Ozpin sat in his personal vehicle, eyes staring forward, not focusing on anything in particular. Glynda was beside him, seat tilted all the way back, eyes closed. This was the most confined space they could think of that they could fully, silently, check over. There was no one listening. Ozpin was going over details of the past few days; the little things that had drawn a second glance, but he'd had no time for while dealing with Xiao Long and Rose. Rather, dealing with Ironwood's efforts to deal with them.
Glynda sat up, bringing her seat back up with her. Her eyes had widened.
"I said I wanted to shoot him," She said, "I said I wanted to see if he was bulletproof and then he got sniped. He knows it was me, and he knows that I know."
"Glynda, please stay calm," Ozpin said, "Ironwood didn't-
She grabbed Ozpin's coffee mug.
"Wait, that has scotch in- okay."
She set the empty mug down, and put her face in her hands.
"Ironwood didn't plant the bug."
Glynda looked up, her eyes darting back and forth, processing these words. She'd been stepping up her plans in her head.
"How do you-?"
"Those were store-bought electronics. Cheap. Home-made. And why would he put the bug in the picture frame? That's amateur work; hence, why it was so easily spotted. He'd have put it in the vents."
"Rose?" Goodwitch asked, "To help her and her sister escape?"
"Underestimating those girls is quickly proving unwise," Ozpin said, "But still, I don't believe it was her. Why would she build a bug? Where would she even get those supplies? Why not steal one of the bugs from our own tech department? Something else is going on here."
Glynda rubbed her temples.
"Then... who?"
"Someone who remains elusive," Ozpin said, "Someone whose connection to Xiao Long and Rose is uncertain."
"How do we proceed?" Glynda asked, "Because if there's a chance Ironwood knows I took a shot at him-"
"You will be stepping up your efforts, yes," Ozpin said, "Another option: how does a few days travel sound?"
"You mean like a vacation?"
"We now know that the Atlas Initiative was involved in the cleanup of the Branwen household," Ozpin said, "And we can take it as a given that there's more about those events that James hasn't told us."
"Keeping me out of harm's way?" Glynda asked, adding an edge of mock disgust.
"I don't imagine so," Ozpin said, "Mantle Hospital. Los Angeles. Look for Dr. Pietro Polendina. Pull on any threads he points you towards. I'll hold down the fort as best as I can without you."
"For the record," Glynda said, throwing open the door, "I would have preferred the vacation."
Detroit was a sprawl of closing businesses, dilapidated housing, and mothballed factories. The so-called "Aberrant Border Crisis" had devastated the already struggling economy. Politicians and newscasters on both ends of the political spectrum called Detroit a war zone, and from what Yang could see, they weren't far off. Pedestrians were gathered around burning trash cans, shopping carts were pushed through the streets, and traffic was dominated by massive, heavily armoured police vehicles that blurred the line between an SUV and a tank.
"What do you think, Ruby?" Yang asked.
"I think the local cops and ICE are in a dick-measuring contest over who has the coolest army toys," Ruby said.
Indeed, each of the armoured vehicles displayed the force they represented in massive lettering. The Detroit Police Department seemed to have the edge in armour, but Immigration Control and Enforcement was unquestioned in their firepower. Their vehicles boasted mounted guns and hydro cannons, usually with a gunner covered head to toe in Kevlar. Yang even saw a troop truck roll by them at one point, ICE agents lined up in the back with combat shotguns and assault rifles, bristling with cumbersome amounts of attachments.
"Remember, as far we know, Atlas isn't working with ICE," Yang said, "Not directly. We keep our heads down, and we should be fine."
Every once in a while, the curving street would bring the river into view. Windsor, Ontario was about a kilometer away.
"Our guy is probably a smuggler," Yang said, "Now that I think about it."
Ruby was leaned back in her seat, peeking over the edge of the door out the window. She turned to Yang with a raised eyebrow.
"Wha?"
"A criminal in this town, who works with Post Humans?" Yang said, "Bet you any money he smuggles people. That girl might have been trying to give us a way into Canada."
"Should we?" Ruby asked.
"What, try to cross the border?" Yang asked, "Too risky. Besides, we don't know that Atlas can't operate in Canada. We don't know that they won't follow us illegally. And Canada's been dumping money into border defense since the Justice Act passed. We'd get a bunch of fuckin' Mounties chasing us."
"Because every Post Human in America has the same idea," Ruby said, with a dispirited sigh.
"For all we know, that line of paint on that bridge has booby traps on it that could even stop you."
"Yup."
Things were quiet for a moment.
