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 18
The homeless man neither robbed nor abandoned him, making the guy a better friend than Blake despite knowing one another less than a day. There was no chatter, however. No breakfast. The man rose and made his way to the doorframe to, in his words, ask for people's kindness. He didn't look like he expected any, or enough to make a difference. There was none Jaune could offer either, needing every lien. He'd considered giving the man some to buy him a proper jacket with a hood to hide under, but leaving aside the risk of him running, there was also the fact no reputable shop would let him enter, whether or not he had money.
In the end they went their separate ways. The old man to beg and Jaune sneaking out with his collar puffed up and hands stuffed in his pocket, doggedly avoiding eye contact as he made his way to the train station. It hadn't been long enough for everything to be moved, so the Chivalric Arms containers full of droids should still be around. Hopefully. There was a good chance they'd have abandoned them the moment they realised the train was compromised.
The sun had risen over Vale but thanks to the torrential downpour the night before the streets were covered in a thick mist that had cars rumbling by with beams on. It was beginning to lift slowly, allowing some light to filter through, but the morning was cold and crisp, and he was thankful for the stolen bomber jacket.
Sadly, the poor weather meant there were no food stalls setting up, and he didn't feel brave enough to enter a diner with his face exposed. Ignoring the now familiar pangs in his stomach, he trudged on, head down and hunched as though reading a scroll, passing by people going the other way, few paying attention to the world around them.
He'd been wrong to call the place Blake abandoned him a train station. That implied its use for public and passengers, whereas the area loosely cordoned off by police cars was more an industrial shipping yard, albeit for trains instead of boats. There were two large cranes, six warehouses and a stack of brightly coloured cargo containers with various logos on the side. None of those were CA, but he saw SDC, Melbo, Gula Foods, and a few others he recognised as well-known companies of various natures.
The police weren't keeping quite the watch on the area they had before. They knew he'd escaped it now and must have thought he wouldn't be coming back. There were four cars in total but two were empty – the officers might have been inside. The other two were parked end to end in front of the main entrance, red and blue lights flashing slowly but without the usual siren. The officers were sat on their hoods chatting with only an eye for the road they were blocking.
Jaune skirted left, travelling around a perimeter chain link fence with wickedly sharp and rusty barbed wire coiled messily across the top. Even with aura he didn't fancy his chances with that; it looked old enough to deliver multiple diseases with a nick. It didn't take long to find a broken line of fencing, however. Whether it was used by thieves or kids looking for adventure was unknown, but the linking had disconnected from the vertical post it attached to and curled back on itself, letting him crouch and squeeze through. It was all concrete floor on the other side, probably so the heavy machinery wouldn't get stuck. Once he was in, he hurried over to a thin aisle between two containers, sliding along it. No alarm was raised.
I saw how Adam conducted raids. I just need to think of this as one.
The White Fang usually relied on numbers and military tactics – at least as best as they could – but they still held the same basics. He had to have an objective in mind, a goal to reach it and then he had to keep moving. Adam had always been clear on the value of momentum, especially when the White Fang needed to be in and out before the enemy could report them. The same held true here. He had to get his work done before more police could arrive.
In terms of goals, he'd gone for something simple. Less chance of mucking that up. CA had decided to ship their weapons into Vale through legal means, which meant there had to be records. Both of where they came from and where they were headed. He could either find those or, if the containers were still here, find them instead and wait for CA to come collect them, sneak on a vehicle, and hitch a ride back to their base.
The latter was the harder for obvious reasons, but there wasn't much more he could plan for. If it went wrong, he'd just have to fight CA and find out where they were. With any luck the drivers would just be that and he wouldn't need to do much more than wave a gun at them. The simpler the plan, the less chance I can muck it up. At least I have one now.
Two men in high-vis jackets and helmets strolled on by talking loudly to one another about incoming orders. Jaune listened only as long as it took to not hear CA by name, then slipped out once they were gone and rushed to the closest warehouse. The lights inside were on but dim. The doors were closed.
