(A/N): So I imagine a lot of you RWBY fans have been asking yourself "Wait, where's Neo?" And a bunch of Bionicle fans are probably still wondering "Wait, where's Pohatu?!"
This chapter seeks to answer both of those questions.
Two Days Ago...
Sand.
That's all it seemed there was in this new world. All that she could see. All that she could feel. All that she could taste. All of it was just sand.
Neo groaned silently and clutched her aching side, squeezing her eyes shut and pulling herself out of the dune that had softened her fall from the sky. Well, "softened" in the sense that she wasn't a pancake of blood and chunks right now - her muscles were still tender from whatever impact wasn't absorbed by her now-shattered Aura, and the giant crater she left in the middle of the desert was proof enough that her landing was not a pleasant one. Still, she was alive, and that had to count for something. She finally crawled out of the pit and rolled over onto the surrounding sand, panting and shaking and trying to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest from the near-death experience.
When she became convinced that she hadn't survived the painful landing only to die of a heart attack, she finally cracked her eyes open and immediately regretted it.
Blinding light shone down from the sun high above, unblocked by anything nice like clouds or storms. Arid winds blew across the exposed patches of her skin, bringing no cool comfort and only blowing around more misery. She could already feel her bare shoulders, neck, and stomach begin to sizzle as the searing heat took their toll, and the little tiny particles of stone that flew around seemed to gravitate to her nose and mouth - much to her frustration.
It hurt to see, and it hurt to breathe.
But Neo Politan would not let that slow her down.
With a noiseless groan the mute woman sat up and started shedding some of her clothes, working on field-modifying her outfit to one better suited for desert travel. The chocolate-brown overcoat was sloughed off her back and turned inside out to become a heavy shawl that covered her bare arms and ivory vest, one that would shield her from the sun until she could find her beloved parasol. She pulled off the gray scarf and flattened it out, wrapping it around her lower face to serve as an improvised filter for sand and dust. Finally, the black high-heeled boots were discarded and left to the desert sands, the spats that once covered them repurposed into footwraps that kept her stocking feet protected from the worst of the scorching terrain. It wasn't the prettiest outfit that Neo ever wore, but it served its purpose - keeping the sun and the wind off her back until she found a way to leave this island.
But before she could even think about escaping, she had a few obligations to take care of first.
Namely, revenge.
Neo pulled the improvised cloak over her pink-and-brown hair, careful not to knock the black bowler hat off her head - the one thing she still had left of Roman Torchwick. She reached into the pocket and pulled out her Scroll, which thankfully still worked even in this strange new world. Immediately the screen was beset by multiple flashing warnings such as "NO SIGNAL" or "NO AURA" or even "SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION" - she dismissed all of them as she swiped in search of an app, one that made memories flood into her mind even as she scrolled through the options.
Making a new weapon, huh kiddo? Lemme give you a little tip - work one of these little babies into the design somewhere, and you'll always know exactly where it is. It's a tracking module designed by the eggheads up in Atlas, for their so-called "Ace Ops" to find if they lose their weapons in a fight. Self-powered, won't set off any alarms, and if you know the frequency, you can use a Scroll - any Scroll - to track it down anywhere in a hundred mile radius! …huh? You're asking me how I got one? Oh come on Neo, you know me - do you even need to ask?
The voice of a good man - a dead man - echoed in her ears, and it took every bit of willpower to keep the tears locked behind a solid dam. She couldn't afford to cry for him right now; she was lost in the desert, and every drop of moisture had to be carefully conserved. The skin of water she kept in her coat pocket would last her two, maybe three days if she rationed it carefully, and part of that survival plan included not letting her emotions get the better of her.
Besides…she'd already spent too long weeping over her Roman. It was time to turn that sorrow into action, just as she'd done in the wake of the Battle of Beacon.
Her persistence at using the Scroll paid off. A circular display soon appeared on the main screen, one that had her standing at the center. A green dot blinked softly on the lower-left edge; she turned in place until the marker lined up with the straight line at the top, orienting herself in what she could only assume was a south-eastern direction. Once she was sure she was facing towards Hush's resting place she marched forward, pulling the inverted jacket over her shoulders with one hand and holding out the Scroll with the other.
Neo's trek across the desert was, if she had to choose a word, boring.
There was nothing impeding her progress except sand, sand, and more sand, with an extra helping of sand and a complimentary side of gods damned sand. Sure, sliding down the rolling dunes and hills was at least a little exciting at first, but even that momentary thrill grew dull as she was forced to keep doing it again and again and again. The only things she could see in the distance were several large mountains and dunes, none of which held any interest for her besides how far away they were and how much more interesting they would be to explore. If this were a movie, then at least Neo would have had an epic orchestral score to keep her company and spur her on as she journeyed across the flatlands; as it was, the only music she had was the sound of the wind whistling past her. There were no desert creatures or other interesting sights to break up the monotony: no camels, no cacti, not even a cute little tumbleweed rolling by.
Beads of sweat clung to her skin as she walked, the droplets evaporating almost instantly in the dry heat of the desert. Her throat tightened from the lack of moisture already, and she could feel her lips begin to dry out and crack no matter how much she licked them. Neo had to resist the urge to take a drink from her waterskin every single time she felt thirsty, willing herself to go on while taking as few and as small sips as possible. If she ran out of water in the wilderness, she was practically a dead woman. She had to keep going. Had to keep climbing. Had to keep sliding.
Had to keep surviving.