"We'll find somewhere," Yang said, "We'll lose their trail, and... settle in some small town."
"I hope so," Ruby said, "I don't want us to spend the rest of our lives running."
Yang sighed. She thought back to her mother's words, the day Yang had learned she was Post Human; the dire warning she'd eavesdropped on. She'd slinked back to her room, the need to not alert her parents to her presence suddenly feeling far graver. She'd never told her mother what she'd overheard.
"Me neither, kid," Yang said, "Maybe New Mexico could-"
Yang slammed on the brakes. A pedestrian had stumbled into the street in front of them, greasy hair going in all directions, vomit encrusted in his beard and wifebeater. He held a 2-liter 7up bottle, half filled with a murky fluid that was decidedly not the beverage that came in the bottle. Yang managed to come to a stop just before striking him, and he leaned on the hood of the car for support without looking in their direction. He took a swig from the bottle, and Yang hit the horn. He stumbled a step away, gave them the finger, and wandered off towards the other side of the street. Yang shook her head, and pulled forward.
Junior Xiong's club, simply titled Jr's, was a modest step above the urban decay elsewhere in the city. The sidewalks were clear of trash, and not every alley had a tweaker or extremely obvious mugger hiding in it. Security around the place was all burly, heavy-set men with slicked back hair and nice suits. Yang imagined that this part of town being able to keep up appearances was as much to the credit of the local mob as to the city's governance. She pulled up across the road, looking at the brightly lit sign that contrasted the dull light of the meager nightlife around it.
"I'm not looking to start a fight in there," Yang said, "I'm just going to go in and see what he has to offer."
"Right."
"If things go south, I'm leaving through the wall. Keep up with me. I'll be meaning to shake anybody following me."
"Lot of drones in the air," Ruby said, "No good place to stand and fight."
"Exactly," Yang nodded, "Wait here."
Ruby nodded, clicked the radio on, and leaned back in her seat. Yang stepped out of the vehicle, closed the door, and turned back to her sister. Without looking, Ruby clicked the locks, a metallic chunk emanating from each door. Ruby gave Yang a thumbs-up, and Yang nodded. Then, she turned and walked across the street towards Jr's.
The door boasted a line of people, better dressed then quite fit their surroundings. Men wore suits and ostentatious gold chains, the tattoos underneath only hinted at by what was visible on their knuckles and necks. The women were in varying degrees of revealing attire. The bouncer looked to be about 250 pounds, dwarfing the gangster currently appealing for entrance. Yang guessed that she'd probably crack most of the bouncer's ribs putting him through the door behind him.
She slipped to the side of the building, into the alley. She gave as casual a glance over her shoulder as she could, confirming none of the guards were watching around the corner. She slipped around a dumpster on her way towards the back of the building. A chain link fence was in the way, the metal wiring coming apart like tissue in Yang's fingers. She tore a large enough hole and snuck through, heading towards the back of the building.
An employee was out back, having a smoke under a buzzing lamp. Yang slipped up to the corner of the brickwork. She crouched and snuck a peek. The kid looked about 20. The jagged lettering of the band name on his shirt was cut off by his dirty apron. His cigarette still had half its length left. After a moment, the door opened behind him.
"Ricky, get the fucking garbage taken care of and get in here, smoke on your own goddam time," An angry voice shouted from within.
Ricky hurriedly put out the cigarette and tossed the bag of garbage that sat at his side towards the cans, missing completely. He hurried back inside and the door closed. Yang snuck towards the door, keeping her head swiveling.
"Just go butt heads with the Detroit mob," Yang whispered to herself, "Because who cares at this point?"
She slipped her hand into the door handle, and gave it a tug. It was locked. She glanced around, looking for any cameras. When she confirmed there were none, she tugged again, and this time the bolt was torn from the door. Without time to assess the view inside, she slipped in. The door lead into a back hallway, shouts of orders and the smell of cooking food from one end, and the heavy pulse of electronic music at the other. Yang moved towards the music, past the bathrooms, and emerged onto the dance floor.
Lights glittered and a crowd of bodies moved to the thumping music. Yang walked purposefully through the crowd, taking a slightly roundabout path to reach the bar, obscuring her entrance from behind it. The bar was hardwood with fancy leather bar chairs. It somewhat clashed with the lighted flooring and choice of music, but as far as Yang was concerned, it was a step in the right direction. Behind the bar, a burly, bearded man, who looked to be in his mid 30s, was mixing a drink. His suit looked far too expensive for an actual bartender.