The warehouse he'd chosen was up against the chain links and visible from outside, so he ran down the side quickly to test the side entrance, cursed at finding it locked and then kept going, slipping around the corner and away from eyesight of anyone walking by outside. There had to be cameras around, but he'd just need to hope they weren't automatic or that the operator hadn't noticed him. Moving along the back of the warehouse, he paused and looked up at a window a good ten feet up. It was narrow, wider than it was tall with vertical slats every few feet. The thing was open, though.
There was nothing to climb off. Jaune wasted a minute looking before giving up and moving on. Standing in one spot for too long was too dangerous. If he stood around trying to think up an answer, someone would find him. There had to be more than one way in.
A ladder provided it. Not one he could move, but a ladder sealed onto the back corner of the warehouse going up toward the roof. Without thinking, he started to climb it, feet clanging on each rung as he raced up, hoping speed would be better than stealth. The warehouse was tall, incredibly so, and soon he was high above the fencing, gripping by wind that whipped his jacket out behind him. Hunching tight against the rungs to steady himself, he took the final ten metres at a slower pace before hauling himself up and onto the gently slanted roof.
He crawled up it, afraid every step would clang on the metal. There at the top, protected from rain by two protrusions like verandas, lay an open skylight. It was either to dissipate smoke or allow air in, but either way it was his entry. Crawling up to it and peering down inside, showed a long drop to the concrete below, along with stacks upon stacks of metal containers, a mezzanine walkway he wasn't convinced he could swing to from his angle, several offices kept up on that walkway, and two parked forklifts in the corner next to a stack of wooden pallets. There were no employees inside, be those CA or from the cargo yard.
Keep moving. Don't stop for anything.
Clinging to the edge of the opening, Jaune let his legs fall in, hanging from the roof by his hands. His feet swung below, past that and after a long drop the concrete. With aura, he'd probably survive it, but that didn't mean it was a good idea to take it. With his hands already hurting from the cold metal, he kicked with both feet, swinging himself forward and back to gain momentum. The stack of crates ahead looked close enough to reach. Swinging harder, aware that his grip was already failing, Jaune lurched and kicked up one last time, letting go.
He misjudged the distance.
The cargo crate he'd been aiming for didn't even come within reach and gravity took hold with a sudden drop in his stomach. His feet hit the container two further down, boots clanging loudly down and pain jolting up his legs. Buckling to one knee, he steadied himself against the container and gritted his teeth, riding out the pain. Aura had prevented any injury, but it hurt. Bad.
Better a six metre drop than twenty, he thought looking back over the edge of the container. He'd made it, and judging from the lack of anyone shouting out, his not-so-quiet entrance had gone unnoticed.
"I'm in. Time to have a look around."
Catching his breath near the top of one stack of containers, he let his eyes flick up and down the stacks opposite, reading through the logos on the sides. There were a wide range, some specific companies like food manufacturers or pharmaceuticals, but others the generic shipping brands that rented the containers. There was, of course, a few SDC containers as well. Those were no doubt packed with dust. Unless CA had snuck their products in SDC containers. That train was only meant to be dust as well.
Climbing down his stack, he approached one of those on the ground floor and tested the metal handles. The long vertical bars reached up from the foot of the container to the top, and after playing with them for a few seconds he realised they could be dragged and folded outward on hinges, which seemed to be the method of unlocking the containers. Stiff as they were, he got the first one open with a loud grating of the metal door against concrete. The interior was stacked with wooden crates instead of killer robots. He was about to close it before thinking better.
"Mors uses dust and it's valuable…" Dust was power, fuel and ammunition, making it the primary target of every White Fang raid. More than that, it could be easily sold. There was no way to know if dust was stolen or not, and literally everyone needed it.
Working the wooden crate off took a few minutes of jamming Mors' blade into the seam and working it up and down like a crowbar. Adam had chosen the weapon well and it held firm, eventually wrenching the nails loose and the top board up. Inside, the crate was divided into honeycomb sections each padded with wool or synthetic material, with a glass vial in the centre.
