The Haunted
By wildstraydog
Chapter One: Scars
Alright here is the first chapter of the retooled Victim, which is now under a different name to signify this. The first chapter is mostly the same, but I slowed down the pace and decided not to rush to Beacon until the next chapter so the flow is much better. Chapter two will start to show more differences, and by the end of chapter three the story will be completely different and more personal as originally envisioned.
Hope you enjoy it.
One harmless push of the button was it all took for Blake to regret every decision in her life. The unsuspecting red trigger was attached to a long chord that trailed down a high concrete staircase that led into the street. Hundreds of patrons celebrating Valentine's Day cheered and dance in the revelry, unaware of the chaos about to unfold. She was never aware of all the innocent lives in the street above, only informed that several prominent military figures from the Atlas military were going to attend, including a mercenary that was infamous for killing thousands of her kind.
Blake was still left out of the main preparations, only ordered to unravel the wire so the technicians could make the final preparations. She was informed of the plan by Adam Taurus, her longtime partner that a series of smoke bombs would explode from underneath them. The smoke would conceal their assassins movements as the soldiers and targets were taken out swiftly. How gravely wrong that was... the entire charade masked from her eyes until the horror of the White Fang's true intentions were revealed. She could still remember the grisly details—blood smothered across the black tar and concrete sidewalks. The entire operation was a lie from the beginning.
She was underground with a few soldiers from the White Fang in the sewers, the muddy water's pungent odor seeped throughout the endless tunnels, filling her nostrils with a musky dry scent reminiscent of rotten eggs. Blake hated the cool feeling on her exposed legs, the slosh of the brownish liquid unsettling, though the other men didn't mind. They trekked for hours in the early morning, mapping out the system for an exact route the parade would travel. Adam was missing for most of it, only sending vague texts onto her burner scroll. They both had grown detached in the recent months, due in part by her growing anger at the current White Fang leadership.
"How much longer do we have to stay down here?" One of the soldiers complained, flicking off a speck of discarded trash that hung from the barrel of his rifle. Blake checked her scroll to see it was still around five in the morning, an hour or two before the major events began. Enough time to reexamine her position in the organization.
Things were getting worse by the day, the leader of the White Fang, Sienna Khan, was demanding more violent methods to influence the many councils of the four kingdoms. She threatened to leave before, after a massacre occurred in a small village north of Vale. White Fang operatives wiped out most of the villagers because they were sympathetic toward the Schnee Dust Company factory not far from their homes.
And why wouldn't they be? The factory provided them with jobs and additional benefits, such as protection from local Grimm. Although the conditions could have been better, who was she to judge how other Faunus got jobs? Adam promised her that he would talk with the upper ranks about their treatment toward innocent citizens.
She checked the lining of the wire strapped to the brick walls of the tunnel. The red and blue wires twisted along the tunnels, until it crawled up an opening through a sewer grate, looping around the grips of the rusted ladder. Her team wasn't responsible for setting up the machines that would dispense the smoke, only to monitor the wires in the sewers and make sure no one tampered with them. Despite her hatred for some of the officials that would be passing through, she requested not to take part in the ambush set up by the smoke.
"These wires look fine to me," a girl on the team remarked. With an amused expression, she poked one of the wires with her finger.
"Don't mess with them," Blake snapped, "You don't want to accidently set off the smoke before the parade do you?" The girl let out a squeak and backed away from the wall, splashing dirty water onto the guy behind her.
New recruits always took time to adjust, but they were even older then she was—a fourteen-year-old soldier was often jarring for others to accept. There was nothing she could do, having lived with the White Fang for all of her life.
"Blake," the girl Faunus softly called. "What made you decide to join at such a young age?" she let out a huff, not in the mood currently to divulge her life history. Instead, she would answer with a quick explanation.
"I couldn't stand to see the Faunus lose so much ground, so I ran away from home and joined the organization." The girl closed her mouth, her eyes softening at the response. Blake questioned why such a sensitive woman also joined their ranks... most of the members carried a burden or two that pushed them to more radical procedures. She imagined this woman was no different.
