So, people may have been confused as to why there was an update of this and then a vanishing chapter 16. I got a few PM's asking why. I made a mistake and uploaded the Tuesday story here, got alerted by about 40 private messages and then had to delete it and put it in its proper story. Naturally, that sent out alerts for this story. Sorry about that. It may mean you didn't get an alert for this (since the site may believe you already all got one for it a week back). If that's the case I do apologise. It was a mistake on my part as I was stressed about my dog. He's fine, though. Happier days now.

On a second note, the troll is back and imitating me and others in the reviews, this time trying to make it look like I'd attack my own reviewers because obviously that's a thing I'd randomly do from a guest account. Ignore the nonsense.


Cover Art: Serox

Chapter 16


Blake was gone.

His scroll was gone too, pocket opened and device missing. The sun had risen outside the dilapidated building and Vale was busy with pedestrians, shoppers and vehicles, while Jaune slid down the wall and clutched his stomach, fighting back hunger. It'd been a full hour since he'd woken up and panic had begun to set in.

Had Blake been captured? Her own scroll was still in pieces by the wall so she might have taken his and tried to reach Adam. If she'd been caught in the act, she wouldn't rat him out. It was a long shot. He knew it was because she would have woken him up for his shift if that were the case, as opposed to leaving him like this. At the very least there would have been a message, and why would she need to leave the building to make that call? It was a straw he grasped to, but one he had to. The alternative was too terrifying to consider.

Blake wouldn't do that. She knew what it's like to be hunted, hated. There had to be a reasonable explanation; something he was missing.

Trust had to mean something. It just had to.

Pangs of hunger rumbled through him. It was said you could go a week without food but less than a day was already gnawing at him. The fight the day before on the train hadn't helped any and his throat was dry, lips clammy. He'd have to move eventually, if nothing else them to find water. Jaune pushed his forehead into his knees, breathing deeply in a futile effort to control his mounting panic.

Alone. In Vale. Wanted. For now, at least, until he could find Blake and figure out what the hell was going on. He couldn't go outside without running the risk of being recognised, and Vale was attached to Beacon, a whole school of huntsmen ready to come arrest him. Or kill him, depending on how far Chivalric Arms had gotten into Vale's politics. From what Adam had told him Vale and Atlas were firm allies, the kind that supported each other in everything. That was part of the reason Adam wanted to his Mistral before Vale and save the Kingdom until after Menagerie.

What must Adam think of this? Would he think he'd fled or ignored his orders to go to Vale early? Would he be angry? Would he take it out on Jade and Hazel? No, not the latter, not unless he really wanted to make an enemy of Null. Adam is smart. Even if he did think I'd turned traitor, the obvious thing to do would be get the twins to Menagerie and use them as leverage. I just need to find a scroll, contact Adam and explain what's going on.

Easier said than done. He'd need to locate a scroll first, then reach the CCT or find a way to patch into it. And then he'd have to find a time where Adam was within range of one on his end or the call would fail. It would have been easier if he had a number for Sienna since she'd be in Menagerie the whole time, but you couldn't pick out a phone book and look her up under the `Terrorist Leader` directory.

Didn't Vale have a White Fang cell? Adam mentioned they might be working with them. If he could find that cell and introduce himself – shouldn't be hard given he was an international criminal known to be working with the White Fang – he might be able to get them to pass a message down the grapevine.

"Find Blake, the White Fang or a way to contact Adam," he recounted, head pushing back against the cold brick. "Either way, that's going to mean going outside." He let out a long breath, closing his eyes. "I can do this. I'm not afraid."

He was, but he couldn't afford to be. Dad wouldn't have been. It was that reminder which had him pushing a hand down and rising before the smashed window. He turned and looked out. His face would be unrecognisable from such a height, but it granted him a fair view over the part of the city they were in. No further, because even though it was a tall apartment block, other buildings were taller.

