Friday, thank god the week is over, and we've got another chapter of Criminally Good.

Enjoy.

[Chapter 20]

Well, I was right.

Not that I'd say anything to the frustrated Not-Jerry, nor the seemingly unflappable Roman.

That still bothered me to some degree, how he could be so calm and level headed when we were stranded, on the side of a mountain in Atlas right after having kicked the asses of a team of Specialists who crashed a simple train heist.

I, understandably I'd say, was more than a little stressed.

Not-Jerry was doing his absolute best with the smoking engine of the Bullhead. Of course, knowing our luck, it was one that we had borrowed from Junior's contact here. When we got it, everything had seemed in order and perfectly ready to fly.

Well, something went wrong and now here we are – stranded in the middle of nowhere as our amateur mechanic tries to fix the problem with very limited supplies.

Jess was asleep in the back of the immobile Bullhead, stretched out over a bench, using Winston's jacket as a blanket while hers acted as a pillow. Thankfully, I had the time to do a rough patching up of their wounds before we came crashing down into the snow. At the least, the bleeding was stopped and the wound was wrapped.

Despite not having a jacket, Winston was stood out in the snow and biting wind with Roman, Not-Jerry and I. He didn't seem all that phased by the cold, or rather, if he was, he didn't show it. "Any chance of you fixing it?" He asked, his voice quiet though carrying easily though the wind.

Not-Jerry stood back up, a frown tugging at his lips. "I mean, maybe? I don't know." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm not a professional, hell, I've barely worked on Bullheads before – my expertise is more with cars, trucks, motorbikes, those sorts of things." He glared back at the Bullhead. "This is a whole different creature."

Winston didn't look amused. "Can you fix it or not?"

Not-Jerry just threw his hands up in the air. "Like I said: maybe. It's a long shot, especially without tools, experience, or any idea what broke exactly."

Roman hummed, puffing on his cigar as he leaned back against the inevitably freezing cold metal of the airship. "Alright kids, that's enough fighting." He called out, getting Not-Jerry and Winston to look to him. "Here's how this is going to work. Paul, you and Winston are going to stay here with the Bullhead and Jess. Try and get it in working order." He looked over toward me then. "While you're doing that, Jaune and I are going to visit a small village not too far off."

I frowned, tilting my head slightly. "If it's a small village, I doubt they'd have anything we need." I pointed out, not seeing any value in making that trek.

"Ah, that is where you're wrong my young apprentice." Roman said, a smirk on his lips. "Being this far out in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by harsh weather, travel by road is all but impossible."

I narrowed my eyes, still not seeing his point.

"People need to eat, don't they? Protection is also an issue, not to mention what they do with sick or injured they can't handle." He paused, seeing that the gears were slowly starting to turn in my head.

"…. We're gambling, hoping that they've got a Bullhead?"

Roman laughed, a grin on his lips. "And the winner is Jaune Arc! Someone get this man a medal."

I rolled my eyes. "Right, and what's the plan if y'know, they don't have a Bullhead for us to hijack?"

He shrugged. "Get some food, tools, supplies, that sort of deal. Come back and hope Not-Jerry can get things back in order and we'll be on our way."

I looked towards our other two companions. "Thoughts?" To me, it wasn't a great plan, but it was better than nothing. I just hoped that either of them had something better in mind.

Winston shrugged his shoulders. "Better than twiddling our thumbs and waiting to freeze to death."

Not-Jerry nodded. "Agreed. I'll do what I can, but don't hold your breath."

I frowned, chewing on my lower lip. "What about Neo or Jack? Any chance we can get in contact with them?"

Roman shook his head. "Doubtful – we're not exactly wired through the CCT, so comms range is less than optimal. Then, of course, there'd be the issue of them turning around to pick us up. With a massive, stolen piece of military tech in tow. Not exactly what I'd call clandestine."

I furrowed my brows at that. "And stealing a Bullhead is?"

"Says the kid who fought, a team of Specialists, not to mention killing one."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Point made."

Roman nodded, clapping his gloved hands together. "Great, now with that out of the way, does the class have any more questions?"

