Thanks again to those who read, review, like, and favorite! Each one of you brightens my recently rainy college days! The writer's block struck me hard this week, so I wrote a small fic called "Steal Words" to clear my head, if you're interested. Not even I know where it will go in the future. . .

As always, thank you for reading; please enjoy Chapter 8 of Fifty Caliber Cat.


Blake paced around her apartment restlessly. May still hadn't returned, and she was beginning to think the girl had run off. Not that it would cause a huge problem thanks to the tracking chip she had implanted in the sniper's rifle, but it would be an incredibly large hassle. Blake also didn't like to admit to herself, but she'd be sad to see May leave so suddenly. They'd only known each other for a couple days, but Blake, to her surprise, found she liked the having company. Contrary to her solitary nature, perhaps, but three months with minimal human contact made for a lonely existence.

Their mutual enjoyment of the sunset had been another great part of their teaming up, creating a sense of camaraderie between the two. Once the mission started however, the rest of the night. . . hadn't gone so well. The image of the man that May had shot stayed vividly in her mind; she was not excited to see how it would influence her nightmares. Blake was still unsure of the reasons why May had started shooting in the first place, but intended to find out. Luckily, her chance came much sooner than she expected.

The door opened suddenly, May entered the apartment breathing heavily. Her jacket dripped on the wooden floor; it must've started raining after Blake had gotten back. "Are you okay? What took so long?" she asked. May discarded her jacket, leaning her rifle against the wall.

"I'm fine," she huffed. "The White Fang stuck around for a while after, I had to wait for a good time to get out. I started running a couple minutes ago when it started raining." She hung her jacket on the doorknob by the hood and walked into the bathroom. Returning with a hand towel, she sat on the floor and began drying her face and hair, without removing her beanie.

The formalities out of the way, a million questions sprang into Blake's mind. "What was that? What the hell happened back there?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing!" she retorted. "You can't just go dark like that! I thought you had been captured!" May had a point, but Blake defended herself anyway.

"I was taking a video of the meeting," she growled. "I couldn't contact you because they could've heard me."

"When somebody goes dark like that, it's only natural to expect they've been captured!"

Blake immediately shot her argument down. "No, when somebody stops responding, they're most likely in a tight spot and can't speak at the moment! Did you even think of that?" May looked down with an equal mixture of embarrassment and guilt on her face.

"Look, I know. I panicked, okay?" she said through gritted teeth.

"You panicked? Since when does panicking take the form of starting a shooting spree? The guards outside were harmless!" She spread her arms wide to emphasize her point.

"I was trying to keep them outside! One of them found the unconscious guards, and I thought it would draw attention away from you and make them find me!"

"That doesn't make any sense, and I know you know that. The presence of a sniper makes people run for cover, not out into the open. I think we both know the truth, May. You panicked, and somehow thought it would be a good idea to kill everyone in sight." She intentionally made her wording harsh. She had grown tired of the sniper pretending she could deal death like a god, remaining morally above the ones she killed. "How many did you kill last night?" Her voice suggested the question as an order, demanding an answer.

"Only three," she immediately replied.

"There's no such thing as 'only' three."

"I-" she trailed off, sighing. "I know."

Blake pressed on, deciding to push her luck. If I can make a point here, maybe I can get her to actually listen to me on this. "You may be a victim of the White Fang. But you're using that title as a shield. It's just a convenient way to justify what you're doing. I may not be much of a role model for courage, but not even I would sink to something as low as that."

Standing, May lowered her voice in rage. "You don't know anything about me. About what I've been through. You can't just walk into my life and start criticizing me for the way I do things. I'm not sure what kind of rosy lens you're seeing this through, but I'm justified. I know I'm justified." She turned her back on Blake. "In fact, If I'm a terrible person for killing those that deserve it, you're no better. You're too soft, Blake."

With those words, Blake was pushed over the edge. Instead of cold fury, she positively vibrated with anger. She stood as well, ready to meet May on the metaphysical battleground of ideology. I'm going to prove you wrong. "You're doing the same thing as them," she accused. "You're just as bad as the White Fang."

