Chapter seven: Clemmensen Reduction
Winter watched the Ursa die, and for the first time in her life, she felt a reluctant sadness for the monster. It had been an almost majestic creature, likely centuries old, certainly smarter (and larger) than any Grimm she had seen previously, bone armor in some places thicker than a meter, incisors longer than she was tall… an anomaly to be sure. Certainly a Grimm that even a team of veteran Huntsmen would have difficulty defeating.
"Like taking candy from a baby." Her companion, the enigmatic, terrifying, Risotto Nero, smiled his wry smile and spoke in his gravel voice. "Doesn't really matter how big these things are. Blood is blood. Iron is iron. Dead is dead."
And it was dead. From the gargantuan Ursa's open mouth, a torrent of blood, red and black, issued forth, had been issuing forth. Lolling out of the titanic head was an equally huge tongue, shredded into sausage meat by thousands of razorblades and needles, scalpel heads and staples and nails. One eye was deflated, a huge hole rent into the angry moist flesh by what appeared to be a solid metal pole, four inches in diameter, the other was still intact, but terrible to look upon, there was a mass of metal wire sticking in and out of the globular organ, turning it into some strange pincushion that leaked pink and clear fluid.
With the death of this monster, all the other Grimm had fled, knowing they were outmatched.
A full five minutes and the Ursa hadn't finished dissipating, it's corpse was half smoke and half bloody body.
Winter didn't understand how Risotto had managed it. The assassin had approached the Ancient Grimm, and once he reached a distance of about thirty feet, the carnage had started, the Ursa, mid-charge, fell to the ground as its knees burst in giant clouds of bone shards, marrow, blood. It squirmed and wiggled its body, a giant nugget of evil flesh with a head harder than stone and teeth sharp as saw blades, always inching closer to Risotto, roaring each time its body was disfigured by cruel steel flowers erupting from all over.
"What sort of Huntsman are you?" Winter asked, her breath coming out fast and labored. As if inspired by her namesake, the winds around her whipped up plumes of frothy, soft snow, snow that had fallen yesterday, today, a year ago, ten thousand years ago… they stood on a remote peak of the Atlesian mountain chain, where the temperature never rose a few degrees above freezing, where the cold was forever and the world was always white, except today where blood turned the world red.
Risotto looked like some sort of demon, the black dust rising from the body of the slain Grimm behind him, the huge patches of warm blood steaming on the snow all around him. He was in his usual black duster, chest still bare, showing supernatural resistance to the cold. Metallica allowed him to control not only the blood of others, but his own blood. It was an incredible testament to his own mastery of his Stand, that he could regulate his own blood flow, delicately enough so as to prevent damage to his blood vessels, but aggressively enough to keep his body at a comfortable temperature.
"Don't you remember? I am not a Huntsman. Just a killer." Risotto said plainly, staring now at Winter, the woman dressed so warmly in a thick parka and snow pants. It had been snowing ever since they were dropped off by Bullhead perhaps a mile down the mountain and probably had been for ages before that. "These Grimm… you say they are a serious problem?"
The black-eye found it easy to believe. While the average person would have found it difficult to kill the Ursa, any of the other member of La Squarda, or any Stand user, could have easily taken care of the bear like creature. Pesci could have easily just hooked the creature's brain and pulled it out of the monster's body. Ghaccio could have flash frozen the entire creature, every ounce of blood could have been instantly turned to ice. Even their weakest member, Formaggio, could have defeated the monster, shrinking it down to the size of a mouse.
But he supposed it was the difference between being a Stand user and being a mundane fighter. Even the weakest Stand user had the potential to be a huge threat, even to the strongest warrior. It all depended on how the user wielded his Stand…
"Grimm are the single greatest threat to humanity. They have been for all of recorded history." Winter said plainly, struggling to keep her teeth from chattering together. It was cold. She supposed she should have been happy that the threat of the ancient Ursa Major had been dealt with so handily. If a monster of this size had some day roamed into civilization, the damage could have been staggering.
But she wasn't happy. Risotto Nero was not to be trusted, and if he had this sort of power at his disposal… containing him would be impossible.
"When will the Bullhead be back?" Risotto trudged through the snow, his legs buried to the thighs. Winter had been provided with snowshoes to operate in the snowy Atlesian wilderness, but Risotto hadn't. It was sort of petty, but Ironwood had refused to lend the man any assistance save the most basic necessities.
"As soon as possible." Winter turned her head towards the grey sky. The sky was a dark, tumultuous grey, a thick, endless blanket of cold. "They can't land at the moment. The storm is too harsh." Even her Scroll had no reception here.
That was a problem.
Risotto chuckled darkly. "I have the feeling that the General would be happier with me frozen dead." The man laughed. "I'm afraid he will be disappointed."
The Atlesian specialist couldn't defend the General. Of course Ironwood wanted the assassin dead. The only reason he hadn't tried was because of what Ozpin had said… a threat was gathering over Remnant, and if there was even the slightest possibility of convincing Nero to join the cause— Winter was witness now to the power that the strange man wielded, if that could be harnessed for the good— that might be the difference between life and death.
"I'm here too, you know. The weather this part of Atlas is incredibly unpredictable. Storms come even when the forecast calls for clear skies." Winter didn't know when the Bullhead would come, or when the storm would abate enough for her to send a message on her Scroll. "The General wouldn't leave you to freeze in the wilderness."
