Chapter 1: Variations on a theme
Jonathan Schnee was never a cheerful individual, but rarely was there a topic that could get him more livid than the mere mention of the White Fang. Friends that he knew for years had been killed. His Faunas workers had been "liberated", as if they weren't lucky enough just to get a job extracting Dust for the Schnee corporation. Even if it was only in the areas where the Dust was at its most unstable, at one third the cost of a human worker, with none of the benefits. The beasts, the mongrels, the scum, were blessed to have contracts of a minimum of three years in his service. The pinnacle of human achievement had offered them a job, and they had no choice but to accept. It was natural, and if there was one thing that animals should be, it was natural.
The White Fang were unnatural, abominations that thought of faunas not just as equals to humans, which was insulting enough, but as superiors, a concept that could only bear scorn. Only they had the audacity to challenge him,to try to bring him ruin. They had no chance, of course, it would take them many centuries to move him to the point of declaring bankruptcy, and even he had not found away to extend his life that far. It simply wasn't worth the cost of research.
Still they were more than a mere thorn in his side. Important people had died. They had stolen, and continue to steal from him. They had wounded his pride, and that, above all else, could not be tolerated. Even now, in the middle his dark musings while looking over reports in his office, his scroll had updated to give him a message. The White Fang had once again gone against him, a whole train of Dust destroyed. A train of Dust armed by many combat droids, yet apparently only two intruders had been detected, and neither had lost their life. Unacceptable.
His scroll started to ring, the notes almost imperceptibly off from normal. The sign that it was his heiress calling him. Had she called later, after he had time to regain composure, perhaps things would have gone differently.
"Hello father, I am calling to report that I am packed and ready to attend the entrance exam for Beacon. Departure times have been delayed by an hour due to a nevermore sighting though." It was a week before the exam started, yet travel time and a few days familiarizing his daughter with area around Beacon and Vale had convinced him to allow her to escape the household for longer that strictly necessary. Yet, perhaps there is something different that she can do to show Schnee superiority with that combat skill of hers, he thought, anger unwilling to fade.
"No Wiess, that won't be necessary, plans have changed. While you may be attending Beacon, it won't be this year."
"Father, what do you mean? I thought..." that you were free, "that with the skill I have displayed, I have far surpassed the minimum standard of Schnee excellence required to attend the prestigious Beacon academy. If I were to start a year later, would it not imply that a Schnee, the heiress nonetheless, was far enough behind to require an extra year of preparation?"
"Not if it is with good enough reason. You are to take one to two dozen of my men, and you are to root out the White Fang, put that combat potential your trainers have praised you for to good use. See to it that you are discreet and effective. It is not required that you destroy the entire organization, but I want details as their hideouts, plans, and I want you to send a clear message. No one is to challenge the Schnee corporation without repercussions. My agents had tracked a stolen shipment to the Village of Prim before... losing contact with me. I had planned other suitable actions for this transgression, but if my heiress is to be a combatant, she should show that fact to my... our enemies. Think of this as another test, Wiess. When you enter Beacon next year, it will be as a hero instrumental to taking down the a terrorist organization.
"After Prim, you are to contact me, and future resources will be provided based on the information you obtain. Am I clear?"
There was a long pause on the other end. Jonathan tensed. While Wiess had... disappointed him before, she had never failed him, and that was important. Above all else, a Schnee never fails. Was she to fail him by refusing? After a silence long enough to label this conversation a disappointment, Wiess finally answered, "It shall be as you command, father." Her voice grumbled a bit, her displeasure made known despite her obedience.
"Good. Remember Wiess, a Schnee who fails is not a Schnee at all, much less an heiress. Your performance will be... judged. As I cannot spare any of my elite forces on this venture, along with the standards soldier, I shall hire someone I think is capable and discrete in aiding you. While I haven't decided on who it is, I shall send you the details. Adjust your packing accordingly. You will pick which soldiers you desire and leave tomorrow. Goodbye Wiess." With that he hung up.
He dialed a new number, "Joan, in the past you had recommended a certain individual for my more discrete dealings, contact them for me." There was a pause as he listened to their response, "Yes Joan, contact Neopolitan."
It was night time, the moon high above, its shattered visage silently judging the world below it.