Jaune took out the two plastic water bottles he'd scavenged from dustbins, drank from one and then emptied both onto the floor. Once he'd shaken them clean, he filled both up with dust – about three jars worth – before putting them back in the crate, laying the wood on top and closing the container door, locking it again. No one would notice until they cracked it open. The plastic bottles would also keep the dust from spilling and wouldn't shatter like glass.
"If I can find somewhere to sell this, I'll be good on money for a while."
The main doors clacked loudly, a white light flashing a warning as the giant metal warehouse front began to grind open.
/-/
"Fucking cold morning."
Robert McKenzie – Rob to his friends – shot his shift partner a glower. "Yeah, it is fucking cold. Thanks for the reminder. Which one of us worked the night shift again?"
"Alright. Alright. Least you'll be off soon, eh? Besides, you got to sit in that shed with a heater and a kettle. What's to complain?"
"Not having a bed for one." Rob sighed and rubbed his hands together, looking into the warehouse as the doors slid open. The various stacked containers loomed high above, light filtering in from the doors and washing over them. "I'll handle these if you work the next one over."
"You just want to get out the cold. Alright, that's fine with me. Have a good one, Rob."
"You too, Nigel."
Boots crunching over the concrete, Rob stepped through the door and let the metal shutter close behind him, casting the warehouse back into gloom. Approaching the metal stairway, he made his way up with one hand on the railing, clanking along to the mezzanine walkway down the length of the warehouse's west wall. The depot centre at the back, suspended above the forklifts, loomed in the distance, as cold and uninviting as anything in the early hours of the morning. He fished out the roll of keys once he reached it, heavy gloves making flicking through them a task and a half.
The first slid in but wouldn't turn. Cursing, he hunched up against the door and tried a second, turning it halfway and having to give the door a solid two hits with his shoulder before it went the whole way and clicked open.
"Place is going to the dogs," he muttered, walking in, and pulling his gloves off, tossing them into a corner. Things hadn't always been so tight. Back when the rails had first been laid, it'd been hailed as a golden age for the logistics industry. Jobs aplenty, they'd said. A bright future. Problem was, no one expected Atlas to commercialise their air freight technology so soon, especially when they usually wanted to keep the military edge.
Between sea and air, rail had taken a hit, and once the White Fang started ambushing routes? Well, that was the nail in the coffin. You couldn't ambush air freight. Not easily, anyway. Sea was a little more dangerous, what with the Grimm and all, but patrol boats from Atlas kept the waters safe. Not so for the Grimm-infested wilderness the rail had to go through.
"Not gonna last," Rob mumbled, logging into the terminal. "Maybe Samantha's right. I need to find another job." It hurt his pride to think of letting his wife's best friend's husband offer him a job on the docks, but pride wasn't helping any.
One more week, he kept telling her. We'll turn things around. Things will get better.
They never did. Sammy only ever smiled weakly when he said that now. "Fuck," he hissed, pressing his forehead to the screen. "I should have listened." The door swung open and shut behind him, clattering. Rob scowled and spun on his seat. "Nigel, I swear if you've-"
A gun.
It was the first thing he saw and for a horrifying second he thought it'd be the last.
"Don't move. Don't make a sound."
Rob froze in the seat. Despite being told to stay perfectly still, his hands rose slowly, palms outward in surrender. Cloying cold crept up his body, turning his blood to ice. He shivered, teeth chattering.
The man aimed the gun to the terminal. "Log in."
"It – It already is…" Rob's voice cracked. His eyes roamed higher and every bone in his body turned to jelly. Jaune Arc. Oh fucking hell, it was Jaune Arc. The killer. The madman. Rob always considered himself a tough no-nonsense man, but the second he recognised that cold visage, tears started to pool in his eyes.
He'd made mistakes. So many fucking mistakes. So many that could be fixed if he only had more time.
"I don't want to die."
"You won't." The man's voice was hoarse and tight, young like a boy's but that didn't matter much when he couldn't look away from the gun. "Do what I say, and you won't die. Do you understand me?"