I looked down at myself, bloodied and with ripped clothes. It wasn't exactly what I'd call an incognito look. "Yeah, just one. Won't my appearance ring a few alarm bells to people?"

Roman tilted his head, examining me in the ripped and bloodied jacket, along with the bandolier of grenades that had blood dried to the strap and grenades themselves. "Right you are." He glanced over to Winston. "Go swap your coat with his."

"What about the grenades and my sword? That'd be more than a little recognizable."

Roman shook his head. "Kid, if anything is gonna get recognized, it's me. If they're going to recognize that, they'll for sure recognize me. At that point we'll want everything we can get."

I shrugged my shoulders, wandering back to the Bullhead.

I heaved open the door and pulled myself up and in, closing it behind me.

To say it was warm in the small airship would be a lie, but at the very least we had shelter from the snow and bone chilling wind.

Jess was laying on one of the benches near to the cockpit, curled up as tight as she could get under the coat in an attempt to keep herself warm.

Wordlessly, I stripped off my coat, revealing the scarred armor that I wore beneath. I got damn lucky, considering that Winter's blade almost cut through the metal completely. I gently removed the coat from over Jess, getting the blonde woman to groan and curl in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest.

The wound on her right shoulder was starting to bleed through the rough bandaging I had done – I'd make sure to tell Winston so he could change the bandages.

I draped my cut and torn coat back over her, and she grabbed onto it almost instantly, pulling it over her as best she could.

I shook my head, pulling the larger jacket on over my armor and stepping out of the Bullhead once more. Winston was stood there, watching over Not-Jerry who had stuck his head back into the hood of the Bullhead and was fiddling with something as best he could.

Roman nodded at me then. "Ready to go there, chief?"

I nodded right back, glancing to Winston. "Oh, Jess' wound is bleeding through. You're going to need to change the bandage soon."

He just grunted in acknowledgement, not moving from where he was, watching over Not-Jerry.

I shrugged, joining Roman as the two of us pushed out into the bustling snow storm. I could only hope that Roman knew where he was going.

Now, I'll freely admit, I'd never seen snow before I came to Atlas. It was novel, until I'd come to the realization that everything was frozen and sucked, and it made it nigh on impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you when it was falling.

Despite that, I was able to keep pace with Roman though. We trudged wordlessly through the storm, leaving me nothing but my thoughts.

All things considered, I did well against Winter. She was a professionally trained Specialist. One of the best the Atlas military has to offer, and I held her off for longer than I had any right to. Most of it might've been because of my massive Aura reserves, and the fact that I wear actual armor, but still. It seems impressive that I lasted as long as I did.

I shook my head then. Still would've lost though, and pretty badly. Sure, I landed a few cheap shots and got her knocked around a bit, but she had me entirely beat. If not for Roman, I'd likely have been knocked out and captured.

I shuddered at the idea, or maybe it was shivering thanks to the cold. I couldn't tell you which. That seems to be a common theme – I'm decent. I can hold off people who massively out match me, but I don't stand a chance of winning.

I glanced over to Roman who had abandoned his cigar somewhere along the way as we pushed through the snow towards our destination. He saw something in me, something that made him think I was worth the gamble. Even after all this time, I don't know what it is. Jack's words came floating back into my head. "Ask him. Better to know than be blind." I've been blind this whole time, guessing but never knowing.

"Hey, Roman?" I asked, getting him to look back over his shoulder.

"Hm?"

I pursed my lips, resting a hand on the hilt of Crocea Mors. "Those months ago, when you offered me to come work with you – why'd you do it?"

Roman looked back forward. "Because you're an Arc. Knowing who your father is, you'd have done something reckless either way. Just a question of when it happened, and what the outcome was."

I narrowed my eyes. "Because of my name? That's it?"

Roman just shrugged. "Your father is a good man – does what's right, regardless of the consequences. He's also stubborn, you'll have a better chance negotiating with the Grimm than getting him to change his mind." He paused for a moment. "You're similar. You had it made up in your mind that you were going to be a Huntsman and a hero of the people."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're his only son, and without my interference, you'd more than likely be dead as you chased that dream, completely unprepared." He shook his head, sighing. "I wasn't going to let that happen."

