Warnings for physical and emotional abuse.

"Oh, hello." Eli looked down at the boy, barely taller than his hip. "Did you already finish your chores?"

James gave a single, sharp nod with all the seriousness he could muster. Given he was only seven years old, it wasn't as though he was expected to do much. He helped pull out some weeds from vegetable patches — the shortest kids were always conscripted into doing that, because they were closer to the ground — and he carried pails of water for cooking and bathing. When he got a bit older, he would graduate to peeling the potatoes, probably.

"Good work," said Eli, and James glanced down at his feet, trying not to feel too pleased. "Always the serious one, aren't you?"

James only nodded, again. He wasn't in the habit of speaking if he could avoid it. His Other Half told him not to. His Other Half must always remain a secret… well, that's what James suspected, anyway. The Other Half couldn't talk, it was just a mess of memories and emotions that sometimes reacted to stimuli, more often when James was sleeping. But James was told not to talk. So he didn't, most of the time.

"Nothing wrong with that." Eli ruffled James' hair. "If anything, it's always a good thing. He who humbles himself will be exalted. Isn't that right?" James nodded again. "You're real mature for your age, kiddo. That's good. There are plenty of older boys who struggle with that." Eli grinned, then, playfully. "But don't let this get to your head now, you hear?"

James nodded resolutely.

"Off you go, then. You're free to play."

Play more, Other Half whispered to him. It wasn't an audible whisper, but a strange emotional cocktail tugging at his hormones, of bittersweet joy and longing, pressuring James to play more 'while he still had time to play', whatever that meant. Didn't matter in the end, because James was more than happy to oblige, and he wandered towards the small play area that was designated for the kids of the Compound. A sandbox, some gymnastics stuff hand-carved from wood, a toybox full of dolls for the girls, and the boys had boxes full of toy soldiers and monsters. James wasn't entirely sure why the girls' figurines were bigger than the boys'. It wouldn't have mattered if not for the fact that Isaac kept picking his nose with the smaller toy soldiers, making it all gross.

"James!"

The voice belonged to Marigold, but she went by Mary. She had laughing blue eyes and golden ringlets reaching down to the small of her back, and freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. When she grinned, she revealed two front teeth bigger than the others, and a gap where her incisor had fallen out a month ago. James felt himself smile too, whatever ills and fears soothed away by the ray of sunshine that blessed this Compound.

"You're all done? Already?" said Mary, and James nodded. "You're always so quick. Was it so you could come play with me?"

James kicked at the dirt, and Mary laughed in delight, spinning, her hair floating behind her like a gymnast's ribbons, and she grasped his hand and dragged him to the sandbox. She folded her plain linen dress under her knees, already covered in bits of sand, and James fell onto his butt next to her. The nine-year-old began describing the castle she was building, right out of those Disney movies she so loved to watch, that it was going to be covered in smooth rocks representing gemstones and then she gained a glint in her eyes and she said it was going to be attacked by a dragon.

Seven-year-old James was suitably impressed.

"And then you'll have to get the toy soldiers," said Mary, waving her arms around to punctuate her point, "And then you have to put them around the pe-ri-me-ter, like the guards here, to keep the princess safe!"

"What's that?" said James, and Mary puffed out her chest.

"It means the outside of something!" James nodded. Mary was really smart. Poor girl, Other Half murmured, but James ignored them.

"But who's gonna win?"

"The guards, silly! It's not fun when the dragon wins." She crossed her arms. "Have you ever heard or read a story where the dragon wins? The monsters aren't supposed to win! The knights don't have bat ears or pig tails or stuff like that." She rolled her eyes so hard that she rolled her head along with it, and James laughed.

So they spent the next hour or so building up their castle, and it looked really cool, like a bunch of upside-down pudding cups next to each other, mostly because the plastic bucket was in the same of a pudding cup, but that wasn't important. And then Mary hummed as she drew flowers on the sides of towers and James collected pebbles, as smooth as he could find, and they put them around the edges of the towers and in the centers of the flowers.

"The soldiers!" Mary said, and James grabbed a big bunch of toy soldiers in his arms, running back to the sandbox with plastic figurines slipping from his arms and leaving a trail behind him. Then he ran back, picking up the figurines one by one, and then grabbed a big dragon figure, about the length of James' forearm, and and planted it firmly in front of the castle, its snarling maw pointed against the drawbridge which was actually a malformed wall of sand that they'd placed in between two of the pudding cups.

"Great." Mary clapped her hands together. "Now you gotta be the dragon."