Ruby had read from Hei Xiong Jr's Wikipedia page on the way to Detroit, and skimmed the first page or two of Google results. He was apparently well known in Detroit for tending bar at his own club as a hobby. Yang had taken that as the easiest route to answers. Seeing the amount of muscle surrounding Xiong, each thug trying to look discrete despite their bulk, did little to dissuade her. Bad as this idea might be, it wasn't like they had many better options.
Junior was speaking to another man standing in front of the bar. Yang took a seat, near enough to him at the mostly empty bar that it was clearly intentional. This drew an irritated glance from Junior, but he didn't pause in what he was saying to the other man, nor make any attempt to hush his voice.
"I'm not saying I can't work with her," He said, "I'm saying I don't like it when I feel like we're getting used. She plays people, and we aren't going to be pawns. Tell her that from me."
The other man nodded, and took a swig of his drink.
Yell at him, Yang thought, Yell out his name.
"And see to that soon," Junior added.
The man nodded, and walked off.
Junior made a show of running his cloth over the immaculately clean spot in front of him. After a moment, he folded it over his arm, and stepped over to Yang.
"What can I get you?" He asked.
"Junior Xiong?"
Another glimmer of irritation.
"Would you like a drink, or do you need to be shown the door?"
Grab him by his collar, She thought.
She looked up at him, with sudden unbroken eye contact.
"Please, listen," Yang said, "I was given your name by a Post Human girl. I need your help."
Junior's face was like stone. There was an uncomfortably long silence. One of the suited thugs standing a short distance away took a step forward. Yang barely caught the hand movement from Junior that stopped him.
He walked away, down the bar, and exited through a door at the end marked 'Employees Only'. Yang made a genuine effort to suppress her first impulse. Then, she hopped off the chair, and followed after him. One of the thugs spotted her as she marched towards the door, but made no attempt to stop her. He put a finger to his ear piece and spoke a few words. Yang ignored him as she threw the door open in front of her.
At first striding boldly into the room, Yang was brought to a halt by perhaps the last sight she would have expected. A girl in a white dress, who could have been no older than Yang herself. She had shoulder length black hair that hung about her face, appearing almost soaking wet. Her eyes darted, inquisitive and focused, about Yang's face. Yang was taken aback for a moment, staring at the girl in front of her instead of looking at the rest of the room.
Heavy hands clamped down on both of Yang's shoulders. The thug on her left pushed his handgun against her temple, and the one on her right pushed the muzzle hard enough for her to feel it in the small of her back. Yang gritted her teeth, cursing under her breath.
The room was something like a private lounge. An arrangement of leather couches, fine wooden furniture, and a mini bar with far more extravagantly shaped bottles than were on display outside. Junior Xiong stood in the center of the room, holding a tumbler of whiskey. A half dozen men were around him, hands slid into their jackets. A girl in a red dress, matching that of the girl in white, lounged in the seat nearest Junior, holding a martini glass. The two girls were almost identical in appearance, except where the girl in white's hair was wet and dirty, the girl in red's hair was elaborately done up in braids and buns. Where the white dress was stained and hung with loose threads, the red dress looked brand new.
"Thought so," Junior said, "I guess we can rule out you being a cop. No cop would be that brazen. Or stupid."
"I came to you because the cops are trying to kill me and my younger sister."
The girl in white darted forward, causing Yang to withdraw slightly. The two thugs tightened their grips. Yang could still get out of this, she imagined, if she got lucky. The girl waved a finger in front of Yang's face. Yang followed the finger in confusion. The girl smiled, turned and nodded to her twin.
"She has an Ability," The girl in red said.
Yang couldn't help but smirk; the grips that the thugs had on her had immediately loosened, just a little. Junior sipped his drink.
"I'm willing to bet a bullet in the head will still kill you," Junior said, "Check her, then sit her down."
She was marched forward into the room, the girl in white slipping out of the way. The thug on her right patted her down, looking for weapons, or maybe a badge. He pulled the two burner phones out of her jacket pockets, and the fold of cash from her back pocket. Then, she was guided into the seat across from the girl in red. The muzzle of the pistol against Yang's head never moved away. A waved hand from Junior caused the girl to shift to the couch to her left, while Junior took his own seat.
"Talk. Be concise." He said.
"My sister and I are both Post Human," Yang said, "We're being hunted. We were given your name by another Post Human, but I don't know why."
"You broke into my place and demanded my help on nothing more than my name?" Junior chuckled, "Wish half my guys had balls like yours."
"I'm looking into a lead," Yang said, "If you can't help me or won't, I'll leave. I don't want any trouble with you."
