WARNING! This fanfiction contains HUGE spoilers to events that have yet to occur in Team REPR! You have been warned.
A/N: So, I've been getting in a mood to write something very, very dark, and this is the product of those evil little sprites in my brain doing just that. THIS IS AN AU OF TEAM REPR. The events to unfold in this story will NOT happen the same way, or at all, in the main fanfiction. Hense the title.
Anyway! Prepare for some feels in the coming chapters, shit's about to get real. You might want to put a helmet on for this one...
P.S.: This is going to be a little side project of mine while I wait for Relks to catch up in our collaboration.
See you on the other side~
Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own RWBY. The series and affiliated copyrights go to Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth.
How did it come to this?
This was the single, stubbornly engrained thought that now burned like a hot iron in the tired mind of Professor Ozpin. How had it come to this? The four of them were so promising, and they proved capable of incredible feats. Ozpin sat and leaned forward, supporting much of his weight into his cane which he perched on the cold concrete below him. What to do…
Sharp footsteps echoed through the fluorescent-lit hallway, though the long tubes of light were weak, and very dim. Some of the lights flickered and nearly died, casting wicked shadows on the walls and floor as the hard claps of footsteps cut the air like a knife. The consistent thrumming came to an abrupt halt and Ozpin could feel the presence hovering just above and to his right. He opened his heavy eyelids and lazily turned his attention to the form before him.
"They are securely contained in four individual cells, specialized precautions have been taken in each case. Guards are stationed at every exit, we're ready to evaluate their condition." Glynda Goodwitch thumbed the display of her scroll, skimming through the status of each cell's containment seals. She paused and turned her narrow, calculating gaze to Ozpin and noticed the visible stress outlining her life-long comrades features. "...Ozpin, it's time. We must address this, they have committed an atrocity. I'm sorry, but the.. the students they once were are no more."
"Yes.. Yes you're right." With a seemingly significant amount of force, though it was not his weight which hindered him, Ozpin pressed down on the handle of his cane and rose to his feet. His body felt twice as heavy as it should, a clear sign of his trepidation. "Let's begin."
Ozpin strode down the dark corridor lined with guards, all armed to the teeth, ready to stand fast in the face of imminent danger should things turn sour. As he passed one of the tactically-armored soldiers, he caught the muted clanking of metal plates and shifting cloth. The man was shaken to his core.
The only other sound was Ozpin's heavy footsteps mirrored by the loud claps of Glynda's heels and his cane. She followed just feet behind, her attention buried in her scroll. Though she didn't show it, she was just as riddled with doubt as Professor Ozpin was.
She tapped an icon on the digital pad, opening the detailed information of each cell. "Cell number three-seven-two. Optimized for Aura-manifestation inhibition. Ventilation circulating constant flow of vaporized anesthetic, doses closely monitored for prisoner health." Glynda paused after that last phrase as a lump formed in her throat. Prisoner.. With forced commitment, she continued. "Occupant: Natasha Raven. Offenses: terrorism, murder, arson, assassination and attempted kidnapping. Status: contained. Face-to-face interview ill-advised, but possible. Threat level: low."
Ozpin stopped before a tinted window looking into a small, featureless room. In the center of the room, Natasha sat in a steel chair with her body practically draped on the metal frame as her head was lazily sagging forward. Her eyes were open, but she didn't acknowledge the presence of Professor Ozpin on the other side of the two-way mirror. Each of the cells had a bullet-resistant, two-way mirror. A safe alternative to a face-to-face interview, should its use be warranted.
Natasha wore ripped, bloody tactical clothing including several bandages on her cheek, forearm, abdomen and one of her exposed wolf ears. She no longer wore her typical contact lenses, nor did she bother with makeup on her eyes. The prominent features of her Faunus heritage stood out more now than Ozpin had ever seen from her before. Natasha's irises were a dark, glimmering gold, and the skin pigmentation on the very edge of the eyelids was completely pitch-black. Without her meticulous effort, Natasha's eyes truly resembled that of a feral wolf.