Eventually, her persistence was once again rewarded after walking for about half an eternity; the sound of a chisel striking stone against stone echoed on the wind, piquing her curiosity. As she moved closer her mismatched eyes caught the blurry outline of a black-and-tan figure, one that was sitting by three large eggs with some kind of big tool in its hands. She knew it wasn't a hallucination - the noise that echoed across the desert was perfectly timed with the figure's movements, so she made her way towards the sight. The green dot on her Scroll came closer as she did so, which only confirmed her suspicions and forced her to be on guard. If her weapon had been picked up by someone else, then maybe her Aura had recovered just enough to dupe and deceive them while she took what was hers. Or maybe stab them in the back for looting what belonged to her in the first place. It would depend on how tough they were, and how angry she was when she saw them.
When she finally came face to face with the source of the sounds, she was all at once confused, disappointed, and annoyed.
It was a person making the noises, alright, but not a person that Neo recognized. Neither human nor Faunus, the tiny little stranger was mostly mechanical, with a wedge-shaped black mask and glowing orange eyes that barely looked up from its work. Its armored torso was tan like the desert sands around it, while the stocky triangular legs matched the color of its faceplate. It had a large gray pick in its hands, one that monotonously and repeatedly struck one of three stone markers that sat along matching paths stretching off into the horizon, the crossroads of which Neo found herself standing in as she stared at the little worker.
And next to one of the completed carvings, leaning against a large smooth stone oval with a tiny little face, was Hush.
Neo bit her lower lip, looking from her parasol to the worker, the latter of which didn't even look up at her. She could possibly just swipe it without interacting with the carver, but she wasn't sure what the little figure was capable of, and she didn't want to do anything hasty until she had a better idea. Sure, it seemed small and harmless, but as she herself personified, looks could be deceiving. Another bit of advice from past Roman floated into her head: never pick a fight you don't 100% think you can win. So for now, she chose to just watch the figure as he worked, shuffling her feet in the sand as she waited for it to move while she pondered her options.
"Hot enough for ya, stranger?"
She bristled as it suddenly spoke in a voice that sounded like stones rubbing against each other. Was it...was he...talking to her?
"Can you guess what it is yet?" he asked, gesturing to the stone carving in front of him.
Even if she could answer using words, she had no idea what the giant stone with a face was supposed to represent. Neo shrugged and shook her head.
"Not even gonna try, huh?" said the figure gruffly without looking up. "Fine, I'll tell you - it's another Hafu original!"
She raised an eyebrow. Hafu? Was that the carver's name? Why was he out here alone? And what was so important about these markers that he'd risk exposure and heatstroke just to -
"Wow," he said under his breath. "Sometimes I impress myself. Beautiful detailing, even by my standards. And the curves…Mata Nui, those curves. Not even Makuta himself would dare bring ruin to such a fine piece …"
…oh. So he was an artisan. Not just any kind, either - the obnoxious, excessively-vain type, too. It all came together in one annoying stroke. She pouted and let out a silent huff.
Hafu finally looked up at her, not at all puzzled by her strange appearance. "If you're looking for Po-Koro, traveler, then take the right road. It'll lead you straight there. My right. Or is it your right?"
Neo frowned behind her scarf. She had no interest in going to Po-Koro - whatever that was - and was only interested in retrieving her parasol before this simpleton tried to use the hidden blade within for a toothpick or a backscratcher. Assuming he already hadn't done so.
So she pooled what little Aura had come back to her into her Semblance, creating an illusion out of thin air. She didn't know in particular what would scare this Hafu person, so she chose to prey on the two weaknesses artists like him always had - their vanity and their overprotectiveness of their artwork. Neo created a mirror image overlaid on the third stone marker, projecting a display of her pushing and toppling over the stone carving with ease before skipping away with a smug smirk.
That got Hafu's attention. "Hey! Get back here!" he shouted as he ran after the illusion and swung his chisel. "No one lays a hand on a Hafu original! I'll use your mask as a centerpiece in my next work, I swear to Mata Nui himself!"
Unbeknownst to the carver, the real Neo emerged from behind the second marker, twirling her recovered parasol and popping it open. Immediately a blanket of shade enveloped her, making the heat a little more bearable; she swayed her hips from side to side contentedly as she walked off in the opposite direction. Hafu would come back eventually to find his statue back to the way it was, but by the time he did she'd be long gone.
Which suited her just fine.
Weapon once more in hand, Neo left the idiot behind to play with his rocks as two plans formed in her mind. The first one involved finding Ruby and making her finally pay for what she did to her dearly departed friend.
The second involved finding a way home and gouging out Cinder's other eye with her bare hands.
After two solid days of wandering the desert, it was safe to say that Neo hadn't made much headway in either of her plans.
She no longer had the strength to use Hush's parasol form to shield herself from the sun; it trailed lazily behind her as she dragged it along and drew a line in the sand. Blood burst from her feet with every step she forced herself to take, staining the ground with red splotches and leaving behind precious moisture with each lost drop. Her empty water skin hung uselessly in her pocket, no longer giving any comfort and only serving to weigh her down even more. She didn't sweat anymore, she had stopped dripping water about a day ago, but that quickly went from a blessing to a curse as she felt her insides begin to bake in the relentless heat.
Neo blinked with tired swollen eyes, coughing up another mouthful of dust into her scarf and shaking another ounce of sand out of her bangs. She scanned the horizon and strained her sight once more, looking for something - anything - that told her she was getting closer. Or water. Or an oasis. Or anything besides more gods-damned sand.