"Roman…?" I asked, though he either didn't hear me or ignored it.

"I took you in, taught you how to fight, how to survive. I never really thought you'd stick around for long. Jason definitely didn't." He paused for a minute as he thought. "That's why I kept you in the dark – I was expecting you to just up and leave to make your own way in life." He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I was fine with that too. I did what I'd intended, got you to a point where you could handle yourself."

He looked back over his shoulder at me, a small smile on his lips. "But that's where you two differ. Jason took off – decided that I was the scum of Remnant and continued on with his life. You, on the other hand, stuck around." He gestured around us. "You planned this, helped with massive jobs, even met my nutcase of a boss, and yet you're still here."

I blinked, watching as Roman had finished his ranting and went back to trudging forward. My mind was awhirl with thoughts, processing new information that Roman had dumped on me. Roman and my dad worked together? That means dad was a criminal… He helped Roman for a while, but turned his back on him. Why? Where did he draw the line? Have I crossed it? Is this why he refused to train me?

I shook my head. "So, that day all those months ago, you took me in just because of who my father was? Because you couldn't stand by and watch me throw my life away chasing a dream?"

Roman chuckled, nodding. "That about sums it up."

I felt an ever so slight smile cross my lips. "And they say you're nothing but a heartless thief out for himself."

He just snickered. "Don't go telling anyone – ruins my whole reputation."

I rolled my eyes. "Secret's safe with me, Roman."

He didn't respond, just continued on pushing through the snow.

[-/-]

Roman said this village was nearby, but by my guess, we had been walking for about an hour and a half, or even two. Despite that, though, we had arrived.

The village was about the same size as Ansel if I had to guess, a little over two dozen buildings in total. They were huddled together, almost like the buildings themselves were trying to share heat with one another.

I glanced over to Roman who had stopped about two-hundred yards out from the village, looking over all of the squat buildings, there only being two or three that had a second floor.

Roman had his gaze fixed on a landing pad, though. A series of red lights flashing slowly on the platform, though he had his eyes on the prize – the Bullhead parked, inert and waiting to be stolen. "It seems they've got what we came for in stock. How fortunate." Roman said, a grin tugging at his lips.

I narrowed my eyes, looking over the platform. It didn't look like it was guarded, though that went for the whole village. I knew better, though. The Grimm did still exist, so these people must've had some way to manage the creatures of darkness.

"Got a plan?" I asked, curious what the master criminal was cooking up.

He shrugged. "Sure – walk over, break into the cockpit, hotwire the ship, and take off. Simple."

I blinked once, twice, and then a third time. "Simple, yes, and asking for us to get caught."

Roman arched his brows. "Alright then, mister grand strategy, what's your game plan?"

I pursed my lips as I thought on that. "It's not that your plan is bad, it's just asking for us to draw a lot of heat. Ideally, this gets done with nobody knowing until it's too late."

"I still haven't heard a plan." Roman pointed out, leaning on his cane.

"I'm working on it. Maybe we could find the pilot, steal the keys off him, or even get him to start it for us and just take him hostage while we take off – make it so they have to let us go if they want him to live?"

"Alright, how do you find this pilot?" Roman asked.

I frowned, eyeing the village. "This place isn't much bigger than Ansel – back home, there wasn't much to do. You went to school, ran around outside, and went home. Adults had the luxury of going to the local bar." I glanced back to Roman. "I'd hazard a guess that the bar is our best bet for finding the pilot."

Roman just chuckled, shaking his head. "Not bad, kid, but you've forgotten one important detail."

I tilted my head slightly, frowning. "I have?"

He nodded. "You have. It happens to be about… seven in the morning, give or take half an hour. Most people aren't day drinkers like you – and even you don't start this early."

I pursed my lips, frowning as I thought.

