Red Moon Rising

by MasterofMasyaf9000

The beating of a butterfly's wings can lead to the whipping of a tornado. A world of bloody evolution is forever changed with the most minute of choices: What if Adam Taurus had never joined the White Fang?

12. Smooth as Sandpaper

"The past has no power over the present."

---

Chapter 12: Smooth as Sandpaper

---

At night, it was easy to be reminded that Mistral was one of the largest cities on Remnant.

The marks of such size were clear in the skyscrapers that could be easily at home in Atlas, Upper New Mantle, and any other financial powerhouse in the world and the ever-illustrious Haven Academy, a jewel that towered over the landscape like a herculean giant. Built on a plateau of the continent's highlands, the city was humid subtropical and well on its way to the winter rainy season.

However, if one took a more than a cursory look, one could argue that its size was perhaps it's greatest weakness. Indeed, it had not been too far in the distant past, before the notorious disaster of the infamous Flooded District, after their last win at Vytal, that Mistral had seen some attempts at widescale urban reform, in attempt to entice tourists into making permanent homes there. Colossal plazas, expansive shopping malls, large commercial and residential complexes, and towering government buildings. A thriving economy. At least, that had no doubt been the vision.

Instead, the reality was that almost all of those buildings lay unfinished, skeletons of steel and concrete that would likely never see completion. Not least due to mismanagement of funds, with officials being bribed at all levels, starting with top level of regional government officials, and spreading its "wing of protection" over subordinates, contractors, sub-contractors, suppliers, equipment providers; there was no telling how many of them were even up to code to start with. Throw in unions and organized crime, and the final death knell to that particular project was struck quickly and decisively, without mercy or fanfare.

That is not to say there were not those who couldn't find a way to profit, however, if one was creative enough.

An anxious looking man scurried up the street, towards the construction site, wearing a suit that looked as if it was several sizes too small for him. He was bald and unshaven, so that both the top and bottom of his head were covered in a thin black stubble. On the other hand, he didn't seem to have any eyebrows—as if his skin were too thick and pockmarked to grow through.

He seemed to cast furtive gazes at every passing shadow, as if he were afraid of being followed. This did not go unnoticed.

[You look lost, my friend. Not from around here?] The voice of another man, clad in lilac leather and leaning casually against a chain link fence that marked the boundary of the site, spoke fluent Mistrali, which was probably for the best. Most city raised Huntsmen and Huntresses never bothered to learn, which gave the criminal element a marked advantage when it came to matters that were best discussed sotto voce.

Unfortunately for said element, their clientele also tended to be less cultured.

"What?"

With a sigh, the man in purple switched languages, repeating himself in the common tongue with just as much ease.

Now that the message had sunken in, the nervous one smiled, his feet shifting from side to side with eagerness.

"I was told I could find some action here. Is this the right place?"

The one in purple shrugged. "Could be. My Valean is bad." The mocking tone was subtle, and easily missed by his partner. "I need to know that we're speaking the same language."

Obviously, that was a trigger word, because almost immediately, the man in the suit reached into his inner pocket, and money changed hands.

As he carried on shifting from side to side, the other seemed to take his time counting the lien, seemingly savouring his fear, even revelling in it, if that was the word. His fingers danced along the cards with practiced skill, counting, and counting again, and again. It was only when his victim's patience appeared to be at its absolute limit, veins seeming pulsing in his neck with anticipation that he raised a hand with a vulpine smile.

"No problem. Follow me."

The other man gave a grateful smile and complied.

Neither noticed the red-haired spectre, perched on the edge of a streetlight, watching them move.

They made their way inside the building site, talking as they went. The shadow stole after them, doing its best to maintain the balance between keeping them in sight, and staying out of the periphery of their awareness.

"Three rounds per fight, if they last that long." the one in purple explained, as they stepped into what looked to be a construction hoist.

As the grating of the elevator closed behind them, Adam cursed.

It looked like he would have to find another way up.

Making his way, he craned his neck, before breaking out into a smile.

"Thank the gods for government spending cuts."

He glanced at the bamboo scaffolding that covered the lower levels, quickly realizing it would give him plenty of hand and foot holds… To a point. Nodding to himself, he took a running start and leapt up with ease, and soon he found a rhythm of climbing the structure of the building. The faunus was feeling more confident now, and he leapt from handhold to handhold until he reached the top of the scaffolding without even a thought of how strong the wind was. He waited until the structure swayed closer to his destination before he moved along its length to a higher level of I-beams just out arm's reach, jutting out of the tower, and covered in large flecks of rust.

Here was hoping he didn't give himself tetanus.

Rolling his shoulders and hips, Adam hauled himself up, grabbing with ease and slowly shifting his weight. He was at the mercy of the wind now, giving him ample time to work his way up. He took a scant few seconds to peer out at the sprawling metropolis, lips curving into a thin grimace, before looking around again. Obviously, the two weren't here, so he needed to climb higher.

Swinging himself to the final beam, he noticed that the protective wrap around the higher levels of the tower had a break, allowing Adam to climb inside the building proper.

Surrounding the immediate area, were what looked like live generators and the area was bathed in work lights. There were construction materials littered haphazardly about, and spying a partially closed aluminium grating, he made his way toward it. It took a few tries for Adam to pull it free from its covering, but he allowed himself a smirk as the scream of the warping metal being pulled from rusted bolts could finally be heard.

Crawling into the vent, he managed to reach another opening, and from there, he made his way up to a second level, and then up to a third. Flooring was much less less consistent here, he was clearly close to the bleeding edge of construction; he hopped from plywood to steel, to more bamboo and back again before he finally started to hear human voices again.

There was a low rumble too, one that got louder the deeper he moved into the building. He couldn't put a finger on exactly what it was. It was too loud to be a generator, and too quiet for an earthquake.

While he was pondering, the voices he originally heard grew louder, distracting him from his musings.

"...Bet on whoever you want for whatever amount. You'll see men in the crowd with red armbands. Place bets with them. More than five thousand needs approval." Adam instantly recognised the voice.

He'd caught up.

The background noise suddenly became an eruption of shouting and cheering below him, and the faunus realized that the rumbling he had heard had been people.

"Better hurry, friend." Adam heard faintly over the roar of noise. "The show's already started..."

The faunus gracefully slipped down into the rafters, what little sound he made being made swallowed by the vacuum of noise beneath his feet as they made contact with yet more rusted steel. From his perch, he had a perfect aerial view of the raised dais that formed the ring, as well as its surroundings, and the seemingly endless crowd, packed like sardines into a space that seemed almost too small to contain them. They were eating and drinking, many of them moving, trying to shift the sluggish air, jostling and talking. Although all of them were standing, none of them were still.

A cheer erupted above the hubbub as a grey-haired boy in a dark hoodie emerged from their ranks, and climbed over the metal fencing into the ring, stopping to tighten hand wraps as he approached his intended opponent. The faunus examined him from the shadows with a critical eye as the name of the challenger was announced. Something Black, if the tinny speakers that had butchered the words spoken into the microphone beyond all recognition were to be trusted.

Human; He didn't look much older or younger than himself, but there was something about him that separated him from the usual overconfident punching bags that usually came to these things. Maybe he'd be a worthy challenge for him. Someone worth his time.

That was more than could be said for the boy's opponent.

The faunus groaned mentally when he saw the preening woman. He recognised her. Older, maybe thirties, green hair, in desperate need of someone to tell her that wearing an excess of belts didn't make a fashion statement. He hadn't come here often, but she'd been here at least twice before, and had a frankly pitiful dearth of natural talent, having lost just about every battle she'd ever fought. The woman had third rate written all over her. As expected for a Huntress. At least, Adam suspected she was a Huntress. The terrible dress sense, combined with the madness inducing school of thought that fighting, was just flailing in the general direction of your opponent until you landed a hit, gave that impression. Sure, the criminals around here weren't much better in that department but for the most part, they at least had colour coding down.

As the promoter called for the start of the first round, the redhead noticed that the boy's stance was… odd, to say the least. For a starting posture, it left him with his arms wide open and apart. His hands were closed, but it seemed an incredibly awkward stance to punch from. There was no way in hell he was planning on using his fists from the way he looked.

He was proven right when the first thing he did, the moment the fight started, was throw a powerful low kick, one that Adam knew from experience had more than enough weight behind it to shatter his opponent's kneecap. But yet, there was something wrong.

While the boy's form was perfect, the kick was far too slow. He had telegraphed it with his leading leg. The faunus didn't buy it for a second. Form and speed were crucial to technique, You couldn't learn one without the other. No fighter worth his name would be so callous with his move set. Either he was feeling out his opponent's skill level… or he was going to deliberately let her win. Irritation marred the faunus' features as the fight went on. As blows were exchanged, it became apparent that the huntress was slow and clumsy, the same as before. But Adam had noticed the boy was too loose. More and more, his attacks were becoming far too obvious, telegraphed by his eyes and his feet.

Adam could feel wrath welling up in his bones. How long would this farce, this utter perversion, last for? How long before one of them had the honour or decency to show the fight the respect it deserves?!

Finally, at some point in the third round, the huntress threw a kick. Even from the distance he was at, Adam could tell it was powerful at least, but like everything else, slow. It should have been easily defended! A novice follow-up; It was as if neither of them had ever trained! It was but a small mercy that the shouts of the crowd and roar of the wind prevented anyone from overhearing the sound of Adam grinding his teeth.

Inevitably, the boy fell, much to the approval of the crowd.

The Huntress celebrated her undeserved victory, and the boy in the hood limped off, no doubt to collect the pay he was promised for taking a dive.

None of them noticed the shadow, watched from a high above, unseen by the crowd below.

But if they had, and had the presence and ability to hear his words as he silently made his departure, they would have heard his final disheartened lament.

"The same as last week."

---

Four hours.

He had been training for four hours straight.

Choosing to start off with the basics, he had prepared himself and, after grinding his feet into the floorboards to get a good feel of his foundations, took a stance . He thrust punches and kicks of all forms of attack, parry and counters. He chose not to keep his attacks direct, instead taking advantage of his space to move around, to practice working around an opponent rather than wearing them down, since the tactic would almost certainly wear him down in a real fight as well.

Assuming he ever found one of those.

Wordlessly, he attacked his imaginary opponent, with utmost focus and consistency, refusing to spare the energy to even grunt.

Over the weeks since his last unarmed encounter, he had come to realise that the style he had been taught as a child was very simple, combining speed, power and technique appropriately and equally, with a slight emphasis on speed- an approach that had, against most, proven most adequate. But as he had discovered since arriving in Kuchinashi, a mastery of the basics would only take him so far.

That had been proven, both by his opponents in the ring, by Myst, and worst of all, by her.

Mariko.

He may have been nigh invincible with his blade in hand, but it had been her, among others who had demonstrated his weakness to him the night they'd met.

Taught him that he needed to adapt.

And so he had.

It was then, that he decided to try something, something that he had been dwelling on for some time now, but had only recently decided to put into practice. Bringing in his elbows, the faunus took in a deep inhale, clenching his fists.

Utilizing fighting form purely from the memory of his first night in the ring, and his battles with her, Adam exhaled and dropped into a horse stance, both hands extended forward and palms open and upwards. Breathing out, he lunged in and began attacking the air with open palmed strikes. These attacks were more fluent and had wider, smoother motions as opposed to the rigid, straight out attacks from his usual unarmed approach.

He had switched styles.

It took a few minutes, but he slowly began to get more accustomed to it, and his forms and movement improved drastically. At least they felt like they did. He supposed it helped that he had an intrinsic understanding of the theory behind them, and their utility. The forms he was currently trying to emulate, were a 'soft style' of martial arts, one that emphasized control of an opponent's movements, over physical power and speed. A reactionary style of fighting, one that was well suited to counter his traditional 'hard style'; an all-out offensive form that combined high mobility with an aggressively quick move set, focused entirely around doing as much damage as possible in the shortest amount of time. When executed correctly, his offense is so overwhelming that it essentially was his defence. When attacked, he would either block with a guard or with his own strike, or come at his foes from an angle with an attempt to 'trade; disrupting their attack while landing one of his own.

It had its advantages, and had indeed served him well. But if Adam was to truly become a master martial artist, it was not enough to simply accept what had already been done. He had to improve upon what he knew. He felt he had perfected the 'hard' style of combat over the years, and nowhere had this proved truer than in these last months, but this one, despite being the exact reverse of his, alien in almost every respect, felt… natural almost, if that was the word. Despite this, when he had tried to change, it felt exactly like what it was, an amalgam. Two opposing schools scraping against one another like magnets, their points of friction tearing open more and more vulnerabilities in his technique. He gritted his teeth. If he could learn to use both, and switch between them at will…

There were so many possibilities, so much more to learn.

Even so, he couldn't help but doubt the effectiveness of his efforts, given that he was essentially adapting movements that weren't his, that he'd seen for fractions of a second without ever having been taught their purposes. The situations where they might be best used. And most importantly, how to make them his own. Filling in those gaps on his own would take time, and even with his prior training, without a way to test and adapt them properly, it would be a steep uphill climb.

One more thing he'd have to teach himself, it seemed.

His muscles were worked with sweat, as he slammed his foot on the ground, widening his stance and charging more of his aura, trying again to tap within the power of his semblance. His body flashed a silhouette, and his aura finally flared, writhing, as if to contain an inner beast. Every inch of his flesh was covered by the currents of red electricity, flickering rampantly across his pitch skin, as his fists tightened with the sheer strain of it all. He felt a rush of unrestrained power roar through him, the smell of iron and ozone in his nostrils, felt his nerves scream in delight as he finally cast off the shackles restraining his true potential.