"Who cares why we all joined," Another member barked, the gruff man leaning against the tunnel wall with his arms folded. "We're all here for the same reason—to achieve justice for the Faunus." The other members cheered in approval, brightening everyone's moods. She used to believe that. The world was gray though, and it was becoming harder to see if their cause was as righteous as many touted it to be.
When did everything go so wrong? Blake vied for the peaceful days when thousands of her kind would take to the streets and raise their signs in protest. She may have been vilified by many, but at least their movement was docile, not feeding into the military oppression of Atlas. Now everyone had a reason to hate them, to see Faunus as the enemy and not the Grimm. What she missed the most however, was Adam's more gentle personality... he was now a mere shadow of who he used to be, consumed with hate for those who knuckled under the council.
Blake reached into her pocket and brought out her scroll, flicking open the device again to navigate through old pictures. As she went through photos of various locales and sights that caught her interest, she finally managed to find her picture of Adam. He was posted up on some large boulder they managed to find in the middle of the forest in the wildlands, the edge jutting out at a weird diagonal angle. At the end of the rock, Blake was sitting calmly with a book in her lap, a representation of how simpler her life used to be.
"I should be up there, what am I doing in a shitty place like this with you amateurs?" The final member of their party commented. He was some punk wanting to impress the White Fang—just another braggart to weigh them down.
A shallow whistle echoed through the damp tunnels from the breeze above them, the wind trickling in-between the holes of the sewer grates. Blake rubbed the back of her arms and sat up, her boots kicking up some of the grungy water onto her black leggings. In a cat-like gesture, she stretched her back, cracking a few knuckles and popping her neck with a satisfied exhale of breath. Time crawled at an exceeding slow pace because of her anxiety, a facet of her personality that stuck with her over the years. There was no such thing as a solid plan, not in their line of work anyway.
The vibration of her scroll stole her attention, a flashing red indicator on the screen that acted as a reminder of when she received a message. Most of her crew was preoccupying themselves with menial activities until the operation was a go, but she didn't need them overhearing any of her private conversations. When it came to others, she was reclusive, an annoyance within the ranks of the White Fang when they needed her cooperation. She excused herself from the group and headed a little further down into the tunnel. The breeze in the sewer flicked across her exposed cat ears, causing them to twitch—the sooner they left the claustrophobic environment, the better.
The only reason Blake actually carried around the infernal device was because of Adam's insistence—he was literally the only number programmed into her scroll. She found her breathing hitched as a bout of nervousness took over. Blake opened the folder, questioning why Adam would message her only minutes before the final phase of the mission. There was open communications on their radios, so why text?
Adam: Blake, you need to leave the sewer now.
Blake: What are you talking about?
Adam: It doesn't matter, leave your team and escape.
She went pale, reading Adam's response in uncertainty, her finger hovering over the scroll's button. What did he mean leave and abandon the group... was Adam insane? Blake typed away furiously on the device, sending a quick message. Seconds went by without a reply—she found his impeccable timing to freak her out unwarranted.
Adam: Leave if you don't want to die.
Without a thought, Blake snapped her neck back in the direction of the tunnel where her group was resting. She pocketed the scroll and jogged forward, kicking up splotches of dirty water onto her clothes. How idiotic was she to fall for such an obvious trap? The nuisances of the White Fang were being disposed of in one flawless operation. The whole ruse about using smoke grenades to assassinate the Atlas officials was always suspicious. What concerned her more, was Adam's blatant disregard for her teammate's lives.
She rushed through the tunnel and caught the silhouettes of the group reflecting off the brick walls. The lights they attached to the walls acted as the only light source in the damp labyrinth. Blake slowed her pace to stop her erratic panting, bending over for a moment to catch her breath. She exhausted her stamina rushing through a vast pool of sewage water, which usually wasn't a problem she ran into. She wiped her brow of sweat and looked ahead, hoping there was still time to escape and warn the others. Her next conversation with Adam would not be calm, her tenure with the White Fang all but over now. She didn't even want to know if he was aware of their plan.
