the opposite direction as if someone had pulled her with a bungee rope. She looked down at her hand, in which she held scraps of a suit and dress shirt; she threw it away in disgust and willed herself to stop, before charging down again. Object acceleration, then — a useful power, and deadly in the right hands, but given Cath didn't have a fist-sized hole in her chest from rubble or even marbles punching into her at Mach speeds, it was clear this guy was an amateur. She cursed herself for her own sloppiness. It said a lot that she'd let this idiot put five fingers on her.

"Time for an all-American classic," she snarled, as she hurtled towards the Earth, far beyond terminal velocity. The suited asshole had just been struck by one of Lancer's beams, sending him flying back. She subtly adjusted her course, and held one arm over her head. "Missouri… Smash!"

And that was that.

Cath pulled herself out of the rubble pile she'd crashed into, breathing heavily. The shockwave had crumbled the foundations of a few nearby buildings and now her bros were streaming in, guns at the ready, to mop up the few stragglers who were still in a condition to fight. She quickly burst forward to knock one of the Rangers out of the way; she raised her arms to her face just as she saw the sawed-off shotgun go off in her direction. Most of the pellets were absorbed in her body armor, and the rest were blocked by the plates in her costume or bounced off her hardened skin. They'd probably bruise badly tomorrow, but she was still going to be a lot better off than that Ranger.

Not hesitating, she launched forward, and yanked the gun upward, and slammed a knee into the gunman's gut. They grunted and stumbled back; Cath realized with some distaste that it was just a girl, maybe college-age. Holding onto the barrels still, she twisted in midair and knocked her out cold with a clean roundhouse kick to the skull. She tugged the gun out of the unconscious girl's hands, and idly bent the steel into a pretzel before tossing it away.

"Captain." Lancer was at her side, looking exhausted.

"Sitrep," she said.

"We've captured the administrative quarters, and the armory," said Lancer, holding a hand up against his ear. "There's still ongoing fighting in the residential areas, but resistance is weak."

"Any prisoners?"

Lancer grimaced under his helmet, and shook his head. "They're fanatics."

"Jesus Christ," Cath muttered. "What about casualties on our end?"

"Sixteen dead, including the first chopper," he said. "Fifteen more injured, none critical."

"Any Quirks we should watch for?"

"No," said Lancer. "It's strange. They were supposed to be stockpiling and breeding Quirks, but aside from the leader we just fought, none seem to be really worth mentioning. Minor telekinesis here and there. A few body modification Quirks, but none that enhance combat capabilities. If anything, we underestimated how well-armed they were. They had missiles, anti-materiel weapons, and enough ammo to turn this place into a crater."

"So we surprised them," said Cath.

"And a good thing, too."

"But they might surprise us still," said Cath. "Do we have any bomb disposal guys with us? I want them searching for any booby traps in this place before we're able to get out."

"No, but I'll tell the boys to watch out for anything."

The conversation over, Cath rejoined the fray, taking care to make her footsteps loud and audible so as not to accidentally get shot by her own bros. As Lancer had said, most of the resistance had already been neutralized, and all those who were left were women who had armed themselves with makeshift weapons, and teenage boys that looked like they wouldn't even be attending college yet. The younger kids they tried to knock out, but the women were just as rabid as the men had been. Their lack of training didn't stop them from doing their best to kill, and so they were killed in kind. Cath stepped inside the infirmary, and grimaced.

A number of wounded were laying in the beds. Most of them were too far gone — whatever counted for medical attention in this shithole wasn't nearly enough — but there were a few who might have survivable wounds. The patients were quickly frisked, and the old woman that appeared to be the closest thing they had to a doctor was slammed into the wall by two guys holding her arms, while the third quickly patted her down.

"Invaders!" she screeched. "You will pay for this, every single one of you will go to Hell—"

Great, religion nuts as well as Quirk nuts.

"I suppose we'll see each other again, then," one of the Marines said drily.

"How dare you! Monsters, the lot of you!"

"We ain't the ones kidnapping women off the streets for your batshit apocalypse cult, lady," another snapped. "Now shut up, or I'll make you shut up."

She spat at him. "Go to Hell."

Cath turned away, pretending not to see or hear anything as they shut her up. At least it wasn't overly violent. She sighed, and turned back around, the two soldiers from earlier zip-tying her wrists behind her, before dumping her in the corner with the other able-bodied prisoners.

"Infirmary clear," one said into his earpiece.

