Music Choices: Dirty by grandson

Author's Notes : I dunno if any of ya'll have read The Rook by Daniel O'Malley; but it is mostly about an agency that is pretty very similar in method to the King's Service in this fic. Basically, they're a supernatural secret agency that works for the crown of England and fights against supernatural threats, etc. But practically all of them are body snatched from their families as superpowered children, claimed as property of the crown and then forced into this agency as adults. So the vast majority of these people are literally enslaved as children, who then go on to propagate this system over and over again.

But the most unbelievable aspect of that story for me personally, is that none of them as adults see anything wrong with this, or seem aware that something genuinely unjust had been done to them. Nearly all of them seemed happy with their lot, or proud of their jobs; and the ones who weren't were, quite literally, the bad guys of the story. And that's pretty cringe, tbh.

Trigger Warning: This chapter discusses some awful heavy shit, including the topics of genocide and slavery. Please proceed with caution.

Eclipse

Chapter 26

The Raid Part VII

"Rosie? Rosie, c'mon ! Pickup!"

Bellicose exhaled the remains of their umpteenth cigarette of the evening. Alwyn had been on edge since before the op had even started; and after Rosie's last set of communications he had been on the verge of bolting out the bleeding doors to track her down. He'd become rather attached to their youngest member, much to Regalia's disapproval; but Reggie could go sit on a pepper bottle and shake it.

"Al," Bellicose ground their smoke out and started immediately fishing for another.

"Don't fuckin start!" Alwyn snapped, pacing.

"I was going to offer you a smoke, actually," Bellicose hummed, lighting up.

"No. Thank you. Shit's bad for you," Alwyn bit out, shaggy gray hair clinging to some of the sweat on his forehead.

Their eyebrow quirked at that.

"So are panic attacks, Al," Bellicose sighed, resisting the urge to say something a bit more inflammatory.

They knew their demeanor drove Alwyn absolutely crazy at the best of times, and right now they didn't want to push him further. They were locked down together and in a relatively small space, after all.

Alwyn glared at them for a beat, his blue and green eyes peeking out from beneath his sheepdog mat of hair, before grumpily sticking a hand out. Bellicose tossed him a lighter and smoke, before turning back to stare at the dozen or so monitors displayed before them.

The new research and training facility wasn't abundantly huge, and was honestly rather inconspicuous overall. You couldn't even see the thing from most points in the forest below, and unless you were passing over it directly by airship you'd likely miss it entirely. However, it was definitely spacious compared to the spaces allotted to them inside the Kingdom's walls.

It was built into the side of a very petite mountain, more of an ambitious hill than anything else; but most of the facility was carved into the rock itself and it was designed like a well funded juvenile detention center for Semblance having teens. Which, to be fair, was pretty close to what the fucking thing was, wasn't it?

The majority of their shiny new detention center was built around an underground dome-like structure that was buried in the heart of the mountain; and the shifters cells lined the outside walls. There were precisely seventy-three individually occupied cells at this point. They had room for two hundred, and that number was expected to increase depending on how successful this venture was.

In the middle hung the security module, suspended by several anchor points from the ceiling, where it could observe the entirety of the space below them as well as suddenly retract behind a combination force field. The module controlled everything inside the facility of importance. It could access all security footage and seal off certain wings of the building, was heavily armed and was also capable of self sustaining for up to a month. Attacking it from below was nearly impossible, and above it was several tons of tiny mountain.

Currently, each new shifter was loaded with copious amounts of aura-suppressants, but there would come a time when they hopefully wouldn't be; they needed to be able to actually train them, after all. However, according to their glorious betters, there were naturally going to be growing pains.

So if, say, a revolt broke out inside the dome, all anyone in the control center had to do was press a button. Then the non-lethal fun-time system would then put everyone down for a nice little snooze; and if they somehow managed to disable the various turrets and gas dispensers, there was always the option to lower the air's oxygen percentage enough to calm things down that way. That was perfectly healthy and not traumatic in any way, right?