"And yet he has…" Risotto hugged the parka that he had been given closer to his body. "We should find shelter. I don't feel like spending my time in the snow." The assassin pointed in the distance, the cave where the giant Ursa had been. "It seems like a fine place to stay. Shall we?"
Hesitantly, Winter nodded, however terrible it may have been spending time in close proximity to Risotto, being in the cold was worse.
Something small but heavy broke against the wall, some sort of ceramic vase, if Neo guessed correctly. Dead, dry flowers, shards of flowers, fluttered to the ground.
"Don't be talking shit about the Boss." Someone, the boy that had saved them probably, entered the room, a murky yellow light silhouetting him. "It's thanks to him that you're still alive." In his hand was a plastic bag, emanating a delicious, steamy smell. "Here's food for you, girl."
Torchwick tried sitting up in his bed, and winced, placing a hand on his side before sinking to lie back down. "How about me? I'm starving."
"None for you. Sorry." The boy didn't seem too apologetic. "Your stomach was damaged in the explosion, doctor said only a nutrient drip for you."
The disheveled criminal cursed, arms shaking as he ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. "What the fuck happened? What the fuck was that explosion?"
Their savior nodded his head, his singular, pink bang, mimicking the motion.
"That was us."
"The fuck made you do that?" Roman was angry, but this Passione member, after all, had likely saved his life. "You thought that was a good idea? You're in over your head, kid. The White Fang is huge, they got branches in the other kingdoms, all the other kingdoms. They'll be coming after y'all next." And that wasn't to mention Cinder and her mysterious employer. Roman didn't particularly like the pyromaniac, but he would begrudgingly acknowledge that she was incredibly strong. For a second he went silent and continued. "You have any idea how many people you killed?"
The boy shrugged, a shadowy arm rose and flipped a switch, bathing the room in yellow light. Roman saw him clearly for the first time, a young boy, no older than nineteen, ridiculous pink hair, stupid pink sweater, light purple pants… some sort of flamboyant disgrace to fashion. He had been expecting some grizzled veteran mobster…
"Who the fuck cares about 'em?" The usually dopey, timid boy spoke uncharacteristically loudly. He had been feeling his luck on the up and up ever since arriving in Remnant, ever since he had left Italy. He sounded brash and confident, and the gleam in his eye… Roman knew there was evil in the boy. "People die every day, man. And when it comes to White Fang or whatever the fuck those pussies call themselves, they don't mean shit. Passione the best. There isn't anything that's gonna stop us."
But it wasn't as simple as that, Roman knew it, even Neo knew it. That sort of overconfidence was what had gotten Cinder in so much trouble. To write off something dangerous as inconsequential… no matter how strong you were, that was ill-advised.
"You really think you can take on the world like that?" Roman asked rhetorically. He and Neo shared a glance. "Do you really think that makes us want to join you? It sounds fucking stupid."
Doppio responded happily. "Of course it doesn't." His smile did not fade. "You don't need to want to join us. You will. Both of you will."
"And what makes you say that?" It was exactly the same sort of thing that Cinder had told him when she had so persuasively convinced Torchwick to join her cause. A promise of riches, the reward always dangled in front of him, never satisfied. And the threats, Cinder was the strongest person he knew, Torchwick wasn't stupid. When it came to fighting and killing and getting what she wanted… that woman had no equal. It was something in her very soul, the hunger of fire to burn.
The Italian boy scrunched up his face and plopped down on the ground, next to Neo, who quickly scooted away. "Eh? You don't want to join?"
"I already said that you fucking brat!"
"I know." Doppio smiled in satisfaction, enjoying the expression on Roman's face. Neo did as well, she too loved messing with her boss, but now was not the time, she thought. "Tell me, Mr. Torchwick," he flicked his tongue on the last syllable, enunciating the hard consonants. "Why'd you join up with the White Fang? Couldn't have been for money. You could steal all the money you want on your own, no one to split profits with… and you aren't a supporter of their stupid movement, are you?"
Roman wasn't. Something was strange, though, and not just the situation. The boy seemed taller than he was when he entered the room, more muscular.
"Why'd you do it? Why'd you throw away your freedom, why'd you paint an even bigger target on your back? You have some sort of death wish or something?" Doppio uncrossed his legs and rose. Somehow, Roman sensed the atmosphere changing, something in Doppio's eyes were harder, something in his voice turning to gravel, a voice that sent fear down his spine. "People with a death wish don't fucking survive having rebar shoved through their gut. You want to live, don't you?"
Of course, Roman wanted to live. What was left to see was what sort of life that would be… something about the boy made him recall the night that he had first been propositioned by that Passione member. Fear gripped his lungs and Roman let out a shaky breath.
"Yeah." He said quietly, none of his usual bluster in his voice. "I want to live."
And all this time, Risotto hadn't so much as shivered. It was disconcerting. Was he really some sort of demon? Winter didn't know for sure. Certainly, he looked the part, wreathed in hellish light from the fire they had lit, alternatively bathed in the shadow of the cave…
"Lighting a fire in a cave is ill-advised, don't you think?" The assassin asked, playing with the baubles on his hood.
"Most of the time it is." Winter recalled survival training all those years ago. "One never knows if flammable gas will be present, and carbon monoxide poisoning is a real danger in smaller caves."
"Obviously not here," Risotto gestured to their surroundings, a huge, murky darkness, they were perhaps a hundred feet from the white, snowy entrance of the cave. This deep into the mountainside, the wind and snow could not touch them. Neither Winter nor Risotto had any idea how deep the cave went, and without a reliable light source and spelunking equipment, neither dared to go further into the darkness. There wasn't any point in doing so.