A freeway ran over the district he was in, long stone struts stabbing down to support it, casting shadows over the roads and streets below that were not exactly bustling, but still busy. A hot dog vendor called his wares from a corner nearby while people stomped by with hands in pockets, hoods up, travelling with dogmatic determination not to make eye contact. It was a rough area. The building he was in made that clear, but several shops nearby were closed, windows blackened, smashed or boarded up, lingering `CLOSING SALE` signs hanging garishly on the inside in shades of red, blue and yellow.

Beyond it, the richer parts of the city could be seen, cleaner buildings in shades of white and pale grey, signs lit up on the side of towers and domed structures with glass rooftops. The highways fed into that, all unerringly connected to the centre of Vale like arteries and veins pumping blood to and from the heart.

At least this part of the city isn't so busy. Though… Jaune looked down at himself. Black pants led into a grey skinsuit under a white vest. The White Fang uniform was nothing if not distinctive, and sure to get him noticed. The mask didn't help either. I can't go out dressed like this. Can't do much of anything.

The white vest left him in black trousers and a grey top. It was still a little suspicious – the top was skin-tight and padded like a combat vest – but it wasn't quite as bad. No hood was a problem, but he could at least walk around without instantly being recognised. Even if huntsmen could walk freely with weapons, he hid Mors as best he could, stuffing it deep in one of his pockets and keeping a hand in there. His wallet was still on him, a limited amount of lien inside from when he and Blake had visited the village in Mistral. As a last hope, he scooped up the broken pieces of Blake's scroll. It was snapped firmly in the middle, glass shattered. Stuffing it in his pocket in the hopes it could be repaired, he faced the doorway.

It was now or never.

A few squatters looked his way as he stepped down the long staircases, but none bothered to look twice or comment. Jaune crept down and to the smashed open doors, looking out at the small number of people coming and going with his heart caught in his throat. Any one of them could raise the alarm, but he couldn't stay here any longer.

"Hot dogs!" the vendor called. "Get your hot dogs. Fresh cooked or boiled, cheap prices!"

Jaune's stomach grumbled. "Hey," he said, making the man spin around. Faunus, dog-eared and middle-aged, the man had brown eyes and dusty blond hair. "How much are they?"

"Fifteen for a regular, twenty-five for a jumbo." The faunus opened one of the tins on his cart, showing several long sausages in boiling water or brine. What he didn't do was panic or scream that he'd seen a wanted criminal. "I have onions as well, only three extra."

"Two jumbos, please. With onions." Jaune fished out his wallet, wincing at how little he had. The vendor looked worried by that but relaxed once he produced enough, pulling out some soft bread rolls and using a two-pronged fork to fish out the sausages.

"There's ketchup on the side there. Thanks for your business."

Squirting some tomato ketchup onto both, he hurried away before the man could get too good a look at him. One free call might not mean anything, and he ducked and weaved through the people on the streets, refusing to make eye contact and keeping his head down. They did the same, many looking down at scrolls or staring doggedly ahead. Jaune slid into the first alleyway and leaned against the wall, turning slightly to the side so anyone looking in would just assume he was taking a break to eat.

The hot dog buns were a little stale, but the meat was processed calories and tasted wonderful. Balancing them both in one hand, he peeled the papery napkin back and bit deeply, careful not to spill even a single onion. His stomach rejoiced, ketchup covering his lips as he scarfed the first down and took more care to savour the second. With only twenty lien left to his name, he wasn't sure when there might be another.

Once he'd finished, he stepped back out into the crowd and kept moving, following the mass of people. Where, he wasn't sure, only that he hoped something would make itself available. The police would be all over the train station after the SDC one arrived missing half its cars, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out any stowaways might be in the abandoned buildings nearby. Best to be far away from that area.

Two police officers walked past him at that moment. Jaune tensed, body going rigid and finger teasing Mors' grip. They walked by. Didn't even notice him. His heart continued to race however, and he ducked left, stepping into a public toilet to catch his breath. Staggering to the sinks, he splashed water onto his face, then stooped low and drank from the tap, letting the water splash down into the palm of his hand and then up into his mouth.