"That said, I doubt many people are awake yet. If there was ever a time to hijack a parked Bullhead, now would be it. So, unless you can tell me where the bar is, what room our pilot is in, and get me in there unseen, this is going to be going loud anyway." Roman said, still leaning on his cane, knowing full well that there was no way I could do that.

I sighed, shrugging. "Alright, then we do this your way."

Roman grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. "Your plan works, just not this early in the morning."

I shook my head, unclasping 'The Virtuoso' from my belt. I eyed the mask, uncaring and twisted into a thin grin from ear to ear. It was unsettling, though distinctly human in spite of the sharp edges.

I pulled up the winter hood and donned the mask, finding that I could still see clearly, and breathe with no issue. How the maker had managed that, I didn't know, but greatly appreciated.

Roman glanced over at me and shook his head. "You know, hiding your face takes all the fun out of committing outrageous crimes."

I shrugged. "And it lets me move freely while keeping friends on the other side of the law."

Roman shrugged. "To each their own."

The two of us made towards the desolate landing pad, completely undisturbed. Our only companion being the light snowfall and the biting wind.

Roman came to stand next to the cockpit, producing a set of lockpicks from somewhere on his person, setting to fiddling with the door. Still, I had to wonder where he hid them. First it was cigars and a lighter, now it was lockpicks. What next, a granola bar?

I kept watch as Roman worked, having drawn Crocea Mors, shifted into its rifle form. I had it loaded with fire Dust rounds, finding that they made small explosions on impact. Good for shattering cover and forcing people to move.

The lock clicked, and Roman grinned, stashing the picks away somewhere on his person. "Same as always." He said, more or less to himself as he hopped up into the cockpit.

"What are you doing?!" A clearly feminine voice called out.

My head whipped towards the sound of the woman's voice. She was shorter than me, generally nondescript – brown hair, average features. Nothing particularly stood out. In one hand, she wielded a six-round revolver, keeping it pointed at us. In the other, she had a blade that was far too short to be a sword, but longer than a knife.

"Step away from the Bullhead and show me your hands." She called out, keeping the revolver trained on me.

I snapped to a decision, rolling off to the right, away from the Bullhead.

The woman fired a round as I moved, the bullet sailing past me and crashing into the snow with a small explosion of fire. Fire Dust rounds, too. Fun.

I came to a kneel, bracing the rifle against my shoulder as I hastily took aim, firing off three rounds at her.

The woman dodged off to the side, seeing that I was using a rifle she charged, hoping that she could eliminate my weapon.

I glanced down at my bandolier of grenades. It was still full of a mix, some long tubes, other were more spherical.

If I remembered right from the few FPS games I had played, the spherical ones were regular grenades, while the longer ones were flashbangs, or concussion grenades.

God, I hoped I wasn't about to blow myself up.

I pulled one of the longer ones off and threw it at her feet, diving backwards and covering my eyes.

There was an explosion, as well as an incredibly loud and deafening ringing in my ears.

I groaned, though, turned back to see that she had collapsed to the ground, though was starting to pull herself up.

I shook my head, trying to ignore the ringing in my ears as I leveled my rifle at her, firing off another three rounds. This time, they impacted her square in the chest, sending her back a few feet into the snow in a heap yet again.

I didn't see any blood, so I figured she had Aura.

The ringing in my ears started to subside, and I heard the Bullhead's rotors start to whir to life a few feet away.

I fired a few more rounds from my rifle at the woman pulling herself out of the snow, forcing her back down as I ran to Roman.

"We getting out of here?" I asked, not wanting to see what other security they had up their sleeves. I could handle one Huntress, but more might be an issue.

"You gotta buy me time. This bird won't fly for another few minutes at least."

I groaned, nodding and stepping out from behind the Bullhead.

Just my luck, people had come outside to investigate the explosion and gunshots.

The brown-haired woman leveled her revolver at me, having a couple of guys who rather clearly weren't Huntsmen, wielding simple rifles a lot like I'd seen the bots on the train have. "Hands where I can see 'em." She called out, keeping her revolver trained on me, along with her two guards.

I didn't respond, keeping a tight grip on Crocea Mors as the trio started to push forward.

