Glynda noticed that something seemed off about Professor Face. Not that she was going to interrogate him over it, of course: He actually did follow through with his promise to come back, so she didn't exactly see that he'd done anything wrong. Though...she did wonder where he had gotten his armaments from. She was almost certain that the police had kept his 'backpack'. Had it been stolen?

If so, she'd heard nothing about it. The police would have come to Beacon for answers first, as they were playing host to the miserable murderer himself.

Oh well. She'd chase it up later.

Nevertheless, she decided that she would eat her breakfast with Professor Face, who was sat at the end of the staff table in the food hall with a few slices of toast. She set her tray down opposite him, and sat on the wooden bench. There was a pause, as she silently watched her subordinate chewing on an unbuttered and considerably burned piece of bread like an animal would. Finally, she cleared her throat to speak.

"Morning."

What?

He...greeted her first. She was momentarily taken aback. "Oh. Um...good morning, Professor Face. I trust you slept well?"

"I don't sleep much," he replied casually. He hadn't even looked up from his breakfast, and he had his usual, neutral expression on his face. His teeth were black. Just the thought of eating burned toast set Glynda's stomach on edge. "Most of my bloodstream is caffeine, so I can't sleep for more than a few hours unless I'm really overdone." She nodded in understanding.

Perhaps she could learn something about him during this conversation?

"Of course..." she murmured, sipping her tea "You were a 'Sniper', correct?" Face paused, flicked his eyes up to her, and nodded, leaning back slightly. "So I would assume that required a lot of staying awake and in the same place."

"I kept a note of how long I spent in my perches," he said, resting his left elbow on the table as he looked at Glynda. "Over fifteen years, which is about a hundred and thirty-one thousand four hundred hours, give or take, I spent around seventy-eight thousand, five hundred and sixty two hours in different perches. Longest I spent at one time was..." He hesitated, thinking for a moment. "Two hundred and fifty five hours, in a shed, watching over the area where some Saudi dictator was due to be observing a mass execution of petty thieves and 'enemies of the state'."

"Enemies of the State?"

"Farmers who simply couldn't afford taxes, people trying to move from the country, people who watched TV, and anyone that Mann Co. said was 'a pretty cool guy'."

"And you were sent to look after him." Face nodded grimly, looking down to cut into some bacon. Glynda frowned. "He doesn't sound like a pleasant man."

"He wasn't," Face corrected, looking Goodwytch directly in the eyes. "As far as my targets go, he's the one who sticks out to me the most as having deserved the arrow through the head." Before Glynda could respond, she hesitated.

"Wait...an arrow?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. Face nodded calmly, swallowing some coffee.

"Yeah." He noticed that a few students were looking his way and listening in on another table behind Glynda. "Specific request by the client to utterly humiliate the guy when I killed him. I had three options." He raised a finger. "One, I could throw Jarate on him and then beat him to death." He raised his other finger. "Two, I could knock out the special forces marksman they sent after me, and use his rifle to kill the dictator." He raised his ring finger. "Or three, kill him with a weapon so antiquated that nobody would possibly expect him to be killed with it."

"And you chose the last option..." mused the woman opposite. She shrugged semi-approvingly. She wasn't too pleased about the fact he seemed proud of it, but part of her did agree that he deserved it. "Debatably an immoral act, but I suppose your world is simply different from ours." Carefully, she put some of her expensive Atlesian pastry from her plate into her mouth, gently beginning to chew in her usual, lady-like manner, still trying to think up a way of asking what he was doing last night. Face watched her, with a frown on his face.

Finally, he inhaled to speak. "Y'see, Miss Goodwytch, there's a reason that I came back here when you let me head into town last night." Glynda paused, swallowing her food and looking her colleague dead in the eyes. "I'm sure you expected me to, ah, how to put this...'disappear and cause problems', would I be right in guessing that that's something on your mind right now?" Hesitantly, and with a serious expression on her face, she nodded.

"That's right," she responded coldly. "I have been wondering that. Why do you stay here?"

"You really wanna know?" he asked. "You certain?" She nodded firmly in response.