Unfortunately, all she found was an entire cyclone of shifting winds and swirling sand coming her way.
In any other state of mind, she would have recognized the desert storm for what it was: a vortex of suffocating sand and whipping winds, one that would flay the skin off her bones and bury her alive. But when she was this deep in the throes of heatstroke? The only conclusion Neo could reach was that the object was a dust cloud kicked up by the little silver-eyed brat that killed her Roman. So despite how tired she was and how much her feet screamed in pain beneath the ruined spats, she kept one hand on Roman's hat as she trudged forward to meet the storm head-on.
Neo Politan collided with the wall of wind, and then everything went dark.
She had always heard that when people were dying, their life would flash before their eyes.
If that were true, then at the tender age of six she wouldn't have very much to relive.
Her breath exploded from her lungs as she sprinted down the alleyway, her tiny little stocking feet pounding forcefully against the cold cobblestone ground. The hem of her gossamer-thin silk dress fought against her every movement, white fabric threatening to bind her legs together and keep her from escaping. Brown and faded pink hair fell in front of her face in big matted clumps, muscles ached and screamed for rest, and a child-sized heart threatened to burst right out of her chest as it strained to keep up with her body and mind's demands.
She didn't care. She kept running.
In the main roads behind her, she could hear people calling her name. She didn't need to look at them to know who they were - she'd seen them all her life. Men and women in tailored suits and clean white gloves, all of them looking for her and threatening to bring her back to the hell she'd narrowly managed to escape. Some threatened violence. Others promised candy. She didn't answer any of them. She would not answer any of them, even if she physically could.
The sound of hammering footsteps followed her. They were closer than they'd been a moment ago. She knew that the grown-ups were faster than her.
But they weren't smarter than her.
She sprinted around a corner and ducked out of sight, disappearing around the edge of a raised building. Before the grownups could round the corner and see her, she rolled under the foot-high gap between the building's floor and the ground itself, vanishing into the darkness cast by the platform. Her body may not have been moving anymore, but her heart still refused to relax - she wasn't safe yet, as quivering mismatched eyes got a good look at three pairs of shoes stepping into her field of vision. She crawled backwards as far as she could, hoping that the shadows would conceal her from the voices that flooded into her little hiding place.
"Where'd she go? We saw her round this corner just seconds ago."
"She couldn't have gotten that far. Maybe she climbed onto the roof?"
"She's six, Harold. You see many six year olds climbing sheer walls in your life?"
"Well, you clearly haven't met my kid…"
"Cut the chatter. Both of you, check the east and west streets. I'm gonna listen to what the ground has to say."
Her tiny little frame trembled as she saw one pair of shoes leave the others, their owner crouching down and poking a pair of fluffy white bunny ears into the crawlspace. The Faunus guard was clearly listening for the sound of her breathing; she sucked in as much air as her exhausted lungs would allow and held her hands firmly over her mouth and nose. She felt the burn build up in her chest as her pursuer lingered for a moment longer, seemingly waiting for her to cave and gasp. She did no such thing, pushing against her biological need to breathe for as long as she could despite how much it hurt.
It would only hurt worse if they found her.
It always did.
Eventually, after an agonizing moment of bated breath, the pair of ears withdrew, and the guard groaned as he stood back up. She started slowly exhaling and inhaling through her hands, easing the strain on her chest but not letting her guard down quite yet. Just in case the rabbit Faunus was still listening.
"She's not here. Let's move."
"Are you kidding me? What, did she vanish into thin air or something? I thought your kind could see in the dark!"
"I have ears on my head, dumbass, not eyes. And I don't need to look when I don't hear anything down there. There's no way I'm going down any lower - I just got this suit cleaned, and we all know how Her Majesty feels about paying for dry-cleaning."
"Alright, but if you go and tell Spades and Queen that we lost their kid cause you were afraid of getting dirty, they're gonna have your head."
"They can have yours, maybe. You don't seem to be using it for much, considering you can't even tell whether a kid turns left or right. Come on, let's regroup with the Diamonds and the Clubs. Maybe they saw something we missed."
"Yes sir."
"You sure you don't wanna lie in the dirt like a filthy anima - "
"Finish that sentence and the bosses will be paying for both dry-cleaning and dental work. Move."
The trio finally stepped out of sight, their footsteps and their bickering fading into the sounds of Vale. Only when she was sure that they were well and truly gone did she finally let herself breathe properly.
She coughed and choked on her own spit as she pulled herself back out of the little crawlspace, groaning silently and trying to blink away the shadows that danced in the corners of her vision. Her head felt light and faint from spending so long with little air, forcing her to lie there in the open alleyway and greedily gulp down breath after breath. When it no longer felt like the world was spinning, she pulled herself up and stumbled off, huddling herself for warmth as the cold night descended.
It wasn't the first time she'd almost been found by the Cards - her family's privately-owned hired muscle - but it had certainly been the closest.
The weeks that had passed since she "accidently" crawled into a Bullhead and left the estate seemed to bleed together, as every day felt like any other. They all followed the same basic pattern: wake up hungry, find something to eat, evade the Cards, look for a safe spot to spend the night, and go to sleep even hungrier than before. The ways she found food were varied, at least - sometimes she'd dig through the trash to find stuff the rich folks threw away, other times she'd trail wealthy-looking men and women and slip a hand into their pocket for a fistful of Lien. Most people didn't even notice they were being robbed - and of those that did, she was already long gone before they could even turn around and spot her. She got a few questioning looks when she showed up at the cashier with a bag of meager groceries, but most folks assumed that she was just a little girl running errands for mommy and daddy. None of them suspected that she was actually a lost scion on the run from a man and woman that blamed their only mute daughter for all their woes, and punished her as if she were solely responsible for all their terrible terrible life and financial decisions.