"No. Obviously not here." The huge Ursa from earlier had made this cave its home and had been living here until its encounter with Risotto. The walls were marked and gouged with claw prints, long, deep cuts in the stone from where the Grimm had gone and expanded its home. Even Grimm had to breath. If the air quality had been toxic, the Grimm likely wouldn't have made it its home. "Atlas' caves aren't really known for dangerous gases either. The geology..."
Her companion nodded and added another old tree bough to the fire they had lit, sending embers into the air, small flakes of stars, glowing rebellious against the tyrannical darkness. The crackle of fire, the cold wood warming, beginning to burn, heat and oxygen catalyzing the reaction of cellulose to charcoal to ash. Winter and Risotto both stared at the warmth they relied on.
From the ground rose two stools, small and uncomfortable looking, but there they were, dully gleaming in the shadows cast by the fire.
The specialist shot her charge a glance, confused. "I thought you could manipulate blood?"
"It's more accurate to say that iron is what falls under my control." Risotto gave a small smile. "Iron is present in blood. It is present in the earth. It's a common enough metal to be used in various alloys. A ubiquitous substance." Nero declared.
"How do you… how do you do it? I've heard of certain Semblances being able to manipulate matter in such ways, but none as easily or as on a large scale as yours."
The assassin grinned wryly. "I've told you. My Stand, Metallica is what allows me to manipulate iron. It was difficult at first to do so, but it's become easier over the years. It's like breathing now."
"Can you show me your Stand?"
Risotto wore an inscrutable expression on his face. "Miss Winter, let me tell you something about Stands."
The military woman leaned in slightly to hear better, the General, after all, had charged her with finding out more about Risotto Nero.
"Stands are like your asshole."
Had she heard that correctly? How vulgar.
Risotto looked dispassionate, but his eyes told a different story. He was amused. "Amongst Stand users, showing off your Stand is not something done lightly. Even among trusted family members, I'd wager that Stand users keep private about these sorts of matters. Hiding the form of the Stand and the abilities of the Stand keep potential enemies in the dark about what you, the user can do."
That was something that Winter couldn't deny, despite the vulgar way it had been introduced. Huntsmen were somewhat similar. There wasn't any real reason to show off ones Semblance in public. It was a childish and impulsive behavior, coupled with the fact that many Semblances were dangerous, and it was well known among most veteran Huntsmen to save ones Semblance for the battlefield.
"Tell me, Winter," Risotto began, "what exactly is a Huntsman?"
That wasn't an easy question to answer.
"People will say that Huntsmen are heroes, which is accurate to a degree."
"To a degree?" The assassin asked.
"To a degree." Winter nodded her head solemnly. "They are quite heroic, if a bit romanticized. Idolized by children, you understand? It is a profession, I suppose. In the past it was about survival, but…"
"Yes, of course." Risotto understood. Children often thought too highly of people simply because of their positions and standing in society. It was a naïve way to look at things, but children were afforded that luxury. "But what?"
"The truth is that Huntsmen are people just like the people they protect. They're people with responsibilities to use their strength for the common good, who've made a commitment to put others before themselves…" her voice trailed off slowly.
"But it isn't always like that."
"Right." There had been a time, early in her career in the Atlesian military, where Winter had been sent on missions that specifically dealt with rogue Huntsmen. "There are always people who misuse their power."
Risotto didn't respond immediately. That wasn't quite how he looked at things. The misuse of power that Winter had mentioned almost certainly meant against the law, and Risotto had broken countless laws on countless occasions. He had been a gangster, after all, the definition of a law breaker.
"I was one of those people, you know." Risotto finally said after a period of silence.
"What?'
"You have a very narrow way of looking at things," Risotto explained. "A misuse of power? Power is meant to be used by the powerful to do what they see fit. How can the weak, the powerless, the civilian— how can they bind the strong to do their bidding? What debt is owed by the strong to the weak? Must the strong fear the weak?" Risotto had been one of the strong, a feared assassin of Passione. He had done as he pleased, taken what he wanted, lived his life the way he saw fit… and when he wanted more, he had challenged someone stronger. That was the way it was, had been, and should be.
Winter narrowed her eyes dangerously. "What are you insinuating?"
"Nothing." Risotto shook his head of the dangerous words threatening to spill. "All I wished to say was that it is natural for people to want more. Not necessarily a negative thing, but a natural drive everyone has."
"And you were one of those people?"
Risotto thought carefully of how much he wanted to say. The woman sitting across from him, her beauty highlighted by shadow and firelight, her deadliness made blunt by his own… she wanted to know more, more so she could tell her supervisor, so that they could look for weakness, for vulnerability— things that Risotto knew they would not find. He was stone, and the past would not break him.
"I was a killer. You know this."
Winter nodded. "You've said this before. Many times. What I'm wondering is—"
"You want to know if I was a dog or if I was a monster." And Risotto had thought this over many times. He killed on behalf of Passione, not because of a twisted pleasure— no, there was pleasure in killing. Killing validated his own life, reinforced his superiority, and reminded him to never become weak.
But it wasn't death that brought him pleasure.
"I was a dog." And Risotto mused that Winter was as well. A tool of a more influential man, a hound that could be sent to tear apart the enemy, to guard the home. From how vehemently Winter defended the General, her employer, there must have been true love and respect for the man. But Risotto knew that no matter how well an owner treated his dog, the dog would never rise above the level of a beast.