Rob's head bobbed up and down like a yoyo. "Anything," he wheezed. "I'll do anything."
"I want you to bring up the details of all the containers stored here. I want you to find where the ones from Chivalric Arms are going."
Rob's heart clenched. "I can't. It doesn't work like that!" he rushed out, terrified of a bullet to the back of the head. He leaned aside from the terminal screen to let the killer see. "We see what comes in and who is planned to collect it, but we don't get details of where it goes. I-I can tell you where it is. I can tell you when they're meant to collect it!"
"Do that."
"Yes sir. Right on it!"
Rob's fingers flew over the keys, blind terror making him miss a few and have to go back. The fact it was taking longer had his heart racing and he had to hold his hands over the keys to forcefully calm them down. His fingers twitched and shook like wriggling worms. He forced them down again, swallowing and grinding through documents.
"Here." His voice rasped, raw and quiet. "T-They're stored in 2B. That's two down on the left. Keys are in my left pocket." He didn't dare move to take them out. "Says here they're coming to collect today. Two hours from now. I-If you kill me, they'll never come. It'll be a crime scene."
"If you do as I tell you, I won't kill you. The newspapers exaggerate. I'm not a murderer."
Rob wanted to laugh – he really did. Not a murderer? Really!? He had a bigger body count than Roman fucking Torchwick. It was hilarious to claim otherwise, and yet Rob couldn't manage more than a shaky nod and a whimpered acknowledgement. Anything to get him out alive and back to Sammy. New job, new life, turn things around. Live.
"I'm going to tie you up," the murder said. "I want you down on your knees. Take off your jacket and helmet."
Rob did so carefully and even removed the lanyard around his neck with the little laminated picture frame and details. "Y-You'll need this," he said, placing it down. "Need ID to n-not be questioned."
I'm being useful. Please don't kill me.
Jaune Arc barely acknowledged it. He gestured with the gun and Rob got on his knees, holding his wrists together behind his back and turning to offer them to the killer. If he was going to die, there was fuck all he could do about it, but cooperating might save him. Maybe. It hadn't saved anyone else, but he could hope.
The doors clanked a second time. Rob's stomach dropped to his knees. Nigel hadn't come back, had he? Fuck, of all the times to be a good friend! The light warning workers inside went off and metal grated. A fist caught his collar and hauled him back, voice hissing into his ear.
"Who is it?"
"I don't know," he whispered back. "It shouldn't be anyone!"
Jaune clutched his gun and Rob almost pissed himself, especially when it was aimed at his head. The trigger wasn't pulled, however. "You're going to go down there," the killer told him. "And tell whoever it is that everything is fine. You got it? Don't try and run. If you come back, I won't kill you. Run and I'll gun you down."
"O-Okay. I'll do it." His eyes didn't leave the gun. "I-I'll need you to let me go."
The killer released him, and Rob stumbled to his feet. When the gun motioned for him to do so, he hurried to the door, opening it and edging onto the metal walkway. He'd never been a fast man and it would take time to get down the stairs. Could he outrun a bullet? Probably not. It was said Jaune Arc had hunted down and killed two huntsmen in Mistral. He was just a regular guy. The only thing he could do was do whatever the monster said and hope he got out alive.
"H-Hey there!" he called, waving to the four people at the entrance. He made his way to the staircase in what he hoped was a slow and calm manner, descending with a hand gripping the railing so tight his fingers stuck to it. "Things are all fine in here," he called. "I-I'm not sure which delivery you're here for, but our first isn't scheduled for two hours from now. If you want the foreman, he's in the main building."
The four men – and they were all men – were dressed in high-vis jackets and jeans, but Rob didn't recognise any of them. Their faces were square and set, all firmly neutral and a little too regimented.
"Are you from haulage?" he asked. "Drivers?"
The second one from the left turned his head to the side and nodded in Rob's direction. The tallest of them, the one on the far left, nodded back and snapped his hands up. Rob barely had the time to process the gun in the man's hand.
/-/
Crack!
