Chapter 6: I Used to do Drugs, Now I do Racism

"How can it be a hate crime if I loved doing it?"

— 12 —

"You don't need to be afraid of it," Adam said, giving the new recruits an optimistic species of look. He held out his hands, and the new Fangist gave him the rifle he'd been pawing at.

Adam had never been one for guns. Now, if he were someone like Cinder, he'd probably say something like blades don't need reloading or I like to get in close for the kill. It might even be what some of the faunus here expected of him. Part of his image.

The truth was unflatteringly boring. His Semblance only worked on blades. Plus, as a kid, he'd hated carrying the extra weight of all those 7.62x39mm magazines. A mix of simple laziness and Semblance convenience had turned Adam into a fan of swords.

"This is a Avtomat Volikova, your iconic AV-27," Adam announced for all to see. "If you've ever played a video game, you know what this is. It hits harder than Rashaun's mother and doesn't care how much you abuse it, also like Rashaun's mother."

Rashaun, sitting over on a crate and watching the training, gave Adam a happy little wave. A cheeky gesture, but one Adam allowed. Sometimes you could excuse that behavior. Best to let the boy stay in high spirits. Besides, Rashaun could spin up some catchy song verses for the Cause when he was in a good mood. If Adam recall rightly, the boy's latest EP, "Fuzzy Skinhead," was still near the top of the underground hits chart.

Morale mattered. Keep spirits high enough and men will do anything. A soft hand when it mattered, and the bull's horn when needed.

"You can run it over with your truck, bury it in the mud, then dig it up in winter to use as a snowshoe and it'll still kill the thing you aim it at," Adam said, showing off the rifle. "In fact their original manuals recommended buying two for just that purpose. Don't pussyfoot your Volikov; treat it like your bitch."

He punctuated himself by punching the receiver closed and wrenching back the bolt. Then it was to demonstrate how to aim and fire. Here in their compact base under Mountain Glen, they had plenty of room to practice without risk of outside molestation.

Adam recalled the first time he'd been shown how to use one of these rifles. Ghira Belladonna, back when he'd still led the White Fang. Before the Conquest of the Six and Eighty had fully changed him.

A complete lion of a man with an infectious laugh, he'd told Adam the same thing: "It's a Volikov; treat it like your bitch." A phrase Adam had found himself using here, because it just fit so perfectly.

There'd been a time when Ghira had known the value of violence. He'd been raised in a time where you didn't have time to smell the roses; if you were faunus, you ate the flowers because it was all you had. Ghira had known his way around a Volikov because he needed to, not because he wanted to. The Lion of Belladonna hadn't become a hero to the faunus through non-violence.

That was the Ghira young Adam had met. The Ghira that had come to visit Atlas in the aftermath of Logan's Run. Despite being a mostly illiterate slave child, the Lion of Belladonna had smiled warmly at Adam and his peers and treated them like people. Treated them like, to use a phrase Adam hated, human beings. It was the first time Adam learned that faunus could be better than what they were. And that Adam could work to change things if only he were willing to fight for what was right

After telling this joke to Adam, a pair of slender arms had wrapped around Ghira's neck from behind. His wife, Kali. "You know," she'd purred, loud enough for everyone watching to hear, "I'm a cat and not a dog, right?"

He'd never seen a man that big go that small and red so fast.

It'd been that very same mental image of Ghira that had popped into mind that first time he'd accidentally made Blake blush. Her cheeks reddened the exact same way as her father's, her ears pressing down as if to hide themselves. Adam had been so glad for his mask; it made it easier to hide just how much that blush had flustered him.

But, those were memories from simpler times.

His scroll vibrated. Torchwick's number.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Adam handed the rifle back and went into the refurbished undercity. The White Fang only had a small part of the undercity secured, just the area around the old metro to Vale, but it served adequate. The base was safe, easily stocked, and allowed for easy access to and from Vale without being seen, where the White Fang operated a number of safehouses and business fronts.