"Why do I gotta be the dragon?"

"What, you wanna be the princess?" Mary said, rolling her eyes, and James scowled. "That's what I thought. You start!"

James grudgingly picked up the big dragon figure and marched it up to the drawbridge, bumping the misshapen mound of sand with its snout. Mary stared at him expectantly, and he sighed. Then he took a deep breath, and his Other Half told him to say this:

"I smell you, thief," he said, putting in as much gravitas into his voice as a child could muster. "I smell your breath. I feel your air. Return my gold before it is corrupted by your mortal taint!"

Mary appeared enraptured, and when she realized that that was her cue, she took a moment to compose herself before speaking. "Begone, foul beast! We are the heirs of the Lord and we do not negotiate with inhumans!"

"Then so be it," said James, jerking the dragon up and down, before thrusting the wooden toy right into the sand. It created a small dent, but nothing more. Mary giggled, and her giggles made James snicker, and his snickers only made her giggle harder until the courtyard rang out with the peals of children with no worries on their minds.

Of course, it wasn't to last. It never was.

"Nice castle, Goldilocks!"

Jason was an eleven-year-old thug. He was built like a brick and was just as smart as one, and it was clear that he'd had a few dropped on his face as a baby too. He also had ten-year-old Benjamin with him, who was whip-thin, knees and elbows knobbly at his sides. Mary scowled as she stood up; James did too, clenching his fists.

"Go away, Jason," said Mary. "Nobody likes you."

Blunt.

"Ben likes me," said Jason smugly. "And Matthew thinks I show promise! Those were his exact words!"

"Remember when ya told Daisy ya liked her and she screamed?" Mary said smugly, and Jason's flappy ears turned bright red.

"Screw you!" And Jason advanced, Ben stumbling right behind him, and Mary stepped up to them. James, ignoring the pounding in his heart, put on his best war face and stepped up too. "Out of the way, loser!"

"Leave her alone!" James yelled, and charged the older boy. But Jason had always made up in weight what he lacked in brains, and James' swinging arm was intercepted easily by his palm. Feeling his fingers dig into his flesh, James looked up and scowled at Jason as much he could. Jason leered. James spat at his face.

"Fucking—!" James' grip slackened a little when he heard Jason say that; he knew not what it meant, but he knew it was a good day in Isolation if anyone had caught him saying that. "You stupid half-breed!"

Jason wrenched James' arm away, causing him to cry out, and then a swift kick in the ribs sent James tumbling into the sand. Mary shouted, and she too got thrown away like she was one of her dolls rather than a girl bigger than he, and James growled. Ignoring the throbbing pain and the saltiness in his eyes, he clambered to his feet and tackled Jason, sending him staggering. Benjamin yanked at his legs, tearing off his shoes in the process, and threw him into the sand, whereupon Ben and Jason both crashed on top of him, and he felt knuckles pummeling every inch of his body.

"Leave him alone!" he heard Mary say, but the pressure didn't let up, and it sounded like it came from farther away than it actually did. At some point he got sand in his mouth and it tasted terrible, and he didn't want to think about it too hard because the dogs belonging to the adults sometimes did business where they shouldn't be, and he tried to spit it out but one of the idiots punched him in the back of the head and he choked, feeling tears prick at his eyes as pain blossomed over his tongue—

And it was over.

He didn't know when. He didn't know how. But he came to, and he was alone in the sandpit in blessed silence, his arms covering his head and his body sore all over. The pain was dull, flaring in sync with his heartbeats; it was still better than sharp pain, the pain that would come from a superior's switch or even a bullwhip.

"James! Are you okay?"

James ignored Mary's concern in favor of silence. Another pair of footsteps, slower, more measured, stopped beside him. He felt a cool, weathered hand poke and prod at his limbs, drawing hisses every once in a while.

"Can you walk, James?" said a warm drawl, the voice of Margaret, one of the oldest ladies in the Compound and Mary's grandma. In response, James slowly pushed himself to his feet, and dusted the sand off his body.

Fear is the mind-killer, a voice murmured. James squared his shoulders and stared at Margaret, letting little of his feelings show on his face, and Margaret slowly began to walk back in the other direction. For once, Mary was quiet, her enthusiasm for life and the world and everything dampened, remaining silent as she escorted James back to the infirmary. Margaret silently gestured at a bed with frayed white sheets, and James equally silently sat upon it.

"Thank you, Marigold," Margaret said. Mary hesitated, but she took one last glance at James and left. "What did those boys do to you?"

James shrugged. Margaret sighed when she realized no more words were forthcoming.