May spun on her heel, glaring through her one eye. "What."

"You're doing the same thing. Your anger, our anger, may be justified. But what you're doing is taking your anger and pinning it on an entire group."

"What the hell are you talking about." May's anger didn't falter, but a hint of confusion entered her voice.

"Humans treat Faunus terribly. Like dirt. By many, we're viewed as the lowest form of life on the planet, on par with animals, and even Grimm. Our anger makes sense. But, what's the point in attacking every single human in the name of peace? A huge amount of humans in general don't have the same prejudiced views as the rest! That's why it doesn't make logical sense to kill all of them! The focus should be put on the leaders of humanity, the ones that lead subjugation from the top of the human hierarchy. People like the ones that run the Schnee Dust Company."

"I get what you're saying, but this is different! The White Fang, the whole organization, they want to kill everybody that isn't part of them, the ones that don't adhere to their grand plan. And if the fall of Beacon taught us anything, it's that they're willing to do anything to make that happen!" May's voice became softer. "My team, my friends, died because of them. So if you think getting revenge isn't the right thing to do, then I suggest you think again."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't, I'm saying you're doing it wrong," Blake growled.

"Yeah? Well maybe I'm tired of people telling me I should take the moral high ground! That's what you're going to suggest, right? Get revenge diplomatically? Report them to the police? Let others do the dirty work? Well, maybe I want to be the monster this time. Maybe I don't care what people think of me."

Blake ignored what was probably a jest, preferring to bombard her with yet another question. "How many people have you killed since the fall?"

"That doesn't matter. It's enough that I don't feel it anymore."

"Really? Do you really believe that? Because it sounds to me like you're desperately trying to convince yourself you don't care."

She knew what the answer to her next question would be, but asked it anyway. "Are you sure this is even about revenge, or do you just enjoy killing?" Blake straightened her face, calming her features form the angry glare into a disappointed frown. The calmer she appeared, the more intimidating her questions would be. Cold, rational anger perhaps lacked the force of yelled words, but was far more unsettling.

A hint of panic crept into May's voice. "Don't psychoanalyze me."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"No. You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough. You wouldn't be defending your point of view so adamantly if you actually thought you were in the right. Why don't you just leave? Or are you afraid to admit that I'm right about you?"

May stood fuming, but said nothing. Whether she was going to defend herself, explode and start yelling, or even leave, Blake wasn't sure. May was grinding her teeth hard; it took all of Blake's willpower not to flinch at the sound. She spoke before May could.

"As much as you say that you're doing the right thing, that you're killing because of righteous reasons, I don't think you're an emotionally dead sniper. You know what you're doing isn't admirable, isn't justifiable. It isn't right, May, and it doesn't take too much thought to realize that. You're wearing this persona that rationalizes your need for revenge, but deep down, it doesn't actually account for anything." A sudden thought stopped Blake mid-sentence. "You. . . you've thought about all this before, haven't you?" May's silence told her more than she needed to know to confirm her suspicions. "But then, why didn't you stop?" Blake spoke slowly, pity creeping over her. Or, perhaps it was empathy. Blake knew what the sniper must be feeling. A thirst for revenge was already destructive enough, but when paired with guilt, anger, and loneliness. . . nobody could continue down a path like that and emerge mentally unscathed.

May gulped loudly, and then surprised Blake by quietly bursting into tears. Shuddering breaths accompanied the drops running down her face. "I don't know," she whispered. "I. . . I don't know what I should do. I don't know what I'm supposed to do." She sank to her knees, leaning against the wall. Her hands went limp at her sides as she slumped, as if lacking the energy to do anything besides force words through her tears. "This whole thing, the Beacon thing. It's totally messed up my perception of right and wrong, Blake. I know that my team wouldn't want me to do this, wouldn't want to see me like this. But-" she looked up at Blake through her blurry eye. "But what about me? What about what I want? How am I supposed to just let it go? I know I should be focusing on healing and letting go, but I'm just so. . . angry. I'm. . . tired too." She let her head sag to rest on her chest. "I'm really tired."