The ruins of Mountain Glenn always drew Adam's eye. Even now, in the brief scrap of the city they'd eked out for themselves, he caught himself staring. Something about the ruins people left behind just fascinated. Especially the way Mountain had tried moving the entire city underground, creating a corpse warren of human civilization buried beneath the foundation of the original city. It boggled the mind how such cities could slowly spring up over generations yet become ruins in the span of a day.

Made him think of the city of Misery. He'd been there before to train under "the Wolf."

"Keep up, meat," the Wolf had said calmly as he lead Adam through the ruins of an ancient skyscraper. At the end of the Great War, the Godhammer had ripped the massive structure out of the ground and send it tumbling. Now that ancient financial center laid on its side, with an entire river passing through its dark interior.

"If there was ever a time for us to leave this place, it is now. Do not let the shadows distract."

It had taken Adam a force of will to pry his eyes away from the ash-shadows on the wall. The way they moved in the corner of his eye. How he could hear them giggling and whispering his name at the very edge of his hearing.

Of all the horror that befell Mountain Glenn, it couldn't hold a candle to the aftermath of Vale's very own superweapon. The Godhammer. Misery had been a festering, necromantic corpse. Meanwhile, Mountain Glenn had a certain quiet about it, as if after it's human inhabitants had died, the very concrete itself had given up and resigned itself to loneliness.

Humans could do far worse things than the Grimm ever could, a thought that made Adam unconsciously stroke his mask.

It didn't take long for Adam to find himself in what had once been a second story café. He'd made this a sort of personal command room. Something about the faded coffee posters and the old menu gave him a weird sense of familiar comfort. Of course he'd cleaned it up, refurbished it for his own use, but he liked the original aesthetic too much to disturb.

Dialing Torchwick's number, he rapped a knuckle on the counter. "Doubleshot sunshard expresso, black," he told the faded patch of blood on the wall. Some little joke of his.

Torchwich didn't answer. Adam sucked in his lip and was about to slam a fist onto the counter in frustration when he saw the coffee mug. The fresh, steaming mug of coffee on the counter before him what wasn't there a second ago.

He just stared at it in confusion. And then sucked in a breath. Throwing the scroll to the side, he had his sword in hand in an instant, and thrust. Both the coffee mug and the air before the counter shattered like glass. A girl—human—barely five feet tall was standing there instead. She effortlessly parried his sword with a fucking umbrella of all things.

Adam jumped back. "You. You're Torchwick's girl," he said, teeth grit.

She shrugged silently, wearing small smile. Like this was funny to her in an "I saw an amusing meme" way, and it made Adam want to break the human's neck.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Adam could hear the periods between each clap. Someone trying and failing to start one of those slow claps that only existed in fiction. There, on Adam's couch, sat Torchwich. Like the girl, he hadn't been there moments ago.

"You know you're supposed to drink coffee, not stab it, right?" he said, smiling just the same as his girl.

Adam didn't sheathe the sword, instead holding the human's gaze. He was obviously here through some trick. Did one of them have a stealth Semblance. "You know you're not supposed to sleep with the kids you pick up at daycare, right?"

Torchwick's girl sneered in genuine offense, tightening her grip on the umbrella. She tensed, readying for some kind of jab. It gave Adam the warm fuzzies somehow.

"Actually, I picked her up at the abortion clinic," Torchwick said with a shrug. "Her mother was shocked they wouldn't accept her in her 33rd trimester."

And just like that, the casual ease the human had deflected the jab officially ruined Adam's day. Even if the girl still looked a little hurt, he'd been trying to piss the drug lord off. He'd even seen it in his eyes. For a moment, he'd been about to fight Adam and defend the girl.

Instead, this.

"How'd you get in here?" Adam demanded.

Torchwick sat forwards, leaning on his cane. "There was a door. We knocked. And legally if no answers the door, the home and everything in it belongs to you. I know faunus can see in the dark, but do you have to keep things so dim here? Serious mood lighting issues."

"Why are you here?"