"You need to speak more, James," she said softly. "We don't know how to help if you don't confide in us. Don't you trust us?" Slowly, James shook his head, and Margaret smiled. "I'm sure Eli will be overjoyed to hear you actually trust him. I don't think anyone else does, with how often he cheats at cards."

James felt a small smile tug at his lips, and Margaret dabbed a cotton ball with disinfectant, deftly maneuvering a pair of tweezers at the nicks and scrapes all over his arms and legs, which weren't covered by his clothes. James bit his lip at the sting of alcohol, and Margaret smiled again.

"You're a very brave young man," she said softly, and he felt his heart rise. "I heard from Marigold what they said to you. The things they called you."

And just like that, his elation crashed and burned like an airship on fire. Ignorant fools, a voice sneered, and James wished he could agree. He did. The Other Half was wiser, and their insights were greater than what James could observe alone, and yet, was it too much for James to wish they would simply accept them as one of their own? For as stupid as they were, Jason and Benjamin had the right to be there. Nobody glanced at them a second time, when they weren't being stupid, anyway. Nobody was automatically cold to them, nobody automatically assumed the worst of them, not like everyone did towards him, except maybe Eli and Margaret and Marigold.

"It doesn't matter who your mother was," Margaret said, brushing his straight black hair back. "You will go through plenty hardship, James, I won't lie. But you have the strength in you. The courage, the humility, the brains. You might not understand now, but you'll understand soon: it's not the color of your skin, but what's in here." She poked James' chest, and a small ember lit in his heart.

He felt a wave of disgust radiating from the Other Half, and he had to force the smile. Everyone in the Compound had a normal mother, but apparently he didn't. Why him? Why his mother in particular? He wished he could've just been normal, too. After all, what were the odds of being not normal in a place where normalcy was valued?

Your uniqueness is a weakness, but also a strength, the Other Half murmured.

"Now, does anything hurt in particular?" said Margaret, straightening again. "We don't want to leave any fractures or anything, if you have them. Now tell me the truth: does anywhere hurt?"

James flexed his fingers, his arms, then toes and legs, and then shook his head. Margaret hummed, narrowing her eyes at him until he fidgeted, then sighed and turned around.

"In that case, you'll be fine. Don't pick at your scabs, please," Margaret said. James nodded, hopped off the bed, and wandered aimlessly. He wished he could go to the library — the bullies got confused by all the words and never went in — but it wasn't as if he hadn't read everything in there at least once already. Or, at least, for the more adult books, turned the pages and looked through it like it was a picture book.

Instead, he went to the nearby forest. Not too far, because then the teenaged handlers would get mad at them, but far enough that the sounds of the Compound faded away. There was a particular tree, a heavyset oak tree that Eli had once shown him, the sagging branches low enough for even him to climb. He took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air and the lack of stink, the smell of pigpens and chicken coops next to outdoor lavatories next to living quarters too faint to make out far out here. He leaned against the tree, and sighed.

Why did they hate him so much? He was born in the Compound, just like everyone else.

HATE, the Other Half emoted. James shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The Other Half was far less talkative than they once had been, but their opinion on James' friends and family never changed. Even Eli, who snuck him candies from outside the Compound, or even Margaret, who chased away the bullies with a ruler whenever she came across a scene. The only ones that the Other Half didn't overwhelm with raw, nearly tangible hatred were the children, even the bullies.

James quickly pulled off his shoes. He'd found himself getting itchy ever since noon, when the sun had reached its zenith, a pent-up energy inside of him sort of like static electricity begging to be released. The shoes held out in front of him, he concentrated all that power into the tip of his index and middle fingers, and then he poked the shoes. A spark, a smell of ozone, and James sighed in relief as the energy left his body. The shoes didn't look all that different, but James could feel the thrum of power, where it would last a few minutes more until it settled. He pulled it on, and immediately cringed at the sensation of pins and needles that spread from his feet and up his calves.

When James was four years old, when he had shaken Eli awake at some awful time in the morning to tell him that he had a Quirk, the Other Half had positively screamed at him, telling him to never let anyone know the true potential of his Quirk. Appear strong where you are weak, appear weak where you are strong. So James had simply said, "I make things work better." Eli was a bit mystified, but James had poked one of the few rare computers in the Compound every other day — a blocky, ugly, dusty thing that looked like it could've been built before the Dark Age — and soon, people had found that this particular computer was running smoothly, and the CPU didn't attempt to commit suicide whenever anything program bigger than Solitaire was run.