"This Post Human girl giving out my name," Junior said, "Who?"
"Didn't get her name," Yang said, "She looked... maybe indigenous. Uh... American Indian."
"For fuck's sake, her Ability, kid," Junior said, "Describe it."
"She was... precognitive, or something," Yang said, "Used it to fight; dodge attacks and shit. She was moving like a fucking cat."
Junior, to his credit, seemed to actually put thought into trying to place this description, though it was apparently a fruitless effort. Eventually, the girl in red leaned over and whispered in his ear. His eyes widened a little.
"Well, if it was her," Junior said, "You'd best not call her 'Indian' to her face."
"Noted." Yang said.
"And what do you want from me?" Junior asked, "Let me guess. You want me to load you and your sister into the catapult we got out back, and launch the both of you over the border."
Snickers from the thugs. The two girls on the coach sat in less than amused silence.
"I don't care if you find this funny," Yang said, know that trying to sound stern didn't matter at all, "My sister is in danger, and I-"
Junior held up a hand. He looked annoyed. Yang summoned all of her willpower to silence herself. The girl in red looked at her; a suspicious squint. Then, she whispered in Junior's ear. He seemed to consider whatever was said.
"Alright, kid," Junior said, "Let me be clear. This ain't how I usually do business."
"Probably not, but I'm in a jam."
"Usually," Junior continued, "Walking into my place like this, you'd be dead already."
"Any particular reason I'm not?"
"Your sister," Junior said, "How old?"
"She's 15."
"She has an Ability too?"
Yang held her answer for a moment. Eventually, she nodded, hoping she wouldn't regret it. The look on Junior's face was strange. The hint of concern was surely an act, but for what reason?
The girl in white whispered in her sister's ear, her eyes peaking past her at Junior. The girl in red smiled, and nodded. It threw Yang off enough to draw a glance. Junior followed Yang's eyes, his gaze never stopping on the strange girl. He rolled his eyes, and continued.
"Most people in your position don't take my advice," Junior said, "Most of 'em don't listen when I tell them trying to get across the border ain't what they want. Now, regardless of what you think, or what you heard, I don't fuck with border crossings. Tell me why."
Yang threw up her hands in frustration. The thug with the gun to her head tensed for a moment.
"Because the UN can't agree on whether or not human trafficking should come with a weapons trafficking charge if the humans involved are Aberrant," Yang said.
At the use of the word, the girl in white looked at Yang angrily. The girl in red placed a reassuring hand to her chest.
"Smarter than you look, then," Junior said, "What do you expect me to do for you?"
"Papers," Yang said, "Forged IDs that can get us across state lines. Nothing state-issued, they need to look federal."
Junior ran a hand over his beard. Yang wasn't sure what pros or cons he was weighing in his head, or how high dumping her body in an alley somewhere was on his list of options.
"California's nice this time of year, I suppose," Junior said.
Yang hoped her face didn't betray the string of curses that welled up in her throat.
Yang tapped on the driver's side window. Ruby glanced up from her smart phone. She hit the button on her door, unlocking the vehicle. Yang opened the door and climbed in, settling into the driver's seat with a slouch. She put her seat back a few notches, bringing her closer to Ruby's level. Ruby laid back to join her.
"I was getting worried," Ruby said, pocketing the phone.
"Well, it went better than the worst case scenario in my head," Yang noted.
"You walk into trouble like that again, it's not going to take much longer for me to come in looking for you."
Yang stared up at the ceiling of the car. She thought about what Junior had said to her. His bet that shooting her in the head at the first sign of trouble would be sufficient. It occurred to her that if he'd made that bet on Ruby, he'd have lost. Maybe everyone in that room would have lost. Ruby seemed to perk up, watching and waiting for Yang to respond. Perhaps she expected her promise to be shut down. Eventually, she took Yang's silence as an answer, and laid back again.
"This wasn't a bust, by the way," Yang said, "Xiong is... an option."
"He'll help us?"
"No," Yang said, "He'll work with us. He'll get us papers, maybe even hook us up with a ride west."
"Sounds helpful."
"It's not going to be free," Yang said, "And paying for it is going to be a trick."
"How much?"
Yang sat up. She pulled on the lever on the side of her seat, bringing the back of the chair up to its upright position. She grabbed the red wire hanging from the steering column and touched it to the bare end sticking from where the key slot had been. The car hummed to life.
"We need ten grand," Yang said.
Silence. Ruby turned the number over in her head a few times. Sirens called out in the distance; several police vehicles and an ambulance.