The young Faunus' gaze lazily wandered the room through half-closed eyes, barely keeping over the edge of consciousness. The anesthetic being pumped into the room kept her in a groggy state of alertness, dancing along the line of being awake or asleep.
Ozpin watched for a full minute in disdain. He felt so guilty, so responsible for the crimes committed by Natasha and her team, but he knew it would only get worse. He tore his gaze from the chamber and walked with even heavier steps to the next cell.
"Cell number three-nine-five. Optimized for resistance to volatile materials and corrosive vapors. Entire cell coated in half-inch plated glass, resistant to three-thousand psi under extreme conditions. Occupant: Melania Pearl. Offenses: terrorism, murder, kidnapping and torture. Status: contained. Extreme mental instability linked to multiple personality disorder leaves subject prone to episodic fits of psychosis. Human contact restricted. Threat level: high." Professor Goodwitch finished giving the status of Melania's cell just before she covered her mouth with her free hand and her eyes went wide. The report included the believed cause of her mental state, and threatened a strong gag reflex in the usually strong-willed Huntress.
Ozpin placed a supportive hand on his partner's shoulder, and she reflexively leaned into his side as she clamped her eyes shut. It was getting to her, the sheer injustice inflicted to these.. these children, was disgusting. No one deserved to suffer the way they had. The stoic headmaster lightly squeezed Glynda in a half-hug, before moving aside and ushering her to the next cell in line. "Go, you don't need to see this."
His blonde partner numbly paced the hall to the cell further in the complex, but he stayed and surveyed the broken girl in the room before him. Melania sat with her legs crossed on the glass-covered floor, fidgeting with a small scrap of red cloth tied to her wrist. She still wore the biker-esque clothing that was her norm, with the addition of many new rips and missing patches of fabric and leather. The most distinct, most incredibly disturbing features of the girl was her almost ever-present wicked smile, the quiet cackle that followed not far behind the smile, and the multitude of cuts along her forearms and a patch of exposed skin on her thigh. All of the small nicks were equal in length and consistently spaced about a centimeter apart, each was capped with a rust-colored scab and surrounded by irritated red skin.
Melania's manic giggle broke Ozpin's concentration and drew his attention to her hands. With her hands held adjacent to each other, she tapped her fingers together in ascending order from her pinky, ring finger, middle finger and so on, back and forth in a cycle. After a few cycles, her hollow laugh returned for a moment and her smile tugged a little further back, all the while her eyes conveyed almost no emotion at all.
Ozpin's cane began to creak as he subconsciously gripped the handle of his cane even harder, causing his knuckles to turn bone white from the force. He had to tear himself from the sight, again, as he followed Goodwitch to the next gut-wrenching sight to behold.
Every step, every sight, every memory of the tragic, all of it added what felt like a ton of weight on his shoulders as he advanced. His will was losing the battle with his soul-crushing despair. Never the less, he stood straight, and held his ground.
The next cell in line was down a flight of stairs and near the dead end of a corridor. Glynda stood on the opposite side of the glass, her scroll in hand ready to relay the next report. This time, Ozpin caught the small edge of disgust barely poking through Glynda's stone visage. Unlike the other two, it was clearly evident she held no pity for this prisoner.
"Cell number four-two-six. Modified blast chamber retro-fitted to resist high-explosive detonation and distort resonant frequencies. Armor plating consisting of various alloys to disperse harmonic vibrations. Occupant: Roan Ashworth. Offenses: terrorism, murder, organized crime, torture, insider trading, armed robbery…" the list continued, but Glynda's eyes slightly narrowed and she began to silently mouth the words as she kept reading. She sighed and skipped to the notes, "Subject susceptible to unnecessary/malicious shows of force to impose authority. Human contact restricted. Threat level: high..." Glynda started to mirror Ozpin's signs of hopelessness as she nodded her head in disgust. "How did things go so far? Where did we go wrong?" she whispered more to herself than to Ozpin.