And then in an instant, it was gone, the overwhelming sensations fading into vapor as he stood panting, trying to regain his breath. Gently, he ran his once clawed hand over his face, mind still racing with possibilities. The very act of it had all but drained him in an instant, but for a single ephemeral second, he had felt himself at one with an unrestrained force without name or equal…. beyond anything mortal.

No. That was approaching Belladonna levels of vanity, and the red haired faunus was not yet that enamoured with himself. While it was true that Adam held no illusions when it came to his capabilities; he was extremely talented, a natural prodigy who was more than willing to put in the work, he still had plenty of room to grow. He knew his goal, his train, and learn, to become stronger and stronger till none could stand before him and his might.

In fact, of late, while he couldn't necessarily control it yet, his power clearly seemed to be expanding beyond what limits he thought he possessed, faster than he could fathom.

Which left him with a single burning question.

What exactly were those limits?

He could channel energy. That much he knew. The fiendish appearance that seemed to grow ever more familiar in the recesses of his mind; namely the way his skin changed colour, the way his hair, teeth and eye glowed, nails sharpening into scarlet claws - he surmised that at least some of those aesthetic changes was his body's way of adapting to his semblance's demands. The friction build-up of absorbing and releasing kinetic energy built up heat, and channelling that much through his body would cook anyone else alive from the inside out, aura or not. That explained the charcoal skin at least; it was a natural, automatic defence to keep his own power from burning through his flesh before he could wield and release it. And if that was it for his semblance, Adam would have been much less curious.

But it was what he could do with the energy now, that left him at a loss.

For starters, now, where before he'd only been able to absorb meagre amounts through blows landed on his aura, now he could seemingly 'pull movement' out of things he touched, leaving them stuck in a standstill, at least for a while. He'd done it once, seemingly by accident, to an insect in a moment of distraction. He hadn't tried to do it again since, namely for a lack of opportunity. The commotion on the train had made him almost completely forget that he'd planned to do so and dealing with the Belladonna situation had left him off-kilter enough that he'd used this job so far as a way of compartmentalizing. Thinking on possible hideouts, motivations and leads left little room in his head for much else.

"I wonder…"

Reaching for one of the many stray shuriken that littered the floor, he took a moment to glare at the square of paper pinned to one of the room's support columns. The poorly drawn face of one Jacques Schnee stared back at him with an exaggerated expression of Machiavellian intent. Several shuriken stuck haphazardly out of the pillar, and more still cluttered at the base. Of the few that had even hit the pillar, only three of them had hit the image; One of them hitting his cheek, a second hitting his broad forehead, and the third, Adam noted with no small degree of satisfaction, hitting him right in his ridiculously oversized moustache.

Even so, that was three out of… he counted quickly. Twenty one. Hardly a good showing.

Sighing with frustration and disappointment, he returned to his task, recalling his original intentions as he held it up to the light.

"This should work."

Closing his eye, he called on the confidence of his skill, counting his heartbeats and thinking about swordplay, the meditative quality of training, reaching out into his mind for the eye of the storm that lived there.

Gently, he tossed it high into the air, listening to its revolutions as it ascended.

Focus.

He could sense its descent.

It's speed.

He knew where it would land, where he would have to move his hand, even without his sight.

All he had to do was reach out and-

"Fuck!"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the smarting pain of where the metal had hit him right between the eyes, as, unknown to him, demonic red sparks flickered from his visible iris, subsuming his pupil.

Soooo…. That hadn't worked.

Apparently he'd missed something.

Something else to work on.

Grumbling, he set his pain aside, attempting to dwell on his original thoughts.

His desire to learn and explore was not solely in the mattes of unarmed combat, after all. While there were few alive who could hope to match him with a sword, Adam had been pondering the idea of expanding into learning other weapon styles. There was no sense to being a one trick pony, and perhaps, if he could handicap himself with a weapon he was less familiar with, he might have the genuine challenge he sought. And there was a small child like-part of him that was insanely curious to see what he could do with his semblance to enhance other weapons.

When he absorbed energy, or rather, when he did so successfully, he could then charge things with raw kinetic energy; guns, Wilt, and increase his raw damage potential. Supercharged gunshots, a katana that could launch shockwaves powerful enough to rip through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter…

And yet this, he realized, wasn't without consequence

For all his vaunted strength, there were simply few materials that could actually sustain his powers. It was… unstable, for lack of a better word. He wouldn't soon forget the number of guns that had outright exploded in his hands as he was learning to shoot for the first time. That alone, he could have put down to the combination of his semblance with gunpowder, which was pretty damn volatile on its own. But then there was the battle on the train, and the shuriken that had exploded into metal splinters as it had left his hands. In fact, to his knowledge, Wilt was perhaps the one weapon, the only thing that had ever survived it's encounter with his semblance.

That was certainly something that bore investigation for when he started using new weapons.

Even more so, it seemed to have other effects on his body when he did so. Like the claws for instance. At least they looked like claws?

Moreover, when his semblance was active, black and red afterimages of himself followed behind him and echoed everything he did split-seconds later. So it obviously enhanced his body in some way; if not in strength, then in speed. But how fast was he?

Fast enough to see and react to bullets at least. But that wasn't exactly a quantifier, or at least not a specific one.

Could he move at super speed if he pushed himself hard enough? Or was he only slightly faster than the average aura user?

More questions, to which he had no answers.

He tossed the shuriken with furious force, sending it hurtling into Jacques with a thud.

It hadn't helped that the fighters at the underground rings were so pitifully weak. It barely took a few viewings for him to realise that the fights were blatantly rigged, but the lemmings that watched them were too stupid, or too greedy to work it out. In all honesty, not even the promise of money had given the idea of facing them luster. Macabre as it was, he had a code. He had standards. How was he to find his true limits if he couldn't test himself against worthy opponents?

Adam had heard it said once that answers could not be given, only learned, and it was a philosophy he ultimately agreed with. But where was he to begin the path, if he never faced a worthy trial that taught him such things?

Looking up, he noted with a surprised smile that his latest throw had landed right in Jacques' eye, a sharp edge sticking out of his pupil.

At least working off his annoyance through training, however, had proved to be quite fruitful in its own way.

On the subject of his primary purpose in the city…. he'd had nothing, since all the people he could have asked for leads either didn't know anything, or were too spineless to admit it. He hadn't wanted to risk asking the Spiders directly, not out of fear (If their performances in the ring were any indication of talent, he could rip out his other eye and still be more than a match for their best and brightest) but because if word of his questioning somehow made it back through the grapevine to his target, she could go further underground and make his job even harder than it already was. Even so, it was a small mercy that he hadn't gotten himself in more trouble than he needed to. That at least, was an admittedly impressive accomplishment for him; he had even learned a good understanding of the streets; which ways weren't likely to be mired with traffic or nosy shop minders. Though he figured that would only be useful once he actually found the girl, it was still something worth knowing. Even if it was the only plus he got out of his time here so far.

Well, that was just fine. Adam hadn't expected to get lucky right off the bat. He'd worked out by then that he was going to need to pound some serious pavement if he wanted to find her, which was, incidentally, exactly what he'd done for the first few evenings, having worked out that it was probably a better idea for his continued anonymity to hunt at late night or early morning.

Not that it had helped him any.

Picking up the last of his shuriken and returning them to his pockets—he seriously needed somewhere better to stash them for easy access— he made his way over to his bag, and after a little digging he pulled out the remains of the short-lived Blush. He weighed the wreck of the gun in his hand. The shattered and warped metal of the barrel's remains met his gaze, as if to mock him. He'd barely had it a full month, and he'd already wrecked the damned thing, the tool proving simply unable to handle the stress brought on by his power. Even the wooden grips showed signs of charring; the blackened palm print that marred the grip told its own tale revealing its unstable nature.

He'd been meaning to find a gunsmith since he arrived; so that was still on his to do list regardless. One more item on a list of many.

"It's been days." He paced the length of his room, his boots wearing patterns into the floorboards. "I haven't found anything. She might not even be here." He stopped. That was the impatience talking. There were hundreds of thousands of people in this city. Finding out anything on this Miltia girl was always going to prove a lot more trouble than he thought. He couldn't exactly just ask anyone.

Of those hundred of thousands, the Spiders had plenty of bodies from all across the city and from what he could gather, whoever 'Little Miss' or whatever the hell her real name was, if she was half as smart as people made her out to be, she wasn't exactly the sharing type. She couldn't possibly know every man in her organization, and in turn, her men probably wouldn't know her or her family any more than anyone else off the street—hence another reason why he'd ignored them so far, no matter how tempting it was to just start swinging. He could hardly call it a wash after a week and a half. It had taken him months to find Myst, and while the man had been in hiding, meaning that his elusiveness had at least made sense, this felt different somehow.

And if all that wasn't enough… He was starting to get the feeling that his 'employer' , was leaving him in the dark. He had arrived in Mistral days ago, as requested, but had not received any order on so much as where to even start looking. He would have felt like he was a victim of a joke, if he hadn't repeatedly reminded himself that not only was Charlotte's life at stake, but if it was a joke, it was an expensive one; ten thousand lien was hardly something to sneeze at after all. That jackpot made up for not knowing the details. And in all honesty, he had to admit, he hadn't been much for letting other people wag his proverbial tail.

Speaking of which...Charlotte hadn't been much help yet either.

To her credit, he didn't doubt she was trying, and it wasn't like she didn't have more pressing concerns. Despite the fact that until very recently, she'd left that life behind entirely, she'd given him a few useful locations and a few names of old contacts she'd had in Mistral that she'd thought might help, but when he asked around, half of them were either dead, "disappeared' or the information was otherwise outdated. Hell, some of the informants he had met with had tried to refer him to the Spiders themselves, calling them the "best brokers in the city." The irony wasn't at all lost on him.

The bottom line was, he'd spent so many months relying on Charlotte that he'd forgotten she'd already told him that it'd been years since she'd been a member of the syndicate and he could only assume her exile had cost her most of her wider contacts. Adding to that, she hadn't been that high up on the ladder to start with, and that a lot of her knowledge as a result had been limited to Kuchinashi, likely out of necessity. At least, that was his understanding. Living life as a civilian on gang controlled territory meant that it was probably a good idea to keep abreast of their activities if you didn't want to end up shot, stabbed or worse.

However, as much as her network of information was still vast by that standard, one thing Adam had learned by then, was that she had only one branch of knowledge. To find Malachite, he would need the information network of someone else. And that was it's own problem.

Moreover, her hands were probably full enough with the Serpent Clan all but breathing down on her neck. He'd already asked her to find out Xiang Liu's agenda. Even if she insisted she was fine, he wasn't blind to how it was clearly getting to her, if the increasingly frustrated tone of her messages was any indication. She'd eventually made the suggestion that he try to make his own contacts in the city: use them as eyes. "Less vinegar, more honey' were her exact words. But by the first week, a very significant part of Adam had started to wonder if, with his luck, he would have to run into a knowledgeable foe and beat the information out of him.

It was an unprecedented course of action, and (he was extremely reluctant to admit this) a stupid one, something Charlotte would be the first to point out if she'd been there, but Adam knew, from the grip of fear his conversation seemed to inspire in in the people he questioned, that his enemies were unlikely to expect him to go on the offensive. On the other hand, much like the outfit in Kuchinashi, his adversaries had no headquarters or public face. At least, none he'd been able to access.

After he finished sleeping most of the middle of the ninth day away, he made the decision to resume his search at sunset. He wasn't worried about being seen leaving. His neighbours were mostly so high they wouldn't notice if the entire mountain erupted; Adam never imagined how grateful and infuriated he'd be by wilful ignorance before. No one wanted to know anything that they didn't need to know.

Even the landlord had said as much when he'd guaranteed his own discretion, the day Adam had first taken up lodgings. Then again... that same man also swore blind that 'absolutely nothing illegal was happening in this place' and given the general state of the neighbourhood, who had sent Adam here, and the fact that the man in the adjacent apartment was almost definitely a thief of some description, judging by the way he kept moving in boxes in the middle of the night, he had decided to take a little caution all the same.

Locking the door to his lodgings, for all the good it would do; it was strong—no question, wooden panels over steel— meaning most would probably have a hard time kicking it down, including him, but the locks themselves weren't worth a damn. He'd nearly broken it twice now without trying, using the key of all things, so his hopes weren't all that high about how they'd stack up to an even halfway motivated thief. He had to hold on a little optimism, he supposed.

Adam was immediately confronted by the stairwell, complete with an old building mustiness, a delicate aromatic mixture of stale tobacco, urine and beer vomit. His new home was the final door on the left, at the head of the stairs. There was a window at the end of the upstairs hallway that faced the street; often the only reliable light to be found around now came through that glass. This evening though, aside from the sunset that seemed to permeate the shield of grime, the flickering fluorescents in the hallway offered the slightest of illumination as he stepped over a groaning body and descended the decrepit staircase to the first floor.

Speaking of the vipers' nest, he had to admit that no small amount of his ire could be placed squarely on their shoulders too. They were the ones who wanted her found, and wanted him to do it. So shouldn't he expect them to be a little more cooperative about it? Share some information, or at least give him somewhere to start? Instead, they'd basically told him to sit and spin. Even though he'd been doing the job for their benefit. If it wasn't for the fact that he gave a shit about Charlotte, and the fact that Xiang had threatened her, he wouldn't have given a rat's ass anyway.

He decided from then on, that if Xiang or whoever one of his underlings wanted his services so badly, they could damn well leave a message.

As he reached the bottom, he heard someone hail out to him.

"Hey!"

He turned around, and saw a tall well-built man with a round golden pendant, silver adornment, dark skin and sunglasses, wearing a long black open robe with a kimono like collar and a cloth belt. He also wore what looked like yellow leather trousers with knee pads, and black combat boots much like his closer inspection, Adam caught the tribal-like tattoos on his head and both arms.