"There's been some complications I'm aiming to exploit, my boy, and I had the sneaking suspicion that asking you over scroll would get a no. You're more about the face-to-face. Besides," he added offhandedly, "I've always wanted to see how faunus hold scrolls. Like, which ears, the human ones, or the animal ones."

Adam wasn't going to dignify that with an answer. Besides, any idiot could look at Adam and tell his trait was his horns. Adam Taurus. Not exactly the most subtle name, but after the Faunus Rights Revolution, the often barely literate faunus were just excited to have surname for themselves. Made them feel like people. Most of those names weren't very complex, or were just lifted wholesale from their faunus heroes. That's why you got so many people named Khan, Belladonna, or Jingwei. What would you expect from recently freed slaves?

Keeping one eye on the still rather offended girl and her obnoxiously tri-colored hair, Adam leaned down to grab his scroll off the ground. He could tell Roman's not going to give any answers but what he came here for.

"Complications," Adam echoed, finally sheathing his sword.

The gangster tapped on his cane, still sitting there on Adam's very comfortable couch. Honestly, Adam was more pissed that he'd stolen the couch than a lot of other things right now. He couldn't sit down now. And it wasn't like Adam was going to sit next to the racist bastard.

"Merlot's pets are freaking out in the Forever Fall Forest. Apparently some Huntsmen got ahold of a rather important experiment of his."

"And this concerns me how?" Adam asked.

"Merlot's trying to isolate the problem, but I'm pretty sure that means he's turning it into an experiment," Torchwick said. "And that gives us an opportunity. For now it seems only a few people know about the situation."

Adam knew a good deal about the Forever Fall Forest. As with most places in or around Vale, the White Fang had hidden caches there and predetermined trails. Also, its name was a lie. It snowed there. He'd seen it. More to the point, like the now burning Emerald Forest, it was near enough to Beacon Academy to make major events there a threat to the school. Students often went out that way to train. And give the presence of the Atlas military at the school…

"So no one knows about this but us?"

"Merlot jammed communications in the area for anything not running our proprietary software. They're alone in the dark. I only know because I have my ear to Merlot's wall. A couple wallflies here and there." He shrugged, gesturing with his cane.

Adam contemplated. "If they die, Merlot wins, and conceals his involvement in the area. At least for the time being. Meanwhile, if we commit resources to helping them subtly, we'd further distract and tax Atlas and Vale. This is where you're going with."

"Look who's on the ball! Clap, clap, clap, my poignant circus seal."

Someday soon Adam would kill this human. He swore it to himself for the umpteenth time. Something he did so often it was starting to lose meaning, like repeating a word over and over until it's just noise. I swear murder on you, I swear murder on you, I swear murder on you. He should just make business cards and hand them out to Torchwick. He'd count the cards on the human's corpse to figure out how many times he's promised himself to kill the man.

It seemed more efficient than the countless silent grudges.

"I don't fully see how this helps me."

Torchwick sighed and stood. "Look, I'm trying to be polite. That fiery bitch in the designer dress made it clear I could use your foals and fillies in Vale as I saw fit. I'm trying to be diplomatic and get your okay and cooperation, Adam." He swung his cane over his shoulder. "Just because we'll betray each other as soon as Cinder's gone doesn't mean we can't be civil till then."

Somehow, that got a toothy little smile from Adam.

"So, Mr. Taurus," Torchwich continued, making his way over to the coffee counter, swinging that cane like a two-bit musical. "We use White Fang units in the area to help the kids. Background, of course. Maybe just blow up some of the Dust we're hiding in the area. Maybe use White Fangs agents embedded in Atlas' little fleet. And once Vale and Atlas move their military in to bomb another problem, and while Merlot is panicked, we do our ops in the city. Maybe 'lose' a few Dust shipments. Skim a little off the top for us, and not Cinder. She and Merlot will be too distracted to notice."

"It's very ad-hoc," Adam said noncommittally. Especially the part about White Fang in the fleet. True or not, those would be Logan's men, not Adam's. But Adam doubted Roman was privy to or cared about the differences between White Fang cells.