"I do." Face leaned forward onto his elbows and grinned.

"Then the reason I stay here is you, Glynda."

Goodwytch nearly slapped him as a table behind her went completely and utterly silent.

"Y'see, I've always ended up in this predicament," he continued, reclining slightly. "Every single one of my employers thus far has been someone in a position of power, and they've always been well within their capabilities to kill me on the spot. In some cases, they have. In others, they've caused me permanent damage." Momentarily, Face leaned forward, and lifted his sunglasses slightly. "You see how my right eye's a little bit darker than the other?" he asked. Still fairly shocked, Goodwytch leaned forward, and nodded. His right eye was a light shade of greyish-red, unlike his left, which was a normal white.

"I'd assume that's some eye injury," she finally responded. Bugger, that table behind was going to start spreading rumours amongst students that she and Professor Face...

Oh God, she felt slightly sick.

"You'd be right in guessing that," he nodded, raising his glasses again. "My right eye doesn't work at all." Glynda blinked, and stared at him in disbelief.

"Your right eye doesn't even work?!" she said slightly louder than expected. A couple more tables turned to look at her before she realized her mistake, clearing her throat and sitting straight again.

For God's sakes, first there would be relationship rumours, and now the fact that she'd been beaten in a fight by a marksman whose dominant eye was broken.

"Mmhmm," Face nodded, sipping his drink and adjusting his hat brow slightly. "Pissed off a Mob Boss once when I refused to kill his wife for...reasons." His co-worker smirked.

"Personal reasons?" she asked mockingly.

"No, because I hadn't tortured her bank details out of her at the time." Face shot her a flat 'duh' glare as the witch shook her head. "For Christ's sakes, Glynda, keep up with me here. Anyway, you know how the Soviet mob deals with people that piss them off?" He raised his hands, miming holding a hammer in preparation to slam a nail into his eye. Glynda paled at the thought. "Wasn't the actual attack itself that killed me; It was the part where I killed a load of the Mob Boss' guys with a carpentry hammer, but ended up needing to shoot myself to end the ridiculous eye pain."

He hesitated. "Tangent. Anyway, the point is, a good number of my employers have done that kind of shit to me. Never them personally, but it was always their female assistant that looked a bit like a secretary. Always them. So, there's a pretty solid reason that I'm gonna keep returning to this college: You." Once again, Glynda frowned.

"Stop saying that I'm the reason you return to Beacon, it sounds perverted," she snapped. "And why would I do that? If word went out that I'd...I don't know, whipped a man to death, then my career would be over." Face shrugged.

"Ah, whatever. You'd track me down and seriously harm me, correct?"

"A simple way of putting it, yes."

"Then I'm gonna keep coming back here." He sipped his coffee again. "Besides, still have a few more lessons to teach here before I go back to prison."

"And the staff training day," Glynda added, prompting Face to nod.

"Ah, 'course, can't forget that one," he replied. "What even happens there?"

"Staff are pitted against dangerous Grimm, to ensure skills against them remain sharp and find out which weapons are effective against their annual mutations."

Now it was Face's turn to frown. "Annual mutations?" he asked. Goodwytch nodded.

"Yes...you didn't find out anything on it?" Face shook his head.

"Nothing in the few dozen books about Grimm I read through," he replied, shrugging as he drew his knife to fiddle with. "Just general 'stab it here' tactics and 'try not to die' advice. I'll assume annual mutations aren't a good thing?" Glynda tilted her head from side to side.

"That really depends on the year. Some years, a species will develop a mass heat immunity, then the next year, they lose it, and become resistant to blunt force trauma whilst increasing in sensitivity to sharp edges and bullets. It keeps us on our toes." Face nodded in understanding, caressing the edge of his machete. It took a moment, but he finally spoke again.

"There was a guy back where I'm from." Glynda looked at him again. "He was a pretty smart bloke. Built machines. Also a bit of a philosopher. One of the most memorable things I heard him say was how he dealt with enemies he found tough to beat."

"And that is?"