"Residential clear ," buzzed a voice, though it was hesitant. " Command, we've got a lot of kids here, and uh… they won't calm down."

"I'll handle it," Cath said quietly, and floated out of the infirmary. "Herd them into one room, if you can."

"You got it, Captain."

There were maybe fifty children, the oldest of them being maybe thirteen or fourteen, herded into what looked like a classroom. They were hissing and spitting at the soldiers, who kept their guns raised; a few were openly using their Quirks, swirling vortices of energy and extending body parts and animal transformations; but the boys didn't open fire just yet, because they were fucking kids. God, why did these assholes have to breed Quirks?

"Turn that off," one snapped.

"Make me," a glowing kid snarled.

Cath stepped up behind them, and the boys retreated slowly, guns still raised. Cath raised her hands in as nonthreatening a manner as she could manage, and she saw the kids hesitate. Her left hand breached the doorway.

"Boys, get back," she said, and sighed, before speaking as quietly as she could manage: "The air within the room is knockout gas."

The kids stilled, and Cath quickly shut the door; she could hear them going berserk within. "The door is unbreakable," she said, and braced herself; the boys rushed back in quickly, pressing their weight against the unnaturally durable wood. Cath felt her feet skid across the floor, grunting with the effort of keeping the brainwashed kids contained. New Order had limits; the door wasn't truly unbreakable. But it was as close to it as she could make it, and she just needed to hold on, for just one, maybe two, minutes…

It felt like an hour. But the room became quiet from within. For good measure, she waited another minute, and then shared a look with the two soldiers who had been helping her. She stepped back, and they slowly peered within. Cath cancelled the Order, and saw all of them on the floor in haphazard piles. There was always the possibility that a few of them were playing possum in the piles, and… well, she hoped they didn't attack. If they did, they were getting shot.

Ten soldiers marched up to the door and crept inside, dragging kids off piles so the ones on the bottom didn't suffocate, before tying them up and propping them up against the walls. Feeling a little sick, Cath flew out of the building and out into the fresh air. Well, as fresh as it could be, with the smell of gunpowder and blood and death everywhere. She floated towards the edge of the Compound; the front gate had been torn down and APCs were rolling in, bringing medics, EODs, and reinforcements. She touched down and walked towards the forest, away from the lights and sounds, away from the smell of death and suffering. She leaned against a tree, and sighed, closing her eyes.

What a fucking mess. She wasn't going to mourn the adult members here — they were very much able and willing to kill her teammates, and all of them participated in a massive human trafficking scheme to steal women with desirable Quirks right under the nose of the US government. It was just their lucky break that none of the adults had combative Quirks, though Cath had no doubt that the children they sired did, designed to be nothing more than weapons. Speaking of, would they be able to find the women here, as they'd first hoped?

"Hello," said a small voice.

Cath opened her eyes slowly. It was a kid. Definitely one of the younger ones, couldn't be more than seven or eight. He was standing there, frozen, as if that one word of greeting had used up all of his confidence.

"Hey there," she replied, cautiously. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was in the forest," he said. "Did you win?"

Cath tilted her head just a little. Was it just a trick of the light, or did that kid have Asian features? This commune was supposed to have an emphasis on purity — no mutant Quirks allowed, but also no Chinks or… en-words. She doubted the kid could scale concrete and barbed-wire to get inside the Compound, and even if he could, she doubted he would've wanted to. Was this kid a part of the commune?

Cath slowly squatted down, coming closer to eye level with him. "Are you hurt?"

He hesitated, before shaking his head. Then he glanced back behind him. Cath followed his gaze — and saw a faint red glow. Where the chopper had crashed earlier. Her eyes widened.

"Is that…? Kid, did you see the helicopter?"

The boy startled, before nodding. "It was all crushed," he said softly. "One person got out, but Eli shot them."

Cath swallowed. "I see. Thanks for telling me."

Sixteen deaths, then. Out of a task force of a hundred and twenty, it could've been a lot worse. They'd been expecting fewer guns and more Quirks, but it was lucky that that wasn't the case. If those kids had been adults instead… you couldn't use flares or chaff to dodge a laser like Lancer's the way you could dodge a missile. On top of that, the fact that they'd had the element of surprise meant that it could've been a lot, lot worse. But still, sixteen deaths… it was sixteen too many.

And they wouldn't be the last. The United States of America still had to deal with dozens of communes like that, and the centuries-spanning civil war agains the Confederate States… so many lives lost, because a few power-hungry people had convinced the people under them that it was in their best interests to embrace hate instead of love.