James shook out his feet, and checked thoroughly for any intrusions before he hopped off the tree. He felt the power swell in his feet, and it wa sa rare moment that both himself and the Other Half released synchronized cries of joy; he twisted, and teleported sixty feet away. Now his shoes felt a bit heavier, a bit more lethargic, and it would be a while before James would be able to do that again.

'I make things work better.' It wasn't strictly a lie. Which was, of course, the best kind of lie. Eli and Margaret and everyone else told him that it was bad to lie, but the Other Half told him it was okay if it didn't hurt innocent people. So James had lied, well, a little bit but not fully. Even if only to stop the Other Half from screaming at him. He stood there, just thinking, feeling the breeze whistle through the leaves and caress his hair.

It's your birthday, the Other Half murmured. Happy birthday, James.

James blinked. Was it? Why would the Other Half tell him now, instead of the morning? And why did they sound so mournful, when it was supposed to be a joyous occasion? Mary got pulled aside when she turned eight, and she came out all flustered but sort of happy, and said she was halfway to being a proper lady already, and received her own stitching kit. She'd kept holding it over James who at the time was only six, two long years away from being halfway to a proper adult, and she'd been so very smug about it.

"There you are, kiddo! I'd been looking for you."

James turned to see Eli leaning against that special oak tree, and James trotted up to him. His eyes looked over the cuts and scrapes and bruises, and frowned, but said nothing. James simply stood there, staring up at Eli. He had straw-blond hair cut short, and blue eyes like chips of ice that warmed considerably when he smiled. He was always smart and reliable, and he was supposed to receive some sort of leadership position.

"Did you remember that today's your birthday?" said Eli, and James nodded. Well, the Other Half had remembered. "And you still didn't say anything?" Eli continued, amused. "I would've thought, with how Marigold acted when she turned eight…"

James only shrugged. Eli barked a laugh, and held out his hand, which James took, and they began to walk. Eli brushed his hand across the old oak tree, which had likely been his special place before it had become James' and they made their way back to the Compound. The sounds of birdsong and wind and running water slowly became sounds of people and kindling crackling in preparation for dinner. They went past all that, though, and into the administrative quarter, where only the adults were allowed in.

The adults that would otherwise have 'accidentally' bumped into James or sneered at him pretended he didn't exist while Eli was there. When James looked up, he felt that Eli was a little less relaxed than usual — that is to say, he wasn't stiff, but he was no longer fooling around. His gaze was sharp and his tongue was sharper, a natural aura of command that inspired people to work harder. They continued, until they found themselves in the midst of bigger, grander rooms than all the others, gold name-plates placed on the polished wooden doors. Eli stopped in front of one that said 'President', and knocked.

"Enter."

Eli opened the door and held it open for James, who tentatively stepped through. Eli stepped in behind him, and the door was shut with a heavy click. The carpet was thick here, so thick that it would absorb his footsteps; there was a desk in front of him, heavy and massive, dwarfing him and the room, and the bookshelves lining the walls were also rich, a far more polished product than the amateur woodworking that happened within the Compound itself. A map of the world hung from one wall, but James ignored all that, understanding somewhere that this wasn't the time to gawk, no matter how much he wished he could. After all, the man behind the desk was clearly important, and he wanted this meeting over and done with.

"James Stark." He spoke in soft, clipped tones. His hair was in the middle of transitioning from black to grey, and his eyes were a colder blue than even Eli's. He wore a suit, immaculate and crisp, something that only the most senior positions of the Compound wore.

James swallowed, wetting his throat. "Yes, sir," he said, more because he felt it would be safer than because he wanted to.

"As you might have been made aware, I am your father." James blinked, and despite himself, he glanced to Eli, who thinned his lips. He turned back to the man, who showed no surprise beyond a single raised eyebrow. "Hm. You weren't made aware? Is there an explanation for this, Whitney?"

Eli's words were stiff. "I was under the impression that he had known, but never questioned it as I felt any false arrogance stemming from his heritage would be detrimental to his development."

"Acceptable. Although, I hardly suspect his heritage would give him cause for arrogance," the man said, flickering across James' features, and James fought the urge to shrink into himself. "Very well. I am Joseph Stark, the President of the Confederate Republic of California, and your father. And now, you are eight years old, making the halfway point to manhood. This means you will be taking on additional responsibilities and duties, to prepare you for your roles in the future."

James nodded, but Joseph seemed displeased, so he quickly added, "Yes, sir."