A sudden excruciating wail rang throughout the tunnel, causing her to shield her ears in pain. The best way to describe the sound, was imagining a thousand needles grinding against a flat chalkboard in repeated loops. Blake struggled and fell to her knees, wincing at the continuous sharp pain that reverberated through her cranium. The blaring noise eventually faded after a few minutes, and she looked up to see the others groaning in similar pain. Was the sound designed around their Faunus senses? She shook off the thought and ran forward.
One step was all that she was allowed to take. Multiple explosions erupted from above, shaking the entire tunnel as the ceiling toppled. Blake was thrown back by the force of the blast, her body skidding across the water. Large chunks of debris fell onto the recruits, their screams masked by the ringing in both her ears. She brought herself up from the water and coughed, a salty taste remaining on her tongue as sludge dripped into the water. Blake looked down and grabbed her thigh, hissing in pain as blood seeped through her black buttoned vest and undershirt.
With a contained moan, Blake sat upright and clambered onto her legs, hobbling over to the blast site through the thick dust in the air. She felt the warm rays of the sun gleaming through a large opening of where the sewer's ceiling use to be located, chipped away by the massive explosion.
The noise of piercing sirens and howls of people came into focus, and she leaned against the wall to steady her balance. Blake looked down at what remained of her team, their bodies mangled and broken, little of what they looked like remaining. A fragmented leg sat atop a block of concrete that was stained in blood—the whole scene was something out of a horror story.
The sight didn't shake her, previously having seen worse examples of a massacre. It made her sick that she couldn't weep for them, to not shed a single tear for the unsuspecting members. They were tossed aside like useless garbage, left to decompose in a rotting sewer. Blake took a deep breath and climbed the wreckage to the top. She needed to escape... there was no doubt the White Fang would try and pin the entire incident on her if she stuck around. This was never what she wanted, to recklessly cause the deaths of innocent people.
Blake's marred fingers clutched to the edges of the street above her, grasping onto a loose piece of rebar to hoist her body topside. Smoke obscured her vision, but she could make out the large balls of fire scattered throughout the street. Most of the road was damaged, and in the corner the float where the officials stood was consumed by a whirl of flames that spread to a store close to the street. She fasten a grip on her bloodied thigh, having lost a good amount during her brief climb; her pale hands were stained with dry blood. Blake continued on through the dust, the screams of terror filling her ears as people covered in ash hurdled past to search for more victims.
The distinct smell of melted plastic and charred human skin mixed to create an odor that churned her stomach. Blake ignored her surroundings at first, wishing to not acknowledge the grotesque bodies littered on the ground. She cast her gaze in front of her, staring into the lifeless eyes of numerous corpses—ranging from adults to children—looking back into her amber eyes with an expression of horror. Blake felt her throat dry up, tears finally sliding down her soot covered cheeks. This was her fault, she was indirectly responsible for all of it... her team set up the wires along the sewer walls.
She was a monster.
Her body flinched as the heel of her boot stepped into a puddle of blood. The corpse of an older man riddled with shards of glass and debris sat only a few inches away, its limp hand grasping a golden locket. Inside, was a picture of young girl, most likely his daughter—she was torn up inside, an innocent man's life added to her list of victims. The roar of a helicopter sounded above her, and she quickly ducked under an overturned car.
The police would be combing the area within minutes, and in her injured state, she wouldn't make it far. Blake looked around for anything that could disguise her ragged appearance. Underneath the vehicle, she found a ripped brown cloth that somehow didn't burn up with the rest of the belongings in the vehicle.
A grunt released from Blake's mouth as she draped the cloth over her shoulders, concealing her long black hair and Faunus appendages. She crawled on her stomach back onto the street, and forced herself up with a contained growl, the wound burning against the slightest touch. Hundreds of people converged onto the macabre site, muffled sobs among the paramedics and firefighters that were clearing the debris. Blake pushed past scrambling individuals looking for any signs of life, brushing off their terrified expressions. The aftermath was burned into her mind, a haunting reminder of why the White Fang was a lost cause. There was only one person she trusted now.