Roman popped out from inside the cockpit. "Please, excuse my friend – he's not particularly talkative, but I'd be more than willing to negotiate your gracious surrender."

The woman ticked her gaze towards Roman. "I think it's the other way around, bub. You're outnumbered, and pinned down. Why don't you do us all a favor and step out of the Bullhead?"

I bit my lower lip, glancing over to Roman briefly and back to the trio who had stopped about twenty feet away. They had their attention on Roman. Subtly I started to move my hand for one of the flashbangs on the bandolier of grenades.

Roman hummed, likely taking note of what I was doing. He just has to keep their attention. "Yeah, I don't know about that one. I mean, you don't become Remnant's greatest thief by just surrendering when a wannabe Huntress points a gun at you. Even then, it's pretty cold out there, and I just got the heater running. So, I'll pass." As he was speaking, I got one hand around the grenade. All I had to do now was pull the pin and get cover.

"Remnant's greatest thief my arse – you couldn't even steal a Bullhead without getting caught." I glanced to Roman, catching his eye. He nodded ever so minutely.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I believe we're done here." He said, ducking back down into the cockpit.

I pulled the pin and threw the grenade at the trio, ducking back behind the Bullhead to use for cover. As I did, I reached up and grabbed another grenade, this one hopefully a frag. I heard the explosion from the flash go off, and I popped back out, lobbing the second one at the trio.

I didn't wait to see if it did any damage – I threw the door into the Bullhead passenger compartment open and pulled myself in. I slammed the door shut and banged on the wall. Roman got the message, pulling up and off the ground.

My stomach started to flip, and I felt the urge to be sick, even though I had nothing to expel. I took a deep breath and tried to hold it in as Roman took off at speed, hurtling us away from the village.

I heard a few small pops – likely the Huntress firing her revolver at the Bullhead, ending up doing nothing more than scarring the metal, but not piercing anything. That surprised me, considering this wasn't a military ship, so it had no armor plating, but I wasn't going to question it.

The sound of gunfire subsided shortly after, and I knew we were well out of range from the small village, and the Huntress attempting to stop us.

I sighed, feeling the tension that had wound itself comfortably in my shoulders slowly release. Even if it wasn't particularly dangerous, I still got that rush of adrenaline surging through my system. I closed my eyes, feeling my stomach continue to do its imitation of a gymnast in a vain attempt to be emptied.

I leaned back against the wall, resting my arms on my knees as I hung my head low. Everything went well. Sorta. We got a Bullhead, and we both got out unscathed. Granted, we were seen and had a gunfight with local authorities, but all was well. We were long gone, end of story – game over. We won.

After about ten minutes or so worth of flying, Roman brought us down to land. I groaned and pulled myself up, throwing open the Bullhead door. I was immediately greeted by a torrent of snow and more bone chilling wind.

The next most obvious thing was the three faces of my companions. Not-Jerry grinned at me, heaving himself up into the Bullhead with me. Next came Jess, who was still clearly in a load of pain, but at least she was up and alive. Last came Winston, who didn't even use the handle on the side of the ship, simply taking a massive step up into the flying deathtrap.

He pulled the door closed behind him, and much like I had done, banged on the wall a couple times with his fist. Roman got the message, and once more we were up and off into the skies of Atlas, the whole crew recovered.

I was focusing on not vomiting everywhere as I leaned back in my seat.

"Well, I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting express pickup. Thought you and the boss would just come wandering back with a few supplies." Winston said, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Yeah. That was what I expected, too, but here we are." I closed my eyes and swallowed back that urge to vomit. Just gotta keep it down, and we'll be just fine.

"How'd you get it? Kidnap the pilot, steal his keys, something like that?" Not-Jerry asked, his curiosity clearly burning through.

I shook my head, eyes closed as I took a deep breath. "Nope. Walked up, broke into the cockpit, hotwired the Bullhead and we were off."

"Bullshit. Atlas isn't that careless." Jess pointed out.

I swallowed again. "I'm not lying – it was as simple as that." I paused for a moment. "Granted, we had to stave off a Huntress and a few guys with guns, but all went well."