"Good. It is traditional that a father hands his son his first weapon to call his own, on their eighth birthday." Joseph picked up a knife from his desk, and James stared. It was made of good-quality steel, as far as his admittedly amateur eyes could tell, and the scabbard was made of a rich, soft leather. "Here is yours."

"Thank you, sir," said James.

"Good. Now, Eli, I would like for some time with my son. It is not proper for a son to not know his father, don't you think?" Joseph said.

"Of course, sir," said Eli, and stepped outside. James wished he could've followed, out of his environment where the very air itself seemed to weigh down on him, but he didn't. He remained frozen, and he tried not to flinch at the click.

Joseph sat back down in his armchair behind the desk, and steepled his fingers, staring at James over them; James felt a lot smaller than he usually did. There was an emotional distance as well as physical — it was hard to feel lonely nearby Eli, but in front of this man, it felt like James was staring up at a concrete wall, topped with barbed wire, like the pe-ri-me-ter of the Compound.

"As you know," said Joseph, "the Republic formed with the intent to start anew what our Founding Fathers intended. Their dream was great, but the Great Experiment found itself crumbling from within, as termites do to a wooden house. My grandfather managed to find a small corner of America that was yet untouched by the pestilence, and thus the Republic was formed."

James nodded, just to show he was listening; he felt it wouldn't be a good idea to interrupt at the moment. He couldn't really figure out the big words if not for the Other Half translating them into a symphony of emotions and memories that were easier to instinctively understand.

"But we must not repeat the mistakes of the past; we must remain diligent, each and every one of us," he continued. "And that means everyone has a role to play, holding up the Republic that shields us from evil. From now on, we must think about where you, too, fit into this system." Joseph looked him up and down, not quite satisfied. "You are… unfortunate, that you took on your mother's foreign features, but you have at least created a combination of Quirks that are useful, if not in the immediate future. You receive a charge every forty-eight hours, and you can place this into an external object, with the aim of making it 'work better.' Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"A useful development, if not necessarily geared to the protection of our home," said Joseph. "I suspect you will be best served apprenticing under the Quartermaster, especially once your studies in mathematics have progressed. Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good." Joseph sighed out of his nose, still not blinking, still staring. "You are covered in bruises. Why is that?"

"I…" James licked his lips. "I got into a fight. Sir."

"Did you initiate this fight?"

"No, sir," James said quickly. "They… they bully Marigold and me. They tried to do the same today, so I stepped up to them."

"And who's this 'they', James?"

"Jason and Benjamin." James sucked in a breath. "They called me a half-breed."

Joseph nodded slowly. "And you are," Joseph said, and James stilled. "Though it's hardly your fault. I am on your side, James. They brought up topics that weren't in your or the Republic's best interests and you attempted to protect your friend. Very admirable. I shall speak to their parents for you. After all, blood protects blood. No?"

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," Joseph said. "Now, tell me about yourself. What do you like, James?"

"I…" James tried to think of something. "I like to read."

"What was the last book you read?" said Joseph.

"Meditations ," James answered honestly. He'd been going back to that one several times now, because it was a bit beyond his level of comprehension, but he and the Other Half had been making slow progress, enough to understand the basics of it. He thought maybe the Other Half wanted him to be quiet because they had read Meditations before. Joseph once again raised his eyebrows, and James felt that his answer had been a good one.

"Impressive," he said, though there was no awe in that tone. "Certainly more advanced than your peers. Though I doubt you understood anything of import, that you were able to get through the book is impressive enough on its own. I see you're close to Eli Whitney. Why?"

"He teaches me a lot of things," James said. Joseph remained silent, so he elaborated: "He taught me some woodworking, and firemaking, and knots, and how to throw a punch, and some wrestling, and how to use a knife, and he wanted to teach me how to fire a gun too but thought I should wait."

"He thought correct," said Joseph. "I would imagine that's something of a father-son activity. Would you like that?"

"Yes, sir," James said, near automatically, and while the man smiled, it certainly wasn't genuine.

"Excellent. I shall try to find some time, but if not, I will have our sharpshooter teach you," he said. "Now. Do you have any questions for me?"

James knew he was not to waste his time with idiotic questions. Even if the Other Half wasn't metaphorically pacing back and forth in his mind, this man clearly did not tolerate fools. He thought for a moment, and then spoke.

"What will my new duties be?"

Joseph nodded once, sharply. "You will learn to shoot, of course, and hunt," said Joseph. "Every man is expected to do so. You are further expected to learn how to survive in the wild. For those who show promise, such as yourself, you are expected to learn about machinery and electronics. You will learn how to fight, as even quartermasters will be expected to fight in defense of the Republic should an invasion occur."