Jaune flinched, eyes scrunching shut as the man toppled back, blood spraying from his head, to collapse on the metal staircase. The silenced shot wasn't as quiet as the movies made it sound and echoed in the warehouse, but it sounded more like a crack of a car door being slammed than a gunshot. Opening his eyes, Jaune stared at the back wall of the small office, breathing in deeply and bringing Mors up to his chest. Metal clanged outside as someone scaled the walkway and came running along it, boots shaking the metal and causing it to rattle.
Chivalric Arms had found him, and this time he didn't have Adam or Blake to rely on.
Blake. The betrayal bit deep, even deeper still knowing he was here now because of her. Jaune's teeth gritted together and he gripped Mors tighter still, eyes flashing angrily. Blake had abandoned him and now Chivalric Arms thought they had him.
His finger slid over Mors' barrel, clicking the button in to slot an explosive round into place.
/-/
"Was that James?" Glynda asked as Ozpin ended the call. She stepped out of the golden elevator and into his office with a fresh stack of paperwork in hand. Ozpin made room for it on his desk with a faint smile and a move of his mug.
"It was. I just finished updating him on our latest findings."
"The information from the Belladonna girl." Glynda frowned. "I'm not normally one to question you, Ozpin, and I realise the information she shared is important – invaluable, in fact – but is it really wise to accept her into Beacon so suddenly?"
"I thought it best given the circumstances. While it was certainly awkward fitting her in on the very day of initiation, no one appears to have noticed she wasn't in the hall the night before. As for trusting her, Miss Belladonna believes her decision to be the just one, even if it's clear she holds some guilt."
"Guilt that might be used to sway her."
"I don't think so. Guilt is natural when you are turning on an ally, but I didn't sense any regret in her. She believes she has made the correct choice. The only choice." Ozpin sipped from his mug and set it down. "As reckless as my actions may seem, I thought it more important to have information on the real threat. She is, by comparison, a minor issue."
"Jaune Arc."
"Hmm. James was… understandably upset to hear of it. He will be coming early, along with a contingent of his forces, and I expect he will want to speak with Miss Belladonna at length. We'll have to make room for them here if we don't want everyday life in the city disturbed."
"I'll see rooms prepared."
"Thank you, Glynda. You're a lifesaver."
"What will we do about him?" she asked.
"Officially, he's a murderer and to be stopped by any means necessary."
"Officially," she argued. "The story from Miss Belladonna paints a different picture."
"Yes, and with the information we have from James to corroborate, I'm inclined to believe her side of the story. The problem is, and she all but confirmed this, Mr Arc will never accept that we might want to help him. If we try to negotiate with him, he's sure to react negatively."
"He's not the only one. I know you're fond or rehabilitation, but I can't imagine anyone being happy with him joining the student body. The Council would be in uproar. Parents would draw their children out by the bucketful. Atlas might even push for extradition. I don't think even you have the political clout to stop all that, Ozpin."
He chuckled. "You're right there. Of course, letting him die is no more attractive a solution. For one, his Semblance could be a useful weapon against her, but even more importantly, I do not believe he will `die` quite so easily. Not without taking many down with him."
"Does Miss Belladonna not have any solution?"
"None other than what we already decided - that we might draw his attention by rescuing a sibling on his behalf. Alas, Mountain Glenn turned out to be a dead end. The labs were Merlot's and there was no sign there of any inhabitation. Other than that, we know his range is limited to fifteen metres either side of him. That's a thirty-metre bubble within which no aura or Semblance will function."
"Including his own. A single sniper could bring him down if a huntsman engaged to force him to use his Semblance first."
"Assuming he could be drawn into an open ambush where we might position said sniper."
"We could use her as bait to lure him out."
"I'm not sure Miss Belladonna could be trusted with it. Or that she would trust us after," he added. "Imagine we succeed, and she discovers we used her to draw out and kill him without even trying to talk him down. We'd be rid of one problem only to create another."
"One far less dangerous."
