AN: Well, I'm not entirely sure why exactly I decided to write this. The idea kind of spawned from a conversation I had with my sister about the American Civil War (because we're the really cool types of teenagers who like talk about things like that) but I hadn't really planned to make anything of it. And then this happened.


Warnings: Dark themes. Oodles and oodles of swearing. Violence, gore, descriptive torture, and in later chapters, character death. Possible offensive or inaccurate portrayal of real historical events.

Sometimes he wondered how the hell nobody had figured it out already.

It didn't take a genius to see that if it could happen to Italy, if it could happen to Korea, or Sudan, or any of the other dozens of countries it had happened to over the years... then it could probably happen to anyone. Anyone with a significant enough difference between two separate parts of their country. Anyone with the right political factors, the right geographical positioning, the right differences in culture. Anyone, anyone, anyone.

Hell, even they had figured it was probably going to happen to them long before it finally did. The day it all started, really; the day the war started. Granted, that was still back when there was a them. Back when they were one. Together. Whole.


The United States of America.

Heh, the thought almost made him laugh now.

Sometimes Alexander F Jones wondered how the hell nobody had figured it out already.

Although most of the time he was just glad they hadn't.

It hadn't really hurt; at least not more than any other war would have. Of course there were the battle scars from the war itself, the wounds that came with the deaths of so many of their men, the destruction of so much of their land. But the shifting itself -the splitting of one's soul, one's body, one's nation- hadn't really hurt that much at all. To the best that they could even remember, Alfred F Jones had gone to sleep one night, restless with thoughts of battles, politics, and the slavery of his people, had been wracked with pains and nightmares all night long, and had awoken as two different men.

Two different personifications.

One for the United States of America and one for the Confederate States of America.

Just like Bangladesh would one day split from Pakistan. Just like Czechoslovakia would disband. Just like how Germany would soon be divided across the eastern and western blocks.

It had happened before, it would happen again.

One nation divides into more, and a new personification is needed for this new land, these new citizens, their new country. Sometimes it didn't even need to be that official. Sometimes it just happened.

North and South. Just like the personifications of Italy. Really not that difficult to figure out.

Again though, he wasn't complaining.

If those other clueless morons hadn't figured it out already, then he would make damn sure they never would. They never would, because to them he was Alfred F Jones -the only Alfred F Jones. He was the United States of America, the world superpower, the obnoxious brat, the hero.

Unbeknownst to them, Alfred F Jones hadn't seen the light of day in one-hundred and fifty-one years. Not since 1863. Not since Gettysburg. Not since Alexander finally finally took him down.

So maybe the Confederate States of America had lost the war, and maybe the South had lost to the North, and maybe the states had all rejoined, and maybe America had become whole again. So yeah, maybe Alexander had, technically, lost.

But why the fuck did that mean Alexander truly had to lose?

Screw what the history books said. Screw what everyone said. He didn't care, because they didn't know the whole story. They didn't know him. They didn't know the United States of America.

He wasn't going to lose.

He didn't lose.

He hadn't lost.

He happily reminded himself of that every time he made the bastard scream. And beg. And cry. The imposter. The fake. The other America. The one who thought the North and the South were just… just two halves of a whole.

Screw that.

There were no halves. Not anymore.

There was only him now. There was only him. There had only ever been him.

He would do whatever it took. He would turn himself into whatever he needed to -whoever he needed to- and he would fake whatever reality he had to. But if there could be only one, then Alexander would be damned if it wasn't him.

He was, and always would be, the United States of America.

He had taken the name, the face, the nation, the history, the life of Alfred F Jones.

He had become Alfred F Jones.

He was Alfred F Jones.

And this disgusting, lecherous, pathetic, lying little rodent that thought he could claim his rightfully owned name, that thought he could bear the title of the United States of America for himself, had eventually learned that over time.

Yeah, he had fucking learned.

There had never been any point in arguing against the truth. But he had. He had been quite the stubborn little captive. At first he never shut up. Always struggling, always threatening, always demanding. After a while he stopped talking, refused to make any sound all together. That phase had broken too. For a while, in fact, he would only scream; not even pleas or threats anymore. Not even words, really. He just screamed and cried and sobbed and thrashed and coiled and twitched and snapped and crunched and broke and bled and bled and bled and bled and bled.

It was a shame though, because he didn't really do much of that anymore. He really was so quiet these days, nothing like how he used to be. He always had that strange look in his eyes now too. Always looked so out-of-it, like he was day-dreaming or something stupid like that. He really wasn't very much fun these days. When kicked or hit the lazy ass would just tumble to the side, that stupid look in his eyes, what was left of his tongue hanging grossly over the sides of where the teeth and flesh used to be, letting his head loll backwards and falling with a thud, no limbs left to steady or catch himself.

The fucker didn't even scream anymore.

He was so quiet, sometimes Alfred found himself forgetting who he was.

"You're nothing," Alfred liked to tell the imposter. "You're the United States of Nothing."

What was that he used to say so much, again? Way back when he used to be able to talk, there was something he always said… Something about two halves of a whole? What did he call them, again? North and South, wasn't it?

"You're not me."

Oh, yeah. Alfred remembered now.

"You're not the United States of America."

The North and the South. The Civil War. The Confederate States.

"You are not Alfred F Jones."

Not anymore.

The United States of America.

Heh, the thought almost made him laugh now.

Sometimes Alfred F Jones wondered how the hell nobody had figured it out already.

Most of the time he was just glad they hadn't.