And she preferred to keep it that way.
But now it was nighttime, which meant she had to think about finding somewhere to sleep. The thought saddened her, making her clutch her rumbling tummy. Her encounter with the Cards had started since about the minute she woke up today, so she hadn't had time to scavenge for food or cash. And after all the exertion from the day, after all the running and jumping and swimming and holding her breath, going to bed hungry was not on the table. But all the grocery stores on this side of town were closed at this point, and most of the restaurants kept their backdoors locked tightly to keep people like her out of their larders.
All except one.
She kept her breathing even and steady as she navigated the twisting alleyways of downtown Vale, avoiding the glowing streetlights and ignoring the hisses of feral cats. Her feet followed a path that she'd taken many times before, to the one little ice cream parlor that she knew was open at this hour. Years later, with the benefit of hindsight, she would realize that Little Jack's was a "front" for a money-laundering scheme, which was used to legally exchange the money made from selling drugs and under-the-table Dust supplies to the local gangs. But for now, her six-year-old mind only saw it as a paradise, a magical wonderland of delicious ice cream guarded by a mean old ogre who didn't want to share any of it with her.
Eventually she found the back door of the place, and smiled to herself. Hah! Stupid Mister Horner had only engaged two of the locks tonight! What luck! To make things even better, they were the two locks she knew how to pick the best - a little jiggle of the needle here, a slight push of the bobby pin there, and soon enough the door swung slowly open. A cold blast of air instantly blew past her; she stood in the doorway for just a moment with a silent sigh of relief.
Once her sweat-soaked neck and shoulders felt properly chilled, she deftly made her way across the floor, ignoring the voices and the rowdy conversations happening in the main dining area above her. She hid behind the corner of a sink and scanned the surroundings with a determined pout. Good. No sign of Mister Horner. That meant she was clear. She grabbed an empty milk crate, pushed it as quietly as she could against the stove, and climbed up to the stainless steel pot to pry open the lid.
Her face fell as she realized her folly. This wasn't proper ice cream - not yet, at least. What she'd found was the milk and cream and sugar that was still turning into the sweet cold stuff she loved so much, a slurry of off-white stuff swirling around a motorized mixer at the bottom of the pot and thickening with each churning motion. She didn't know if it was as good as the real thing, but she was too hungry to be picky.
Besides, it was just ice cream that hadn't been frozen yet, right? It couldn't be too bad.
Both hands dipped into the thickening cream and pulled out a big scoop of the stuff, bringing it to her lips as she greedily slurped it up. It was delicious! She was just about to scarf down another handful when a loud clang filled the air, the metal cover slamming down on her fingers and knocking her back.
"You again?! Beat it, you little vagrant!"
Oh no. She knew that voice. And worse, the voice knew her.
Like so many times in the past the broom came next, battering and beating her and knocking her off her perch. Not the soft bristles of the sweeping end - that would have hurt less. No, what started whacking her was the cold, hard, unfeeling wooden shaft that cracked against her skin, breaking open old scabs and adding fresh new bruises to her vast collection.
She scrambled and scampered away like a rat in the light, darting out the back door as three hundred pounds of portly rage continued its assault. The balding face was twisted and contorted in anger, and if it grew any more purple she suspected it would burst like a big ripe plum. Her little legs carried her out of the parlor and down the slick winter steps, and she would have made a clean escape if she hadn't lost her footing and fallen into a rather large puddle.
"Little Jack's does not give out free samples!" boomed the parlor owner as he loomed over her. "Especially not to naughty little girls! I see your face around here again, I call the police!"
With that, mean old Mister Horner slammed the door shut and engaged the locks. All seven of them. The alleyway fell silent a moment later.
Doing her very best not to cry, she got back to her feet and winced as she grabbed her bruising arm. Water dripped from her puddle-soaked dress and hair, but that didn't matter to her. All that mattered was that her stomach ached even more, and she desperately wanted that ice cream. Or any kind of food, really, but the ice cream tantalized her the most. It had been right in her grasp and then…ugh, that stupid old man! She thought darkly about doing many, many nasty things to Mister Horner…things that she would finally get to do years later, at a shadowy woman's request.
But that was a story for another time. For now, she sniffled and slinked away, a plan forming in her mind. If mean old Mister Horner wasn't going to give her any ice cream, then she would just march in and buy some! Wouldn't that old troll be so surprised to see her strut in and slap down a whole wallet full of Lien onto the counter, demanding that he make her the biggest sundae she'd ever seen! And then she'd stab him in the hand, and use it to pour fresh plum sauce all over her treat!
Except…that plan required money, of which she had none.
Surely there was someone nearby who wouldn't mind losing some, right?
Her eyes carefully watched the pedestrians as she stumbled out of the alley and into the main streets, looking at the people who walked the city of Vale at night. Not a lot of men and women traveled by foot after the sun went down, and for good reason - violent thugs and warring gangs often claimed the dark hours for themselves, and the panic and rage caused by their skirmishes drew in the shadowy Grimm that lingered just beyond the city walls. She knew herself how dangerous it was out here - she still had the scars to prove it - and she also knew that those who braved the streets at night didn't have much money in their pockets. If she wanted an ice cream, she'd either have to pick the pockets of ten trigger-happy gang members, or the pocket of one rich idiot who had more Lien than common sense.