"Admittedly." Ozpin sighed and removed his glasses. "I would still prefer to handle this peacefully. I've made many mistakes in my life, Glynda. The ones I regret most are where I choose the easy option – the safe option – and forever wonder if things couldn't have been different. Mr Arc is a man whose family, family of a huntsman I taught, have been captured or killed. He has become a human experiment. I do not want to put him down like a rabid dog and let those behind this escape into the shadows."
He could see Glynda was the same, lips pursing up. Between the reports before from James and the new knowledge from a terrified and desperate Blake Belladonna begging for asylum, they had a fuller picture of the boy's activities. Enough to know he might not be responsible for every death blamed on him.
That didn't make him any less dangerous, however. In fact, it made him more dangerous. The far better result would have been if Miss Belladonna could have convinced him to come with her, both coming to him and allowing him to help them.
"We will have to play it by ear," he said. "Wait and-" An alert on Ozpin's screen pinged up, buzzing angrily. Ozpin held up a hand for Glynda to wait and opened it, reading through the contents with widening eyes. He snapped it shut and stood. "There's been an explosion by the old cargo yard – the one where Miss Belladonna and Mr Arc entered the city."
Glynda spun on her heel. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Capture him alive if you can," Ozpin called as she entered the elevator. "But preserve your life first! Remember, his range is fifteen metres. Do not enter it no matter what!"
Glynda Goodwitch nodded as the doors slid shut before her.
/-/
The explosive round struck an SDC container and pierced through, igniting inside and causing the dust to expand and blow out the metal sides, pinging shards all around the warehouse like a grenade. The heat struck other containers and set those off, those with flammable materials bursting into flame and the dust exploding, the chain reaction ripping through the warehouse and sending the three men on the ground flying.
The final man on the catwalk clung to the railing as it shook, looking down on the carnage. His head, and his weapon, snapped back around when metal rattled to his right, but he wasn't fast enough. Jaune slammed into him and toppled them both over the edge, his hands on the man's shoulders.
They fell a good ten metres, Jaune kicking off the man's chest to send him down first. Colours sprang to life in his eyes and the heat from the fires burned hot against his skin, singing clothing. He kept his eyes open through it, narrowed and dry but fixed on the screaming man hurtling down. He struck the concrete with a horrific crack, neck snapping at an awkward angle.
Aura swept back in as Null retreated and Jaune landed mere seconds later, bouncing off the dead man's body and rolling to the side, scrambling to his feet with his heart in his throat. The fire had swept up the walls and was threatening to reach the ceiling, and as it touched new stacks, more dust erupted.
The assailants weren't killed by it, however. Charred and blackened with cuts and torn outfits, they stumbled out while maintaining their formation, one in the lead and two fanned out to the sides, quickly spreading to keep a wide distance between them. They're keeping it so only two will ever be in Semblance range at a time. It's definitely Chivalric Arms. No one else would know to.
Hidden by the fire and smoke, Jaune dipped into the space between two large stacks, ignoring the heat washing over him and looping behind. There was no way this hadn't been noticed and the police would be on their way, but if he could question one of those men…
It was worth the risk.
The squad of trained professionals moved slowly around the corner of the burning containers, one dropping to a knee and aiming his gun down as the others covered the corners. The third moved to their fallen comrade and knelt to touch his neck. He didn't speak but raised a hand and motioned forward twice. It was enough to have the kneeling one stand and hurry ahead.
Smoke ballooned out as Jaune leapt from cover for the third – the one left behind. The very second his boots touched the ground they all turned, but by that point Null was flashing and he swept Mors' blade attachment across, whipping it over the man's throat. Arterial blood sprayed out over him and the man's chest. Null flicked off as he ducked behind the still alive man, using him as cover from the six gunshots that came mere fractions of a second after. They riddled the man, knocking him jerkily back into and over Jaune's body as he crumpled.
Mors spat back, two shots that missed, hastily aimed, and fired in the heat of combat. One pinged off the bottom of the room above and the other struck a metal post – closer, but still two feet from the man he'd been aiming for. The body he'd been using for cover dropped and Jaune dashed back into the smoke, aura tanking two more carefully placed shots, one off his arm and the other hitting his shoulder.