Face suddenly flicked his revolver out and span it round his finger, before aiming it dead ahead of him. She noticed that he closed his left eye. If his right eye didn't work, how the hell was he aiming?

"Simple: You use a gun. And if that doesn't work?"

He slipped his machete away, before unclipping the SMG from his belt and holding that up as well.

"Use more bloody guns."

Glynda smiled. Hardly deniable logic.

"I trust you go by that logic, Professor?" she asked, sipping her coffee. Face nodded.

"A machine gun, revolver, and rifle says 'yes'. Think of it as-"

"-an escalation of violence?" Face paused, and looked at her in confusion.

"...uh...yeah, how'd you guess I was gonna say that?" Glynda offered no response, except staring at his eyes as she continued drinking her coffee.

"Just a hunch."

Face frowned, and slowly nodded, returning to drinking his coffee.

"...right."

The rest of breakfast was eaten in silence. Glynda was fairly certain she heard students discussing which 'positions' she and Professor Face used.

Thus, as professionally as she could, she finished her meal, exited the dining hall, then visited the ladies' room to remove her meal from her stomach.

Later, during Face's lesson...

The few students who had pistols lined up at the front of the class, their weapons in hand and aimed forwards. Each looked more confused than the other as to why their teacher had called them up, and why said teacher was leaning on the wall close to them and sharpening his knife. The rest of the class simply watched, equally as non-understanding as those in front of them.

This had been going on for what felt like a few minutes before someone spoke. Loudly, Weiss groaned, folding her arms and leaning back. "Professor, why are you wasting our time like this?" she asked frustratedly, glaring at her teacher who was still running a grindstone up and down his knife. Knowing what was coming next irritated Face, so he rolled his eyes and sighed as Weiss continued. "I came to this academy to learn how best to combat the despicable creatures that plague our continents, and how-!"

"Yeah, we get it, you have servants who wipe your arse, stop going on about it," Face said loudly, cutting her off and standing up straight as he slipped his machete away. The rest of the class stifled laughs as Weiss let out a growling noise and pouted angrily. "What I'm teaching here is how to hold a stance. You've been aiming your guns ahead for the past half an hour. And as you can all see, you might notice how they're starting to struggle."

He did have a point; The students with the smaller weapons were doing so with shaking arms, and beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads. Most of them were gritting their teeth to deal with the pain of holding their arm up for such a long time. Face began to pace in front of them. "Now, I'm certain you're wondering why I'm making you hold a stance. Ain't that right, Shiner?"

Blake grit her teeth harder and huffed from her nostrils.

"The reason being is that setting up to drop your target is all part of getting something to eat. Because, you wanna know something?" He looked over the room. "If it ain't dead, you ain't eating it." Jaune nodded in understanding, and wrote this down. Face grinned, snapped his fingers, and pointed to him. "Good lad! Timebomb's got the right idea! Those of you not keeping your trembling arms up, note this all down. Could save you from going hungry later." He continued to pace, before hesitating and pointing to the row of students next to him. "Oh, and some of you do the favour of writing it into these guys' books, their arms'll be sore for a week after the next hour of doing this."

There were loud, unanimous groans of disapproval from the small arms students, prompting Face to throw his head back and laugh. "Ah, I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Lower your guns, lads, you did good with your steadiness." Withojt needing to be asked twice, those who had been standing with pistols raised let their shooting arms go limp and dangle slightly, with all of them letting out a gasp and rolling their shoulders to alleviate the pain as the shuffled back to their seats. "Little bit of work, and you'd be good for a day of that! Those who did notably well were Mr. Bronzewing, Mr. Ren, and Miss Belladonna, who managed to keep their aims incredibly steady throughout that whole half hour. Nice work to all of you, though." There were grunts of 'yeah, thanks' as the students shifted back into their seats.

"Now then: How are all of you on close quarters with ranged weapons? Give's a thumbs up if you think you're kind of alright at it." A few (noticeably left) hands shot up, with thumbs sideways, angling towards fully upright. A girl near the back had her hand all the way up, with a smug grin on her face. Face rolled his eyes as he leaned back onto the desk. "Miss Adel, I think I gathered that you'd be good at close range fighting. You have a minigun." She offered a grin.