Wasn't that why Risotto had reached past his own station? The Boss kept him well paid, but it hadn't been enough. It was validation Risotto wanted. He did not want to be treated like some tool. How insulting had it been to do so much for the man and receive so little.
"Killing was not something I took lightly. In fact," Risotto remembered his fellow assassins, the greatest killers in all of Passione, La Squadra. "I was the leader of a team of assassins. It was because I took my work seriously that I rose to that station. The others," most of his compatriots, his brothers in blood, either took perverse pride in killing or was indifferent towards their work. They killed because it paid the bills. Risotto… he was the one to understand the gravity behind taking a life. "I do not kill unless I have to." There had to be meaning behind death, without that, what meaning was there to be found in life?
Winter laughed bitterly. "You never have to kill. You just end up doing so sometimes. Never gets easier, does it?"
Risotto recalled the first time he had killed a man. "I was fourteen when my younger cousin died, killed by an idiot driving drunk." The body, Risotto realized he hadn't ever seen the body of his dead cousin, the cars roaring, friction hot wheels had pasted most of Valentino Nero's face across the asphalt. The judge had given the bastard four years, just four years, for stealing away seventy from a child.
"Killing is justice in and of itself. When the man was freed from his jail, I found him, and I killed him." Risotto made a line on his stomach with his finger. "I cut him open, groin to heart. And I'd never been happier."
Killing was easy.
It hadn't taken long for Bruno to get to the Headmaster's office. Sticky Fingers allowed him to take the most direct routes, travel through walls with his traitorous cargo, that pretty young girl who had been a spy for Passione.
Times like these were when Bruno thanked God above for giving him such a versatile Stand. What could Naracia's Aerosmith or Mista's Sex Pistols have done in this situation? Sticky Fingers was perfect. Strong, quick, and with an incredibly useful ability. He didn't want to talk trash about the Stand abilities of his friends, but he was glad for his Sticky Fingers—his prisoner would have been unmanageable otherwise. The mysterious power of Aura made the people of Remnant much stronger and durable from what he had learned. Without Sticky Fingers' zippers, Bruno wouldn't have been able to subdue the girl with such ease.
To keep her from struggling, Bruno had zipped the girl's arms to her torso and her legs together, forming a kind of rigid human board that was unable to move. Even her mouth had been zippered shut so she couldn't cry out— Bruno knew how bad it would have looked if anyone were to have caught him moving the girl— tied up and restrained, a man taking her to places unknown, it was trouble, but necessary trouble.
"It disgusts me," Bruno looked at Belladonna, who had such an expression on hate in her eyes, tears bubbling at the corners, her face growing blotchy. "When you think that he has reached the limits of his depravity, of his evil. He goes further. Sending his agents to a school…" The young gangster trembled with anger. It was expected, normal even, for Passione to target children. The gang had been selling drugs to the young even back in Italy, getting them hooked on the false chemical paradise and ruining their bodies, their lives, poisoning their blood and souls… and that wasn't even beginning to mention the families destroyed and souls damned to the infernal drug trade. All that for one man's profit…
Blake of course, thought that Bruno was speaking about Adam. The leader of the Fang had certainly done enough to make enemies all throughout Vale. But the question remained how the boy had known about her ties to the Fang…
The Faunus had tried to struggle, flailing her body like a fish, for that was all she could do. It didn't help any. Bruno wasn't the one holding her, rather, the strange humanoid golem, the one that answered to the name Sticky Fingers had her in its strong embrace. It was like struggling against steel cordage, futile.
"I'm going to kill him next time." Bruno's eyes, blue and steely narrowed as he approached the elevator to the Headmaster's office. "Next time I see him, I'm going to send him straight to Hell. You can meet your Boss then. I'm betting you don't even know his name." The gangster sneered.
Now that made Blake confused. If anything, Adam Taurus was a rather famous figure among the White Fang, he had risen through the ranks through skill and the bonds that he formed with his subordinates. Always professional and brutal, but always displaying the utmost loyalty to the Fang. And it wasn't like the Bloody Beast was trying to hide from his brothers… in fact, Adam was rather the charismatic leader. Everyone respected him, feared him, in equal amounts. Bruno wasn't talking about Adam, she was sure of it.
No, not equal. Blake's heart cringed. She hated herself for the feelings she held, for worrying about the man who had hurt her so many times… but love wasn't something she could let go of so easily. But now wasn't the time. Now was time to rage and escape and think of a way out of this all. What would Ozpin do once he found out that she had been a member of the Fang? Surely there would be consequences, and despite the short time Blake had spent with her teammates, she was already beginning to dread losing them. Expulsion would be the least of her worries.
The elevator doors opened and Bruno, Sticky Fingers, and an immobile Blake entered.
"Count it for 'im." Doppio had left the room momentarily and returned with a duffel bag, which he threw at Neo's feet. "Fifty thousand Lien, I think. It's for you guys."
The criminal pair, Roman and Neo, their eyes widen past what they could believe. Fifty thousand Lien wasn't an enormous amount of money, especially considering the market that Passione had recently cornered, but it was still a hefty sum. For Doppio to act so casually with the money… neither criminal knew what to make of it. It either told of incredible stupidity, carelessness, or wealth. Either the pink haired weirdo in front of them was an idiot, or he was so rich that fifty thousand meant that little to him.
"I'm never a guy to not accept free money," Roman tried being his usual joking self, but the pain in his stomach was intense. "But we haven't done anything yet. We told you we're not joining!"