The forest was dense, but the trees were finally becoming more sparse as the pack went closer to its border. Lust for bloodshed filled them all, they could feel the slight fears of children, cowering in the dark, of adults struggling to make ends meet, the pain of the injured, and all the sorrows of the common man. All that was negative called them forward to their prey, as they broke through the forest, and saw the form of a village in the distance. Soon they would feed.
The first Beowolf fell before the pack felt the presence. Prey felling the predator. Their hunger however overpowered fear they might have. Food has arrived, that it managed to kill one of their own simply meant that there was one less to fight over the morsel that had arrived. If only that was the end of its curious offense.
It arrived in a cloak as red as roses, surrounded by petals, and the three Grimm it landed between felled in an instant, struck down by a scythe, without hesitation, a sanguine blur that wanted nothing more than to tear apart their flesh. The eldest of the pack, the Alpha, tensed. Perhaps this wasn't the prey they desired, but a dreaded thing, that which Hunts them. A Reaper of Grimm, cloaked in blood and filled with thorns.
Yet, the night had not ended, the prey might have felled some, but it was small, young, less than perfect, a power less than that which the alpha had to flee from before. The pack descended, violence taking dominance over reason, but still the now cautious leader held back, it would not be willing to fall here. There was more to kill and it would not risk that Scythe. It would watch, and strike if the prey weakened, run if it was truly something more.
The cloaked one danced among the Beowolves, not a claw connecting, silver eyes brimming with confidence in the moonlight. Only by the barest of margins was each attack dodged, yet despite being surrounded by forces of greater number, she, for it was a girl, refused to strike back. Her deadly scythe had even been folded into a metal block and put away, though none of the horde could understand when she had manged to do so while being under such assault. For many moments she dodged the pack, denying their hunger, denying their thirst, and when at last it seemed that she was offered no escape, she vanished in a scattering of roses.
"Sorry," the incomprehensible noise escaped the Reaper's lips from above, and she drew her weapon once more, still only a block of metal, but it was pointed at a member of the pack, a bang, loud and resounding, was heard, and the beowolf it was aimed at would fall. Five fell before she touched the ground, and the weapon expanded unfolding into a deadly scythe once more, as her hood fell off her head. Ears of a wolf adorned her head, and a feral grin was spread on her lips. The faintest of growls was heard from her throat. A growl devoid of fear, but filled with challenge. A claim of absolute dominance. This, the pack could understand. This the pack could not accept.
With renewed vigor they charged at her but she charged back, rose petals in her wake, propelled by unnatural speed. Any arm that went to strike at her was made forfeit, and the slightest opening would end their lives, the barest moment when one would think that her weapon would catch on flesh, gun fire was heard and she tore through. A maelstrom of blood and roses filled the air, and no Grimm could stop it. The alpha had already fled back into the forest. So quickly the predators became nothing before this form, for to be called even prey would be of higher regard than this Hunter gave them. Not even the negativity that would often draw them to their Prey was present.
Annihilation was the only recourse, even the alpha who wisely fled could only meet the same fate. This was a being who could not be hid from in the darkness of the night, and whose senses were refined to never let it lose its target. As the last of the pack fell, the Leader was far, but not far enough, nor fast enough to escape. As it ran, once more that terrible visage appeared in a flurry of petals, with those eyes, young, confident, and despite her gruesome display, bafflingly innocent. The Alpha had not even the chance to strike back, its decades long experience failed against the speed this demon possessed.
As it lay bleeding on the ground, The cloaked one took out an odd small device, white and gold, before saying "Looks like Prim is my next destination." She looked once more over the dying Beowolf, a joyous grin upon her face, and dared to say "It was a good Hunt."
With those words, she once more scattered into petals, as the Beowolf breathed it last.
Junior has had better days. He was quite certain however, that he never had worse.
It had started out well, his informants had not been late, and his club was nearly filled to capacity.
It had only gotten better when Roman Torchwick entered the establishment. Wearing a white suit and black bowler hat, using a cane that Junior had heard was quite deadly, he walked in liked he owned the place. It wasn't true, but a crime lord of Torchwick's pedigree might have well have. It wouldn't have been difficult in the slightest for him to shut the place down, and despite Juniors numerous contacts, he knew he could do nothing about it. However, this meeting between criminals wasn't one of intimidation but of business. Torchwick merely wanted to borrow some of Junior's henchmen for a job. The pay that Junior received in return was solid and upfront. With luck, if they served Torchwick well, Junior might even become an associate of Torchwick's. The more contacts Junior had to call back on the better, and this was a rather powerful ally in the underworld. Yet as Torchwick left, a blond menace arrived.
