Glynda Goodwitch was still in her freshman year at Beacon Academy when she first saw them. In the wake of a spectacular duel between two upperclassmen that resulted in the destruction of a large portion of the school's property, she had volunteered to help clean up the mess. It served mainly as practice for her Semblance—telekinesis—as well as brownie points with the staff.
Headmaster Ozpin seemed tickled at the idea and allowed her to undo most of the damage done. Channeling her Semblance through graceful gestures, bricks hovered back into place, uprooted plants were hastily stuffed back into their pits, and a tilting pillar was righted on its foundation. That left the scattered dirt, smeared mud, and spots of blood that Glynda had no power over.
So she stayed behind to help the janitors clean up. How fateful that decision would later prove to be.
"It's fine, kid. You can go back to class now," dismissed the oldest among the group, a man with a graying beard.
Glynda, still being an optimistic student and more than eager to please for the sake of better marks, insisted. The other custodians were visibly irritated but the aged janitor chuckled, waved his hand, and acquiesced.
"What's your name, sweetie?"
"Glynda Goodwitch."
"Goodwitch, huh. So you can make things float and put 'em back in their place, eh?"
She nodded as she squeezed off the sponge over the bucket. "My Semblance is telekinesis, sir. I'm learning how to master it."
"Taking every chance you can get, huh. That's wise."
"Thank you, sir."
An hour later, she helped them pack their things. She noted how strangely uneasy most of the others were. Probably because she was handling their equipment—which she understood—but they were mostly cleaning equipment: mops, scrubs, sponges, sprays. Nothing to be upset about. That was until she reached under the trolley to tuck away a trowel.
At first, she thought she was seeing things in the dimming dusk lighting. But upon closer inspection, the item was undeniable.
Glynda was pulled out from under by a visibly upset cleaner. "Just what the hell are you snooping around down there, missy?"
Before she could sputter an excuse, the gruff man with the unshaven stubble began barking harsh reprimands until he was soothed by an arm on his shoulder. "I'm sure she didn't break anything."
"Headmaster Ozpin!" the freshman blurted.
"Sir, your student here has been very pesky," worded the janitor. "We prefer to work undisturbed."
"I understand but allow her this chance to master her skills."
"In snooping?"
"Her Semblance. Telekinesis. It has proven useful."
The man grunted then pushed the cart away. "Sure was."
"The cleaning's all done, headmaster."
Ozpin nodded. Together, the two watched the remaining janitors pack up and disappear into the staff apartments. When they rounded the corner, he tapped her on the shoulder. "No need to fret over them, Miss Goodwitch. They are more used to operating by without outside assistance. Even from other staff."
"Allow me to speak freely?"
"This is not a military institution. So speak your mind."
Glynda glanced over her shoulder one more time before saying, "They seem...off."
"Ah, but that's just their nature."
"How so?"
"In time you will understand." Ozpin leaned close. "If you are that eager, then perhaps I can make this offer as early as now."
"What offer, sir?"
"Would you like you become a member of my teaching staff? You certainly have the potential."
Glynda was taken aback. Her jaw clicked emptily like a fish out of water. A teacher? Already? But she was still in her first year at Beacon! She was still learning the ropes. This was too early, indeed.
Of course, Ozpin understood. He gave her until graduation to think it through. For the next four years, Glynda Goodwitch toiled to be the best she could be, her team the best it could be. There were trials along the way, brutal slaps of reality that hurt more than it healed, but when she marched out of the institution a certified Huntress, she remembered the offer. And put it on hold for the next five years.
In that time, she kept running into the 'Cleaners' as they were called. At Beacon, they were a common sight. Rumors swirled about them—former employees from other companies, a few of them having shady pasts—but they mostly ended there. She decided not to entertain herself with such gossip while she focused on her studies.
Outside of Beacon, however, when she was in the field with other Huntsmen and Huntresses, she was taken aback when she saw them again. Not in their blue and yellow jumpers but in pitch black suits and obsidian ties. They cleaned up after Grimm attacks, after bloody engagements between criminals and police, after unfortunate accidents.
Glynda learned their names. Some of them, at least. Mister Coronet, the old man and unofficial head of the group. Mister Nail, the grumpy brute capable of putting things together as he is at taking them apart. Mister Bolt, a tinkerer with a fascination for spare parts. And Mister Sparks, an enigma who was 'very good at getting rid of the sticky ones.' There were others but they kept their distance. By then, she was not a clueless student. She was an accomplished Huntress with a respectable tally under her belt.
She knew who the Cleaners really were. Professionals. Unassuming janitors by day, underground 'waste disposal and sanitation workers' by night. What she saw underneath that trolley in her freshman year confirmed it: a silenced submachine gun tucked between two plastic containers of bleach.
Glynda wondered what Ozpin needed them for other than cleaning up after on-campus messes. She later found her answer when she decided to be a member of Beacon Academy's teaching staff. It took a while adjusting to her new environment but her experience in the field helped enforce her new persona as the institution's firmest disciplinarian.
No more wild parties, no more careless duels, no more rogue students philandering about. Having mastered her Semblance, she was able to undo most damage save for the stains and spatters that needed to be scrubbed. She started seeing the Cleaners more often and her relationship with them improved from frosty acquaintances to trusted associates.
Then Ozpin raised another offer. One that would change her entire perspective and direction in life. Initially, Glynda was apprehensive and even downright against such a clandestine group operating potentially illegally under the auspices of Beacon Academy. Then she remembered the Cleaners and their shady operations. What she had seen them do, what she had heard them do...
And so Glynda Goodwitch was now an accessory to a massive conspiracy. Beacon contracted a group of select skilled individuals adept at 'cleaning up.' They became rarer with her now usually dealing with the damage control but they would occasionally appear to scrub the spatters and clear out those hard to reach places.
But for all that effort and acquaintanceship, Glynda knew she was still in the dark. Even as a member of Ozpin's Inner Circle, she knew the least. General Ironwood was wary of them for reasons he refused to disclose. Qrow simply ignored her and drank from his flask until he was far enough away from her pestering. And Ozpin seemed to be content with leaving her with what little she had of them.
Eventually, she decided to let it pass.
Whoever the Cleaners were, as long as they did their job and she did hers, there was nothing to make a fuss about.
That was until team RWBY came around.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: June 26, 2018
LAST EDITED: June 26, 2018
INITIALLY UPLOADED: June 26, 2018