Too close. The police hadn't reacted to him, but then they hadn't really seen him either. Like everyone else, they'd been going about their day. I can't keep testing it. Sooner or later someone is going to look at my face. I need a way to cover it. A toilet flushed behind him and the cubicle opened. Jaune kept his face down, bent over the sink as if washing it.

The man stepped up and took the sink two down from him, washing his hands and shaking them clean before leaving without using the dryer. That left only one cubicle door occupied, the little red sign on the lock in place, a jacket tossed haphazardly over the top of the door. Someone inside shuffled, pulling out toilet paper with a plastic rolling sound of a dispenser.

Jaune eyed the entrance, stepping away from the sinks with nervous energy. The entranceway curved around a solid dividing wall so that no one could see inside. Thus, he couldn't see out. The man in the cubicle dragged out more toilet roll. The chain was pulled, water flushing down. There was no time to hesitate, no time to think.

His fingers touched the jacket and clung on. He bolted. The brown bomber jacket with the fake-fur lining was torn off the top of the door. The man inside gasped and yelled but Jaune was already out, yanking it on and rushing into the crowd before his victim could button up and give chase. The fur lining offered some protection from his face being seen from the sides or back, and more importantly covered his grey uniform, leaving him in black pants and a brown jacket. Nothing unusual.

Jaune kept moving even as sounds of chaos echoed behind, sliding a hand into the pockets in search of treats. A packet of mints, two condoms – no wallet, sadly. Not a scroll. He turned left onto another road, popped a mint and counted his blessings.

It didn't take long. There weren't many of them…

/-/

Money.

He'd realised quickly that other than coming across Blake, his best bet was to get hold of some lien. With it, he could buy food and a hoodie, transportation or a room to stay at. Camping wasn't an option if he couldn't get out of the city, and no amount of wishing would let him conjure up a way to his mom and remaining sisters trapped somewhere in Vale. With money, he could buy a scroll, contact Adam and find a way out of the city. Without it, he was screwed.

What also became just as obvious was that regular employ would be beyond him, partly for the time involved and mostly because of who he was. Theft was going to be his only recourse, which was a problem since short of stealing a jacket foolishly left hanging on a door, he didn't know a damn thing about stealing. Any pickpocketing he tried would quickly become a mugging, and while he had Mors and could hold someone up for money, if he didn't kill them then they'd go to the police and alert the whole city to his presence. He couldn't bring himself to kill an innocent person for the contents of their wallet.

The park he'd found his way to was peaceful so early in the day, only a few elderly couples travelling around along with some cyclists weaving through the cobbled paths. Jaune sat on a bench, reading through a crumpled newspaper he'd fished out a nearby trash can. It was smeared with grease and stained on the bottom corner with coffee, but the text was still legible.

Beacon welcomes tomorrow's huntsmen.

The headline, against all odds, wasn't about the SDC train heist. That had a brief mention on the front page along with a note to read more on page four. The main story was the beginning of the year for the academy nearby, with some brief mention of noticeable entrants. The two most prominently mentioned were Weiss Schnee and Pyrrha Nikos, only one of those names he recognised, and even then, only from working in the White Fang. Skipping to page four, he read through the continued story on the train heist.

It was incomplete. Apparently, the SDC hadn't announced anything yet so the journalist could only cover what was known, that a train arrived missing half its cars, that dust had been its cargo and the connector was cut. There was no mention of Chivalric Arms of a weapons shipment. According to the paper, the only thing stolen was dust.

His face didn't come until the final quarter of the paper, just before the sports and TV section. Jaune hissed at seeing the full-page picture of his face, while the page opposite held a timeline of his crimes and even a map of Remnant with his projected path traced along it. Like a timeline, little box-outs detailed what he'd done in each stage.

Some of them were more troubling than others.

Murder of fifty-two in Mistral!?

Jaune's fingers dug in deep, crinkling the paper. The arrow pointed to Mistral. The text read, "Jaune Arc and White Fang attack, capture and execute fifty-two researchers and staff at medical facility. No ransom is asked for. No survivors."

