Chapter 8: Oh God Cinder has Airpods in, She Can't Hear You!
"...and a Fall Maiden with a surname so appropriate, she probably picked it herself. Something tells me you've got more than a slight case of egomania, is that right?"
— 16 —
The Number hurt. It did that from time to time. There was always the Number. Ozpin made sure of that. At first it was with a knife. Still usually was. But self-mutilation is a practice not endorsed by the makers of the new flesh, and rarely welcome to new flesh either. So sometimes it was a knife. Sometimes he used a brand. More recently, it'd become easier to tattoo the Number into his skin.
The Number hurt. He could feel the outline of the tattoo. Even without seeing it, he could read the count. It reminded him of how far he'd come, and how often he'd failed before. Why it hurt was beyond Ozpin. The strands of altered carbon that made him up from corpse to corpse were never consistent. Sometimes it hurt with a kind of premonition of real knowledge, leading him to make better choices. Sometimes it hurt when someone was lying to him. Occasionally, the Number ached because it was going to rain. One might even be tempted to say there was nothing consistent about the Number. But live as long as Ozpin has, and you'll find the patterns.
The Number hurt. And this time Ozpin knew why.
The report on his desk was, at best, schizophrenic, and at worst nearly useless. Gathered by Atlas officials from an inured, barely coherent team of fresh-faced students, Ozpin supposed he couldn't help it. And it was bad for the kids, too.
Just look at Ruby Rose. Severe bruising, a concussion, mild acid burns, a ruptured eardrum and a critical case of exhaustion so bad the Atlas medical officers almost administered her tetrameth. The siren-headed Grimm now known as "Dead Air" had possessed some debilitating effect on everyone out there with an active Aura. Things looked awful even before you got to Indigo Jack, currently listed as "missing" only because Ozpin refused to admit to another dead student so soon after the Emerald Forest disaster. Not if he could put it off any longer.
His plan had been perfect, too. Eight young and motivated students, including Summer Rose's daughter, the heir to Nicholas' legacy, and an Arc with a heart in the right place, had wanted to help and be Huntsmen. Ozpin had sent them somewhere nearby where they could feel important, but wouldn't really be doing anything. A way to get them out of his overworked hair while letting them feel like he trusted them. His inland empire said those eight students would come in use one day. Two more team STRQs in the making.
Ozpin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was getting ahead of himself. Professor Gylnda had tried to tighten up the report into something more manageable. Practically bullet points.
Students show up to archaeologist dig in Forever Fall Forest. Students wander. Encounter strange crates, odd Grimm behavior, and a mutant white beowolf that left a corpse. Students recover it to camp. Camp is attacked by a swarm of Grimm. Scrolls are down so no one can call for help, but a random unscheduled radar scan done by mistake of a faunus signals officer on an Atlas battleship sees the horde and goes to help.
Students build defenses with Dust. Local head archaeologist, Coraline de Scavi, attempts to protect treasures. Dead Air arrives; its sounds cause pain and damage to the students. Weiss Schnee overuses her Aura and goes down. Dead Air brings in more Grimm and breaks the defenses. Ruby Rose, Cielo Noel, Cards Adler are badly injured. Pyrrha Nikos is wounded somehow too. Jaune Arc and Chloe Weaver try to protect wounded friends. Indigo Jack realizes the Grimm are actually there for a purpose; he grabs the mysterious white wolf and runs off with it, taking the swarm with him. Mysterious flares show up to help the battleship aim, as even its radio communications are jammed.
All that was pieced together from seven sketchy student reports and the official AAR from Atlas. They were plagued with conflicting information. Two students expressly noted that Indigo Jack called for help, for example, despite no such call existing. There's a reason why there's a class at Beacon to teach Huntsman how to write and tell reports.
Someone's watch beeped. Ozpin looked up from his desk. Glynda Goodwitch, Headmistress of Beacon, pretended like it wasn't her fault just long enough for Oz to go from a pang of annoyance to a smudge of amusement. She straightened out her black pencil skirt as if trying to look good before a crowd.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said dryly. "That's your five minutes of silent brooding used up for the day. I'm afraid you'll have to brood out loud or get back to work."
Ozpin sighed, reaching for his coffee cup. From the window of his office, he could see… well, nothing. Vale's artillery corps had been more than a little overzealous. Perhaps trying to compete with Atlas' airship batteries. Or maybe just trying to flex on Huntsmen. Whatever the case, the Emerald Forest was still burning. Even in broad daylight, the fires turned the air a dusky red. The ash and dust had gotten so bad the word had been given from the officials that anyone on the campus grounds outside had to wear a mask. They said it'd be a day or two longer before the fire finally burned through the last of the fuel in the perimeter and air cleared up. Till then, Atlas' ships only flew but for the grace of three-dimensional radar.