The dome wasn't all bad, though. Part of the physical training course was located inside, as well as the dining hall, rec room, lounge area; apart from the cells, which were designed to look like private dorm rooms. In fact, the whole set up was almost deviously cushy.

Hell, if Bellicose didn't know any better, they might have been jealous. They didn't have a colorful comfy playroom growing up in the Service. They'd had secret military barracks, terrible food, endless drilling and lots of angry screaming. If they'd had a finger-painting station and tasty snacks, then maybe they'd have turned out more like Regalia and Alwyn.

Probably not, though. Reggie and Al had always been breathtakingly stupid.

Especially as children.

Bellicose fiddled with their radio, running through the different channels once again: nada, nothing, zilch. Whoever was managing to jam them for so long had to be on the move, too, or the Valish military police or someone similar would have already found them. Hells, they would have found them by now, if you know, they hadn't probably just lost a huge chunk of their personnel.

It was strange, really. They weren't used to being in the dark anymore. Bellicose was high enough up the food chain by now that they generally stayed well informed. They'd been the one that Verdant had picked to lead the real caravan through the underground, and that was no accident, either. They should have more insight into what the fuck was going on. But without Adria's voice in their ear, they felt blind.

They fought the urge to call Verdant again and demand another update. That wouldn't actually help; and there was the very real possibility that Verdant was lying about Addy entirely to keep them in line. She could very well be dead, considering the circumstances.

Because so far, two of the four caravans hadn't made it to the compound. Rosie's had gone dark about twenty minutes ago, after sending several panicked updates about Grimm attacks to Alwyn; and then Caruso's had just completely dropped off the face of Remnant.

Which you know, to be frank, fucking bugger Caruso, but the bastard was an uncanny survivor - he was actually one of their more tactically experienced members. For him to completely vanish without a word was a red flag; and was probably the canary in the Dust mine that they were all in much deeper shit than anyone cared to admit.

Out of the three overland caravans, there was only one that had arrived and it was Alwyn and company. He showed up after Bellicose's team, utterly freaked by the patchy messages that had come through from Rosemary and some of her people; then Verdant had called their scroll some minutes later, telling them to take down or black out any mirrors in the facility and to get ready for an assault.

One that hadn't come yet, nearly thirty minutes later. All they'd heard since was that Adria had been rendered unconscious by a so far unidentifiable substance, and the computers, hard drives, security footage, and non physical records available in the archive had been completely fucking wiped. Years of research and documentation, gone. No one on camera entering space, no one leaving, a total ghost; hells, Bellicose would have been a prime suspect at this rate, if they hadn't been directly accounted for.

This wasn't just your average assault by a pack of backwoods hillbillies with too much Dust and not enough brains, then. This was someone on their own level of competence, who was coolly determined to get what they wanted; and Bell was, of course, certain as to who.

But, you know, honestly?

Good for them.

If Bellicose and Adria weren't a couple of pawns caught directly in the crossfire, then they would have thought this was all extremely funny; in a very morbid sort of way, of course. All the King's horses and all the King's men had laid a nice little trap and thought themselves pretty clever; only to discover they were not as far up the food chain as they'd originally thought. Their collective egos had just gotten thoroughly stepped on.

They wondered if Regalia and Verdant were at least losing their shit over it. They hoped so. If anything pleased Bellicose about their current job, it was the opportunity to watch Regalia utterly lose her shit over something. So long as Addy wasn't Reggie's target, in which case, they were much less amused; and these days, that was happening more and more frequently.

Not for the first time, they thought about finally just disappearing. It's not like they'd ever legally agreed to this - a child can't actually consent to sign their life away, you know? Everyone with half a brain knew their contracts were just smoke and mirrors used to hide the chains wrapped around their necks and the guns to their heads.

So no, surprisingly enough, Bellicose wasn't here out of a sense of some greater duty or love of Kingdom, no. Unlike some of their more eager to please compatriots, they knew a scam when they saw one. They knew damn well that they were not a part of the good guys. Suuuper shocking revelation, but good guys don't do shit like this; but don't tell some of the others that. Poor dears can get a little bit sensitive over the truth.