They hadn't killed that many! At best, he'd killed five or six, most of those being those military types that came in after. They'd been framed. Those bastards already killed their own people and he'd assumed it was to clean up loose ends, but now they'd gone and blamed him for the deaths. He read on, details covering how dangerous he was, how beyond help, painting the picture of a madman cutting a swathe of death from Atlas to Mistral. There was even a quote from the Chief of Police in Vale detailing how the city was on high alert and would not hesitate to mobilise all units to hunt him down if he dared approach Vale.

A medical facility, though? That was one way to put it. They hadn't mentioned who it belonged to and Chivalric Arms didn't feature in the article at all, nor further back in the newspaper. Rolling it up, he tossed it back into the bin and stood, unsure what to do next. He needed money but how to get it was a mystery. Armed robbery would put the city on edge, a mugging would reveal him, and he couldn't well use Null or anyone with aura would put two and two together. If he knew where the White Fang were based he could find them and ask for help, but they didn't exactly advertise their base of operations, and walking up to every faunus and flashing his mask would be a quick way to start a panic.

Did Blake really abandon me…?

He shook his head, shoving hands into pockets and storming ahead. No, she hadn't. He didn't have any proof. Maybe she went ahead to find the White Fang – there was good reason to do that without him. Maybe she wanted to sneak off to the CCT to make the call to Adam. Blake wouldn't do that! Not without so much as a word. Not while stealing his scroll. That was as good as dooming him and she knew why he was doing this. She knew about his family. Hell, she'd seen what those monsters were doing to them. Blake wouldn't turn on him after that.

What other explanation can there be? No note, no waking me up and my scroll is gone.

No. It wasn't like that. Couldn't be. Adam and Blake saved him. They'd helped him from day one.

The sounds of sirens cut into his thoughts, pushing him back off the park path and into the trees. Red and blue lights shone by, the cars tearing past the park entirely and heading deeper into the city for one of a thousand other reasons. He clutched his chest even so, gasping for breath with wide and frightened eyes.

"I can't keep jumping out my skin like this…"

Leaving the park and crossing the street, head down, Jaune made his way to the back shops present on every major street, the darker and less fortunate places. Not illegal – if Vale did have some underground criminal market, he had no idea where to find it – but the quieter shops who couldn't afford to be on the main street and had to settle for second best. Some were down alleyways, signs propped outside to announce their presence. One such shop promised key cutting and scroll unlocking and repair.

The dusty looking man behind the counter didn't look up as Jaune approached. He was reading a comic while a TV blared out behind him, rows and rows of blank keys, fancy scroll cases and accessories on display.

"Excuse me. My scroll took a bit of a bump." He slid the remains of Blake's onto the counter. "Do you think it's possible to repair it?"

"Hmm." The comic lowered as the man sat up, looking to the scroll and picking it up. Most of the glass had fallen away but lenses were cheap, or so he hoped. Turning it in his hands, the man tutted. "Took a bump? More like snapped in two. You can see the break point here. You were bending this, weren't you?"

But Blake had said one of the droids hit it. "Someone hit me with a bat the other night. It hit my jacket and didn't really do anything to me, but my scroll took it."

"This isn't blunt damage. Not cutting, either. You must have bent it when you pulled it out. None of my business how it happened." He pulled on a pair of glasses and leaned in close, drawing out some tiny tweezers. "Let me take a look. Might be too much, but if it's just the lens that snapped…"

Jaune rocked on his heels, eyes drifting to the television as the man worked. On it, a newscaster had just finished talking about Beacon – seemingly the biggest news all over the city. The next story came in and he froze, however, eyes widening at the familiar sight of a shield of arms with the letters CA beneath it. Jaune leaned forward.

"Hey. Do you mind if I turn up the volume?"

The man waved his hand to go ahead and Jaune swivelled the dial, bringing Lisa Lavender's words out in full.