"Uh," Doppio scratched his head sheepishly and mumbled to himself. "Shit… what did the Boss tell me to say…" He must have thought of it quickly as he pounded his fist into his palm. "Right! The Boss wanted me to tell you, Mr. Torchwick, that it's 'for injuries sustained during work'. Think of it as worker's compensation."
Hadn't he been clear enough? Roman shared a look with his partner/protégé, Neo looked confused as well.
"Look, kid. I appreciate the gesture and all, but I don't want to work with you guys. Okay?" Roman ground out. "You can't just make us work with you okay? Our last boss pulled the same shit, and look where it got us! You think I want to work with drug dealers?" Roman tried his hardest to sit up, but moaned as pain exploded. "Fuck!"
Neo rushed to his side, Lien forgotten, genuine concern on her face. She might tease and even find Roman's discomfort funny, but at the end of the day, Neo saw the criminal as a friend and father of sorts. There was a disturbing thought, Roman being a father.
The Passione member grimaced. "Alright then. Boss said not to push it to hard…" he put a hand under his chin in contemplation. "That money is for you. We had been hoping that it would have convinced you to work with us, but, I guess it wasn't enough." Doppio shrugged. "But you know what we can do now, don't you?" The pink haired boy asked Roman now, looking at the injured man, a particularly bloodthirsty smile on his face. "Passione isn't anything to fuck around with, capice? As long as you know that, I guess everyone else will learn that. Right?"
Roman had always considered himself smart, not book smart, but he had always been able to read a situation for what it was and adjust himself accordingly. Passione, this upstart new gang that had somehow cornered the drug market was ready to wage war. They had proved that with their attack on the White Fang. Now, Roman didn't know why Passione was out to do this, but he knew that there would be hundreds more casualties soon, and he did not want to get caught in between a gang war. White Fang was a terrorist organization, but they, at least nominally, were dedicated to the improvement of Faunus rights. The cartels and sex traffickers were only out to make money, they'd do anything to keep making money.
"Who's the leader?" Roman asked sharply. "I've been in the business a long time, and I can't think of anyone who could be leading Passione. It's not you," the injured criminal spat. "You're just a kid. Who's your Boss?"
"He's a busy man, our Boss is. A great man." Doppio smiled wistfully. "The money's yours, Torchwick. I hope you know better than to go back to your previous employers— you're a dead man if you do. I guess we'll see each other around. Scum has a way of gathering scum, don't they?"
A question rose on Roman's lips, about to ask for further information on this Boss, but in the space between instants, the young Passione representative had vanished from the room. Roman didn't remember him walking out, and from the confusion on Neo's face, the girl didn't either.
The criminal shivered and stared at the briefcase that had been left behind. The money, all fifty thousand of it, a small fortune, was his now. Effectively today was goodbye to his life as a criminal, at least for the time being. He was crippled for the foreseeable future, injuries like the one he had took a while to heal from, even with Aura. Going back to Cinder would be a mistake, Roman didn't even know if that bitch was still alive. He sure hoped not.
He sighed and lay there in his bed.
"HE REFUSED YOU, DOPPIO?"
The Boss asked in a deadly velvet voice.
"Yeah… sorry about that Boss, maybe I could have convinced him better, I don't know." Doppio apologized. He was in a taxi now, just traveling, roaming, wandering until his next orders. "But why didn't you want me to kill them?" Doppio spoke freely, the cab driver was a Passione member. "It would have been so easy. Roman's near dead and that other girl— no way she could have stopped me. King Crimson is invincible."
"THAT SORT OF THINKING MUST BE BANISHED, MY DEAR. CONFIDENCE IS IMPORTANT, BUT TO DISMISS A THREAT IS IGNORANT. TAKE EVERY POSSIBLE COMBATANT AS A POSSIBLE MEANS TO YOUR DEATH. UNDERSTAND THIS AND YOU WILL LIVE."
"Uh, yes… of course, Boss!"
"YOU ARE CURIOUS, DOPPIO? CURIOUS WHY I HADN'T ORDER THE DEATHS OF ROMAN TORCHWICK AND HIS ACCOMPLICE?"
"Yes, Boss. It's just…" Doppio thought of Italy, his home that he missed. The Boss would never have tolerated a refusal like the one Torchwick had given. It was either his way or the highway, so they said. "You never would've let him get away like that. And with all that money!" Doppio was new to Remnant, but 1 Lien was roughly the same as 1600 Lira, or a little less than 1 Euro. The half a million that Torchwick had gotten for free… that was a fortune.
"MEN LIKE TORCHWICK ARE RULED BY GREED. GIRLS LIKE NEOPOLITAN LOOK FOR FATHERS."
Doppio drank up the Boss' wisdom.
"TORCHWICK WILL COME TO US BECAUSE HE HAS TASTED WHAT WE CAN BRING HIM. THE GIRL WILL COME BECAUSE OF TORCHWICK. THEY WILL NOT BETRAY US. WHEN THEY CRAWL BACK TO US… THEY WILL BE AN ASSET. IT WILL BE ON THEIR TERMS, SO THEY BELIEVE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? THOSE TWO DEGENERATES CANNOT RESIST CRIME. WE HAVE BOUGHT THEM FOR A TINY SUM. THEY CANNOT REENTER THIS WORLD OF CRIME WITHOUT US ANYMORE. THEY'VE ACCEPTED OUR MONEY, NO MATTER HOW UNWILLINGLY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
He did. A little at least.
"Sure, Boss. I think I'm getting it."