They ground out the cigarette butt in the nearly overflowing ashtray, shaking several long, silvery strands out of their face. Their wry, obsidian eyes flicked from one screen to another, wary of intruders while simultaneously welcoming them.

They could walk right now. They wanted to. But they couldn't go without Addy.

See, that was the Service's most insidious weapon, something they'd probably learned from watching the Hunters and their exquisite team building and partnering system; much like that whole establishment, the Service used your love to control you, wherever fear failed.

Because there always comes a point where fear fails, eventually.

Love, though? Love hangs on and on and on.

And on.

There were approximately twenty-five King's Servicemembers in the compound. Probably more. At the moment, she couldn't exactly sprint around doing headcounts considering she was doing her best to remain unnoticed for now. Stealth had, admittedly, never been her strongest attribute.

Typically, she wouldn't have volunteered for anything involving stealth. At her age, she knew where her strengths lay. Anything involving subtlety was not it. She would have greatly preferred to be a part of the team attacking the caravans. However, she was wise enough to know that would have resulted in some rather severe personality clashes.

In less dire circumstances, she would have objected to the use of such entities and alliances; but she was also not blind nor naïve. The others had apparently not known the full severity of what was being played out, and she doubted that STRQ understood the total gravity of the situation as well. However, having reviewed the full extent of the evidence presented to her, Joan had realized she and the others in Ozpin's inner circle had greatly underestimated the problem up unto this point; and was frankly ashamed for not acting much sooner.

There is nothing new under the shattered moon and the tactics that the King of Vale and his servants were utilizing against the tribes were as old as Kingdoms themselves. Joan, having witnessed and learned of much horror in her life, understood exactly the extent of what was being perpetuated. Naturally, so did her ex-partner, who had already reached out to her more volatile connections by the time Joan put the rest of the pieces together.

This wasn't just a corrupt leader gang-pressing magic users into slavery, and that was awful enough as it was.

No.

This was the first breaths of a genocide.

Magic users like the Jiani and the skinchangers weren't just the tribes' first line of defense against the Darkness and the Kingdoms irritated by their existence. They were their best kept secrets, but also their cultural and spiritual leaders. Whether born with the ability, or if it was gifted to them, skinchangers were the hearts and souls of their tribes. By kidnapping them, especially as children, "reeducating" them, and turning them loose against their own people - the King and his servants were methodically obliterating the tribes' futures as well as their pasts.

This was a systematic annihilation, and it was going to escalate if someone didn't stop it completely. Right now.

Naturally, this left her deeply troubled. In a situation such as this, secrecy was not the free people's ally in the greater scheme of things. Salem already knew about magic users, and their prevalence in the tribes. This wasn't new information. They weren't actually hiding it from her, they were hiding from men like Chrysós.

However, so long as the truth about magic and her practitioners was kept secret from the rest of Remnant, things like this could happen over and over again in the shadows; and no one besides a few would ever know any wrong had ever occurred. The average citizen would not understand what was being done, or why.

Yet, if magic was revealed to larger civilization, and the existence of the Maidens was once more common knowledge, the cycle of war, betrayal and murder might begin once again.

But did it ever really stop ?

She paused as several people sprinted past her hiding spot. Several seconds passed. Safe beneath the light bending foil, Joan allowed herself to quietly brood on the question and her microscopic role in a conflict that stretched across eons.

JOTN had been completely ripped apart by the shadow war with Salem, her servants, and the Maidens; and they were hardly the first and only casualties. They were grains of sand on an endless beach of the dead and those sacrificed to maintain this fragile veil. There had been countless offerings made to keep the identity and knowledge of the Maidens a secret, and to keep them safe from both the Kingdom's and Salem's clutches. And yet. When it came to the different magical castes, Ozpin was far more willing to sacrifice them.

Which ultimately left Joan with a simple question: why?