"And let me guess," she replied, leaning forward from her top row seat at the back of the class. "You've had experience dealing with miniguns at close range?" Weiss turned around, frowning.

"No, he hasn't!" she snapped. "I think all of his stories are just lies!" Face sighed and rubbed his forehead as she turned to face him. "I mean, come on! Who here really believes Professor Face has died several times? Seriously? You can't just come back to life!"

"I did," whistled the man in question. "Happened a lot. RESPAWN system let me return. Your point being?" Weiss shot him a 'really?' look, then reclined, smirking.

'Great. Here comes more smartarse remarks.'

"Then if you did die a lot, that surely means you're not very good at your job?" There was a murmur amongst the class. The rest of Team RWBY was smiling slightly at their 'getting one over' the guy who just wouldn't answer them. "Seems to me like you had to get a teaching job because fighting was too rough for you, hmm? You just couldn't handle the fact that people would hurt each other all the time, and they might have given you a boo-boo?" The class was laughing slightly now. Yang, as usual when these events happened, was already recording. Face smiled at the comments.

"Miss Schnee," he began, standing up and beginning to pace. "As a mercenary for fifteen years, I can tell you one thing for certain: If a prissy little rich girl, much like you, had entered my battlefield, you would have been gunned down with no remorse. You'd have been shot, burned, stabbed, punched, bashed, and beaten half to death by the time you'd even reached the objective. And you really wanna know what the BLUs that attacked you would do with your bleeding, broken little body?" The class fell silent, and Weiss stared at her teacher in disbelief.

"...you're...you're absolutely vile...you sickening, scum-ridden, pathetic attempt at human life. You're saying that they would abuse me?!" Face nodded calmly, hands in his pockets.

"The BLUs'd probably beat you up whilst doing it. Had some real sick bastards on the enemy side. And that made my job great: I once saw some BLUs in a bar. They were harassing a younger woman; I think she was the barmaid. Me being off-duty, I was having a smoke in one of the stalls when I saw the biggest of all those arseholes punch her in the face, push her against the wall, then start wailing on her for no reason. If I had to guess, she didn't serve them their drinks." Face hesitated, remembering the event. "I just went over, so I could solve the situation and get the girl out of there before they killed her." He glanced down at Weiss, looking her dead in the eyes. "The bodies I buried that day are still under the foundations of their recently constructed car park."

Weiss didn't stop glaring. "And you think any of us will believe that?" Face raised a brow, folding his arms.

"I don't expect you to," he retorted. "Evidently, this world makes more sense to you than it does to me, and vice versa. You think this world's bad because of Grimm. I think this world's bad because people get on so bloody well. Where I'm from, if you tried starting a college of this size, I guarantee that it'd have been firebombed to hell before it even opened, just out of spite for the fact it's a big place that doesn't have corporate value. And if you visited my world, you'd probably not like how tame the animals are compared to the humans. Every other day, someone gets shot to death, or stabbed, or dies trying to rocket jump across the map. Meanwhile, most Mann Co. meetings involve the CEO punching a cage of tigers to death whilst listening to the company's profit margins for the year." There was silence. "So, if you think you know how long someone from my world would last in a fight, then I suggest you think again."

Weiss and Face locked eyes, glaring at each other for at least a minute before Weiss broke off, and went back to writing. "Good lass," Face said finally. "Now, to answer your question, Miss Adel, yes, I have faced miniguns before."

"Which caliber?" asked the beret wearing student.

"Hmm..." Face thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. "Our Heavy never specified the exact caliber. He just said how bloody expensive it was. Two hundred dollar custom-tooled cartridges, and his gun fired at ten-thousand rounds per minute. Coco let her eyes briefly go wide.

"Woah. That sounds like a big gun."

"Big gun for a big bloke. He was like a massive shaved bear, that hated people. Could crush your head with one hand. Plus, he lugged the thing around all day: All one hundred and fifty kilos of minigun, plus a shotgun."