"Tukson, are you there?" Blake whimpered on her scroll.
"Are you ok," Tukson inquired in a raspy voice, "I've been watching the news, what happened down there, is everyone ok?" Blake limped into an ally way and plopped her back against the wall, sliding down next to a dumpster—she could barely move her legs anymore.
"I need help... track this scroll to my location." The scroll slipped through her fingers onto the concrete floor. Her vision was blurred, and she fell into unconsciousness, dreading the nightmares ahead.
Hours later she woke up on a cold metal table in the back of an abandoned bookstore, she recognized the location because it was owned by a freelance doctor that used to treat soldiers in the White Fang. Blake tried to sit up but winced in response due to the massive pain that shot up her back. A warm hand pressed against her shoulder, and she turned to see Tukson with a teary-eyed smile on his face. With trembling hands, she took hold of Tukson, craving any sort of comfort. The darkness outside surprised her, and she looked at the clock in the corner to see it was past midnight. Had she been out the entire day?
From the other side of the room, a red velvet cloth that hung in the doorway was pushed aside by a woman in a long white coat. The woman's curly red hair reflected off the candles lit in the dark room, a quirky smirk on her face showed off her freckles. The coat she wore hugged her slender frame, leaving only a glimpse of the short black frilly skirt she wore—Chrysanthemum was her name if Blake remembered. The good doctor quit months ago, citing the same reservations that Blake shared recently of the organization.
"I see that my patient is finally up." Chrysanthemum snickered, sliding over to the left side of the table with a tablet. She tried to respond, but her voice was hoarse; she coughed a few times, and sensed an ache in her throat.
"You've been out for three days Blake," Tukson answered for her. Three days!? Was her wound more serious than she originally thought? Blake looked to the left to see a tiny mirror–her face was more pale than usual.
"That's what happens when a massive piece of concrete breaks your ribs and punctures the inside of your stomach lining. You're lucky Tukson found you right away–could have died from internal bleeding." Chrysanthemum read off, fiddling with the tablet in her hands. She was always eccentric, but according to Tukson she was a trusted ally.
"T-Thank you... were there, any survivors?" Blake hardly managed to ask, erupting into another coughing fit. Tukson's gaze lowered, his Hazel eyes losing some of their luster at the question.
He cleared his throat, and nodded. "There were a few, yes-but you don't have to worry about that, you need to get well." Tukson eased her back onto the table, pulling out a soft pillow for her to rest on.
Only a few, out of what, hundreds? Based on the amount of wires that trailed along the walls in the sewer, a massive amount of explosives were planted along the sidewalks. Nobody stood a chance of surviving in the epicenter of the blast... at least no one lucky. Tukson flashed her a smile and walked toward the back of the room near an old bookshelf, the columns filled to the brim with novels of all genres. Reading was Blake's only solace besides Adam during her stay with the White Fang—she always made up excuses to read another chapter. Tukson grabbed a book off the shelf and blew the dust off the cover, examining the edges for any protracted wear.
Tukson was the one who introduced her to the hobby, lending her books he recently read. He even joked about opening a store one day, though he couldn't think up a clever name–Blake suggested a more practical approach to attract customers. She missed those simple days, hanging around the empty warehouses with Tukson, Ilia, and Adam, laughing at corny jokes and actually discussing solutions to the Faunus inequality. She learned quickly that peace never lasted, not when humans were killing each other instead of the Grimm.
"I thought you might like this one." Tukson placed the book gently on her lap.
She used what little strength she had, and took hold of the book, lifting up the cover to see the synopsis: a man with two souls is fighting for control over his body. The plot was vague, but she never turned down a suggestion from Tukson, since their tastes were very similar. While the idea of settling down and reading a couple of chapters sounded grand, she wasn't in the right state of mind to enjoy the literature. Blake spotted a television close to Chrysanthemum, and motioned for Tukson to turn it on. From his disgruntled expression, he didn't agree.