"THEN, MY DEAR. HERE IS WHAT YOU WILL DO NEXT. YOU MUST RECRUIT."
"But Boss! I've been doing that!" And Doppio had. Passione's membership was still low, but after the events of the past couple days, he was confident that with the White Fang so drastically weakened, Passione would be an attractive employer for those who were discontent with the White Fang.
"SLAVES, DOPPIO. YOU'VE MADE ME AN ARMY OF SLAVES. THEY ARE HARDLY THE TYPE TO BE ABLE TO LEAD. THEY ARE NOT OFFICERS. THEY ARE NOT STRONG. THEY ARE HANDS AND NOTHING MORE THAN THAT. I NEED YOU TO BRING ME ROOKS AND BISHOPS AND KNIGHTS, NO MORE OF THESE PAWNS."
"I… I don't really know where to find guys like that, Boss!" Doppio cried out. "They're rare! It's not like Italy! We had the Arrow Test to find strong guys for us then!"
"CALM NOW, DOPPIO. I KNOW THE SITUATION IS DIFFERENT. THIS WORLD IS DANGEROUS, AND DANGER BREEDS STRONG FIGHTERS. FIND ONE. LET THEM CHOOSE BETWEEN THEIR PASSIONE AND DEATH."
And when the Boss hung up, Doppio had his mission.
"A misunderstanding," Ozpin declared. "An unfortunate one, but ultimately, no harm was done besides Miss Belladonna missing her class."
Both Blake and Bruno looked on in shock, the prior because she couldn't believe that the Headmaster would be so lenient towards the man that had literally just kidnapped her, and the latter because… well Bruno didn't know what to think of it.
"Headmaster."
"Call me Ozpin, Bruno."
"Ozpin," Bruno started and looked hesitantly at the girl sitting beside him, a girl whom he had wrongfully suspected of being a member of Passione, whom he had kidnapped and tried to bring to justice… "Miss Belladonna, words cannot express my shame. I judged you incorrectly."
Blake muttered something heated under her breath and Bruno let it pass, he deserved any and all unkind words and more. To act in such a reckless way… it was unbecoming and dangerous. Attacking a student without any real justification wasn't decisiveness or heroic action, it was stupid and naïve. Bruno had made a mistake.
"Not quite incorrectly, Bruno." Ozpin's eyes gleamed as he stared now at Blake. "I've actually been meaning to speak with Miss Belladonna here."
And the attention was on the hiding Faunus now.
"About what, Professor?" Blake asked as innocently as she could. Inwardly she knew what was coming. How stupid of her to think that she could come to Beacon and not have her past revealed!
"Bruno has incorrectly accused you of being a member of Passione. Care to guess how I know this?" Ozpin asked rhetorically. "Late last night there was an explosion at the dockyards, you've heard, correct?"
Blake and Bruno both nodded.
"A tragic affair," Ozpin continued now, his eyes sharp. "The Vale Police Department have yet to put out an official statement, but it is known for a fact," his cane tapped the floor for emphasis, "that the White Fang were present. Truthfully, they were having a general body meeting of sorts. I have reason to believe that it wasn't." Now came the truth. "Miss Belladonna here, was a member of the White Fang. That is how I know she is not involved with Passione."
"Because you suspect Passione of the explosion?" Bruno speculated. "I suppose that's fair enough to distance Miss Belladonna from the group… although I would raise question with why she was a member of the White Fang in the first place… what makes you think Passione did it?"
Blake was out of the loop now. What exactly was Passione? Why had Bruno, who normally came across as a polite and kind man from what she had seen of him, why had he acted so violently when he suspected her of being a member?
"They have reason to do so, don't they?" Ozpin argued. "A newly established gang with a highly motivated and capable leader, strong streams of revenue, why wouldn't they challenge the White Fang? Along with Torchwick, the White Fang controls a huge portion of criminal Vale."
Bruno wasn't too sure. Diavolo had never been the type of man to do something so… flashy. How else did he hide away for over a decade, no one ever even catching a glimpse of the man?
"It's not a matter of motivation, Ozpin. You must understand that Diavolo is absolutely paranoid about his identity and being found. Assassinations and backstreet executions yes, he is capable of all that and more. But public acts of terror? I find it hard to believe. It's isn't his style."
Assassinations? Executions? Blake didn't know what to make of it. The calm and steady way that Bruno was talking about the actions of some mystery gang was highly suspect. Blake herself had done terrible things on behalf of the White Fang, but to their credit, assassination was fairly rare for the Faunus organization, unless it was against members of the SDC.
Bruno continued. "Why would Diavolo challenge the Fang? He has everything that he could want. You told me that the White Fang doesn't deal in drugs."
Ozpin and Blake both nodded.
"Correct, Bruno. But the fact of the matter is that Vale is only one city, and that this Diavolo you mention, the Boss of Passione, seems all too eager to expand. Territory is territory. I doubt the White Fang will take kindly to Passione operating on what they consider to be their grounds." The headmaster took his head into his hands and sighed, looking weary. "That's the last thing we need. A gang war right before the Vytal Festival…"
"Take him out then!" Bruno's eyes blazed in righteous anger. "Send in Huntsmen to stop the drug trafficking across the boarders of this Kingdom! You must do something. Allow him to entrench himself and you won't only have a gang war on your hands…"
"Resources, Bruno. Remember that there are still the Grimm to contend with. Huntsmen have the majority of their time spent on the fringes of the kingdom, defending villages, exterminating Grimm. There isn't the manpower to spend fighting a nebulous gang." Ozpin sighed. "Besides, both the White Fang and the drug cartels are international organizations. The Vale branch of the White Fang will undoubtedly be bolstered by their sister groups. The cartels will do the same for Passione most likely. It has been difficult for them to get a strong foothold in Vale. Huntsmen are trained to deal with Grimm. While they do operate against criminal cells and the like, they aren't very well suited to root out drug smuggling schemes and operations." That sort of work was best suited to police officers.