"It's a new development," the gangster said easily. "I'm making things up as I go. Came here like greased lightning as soon as smelled we had us an opportunity. I'm going to take it, no matter how little ground it gets us. Ground advanced is, after all, ground advanced. You've been there, I'm sure." He gave a flippant, one-handed shrug. "Same logic as bombing schools or whatever you'd be doing without my guidance."

Adam grunted, folding his arms in an almost unconsciously defensive gesture.

Torchwick smiled. "So, you in?"

No. He could feel the word on his lips. Sure, Torchwick's plan had merit. But it was too aggressive. Too risky. And impulsive as a jackalope. While Adam hated Merlot and Cinder as much as the gangster did, he wasn't about to risk this. Faunus could die needlessly doing it. It might risk White Fang sleeper assets in Atlas' fleet. And it was so brazen it risked Cinder finding out. No.

But it never came out. As Torchwick leaned against the bartop, his girl set an ashtray from under the counter before him. The man looked mildly surprised and pleased in equal measure. A moment later he'd taken a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket, shook one out, and set it against the packet's sidelong ignition patch.

"So how 'bout it?" he said around the cigarette, only to frown at Adam's expression. "What, not a fan of smoking? C'mon. This is Vale; everyone smokes. Back home in Atlas they were trying to outlaw these things."

"That brand," Adam said, prompting Torchwick to hold the packet up. The logo read Nine Lives. "It's from Menagerie."

Torchwick looked at the pack passively. "Best tobacco (and cheapest cigarettes) come from Menagerie. The price matters. You know how much sales tax they put on these?" He grumbled. "'S about the only tax I even pay anymore."

But Adam barely heard him. Nine Lives. That'd been Ghira's favorite brand. Hell, Adam had a pack of that very same brand lying around somewhere in this room. He wasn't a smoker, but, y'know, sometimes. Another habit he'd picked up from Ghira which the old lion had eventually discarded.

Why's the brand I buy the same one Ghira bought?

A world and a decade away, and Adam kept finding bits of Ghira in his life. Or rather, the man Ghira used to be. The Lion of Belladonna. And then there was Adam Taurus. Leader of Vale's White Fang. Who and what was he, really?

Was he Logan Rawne, the legendary insurgent who led the Atlas White Fang. Or maybe Sister Tadaimo, the prophet of Tekitomura, rallying the poor of Mistral. Perhaps he was the gorgeous Songbird, the hidden dagger fighting for every faunus in Vacuo. Possibly he was like his Grimm-eating mentor, the Wolf, who was more animal than man, but always there when faunus needed him. Could he hold a candle to Sienna Khan, the hardened veteran of the Northern Expedition, and the hero who turned the White Fang once more into an organization for progress and chance?

There were heroes. And then there was Adam Taurus. The cowed dog who lurked in the shadows of Vale's underbelly, hiding behind his mask, and wagging his tail scared whenever that Cinder bitch snapped her manicured fingers. He should be a hero. He can feel it in his gut; his White Fang are on some historical precipice. They were close to greatness. Are close to something great. But instead of making the difference he's always dreamed of, striking at the hearts of faunuskind's oppressors, he's just some bunny on a superheated leash.

A coward. A weakling. Ghira Belladonna come again. And no one will care.

If Ghira were me, he'd tell Torchwick no for the same reasons I was going to.

"Alright, fine," Torchwick said with exasperation. "These are yours. Neo and I stole them before you got here. Happy?"

"Yes," he said, the word slipping out as if he'd sprung a verbal leak.

Torchwick blinked, like that was the last thing he'd been expected. "Oh, uh, that's good, I guess. Happiness is nice."

"No," Adam said quietly, flexing his fingers, and staring at his hands. "Not those. The plan. Yes, the White Fang is in."

He knew who he was. He was Adam Taurus. The slave boy from Mantle. He'd come from less than nothing to the champion of half a continent's faunus. He was the man who would break the chains binding his people and use them to strangle their oppressors. Starting with Cinder.

For the price of freedom is eternal violence.