Why were the Maidens and their identities so important to him, but not the skinchangers? Or the Aetheri, who were awesome combatants against the spread of Grimm and Salem's agents? Or even the Jiani, who under the right circumstances, were utterly devastating forces? The Maidens were very powerful and strange, but so too were the others. Even if their abilities could not change hands like the Maidens, did they not deserve their protection as well?

"Arcene, I understand, but-"

"You don't understand shit , Joan! When will you open your eyes? He'd rather maintain the semblance of peace than ever permit real change . Everyone else can see that! SO WHY CAN'T YOU?!"

A literal genocide was about to be inflicted upon the tribes of Sanus. Hells, it had already begun, and Ozpin was still looking the other way. Until it affected his interests directly, and STRQ came under fire, he had insisted they hold back and play their cards carefully. To be reserved, to pace themselves; but even now, he was still holding back.

Just who was all this caution actually serving to protect?

Or what?

Movement to her left, and Joan focused on the here and now. More members of the King's Service, back to unload the caravan; no captives, though. Only Dust, other ammunition, and food supplies. They looked like they were getting ready to hunker down for the long haul; but the amount of food and toiletries that they were unpacking from the caravan was suspicious.

Originally, she'd caught a ride into the compound's perimeter via the third caravan, using a combination of Tormund's light-bending foil, and her own Semblance to avoid detection. The vehicles of the third caravan had arrived unscathed, but she knew that those riding with the other two would likely never be seen again.

Her goal now was to determine if any of the captives had been moved out here before the pomp and pageantry that the Service had put on for them; and if so, it was her duty to disable the guards, clear the path for the others and make it possible to mount a rescue without revealing their identities to the enemy. An ambitious goal, perhaps; but she had faced off against worse odds before.

A hollow, muffled voice in her ear, barely recognizable as coming from the kind, bubbly girl it belonged to.

"-Guys, we have a serious problem!"

Joan pressed the mirror shard nestled in her hood closer to her ear, her eyes narrowing in concentration as her suspicions mounted.

"It was a trap! Some creep was waiting for a rescue attempt at the prison! The captives have already been moved to the new facility , they used a friggin underground escape tunnel! I've got one out, but he's in really bad shape - Mr. Spruce, please chill for like ONE second-"

Joan cursed very softly, glancing up at the compound. Nwyfre had said this was a possibility. It's why she'd wanted her out here, instead of any of the others; and it's why she had agreed.

"Listen, this dude almost made me! I don't know how , but he kept calling me by name! He had seriously no evidence, I gave him nothing, but I got away by like a hair's breadth! His Semblance was bonkers strong, too- I'm not sure if we should continue if he's calling the shots!"

Joan checked her pants black cargo pockets, which had been expanded in carrying capacity by a certain student of hers. They were full of Dust crystals and aura boosters, more than she'd ever need, even against this many people. Another voice over the mirror-ways, like dry ice.

"Noted. We'll make some adjustments, then. However, keep in mind we won't get another chance like this after tonight. They'll make sure of it. We have them on the ropes for this moment, and this moment only. We should take advantage of it while we can," Nwyfre insisted coolly. "I recommend that we carry through, while their comms are out and they are running blind and scared. But it's your decision, STRQ. If you think it's too high risk, then we will regroup."

Joan felt an eyebrow rise at that, but remained silent. There was barely a pause before voices started chiming in over the eerie void of the mirror-ways.

"Fuck em. Ride or die, gang, let's get it."

"This can't be allowed to continue. I'm still in."

"We knew it'd be risky! Let's fucking goooo!"

"Then it's settled - STRQ's all in! But we definitely need to adapt going forwards!"

She felt her lip pull in a small, proud smile; as if they'd ever say anything else.

"Very well," Nwyfre acknowledged. "Joan?"

She inhaled deeply, feeling her aura levels, her Semblance. This was gonna hurt, and she knew it; but that was ok. It was time to put her money where her mouth was.

"You're up."