"Then me!" Bruno finally stood from his chair, his whole body trembling with the desire to see justice be done. "Send me into the city, I will find Diavolo, I will uproot Passione, I will—"
"No. You've shown yourself to be far too impulsive today. Your judgement is clouded by your hate for Diavolo, as you say. Whatever you have against Passione, is not helping."
"You—" Bruno snarled and Blake interrupted, partially to try and diffuse the situation and partly because she was confused as to why she was still here. What had originally been a conversation about why Bruno had attacked her had devolved to a discussion on something she didn't quite understand.
"Professor!" Blake shouted before Bruno could continue. "If you're going to keep me here, I'd like to at least know what you two are talking about. Please." She added. With the attention of both men now on her, and a potential argument avoided, Blake felt slightly better, although Bruno's gaze was heavy and acrid.
"Ah… Blake, I almost forgot why we gathered in the first place. Silly of me." Ozpin said, sounding almost grateful for the change in tone. "Your ties to the White Fang, and of course, because of Bruno's untimely—"
"Get on with it, Ozpin." Bruno's voice, Blake remembered it earlier when he had been comforting her, warm and soft and kind, was colder now, angrier. "Are you meaning to tell her about this mess? She's too young!"
"She's training to be a Huntress, Bruno. Miss Belladonna is near the top of her class academically and is quite the exceptional fighter." The Faunus blushed at the praise lavished on her. "Do not discount her because of her age. Besides, you are only two or three years older than her."
Bruno inhaled deeply, his eyes shut in tempered annoyance. "Ozpin. This isn't a game for school children to be playing. Fighting wild animals is one thing, this— there will be tragedy. There always is." And in Bruno's face held deep sadness. "People are killed so easily. The young especially so."
"The fact remains, Bruno, that you are the one who attacked her, suspecting her of being a member of Passione. Which she is not."
To hear Ozpin arguing on her behalf did wonders for Blake's self-esteem. The Headmaster thought her worthy of being privy to a crisis? That she could do something when, so many others couldn't?
"You are the one who involved her Bruno. She at least as the right to know why you attacked her."
The gangster couldn't argue with that. He looked at the black-haired girl, guilt on his face. He had overreacted and lashed out, partly due to his own paranoia, and partly due to his frustration. Ever since arriving on Remnant and being informed that Diavolo was here, no doubt corrupting the weak and terrorizing the vulnerable with his violence and chemicals… he hadn't been able to do anything. And now, due to his actions, he might have shot himself in the foot. Ozpin, his mysterious benefactor, seemed to trust him less and less.
"I will not tell her everything, Ozpin." Bruno declared after a momentary silence, alluding to his origins. "But you are correct. She at least deserves to know what I accused her of."
And Ozpin smiled, satisfied.
"Good."
Bruno didn't like the look on the man's face. Not at all.
"For the foreseeable future, if you'd like to pursue Passione, you and Miss Belladonna will be working together."
"I was getting worried that you had forgotten me, General."
Ironwood entered the bridge and frowned. Somehow, despite the strict orders he had given Winter to not let the man explore the airship at his leisure, Risotto had done so. The various pilots that worked to keep the ship afloat were busy at work, but their fear was obvious. They were, after all, in the presence of a killer. They had heard the stories.
"Are you satisfied, General? The monster is dead. That noble, ancient Grimm has been torn apart, by yours truly." Nero's voice was sarcastic and biting. "I am your humble servant."
"What do you want, Nero?" Ironwood, irritated, bit out. "Why are you here? You're supposed to be with Winter." Ironwood was honestly tired of the man. A part of him wanted to foist him off to Ozpin at the earliest convenience… but he didn't think it wise. Ozpin, despite his brilliance and strength, was far too lenient. Risotto Nero, a self-professed killer, did not deserve leniency. "I have to speak with the Atlesian Council in short order."
There was an equilibrium here, and both Ironwood and Nero were aware of it. The General knew that a rogue Nero would spell disaster for Remnant. That black-eyed man, the limits of his power only barely understood, could kill hundreds if he so desired. But like all rampaging beasts, a solution would be found, and Risotto would be put down at the end of any hypothetical rampage. But the cost would be great. No, better to keep Risotto on a leash, afford him the things you would a guest… tolerating the man was no easy task however, and the General found himself at the end of his patience more often than not.
"I have done your work, Ironwood." Nero stood up, placing his hand on the shoulder of a nearby worker to help himself on his feet. That brief instant of contact elicited a small moan of fear from the poor pilot. "I have butchered your little pest. What more do you want? Do you expect me to be your happy prisoner forever?"
"That little pest, Nero, was the second largest known Grimm of that particular species ever recorded."
"An expensive target then." Nero declared. "All the more reason to reward me. I've done you a service, quite a great service if the animal was such a powerful one."
"A Grimm, Nero, not an animal." Sometimes, Ironwood forgot that he was dealing with someone almost wholly unfamiliar with the history of Remnant. Grimm were not animals… "Consider it a service to society. You've made sure that monster won't threaten anyone else. And as your reward— we're providing you with everything you may want. Food, shelter, protection, what else could you need? You're in a world where you know nothing."