Inside the cramped room, Roan sat in a steel chair with his hands bound to the armrests in heavy, sturdy metal braces which covered his entire hand and most of his forearm. Similar braces adorned his feet and shins, and both were bolted to the floor with thick, wound cables of steel. Of the four, Roan's appearance had changed the most. His hair was slicked back again, though a few locks were draped in front of his eyes from the struggles, and he was dressed in a black and crimson suit very reminiscent of the classic mafia motif.
Like the others, his extravagant, expensive clothing was tattered, torn, and slightly bloodied from his capture. Unlike the others, however, he was so far the only one in a stable state-of-mind. Roan sat relaxed in the chair with his posture straight and his eyes closed, waiting. In contrast to the rough-and-tumble clothes he wore when he was first united with his comrades, he now wore a matte black dress shirt underneath a blood-red button up vest with an equally crimson tie closely tightened to his neck, even after fighting to the last breath and being captured. Though he originally shunned his own birthright as a noble, he was the highest of high class criminal. His sheer calm filled the air with an almost sharp, lethal sense about him.
Even turned criminal, the sense of irony still hovers over him like a cloud, Ozpin thought in a completely observant sense. Even if he were to try, there was no way Ozpin could find any grain of amusement inside any of these cells. Strangely, with Roan as a stabilizing element, Professor Ozpin found solace in his consistency to usher himself onward to the final prisoner.
That little amount of solace granted, was almost immediately dashed away as the two instructors approached the two-way mirror of the final prison cell. Glynda cleared her throat of the anxious lump and began the fourth and final report.
"Cell number four-four-zero. Standard maximum-security cell for typical prisoners. Light fixtures altered with high-power LEDs. Occupant: Vladimir Ebon. Offenses: terrorism, murder, and conspiracy to overthrow the military regime.. Subject suffers from mass hallucinations, cause unknown. Status: not contained. Threat level: extreme…" Professor Goodwitch finished the final report on the rogue Team REPR, and she let her hand drop to her side, limp. I can't take much more of this.. she thought as she brushed away the beginnings of a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Glynda," Ozpin cut in, breaking the silence. She lazily turned her attention to the green clad professor through half-closed eyes. "If it would ease your mind, I can interview them alone."
The stern blonde closed her scroll and clasped her hands in front of her. "No, no I'll be fine. This must be done."
Ozpin gave a small, sincere nod before turning his attention to the brightly lit room through the glass. Like the others, it was small, about eight by ten feet in dimension, with a steel chair in the center. Vladimir sat with his back to a corner and his knees pulled close to his chest. No doubt, he was having issues with his Semblance. Of the four, Vlad's physical appearance changed the most after Roan's.
Vlad wore a sleeveless body-shirt with an attached hood, exposing both his arms which were wrapped in a multitude of bandages from sustained wounds during his own capture, much like the others. On his legs was a pair of silky black pants over skin-tight cloth leggings for flexibility. A pair of custom-made split-toe tabi adorned his feet, which he used to ultimate efficiency for scaling any and all obstacles. Also like the others, there was one major change in particular which was alarming. In Vlad's case, it was the massive red and blue full-sleeve tattoo obscuring his entire right arm from his shoulder, down to his wrist and the back of his hand.
The intricate tattoo depicted white angel wings on and around his shoulder leading down to a mural of different angels, creatures, and runes which stretched to his elbow where the depictions were rendered in a contrasting red. The images on his forearm were those of demons, dark cruxes, and all manner of beast to end in black chains around the wrist. Every single drop of ink imbedded in his skin was in fact Dust. A direct conduit to channel Dust from powder, or even a crystal, straight into his body, and from there, his Aura.
Ozpin sighed and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Of all the mistakes I've made, of the sins I've committed, the lives.. I've ruined, these four will be the ones to forever condemn my soul…
A/N: So, the idea here is that Team REPR was recruited by Ozpin in hopes of leading them down the path of good. The twist in this little pocket dimension is that Ozpin failed, and Team REPR goes down the path of evil, and destruction. But not for the reasons you might think. Wanna know what I mean? Just keep reading...