"So if he was on your team, why did you fight him?" Yang asked. She'd put her phone away by then. No developments happened, so no RemTube money for her. Face closed his eyes for a minute.

"Y'know I said that my world would be considered really weird over here?" he asked. "Well, my team and the other team consisted of clones of the same bloke."

Near the left, someone laughed.

"Thought you might laugh. It's true though. We had a 'class' warfare. I was the Sniper. Team marksman, if you will. It was my job to kill anyone of importance before they caused problems." He gestured to Team JNPR. "Think of it like your set up; Miss Nikos, you'd be considered a mix of the team's marksman, and a soldier. You seem to take a few hits to stop...if you ever do stop." The redhead smirked at the comment. "Mr. Ren, you'd be counted as your Team's Scout and close-range quick-fighter. You move fast, and if you get close enough, you really fuck them up. I watched that video of you with that snake, by the way. Damn brutal. Keep at it." The quiet boy nodded cautiously. "Timebomb: You'd be the defensive offensive, kind of like the guy I mentioned. You can take strong attacks with your shield, then hit back with your sword." Jaune nodded. "And Nora."

"Hi, Professor!" beamed the girl.

"You're the explosion guy. You blow things up. Your job is to blast Grimm into lots of small bits. And then, you have your hammer to deal damage up close." Face looked back at the class. "See what I mean? In their team, everyone has a role to play." Silence. "Need another example?" There was a murmur of 'yeah, sure'. Face leaned back slightly to assess the students, and then finally decided to point at Team RWBY. "How about Team RWBY, here? Let's see..."

Blake leaned over to Yang. "I think he's gonna just insult us."

"Miss Xiao Long! Your entire fighting style revolves around getting up close enough to dish out huge damage. And I mean HUGE. I watched some of the footage where you fought a group of three Ursas: You punched one through a bunch of fucking trees. But you wouldn't be able to do that without Miss Rose keeping you covered with her rifle. She's the shooter; She's the fast moving Scout with the high-powered weapon. She keeps them off you, and you smash them apart. You two really are sisters; Both of your fighting styles accommodate each others' fighting styles." Face looked at Blake and Weiss.

"Miss Schnee, you move fast. Really fast."

"So?" snapped the heiress, looking up at him frustratedly.

"So? So moving fast allows you to get amongst the enemy before they can register you moved. And what about your other runes? One of them supposedly allows you to pin objects in place. If you pinned an opponent in the right spot, they'd be forced to be subjected to your stabs, or your whole team's strikes. You're the one who locks down an area, and doesn't give it back." Face narrowed his eyes at her, then pointed at her. "You're a tactical Engineer." She tried to think up an argument, but then realised that was actually a compliment. Finally, Face looked at Blake.

"And you, Miss Belladonna." She narrowed her eyes at him, eyelid twitching slightly. "That night at the docks, I barely even saw you before you dropped down behind Torchwick. You were like a shadow. And when you shot back at me, you damned nearly took my head off with a pistol from about a hundred and fifty meters. That takes skill. Those guys around you just went down like flies. You're a CQC master; A pistol marksman; An infiltrator. You're like a Spy." Face paused, then smiled as he gestured to her again. "There we go. That's your new name. Spy." Blake blinked in confusion.

"What?" she said finally as Face turned and moved back to the desk. The Sniper just shrugged.

"Well, you ain't got a black eye anymore, have you?" he replied nonchalantly. "No point calling you by a feature you don't even have. It's like me calling Mr. Yatsuhashi 'Tiny', or Mr. Winchester 'Dick'." The class laughed. Cardin sat up in confusion, lowering his Scroll. "So, Miss Belladonna, you're now called 'Spy'. Stay classy." The Faunus was about to protest the name, but then realized something.

There was no ill intent behind it. No hidden insult. He'd complimented her fighting style, then given her a name based on it.

"Spy..." she muttered to herself as Professor Face turned back to the board, beginning to write out 'How to Punch Through a Grimm's Face' on the board in a mix of capital and lower case letters.

And for the first time, she smiled at something her former attacker had said.