'A human.'

The fact that he couldn't see the man's eyes, Adam found, was by far the most unsettling thing about him. He approached the man anyway, still watching his every move without a waver. For good measure, he put one hand in his coat pocket while the other was out at the ready.

"Uh." He really needed to learn how to talk to people."…Hey."

To the other man's credit—or poor judgement—he didn't back down. "Word to the wise. You trying so hard to avoid attention really only does the opposite. You've been quite the talk of the block lately." He laughed with a deep baritone, and, much to Adam's surprise, flicked his thumb, lighting it ablaze with a bluish-purplish flame before touching to the end of a cigar. In hindsight, Adam realised that he really shouldn't have been shocked—semblances were a thing after all— but in his defence, he'd never seen someone set themselves on fire before with such…apathy? Callousness? Either way, there was some childlike piece of him that couldn't help being just a little impressed with how the stranger carried himself.

His stance was completely relaxed, perfectly at ease, and Adam might have written it off as him not being a fighter or at best, an inexperienced one, but then he caught a brief glimpse of his eyes over his shades. Every movement he made, every twitch, was seen and analysed within seconds. The moment Adam made a move he didn't like, he felt the older man could have moved before the faunus could react. His pride told him that he still might have been able to dodge, but the certainty he felt with most others, wavered, if only a little.

Blowing out his thumb, the man sucked a long draught from his cigar before exhaling a cloud of acrid smoke upwards in rings. "Who are you?"

Adam's eye narrowed again, and he shifted defensively. At a height of six-foot-four, he wasn't used to feeling small, but this stranger had managed the task, standing at least a head or so taller than him and forcing Adam to tilt his upwards to maintain at least some semblance of eye contact. It took a considerable amount of self-control to avoid reaching for a weapon. "What's it to you?"

"I ain't seen you around before. Like I said, people talk, and the walls in this place are a lot thinner than you think. You don't look like a two-bit gangbanger, a whore, or a junkie, so colour me interested. Call it an instinct."

"And you would be?"

"Name's August. August Rodaine."

Adam looked down at the proffered hand then back to his face. A single look at his face told Rodaine that the red-haired man would sooner shake hands with a rabid dog. But surprisingly, as if to save face, he took his hand anyway, gave it a quick pump, then let go, returning it to his pocket.

"And why should I care? Or better yet, why shouldn't I put a bullet through that nose of yours to keep it out of my business?"

There was something about him, something surreal and something off. It made his skin crawl. Not entirely in a bad way. If feeling like he wanted to jump out of his own skin wasn't bad. He had him on high alert, paranoid as all hell, even by Adam's usual metric. Maybe it was the fact that he had Belladonna's height and build, though thankfully none of his features, that seemed to demand that Adam choose violence. Either that, or the fact he wore sunglasses in twilight.

Rodaine laughed, a short bark of sound. It didn't take much to tell that the horned faunus was in desperate need of developing some social skills. But socializing wasn't what he had in mind for the kid anyway. He tossed the useless cigar to the side and folded his arms. "Only if you have a death wish. Sides, if you're planning on clipping me, I'll be damned if ya do it with that tragedy you've got there. It looks like its seen better days anyway.."

Not for the first time, the younger faunus found himself taken aback. Somehow, he'd seen the shotgun in his holster was broken; something that really shouldn't have been possible, given its position. He pulled its remains free, presenting it for examination.

The man whistled in disbelief.

"Yeah. That one. It's a real mess. Maybe the old Jackrabbit's losing his touch. Then again, the twelve gauge of yours probably looked halfway decent once upon a time. Doubt ya got that from him, so you must have some good taste in you somewhere."

This conversation was quickly becoming hazardous. Adam ground his teeth.

"How do you know the old man?" he hissed, keeping his voice down.

"Know him?' A look of shocked surprise came across his face, and Adam wondered why; until he realized that he had leaned back further against the surface behind him and was laughing uproariously. "That's what you're worried about? I used to be his damned student before we split ways. Taught me most of what I know." He pushed off the wall, straightening up as Adam heard several cracks and pops from his joints. "I'd recognize any of that old bastard's work anywhere—no standard patch job is that good."

"So you're a gunsmith then?"

"Weaponsmith. I like guns as much as the next guy, but I like to think I have ambitions a little higher than bootlegged firearms. We ain't really on speaking terms anyways. Hell, the only thing me and him ever agreed on was how much we hated workin' with Dust. There's just no creativity to it, ya know?"

Adam visibly relaxed, recognizing the words for what they were. Hatter's ambitions were an odd enough quirk to most people that the other man had likely had some familiarity with him in the past. Even ignoring the genuine bitterness that seemed to permeate his words when he spoke of his mentor, the final phrase of his sentence was familiar to him, the crazy old midget having said the exact words when he'd requested his 'babies', and looking up now, he could see the larger man looking down at him with an expectant smile.

Adam rolled his shoulders, stepping backwards and attempting to re-adopt a causal stance. "You got the impression down at least." Fine. He'd take his chances. "I'm looking for someone. A girl. Red dress, black hair. Seen anyone that looks like that?"

"There's nothing around here. Just some stale bread and some old whiskey that tastes like mud."

"Ever met someone named Malachite?"

"Can't say that I have. Though I might remember something, if I had a little incentive…."

Adam's face contorted to a vexed expression as he finally put his broken weapon away. The same damned song and dance he'd been doing with half the neighbourhood. He withdrew five lien cards, before handing them over to the bald man. A hundred in twenties. Any more than that was pushing it—especially when he didn't know how reliable the man's information was. He watched as the taller man counted his cards, before tucking them into his robe with a smile.

"You get five questions Red. Make em' count."

"So what do you know about the Malachites?"

"Same as anyone else around here. They're everywhere, and they've got their fingers in damn near everything; smuggling, drugs, whores, information. Even got some of the most extensive gamblin' on the continent. Cock fights, dog races, slot machines, card games, horse racing—if you can bet on it, they're involved." He moved his head, and Adam could tell he was rolling his eyes behind the tinted pieces of glass. "Done a few freelance jobs for em in the past. They pay shit money, but they're always hiring."

Well. That told Adam entirely nothing. He crossed his arms, looking a little disappointed. And now he only had four questions left. The time for subtlety was over.

"Miltia Malachite. You know where I can find her?"

'That got a reaction', Adam noticed with surprise and a quiet sense of satisfaction, as the man twitched, his body going ramrod straight. They both were still for a moment, making as much eye contact as could be expected given the shades he wore. The directness of the redhead surprised him. Not that he showed it. "And who told you that?"

Adam smiled. "You just did."

The air was so brittle it could have snapped. No-one spoke.

Finally, with a huff, that could have been either a cough or laughter, Rodaine disappeared back into his apartment, leaving him alone, in the open doorway. The way he inclined his head let Adam know that he wanted him to follow.

'Might as well.'

When the door slammed behind him and he was plunged into near darkness, the first thing he was met with was the strong scent of incense, almost burning his nostrils. Adam nonetheless managed not to reel backwards at it's intensity or comment on it— it was better than it smelling like the rest of the building—and his eye caught it's source, a flickering brass burner hanging precariously near to the window blinds of the living room. Most people would have considered it a fire hazard, but it was going out anyway, Adam supposed. If he didn't care about setting this rats nest ablaze, there was no reason why Adam should. He followed him into the kitchen, purposely ignoring the piled up dirty plates in the sink.

"If this is you asking me on a date, I'm going to have to give you a firm 'no'."

"Ha! You got a real mouth on you, Red. Want a drink?"

Adam agreed, if only because he didn't have the impression that Rodaine would drug him—the man had hands the size of cement blocks— and if he wanted to hurt him, there'd be more than enough ways to manage it than a simple drink. Besides. He'd started to grow a taste for alcohol these days.

Sitting down at the rickety kitchen table, Rodaine pointed to the chipboard counter. "What ya see, is what we got." He indicated proudly to his collection, before briefly parting the bead curtain again. Adam selected a smallish bottle of amber liquid, before setting it down on the table, using the edge to flick the cap free.

"So. She owe you money too?"

That made him do a double take mid-swig.

"Oh, don't clam up now, Red. Can't imagine ya pokin your head in that hornet's nest for the nightlife."

Adam swallowed. He was right about something at least. It really did taste like mud.

"Instincts tell you that too, did they?"

"Don't need a crystal ball to predict the obvious. Ain't many people around here that carry a pig sticker like that in the open. He gestured to Adam's harness and Wilt "Most of the folk from around here prefer… subtler weapons. My guess? You're either a Huntsman or a merc. Only reason you'd be looking for information about that family."

"And I'm doubting I'll be getting it anytime soon, too."

Adam was careful not to admit to anything. Let him draw his own conclusions.

"What makes ya say that?"

"Because that would mean I could get this over quickly." He muttered in reply. "And that kind of luck has been in short supply lately."

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth. But maybe I can change that for ya."

Rodaine got up and disappeared through the doorway, before reappearing again in another clatter of beads, carrying something in his hand.

"About a month ago, she and her sister came to me about a custom job. Other girl was one prissy bitch, but Miltia? Girl was quiet as a mouse. She paid half in advance, as a down payment for my services. Only, she was supposed to visit me three weeks ago to pick up the order and pay the other half of my fee. I went to one of their places to collect...and there wasn't any trace of her."

A pair of bracers came flying through the air towards Adam's head. He caught one, but wasn't quick enough to catch the other, which bounced off his chest and fell into his lap. Examining the one he'd caught, he turned it over in his palm, admiring its work. It seemed to be composed of surprisingly strong metals—he couldn't feel any give when he tried testing it. The design seemed to indicate that it was supposed to form over the knuckles; each one was spiked with a large dagger like protrusion, and behind them...curved twin extendable blades started, curving upwards before descending points jutted out between the spikes. All with a black and red finish.

Well, at least the girl had taste. The weapons looked excellent for close quarters combat, and Adam liked to think he wasn't so much of a philistine that he was above appreciating a good color scheme. Still admiring the fine craftsmanship, he spoke again, idly noting that his companion seemed to be pondering something.

"You see anything out of the ordinary?"

"Nothing. Doors were all locked, place looked as good as it normally did." He clicked his thumb into flame again before taking a long drag of another cigar, "At first I thought she was just trying to stiff me. Embarassin' as it is, some dead beat fucks still try it when they think they can get away with it. Specially the rich ones. I prove em wrong real fast." The devilish smile full of sharp teeth that the dark skinned man gave him left little to the imagination about the fates of those stupid enough to try. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, and it was a more pensive man that would continue his sentence. "But to be honest? This don't feel like that."

"How so?"

His hand brushed a bit of crinkled paper he hadn't noticed, half stuck to the otherwise smooth table. Curiosity compelled him to unfold it; and he was met by something… he was reluctantly inclined to admit was impressive. It looked like a design blueprint for a weapon, two pairs of chainsaw-swords; (was there a word for that?) Two were meant to be attached to the arms, but the other two…. Adam squinted. No. It couldn't be. That would be insane... attached to the wearer's feet?

"Not bad, huh? I call 'em the Orochi. Cause there's four of 'em, and I was watching that old serial about Emperor Taijitu when I came up with the design.. Heh-heh."

"You named them?"

The weaponsmith nodded proudly.

"The design is...impressive." Adam admitted, trying to keep his voice from sounded too awed. If ever he needed proof of Rodaine's affiliation with Hatter, he didn't need to look much further than this. They seemed to have that shared spark of creative lunacy that drove them to create twisted works of art like this.

"They're a personal project of mine. Still sourcin' the materials to bring em to life though."

Adam raised an eyebrow. 'Whoever wore them would need thighs of steel' he remarked mentally. Then, another thought came to him. "Hold on a second. Orochi had eight heads. Not four. So how…"

"Ah hell. Was hopin' no one would ask. Wasn't sure where the hell I'd put the other four chainsaws without cuttin' some limbs off. Surprised ya know that, to be honest. Most of the movies only show it with four."

"I grew up on that story as a child, so I recognized the name. I'm not judging you, though. What's your interest in it?"

"I, uh… forget it. But lemme tell ya, these babies? They're gonna be something else when they're all done. Count on it." His grin faded. "As I was sayin' though, for one thing, her 'family's didn't sound too worried about her disappearance."

Adam frowned. That could mean any number of things. From what Rodaine said, they were involved in everything; maybe they sent her off somewhere to oversee one of their enterprises or something. On top of that, their refusal to tell the weaponsmith anything didn't mean a whole lot either—he knew already from several months of personal experience that even the underlings weren't that talkative to outsiders. He really was hoping she hadn't flown the coop— because it would mean that his search area would have just expanded by an entire continent instead of just a city.

He opened his mouth to impatiently rebut, but Rodaine was quick to cut him off.

"I could have taken that, but the excuse her old lady gave didn't match up either. Told me she was MIA. Run off with a boyfriend or some shit.' My first thought was that she was turning states. But ya see the problem with that, don't ya?"

He did. To put it bluntly, the story sounded like it was filled with more shit than a windsock attached to the late Ghira Belladonna's mouth.

More than that, it confused him more than anything—especially with who she was. As daughter to a crime boss of a syndicate that ruled most of Mistral's capital and spanned damn near half of Anima, if not beyond, he had to assume she had some level of valuable information about the syndicate; hell, it was likely the reason Xiang was having him capture her in the first place. Logically, that little bundle of sensitive information wandering off to pasture should be of a lot more concern than what the weaponsmith was saying their leadership showed. Even if it was just a front.