In a miraculous twist of fate, she found the latter.
A man in a big white trench coat and a fancy black hat sauntered down the street, humming and scatting softly to himself as he walked. She slipped between shadows and darted under darkness, keeping step with her mark as he lazily twirled his cane to a rhythm only he knew. He would tip his hat to any ladies and gentlemen who he crossed paths with, who all reacted with either annoyed sighs or open disdain. Her single-minded focus and deft little feet let her follow the man unseen for a block and a half, and when she saw the man slip into an alleyway she knew it was time to strike.
She rounded the corner and crept close to the man, whose eyes were locked forward as he kept humming to himself. Eyes of brown and pink scanned the pockets of the coat, looking for bulges or wrinkles that signaled a neglected little wallet waiting for a new owner. When she saw which pocket held her prize - the right coat pocket, the one closest to the trimmed hem - she held her breath and reached out, feeling her arm nearly disappear into the coat while she did her best to sway and move with the man's step.
There! She could feel it, just at the very tip of her fingers. Old leather wrinkled under her lightest touch, and it felt heavy with cash. All she had to do was pull it out -
WHAP!
The curved head of the cane suddenly struck her ankle hard, making her lose her balance and cry out in silent pain. Before she could even realize what was happening she felt something hook her foot and pull it out from under her, and the next thing she knew she was laying on the cold hard cobblestone with ringing ears and a splitting headache. She tried to scramble back to her hands and knees, but a sudden sharp weight pressed into her chest, making it hard to breathe and impossible to move. Her eyes trailed down to find the opposite end of the cane pushing against her ribs, held in place by a man whose face was framed in shadow.
Then he lifted his head, and she saw his face for the first time.
If she thought she was afraid when she was running from the Cards, then that fear paled in comparison to how she felt staring at the man's piercing green eyes staring at her first in rage, then confusion. He brushed his orange-red hair out of his eyes, adjusted his nice hat, then stared down the length of his cane with a raised eyebrow.
"Do you have...any idea who you just tried to steal from, kid?" His voice was…smooth, but not soft. Confident, but not careless. "Huh? Any idea at all?"
Her eyes widened as she gulped, biting her lips and shaking her head fervently. She started fiercely waving her hands, trying to say through gestures that she didn't want any trouble and that she was a good girl and any other lies that she thought might get her out of her situation. She just wanted a little bit of Lien. At this point she'd be willing to escape with her arm intact.
The man just looked as confused as ever. "What's that? What are you doing with your hands?" He groaned. "Oh, don't tell me I caught you just as you needed to use the little girl's room. Use your words, kid - I can understand those."
She bit her lips again, making a slashing motion across her throat. He seemed to understand that, at least.
"...you can't talk, huh?" Another sigh escaped his lips. "Ugh...great, just great. Alright, since you don't know who I am...lemme give you a little hint. A little introduction, if you will. Fortunately for you, the folks around here are nice enough to hang up these handy little pamphlets - just in case I wake up with amnesia one day. Here, take a look."
He pulled a roll of paper out of his back pocket and tossed it down to her, bopping her in the nose. She grabbed it and unrolled it, her eyes widening as she read the frighteningly-large text.
WANTED
ROMAN TORCHWICK
DEAD OR ALIVE
TEN MILLION LIEN REWARD
CONTACT VALE CITY AUTHORITIES REGARDING ANY POTENTIAL INFORMATION
"Notice any resemblance?" said Roman with a smirk, one that matched the exact face that stared back at her from the wanted poster's picture. "I'd complain that they didn't get my good side, but really they're all good. There's more on the back, if you wanna keep reading - that's my favorite part."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned the paper over with trembling hands and scanned the long, long list.
This criminal individual is wanted for:
Murder
Arson
Larceny
Money Laundering
Drug Trafficking
Assault
Assault and Battery
Auto Theft
Bullhead Theft
Weapon Smuggling
Fraud
Forgery
Extortion
Conspiracy
Manslaughter
Solicitation
Vandalism
Disturbing the Peace
Contempt of Court
"And that's not even the most recent one," Roman boasted. "I've managed to add shoplifting and littering to my rap sheet since then. Face the facts, kiddo. You're dealing with a criminal mastermind." He gave a sharp laugh. "I'm joking, of course - I'd never just leave garbage lying around."
At that moment, she didn't feel very much like laughing. Not while Mister Torchwick was leaning down on her with half his weight, making breathing even harder.
"So that just makes me wonder…" he drawled with a smirk, "...out of literally all the pockets you could have picked, why'd you pick mine, if you didn't know who I was? Were you won over by my sparkling personality? Maybe you saw some idiot humming away in the dead of night and thought you found an easy mark."
He suddenly scowled. "...or maybe you're one of the little urchins that Lil Miss Malachite likes using, and she specifically sent you for 'collection' purposes. She probably sent her cutest kid cause she thought I wouldn't hurt a child, bless her heart. In which case, I think I might return this one back in pieces - just to prove her wrong."
His hand reached for a hidden trigger on his cane handle. She shook her head fervently, waving her hands in a desperate attempt to not get blown to bits. He watched her for a moment, then lowered his finger. Her hands fell with a relieved sigh, tears forming in her eyes.
"Okay, okay, fine fine. Maybe that's just me being a paranoid asshole." He furrowed his brow. "That still doesn't answer my question of why I got targeted. I mean, what the hell's a kid like you even gonna spend it on?"