This is my fault. While Blake had intended for this outcome to happen, she hadn't been prepared for the guilt that inevitably accompanied her cruel actions. She had reduced May to tears, who now leaned apathetically against the wall. Thoughts bounced around in her head, justifying and then debunking the justifications of her actions in quick succession. Had it really been necessary to make her so sad just to prove a point? No, she reminded herself. It needed to happen, and how it happened doesn't matter. If I'm here to help her, I need to do the best I can.

Blake walked over to the girl's hunched form. Leaning against the wall, she sat next to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The two sat side by side in silence for a minute.

"Your anger is misplaced, and I think deep down, you know that," Blake finally spoke. "Killing randomly, without a goal or purpose, justifying it with a flimsy excuse. You won't accomplish anything that way."

May stayed motionless, staring ahead with an unfocused eye. The tears didn't stop, but she had stopped shuddering with each breath, her body looking almost lifeless. Her voice was small, lacking any evidence that she had been yelling minutes before. "Yeah. I know."

Before her, Blake saw not a confident sniper or a cold hearted killer, but a girl that needed saving.

Her past had been fraught with mistakes. Maybe she had committed even more by running away. When things got dangerous with Adam and the White Fang, she got scared and ran. When the attack on Beacon happened, she left her team, left Yang, behind. Blake had no doubt she'd regret that for the rest of her life.

The path to facing your fears starts with small steps. I've made so many mistakes, I've hurt so many people. Maybe. . . I can do some good here, and start to make up for at least some of them. Pity filled her heart when she focused again on May's body. May, I'm going to save you.

"May, it's not too late to stop. You- no, we can make this right." Her words garnered no response. "You just have to trust me. Please, May. Let me help you." She put an arm around the girl's shoulders, drawing her closer, her disapproval of close proximity overridden by the need to comfort.

May didn't resist the pull, her head limply falling onto Blake's shoulder. Her rose-colored hair swept over her eye, sticking to her tear-stained face. Despite the annoyance, she made no attempt to wipe it away.

"How," she whispered. "What could you possibly do to help?" The utter despair in her voice caught Blake off guard. It sounded as if months of mentally exhausting work had finally caught up to her, leaving her apathetic and unwilling to move.

"We've both been through some really terrible stuff. That's not going to heal overnight. It's going to take time. But it's not something we can run away from." Blake sighed, hoping she could follow her own advice. "It's what our teams would want."

Bringing up May's team was very risky, and quite the obvious play to her pity. However, that didn't make the words she said any less true. Blake couldn't begin to guess what May's team had been like, but she figured it was safe to assume that they would've wanted what was best for her.

"I know you want me to stop. I'm. . . just not ready to do that. Maybe you're right about most of them, maybe they don't deserve it. I don't know. But what I do know, is that there are some that don't deserve to be alive. I can't stop hunting them." She allowed a pause to punctuate her words. "You understand that, right?"

"I understand. And I'm not asking you to stop. I'm just telling you to slow down. I was once told the same by somebody. . . very close to me. It's what I needed to hear at the time, and I think it's what you need to hear too. Revenge, at best, isn't the most mentally healthy of activities. But, I can understand why it's necessary. So, why not make it as easy for yourself as possible? You've already been through enough pain, May. Please don't torture yourself further."

The pair sat in silence for a long time, unmoving. Each wrapped up in their own thoughts, taking small comfort in each other's company. She was certain May wouldn't be able to notice, but their breathing had roughly synchronized, adding to the feeling of connection between the two. As if they had only each other to rely upon. In a way, it wasn't inaccurate to think so.

"Just. . . promise me something." Blake received a silence in return which she took as meaning she held May's attention. "Promise me you won't kill unnecessarily anymore. Promise me that you'll acknowledge the White Fang as evil and horrible, but that doesn't mean you should let rage consume every moment of your life. Help me, May. Help me attack them where it will actually make a difference. This may seem awfully high and mighty coming from somebody who ran away, but please, at least consider it. Our methods and motives may be different, but we can work towards achieving the same goal. Help me find those directly responsible for. . . all this."