Even more so if she had 'turned states' (It took him several seconds longer than he was prepared to admit to work out what the phrase meant). Someone with that much knowledge would be the last person on Remnant you'd want to testify in a court, even somewhere as corrupt as this place and Adam couldn't see why her 'criminal mastermind' of a mother seemingly didn't care. Was she an idiot? He supposed he couldn't rule it out, but Rodaine had said she'd seemed confident. A darker thought entered his head.

Did she know about him? Did Xiang slip up and let the Spiders find out he was coming? Worse, had he betrayed him? As quickly as the thought came, it was put down. No. That couldn't be it. He'd only been given the job a few weeks ago, and the girl had been missing nearly a month and a half. It didn't make sense. There were a few theories on that spinning around, but there was only one that was starting to make itself known.

"You think she had something to do with it."

"Sharper than you look, Red." He downed another glass. "What really sold the deal though? The way her sister looked. Girl looked like her puppy got tossed out of a Bullhead. Only one that looked like they gave a goddamn."

Adam was quiet for a moment, considering the information before responding.

"Speaking of...Why do you care anyway?"

"Oh, that's simple. Not a fan of deadbeats. We made a deal, and as far I know, she weaseled out on it. If she is dead, you better believe I'm crawling into that hole after her to get what I'm owed. Every. Last. Lien. If she's not? Well, Iet's just say ya better find her before I do."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"It's the principle of the fucking thing, ya know? Ya let a motherfucker roll on you once, ya may as well let them use ya like a doormat for the rest of your life. That ain't no way to conduct business."

Adam was quickly deciding that he liked Rodaine. No matter how frustrating he'd been, or irritating his demeanour, that principle was one he himself understood well. It was more than the money-it was his pride that was at stake. In that, he could say, they might have been kindred spirits. In that one moment the two of them at least had some measure of an understanding.

"Any advice on where should I start looking?" Adam asked seriously, " I doubt their foot soldiers are going to start turning into tweeting birds just by me asking nicely.."

"Depends on who you ask. You could try beating out of every member of their little club until you hit paydirt. Shit, I might just help ya with it. It sounds like fun. But chances are, it won't get us much. Aside from maybe a little personal satisfaction. And seein' how that's the case...Ya might try one of their whorehouses in the Mining District. It ain't too far from here. Ya could probably get some of the girls to tell you things for free. If ya looked a little less angry that is. Working girls know all kinds of things that most of us men don't ask questions about. It's the other side of their trade. People tend to say shit they shouldn't around them." He paused, clearly musing. "Other than that, you could always try blendin'-"

"No thanks." Adam had no interest in gang affairs beyond his brief and anyone who thought he was trying to impersonate them could fuck off. He dismissed the suggestion mentally almost as soon as he heard it.

He'd gotten far too used to beating faces in to get information and a part of him doubted he'd even be able to find anything on this 'Miltia'. It wasn't exactly an exceedingly common name, true, but that didn't mean that they'd have heard anything. Attempts by his ever well meaning mother to get him to mingle with people had rarely borne fruit. Attempts to appear friendly? Even more so. Charlotte, Sienna and Blake had undoubtedly been the exceptions rather than the rule. Better to stick with what he knew. Still, he couldn't help that small sliver of doubt. Charlotte had said something similar and she'd been annoyingly correct about a great deal of things in the past...

"So… if I asked the right questions, I could find what I'm looking for?" He asked tentatively, his doubts seeping into his tone.

A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "If you play things smart and you know what you're looking for. One more thing..."

Rodaine put the bottle back on the table. Then he leaned in close extending his right arm to him in an invitation.

"That girl of yours. Can I take a look at her?"

Adam felt momentary confusion, followed by wariness as he handed the blade over. He wasn't worried about being helpless - he never was; never would be again after that night he'd left Solitas- but that was his inheritance. It was one of the few things he had left that he treasured, and he was fiercely possessive of it. Still he unsheathed it slowly, allowing the glow of the dim bulb to be caught by the crimson metal. Once the blade was free, he set the sheath on the table, and began examining the weapon, handling it with a care bordering on his own.

It was like letting go of something too personal, a security blanket of an always scared child. A single blue eye barely restrained a plea to be careful as he handed him his precious heirloom, in a first hint of trust he had not given to anyone, save Charlotte in several years. Seeing Adam's discomfort and unease, Rodaine nearly hesitated himself. Despite that, he still took the blade, a sharp chink slicing the silence as he drew it free of its home. The curved katana slotted easily into his large expert hands, its comfortable grip and weight making it a pleasure to hold, like a woman, and almost as impossible to resist.

Rodaine ceased his initial appraisal, but instead of handing the weapon back to him, he stared blankly, a frown gradually clouding over his usually casual face as he seemed to focus on the blade itself.

"Cueball? Something wrong?" Adam snapped his fingers, trying to get the weaponsmith to meet his apprehensive gaze upon seeing his mind disappear for the first time since they had met.

Finally he shrugged offhandedly. "Nah, she's just fine. It's just that…never mind." His examination continued, running his hand along the edge of the blade in search of imperfections. When he found none, he spoke again, never removing his eyes from the gleaming blade.

"This is a quality piece. Tatara, right?"

Adam wasn't afraid to admit that it caught a little off guard. It was rare that anyone was so knowledgeable about that bit of ancient history. He'd only known because he'd been told when he received it, along with what little oral history his mother had been given when she'd inherited the blade. "How'd you…"

"There's only a handful of these in existence. Never thought I'd ever lay hands on a genuine article before today. Your lady's got a real bloody history. This thing would be worth a king's ransom to the right buyer, ya know." Rodaine paused to inspect Adam's face, seeing him glare with a narrowed eye, before continuing.

Adam's teeth clenched as he let a hint of an edge cross his face. He hadn't known that. He'd known it was rare; that much had been obvious when he'd been told the process for forging it was lost, but somehow he'd never heard of any of these legends or any of that other stuff . What's more, and to his private surprise, he didn't get the impression that he was being lied to. It raised so many other questions in his mind. Did she know? Or did she not want to tell him how valuable it was so that he wouldn't sell away their family inheritance? Had she thought he'd ever do that? Had she not trusted him in the end? He shook his head. That wasn't important. Wilt was. It was his, and he wasn't giving it up for anyone, or anything. "It's not for sale."

There was just a bit of a snarl to those words.

Rodaine didn't skip a beat.

"Damn right, it's not."

Adam raised an eyebrow.

"Red, if you'd tried to sell this fine girl to me like a slab of meat, I'd break your neck with my bare hands. She deserves someone who'll treat her right, and by the looks of her, that's damned sure what she's gettin'."

He held up Wilt for emphasis, the crimson blade glinting in the light.

"The maker's mark on the tang, under the hilt," he mused, sipping from his glass. "This really is the genuine article. The ideal sword the master smiths of old sought the blessings of the gods to create, a right granted only when the smith and the wielder are deemed deserving."

"You… seem to know a lot about my sword." It was hard for Adam to speak clearly. The other man had given him, almost verbatim, the lesson his mother had given when a young Adam had asked about the blade, the day he had inherited it himself.

"Listen, if we're gonna talk about weapons, don't play games with me, alright? I'm a big fan of the classics, and I take a damn big dose of professional pride in what I do. It ain't an exaggeration to say that there's not a lot I don't know about this stuff."

"...Noted."

The smirk slid into a thin line, an expression that trailed to his eye. absorbed in thought and absolute contemplation. It was scathing to receive such a treatment as if he, Adam, knew nothing of the blade in his hands.

"On that note though...That sheath of yours… it's seen better days, and that's puttin' it tactfully." He resheathed it, and raised Wilt to the artificial light. Adam winced. The scuffs and scratches that adorned the once immaculate wood were exposed for all to see. He could even see the faint dried and crusted bloodstains, soaked into it from his first catastrophic fumble with Myst. He'd spent weeks since trying to buff them out to no end, but there was nothing for it. It stunk almost permanently of iron, blood; his blood to be specific, and no matter how he attempted to clean or oil it, it was there to stay.

It had been ruined. There was no recovering it's former splendor now, which was a source of shame for the fledgling bounty hunter. But it was his too, damn it. A sharp spike of possessiveness shot up, warring with his other impulses. The weaponsmith continued, ignorant of his inner thoughts. "I'd be happy to upgrade it for ya, Hell, since I'm in a good mood, and I got a vested interest in helpin' ya out, I'll even do a little maintenance on the pea shooter the old man gave ya."

Adam raised an eyebrow.

Rodaine looked confused.

Wordlessly, Adam removed the wreck of a weapon from his clothes and laid it on the table, meeting his eye in a deadpan stare.

"Ok," The weaponsmith rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion. " A lot of maintenance"

The faunus took a breath. "How much?"

He told him.

"Four thousand?!"

"Hey! I aint runnin' a charity here! I only produce the finest quality. Don't you worry about that."

"Right.. " Adam scoffed. "This is robbery with class. My mistake."

His sarcasm was unappreciated. "You got lien. I got skills. Welcome to the foundation of a barter economy."

He handed the katana back to Adam.

"I better get a move on," Adam muttered dryly, his back now turned to him, grabbing his sword and sheath and slotting it into his harness. "It's best to have a chat with our mutual friends before daylight. A few less unwanted ears around."

The weaponsmith nodded.

"The fewer people who know what's happening, the better it'll be for both of us. I get ya. Well, you know where to find me if ya change your mind. Take care of her till then, Red. She's one of a kind."

Rodaine, it seemed, wouldn't be going anywhere for now, at least till the faunus would find some information that would help solve both of their problems: finding his runaway debtor and satisfying Adam's own need to keep a bunch of snakes the hell away from Charlotte's backyard.

He wasn't sure he trusted him, no matter how much he thought he might like him as a person.

But that didn't change the fact that this was the best lead he had.

"Oh, I will. But I still think I'll pass on that suggestion of yours." He stopped at the door, the rueful smile on his face hidden by his back. "My lady friend here is a better conversationalist than I could ever be."

Adam disappeared, leaving Rodaine alone in his seat as it closed behind him. As such, the red-haired faunus missed his final words, spoken softly to a darkened, empty apartment.

"I don't doubt it, Red. Not one bit…"

---

A cloudy moonless night had rolled in during the time he made it into the open air, covering the last of the twilight sky, as if the blackness had failed to come fast enough. The rolling grey had rapidly become as invisible as the stars it concealed. Even at that hour, there were winos and addicts lying in front of the doorway sleeping, a fact Adam was made irritatingly aware of upon the crunching and snapping of plastic syringes ground out under his boots.

'Let's see...sleazy end of town. Hangout for drunken reprobates. Odds are, I'll catch a fish around here somewhere.'

Armed with his newfound knowledge and surprising fortune, Adam had endeavored to pursue and put an end to this farce once and for all. He'd made a huge mess out of his original plans, namely because he'd had nothing to work off of but luckily there was always that one boneheaded ploy that could still pan out, with a simple adaptation to his more… passive strategy.

The meeting with Rodaine had been a windfall. Adam had thought he had a decent grip on the state of things around here, but apparently there were still major pieces missing that he'd managed to be completely ignorant of. And the first of his priorities needed to be fixing that gap.

He'd learned in the wilds, and again in Kuchinashi, that there were two ways to hunt. The most popular way, the way he preferred, was to go on the offensive, follow the trail, track your quarry and pounce once you had them cornered.

But that, unfortunately, wouldn't work here for obvious reasons.

So instead… he'd decided to try the old way. A lure. Or, to use Charlotte's terminology, "standing around like prime jackass bait."

Adam huffed, watching the air mist in front of his face. Winter would be here in force soon, and he could only consider himself fortunate he was closer to the base of the mountain; it would be far worse nearer the summit. He was even more fortunate to have aura—it wouldn't protect him from frostbite, but there was an old Mantlean trick—by flaring and retracting his aura rapidly in bursts, he could use the warmth it circulated to keep his exposed skin constantly running hot. He must have looked ridiculous but honestly, it was easily the furthest thing from his mind.

Crossing his arms, he slid his hands under his armpits, rolling his neck with an audible click. He was getting off topic.

The underworld of the city of Mistral was much like Kuchinashi's, in that it was seedy as all hell, and that it didn't organize itself in tidy grids, but where it really differed was in its sheer, sprawling size. Eddies of darkness spiraling in all directions, once you were free of the slum, it was a seemingly endless tangle of bars and strip clubs, where backpackers and businessmen gathered to drink the night away. Through the doorways he glimpsed half-naked dancers writhing in time to generic pop music. Fat human men in floral shirts strolled past with faunus girlfriends. The neon lights flickered and the music pounded out and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume. Adam ignored them all. Between Mariko and Charlotte, he had a pretty good idea of where their territories were, and he'd already trespassed once or twice in order to meet with the latter's former contacts. One of the things he noticed while he was there, was the grip that they had on the civilians that lived in their neighborhoods. They enjoyed throwing their weight around, delighting in the terror they could instill on those that couldn't fight back.

He could use that.

He doubted they wouldn't take the chance to hassle him, if he looked was simply a matter of waiting. With a sigh, he pulled in his aura, leaning against a wall. The spot he had chosen was somewhat exposed, at the mouth of an alleyway under a neon sign of what looked to be a bar. Yet, he wasn't totally in the open; the darkness behind him shrouded him just enough that he was out of the way of most pedestrians. The only way he'd get noticed, would be if someone was looking for trouble.

He could hear the sounds from the bar over the hum of neon. Not an altogether pleasant sound, and he found himself only half listening as the hours passed. A filtered voice echoed through tinny speakers within, and Adam was easily able to hear the words spoken within through the broken glass panes above his head.