A neon sign displaying a pink, white, and brown sundae suddenly flickered to life over Roman's shoulder. The timing literally could not have been better - it was as if it was a message sent from the Brother Gods themselves. She pointed at it with sincerity and fear in her eyes, even grunting as best she could with non-working vocal cords. Roman kept the cane firmly against her chest and turned back in confusion, staring at the sign for a good long moment before finally making the connection.
"...ice cream." The man in the black hat sounded both annoyed and amused at the same time. "Ice cream. You tried to swipe the personal wallet of Roman Torchwick, one of Vale's most notorious criminals...all so that you could buy ice cream."
…it did sound pretty ridiculous when Roman said it out loud, but she nodded anyway. Mister Torchwick groaned, cradled his forehead in one hand, and finally pulled the cane off her with the other. She scrambled back to her feet, dusting off her dress and standing up. She looked up at him with as much innocence as she could muster, too scared to approach yet even more afraid to turn her back.
"Of all the things to almost get pilfered over…" groaned Roman. He looked down at her. "Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's not like you'd be using it to buy filet mignon and caviar. I mean, what are you, four?"
She pouted and held up six fingers.
"Close enough," grumbled Roman. "Still, why pickpocket for ice cream money? Can't you just, I dunno, ask your mommy for an allowance? Or your daddy? Or hell, even your caretaker? You've gotta come from a family flush with cash - you won't find a dress like that in a thrift shop, unless you're really lucky."
A knot tightened in her stomach as he broached the heart of the matter; the reason behind her self-imposed vagrant lifestyle. He looked around with a raised eyebrow.
"Where are your folks, anyways?" Roman looked down at her. "You'd think they'd put a curfew on their kids or something."
Time to come up with a convincing lie. Her eyes darted to the ground, and she made another slashing motion across her throat.
"Dead, huh? Damn." Torchwick cast an unsympathetic gaze down at her. "I'd play you a song on the world's tiniest violin, but unfortunately it's in the shop. If you're trying to make me feel sorry for you, then you'll have to try harder than that."
She bit her lower lip. This man was really gonna make her just go and show him, huh? She shuffled her feet with a nervous look, checked to make sure no one else was around, then lifted the hem of her dress to reveal bruises and scars along her legs and thighs. Ones that she knew for a fact didn't come from mean old Mister Horner, and continued farther up than she wanted to show.
Roman seemed to understand that quite well. He swore and walked away, one hand clutching his forehead while the other slammed his cane against the ground.
"Great," he growled and grumbled. "Just great. This has been a fantastic day. First I get screwed out of a deal with the Spiders. Then Tukson cuts me out of the loop and bans me from his store. Then Belladonna calls me back and tells me that he doesn't have any need of my services because 'the White Fang does not believe in violence' or some other hippy-dippy nonsense like that. And now, to top it all off, my wallet almost gets pilfered by a four-year-old who's running away from a rich mommy and daddy because they treat her like an expensive punching bag." At her raised hand, he sighs. "Oh, sorry. Six-year-old. I almost got swindled by a six-year-old. That makes it hurt so much less."
He groaned and sat down on a nearby step. "What happened to this town? What happened to me? I used to run this place with the Brownings and the Steelhawks, kid. Now I'm lucky if I can swipe a sucker out of a baby's mouth while the little gremlin's drooling all over it. How the hell did I go from being at the top of the food chain to the very bottom? Sure, I might have the cash and the men...but where's the power? Where's the respect? Where's the fear?!"
Roman sighed one more time, hung his head and fell silent.
She wasn't sure if he was crying, but he seemed sad all the same. With a frown she went over to his step and sat next to him, leaning against his arm and hugging it with tiny little limbs of her own.
"What are you doing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you trying to be my friend or something? Trying to make yourself all cute and innocent so that I take you along with me? Is that what this is? Is that what's going on?"
Her heterochromatic eyes looked up at him with the soft, quivering gaze of a very sad puppy.
Mister Torchwick sighed. "Look, kid, I get it. You want a better life than the one you've got now, and you'll do anything to find it. But I'm probably the last person you'd want for that kind of thing. Most of my days are spent either doing business deals with heavily-armed clients breathing down my neck, or trading bullets with the cops as I make my grand escape from the scene of another crime. That's no way to raise a kid, no matter how desperate you might be. So just...go. Just leave me alone and go kill your parents when you turn eighteen or something. I guarantee it'll turn out better than hanging out with me."
Then he smirked. "...unless of course, this is all just an act and you're only trying to rob me again."
She froze mid-motion, fingertips clutching to the very edges of the wallet with a guilty expression. Roman chuckled and pushed her hand away, which devolved into a playful slap fight between the hardened criminal and the little thief.
"Alright, alright, y'know what? Congratulations. You've wormed your way into my cold dead heart like an adorable little tapeworm." He flicked her tiny little nose, drawing forth a soundless giggle. "And you've got some deft hands there, too. Make no mistake - you've got a real gift for that kind of thing, kiddo. Hell, I've fended off pickpockets twice your age who got half as far as you just did. I dunno where you learned how to do that, but I'll be damned if I let raw talent like that go to waste."
Her face beamed with pride, and she hugged his arm even tighter. He didn't look pleased…but he didn't exactly push her away, either.
"Now don't get too attached," he warned as he got to his feet. "We're giving this a trial run. I'll keep an eye on you for a week, and we'll see how this whole 'surrogate family' thing plays out. Starting tomorrow, I'll be teaching you how to put those hands to work - and make no mistake, you will be working."