I was met with silence as I looked up, seeing them all staring at me like I'd just drop kicked a puppy out the door. "Guys…?"

Before anyone had a chance to respond, the window from the cockpit into the cabin was thrown open. "I don't mean to alarm you, but we've got incoming."

Winston was the first to speak. "How many?"

"Three."

Jess looked back to me then. "That's why you were getting that look. They alerted Atlas officials, and now we've got company."

I pursed my lips, shifting Crocea Mors into its rifle mode once again. "Things can never just go my fucking way, can they?"

Not-Jerry just laughed. "That's part of the fun. Now, c'mon, we've got work to do."

See, there was an issue here. We were in a civilian craft. We had no armor plating. We had no weapons. Our opponents were in military crafts, decked out with guns and armor plating. Something told me that this wasn't going to end well for us.

I sighed, getting to my feet. The urge to vomit grew to a point where I couldn't hold it back, and I emptied my stomach out the now open door that instantly sapped any sense of warmth out of the cabin.

The others were looking at me curiously and I just groaned. "Motion sickness… More common than you'd think."

I was met with only snickers in response. I rolled my eyes, biting back the urge to vomit more.

Wind whipped through the cabin, making it all but impossible to hear anyone. I leaned Crocea Mors against the wall as I donned my mask once again. The others took note of that and decided to do the same – if they hadn't had their covers blown yet, they'd rather keep it that way.

I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping that I'd be ready for what was to come.

"Light 'em up boys." Roman shouted, just barely audible over the howling wind. His window was shut shortly thereafter.

Jess was still unable to fire her gun effectively, so she and Winston took the left side, her reloading his weapons while he fired out at our opponents.

Not-Jerry and I were leaning out the other side, both with our weapons ready. In truth, Not-Jerry needed a better gun than a simple pistol, but it was better than nothing.

One Bullhead, painted white with the symbol of the Kingdom of Atlas painted across its side came into view, matching our speed. They too had their doors open, though rather than two guys with regular weapons, they had a guy sitting on a turret.

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me…" I muttered to myself as the gun started to open fire on us.

Not-Jerry didn't seem phased, though, leaning out the side. He fired off a few rounds which harmlessly pinged off the armored side of the Bullhead.

I leaned out the side myself then, raising my Aura, just in case I got lit up by gunfire. I took aim down sights and pulled the trigger, hoping to land a solid hit on the gunner.

No dice – a hail of bullets continued to assault us.

On the other side of the Bullhead, Winston was constantly firing, swapping between his shotgun and Jess' SMG. They didn't seem to be having the issue of constant turret fire, making me think that Winston had taken down their opponent.

I ducked back behind the wall as a spray of bullets ripped through the wall behind where I had been not a second ago. I swallowed again, thumbing one of the grenades on the bandolier I had stolen.

Not-Jerry had also been forced to duck back, looking at me as I thumbed one of the grenades. He nodded, trying to push me to at least try it. I don't even think I can throw that far. Not to mention the wind and the fact that we're speeding over the landscape. Then again, I don't know if I don't try. I nodded back.

He popped out first, firing several rounds from his pistol at the gunner, though it was hard to tell if he was hitting at all.

I pulled the pin and leaned back out the side of the flying deathtrap. Roman had said there were three, but I only see two. I shook my head and threw the grenade out towards the Atlas gunship.

The grenade didn't make impact with the ship, but the explosion rattled it slightly, getting them to jerk around. The gun firing from the ship cut off.

I saw an opportunity, and took it. I took aim down sights and brought it hovering right on the gunner's head. I pulled the trigger, closing my eyes.

I opened them once more, finding that the gunner wasn't there, and red was the new interior color of that ship. I swallowed back the urge to vomit again, though this time from taking another life rather than motion sickness.

The door was thrown open from the cockpit. "Get in here and take over – your pea shooter isn't doing shit." Roman shouted out.

Not-Jerry nodded, stepping into the cockpit. He took Roman's seat, somehow managing to keep us level through the transition. Roman stepped out, a grin on his lips as he spun his cane, looking out at the Bullhead I had just remodeled the interior of. He nodded appreciatively.