Me? I'd rather slice their throats in their sleep. Whack em' all in the head with a mallet and have done with it. But that's not what this is about. What happened in Solitas. That was us. We needed to send a message, Jessica. They're animals. And that's what you do with animals. You hunt them for sport. Plus. Doing it, whacking that stupid fuck live on the air like that, it tells them, it tells everyone, the truth.

I What truth is that, Sergeant?

They can dress like us. They can walk like us. Talk like us, even. But they are not us. They ain't got loyalty, even to 're not human. And eventually, all of Remnant is gonna get that. They'll get over themselves, start airing this broadcast, and start punishing their animals like we do. They'll catch up. Hell, you wanna know something funny? The bigwigs who're funding our show? They told us that the online podcast got more downloads in Vale than anyone else in the world! Vale! Pussified, stuck-in-their-fee-fees,Vale! Ya know why that is?

The host herself seemed to pause, allowing her guest time to gather himself.

They want this. They want to feel like they're in charge. Because we are! Humans! Why the fuck should we have to feel guilty about any of this?

The man started to say something more, but it was lost over the hubbub of the patrons again, until someone finally roared at them to shut the hell up.

Hello? Sergeant? Orion? Can you hear me? Are you there?

And that was our newest superstars, the Bloodhounds, front and centre. Ready and willing to lay everything on the line for a down and dirty fight to the finish… The real heroes of Remnant.

Adam could hear the cheers erupt from inside the bar like a tidal wave, and ignored them. It wasn't as though he had any reason to do anything about it. An odd sensation stung in his chest that he couldn't quite pin down or make sense of.

It wasn't his problem.

More than that, these were hardly new lessons to him. He'd already experienced how much faunus valued loyalty first hand long ago—even if there were exceptions, like Charlotte, they only really served to prove the rule. He brought a hand up to his bandage unconsciously. The only choice that made sense had to be to envelop himself in apathy, so that consequence and empathy had no place in his heart anymore.

They were wasted on faunus. On people. Maybe that was the one common ground that human and faunus would ever share.

As hollow as the words tasted on the tongue, it didn't make it any less the truth.

He was drawn briefly from his thoughts as a younger man, clad in baggy trousers and a moth eaten shirt that was three sizes too big for him, strode towards him with purpose, arms going and eyes moving from side to side manically, like some kind of starving Grimm. He looked Adam over as he approached, without slacking his pace. And yet, predictably, by the time he'd made it within ten feet, , he'd looked elsewhere, pretending Adam wasn't even there as he walked past him.

Typical. God forbid a human show a little spine of their own accord.

How very faunus of them.

That aside though, the thing he loved most about Mistral, Adam thought, casting his senses around him again, was that this particular breed of jackass he was hunting, went out of their way to helpfully identify themselves by wearing garish purple. All he'd had to do tonight was keep walking westward until he started seeing the fashion victims in question and wait. It was the waiting that was the hard part. And now it seems, his patience was about to pay dividends.

A small group of people were approaching from the other end of the alley, and he'd pinned them down even before they'd started swaggering into his field of vision. Adam pursed his lips, a slight furrow appearing on his brow as he stared pointedly with a look of cool impatience. He took a few steps backwards into the darkness, smiling inwardly as they followed.

Finally.

Not that he had anything to fear from this ragtag group. It was dark, but not so dark that he needed his night vision to size up the three of them. Two held small firearms of some sort – The third had something he looked to be palming into his fist, but aside from that had… nothing at all? These idiots wouldn't have held him for a whole five seconds on his worst day, much less now.

Their leader, the unarmed one, stepped forward, words dripping with sarcastic cheer, not unlike the greeter at the dark hair was slicked back, oily and his weasel-esque smile only looked worse thanks to the bloated rat he called a goatee. "Welcome to Mistral. Enjoying our fine weather?"

Adam snorted, smothering his pleased smile, and crossing his arms over his chest in as flippant a manner as he could manage. "More than the hospitality."

"Aha?" The human replied with mock cheer." A tourist then?"

"Not exactly a tourist." Adam smiled disarmingly, pretending not to see how the human's two friends were not so subtly blocking off the entrance to the alleyway. "I'm here for a job."

"Oh, what's the point? We're going to rip the little stray mutt a new one anyway!" Adam's hearing picked up the muttering and rolled his eye. 'Would it kill them to come up with some originality for their slurs? 'Dumb animal' this, mutt and 'mongrel, that.' What would it take for a human to at least pick up a dictionary? He blinked, finally becoming cognizant of the errant thought that had just shuffled across his surface thoughts. When had he grown so… inured to that kind of insult? It would have had him fly into a rage but now he was just… bored.

Maybe it was an outlier. Or maybe.. He put his self-reflections aside and tuned back into the conversation, not even pretending to hide his thorough disinterest.

"...Ah, but you see, there is a... tax on foreign workers coming through this part of town, you know." His backup started giggling like a bunch of school girls, some private joke that Adam wasn't privy to. "We'll need to see what kind of work you're in."

"And if I said I wasn't interested?".

Evidently, this was the final push on the ringleader's patience as he snapped, shifting demeanor and tones near instantaneously, supposedly attempting to appear menacing. "Look, pretty boy. I don't care if you got lost on the runway, or the way back to the farm, If you're fond of breathing, you pay the toll. Same as everyone else."

"That sword'll do." One of the cowards chimed in. "We won't kill ya. Maybe we'll just cut you up some…" He heard the schling of a pocket knife whipping out of its holder.

Adam cocked his head to one side. "Oh." He indicated the two men behind the man who'd spoken, resting a hand on the hilt of his blade. "Now that's an interesting idea." He shrugged. "But why don't you get to the real reason you're speaking to me? I can tell you're just dying to say something."

The others laughed.

The condescending smirk on Adam was like a hacksaw blade– thin, curved, and sharp enough to cut.

"Oh look, the little bitch thinks he's so brave," jeered one of the backup gigglers. "Come on, then. What did you think we were going to say?"

Suddenly as if in answer, the sword whipped upwards and cleaved through the nearest man's forearm in a flash of crimson. Adam hadn't even thought about it. He'd simply.., moved. In moments, the limb was on the ground in a spray of scarlet ichor, and the man was on his knees, desperately clutching the stump and screaming. It took a few seconds for the others to react, surprised at the turn of events, staring in shock into a single scarlet pupiless eye.

When they did, he was ready for them.

Gunshots rang out around him, but Adam only had eyes for his prey, on his back and flailing like a stuck pig. "Not too bright, are you?" He remarked, almost conversationally, before bringing his sword down to another scream. The gun, along with with the hand holding it, and several of it's fingers, fell to the ground.

"You fucking crazy bitch!" the last of them roared, the only one left in his way now. "You're a goddamn animal! Nothing but a fucking rabid dog!" He was attempting to cock his own weapon, his hands shaking in fear after the display of utter carnage he had just seen.

Adam turned to them with his blade resting against his shoulders.

"Well? Come on, you had such bravado earlier! Don't get shy on me now!"

If there was one compliment he could provide, Adam could say that the giggler at least had better aim than his friends. The shots were fast and accurate, causing Adam to jump to the side, springing off a wall at an angle and using his momentum to throw himself forward again. With a quick spin, he kicked downwards in a dive sending his opponent groundwards with his boot heel pressing into the side of his cheek. He looked down at his latest victim with a cocky smirk, before kicking him forwards, sending him tumbling from beneath his heel.

He turned his back, keeping his full attention on the man he'd de-limbed, who was staring at him with shock and no small amount of fear. Still not acknowledging his back up, he spoke, lowly but with clarity.

"If you two are all tuckered out, you can go now."

The two men wasted no time in scrambling to their feet and leaving their leader to Adam's tender mercies, tripping over themselves to flee over the sound of their master's screams.

Adam sighed. "It's over." The slightest hint of disappointment, a vague notion of displeasure, of a fight that had never really begun was whispered in his tone. He turned his attention to the bleeding man, who was still howling in agony trying to shuffle away on his belly.

The faunus stomped between his shoulder blades, hard, and felt something crack. He saw the idiot struggle to turn, to look up at him, his face awash between terror and defiance.

"Sorry, to cut you off, but I don't have time for this. You've wasted enough of it as is."

He flourished the blade, ridding it of blood before placing Wilt back in its sheath, before dragging him up to his feet, kicking and screaming by the scruff of his jacket.

"What do you want with me?!"

"Didn't you hear me? I just wanted you to answer a question."

"Hey, I don't know anything!"

Despite his dissatisfaction, Adam found himself glad for the man's evident cowardice. It made things so very easy, which was something he'd grown a strong partiality to, given how often life had taken pleasure in spitting in his dinner of late. He smashed the man against the alley wall with force. It made a nice change to have something offered up to him on a silver platter. And vulnerable.

"I'm not asking again." Adam snarled. In hindsight, maybe trying to bribe the guy first would've worked better but he wasn't in the best of moods. They had just tried to rob him after all. He could deal with the consequences. The man of the hour looked like he was going to piss himself, desperately clutching at his bloody stump. and he looked like he was going to bolt right out of there. So Adam put a stop to it.

"I told you-" "Stop. Lying. To. Me." The faunus' pupil disappeared again into a blazing crimson as his sclera bled into darkness. A single swipe of his blade, and his victim screamed like an infant as a wooden support blew apart and showered his face in dust and splinters. "You're testing my patience. Where do I find Malachite?"

"Wh-What the fuck?! You got any idea who you're-" Adam raised his weapon again, red bolts of energy racing around his blackened sclera.

"Alright, alright! I'll tell you what I know!"

"Start talking. Fast. And don't even think about lying to me again."

That had almost gone badly. He'd lost control a little near the end there— he hadn't meant to actually do that. Not because he really gave a damn about the thug's life in all, but well… dead people didn't talk. In any case, it was a good thing he managed to swing his weapon away at the last second. Not that Adam was planning on sharing that any time soon. He was kind of hoping that his victim would spill everything he knew in a monologue. How he was so high up in the chain, how he knew everything, how Remnant couldn't turn without him. What he got instead, was stammering and choked words.

Patience frayed, Adam sent him sprawling back to the pavement with a backhand.

The unfortunate downside of the district, was that it didn't have very many residents that could afford to build up, leaving most of its rooftops at similar levels. Which meant that Adam's increasing desire to dangle his current victim from said height and let him crack his skull from aforementioned height was an idea doomed to failure. A pity.

Improvisation it was.

While the thug was shedding tears now, curling into himself in the foetal position, Adam pulled out the photograph from his pocket, dangling it in front of him. "Look familiar?" He drew Wilt from its sheath again and pressed its tip into his face, using just enough pressure to depress the skin of his throat, but not enough to break it.

It was the same one of Miltia that Xiang had given him, and that he'd shown Rodaine. Looking at the picture again, and watching his victim's reactions, Adam had to admit a small sliver of surprise. he'd been expecting some kind of spoiled brat; one who made no qualms about being in the spotlight. But the only other lead he had described her as almost exactly the reverse. He was sure there was an adage about books and covers there, but the important thing was that, there was recognition there, in this man's eyes. "Answer the question." He was stalling. He didn't know if there were guards in this place, but he didn't want to push his luck, "Did you know her, yes or no?"

Maybe he was getting somewhere.

"You're not supposed to...You can't...Huntsman!"

"No." Adam said, stepping over the body of one of the enemies he'd just put down forcefully, "But then again, I don't care what you have to say outside of my question."

There they were again. The assumptions. He wasn't a boy scout too afraid to be seen as the bad guy and he wasn't trying to keep up an angel act. his hand went to press deeper into his neck again. Maybe it was best to demonstrate the point.

"N-No, please!" His eyes stared down at the cold steel, his eyes wide and brimming with tears, "I... I only know...two places...and neither of them are where she stays fully..." Adam frowned, flicking the blade upward again, "No, no, no! Y-You might find her there! She has multiple places she uses, b-but even if you don't find her, you can get f-files and other people that are important to her organization! I swear!"

...He wasn't lying, at least, Adam didn't think so. "Alright, tell me the addresses."

"Th-There's one place not far from here, it's called the White Widow. I met her there once, h-her old lady owns the place and wanted to meet me there with a job offer. A-Another one is the bar near the centre! I don't know the name! I swear! Th-That's all I know, alright!? I'm not lyin!"

"I believe you."

The thug lifted his head, eyes widening, gripped by terror.

"Wha-What the hell are you doing?" he wailed, petrified. Adam's eye glistered cold dispassion.

The red blade seemed to sing as it hovered above his pleading victim, eager to deliver the killing blow.

"W-Wait! I told you everyth- No! N-!"

And then there was silence.

---

The breaking of glass had him awake faster than a cat in ice-water, every sense urging him to claw his way to sitting up, reaching for the pistol that he never slept far from. It took a few moments for the dazed Adam to see what had disturbed him; A rat, surrounded by shards of reflective glass, staring at him from the entrance of the bathroom, it's beady little eyes as shocked as his must have been.

Before either of them could blink, the scream of the metal screeched through the air, and the sharp blade at its end bisected the rodent with the skin-crawling crunch and splat of a buzz-saw meeting soft flesh. The sigh that escaped his dry lips was slow, as if his brain needed that time to process what had happened.

The faunus swung his legs out of bed, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting his elbows on his knees as the swell of short term memory began to ebb into his mind. He had returned at dawn, slept dreamlessly the first nine hours. His body shut down and stayed down, rebooting, and repairing itself to a minimal level of functionality. It spoke to how exhausted he found himself that he barely even noticed the loose springs of the mattress poking out of his bed. He didn't move again for hours, plagued with occasionally snippets of dreams and snatches of memory.

Things hadn't panned out exactly as he'd planned.