"News from Atlas as Chivalric Arms, leading arms and Atlas-tech manufacturer, faces an inquiry from the Atlas military. Though details are short at this time, Chivalric Arms' spokesperson and CEO has said that they intend to co-operate fully with Atlas and all associated representatives of the military, having nothing to hide. Chivalric Arms has also announced the prototype for the latest Paladin armoured anti-Grimm manned vehicle, and the Knight-class semi-automatous enforcement units, which have passed testing in Atlas and will be made available to wider markets early next year. Jacques Schnee of the SDC has spoken in favour of Chivalric Arms, calling this inquiry a gross oversight and extension of Atlas' interference with private and public business."

Jaune gripped the edge of the counter, fingers digging into plastic. An inquiry wasn't going to go anywhere, not if Chivalric Arms had their fingers in the military. It was all just a show to deflect blame. The man tinkered on, oblivious.

"This comes only a few weeks after the catastrophic incidents with the White Fang, which saw numerous people slain and wanted criminal Jaune Arc escaping Atlas for Mistral." The screenshot of Chivalric Arms' logo was replaced with a mugshot of himself. "Current news has the fugitive in the wildlands of Mistral on a path last projected toward the southern tip of the island. Representatives from Menagerie have denounced the idea Jaune Arc will be seeking refuge with them and repeat that they are no haven for the White Fang."

"Scary world, ain't it?" the man asked, pulling aside some wiring. "If it ain't Grimm it's White Fang, and if it ain't them it's some psychopath. What a world we live in…"

"Yeah." Jaune tugged his collar up. "How is it? You think it can be fixed?"

"Doesn't look good." A sigh. "Look, I don't mean to judge – I get people tryin' to sell me stolen goods all the time. Ain't none of my business to ask where you found this, but I doubt it's stolen." He waved half of it. "This is destroyed. I'm not talking accidental damage, either. The lens is snapped in two. The main unit is crushed – literally stamped on or smashed against a wall – and the what remains isn't in much better state. Someone wanted this thing trashed. And it is. You'd be better off buying new; fixing this would mean replacing almost everything anyway."

Destroyed? But why would Blake-?

"I can offer you some money for the spare parts." The man looked up. "Best I can do is…" The strangled gasp had Jaune looking into the man's eyes. They were wide and afraid, the man pulling back and glancing to the TV desperately, to the full screen image of the same face he was looking at right now. "Y-You're-"

"Don't move!" Jaune ripped Mors out, barrel aimed at the man's chest. He flinched back, shaking with abject terror. "Don't say a word." The man's lips sealed shut, frightened tears forming in his eyes. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn't what he wanted. Or needed.

What he needed was…

"Give me your wallet. Your scroll as well." The man hurried to obey, almost dropping his scroll and fumbling it onto the counter, flinching as Jaune snapped it up and on. "What's your password?"

"8764." He tested it. A picture of the man with a young girl on his lap appeared. They were smiling together, cheek against cheek. "P-Please don't kill me. I have a granddaughter. I'm nothing. You want money? Take it. Here!" Shaking badly, he upended his till, sprinkling lien out. "Take it all. It's yours!"

There wasn't much of it. The man's business wasn't doing well, and the day wasn't going any better. He was still richer than Jaune was and he shamefully scraped the lien toward him, stuffing it into his own wallet. I'm sorry. It's for a good cause, I swear.

"Please. Please don't kill me!"

"I'm not going to kill…"

If he didn't, the man would talk. The news would be out by the end of the day that Jaune Arc was in Vale, and every officer and huntsman in the city would come bearing down on him. So would Atlas and Chivalric Arms, sending those people that had attacked in Mistral. If it weren't for Blake and Adam, he'd have never defeated them. If they came here, he'd be captured. Put back in the cage. Become Subject 000 once more.

People died all the time. Robbery gone wrong. No one would know. Just a dead man in a back-alley shop, his wallet and scroll stolen and till raided. It'd take them weeks to realise it was something out the ordinary and by that time he'd be long gone. He'd be safe, and that meant his mom and sisters would have a better chance. He could save them.