"Who would invade?" said James.

"The United States," Joseph said simply. "The country that originally held this territory. I assume you've already heard rumors, but allow me to tell you that they are mostly true. Exaggerated, perhaps, but I would certainly describe them as a den of wickedness and sin, allowing inhuman creatures to roam in their midst." James nodded to show he understood. "Anything else, James?"

James didn't know if he should ask or not. But he did so. "I'd like to hear about my mother. Sir."

"Your mother was originally from Japan. A country across the ocean," Joseph said, emotionless as ever. "Initially, she came to the United States to learn English, but joined our Republic. Eventually, she had you, and…" Joseph shrugged. "She is a frail woman, and is not in the best health. She's is mostly bedridden. I would not get your hopes up for a meeting, because it's unlikely she'll be able to interact with you in any real capacity."

"Oh," said James. "Thank you. Sir."

"You're welcome." Joseph pressed a button, and the door opened; Eli had been standing right outside it. "And worry not about those bullies. They will be… dealt with."

"Thank you, sir."

Joseph nodded, and Eli gestured to the door. James hoped he didn't look like he was eager to leave. When the door shut behind them, the oppressive air subsided somewhat, but James felt like that one meeting had changed him irreversibly. Something about him was different, but he just didn't know what.

"Intense, huh?" James looked up at Eli and, hesitantly, nodded. "Nothing wrong with that. He's just a man focused on his goals."

"I guess," said James, and said no more.

His hands felt like shaking, so he clenched them hard, then relaxed, repeating this over and over until his hands. Most people here weren't close to their parents. The children were all raised by a few handlers, those deemed most suitable to raise children, because everyone else had their own important work to focus on. James wouldn't even be the only kid among those he knew who didn't know their parents. He had assumed, for a while, that they might've been dead. But it was not the case. They were simply… absent, more than most.

Eli, for once, seemed to be at a loss for words, and he also settled on silence until James was escorted fully out of the administrative quarters. "I'll see you at dinner, okay?" Eli finally said, placing a hand on James' shoulder, and James nodded.

He stayed in the library, then. He halfhearted flipped through the pages until he heard the ringing of a bell signalling everyone come get dinner. The dinners were communal, held in a large grassy clearing in between some of the buildings; the women manned the grills and stoves, while the men gathered on one side, murmuring to each other. The teenagers brooded broodily and the children sat some ways off, although not so far that the adults couldn't keep an eye on them. There were maybe two hundred, maybe more — but the number of people James actually spoke to regularly could be counted on his fingers.

"Hey." James turned to see Marigold, who had her arms behind her back, peering with concern into his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he said.

"Okay," she said, not particularly convinced, but then she forced a smile. "But it's gonna get better, 'cause I got ya something. Happy birthday, James."

It was a scarf. A very amateurish one, and James could see the bits where either Margaret or Mary's mother had taken over, given the difference in quality. It was made of a faded red wool, and even just holding it in his hands, it was a bit itchy.

"Thank you," he said. "I like it a lot."

Mary's cheeks turned a faint pink, but a pleased grin stretched her face. "Good! It's a bit weird giving it to you now, 'cause yaknow, it's July, but — yeah," she finished awkwardly.

"No, thank you." James experimentally pulled it over his head. "How does it look?"

"Great," she said, smiling. "Let's go get some food."

Whoever was most important got their food first, so that meant a bit of waiting on their part. When they finally got their food, James had gotten so hungry that he didn't feel the hunger anymore. Nonetheless, he forced himself to eat, soaking the bread in the stew to make it softer. He'd read books on the Age of Sail — even those sailors probably ate more varied foods than they did. Stew was all that was served, with the more luxurious foods like meats being given to the more senior members of the community. James caught flashes of Joseph Stark, weaving between the most important people, not even glancing in his direction — though he supposed there was nothing of interest to an adult where he was.

Dinner ended two hours later. James and Mari and the other children had finished their food long since, but the adults liked to talk. Despite the amount of time they took, the kids weren't allowed to leave the adults' lines of sight, so they remained, the more active children getting more frustrated, as usual. James was a bit quieter than the other kids, because he could talk to his Other Half if they were feeling up to it, but even then he only found dinners boring.

"Look at you, James," said Eli, and James turned. Eli was standing there, a lopsided grin on his face, holding a likely now-cold hotdog in one hand. "You're all dressed up for winter already. You made that, Mary?"

Mary grinned. "Yep!" she said, and Eli rolled the wool between his fingers.

