Defanged I

Behind the stage, a young raven-haired faunus paced back and forth, wringing her hands and constantly checking the time on her scroll. Her dress was crisp and formal, her deportment less so. She bit her lip, trying to hide a deep frown.

A girl with snow-white hair leaned against the wall behind her, a mix of amusement and annoyance on her face. She interrupted, "Blake."

"I know, Weiss, I know," Blake said, halting her pacing. "I know it's silly, because I used to be at the front of every rally, but that was a long time ago, and it's different this time. I just don't want to get this wrong."

"Do you know what you're going to say?" Weiss asked firmly.

She replied, "Yes, but-"

The white-haired girl cut her off as she stepped toward her. "Do you know how you're going to say it?"

Again, the faunus began to reply, "Yes-"

"Then you'll be fine." Weiss gave her hand a squeeze, her skin cool against her own. She leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek. "Knock 'em out, Blake."

"Thanks."

Blake Belladonna took a deep breath, straightened herself, and marched out onto the stage. She ignored the clapping crowd and bright lights, focusing on the lectern ten paces ahead of her. As soon as she took position behind it, a holographic teleprompter flared to life in front of her. She spared a glance at the screen behind her, verifying that it was displaying the correct slide, before turning and offering the audience a thin smile.

"Hello. I'm Blake Belladonna," she introduced, trying valiantly and not quite succeeding in masking the trepidation in her wavering voice. The crowd- god, it must have been thousands- quieted down, awaiting her next words. She gulped and ignored the screen in front of her. "Some of you may have heard of me, even though as odd as this may sound, I'm known better on Earth than on Remnant. For those that aren't, I'll start with my own past, my own radicalization and my own deradicalization."

With a flick of her hand, she advanced to the next slide. The words were flowing easier now. Breathe. Relax. "I was practically born into the White Fang. At the time, it wasn't a terror group. The White Fang started off as a peaceful movement, and remained that way for years. That's a story that's all too common, as we'll see very soon. We were fighting for equality, for rights, and fair treatment..."

"The unique thing about my story is that it's not unique at all," the black-haired faunus behind the lectern stated. Her voice was firm and strong. "There are thousands of others who stand right now at some point in my narrative. Some are at the beginning, idealistic and believing they can change the world. Some have moved on or skipped straight to the disenfranchisement, the rejection, the turn toward darkness. Some have committed to the cause, finding an outlet where they can make some kind of difference, no matter what they do to get there. And some, thankfully, are leaving that behind..."

Near the middle of the room, a dark-haired man wearing the uniform of the US Air Force watched the presentation intently. Lieutenant Colonel Andres Schultz leaned to the right and said quietly, "You know, it's not an airship, but on second thought, I think this was worth going to."

The serious-faced DSS agent beside him nodded. In fact, M. Royce Payton was hardly paying attention to the presentation at all. His eyes were elsewhere, scanning the room for threats. This was far from his first rodeo. There could be a bomb or a shooter somewhere in the room, a crazed gunman or a fanatical terrorist lurking in the crowds. Everything could change in a matter of seconds.

The United States had its fair share of enemies, and by extension so did the military attache he was protecting. Before the presentation, he'd gone over the nature of the event and the current situation in Vale. He had his own shortlist of potential threats. The usual boogeymen- the new round of extremists that had risen- weren't a factor here. He'd heard rumours that a few had made it across the portal in Syria, but they weren't here in Vale. In fact, any Terran group was unlikely. Unfortunately for him, the locals were just as fierce if not as brutal. It was the White Fang that had him the most worried. His charge was a prime target because of the bombings, and to them the presentation they were watching was basically a two-hour indictment of them.

The agent didn't completely trust Remnan security. His first impression was that of a brute- big on firepower, short on strategy. But, he grudgingly admitted, they seemed to know what they were doing once you accepted that it was literally an alien world. And if something did happen, hopefully they'd buy his team enough time to evacuate his charge. He knew exactly what their odds were against a local threat, and saying it didn't sit well with him was an understatement. They had a plan for every contingency, but plans never survived first contact with the enemy.

Most likely, nothing would happen. They would watch the presentation and be on their way. The military attache would report on the event, adding a footnote to the mounds of analysis that would no doubt be performed on a recorded version of the event in Washington. Another pile of "interesting stuff" that he silently facilitated.

"Radicalization is a complex process, one that we really haven't looked at much before. Despite terrorism being as old as recorded history, only in the past century has it been extensively studied on either Remnant or Earth," Blake recited from the stage. Her eyes flicked downward briefly before she continued. "Every case is different. Every terrorist we know of has a different story. But like always, there are trends and there are patterns..."

Two rows down from the American military attache and his protector sat a very different pair. Both were professors from Beacon, and that was where the similarities ended. Peach was a short, slight woman with long, flowing pink hair and an elaborate bodice of muted purple. Oobleck was a tall man with pointy green hair wearing clothes that could be considered professional if they weren't so messy.

The woman said quietly, "I worry for that girl. She's brave, but this could get her arrested or worse."

"I believe the Headmaster has already taken care of things," Oobleck answered quickly and quietly. "As is always the case throughout history, it pays to have friends in high places."

"Ozpin may be able to keep her from being arrested, but I can think of a dozen people who'd want her dead," Peach said frankly. "She's probably the first person to be an enemy of the White Fang and the SDC."

He didn't answer for a moment, but when he did the words came quickly. "Every revolutionary leader has had more than their fair share of enemies."

"Do you believe she is a revolutionary leader?" the pink-haired woman questioned.

The professor considered that for a moment. "Perhaps. She may be a brief celebrity or a staying voice."

She changed the topic slightly and asked, "How did she get this, anyway?"

The green-haired man answered with a smirk. "One does not deny a celebrity of two worlds."

"She plays a dangerous game," Peach commented wryly.

"The best games are the most dangerous ones," Oobleck replied sagely. "The higher the risk, the greater the reward, especially in our business. A hard lesson, but one you know that as well as I do."

"Indeed."

"There's a lot of misinformation out there, and some still like to imagine Earth as a peaceful utopia, but the truth is far from it," Blake stated, speaking confidently and gravely. Her eyes flicked briefly down to the display below, confirming what she already knew. She was about a third of the way through and running slightly ahead of schedule. Behind her, a series of pictures- all of terrifying scenes- flew onto the screen. "There are thousands of terrible reasons I called this Lessons From Earth and Lessons From Remnant."

A pair of towers, one visibly aflame and both belching thick black smoke. "New York, 2001. Aircraft hijacking. 2996 deaths. Islamic extremists. This is the 9/11 you'll often hear Terrans talk about."

A blurry photo of hundreds of children packed into a crowded gym, a bomb hanging above their heads. "Beslan, 2004. Hostage taking and standoff. 385 deaths. Chechen separatists. The response was deeply controversial."

A pile of smoking rubble in the middle of a desert. "Iraq, 2007. Bombings. 449 deaths. A lot of Terrans ignore events in that part of the world, even though that's where it happens the most."

The last image of the sequence showed an unfamiliar place with a few familiar figures. "And this one, is in a way, our fault. Texas, 2015. Mass shooting. 191 deaths. White Fang."

She paused, hesitating, and never got a chance to continue.

Near the back of the hall, an explosive device detonated. There was no warning. One moment, everything was normal. The next moment, the rear wall was obliterated along with anyone near it, with half the room sprayed by fragments and tongues of flame.

A talk meant to fight terror had just become the scene of a terror attack itself.

Finally, Defanged. Four chapters, anachronic order, something new this time. Shorter than I'd hoped. A lot of writer's block and distractions, and possibly terrible timing.