"Six minutes," Ozpin said, humoring her. Negotiating.
"No," Glynda said.
"Don't I pay your salary?"
"You're lucky I'm not hourly," she groused.
"Oh, I'm sure I could write it off on the school's taxes somehow," he said, sipping the coffee. He wasn't kidding. Ozpin's last life had helped write Vale's modern tax code. He knew the loopholes. He put them there on purpose. Democracy was a joke. Just like any form of government. "So allow me to think out loud."
Glynda took a chair and folded her arms.
"Right now our cigarette is burning," he said. "And I can't afford to let people know when we ash it. Fresh students are dead. We've lost both the Emerald Forest and Forever Fall Forest to legendary Grimm. The same people who tried to kill Amber now possess her. It's like Mountain Glenn all over again."
Or Hartsford. Old Esztergom. Dar-es-Salaam. Really, he could go on. As frustrating and terrifying as times like this could be, they were things that happened. Sometimes Ozpin won. Sometimes she won. Most of the time you couldn't really tell which was which.
The Number Hurt.
Callous as it was, the forest and dead children were the least of his problems. Just more complications to the Amber issue. Every monitor in the forest had been hacked. Sophisticated software, too. And just when Ozpin had committed the teachers, veteran students, and the Brothers-kissed military to help the freshmen, the facilities beneath Beacon bore witness to a surgical strike. Advanced combat droids and three Aura users. And he only knew that from eyewitness accounts.
In hindsight, it was obvious. He should have seen what was going to happen. The smartest move should have left the freshmen to their fate in order to shore Amber up. Dead children meant little in the long run when it came to a Maiden.
But evil through inaction is as bad as evil through action. See, the human eye is an amazing organ. With just the tiniest bit of effort, it can ignore even the most blatant of evils. Effort, though, was key. And Ozpin was, to the surprise of many, lazy at heart.
"I think this is all established, Ozpin," Glynda said. "I feel like you're on loop now."
"Just the facts," he said, removing his glasses. "I see the problems, but the tools I require to quickly resolve it are out of reach. We don't have a team STRQ anymore. Of the current student body we have no Huntsmen ready to fill those shoes. I had hopes for those eight students to fill the role, but you can see where they are."
"So resolve it slowly."
"Time would usually be on my side, but." He made a distracted gesture. "This is different. I usually can play defense. But this looks like it requires an offensive touch."
No new real information. It was just an annoying admission of the facts. Denial wasn't something Ozpin had ever been good at, in any case. Right now was a moment where, while not helpless, he was just in a bad place.
But he'd been in worse places before, and Remnant was still standing.
Glynda threw her blonde hair back. "The brooding rule applies to you, too. You wanted to be here so badly."
The only other person loitering about Ozpin's towertop office looked over his shoulder. Seven feet tall in his black and white armor, the Slayer looked more like a Grimm than a man. More than a handful of students had made that mistake. Thank your pagan god of choice that Beacon has top notch healthcare. And that he had a professor's tenure.
Ozpin had to wonder if his ever-present suit looked that way due to personal preference, or some sort of self-administered punishment from when he was one of her agents. Like how he insisted no one use his actual name, electing instead to use Slayer, an archaic term for Huntsmen still in use out in the parts of the frontier the man had come from.
Honestly, it was probably because the man just liked to pretend he was more mysterious than he was. He'd found an image for himself he liked and wanted to keep it. His name was Atreus, by the way.
Rather than directly reply, the Slayer held "Core-tan" in one massive armored hand.. Rhombus shaped, his mechanical normally hovered around the man. There was something childish and petulant in the way he softly stroked the deactivated robot. Maybe it was for the best he was wearing his helmet. His expression might have made Ozpin laugh.
Glynda rolled her eyes. "Please. Like I was going to let your voice assistant record this."
"Useful," the Slayer rumbled, his voice like something loudly mumbling from within an oaken barrel. It hurt him to speak too much.
"Oh, please."
The man stiffened. Ozpin half thought he was about to launch the robot at her. Instead, he said, "Resume activities. Prepare for Vytal."
She made a show of counting off her fingers. "Hmm. Five words. A new record."
"Speech Therapy's helping." Something in that rumble brought to Ozpin's mind a scrappy tyke trying to stand up to the neighborhood bully. Pathetically, but trying.