All he had to do was shoot this man. It wouldn't even be hard, not as hard as it had been to kill those two huntsmen. He probably didn't even have aura, and with Mors he could press the grip to the man's throat and puncture the blade out. This man wouldn't even realise he was dead. A single death to avoid more, just one more life taken. It wasn't his first, so what did it matter? All he had to do was pull the trigger. Cross that line.

I promised I'd save them.

I'm not a murderer.

He'll raise the alarm if I don't.

He's innocent.

My family is counting on me.

He has family too.

Killing him will save me having to hurt others.

Dad wouldn't kill him…

Jaune's hand trembled. The barrel wavered. Even so his finger tightened, curling the trigger back a hair's breadth, just enough for it to click. The man behind the counter sobbed, closing his eyes and accepting death. His own face reflected on the screen behind, the words of the headline `Murderer` in bold beneath.

"Don't tell anyone I was here…" The man's eye cracked open. The smell of urine reached Jaune's nostrils. The barrel remained fixed on him, Jaune's face twisted into a fearsome snarl. "You never saw me. You never met me. Say anything – anything at all – and I'll find you. I'll find you and finish the job. Do you understand?"

"Mrmml," the man whimpered, nodding fervently.

Jaune ran. He snatched the scroll, turned and fled, bomber jacket flapping out behind him as he charged out the alley and away, smashing his shoulder into and through one man. He fell back and Jaune vaulted his body, dragging his collar up higher to cover his face until only a mop of blond hair remained. It didn't matter if he were making a scene - he could already hear the man he'd spared screaming for the police, fear pushing past the threats.

Jaune turned a corner, pushed through a couple walking hand in hand and power walked down the road. Sirens began to wail, cars blazing by the way he'd come, red and blue lights flashing. His own eyes remained fixed ahead, wide and shaking, manic. Wild. Eyes shining with angry tears, he dialled in a number with his thumb. His number. The scroll rang.

"Hello?"

His breath caught. His eyes clenched shut. Blake sounded curious, quiet and confused. She didn't sound afraid, nor in danger or running for her life. Jaune's hand clutched the scroll tight, causing spiderweb cracks to spread out over the screen.

"Hello?" Blake asked again. "I think you have the wrong number."

Blake hadn't gone looking for help. Blake hadn't been caught.

"Excuse me? Who is this?"

"Null."

"Jaune…" His name came out in a rush of air, sharp and afraid. "Jaune, please understand, I-"

He ended the call. Before she could even think to call back, he thumbed over and blocked the number. Turned it off entirely after. Battery wasn't something he could charge and people knowing what his number was didn't mean anything. The police would quiz the man he'd stolen it from.

She'd abandoned him. Betrayed him. Sabotaged him. She'd destroyed her scroll, taken his and fled, throwing him to the wolves, trapping him in Vale with his face splashed everywhere, Chivalric Arms and Atlas on his tail and Adam too far away to help. Soon, the city would be in uproar. Soon, Atlas would come for him, and for the first time there'd be nowhere to run and no one to rely on.

"So be it," Jaune spat, eyes flickering with a myriad of colours. "If you want me, come and get me."


So, the story is being bumped up an M on the request of a few people. I don't really think it needs it (keep in mind RWBY is a teen despite having and showing people being killed, Adam as an example) but hey ho, some people are getting really upset about it so I'll bump it up.

Also because someone asked (I thought I'd made this clear already, but I'll say it again) when Jaune is using Null, he also loses his aura. I definitely made that clear because otherwise there'd be no reason for him not to use it all the time and he'd be OP as anything, but since some people missed it, and the times he specifically mentioned not having aura when using it, I'll say it here again. When Null is activated, he has no aura, as does everyone else within range. That's a big deal since someone outside of said range could still use their Semblance and fire into it. The Semblance would fail if it entered, but a bullet in flight would remain in flight.

It's why that team from Chivalric Arms was so effective. Gas for bypassing it, tazer for locking up muscles and a team of trained soldiers, some to get close and force him to use Null, and others to fire tranqs the moment he does.


Next Chapter: 1st Jaune

P a treon . com (slash) Coeur