"Looks good, kid," he said, and Mary beamed. "You're gonna make a lovely wife for one lucky guy some day."

Mary grinned at James. "You better get me something nice for my birthday."

"Jason," said Eli, standing up and drifting away. "And Ben. The chief wants to talk to you." He thumbed at a posse of adults.

"Why?" said Ben, but Eli only shrugged, so Ben and Jason shared a look before marching off.

Blood protects blood, James heard his father's voice say, and felt a chill down his spine. A bit of apprehension, a bit of fear… and a bit of anticipation. He glanced at Mary, who had clearly come to the same conclusion he had, and her cheeks stretched wide again.

"Wanna go look?" she said mischievously, and James smiled.

Poor girl, the Other Half lamented.

Joseph took off towards the forest, with Jason and Ben following. Quietly, Mary and James followed — among the adults, they might as well be invisible — and dodged between trees to keep themselves hidden. They walked for a good ten minutes, far from the camp buildings, near where the oak tree was but not quite. The sun was setting, and James had to squint to see what was going on.

"I heard you two got into an altercation earlier today," said the smooth voice of Joseph Stark.

"A whut?" said Jason.

"A fight."

"Can't even call it a fight," said Ben. "He tried to hit us, so we made sure he couldn't. That's all."

"I see. And did you use your Quirks at all?"

"Of course not," said Jason quickly. "Sir."

"That, at least, shows you have some sense. After all, it's only been drilled into your thick skulls ever since you could talk, isn't that right?" There was no reply. "You didn't violate one of the most important laws in the Republic. Congratulations. Unfortunately, you seem to have missed just about everything else the tutors attempted to pass onto you. So tell me. Were you aware of what you did today?" There was no answer, once again. "Conversations aren't meant to be one-sided, children."

"He's a half-breed," Ben blurted.

"Yes, he is. And yet, he is my half-breed." Joseph's voice was arctic cold, now. "You, some dimwitted child of two no-name individuals with no-name Quirks, dared lay a hand on my son." There was a crunching of leaves and twigs as the adult took a step forward. "I think you've both forgotten what it means to be under my protection."

"Wait," tried Jason, but he didn't get any further. A sharp crack echoed through the woods and both James and Mary flinched.

"Get up." There was a small whimper. "I said, get up."

Jason did not get up, and was rewarded with a sharp kick to his ribs for his trouble. Ben cried out, only to be silenced by another backhand. For a moment, there was only the sound of leaves rustling, labored breaths, and the beginnings of sobbing from the two children.

"So you're still not going to listen to the instructions of your betters," Joseph snarled. "Stand. Up! Now!"

The boy scrambled to their feet, only for Joseph to grab Jason by the throat and slam his against a tree; James saw Jason scrabble against the iron grip holding him there, wheezing, whimpering, while Ben desperately tried not to make any sound that would turn the President's attention to him. Joseph finally released Jason, but he dared not collapse again.

"I rule this kingdom," Joseph said, voice dangerously low. "I provide you the protection you and your parents so crave, and in return, I request obedience and respect. And a measure of that respect extends to those of my blood. That's not a complicated transaction, is it?" There was no response, and James heard a fist slam against the tree. "I said, that's not a complicated transaction, is it?"

"No, sir," Jason sobbed.

"You're nothing but a pair of thugs," Joseph continued, his voice calm, as though he hadn't exerted any effort at all. "Did you not have my guidance, you would be among those who are so foolishly grifted by the true enemies beyond our walls. Unlike you, my son, tainted though he may be, has a functioning brain in his head and a Quirk that can be used for the betterment of our Republic. So, from this moment forward, you are to never lay a finger on James, you are to treat him with respect as owed to your betters, and you are to act with obedience should you wish to remain within these walls." A pause. "Conversations are a two-way street, Jason."

"Yes, sir."

"And you?"

"Yes, sir," said Ben, voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Good. Return to your parents."

Jason and Ben limped back in the direction of the camp, while Joseph remained, his hands clasped behind his back. He sighed, and picked up a small stone off the forest floor. He tossed it once in the air, and then caught it, before flicking it out to the side. The stone exploded from his grip at speeds that should not be possible, and James heard an awful sound like a thousand sheets of fabric being ripped at once, and then a groan as a tree fell in the distance. Joseph released a sigh.

"I know you're there, James. Would you like to talk?"

James felt his heart stop. He saw Mary glance at him, out of the corners of his eye, and he stepped out from his hiding spot. "Thank you, sir."