The Slayer did a lot of trying. Ozpin suspected some of it was from jealousy. A desire to be given more responsibility than someone like Glynda or Qrow. Sure, his time with the Grimm Reaper had educated him more on silver eyes than your average teacher, but he wasn't part of Ozpin's innermost circle. Just someone incredibly knowledgeable, useful, and most important violent that Ozpin knew best to keep at close distance. The Slayer didn't know the full story behind anything, and it was probably better to keep it that way. Ozpin had a lot of people like that. Ask Professor Oobleck or "the Mailman."
"He's right," Ozpin said before Glynda and the man could start arguing. "Stating the obvious, but right. This is the new normal. We will do our best to pretend like it's the old normal. We'll get classes back. Resume work on the upcoming Vytal festival. Try to pull some victory out of all this for the public. That's the most important part. Soothing public doubts and worries.
"And working beneath it to track Amber down," Glynda said
Ozpin nodded. "There are a great many factors at work. A great many obstacles, too. Most of them human."
The Slayer shifted, his heavy armor rattling softly. "Silver eyes."
Ozpins's expression went wry. He templed his hands before himself. Without full knowledge of Maidens, that would be his main point. "Miss Rose isn't even aware she has them, much less knows how to use them. It'll be a project. One we shouldn't rush."
"You and your secrets," he groused with a hint of annoyance.
You have no idea, Atreus, Ozpin thought.
"That being the case," Glynda added, "as much as I'm loathe to admit it, we'll probably need to contact Qrow. Wherever he is."
"Because he'll be so thrilled to discover I've drafted his niece into Beacon and nearly gotten her killed twice in as many days." Ozpin said with a grimace.
"He has a spare niece," the Slayer said.
Ozpin chuckled despite himself. It was going to be a long couple of days filled with little sleep, lots of scroll calls, and mountains of paperwork.
Sometimes, he almost thought it'd be easier to just let her win. Almost.
— 17 —
Of all the flaws most jumpsome to the human form, none was worse than casual addiction. Doctor Merlot knew this for a fact. He'd once tried to give a beowolf a cigarette, and not only had it not gotten addicted, it murdered and ate the man who offered it the free hit.
That alone was proof of the superiority of Grimm.
Still, there was something electric in the way Cinder snapped her fingers to light the good doctor's cigarette. It was her Semblance, he knew. She'd once called it Scorching Caress. But the parasite had enhanced it. Turned it from merely an expression of the soul into something sharing an origin with the Grimm themselves.
The Old Magic.
"Thank you," he said, taking a drag on the cigarette. One eye looked across his island, his other and mechanical eye scrolled through data. Hacked information from Beacon, data feeds from current experiments here on the island, a livestream from a Grimm eating a dead archaeologist. He flipped through them, scanning for relevant information, and moved on.
Salem's Other Lot was a recent name for his little slice of heaven. Something he couldn't stop himself from. The island of Doctor Merlot wasn't on any maps. You'd be amazed how much of the world was still a mystery. Back when Merlot Industries was still an economic titan, he'd purchased the island from a pirate warlord in exchange for helping him launder his plunder. Best part was he had been able to write off the purchase on his taxes.
Everything had come together to let him build his true laboratory here. Mountain Glenn had just been a proof of concept. Here, he had his automata, his factories, testing sites, and miles of empty wilderness. Usually empty. Sometimes the slaves he bought to help test Grimm on tried to form communities out there. It was funny. Their sacrifice for the greater destiny of humanity would not go in vain.
Another drag on the cigarette. He stood there on a balcony, overlooking his little harbor. It was mostly drones and automata down there, loading and unloading captured Grimm. Recently, and to his annoyance, Cinder had insisted on using White Fang agents to help on the island. That fool Roman's ideas. Helping them study the Fall Maiden and her soul sarcophagus. Like he needed their help. But their alliance was a delicate balance.
Oh, and Skipper. Good ol' Skipper was down there too.
The gorgeous Cinder Fall smiled that wicked smile of hers at him. That was the thing about Cinder. She had the face of an angel, but a personality like the sound of an ironing board being unfolded. "So this won't be a problem, then?"
Dr. Merlot held his cigarette in his right arm, a mechanical thing with red circuits. Like his left eye, another casualty of what needed to be done in Mountain Glenn. When he thought of it like that, he could almost forgive Summer Rose for cutting it off. As if merely dying could keep the good doctor from his work.
"We lost a lot of our lusi naturae out there," Dr. Merlot said, gesturing vaguely. "The few of our medically enhanced specimens out there were put in danger. We're down to a handful, plus Dead Air. I hate losing progress, but what's done is done." He ashed the cigarettes over the edge of the balcony, checking his plants in Beacon's system. "They still have no idea I'm in the area. The only thing they know is that you're working for her when we captured Amber. And even then, nothing specific."