That seemed agreeable enough. Then again, if it meant that she didn't have to run away from the Cards anymore, she'd have given up her left leg. She got to her feet and kept pace with her new "friend", looking up at him with the first smile she'd worn in weeks. He seemed to understand the significance, because he reached down and ruffled her hair with a hand, a sensation that made her nearly faint on the spot with joy.
"Just you wait, kiddo," said Roman Torchwick with a smirk. "Soon enough, you'll learn that the whole world is your ice cream bowl. You got a name, by the way?"
She put her hand against her chin in a pensive pout for a moment, wondering how she would communicate her name. Then she realized that if she really was running away from home, if she really was going to live with Mister Torchwick, she might as well call herself something that she liked. Rather than carry her old name around with her, she'd pick a new one.
So she turned around and looked back at the sign that had saved her life, pointing to the letters underneath the bowl. The squiggly little line over the "a" had burnt out after years of shining without maintenance, but that didn't matter. It was perfect just the way it was.
And so the newly-christened Neo Politan walked out of the alleyway alongside Roman Torchwick, the unlikely pair disappearing into the darkness.
As the fourteen-year-old memory came to an end, Neo didn't expect that she would open her eyes ever again.
When she finally did, she was pleasantly surprised to find herself sitting against the wall of a cool and damp cave, one that was free of searing heat and blinding sunshine. Her eyes still ached as she took in her surroundings, and every inch of her body screamed in pain when she tried to move. Sand and dust caked her clothes and her skin, each breath felt like it was inhaled through sandpaper, and even the faint sound of moisture dripping from a stalactite into still water made her headache worsen and her ears feel like they were -
Wait.
Water!
Neo's head rolled to one side, praying that her senses weren't playing a trick on her. Fortunately, she was not being deceived - a recessed little section of cavern floor held a small pool a few feet away, a reservoir of natural cave water that was just big enough to serve as a bathtub if she wanted. A ragged, silent laugh escaped her lips as she reached out to the stuff of life…only to immediately topple over in a pile of pained limbs. She collapsed on the floor with her prize just out of reach, barely even feeling as Hush dropped from its upright position to bonk the back of her head.
"Easy there, stranger. Try not to move so much, you're still dehydrated."
Mismatched eyes flitted up to find where the voice in the cavern came from, then widened as Neo realized she wasn't alone.
She had a guest.
She had a very large guest.
Like the carver she met days ago, the figure in the cave with her seemed to be mostly robotic in nature, though obviously this one was much, much taller. He dwarfed her by standing at a solid ten feet tall, with hips wider than his shoulders and gleaming bronze armor covering most of his frame. His short arms and long powerful legs were the same color as the desert sand, which in turn matched the steel toes affixed to the ends of his massive brown boots. A pair of black trapezoids with two long fingers each formed his hands, a collection of gears on the small of his back gave the appearance of a rabbit's tail, and orange eyes stared down at her through a brown triangular mask with wedges on the sides that looked like the whiskers of a great big cat. While his appearance was somewhat stocky and strange, his posture was relaxed and confident and his eyes held both concern and curiosity in their glow.
In other words, he reeked of heroism.
She soundlessly groaned, clutching her side as she rolled over. The stranger stepped closer, the stone floor practically rumbling underfoot.
"Careful now," he said in a rough, light-hearted voice that was nonetheless full of concern. "You've had a rough time out there, haven't you? I don't know much about organic beings, but I could tell you were in danger. The sands had practically claimed you as their own by the time I found you, and it took careful digging just to pull you out."
So she owed her life to this strange, half-robot bronze figure. Great.
"Not sure what could have possessed you to wander into a storm like that…" he continued. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me, would you? I've honestly been quite curious, I'll admit."
Like she did so many years ago, Neo made a slashing motion across her throat and opened her mouth. Her strange rescuer tilted his head, then nodded.
"Not much of a talker, huh? That's quite alright - I can speak plenty for both of us." He smiled wryly behind his mask. "Name's Pohatu, friend. Here. Roll over, and I'll help you drink."
Neo hated the idea of relying on this...thing, whatever he was, but she hated the idea of dying of thirst even more. So she reluctantly did as this "Pohatu" asked, watching carefully as he scooped some water into his massive mechanical hands and carried it over. When he brought it to her lips she forewent any appearance of being civil and proper - she gripped the servo-like limbs and titled it up, greedily slurping down the offered drink like it was the elixir of life. Most of it splashed against her face instead of going into her mouth, and she nearly choked twice, but she didn't stop drinking until Pohatu's hands were completely dry.
"There," Pohatu said as he drew his hands back. "That better?"
Strengthened by the water, she crawled to the pool itself and fished out her empty water skin, shaking the sand out before plunging the flask under the surface. She held it under until the bubbles stopped rising, at which point she pulled it back out and drank deeply once again. A vague part of her mind reminded her just how foolish this was - cave water like this really should be purified before drinking, just to be safe - but the rest of her didn't care. She was thirsty, and she'd deal with the consequences later when she wasn't dying.
Once she'd consumed two-and-a-half skins worth of water she filled the pouch one more time, shed her clothes, and slid into the pool itself for a much-needed bath.
Relief flooded through her sand-encrusted limbs as she poked her face out of the surface and leaned back, letting the biting cold soak into her dried, cracked skin. When she caught Pohatu staring inquisitively, she pouted and shook her head while pointing to the wall. He got the message clearly enough: after letting out a small embarrassed "oh" he nodded and averted his eyes, servos whirring as he turned around to give her at least a little bit of privacy.