That man had, in a way, spilled what he knew. The problem was he'd spilled a lot more of his own blood than he had answers. Oh, Adam wouldn't deny he'd learned a fair bit; in around ten minutes, he'd had countless rumours of the operations he knew of, some frankly impressive bribes, promises to turn over a new leaf: Anything at all that might make him sound like he didn't deserve his throat cut or a bullet to the temple. Or somewhere lower. Adam had let him talk, assume, allowed him to ramble off whatever he could and saving it for later. Miltia's, or failing that, her mother's location was the main objective, but who knew...maybe the rest of his confessions could pay dividends down the line. He'd have to ask Charlotte about it.

On the other hand, Adam had made a near fatal error.

He'd let two of the others get away.

He hadn't given a damn at the time. He'd only needed one of them, and the others were far too boring a fight to even bother wasting much time on them. He hadn't considered his handiwork to be anything serious enough on its own, nor was he a novice to violence and the burdens that it carried. Thugs got into fights all the time, and from both Charlotte's and his own experience, he had been counting on using their pride; those of them that had it, to keep them from blabbing to their friends. He didn't even have to worry about being lied to anymore: threatening to hack their limbs off had that effect, he supposed, even if the lack of challenge to the encounters was almost unbearable.

He'd let that first one keep his life, though he was hardly sure why.

"How hard was that? And if you're lying, I'll come back and cut off your foot before I ask again."

He'd been trying to pick himself off his knees clutching at his bleeding stump when Adam had left him, sheathing Wilt and turning out of the alleyway without so much as a backwards glance. Maybe he'd limped to a hospital, maybe he'd bleed out in the gutter. One way or the other, Adam hadn't felt too inclined to give a damn. The problems had come with his latter hunts. In a rare display of caution, he'd made the decision to try and verify the information he'd been given, checking it against other members of the gang. Caution, in hindsight, had been a generous word. Using the same hunting strategy as before, he'd caught several more goons and interrogated them, hoping to find some corroboration. Some had done so easily. Others had required… convincing.

Some of them had had to die. There was no avoiding that, and like most of their ilk, the world was probably better off without them. At least, that was what he'd told himself.

Charlotte had told him as much that night after the bar, and while he hadn't confided in her about what happened the other night, he had a pretty good idea of what she'd say if she did know.

Over the course of it all, Adam had been strangely calm. His irritation disappeared as his mind focused on nothing but the task at hand. The enjoyment he usually found in combat was… dulled. Muted. Like listening to a song with his head underwater. It felt almost garbled, detached… It was as if his mind itself was on autopilot. He drew no joy spilling their blood… but to his surprise, he felt no true distaste for the act either. They were barely people to him. Merely sacks of rotting meat, gifted with the power of tear them apart meant nothing, elicited nothing, save annoyance in the time he wasted on it.

By the time the smoke had cleared after his latest hunt, Adam could feel Wilt's edge sinking in his target's heart. He'd barely registered it slipping between his ribs, nor the ease with which it pierced the still beating muscle. And his first impulse, the one he had obeyed as simply as his one to breathe, had been to pull. And without thinking, he had rent his heart in two. Again, through sheer instinct.

He still wasn't sure why that bothered him. Or even if it did.

He found his way into his feet, stretching lazily to the popping of joints.

It was no matter now anyway.

After the tenth attack in as many days, he was forced to give up. It was too slow-going, and once rumours started to spread about "The Man in Black" savaging their men, if Rodaine was right on his assessment—and he had no reason yet to think that he wasn't—chances were that they'd either kill the girl to stop him or anyone else getting her, if they hadn't already, or bury her so deep that no one would know the difference.

Holding his head, Adam found himself weighing the facts with what he was feeling at the moment. He did not like the information that was given to him. There were too many questions he wanted to ask, and he had a feeling he would not get the answers he wanted, in any capacity, by continuing in the same vein.

So here he was. At his last resort.

He'd gone to sleep fully clothed, boots and all and— Adam rubbed his eye, removing the last traces of drowsiness from his mind as a small singular detail affixed itself in his mind. He hadn't left that light on when he'd come in last night. Suddenly, he was just as alert as he had been he'd first awoken. Someone had been in here.

His hands flew to the duffle he'd been using as a pillow, hands flying through it, searching for anything that might have been missing. After a few seconds of frenzied panic, he calmed down.

Everything was as it should have been. He had his weapons, lien, his scroll. If someone had broke in to rob him, they were either too high to think, or they were a fucking idiot. Either that, or the idea of waking a man who slept armed was too daunting a prospect. Picking up the shuriken he dropped, he walked over to the dimly lit room. The place was still dead-quiet, but it meant very little to him. Every footstep he made echoed throughout regardless. Stooping to yank his shuriken out of the corpse of the rat before stepping over the remains, he nudged the door ajar with his boot.

Empty.

The space was too small to hide anyone. Nonetheless, he scanned his eyes over the minimalistic room and its yellowing tiles. The only figure he found was his own, scowling back at him from the large mirror above the limescale ridden sink. Part of it was broken; the area where one of the bolts that had secured the reflective glass to the wall had been was missing entirely, leaving an uneven puncture in the wall not unlike a bullet hole, surrounded by asymmetrical daggers of glass; some still attached to the mirror, others, fallen into the sink or on the floor.

As he approached to inspect it, Adam ran his hand over the fracture. The surface was warm, almost hot to the touch, which surprised him, although he quickly put it aside, soon satisfying himself that it wasn't a previous fixture and glancing back at the dead creature behind him, even though it was hard to assume any other cause. Something small had impacted the mirror surface with great force and bounced off, ripping free the bolt in turn. Not heavy enough to break through, or to radiate further cracks, yet not insignificant either. 'Like a small rodent for instance.'

It wasn't much of a hint to go on, but it was the only thing out of place in the otherwise empty bathroom and he wasn't exactly in headspace to dig up clues at the moment.

Shrugging the sleep from his brain, he began to recall the plans he had formed for this evening. The first order of business, he mused, was that, he'd ultimately decided to take Rodaine's offer to repair and upgrade his weapons. Adam had seen only a small sample of his work, but he felt more than confident that he could speak to its quality. When he had held the bracers, he had felt the man's passion for his work, a rising fire that rivalled even his own for the art of combat. His creations weren't a task, or a chore to him, they were the essence of his being. And people with passion, and more importantly, pride, never half assed a job.

'After all,' Adam grinned unwittingly, 'you have to have a certain level of genuine commitment to your craft to design portable chainsaws to strap to your limbs.'

However, before he finalized those details, there was something else he needed to see to first. Namely, his cash flow problem. He frowned. Perhaps it was exaggerating matters to call it a 'problem', per say; He still had enough from his last fight in Kuchinashi and his down payment from the Serpent Clan to live somewhat comfortably, vermin and slum environment notwithstanding. But with his sudden attack of generosity with Valkyrie and co had been perhaps a little too generous, and while he hardly regretted it, if he was going to pay for Rodaine's services on top of that, he was going to be a lot less comfortable than he would have liked at present.

And there was really only one way for him to make that kind of money quickly around here.

He smiled, turning on the water, before running the blood-caked shuriken under its stream.

The plan was simple enough on paper.

He went in, bet on himself, and flattened every weakling they threw at him. If all went well, he'd have enough to pay Rodaine with surplus to spare. After that, he'd follow up that lead on the White Widow, and see what he could learn there. A part of him wondered if that was wise, leaving that lead to go cold the way it was, instead of heading there immediately, but Adam ignored it. His blunders and recovery in Kuchinashi had taught him the values of patience and preparation; and while, yes, he was likely strong enough and skilled enough to storm the place like an act of heaven, and slaughter them all to a man until one of them was wise enough to tell him what he wanted to know, that didn't necessarily mean he should. Even less so unprepared, and with subpar equipment.

There was also the worry that word had gotten around about him already of course, which would make the main reason he was actually here far more complicated, seeing as how the Spiders were the ones running the fights and the Widow, and he'd spent several nights tearing through their organization…Maybe he could use a disguise when he fought? No, that was dumb. He guessed he'd just have to be quick. No showboating, no drawing things out. Bank on his luck from there.

What little passed for it these days, anyway.

As he raised his head and turned the water off, Adam's gaze scanned across his reflection, taking the reality of his situation in as he saw everything before him at last. There was also an ever-pervasive sense of apathy that hung over his features as he found himself examining his reflection. His fingers tunneled through his messy hair, pushing it from his face as made to sweep it back, the familiar style he had always donned being pushed into place for an instant, before he stopped midway, stock still. His musings, however, remained in his mind after taking root.

"It looks good that way!"

Far be it from him to take advice on appearance from a girl that thought hot pink was the order of the day, but he found himself thinking of Valkyrie's words back on the train. It was an off-hand comment, but as far as he could tell, she seemed to think it made him more approachable, if their last day together was any evidence. Even Ren had said as much. Then again, it wasn't as though she was all that familiar with the idea of personal boundaries before.

Once again, he was thinking about things he shouldn't. He quickly let his hand fall, unwilling to waste any more time musing about the past because as far as life was concerned, it didn't exist anymore. and with the sources of his suffering dead, there was even less point in dwelling on it.

Adam's grip on his hair tightened into a fist.

"A nice gentleman like you should look like it." she said with a wide smile.

"It's a hassle." the child answered, pouting, clearly grumpy and not convinced. His mother gave him a moment to sulk, then put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Every time I start training, it falls out anyway."

"But then I can't see your handsome face…"

The child tried to smile comfortingly, reluctantly accepting his parent's wisdom.

A fragmented, blinding, entirely unwelcome visit to the past came rushing through his head, smashing into him like a punch. Mother had always had that sad smile of hers whenever she saw it, always happy to tell him how much he resembled his father. He'd kept the style, largely out of sentiment. The memory wormed its way behind his eye socket before he banished the pain.

"Enough."

It didn't matter now. None of it did. It needed to be forgotten.

That was supposed to be neatly packed away in a mental box marked "Volatile: Do Not Touch." So he wasn't going to. It was as simple as that. He'd broken with the past. Belladonna was dead. He was alone. Completely alone. No memories, no past coming back to haunt him when it was too quiet to ignore. It was just him in this shitty apartment, in this shitty city. He cleared his throat, trying to gather himself. He hadn't gone there in nearly a week, and he didn't want to start now. Not when he was finally starting to feel like he was on track. And definitely not when he had other things to worry about.

"I've accepted the fact that she isn't part of this world anymore." He muttered.

He wasn't that boy anymore.

The flashes of pain, the rage, the memories evoked were subdued now. Whether it was knowing Belladonna had passed from the world or not, where once the mere thought of his existence had crippled him months ago, now the righteous hatred that had kept him warm in it's grip of rage had burned into a constant blizzard of nothingness, a cold space surrounding him so utterly that it had sunken into his bones.

Like a walking corpse. A skeleton that danced in the twilight.

Maybe it was easier now he had found some solid ground to stand on, not get jitters of the past every time he made a move. He had fallen into a strange mood and one that he could barely understand. It was almost as if he had accepted his fate, and could no longer find the strength or even the desire to escape it. He'd been so focused on trying to change himself, that he hadn't realized he already had. The acceptance of the blood on his hands had told him that. The boy she'd loved, the one who'd failed her, wouldn't have felt so at ease with taking lives.

He'd evolved into something else. Something more maybe, and yet, less. He had to admit, that was what scared him, the idea that he might have lost something fundamental to his identity without even being aware. Afraid of no longer being himself, and at the same time, afraid maybe he finally was. Maybe he needed to accept it. And honestly, there was the feeling that he'd probably be better off for it.

That was when a flash of inspiration hit him.

He left the room, returning with a pair of scissors. They were for cutting thread—he'd packed them with his sewing supplies mainly as an emergency, in the event that he'd needed to repair his clothes or his duffle again; a force of habit, he supposed. They were small, fragile even, but that wouldn't make them any less fit for the purpose they were to serve now.

His hair had grown longer over the months, since he'd first left for Anima, almost overgrowing his horns and leaving them as black streaks in a sea of crimson. A huff of annoyance came at the fact that he'd noticed a while back, but he'd never summoned the wherewithal to do anything about it, even as it nearly doubled the size of his head; in a literal sense as opposed to a figurative one. It was merely an observation, the same as the way he'd let so many other things slip into decline. That wasn't saying it had grown to the point it would be a hindrance, though it had become slowly, and by degrees, more difficult to maintain, but actually looking at it, face to face, he couldn't help the trail of revulsion he felt. Running his fingers through his hair, he jostled it around until it fell down over his face.

His fringe fell out from between and over his horns, hanging over his forehead and eyes, with untamed bangs almost completely obscuring his upper part of his face. He stared a while longer as he gripped the pair of scissors at his side, debating silently.

Finally, he let out a deep weighty sigh, raising the scissors and taking another handful of hair in his free hand, and began cutting; shedding and trimming carefully around his horns and head, strand after strand of red hair falling away into the ivory basin in uneven clumps.

It would be a good twenty to thirty minutes later before Adam lay down the scissors to look at his reflection again, and he couldn't help but admire his new look. His formerly windswept locks were no more. His bangs, while messy and uneven, had been brushed down; parted in front of his left eye, in a way that better disguised the scars and bandage over his right, covering them almost entirely, save the hints of black cloth and pale flesh beneath the red curtain. His horns were more pronounced now, standing proudly against the flow of crimson. What remained of the spikes at the back of his head had met the same fate as the rest of it; it now hung low, messily flush with the back of his neck.

He raised a hand and, obediently, his reflection did the same.

Adam had to admit, he was pleased with the results even if it had been a mere spur of mania that had compelled him to do it in the first felt bizarre at first, completely wrong in fact, but the longer he looked, the more that view began to change. The face in front of him, was that of a stranger.

It was as if the past could no longer come to life, staring him down every time he blinked. No father, no mother, just...him. He scratched the back of his head, before brushing down the stray hairs on his clothes.