Cinder frowned tightly. He knew how badly she wanted to kill Amber. Equip that magnificent glove from Salem herself and steal what was left of Amber's soul. She was this close to unimaginable power. Dr. Merlot would never let that happen so long as there was something in this to study. Breakthroughs to make.
Our Lady of the Upside-Down knew about her Grimm. She had answers to questions that plagued Merlot for decades. But, in a strange twist of fate, she didn't know the science behind it. What actually makes Grimm tick? Why does the sentient soul express itself in Aura? How does magic, once he had confirmation from Our Lady it was real, actually work? She had tried to play it off, but Dr. Merlot saw through the façade.
Sufficiently studied magic is indistinguishable from science.
And as long as he had the cards in his deck to leverage it, he would keep Cinder away from the other half of the Maiden's power. The powers of the Great and Terrible Ozpin were only half of the puzzle. The Old Magic. The rest lay in Salem and the Grimm.
"That being said," Cinder added, looking out meaningfully at a faunus down below, "the real danger are our allies."
Dr. Merlot frowned. "Roman and Adam? Who cares about them. Use them. Destroy Beacon to buy us more time before Ozpin can get back to work. Let them all die in the carnage afterwards.
"You don't find it funny how White Fang agents just happened to be in the area?"
He shrugged. "They helped prevent Ozpin from getting his hands on my work. All else is barely relevant. Besides, you recruited them. They know if they cross us, they'll die."
"When," she insisted.
The good doctor dragged on his cigarette. "Time is on our side either way," he dismissed. "Beacon is wounded. Ozpin is on the backfoot. And more importantly, we have the Fall Maiden. All we have to do is play defense. Keep our cards close to our chest. Distract Oz and his cronies with the occasional attack and false flag. The ball is in our court."
Cinder leaned against the balcony railing. He was correct and she didn't like it. Dr. Merlot couldn't entirely blame her. All the work she put in, and now they were in the best possible position they could be in. But Cinder wasn't a girl who liked to sit back. She may have been personally chosen by Salem, but she didn't have the old witch's patience. Couldn't sit back and build.
Dr. Merlot hoped it would get her killed.
The ageless Salem could afford patience. To a degree that the good doctor envied. It was part of her mystique, her allure. Orcus need not leave his throne if his enemies will die of old age before they reach him. The only problem was her motivation. In Salem he had seen perfection. He had seen synthesis. Human of soul, yet Grimm of flesh. Unknown to death, nor known to life. The melding of Light and Dark. The destiny of the human race. And with his research, the Old Magic understood by the New Science, Dr. Merlot knew he could reproduce what Salem was.
The Red Queen Hypothesis come to its logical conclusion. Evolution would run aground upon the shores of perfection.
The sound of seagulls and the mechanical crane only interrupted when she let out a sigh. "I'm going to Beacon," she said. "Infiltrating it. As a student."
"I generally approve when humans commit suicide," he said mildly.
"Roman and Adam are useful, but they need nearby reminders to stay loyal until we're done with them," she said. "And we need people close to the ground to react to anything when it comes up."
"You're hamstering," he said, exhaling smoke. "I can see the little rodent in your head, right now. Running and running on his wheel to find excuses to do this. Feed him a carrot or something for his effort, woman."
She turned her amber eyes to him sharply. "I don't need your approval."
"Just my support."
"You will support me because you have no choice."
Debatable. And Dr. Merlot would win that debate. Goddamn Beacon Academy debate club chairman three years running, he was. Ozpin had to kick him out because he made too many of Beacon's students cry, since it was "behavior unbecoming a teacher." Another reason why he hated Ozpin.
"Alright," Dr. Merlot said, having no desire to stand in her way. More time spent not bothering him was more time he didn't have to worry about her jumping the gun and killing Amber. Cider couldn't sit still. That was fine. And she wanted to micromanage her enslaved allies. Fine by the good doctor.
Cinder nodded with the finality of a plastic guillotine. "Excellent. Now!" She turned towards the industrial harbor. "I'm going to need transport back to Vale."
a/n: A somewhat slower chapter. Mostly just summarizes events and sets out goals for Ozpin, Cinder, and Dr. Merlot.
a/n: Glossary of Colloquialisms
a.) Inland Empire — 1) Intuition, a gut feeling, hunch — A now dated psychological term referring to one's unfiltered emotions, dreams, and forebodings. Nowadays it is mostly only heard as "ins/innie," which is Vale Catchfire slang. The original term is sometimes used, although its meaning is almost always in the colloquial term.