Through the fire, he saw the path ahead be blocked by the one who had run on, now cutting him off. Or so he thought. Jaune grinned ferally and charged straight at him, holding both hands over his face, feeling every bullet strike hard. Even if his aura blocked it, the force still threatened to knock him back. The pain was immense – like slamming your hand into a nail. Every shot was a needle strike of precision crashing into his aura and focused on a single point.
His rage eclipsed it. Thoughts of his sisters, his mom and even of Blake pushed him to and past the edge. Screaming, Jaune lunged for the startled soldier, dragging down under his weight. They collapsed and skidded across the floor; the man's gun was knocked from his hand, but a knife appeared just as quickly to block the downward stab from Mors. Trapped under him, the soldier was still trained enough to drive an elbow into Jaune's face and roll them over. Jaune's back hit the concrete and a hand gripped his forehead, driving it down as the man pressed the knife to his neck.
"Surrender Subject 000. You are-" A gunshot was muffled by clothing, armour padding beneath and then flesh and muscle. The man jerked above him, spitting blood across Jaune's face. The knife wavered as he looked down past shining golden and purple eyes to the barrel of Mors pushed up against his sternum.
"My name," Jaune hissed. "Is Null."
A second shot was enough to finish the man, the knife falling from his fingers as he slumped off and to the side. The armour he'd hidden under the driver's outfit wasn't enough at point blank range. Staggering up, Jaune cried out as a shot hit his chest and knocked him flat on his back again.
The last of the soldiers was walking slowly through the fire, gun held in two hands and aimed at him. When he tried to stand, the man fired and Jaune's wrist was ripped out from under him, toppling him back down.
"Delta Four-Nine to Command. Subject 000 is isolated. Team is dead. Requesting reinforcement and clean-up." The man came to a stop and Jaune's wildly fired shot hit his leg, making him grunt but not fall. "Understood, Command. Maintaining minimum distance."
Distance? Fifteen metres. Fuck! Jaune dropped Null and rolled to the side, crying out as fresh dust rounds impacted his back and shoulder. Fighting through it, he rolled behind the dead body and scrambled to his feet, rushing into the fire but tripping when two bullets impacted the back of his left shin in quick succession. The marksman had no trouble placing the shots Jaune couldn't. Rolling onto his back, aura already flagging, Jaune glared at the man who stood at the end of a flaming corridor. He stood stock still, gun aimed at him.
I can't get close. Can't beat him at range. Damn it. This is what Adam and Blake were for.
Huntsmen he could deal with, but trained soldiers who knew their way around his Semblance were a bigger problem. Eyes tearing up from the heat, Jaune stared at the bastard as he came to stand beside a dark grey container. On it, two white letters before a shield formed the initials CA.
The container…
Gritting his teeth, Jaune reached down and pushed up onto one knee, already seeing the shot aimed at his leg. Pushing his aura forward, he gripped the bottle at his side and hurled it with all his strength. The shot hit, knocking his leg out from under him. The bottle arched through the sky, the soldier tracing it and moving aside quickly. It hit the spot he'd occupied, caught fire, and exploded with a loud `pop` and a sickening wrenching of metal torn asunder. The Agent flinched away from it but maintained his focus, moving forward to maintain the minimum distance without looking away.
Jaune looked up at him and smiled ferally. "Fuck you."
"Intruder detected!" A white figure scorched black stepped mechanically out of the blazing container, its visor lighting up as it came face to face, or side, with the startled agent. An agent who was currently dressed as an armed and dangerous delivery driver, and not as a member of Chivalric Arms or law enforcement. The visor flashed red. "Neutralising."
"No-"
The first volley struck the man in the ribcage and sent him tumbling back into the fire. He yelled out angrily and shot back, striking the machine's visor and cracking it, causing the thing to tumble. It didn't matter as three more stepped out, walking over the fallen body of their brother and opening fire. The soldier darted out, moving quickly to pull a grenade out his pocket, bringing it up to his lips to bite out the pin.