"Are you the Star and Stripe?"

Cath gave a small smile. "Yeah. You know me?"

"The soldier back there told me about you," he said. "Before Eli shot them."

Cath's smile turned brittle and shattered. "Right."

"He said I could be a good superhero," he said, not quite making eye contact with her.

"I bet you could." Cath forced herself to focus on the kid. He was cute enough, she supposed, and soft-spoken. But if he had grown up in this cult… fucking hell. He was going to bear those scars for the rest of his life. "What's your Quirk?"

"I enchant things," he said. To demonstrate, he hopped in the air and hovered there for a few seconds, his shoes glowing. "They get better, and if I charge them enough, they let me do things, like fly."

"That's… definitely a cool Quirk," Cath said honestly. "How many times did you have to charge them?"

The kid shrugged. "About two years?"

"Two years for flight? I'd take it," Cath said, smiling. "When you're older, you should come to my agency. You can be my sidekick. How's that sound?"

The kid frowned. "Why can't you be my sidekick?"

Cath chuckled at that. "Okay, fair enough. Anyway, why don't you come with me? You must be hungry."

The kid nodded. "I'm James, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, James. Now let's see if they have donuts up there."

James stepped up beside her, and Cath turned around, only for another voice to emerge from the forest. Slowly, they turned around, to find a little blonde girl, maybe the same age as James, tears streaking down her soot-covered face, her fists shaking at her sides.

"James," she said, her voice almost pleading. "Come back. You don't need to go with her."

James' face flashed with pain. "Mary… I can't go back. I'm sorry." Her face took on a similar expression of hurt, and James hastened to add, "But you can come with us!"

"Come on," Cath said, forcing a smile, and the girl jerked to meet her eyes. "We won't hurt you. Would you like some donuts?"

"Shut up! I'm not letting you take James!"

"Mary, please," James begged.

The girl wasn't listening. She transformed in front of them, twisting and elongating; Cath held back a grimace as she turned into some weird hybrid of a lion and a grizzly. And if she had to guess, she was as big as an adult lion, and she was pissed. She roared at them, and bounded forward with incredible agility for something so big, and Cath tackled James out of the way.

"Calm down!" Cath tried, but the girl had either lost her sanity like some transformation Quirks did, or she really, really wanted Cath dead. "You can be with your friend, just calm down!"

The creature only howled at them, in a mimicry of human speech. Cath wasn't entirely sure what she was saying, but it was probably an appeal to let her friend go. It wouldn't happen, of course. The only way she'd be with her friend was if they were both outside of this goddamned commune. Cath stepped back as the lion-thing crouched, preparing to leap, its eyes narrow slits and its teeth on full display. It pounced.

Then Cath heard a hundred bolts of lightning all going off at once, and the lion-girl was thrown to the side by the impact of all the bullets tearing through her. James froze like a lead weight in Cath's grip, as Mary toppled, dead before she hit the ground. Cath swallowed, picked James up, and turned the other way. Away from the corpse of his friend.

"What the hell was that thing?" A marine asked, but Cath ignored him, powerwalking towards the convoy.

"Hey, James." James didn't respond. "Hey, kid. Have you ever tried donuts? They're really good. The best ones are kinda soft and chewy, and it's coated in sugar frosting. I like the pink ones — it's my favorite color. Hey, James? What's your favorite color?"

James shivered in her arms, and it was all Cath could do not to cry.

"James? Talk to me. Do you have a favorite animal?"

"Captain?" she heard Lancer say, stepping out from behind an ambulance, concern etched into his face.

"You're gonna be okay, James." Cath held the kid close, and he clung on for dear life. "You're gonna be okay."

But even as she said so, she had her doubts. She hated this. She hated the world. She hated the people that let this sort of thing happen. Was this what All Might had to deal with, still dealt with? Sometimes she just wanted to quit being a hero. Go home, bury her face in a pillow, and just sleep. Preferably without waking up, ever.

James pulled away from her neck, then, and met Cath's eyes. His eyes were red and watery, but he forced himself to smile. "My favorite color is blue," he finally declared, his voice wavering, and Cath felt the tears fall from her own eyes. "Like your eyes. They're pretty."

Cath choked at that. Goddamn brave-ass kid, not even a teenager and still with the balls to flirt with her in the aftermath of a battle.

"You know what?" she said, barely managing to get the words past her throat. "I like blue too."

They weren't all right just now. But maybe, if the kid was as strong as he was, then they would be.