Of course he had recognized the picture she showed him, while that individual was impossible to contact, he had a file on her the few times she had shown up. An ex-hunter who vanished one day, reappearing only to stop some schemes from behind the scenes and disappearing again was a threat, an unknown, and therefore something Junior had to take account for.
Even if it wasn't for the fact that Blondie had grabbed his... delicate area and demanded answers from him, he wouldn't have told her. A unknown girl, after one of the most illusive targets of information gathers in Vale? His information was hard won, and there was no way he was going to give it up to her if she offered any less than a hundred-thousand lien, much less for free.
She bought the lie that he knew nothing easy enough, and he didn't think much of the offer she made to kiss and make up. When surrounded by his men like they were, after doing something so stupid, offering some form of peace between the two was smart, unless she wanted to be hunted down by his men at a later date. An offer for a kiss was not what he expected from the firebrand, but he hadn't been willing to complain. He just didn't expect her to pack so much punch. Enough to send him flying and black him out for a bit.
When he regained consciousness his club was in chaos. The blond girl, barely if at all an adult, had completely trashed the place, a lot of his men were down, and she did not look like she was slowing down. A battle of this magnitude in his establishment would be bad for business. Non-salvageable even if he did end it fast. At least he had no intention of letting her escape this alive, and so he went to get his bazooka bat.
By the time he returned he could only watched impressed as Blondie took out two rather high profile combatants. Melanie and Miltia were two discrete body guards well known throughout the underworld. They had protected their charges from many foes, yet it was this individual, whom he had no information on, that could challenge them, and dominate the field.
Yet once they were down, he could finally attack without fear of getting in their way or them getting in his.
"Your going to regret this," he meant it, it was the end of the line for her, she had gone to far, but the explosive rounds were either detonated by her own shots from her gauntlets, or deftly dodged. Yet, it was with grim satisfaction that he had managed to overpower her when she went close range, when everyone else that crossed her path had failed. He thought it was over when he launched her into the air and through a glass table. He had also thought that she wouldn't be able to break his weapon with her fists, or that the fact that he managed to yank a few strands of hair out in the fight wouldn't send her into a literally explosive rage with the strength to knock him out of the club by the force of a single punch alone, but she managed it.
As she landed beside him, he knew it was the end of the line, his aura would not be able to take another blow, and the street was empty, no witnesses for his end.
She grabbed him by the collar, yanking his face up to hers, and asked him one more time if he knew any information, and in this one instant, he decided to give it, for free.
"The transient princess..." That got a reaction out of her, she recognized one of the titles of her quarry at least, "was last seen in the town of Proper."
She search his eyes for deceit, and found none, dropping him and leaving him to lose consciousness on the ground.
If there had been a witness on that street, to knock her out of her rage, or if she had known that the information was a year outdated, perhaps the path she took would have changed. Perhaps events wouldn't have conspired to make her miss the deadline to hand in her application to Beacon.
Police Sergeant Leon and Cadet Scar entered Cafe Nocturne, their duties done for the day. The cafe was black, small lights like stars filling the room. The moon projected upon the ceiling, the fragments breaking off from the moon fluidly until it was no more, before starting once more with a full moon ready to fall to pieces.. It was a place famous for its dark chocolates, lattes, and having the most delicious and blackest of coffees. It contained sweets as well, but it was known for being the epitome of bitter treats.
It was around supper time, and not a single table was unoccupied, but as luck would have it, one table had only a single occupant, a girl with long black hair with a bow on top, eyes of gold, wearing a sleeveless white shirt and a black vest. She was reading a book, seemingly too enthralled with its contents to finish the coffee or the salad in front of her.
Leon approached her, "Do you mind if we sit with you? The cafe is full."
The girl slowly lowered her book, quickly scanning the tables around her to verify the truth of the statement. Putting up the book again, she simply said, "sure," as she continued to resolutely ignore them. After calling a waiter and quickly making an order, the police officer, and the officer in training started to talk to one another.