"It's not a problem. It's my fault I did not speak to you earlier, or I may have caught them before." James tried not to drag his feet as he approached the man. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't sound all right. I do not appreciate being lied to, son."

James swallowed. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's fine. You're merely trying to be courageous. I will let it pass this time, but advice for the future — sometimes, it's more brave to admit fear than to pretend ignorance."

"I understand, sir."

Joseph turned to him, his almost demonic eyes in the darkness of the dusk looking over him. "I suppose you're wondering why I hurt them so? Even though I could have stopped their foolishness with words?"

"Yes," said James stiffly.

"It's not that I enjoy it," Joseph said, his voice soft. "Why would I? I did say that they were under my protection, after all, and they were hurt, not only under my purview but by my own hand. And I take responsibility for being upset. You are, after all, my son, and I'm sure you would feel the same way were I to be hurt despite your protection."

"Yes, sir." He felt like a broken record. He hated it. If he were in the habit of getting walked all over, then he never would've stood up for Mary earlier like he did, but the almost unnaturally sharp sound of bone striking flesh couldn't be removed from his mind.

"It's possible I may have gone overboard," Joseph sighed. "But it was necessary. Sometimes, we all act a little foolish — look at me just then, for example. More importantly, those boys' bullying of you was also foolish, and persistent. They did not stop to think beyond the very basics of what they knew. I had to put a stop to that foolishness, but unfortunately, they are young and bold. They wouldn't take the words I spoke to heart. So I needed to inspire them. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you've ever pricked a finger on a needle, or burned your hand on a stove, you'll learn to be more careful," Joseph said. "When logic cannot keep them in line, then you must make them fear. They will think twice about bullying you, now that they know there are consequences if they do. As someone in charge of their protection, it's a duty I must do for them, regardless of how I feel about it." Joseph stepped forward and placed a hand on James' head. It was uncomfortably hot. "It was for you," he said, softly. "And I apologize for disturbing you. It is simply because I care for you. You understand that, don't you?"

James felt like he was choking. Conversation is a two-way street, he heard in his mind.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. That's good…" Joseph removed his hand. "I think it's best we return. It's getting dark, after all, and we wouldn't want you to trip in the darkness, or anything of the sort. Not after you so recently bore wounds, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir."

Joseph gave him a smile, but it looked alien on the man's face. "Come," he said. "And, if I might make a small request of you, I'd like to be addressed as Father. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, Father."

"Glad to hear."

James walked back in silence, hoping that Mary hadn't been spotted at any point in their journey, but Joseph Stark gave no indication of having found her like he had him. Maybe he only thought there was one person hiding in there, which was… which was good. Mary didn't need to get involved. Fly away, the Other Half whispered to him, and sometimes, he wished he could. As he neared the camp, however, he picked up faint sounds in the distance. Father heard it too, judging by his momentary hesitation.

"Sir!"

It was Eli. James' eyes widened at the gun that he was holding in his hands. Whatever softness that Joseph had put on for their conversation disappeared in a moment. He straightened and looked Eli in the eye with his steely gaze. "What is it?"

"We're under attack, sir."

James' eyes widened, and they went to the sky; a streak of fire launched from the Compound, and it hit something that was invisible in the dark night sky, and a fireball began to fall towards them, spinning out of control. Joseph looked to James, his eyes hard.

"Run back to the Compound," he ordered. "Stay with the children and women."

James was spared of having to answer as the thing (helicopter, his Other Half supplied) teetered and crashed into the woods far away. He looked around. Eli and Joseph were both gone, and he was all alone in the woods, screams and gunfire echoing, his heart almost as loud as the distant thunderclaps of the firearms. FREE FREE FREE his Other Half sang; James took one long look towards the Compound, his legs shaking; then he tightened his scarf, turned in the opposite direction, and ran.

Note: I have no idea what I'm writing here.

I was reading a few other MHA fics over the past week and I wanted to try my hand at my own. I wanted to scratch at how life might look like in a post-Quirk world, the tiny details that might otherwise be missed in the generic high school setting. This fic will not linger in the US for very long, just enough to introduce the OP badass harem-leader OC-SI kicking ass and taking names so he can dunk on scrubs (lookin at you Kaminari) and look cool once the canon timeline begins. Well, maybe not that bad, but it's an 'OC protagonist joins 1-A' story, there's gonna be some wish fulfillment eventually.

No, this isn't the same character as one of the HP SIs in Madness of Ravens, which is co-written between me and AutumnSouls. I just like the name.

Anyway, this is my first foray into MHA fanfiction. Sit back and enjoy the ride.