Roman didn't hesitate, either. He leveled his cane at the Bullhead and fired off three rounds, each of them crashing not into the cockpit, but into one of the rotors that kept the ship flying. Rather quickly, it spiraled out of the sky, crashing down into the open ocean beneath us.

Bullets started ripping through the comparatively thin metal of our Bullhead from behind us – the third incoming Roman had said something about.

Roman and I both ducked down to the floor, thankful we both had Aura up as I felt one of the rounds slam into my side, nearly shattering my already worn down Aura.

Then, there was a sickening sound. A crushing sound, and a splatter of blood.

I think part of me knew what I'd be about to look at, but still, I wasn't prepared.

Jess was, well, to say she was missing something important would be an understatement. There was a hole through the side of her head, brains and blood dripping out, coating the interior of the Bullhead.

I wanted to be sick – I wanted to respond in some way, but I didn't. I just stared. It was one thing to kill someone trying to kill you. It was something else completely to watch someone you know lay dead barely five feet from you.

Winston snarled, and I looked to him. He had taken a bullet through his calf in the assault, though he managed to keep standing as he leaned against the wall of the Bullhead that resembled swiss cheese with the number of holes in it.

He brought his shotgun to bear on the Bullhead still hovering at his side. He unloaded whatever remained in his weapon, a series of explosions following shortly thereafter. It was ended with the likely destroyed ship crashing down into the sea below.

Roman grimaced, though pushed past me and Jess' body. He hit a glowing red button on the wall, and the hangar door opened, revealing the Bullhead that had killed Jess. This one was the same as the others, though had front mounted guns.

Roman leveled his cane once more at the Bullhead and fired until I could hear the quiet clicking come from his weapon, denoting the lack of ammo.

The last Bullhead crashed down into the sea a moment later.

Winston and I both pulled closed the doors we were still stood by, and Roman hit the button once again to slowly close the bay door.

Needless to say, our Bullhead had seen better days. It was perforated just about everywhere with Bullet holes. The normally plain gray interior was now painted red with the blood of a fallen ally.

Despite the frigid air inside, and the corpse laying in the middle of the cabin, nobody spoke.

Winston had collapsed back against the door once it was closed, and rather quickly went to bandaging his wound with cut rags from my already destroyed coat.

Roman just stood, leaning against the wall along with his cane, studying one of the bullet holes across from him.

I, well, I just sat where I had stopped. Pretty much directly across from Winston. Crocea Mors lay on the floor next to me, still in its gun mode, ignored. My arms rested on my knees once again, my eyes locked on what bit of colorless floor I could find.

The Bullhead landed thirty minutes later, and still, nobody spoke.

I got up to my feet and pulled open the side door. Roman made his way out, cane in hand. If I had to guess, he wanted us to get moving. I turned back to Winston who was doing something similar to me, though instead he was looking at Jess' body, inert and cold.

I took a few steps over and crouched down. "C'mon, man. Let's get you moving."

He nodded, letting me help him up and out of the Bullhead.

We stepped out onto the deck of a rather large freight ship, the smell of sea air embracing me with open arms. Anything was better than the stench of death.

A few moments later, Not-Jerry joined us as I helped Winston hobble out towards the massive building like structure where crew spent their time, I thought.

Jack and Neo met us halfway.

"Well, if it isn't the conquering heroes. Welcome back." Jack paused, looking around. "Wait, where's Jess?"

"She's dead. Shot through the head." Winston said, his voice level and controlled.

Jack's expression immediately darkened. "Shit…"

Winston shook his head as we continued to hobble towards the shelter that the ship could offer us. "She knew what she was signing up for before this started." He said, keeping his voice level.

"Still… Never thought that she'd be the one to go. Always thought it'd be me, y'know?"

Winston didn't respond, just kept on hobbling forward with my help.

We got what we came for – a whole host of Paladins before they've been unveiled to the world.

This was mission success.

We had won.

You know, I always thought victory was supposed to be sweet.