"How do we do that?" Ruby asked.
"Not sure," Yang said, putting the car into drive, "But between my Ability, your Ability, and this town... we'll figure something out."
Weiss's elbow sliced through the air, her body twisting to add momentum to the strike, just as Blake had shown her. She met her target with a satisfying impact. The bag was sent swinging away, the chain it hung from rattling. It swung back and Weiss caught it, jumping back a bit in surprise at the momentum it carried. She looked over to Blake, who was standing nearby, water bottle in one hand.
They were in the facility's training gym. They'd been in this room nearly every day for the last few months. It had a large stretch of mats, racks of weights and other gear, a sparring ring, and a window of frosted glass overlooking it. Most training sessions, personnel could be seen watching Weiss and Blake through the glass. Some of them carried clipboards, and took notes furiously at any use of either of the young women's Abilities. Watts would occasionally be recognizable by his frame; the only identifiable silhouette whose name either of them knew. He was never one of the ones taking notes; he would stand before the glass, hands in his pockets, watching them train. This afternoon, the room through the window was mercifully empty, the only ones watching were the armed guards posted at the door of the gym.
Blake took a swig of her water. Weiss bit her lip, and took a step back from the bag. She gave it a moment to swing until still. Then, she launched into another elbow strike. This time, she hit closer to the center of the bag, sending it swinging all the further. Her feet came to rest in an awkward position, and she half-stumbled away from the bag. Now, her glance towards Blake carried expectation.
"Not bad," Blake offered.
"'Not bad'?" Weiss asked, "What the hell does that mean? Am I doing it right or not?"
Blake took another swig of water. Weiss glanced around for her own bottle, and spotted it on the bench in the corner. The walk there and back would be just long enough to be awkward.
"You're getting better," Blake said, "See what I mean about moving your hips?"
Weiss shook her head in annoyance.
"Yeah," She said, "I'm putting more of my body into the swing, so it hits harder. I get the concept."
She walked past Blake, and Blake's eyes followed her with bemusement. She grabbed the water bottle, popped the top up with her teeth, and took a swig. She wiped her mouth as she walked back to Blake.
"Keep an eye on your footing," Blake said, "You need to be ready to follow-up, not trip over yourself."
"No shit," Weiss said, "But the hit was good."
"The hit was good," Blake said, "Hitting them again is good, too."
The door to the gym slammed open; thrown inward with an unnecessary force. Weiss looked in the direction of the door, but Blake didn't need to. She made a point of not looking as Ironwood approached. She took a swig from her water bottle. Ironwood came to a stop behind her, and Blake could swear she could feel his shit-eating grin. The glare that Weiss was aiming over Blake's shoulder wasn't the girl's typical powerless indignation.
"What're you kids up to?" He asked, "CrossFit?"
"Like you're unfamiliar with the sight of underage girls working out," Weiss scoffed.
Weiss wasn't sure which reaction she enjoyed more, Ironwood's double-take, or the hint of a smirk that crossed Blake's face. It took Ironwood a second to recollect his cocky grin.
"If you're both tired of running through mazes for cheese, or whatever Doctor Watts is having you do, good news," Ironwood said, "How's a weekend in Detroit sound?"
This drew a curious eye from Blake, though she held firm, faced away from Ironwood.
"You're throwing us at border jumpers now?" Weiss asked.
"Border jumpers you might recognize," Ironwood said, "You two get another shot at Xiao Long and Rose. Don't ask me why; we found you both on the ass end of an ass kicking, last time. Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you."
Ironwood reached out to flick a finger against Blake's shoulder. She spun with sudden speed as he extended his hand, and slapped his finger before it reached her. Ironwood withdrew his hand with a bemused grin. Blake stared up into his eyes, as if she might burn a hole through him with her hate. Ironwood searched her face, a show of idle curiousity at whether her display would falter. Weiss glanced nervously between them. Eventually, Ironwood rubbed his chin.
"Jesus," Ironwood said, "How about a fucking smile? Pack up. Your flight to the city leaves at 2100, and you deploy the moment we get a fix on their location."
He turned, and strode away. Blake's glare vanished the instant it was no longer needed. She looked tired. After a moment's hesitation, Weiss reached out a hand. She half expected Blake to evade the touch, but instead, she allowed Weiss to put a hand on her shoulder. The moment was brief, and eventually Blake turned to face Weiss, her shoulder slipping from under Weiss's hand.
"If this goes the way I'm expecting, things could get a bit out of control."
"What are you expecting?" Weiss asked.
Blake thought for a moment.
"You'll know it when it happens."