'A little less angry.'

He tried smiling. Charlotte had made a point of teasing him a few months ago, back when he was bartending, that he'd never get any tips with a face like thunder, but he hadn't cared at the there had been a means to an end to him, and most of the time his mind was elsewhere anyway; he didn't have time to cozy up to the sensibilities of the half-melted troll dolls she called a clientele.

If only she could see him now.

The single glowing scarlet eye of the demon in the mirror was listless, worn inside a hollow, slightly unhinged expression of exaggerated glee. His skin was charcoal black, overlaid by brilliant dark red aura, flowing along his skin like water. His lips pulled back into an awkward, toothy smile, but Adam's own cheeks were not so compromising. He could feel their reluctance to be moulded falsely. He scowled. The demon scowled too, and that at least looked familiar, which made him want to laugh. A cocky grin spread across his face, one that looked almost painfully wide, showing off sharp bright vermilion canines and incisors.

It felt right at least, but slightly unsettling, made even more so by the lack of a pupil in his visible eye, and pointed gleaming canines. He growled to himself and pulled his face back into neutral.

And so, he tried again.

His face wasn't serious, but not a cherry-on-top grin either. Confident. Self-assured. Real. It was like him painting white over a bloody and miserable picture, washing away the turmoil inside, old layers of personality and childhood flaking away under the transformation.

Adam paused to recover his breath. The lack of an audience afforded him a rare moment of honesty. His ironic smile, quick wit, and theatrical black and red jacket were mere props, protective masks, to put his enemies on the defensive and himself at ease. This was what he'd been searching for, when he'd left Menagerie. He'd wanted to be someone else, to become... this. But it was only now, that the props truly felt complete. For a single instant, for a split second of time, Adam actually believed he was more than the boy he'd used to be, someone beyond fear and sorrow.

It was euphoric.

He leaned against the counter and rested his palm over his forehead, chasing that fleeting feeling as hard as he could. Charlotte had told him once that he needed a better mask and while maybe a new look wasn't exactly what she had meant…This was just one more step in the right direction. One step towards making the mask real. At last, he straightened himself, trimmed up a few rogue hairs, and walked out of the bathroom.

It was time to go to work.

---

In hindsight, Adam mused, dodging a punch, "Perhaps 'work' was an overstatement.

The late night fighting ring had plenty of comers as usual. Even out on the street you could hear the sounds of cheering from the top of the construction site that housed it. But what it was filled with however….. less than promising. Most of these idiots weren't experienced. Brawlers and pugilists. Most likely whoever they could drag off the corner.

Ground and pound seemed to be the style of choice.

But Adam knew there was only so far that could take you.

Speed was the most important thing, and none of his opponents tonight had it. Slow. Clumsy. There was no sense in trading blows haphazardly. Not when technique achieved faster and more effective results.

It was nothing for the faunus to catch the flailing limb mid strike, before performing a crouching turn-step forward leading with the back of his shoulder, and charge into his opponent with explosive force. Before his body could hit the floor, Adam was already there, rolling forward along the ground, and pushing himself upward with his hands into a skyward kick. Airborne, he followed with a lightning-fast flurry of upward kicks, the momentum of the blows carrying them both higher into the air. Finally, as the descent began, Adam twisted his body and lashed out with a final kick, sending his target sailing out of the arena and into the audience with a loud crash that was immediately lost in a tidal wave of noise.

The faunus landed gracefully, rolling his shoulders with a sigh, taking a moment to take stock of his surroundings. In truth, there was nothing too unique about them. They had turned the roof of the construction site into an arena, rectangular in shape with dozens of narrow girders standing upright in the open air. The whole thing was lit by neon work lamps that dangled on chains, from rusted girders. The one thing that had, initially seemed odd, to Adam, was that the ring itself was surrounded by thick metal cable that had been built either to keep the players in or the audience out.

It hadn't mattered in the end though.

The cheering or raving of the sea of people beyond the ring meant nothing to him, and he had no need nor desire to go anywhere, at least not yet.

His plan was going swimmingly.

If anything, the hardest part had been getting in. As he'd already figured, if anyone had recognized him, or had even the slightest remnant of functioning brain power, it would have ended before it started.

But as it had turned out, he needn't have been worried.

All he'd done was ask to join the fights, and the idiots had let him in no question. He'd watched them closely, at every point he could, and yet, they didn't seem even the slightest bit wary of him. All he'd done so far was change his haircut. Was he that unrecognisable without his sword? He hadn't necessarily planned on not having it with him, though circumstances had somewhat forced his hand.

In part due to the rules being a lot less lax than back in Kuchinashi; there were no death matches to be had here- something about corpses being bad for business."

The second, being that he had (tentatively) loaned Rodaine Wilt for the evening, the man having claimed he needed the weapon to make proper measurements for the new sheath. Adam had been reluctant, but the reasoning had been sound; though he had warned him that if his weapon was not returned in the same condition he had bestowed it in, there would be severe consequences. Rodaine hadn't seemed particularly threatened though, indeed, he seemed to respect the faunus' fierce nature when it came to his blade, laughing and clapping him on the back in the way a proud father might with a favored son.

The faunus was slightly bothered that he couldn't decipher the man's intent, but what was important was that he hadn't sensed any deceit, and for now, that was enough.

Besides, the sooner he finished, the sooner he could get back.

On the other hand however, Adam personally thought the first factor for the absence of his prize katana was a crock, but he wouldn't press that issue if he didn't have to. It was none of his business ultimately. More to the point, he could use the training, and quite frankly, he'd killed enough of these weaklings that it had been already starting to feel like a chore. Fighting them wasn't even fun at this point. It was like kicking a toothless, lame puppy. You could do it, but was it really a challenge?

Speaking of challenges…

Adam flicked an eye towards the bookie off in the crowd, who was frantically arguing with another one of the gang members at the fringes of the arena - No doubt angry about the money they were losing - and resisted the urge to roll it to the back of his skull.

It had been a pity that the grey haired boy had been a no show tonight. A strong part of Adam felt he would have relished the chance to teach that blundering fool that sandbagging got you hurt. In all truth, he wasn't even sure why that loss had bothered him so much in retrospect; it hadnt even happened to him. It just…really stuck in his craw for some reason. The idea that someone would feign weakness in a duel like that, throw away their honour as a warrior for for a few pieces of plastic…

"Honour is a figment of the imagination. The pride men cling to to help them through their lowly existence…."

It was no matter, Adam decided, shaking those haunting words loose and tightening the straps on his gloves. The fool wasn't here and that was that. Even more so, he was about done here, he was starting to draw attention to himself, most importantly, and he'd won enough matches to cover the asking price for his commission. It was time to get his share and head back. Rodaine probably had some pretty decent mockups done already, and Adam would be lying to himself if he wasn't at least a little curious about his designs, given what he had already seen. A loud voice brought him out of his thoughts and startled him to attention.

"Ladies and Gentleman!" A bi-spectacle wearing man, who Adam hadn't noticed before was now standing in the center of the ring spoke into a microphone. The promoter, he quickly realized. His voice, augmented by the powerful speakers all over the floor, easily overcame the roar of the audience.

"Welcome to tonight's final event! And tonight, we have a very special surprise for you…"

Adam's ears perked up, his eye scanning the crowd. They all seemed as surprised as he was.

This was… unexpected.

He'd watched enough of these fights over the past few weeks, to know there wasn't usually an order to these things. Usually, the fights would carry on until either someone got knocked out, or they gave up. The pot each fighter walked away with would depend on how many fights they survived, and, much to the ignorance of the viewers, whether or not they fell when they were supposed to.

But Adam hadn't been given any instructions, and he wouldn't have followed them even if he had. So what was the big surp— Oh. Oh. Now, things made sense.

"Sable Arc!"

As realization began to seep in, he barely repressed a smirk. His guess? They hadn't expected him to last the first match. And now that he was already in the ring and on a winning streak, it was far too late for them to change their bets.

And now that they were haemorrhaging money… they'd sent someone out to go and do something about it.

Well, that was just too bad.

For them.

A statuesquely tall woman with pale skin, blonde hair, and a curvaceous figure, dressed in a cowboy-like fashion blew kisses to the crowd as she made her way to the ring. Her outfit consisted of a white brassier with two parallel golden crescents and cowboy boots. A lasso hung off worn navy jeans and, Adam couldnt believe he was saying this, an honest to gods cowboy hat topped her mid-length blonde hair.

She leapt over the ropes and waved to her audience who continued their chant.

Adam just about resisted the urge to touch his horns as his mouth hung open in disbelief. Well, he'd give the Syndicate this, some of their racism had serious creativity behind it. Honestly the situation would be genuinely hilarious if it hadn't been happening to him. He almost wanted to stick around out of sheer morbid curiosity about where this could even go, or if she was strong enough to give him some actual enjoyment out of this evening.

Arc… That name… He could have sworn he'd heard it before…

They met eyes.

"You're pretty good."

She looked around his age, and spoke with a gratingly irritating South Mistralian accent, sounding very much like the stereotypical country hick. And yet, the unspoken challenge in her words stirred something in him.

For the briefest moment, he felt his aura swirl within him, writhing like a hellish beast, burning him like a blistering desert wind across his skin- so strong was his desire for true battle- before the last shred of reason in his head returned. No doubt she was as weak as all the others. Hardly even worth the effort to rip apart with his fists. Even more so, this was to be a means to an end. He had what he needed already.

There was no reason to give her the time of day.

"Soooo." Sable stretched out her arms and assumed a fighting stance. "I wanna see whatcha got!"

Adam rolled his eye with a mocking look of disdain. "Look, lady, I'm already bored of beating up gutter trash, and I have way more important things to do than play with you right now." He turned on his heel and strolled away. "Be seein'…"

His farewell was interrupted when two arms encircled his waist from behind. In a flash, he was hoisted off his feet and thrown into the center of the ring.

The crowd roared in cheers.

"I don't remember sayin' you could leave yet." Sable teased.

Adam's limp body suddenly sprang to life. His legs whipped forwards, flipping upwards into a spry crouch.

"And I don't remember needing to ask you for permission." Adam met her smile with a cocky smirk." But If that's the best you've got, you'd better just call this whole thing off. Because if you genuinely pride yourself on being the best of these clowns, then my advice is go home and keep what's left of your dignity."

He heard her laughing at his apparent threat, "Are you seriously callin' me out? You're kidding right? Someone's been putting fertilizer on their balls."

"Just calling them like I see them. Sides, You mess with a bull, you're pretty much asking to get a face full of horns."

At that, the girl snorted, unable to contain her laughter. "Do you hear yourself? You sound like one of the supervillians from the comic books my baby brother reads!"

She charged directly at him, forcing him to backpedal across the floor of the ring. This was to her advantage. There would only be so many places that he could flee to in the confined place that their fight was taking place in. Contrary to her assessment, however,

"This, from the girl who came to fight me dressed like that." Adam retorted, using her head as a springboard to gracefully flip over her charge and send her flying off balance. "Spare me your quip critique, 'Cowgirl '."

Narrowly she caught herself on the cables surrounding the ring, before turning to him and glaring. "Hey! This outfit is sexy as hell! It's a statement!

"Like what?" He laughed, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow "I'm a colourblind kitten and all my taste is in my mouth?"

"He's defiant." The blonde said to herself under her breath, hiding an amused grin, just close enough for Adam's sharp hearing to pick it up and unconsciously rear with surprise. "Good. That means he has spirit. Now let's see if he has power too."

She swung again, and Adam dodged, silently taking note of her style. Her limbs were wide and sweeping, but seemed to pack the force of a freight train. A semblance? No, he didn't think so. She had physical strength, sure, but not much more so than the other trash.

Even so, if she caught him, chances were, he'd have a devil of a time getting free. But it was the evading, feigning, fooling that was keeping her off balance. Just enough to keep the advantage in Adam's hands.

Well, if she wasn't going to use hers, there was no honour in resorting to his full strength either. He hadn't for all the others; it was an insult to both himself and his training to waste it on the unworthy. And she had yet to prove herself otherwise. But if it was power she wanted…. He supposed he could indulge her.

Another strike and and she missed again, stumbling slightly off balance. Seeing opportunity, he rushed forward to meet her charge and this time, they made a short exchange of blows, but despite his opponent's raw strength, Adam's experience and speed prevailed: He punched her in the gut, and when she doubled over, he elbowed the side of her head, before leaping on the air.

He spun in the air like a rotating blade, his extended leg hitting the woman one, two, three, four times in a row, and counting. The force of the technique pushed her as he kicked nonstop, as she tried to desperately block. On the sixth rotation, her guard finally broke, and she was forced to dig her heels into the ground to keep from being thrown back.

Seconds before he could make contact with the ground again, however, Sable exploded at Adam, throwing herself at him with her arms crossed, sending his body colliding with the ropes. A shower of sparks erupted when he bounced off the taut metal, and for a brief moment his skin felt numb all over.

In his dizzy confusion, he could make out a shout from somewhere to his left. "Alright! Electric Rope Match!"

Adam shook his head, muscles still twitching.

They had electrified the cables around the ring. Why? To keep him in? Something told him that it wasn't for spectacle, and that inkling had a lot to do with the smell of his own singed flesh. Fortunately, at least, the voltage had flung him free before it had done any real damage, even more so since his aura had protected him from the brunt of it. But the real thing that spoke volumes was the pain, which was only now beginning to fade into a dull ache. Something to thank his childhood in the mines for; if his pain tolerance wasn't so absurdly high, he'd be out like a light.

"So much for the no corpse rule." Adam swore in annoyance as his limbs struggled in vain to respond to his orders. That was what he got for trying something new, he supposed.