"Its ok," She assured, "I want to see." Tukson released a hesitated sigh, and pushed the button. The screen flicked on, and showed a reporter named Lisa Lavender, going over the events of the bombing.
"Lisa Lavender here on sight in Mistral from Vale News Network, and the carnage of the Valentine's Day Massacre is still being felt across Remnant. Thousands of patrons and family members have come to visit the wreckage, leaving flowers and pictures to commemorate the dead." Blake averted her gaze, clenching her fist until the nails dug into the skin.
"In other news," Lavender continued, the screen changing to a press conference in Atlas. "General Ironwood of the Atlas military, has vowed to hunt down the White Fang, and to make all those responsible for this heinous act pay for their crimes. Back to you Cyril." Tukson turned down the volume, scoffing at Ironwood's declaration. The man meant it, he would use all his resources to track them down... including her if they ever found out she was connected.
"None of this was your fault kid," Tukson said, "You're team was misled since the beginning, there was no way you would have agreed to the mission." He was right, but they still contributed to the bombs setup. She was still responsible for allowing the operation to continue–how was she any different, she wanted those discriminating pigs to get killed. They were wretches that raided villages and raped women.
"Regardless, Miss Belladonna won't be moving for a couple of weeks," Chrysanthemum interrupted, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "I was able to stitch up most of the wound, but a scar will remain–if the debris punctured any further, your lungs would have collapsed." So she was lucky... surviving by pure chance. She wouldn't waste the opportunity it presented.
"Good, I need some time to think before I leave." Tukson's head tilted in confusion, rubbing the bottom of his stubble.
"What are you planning to do Blake... don't do anything drastic, just leave this life behind." He urged, approaching the side of the table. "Adam's a lost cause, you don't have to throw away your life to prove him wrong." She didn't care about him anymore. Blake's heart was broken weeks ago, though the pain still lingered.
Adam Taurus was no more.
"Don't worry, I have nothing of the sort planned. I just, need time." Tukson nodded in agreement, and asked for Chrysanthemum to leave the room with him so she could get some privacy. She was grateful for the doctor's help, but right now, she wanted to be alone.
That night, she wrapped herself in a number of blankets provided by Tukson like a cocoon. The cold air from outside seeped through the window that was covered up by old strips of tape. Her body shivered, and Blake found herself stirring restlessly through the hours. Where was she going to go? Blake Belladonna, wanted terrorist and murderer—she could already picture the headlines if her involvement was discovered. What she always dreamed of becoming was a professional Huntress.
Whenever her travels brought her close to the academies, she marveled at the grand institutions and happy smiles that prospective students wore. Their lives seemed... so peaceful and ambitious, as if nothing could stop them from accomplishing their dreams. She envied them, but Adam and Ilia always told her it was a feeble thought, just a charade by the kingdoms to make it appear they cared about the masses. Ilia would always remind her that there were no Huntsman to save her parents when they died in the mines.
Her mother painted a different story, admiring the conviction of such brave souls to risk everything in the face of the Grimm. But her duties were with the White Fang, or at least what resembled the organization now. She was selfish to turn her back on her parents when they needed her, to renounce their peaceful ways and leave with Adam. If she returned to her parents now... they would never look her in the eye, not when she was responsible for so many deaths.
Even now she could feel the heat from the embers that consumed those innocent lives above the sewer. She wrestled with her sheets as the faces of more bodies flashed across her mind like a macabre slideshow. She bolted up from the sheets and ran a hand through her hair, the cries of help she whimpered in her sleep were loud enough to attract Tukson. Blake's skin was soaked, and she rubbed her eyes to get the images out. Tukson rubbed her back gently and sat her back onto the bed.
"You're ok, it was a nightmare." He stated the obvious.
"I know... Tukson, I've decided what to do, regardless of how long it takes." He stood from the bed and smiled.
"And what's that?"
"Though I may never forgive myself, I can still use the training my father and the White Fang gave me to help others. I'm going to become a Huntress." Tukson's eyes widened in surprise, but his smirk grew.
That was all the support she needed.