Blood washed over it as a fresh volley hit and tore through his body, splattering out his back and into the fire. The soldier trembled, standing upright with wide eyes and the grenade pin between his teeth. His eyes slid to Jaune, who had crawled the final few metres closer and whose eyes were misty gold, red and purple.
"N-Null," he whispered, toppling.
The grenade fall loose and tinkled down, exploding with a loud crack. Jaune's aura came back in time to tank the shrapnel but the robots weren't as fortunate and were knocked back. The container collapsed, burying the others inside. It came down with a crash, the entire stack of containers giving way over them.
"Guh." Legs shaking, Jaune pushed himself up one last time, shying away from the flames licking away all around him. Limping to the body he knelt at its side and reached for the earpiece. "Delta Four-Nine to Command," he reported. "Command?"
Tinny static was the only response. The connection had been cut.
"Shit." Tossing it aside, he searched the man instead, pulling open his jacket and ignoring the grisly wounds, fumbling around for a wallet, ID, or anything he could use. There was a black leather wallet with some lien and cards in it. The ID was clearly fake, the rest probably no better. Taking the lien, he tossed the wallet aside and stood. "T-Time to go. Agh." His right leg nearly gave way. His aura, what he could feel of it, was low. Dangerously low. "Fuck."
Metal groaned overhead. The building wasn't going to last much longer, metal beams damaged by the explosions and the fire not making it any better. So much for doing this quiet. Chivalric Arms must have known I'd be here. Or maybe they had access to the security system. It couldn't have been that guy accessing their files on the computer. They arrived within minutes.
Maybe they'd always been here, masquerading among the staff and waiting for him to return or guarding their interests. It hardly mattered now. Limping out the ring of burning containers, Jaune leaned against the wall by the only man who'd died and didn't deserve to. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away. "I tried to let you live. If you want to blame anyone, blame them. Blame Atlas."
He doubted the man would find any peace in that. It was still his fault the guy died.
"I didn't mean to…"
There was no answer of course. Jaune wasn't sure what bothered him more – the fact the man died, or the fact he felt so little about it. Where was the guilt? The vomit? Why didn't he feel sick at all after all this? His breath was coming quick, but more from exhaustion than the nightmarish regret he was supposed to be feeling.
"Later," he told himself, limping on with one hand on the wall. "Escape first. Deal later." Reaching the doors, he wrenched it open and stepped outside, immediately covering his face with one hand as a bright spotlight shone down and blinded him.
"Jaune Arc!" an imperious female voice called out from above. The engine of a Bullhead reached his ears, the sound having been hidden over the crackling fire. Through his fingers, he looked up at the aircraft hovering a good twenty-five metres up, and the blonde woman hanging out the open door. "You are under arrest by the authority of Beacon."
Now this? After everything else, of all things, he now had this to deal with? Jaune laughed.
He laughed loudly.
"Beacon, huh? I can't catch a break…"
"Lay down your weapon and surrender or I shall be forced to bring you down."
More people getting in his way – and these ones weren't Atlas or Chivalric Arms. It was a fucking school for huntsmen, literally the last people who should be on his ass. I've done nothing to Beacon. I couldn't care less about it. But if they wanted to make an enemy of him? If they wanted to get in his way – stop him finding his family? They'd have to be dealt with.
His finger thumbed along Mors' side, clicking his second explosive round into place.
"Jaune Arc! Place your weapon on the ground and lay on your chest with your hands atop your head. You will not be warned again. Surrender now."
Jaune's eyes met those of the woman above, burning gold.
"No."
Okay, I'll do this sneaky peaceful infiltration, and nothing will go wrong! I got this. I can do this. Two hours later, okay, so I destroyed half the city and killed ten thousand people. It's okay. I can fix this!
"News today that Vale has been entirely eradicated…"
Cinder turned away from the TV screen to Mercury and Emerald. "Well. That happened…"
Next Chapter: 15th June
P a treon . com (slash) Coeur