"So Leon, sir, if I may be so bold, how is the Dust Till Dawn case coming along?" Scar asked, somewhat timidly.
"Oddly enough, none of the money was stolen, just the Dust. It matches a similar robbery earlier this week. That said, the idea that a criminal like Torchwick would be stockpiling Dust worries me."
"It would worry anyone, I bet his men are armed to the teeth with Dust now."
"That's the thing Scar. Roman doesn't have men. He's good enough to pull off most of his heists by himself. Any job that need more numbers he just hires the individuals he think are required for the duration of the heist. This Dust isn't for him but for some deal in the underworld. If Roman isn't stealing for himself, he only accepts big deals. There is no way that two stores are the end of it."
"What group would need more than two stores worth of Dust?"
"Well, the only thing I could think of is a more militant group. The most likely is the White Fang."
"Why would the White Fang have a human work for them?" This time it wasn't Scar that replied, but the girl.
Leon cursed himself for so casually talking about the case around a civilian. Still, the intensity that she posed the question was... interesting. On a idle hunch, he kept close attention to the bow she wore, and while he would normally have avoided discussing such topics with civilians, decided to press on, "While the White Fang doesn't let humans join their group, and had lynched the last one who had attempted to do so, they do sometimes hire humans to work for them. The Fangs are not about equality anymore," he noticed a faint twitch of the bow, "but of dominance. A human working under them is simply a show of their idea of the future world order. They are simply terrorists now, nothing more." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and the bow moved once more. Well don't I just know how to be in the right place in the right time, Leon thought sarcastically. He pegged her as a faunas, but had not yet decided whether she supported or condemned the actions of the White Fang.
The golden eyed girl replied, "Perhaps they started to act that way because more peaceful methods failed to work."
Leon frowned, a sympathizer to the White Fang at best, "You speak as if all peaceful methods were exhausted. Violence won't do anything but vilify the faunas. The White Fang seek war on the society that oppresses them. If anything they believe faunas are above humans." the girl seemed to get more visibly upset but still Leon pressed on, "This bloodshed will not solve the problem of equality. If by the slightest chances they win, the humans will be the ones oppressed. If they lose, the status quo would be maintained, and there is no middle ground besides mutually assured destruction of both sides!" his voice had rose as he spoke, resulting in him getting looks from the costumers at the table around him. He shrank in on himself, embarrassed.
That pause was enough to give the faunas girl time to reply, "Then how is equality supposed to be attained!" he could tell she wanted to shout the line, but was conscious of their surroundings, "How are we suppose to be equal," Leon was quite sure she didn't realize she said we, "when peace moves at a snail's pace, and fighting does nothing! Why do you even think that Roman Torchwick was hired by the White Fang simply because of a few robberies!" The anger, despite her muted tones was clear, a darkness that Leon marked as rare for a person that looked to be somewhere between sixteen and eighteen.
Leon gulped, feeling that despite her calm exterior, she was rather emotionally vulnerable. If he had known that just the day before she had cut ties to the closest friend she had ever had over similar issues, he would have perhaps handled the situation more delicately. Though if he knew that she was able to kill him quite easily, he wouldn't have acted any differently, after all a voice in the back of his head screamed that possibility quite readily.
"You said it yourself, peace contained progress, when fighting does not. Therefore equality will only be attained through peace. Look at the Faunas War, it might have stopped us from forcing the faunas to Menagrie, but it didn't solve the root problem, many people look down on faunas with the same intensity now as it was back then. The White Fang just forces human and faunas relation back by their terrorism. If peace moves at a snail's pace find a way to make it move faster." He paused, catching his breath before adding, "Roman Torchwick is likely to be working for the White Fang on this venture because only three groups in Vale are big enough to hire Torchwick, and the other two have profit as their goal. They wouldn't leave the cash and take only the Dust."
She didn't seem to like hearing his words but this time didn't refute it, frowning. She closed her book, slowly getting up and going to the counter to pay. Scar moved as if to stop her, but Leon signaled him to sit. Scar might have only been a cadet, but he knew enough to know that there was something unnatural about the conversation the two of them had, and he knew Leon enough that he wouldn't have such a conversation with a random stranger, so he only asked, "What was that?"
Leon only had one answer, "Something out of our jurisdiction."