She'd just started raking her nails along her legs when a massive slab of stone rose up from the floor between them. Her arms flailed in shock.
"Don't worry, friend." Pohatu called from the other side. "That was me. It's clear you don't want me to see you without your...er, armor. Skin? Whatever the case, just throw a rock over the top when you're done cleaning yourself. I'll wait."
Neo cast a furtive glare at the figure on the other side of the sudden wall. Had he...had he really done that? Did he have control over the stone itself? What kind of power was that?
She decided to figure it out later, emptying her mind as she bathed in silence save for the occasional splash. Her decision to clean herself after drinking paid off - the water soon became murky and dark with blood and floating particles. Neo held her breath and dunked beneath the surface, shaking her head and scrubbing her scalp to clear several days' worth of dust and sand out of her pink and brown hair. There was no soap or shampoo, and the water was freezing cold, but she didn't care. After constant exposure to the scorching sun, a cold rinse was like a gift from the Brother Gods themselves.
When she finally felt clean she pulled herself out of the water, shaking her hair dry and carefully stepping across the cave floor to balance herself along the chest-high wall. As she used her coat as an improvised towel she looked over the edge and studied the bronze-armored figure carefully, trying to get a read on her strange and unlikely rescuer. Pohatu was powerful, there was no doubt about that, but he also seemed rather single-minded. All the hero types were. Maybe she could use that.
Right now he was busy digging one of his fingers into the cave wall, drawing a map of the island that was almost as tall as he was. He hummed and tapped his foot as he stared, occasionally adding another mark to the map or writing in a circular alphabet Neo didn't know how to read. Sometimes he muttered to himself, sometimes he paced, other times he grabbed a bit of stone and ground it in his palms to fill in a mark he'd previously made.
"Seems most of the masks Onewa told me about are across the Motara desert," he mused. "That only accounts for three of the five, though...the other two must be hidden across the rest of Mata Nui. Maybe I should go scouting again...my Mask of Speed should get me to the southernmost tip there within a day..."
Neo's ears perked up. Mask of Speed? The stranger could travel very quickly?
That sounded extremely useful.
She snapped a quick picture of the cave drawing with her Scroll and saved it, then after getting dressed she picked up a stone and threw it over the wall. Pohatu heard it and turned with a nod, lowering the rocky barrier with another stomp and approaching her in steps marked by mechanical whirring.
Time to pull out the waterworks.
The silent assassin hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face. It didn't matter that those tears came from rubbing sand into her eyes - they just needed to look convincing. She pressed her hands to her face and sank to her knees, her shoulders trembling as she took shuddering, almost-wheezing breaths.
Predictably, Pohatu took pity on her instantly. "Oh...oh dear," he said, already reaching out a hand. "Are you alright?"
She bit her lower lip and shook her head. If she could wail, she would have.
"Poor thing...is there anything I can do to help?"
There it was. She smirked inwardly as she snapped her fingers, calling on what little Aura she still had to trigger an illusion. Her own natural form was replaced by a blanket of refracting prisms, turning her into the perfect image of one Ruby Rose. Silver eyes, ruffled hair, red and black clothes, and a stupid heroic smile...she looked up at Pohatu with the eyes of her most hated enemy, before dismissing her new form with a wave of her hand. Then she broke down "crying" once again for good measure.
"I see," said the bronze-armored figure, head tilting to the side in understanding. "Is she a friend of yours? Is she here as well?"
Despite the sickening feeling at the back of her throat, she nodded with a silent sob. She even looked up with her best puppy-dog eyes and the cutest little pout she could muster, just to help sell the lie.
Pohatu smiled under his mask and puffed out his armored chest. "Then as the Toa of Stone, I solemnly swear to aid you in your quest to find your ally. For as Turaga Onewa says, Unity is the greatest of the Three Virtues...and how could I claim to be the Great Spirit's champion if I didn't help others uphold his sacraments? When you're ready and have recovered your strength, climb onto my back. My Mask of Speed shall let us scour every inch of Mata Nui in a short time - and forgive me for saying so, but I believe finding another one as odd as you should not be difficult."
Neo rolled her eyes at the theatrics, but nevertheless gathered her things - her weapon, her coat, her Scroll and her hat - and climbed onto Pohatu's backplate. She didn't really know half the words he was saying, or what it all meant, but she didn't really care either. All that mattered to her was making the brat bleed red like roses, and this big oaf was her best ticket at doing just that.
And if he ever did catch onto her, she was certain she'd be able to figure out how to steal and use this "Mask of Speed" for herself.
"Are you secured up there, Pebble?"
Frowning at the sudden nickname and the twinge of guilt she felt at manipulating someone so earnest, Neo nonetheless held on tight and rapped her knuckles twice against the shoulder pauldron.
"Then let us be off! For Unity!"
And with that, Pohatu's mask glowed, and the unlikely pair shot off into the desert night.
(A/N): In case you couldn't tell from the flashback sequence, I'm not treating "Roman Holiday" as canon. There are two main reasons for this: firstly, I haven't read the book, and secondly, my friends all tell me that it's not great. (Hey, CRWBY, I love y'all and what you do, but can you please stop retroactively making the Semblances of the villains turn out to just be undiagnosed mental disorders? Thanks. Sincerely, a neurodivergent fan who hated Mettle.)
Anyways, Pohatu and Neo are finally in the story now! Yay! And the latter still wants revenge against Ruby! Oh no! Wonder how that's gonna go...