And that's that.

Short little Atlas Arc - focused a bit on my minor OCs more than I thought it would at first, but oh well. It won't go to waste, I promise.

Poor Jaune, nothing ever goes right, and even when it looks like you might've won clearly, you have to pay a price at the end. RIP Jess, even if we didn't know you well. I still feel like this is gonna screw with Jaune, even if they weren't friends, really. It was someone he knew and had worked with for a week and a half to two weeks. Seeing someone you know before your eyes has got to be bad for the psyche. More drinking your problems away for you, Jaune.

That said, onward. To the reviews!

Guest (1) - RIP Winter indeed. Gets Jaune nice and cornered only to get screwed by a wild Torchwick. Better luck next time, Winter.

X3 - Wait... You mean wearing metal armor will actually protect me? Preposterous. This 'combat skirt' that is made of simple cloth and nothing more will do the job just as well. More heists may come, or they may not. It depends, really. Depends on Jaune, a lot actually. Soon, the plot will tell all its secrets. Soon™.

NuclearPenStrokes - No, but again a good guess. One I had to go look up because I don't know the game. Glad you're enjoying. I thought RWBY needed more crime stories.

Engineer - At this point, it might be. Maybe it's just the semblance of alcoholic men that does it, or maybe, Jaune's semblance is to mimic other people's semblance to some degree. Wouldn't that be interesting. But yeah, Winter wants Jaune captured alive. And thus, the Winter x Jaune hate based relationship begins. And then there's Ruby who Jaune's basically been ignoring for ages, hoping that the problem goes away. And Nora. And Yang. And Ren. Oh god, Jaune is so screwed once he gets back to Vale and talks to his friends. In truth, that would've been a great omake for me to have written, but oh well. The time has passed.

Valerious Lake - Hmm. I'm gonna have to say no to that. This story is meant to be entirely Jaune's PoV. While it would be awesome to see Winter's thinking, it just goes against my whole reasoning in having everything be first person. The pitfalls of writing decisions like this. Maybe he will be, maybe not. Only time will tell.

2AM Guest - You... I can't trust you anymore. Not reviewing at 2AM when it's in your name? For shame. But hey, embrace the nocturnal life style. I love it, except where I only get four hours of sleep a night. Hey, man. Internet cookies are great, and I love them. The fact that I'm earning them at all is just all kinds of great.

Greer - Jaune may not have the skills needed to beat the specialists, but he's got the grit and determination, damnit. Not to mention the crafty thinking to do it. The massive Aura tanking just makes sense, at least to me it does. The show made a big deal about his massive Aura reserve, but we've never really seen it come into play for a fight. Never seen Jaune tank more hits and win because he caught his opponent off guard, or just wore them down through attrition. Seems like a missed opportunity to me, but oh well.

Gasenator - Any time, chief. This is honestly one of my favorite parts of posting new chapters, responding to y'all. Winter is pissed, Roman with the one-liner that just fits, and Jaune kills a specialist. It's a hectic chapter, and it doesn't slow down here. Well, it does, but not a lot. I have not read it, but I'll be sure to check it out.

Imperial Germany - Someone died, and now another person Jaune knew, along with a few others.

Nobody of Nowhere - That seemed to be a theory a few of you had. Huh. Was I sending death flags unintentionally? Neo v Winter would be one hell of a battle to watch, and now that you've said it I want it too. Damnit, man, now that's going to be floating somewhere in my head for ages.

Josh Spicer - The start of the Jaune x Winter hate based relationship is here, my friend. And you are among the first supporters. She wanted him alive, and that scares Jaune just as much as it should. A pissed Winter is something that I think would bring even Ironwood and Ozpin to their knees. Only Glynda could match her, because she scares even me, and she's not even real.

And that's all the reviews - Nice.

Thanks for the well wishing on my vacation, guys, makes me smile.

Next chapter, we return to Vale and Jaune gets to sit down and have some conversations with people. Lots of people, and some pretty not fun conversations to have, too. It'll be grand.

Next Chapter: Monday, July 1st

Till next time, this is Valres signing off.