"I know how to kill, General. That's the only thing worth knowing, isn't it?" Risotto fixed Ironwood with suspicious gaze from his black eyes. "I will admit that as of now, I know too little about this world to live a very meaningful life… but I am not your soldier, nor will I ever be your soldier. I want my freedom, Ironwood."
"Not possible," Ironwood grunted and took his seat on the bridge. The Council would call in perhaps five minutes, and he really wanted some time alone to compose himself before speaking with those old men… "You're an unknown— furthermore, you've proven yourself to be dangerous. How can we let you out of our sights before confirming that you're not a threat?"
Risotto left, presumably to find his handler, or to find food, but not without a parting remark. "I am not a patient man, General. Know this before you send me to pick up the trash that you cannot."
"I've lost confidence in him."
Bruno and Blake sat alone in an empty classroom after their meeting with Ozpin. They weren't friends by any means, especially with what the gangster had done to the Faunus, but they had to discuss the arrangement that had been drawn up by the enigmatic Headmaster. Bruno's penance, Blake's reparation.
"The Headmaster knows what's best," Blake said softly. But she too was not sure. Cooperation? Between the two of them? Two who did not trust each other in the least? Impossible. Even her teammates didn't trust each other, not fully. Yang was too protective of Ruby, and that protectiveness led to coddling. Weiss, even after the talk that she had with Port, didn't seem to completely trust their leader. And Blake… none of her teammates even knew what she really was. Was Ozpin right in putting Bruno and Blake together? Especially when it came to a subject as serious as this?
"I do not know what he meant by working together, but I will tell you what you deserve to hear."
Blake nodded, sitting across from Bruno, she sat on a desk while Bruno was leaning against a wall on the other side of the room.
"Firstly, an apology." Bruno, his eyes were glaciers, no turbulence in them as she had seen in Ozpin's office. "I wrongly suspected you of being a criminal."
Blake replied softly. "Not wrongly. I used to be one."
"An apology then for treating you so appallingly." In the blue of his eyes was sincerity, and Blake acknowledged that. And although she still hadn't gotten completely over his attack on her, she felt that to move forward, the apology would have to be accepted.
"It's in the past now. It's fine." What Blake wanted to know was how White Fang fit into all this, and how the attack on the White Fang meeting yesterday had to do with Passione, as Ozpin had suspected. While that part of her life was behind her, it didn't stop Blake from feeling passionately about the group. Her tenure there had yielded her valuable comrades, and had taught her much about survival, what it meant to be a Faunus living in society, and what not to become. If it had even a little to do with the White Fang, Blake wanted to be involved.
"What exactly is Passione?"
Bruno bowed his head, in what Blake assumed to be regret.
"An organization that I was once a part of. They operate the way a typical criminal gang would. They sell drugs, traffic sex workers, bribe public officials, and carry out assassinations."
"And why is Ozpin so concerned about them? I understand that his priority is to keep the peace, but isn't this a matter for the police?"
Now this, Bruno did not have a complete answer for. He couldn't just tell the girl that Passione had been established by Diavolo, a man from another world, and that he, Bruno, had a responsibility to stop the gang because he too was from said alternate world. A lie was in order.
"Passione was hugely powerful in Mistral. At great personal cost, I rose against the leader of the organization. While my allies and I were successful in usurping the Boss, he escaped to Vale. I feared that he would… cause trouble here. I followed and left my friends behind to reform Passione." It was good a story as any. Under more careful scrutiny it would fall apart, as Bruno really knew nothing of Mistral, but for now it was adequate as a cover.
"I think I understand how you feel," Blake said quietly. "But how does the White Fang fit in all this?" That was what she was interested in.
"From what I know of the Boss and how he operates, the man will not tolerate another criminal organization in his territory. He is a paranoid and mistrustful man. It is almost certain that he will seek to destroy the White Fang. The politics of human-Faunus relationships is less than secondary to him." Bruno said blandly. "The White Fang meeting that occurred yesterday, the one where the police say a gas explosion killed hundreds— the Headmaster believes that it was orchestrated by Passione."
It was heavy stuff to take in.
"That is what you are entitled to know, I believe. Do you have any other questions?"
Blake pondered for a moment. She hadn't really learned anything about who Bruno Bucciarati was, but at this point, that wasn't too important.
"How can I help?" Her question was soft but carried force.
The gangster shook his head. "You can't. Ozpin even has me delegated to an advisory role until proper forces and evidence against Passione can be leveled. He has his hands in many pots, that man. Not enough resources to chase a nascent criminal organization when he has the Grimm and upcoming Vytal Festival to worry about." Bruno spoke bitterly and tried his best to make the situation seem stagnant in order to dissuade Blake from further pursuing the topic. "He doesn't understand the danger that the country is in."
"The White Fang is my responsibility." This was one thing that Blake would remain adamant on.
"The Boss will hunt them into oblivion. Miss Belladonna, this should be considered a massacre more than a war if the Boss is involved. People will die. You are too young to be involved." Bruno didn't want to see another young life destroyed to take down Passione. Fugo, Narancia, Giorno… they had all been so young and all had lost so much, gone through so much pain and terror in the campaign against Diavolo.
"I've been through worse." Blake had been a member of a criminal organization as well. She knew how bad it could get.
It would get worse.
AN: haven't touched this story in a while, got bored/tired of writing it when I realized how cliché/bad some of it is so far. Now that part 5 is airing, might work on it more.