The room returned once again to silence, both girls digesting the words. May gave no signs of reaction, save for a sigh that came from her a minute later.

"I should go," May said, standing shakily. Choking up, she barely got the next sentence out. "I think I need to be alone for a while. I've got. . . a lot to think about." Blake nodded, an expression of pain on her face. We both do. "And . . . I don't think I'm capable of making any decisions right now."

Blake watched her as she stepped out into the rain. The door slowly shut over the next few seconds before latching shut with a click. Finally alone, she became aware of how tired she was. Daylight was still many hours away, but the mission had taken a large portion of the night. Although she could easily sleep in, she preferred not to on the grounds that it would waste daylight hours. The sunrise promised to bring yet another tired day to her.

"Did I do the right thing?" she wondered, resisting the urge to pace. She had been incredibly harsh, quite possibly too harsh. May hadn't even taken most of her belongings with her, leaving her wet rifle and her backpack, braving the drizzle with nothing but a jacket.

Although she meant well, Blake regretted the words that had passed between them. She would've preferred to quietly talk out their differences, but bringing up a conversation like that calmly wouldn't work. May would either brush her off completely or end up getting angry anyway. Therefore, she had figured the only way to get May to see what she was doing was wrong was to hammer the point home harshly.

Yelling, using cruel words. I feel like I'm becoming. . . him. She shuddered, vigorously shaking her head to clear the thoughts, and failing. I really am a shitty person. . .


May walked back in the rain, allowing herself to become thoroughly soaked. At some point she started crying again, but her tears were indistinguishable from the raindrops that soaked into her beanie and streaked down her face. We've known each other for less than ten days, and she can already see through me like I'm made of glass. Why? How can she do that? Had it really been that obvious? Had she failed so badly to convince not only herself, but Blake too, that she thought she was doing the right thing?

As much as she didn't like it, Blake had been spot on about her. Her words had struck much deeper than she thought possible, tearing her defenses to bits. She was no better than an aimless vigilante, using her victim status as a shield to rationalize her grudge against the White Fang. She knew it wasn't healthy, that justice was only an excuse. Her hate was at best, self- destructive, and at worst, it would only accelerate her fall from the graces of morality. May was well aware of the fact that continuing would only leave her feeling worse each day.

Hours later, within the safety of her room, choked sobs wracked her body. She knelt in front of the picture of her team, hugging herself in her own shivering arms. "I'm sorry," she repeated to the picture. I'm so sorry. What have I been doing, and for how long? I always knew that you guys wouldn't be proud of the person I've become. But. . . why didn't that stop me? Why did it take someone else to make me realize how horrible I've become? Why couldn't I stop myself?

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Brawnz. You always believed in me. And Roy. You wouldn't want this. The final teammate brought a new wave of guilt over her. She and Nolan had always been much closer than the others, spending many of their prominent moments at school in each others company. Nolan. I want you to know that I do regret it. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to save the others. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stop becoming. . . whatever it is that I've become. I just know that. . . I don't want to be who I am right now.

All her life, she had refused to ask for forgiveness in any situation. It always selfish to her, to ask that others find it within them to forgive. Forgiveness to May was something that was given of free will by those who were wronged. She was perfectly willing to apologize for misdeeds, and take the blame for mistakes she had made. But to ask forgiveness. . . she always felt that asking would lower her in the eyes of both herself and others.

There in the darkness, with nobody to witness but the photo in the frame, May broke one of her strongest self-imposed rules.

"Can you. . . forgive me?" she asked, looking at the photo. No words passed between them, but the smiles of her teammates looked back at her and gave her the answer she needed. They had always been there during the tough times, and, in a way, they were with her now. If she were brave enough, this could be the starting point of a long, and possibly painful healing process. Out of anybody, her teammates were the ones that would've accepted her selfishness in the interest of letting her heal and become better.

"I. . . I know I don't deserve it. But I'll do my best."

I'll do my best. So please. Help me. With these final thoughts, May sunk to the floor and fell asleep. Not feeling better, but with clearer thoughts on what her future should, would, hold.