He needed to regain his bearings.

Unfortunately for him, Sable did not give him the chance. Still dazed, and barely on his feet again, Adam's senses registered that Sable had somehow latched onto him and began to position herself. In a flash, she had managed to take him off his shaky foundation and hold him upside down. She then brutally slammed him head first into the mat in an impact that rattled his spine.

The blonde never skipped a beat when she continued her onslaught by wrapping her legs around his neck and chest. Adam flopped around like a fish as Sable squeezed her calves together, cutting off his air supply.

"So…. How were you planning on beating me again, pretty boy?"

Maybe it was the concussion talking, or his dwindling supply of air, or his general insanity, but the faunus could have sworn she sounded…. Disappointed? Even so, the stillness had given him his second wind.

It was time to start putting a little effort in.

Before she knew it, the woman found herself tumbling in the air and crashing into the ropes.

For the first time that night, the crowd lapsed into silence, for what they saw could only be described as unbelievable. Somehow, the red-haired stranger had broken free of Sable's hold and thrown her into the ropes in less than a second.

The faunus rubbed his throat. "Personally, I was thinking…. To a pulp." Adam grinned, rotating his arms out in preparation for the fight ahead.

Sable pushed her body off the ground. Her cowboy hat fluttered off her head.

"You pull moves like that on all the new guys?" Adam asked. "Or was I the winner of a budget lottery I didn't know about?"

The rush came at full swing. The chanting of the crowd, the adrenaline in her veins, how everything seemed to blur away during the heat of the moment away during the heat of the moment. A sly smile graced the blonde's face.

"Only the ones I like."

She swung hard, only for Adam to match her strength with his own fist, checking her momentum. Giddy euphoria filled her senses. "So, he does have some bite.' Sable thought to herself, her smile getting wider. Trying to wrap one of her forearms around his neck, she was only slightly surprised by him catching both of her wrists, forcing her into another struggle.

"Are you done now?" Adam asked, glancing down at her. "I mean, as strangulations go, you're a charitable four at best."

"I still have my legs," The blonde said, her voice slightly strained from both the effort of holding herself upright and the slight ache caused by Adam's grip. "And you only got two hands."

Who says I need more to handle you?" Adam scoffed. He bent forward slightly until the tops of their foreheads were touching and he could stare into her eyes. " Besides, the night's still young. I'm sure I could arrange it so that the number of limbs you have can be restrained by my two hands alone."

"Oh, is that right, Handsome?" She retorted with an irritatingly smug grin and a blush."Then I'll just have to bite you into unconsciousness." She smirked, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Now there's something I'd like to see you try, Miss Farm Girl." Adam said, maintaining eye contact, and doing everything in his considerable power not to look down.

"How bout I start with that smart mouth of yours?" Sable said cockily, using the hold he had on her to pull him slightly closer again. "Then you won't be able to complain when I win."

"It must be fun to have dreams, huh?"

With a flourish, he grabbed her by the shoulders with both hands, startling Sable, and forced himself to fall backwards, being sure to make sure his shoulders hit the ground first as he moved into what looked like a backwards roll. "Wha-" She never got the chance to finish. The second he felt himself make contact with the ground, he planted a boot low on his opponent's bare waist and applied strong pressure, rolling onto his own back with his opponent above him, before giving a final strong shove.

Adam didn't even pretend not to smile as he heard the sound of her crash back-first on the ground.

When she was back on her feet, she heard his voice again.

"This is your last chance to call it a day here. You going to take it?"

"Are you kiddin', darlin'?" If it was possible, Sable's smile grew further. "We're jus' getting' started!"

Adam grinned in return.

"Happy to hear it."

The nineteen-year-old woman coiled her legs under her and launched herself at Adam, pouncing on him like a cat.

The crowd resumed its near ear-splitting levels of noise.

Adam parried and blocked with perfect form. Though she was no Mariko, the blonde herself was a remarkable fighter; not since his days of sparring with Sienna had Adam been so challenged to keep pace with an opponent. While he possessed plenty of raw power, the most key parts of his hand-to-hand were agility and speed , the ability to constantly move himself in and out of an enemy's reach and work accordingly before they could react. It was meant to play havoc with an opponent, to overwhelm them by giving them the feeling that he was everywhere at once, in a hurricane of crushing strikes.

In theory, the blonde seemed perfect for his usual approach. By contrast to his style, there wasn't much fluidity to her movements. She had some agility, he was pleased to note, but she fought like a wrestler, constantly attempting to grapple him whenever he got too close, but she didn't seem to be gifted in any martial art or style he recognised. He had the undisputed edge in speed, and that was without him even using his semblance to speed himself up. From her wide stance, Adam could tell that she was more used to wielding a weapon in her arms; The way her muscles would twitch with every other miss - as if her body realized her limbs didn't have the reach she expected to have, told the tale for itself. By his guess, it was a polearm of sorts, if his judge on her stance was right, and it made him curious about what it would be like to face her with a weapon. Would she be more of a challenge?

The two jumped and rolled about the ring, trading blows, Adam dodging and leaping through the air in a ballet of martial brilliance in an effort to gauge her skill. The audience, once moments away from rioting, now sat at the edge of their seats, trying to follow the fight.

Finally, Sable got lucky, catching him with a knee to the abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs. She moved in for a finishing move, but he caught her wrist in a tight grip and sent his fist into her face with a fraction of his true strength. It was enough to stagger her, but to his surprise, it didn't put her down. She wiped a small trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.

"Ready for a beatdown, honey?"

Adam was on his back again, but not for long. Sable seized Adam's legs and began twirling him about. When Sable released him, Adam toppled across the mat coming to a stop just short of the electrified ropes.

The crowd groaned in disappointment.

Adam sprang up, only to receive another knee to his gut followed by two fists that hammered his back and put him back on the floor.

Sable rushed her opponent again as he rolled to his feet.

It would be a painful mistake.

Adam used the close proximity to place his other hand front-ways underneath the woman's chin. When she tried to swat it away, abandoning her grab to do so, Adam used his newly freed hand to strike upward on his bent elbow roughly, bringing forth a raised palm strike from the Underworld.

The crowd collectively winced when their idol suddenly fell to the floor.

"You know something? I think I owe you an apology, lady." Adam rubbed his knuckles. " I'm actually starting to enjoy myself."

Sable pushed herself off the ground holding a new bruise on her cheek.

"Nice swing. But ya won't get another chance to do that again!"

A self assured grin was his reply.

"You sure you want to ride this rodeo?"

"Rock and roll, baby! Yeehaw!"

Adam, finished being the attacked, sprang forward launching his fist for another strike. Sable backed away just in time to feel him brush past her hair. A few strands of her shimmering blonde locks fluttered in the air. She saw his left fist coming in for an uppercut. Again she glided away from its path, but not before the back of his fist could feel the tussles of her brassiere. Adam continued with his motion, turning his back to her and lashing out with his leg. Sable protected herself by crossing her arms over her chest, letting her arms take the brunt of the attack, but the strength of the blow took her off her feet.

The crowd was washed over with surprise, but fuelled by the excitement of the battle, kept cheering.

Adam raised an eyebrow. Sable had adjusted her fighting style. Now, instead of just trying to grab him, she was throwing elbows and leg sweeps, trying to steer him to the ground. Where no doubt he'd be at her mercy as she tried to twist him into some kind of sentient pretzel. She was moving constantly now, trying to catch him off balance. Her combinations were fast and furious, transitioning from hammer blows and elbows to elbows and kicks, knees, and back to his hands again. The patterns were completely random, belonging to no particular style at all, forcing him to react to them on the fly. Adam parried again and again, but she kept trying to close the distance, maintaining pressure on his guard.

'She's into it now, ' He thought to himself. 'That was a good rush.'

He felt an odd sense of respect wash over him, but before he could dwell on that, she was moving again.

He wasn't going to pretend for a moment that standing in front of the blonde was a feasible idea, but the thought that he would ever run from her would have been laughable if it didn't irritate him so much.

And as was typical with him, that irritation would usually be conveyed through his fists. But perhaps, he thought with a smile, he could test drive something new here. Smirking, he stood stock still as she charged, calmly waiting for her to get close, before locking his opponent's left arm as she swung her fist, bracing his right arm between her shoulder and throat. From there, he stepped backwards, drawing his opponent in tow.

'Here's hoping this works…'

Adam could feel her vocal cords moving under his fingers, but neither of them had time to work out what she had been about to say, before the faunus used his momentum and his own strength, to swing her in a vertical arc into the air, and certainly not after he slammed her skull into the ground with her arm still in the wrench.

A sudden silence came over the rooftop. A crumpled figure lay in the centre of the ring.

Adam blinked.

Was….Was it over already? He hadn't expected his new technique to work that well. He'd never actually tried it on a person before— hell, he hadn't even named it yet!

And she was already down?!

The eerie hush created a rather disturbing aura around the faunus. He could feel the eyes of everyone looking at him with a murderous rage, and a large part of him normally would have revelled in it. After all, what else did could he expect for knocking out their star? But instead, all he felt was more annoyance.

Letting go of her arm, he knelt by the fallen body of Sable and gently nudged her. "Hey…you're not done already, are you?"

There was no response.

He nudged her again. "Don't tell me you're actually unconscious?"

The blonde remained unresponsive.

"Oh come on, I didn't even hit you that hard!" He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. "If you knew you had a glass jaw, you had no business challenging m-!"

A collective startled gasps and wolf whistles spread through the audience like wildfire.

He wasn't sure what he was going to say next, as without warning, his words were stolen by the spill of her tongue into his mouth.

Her lips caught his in a hard kiss, driving them apart with the force of it. His eye widened. There was almost nothing gentle about it. She kissed him like she was dying for a taste of him. Sable boldly explored this new ground, switching between trying his upper lip between hers in isolation and then his lower.

Even so, he had just enough instinct left in him to try and pull away.

The blonde had other ideas.

She knotted her fist in the folds of his jacket , pulling him harder against her. He groaned softly, low in his throat.

The sheer shock of the action made every conceivable thought in Adam's head explode into a pure white, and slowly, a dark tendril that in the loosest of ways, could have been called desire twisted inside him, bending his senses, and twisting his last trembling vestige of restraint.

Both parties committed to the exchange quickly thereafter and before either knew it, his soft warm mouth reciprocated her advance, and despite her inexperience, moved naturally and harmoniously in rhythm with his. turned to elated fluttering. He tasted of salt and cinnamon.

She even tested raising her arm up to slip her hand around the back of his neck and pull them even closer.

Adam's brain was frazzled to the point that he could not even make the connection that she had feigned being unconscious. The low groan at the back of her throat, a small pleading noise that kept him rooted firmly to the spot even more than her hands.

"Mmmmm…. Warm…"

After Sable's tongue was finished exploring the details of his mouth, she broke the embrace and gave him a dreamy look. Strong jawed, deep smooth voice, broad shouldered, nice tight little ass... Speaking of which... Her right hand snaked it's way to the man's rear, jolting Adam back into reality.

"You're perfect." Her voice was low and flirty, barely loud enough for even the sharpest of ears to pick up. But he did, and it was all he could do to keep his colour what it was.

Sable jumped to her feet, without a hint of injury. Part of her hated to throw the fight and use a cheap move to lure Adam in but she had seen enough. She'd just had her ass thoroughly kicked. She hadn't really been able to even land a blow on the guy, only glancing blows at best, and it hadn't been for lack of trying. Sure, she'd taken it easy at the beginning, but as she began to notice that her efforts proved increasingly futile, even when she really took it up a notch. He was definitely an equal to anyone she'd ever fought… no, maybe more. There was something about him that she could not pin down. At any rate, she had planned the little diversion to test him in another area. He was a terrific kisser. Even when he was obviously stunned, his body reacted to her. He had tilted his head slightly to allow her better entry to his mouth, seemingly out of instinct.

"Well, I guess we have some work to do, darling."

"Wh-What- are you talking about?"

She didn't answer right away; instead she sauntered around Adam for a second time.

"Hmmm." Sable looked at Adam's clothes thoughtfully. "The jacket's nice, and I love the color scheme, but we definitely need a little redesign. Thats a lot of leather, and I'm thinkin' you could use some more highlights. Something in red, I think."

"What?"

"You play anything?"

Adam was lost with her random selection of questions. "Huh?"

"An instrument." Sable said more slowly. "ya know, a musical one?"

"...No?" Adam furrowed his brow, both unsure as to the relevance of the question and still attempting to reboot from the fact that a human had stolen his first kiss. "Why, you…"

"Too bad, I guess." Her smile was more to herself. " Was thinking we could play guitar together or something. Don't worry. I can teach you just fine."

Before the red-haired man could respond, she waved him off and began talking to herself again. "I suppose we can figure out the rest later. Damn, there's so much to do, I don't even know where to' start. I'd ask Mom, she was always better at planning stuff out than me, but then I…"

"Just what the hell is going on?!" Adam finally reached his limit on what his patience could bear. "How hard did I hit you?!"

Sable turned around and looked at him as if she finally was aware that he was actually there. She smiled, winked, and pointed her finger at him. "I guess brains aren't your forte, huh, Handsome? You're my new boyfriend."

Silence would have overtaken the ring, if a lone voice did not pierce through it like an incendiary bullet, shaking the girders, and nearly shattering the faunus' very sensitive eardrums.

"WHAAAAAAT?!"

To the audience's and Adam's collective shock, a second blonde, who no one had noticed elbowing her way through the crowd, suddenly reached the front , and clambered into the ring. While shorter than Sable in stature, and clad in what was unquestionably civilian clothing, the still stunned faunus had just enough remaining brain function to note the similarities in their features, though one would have been hard pressed to realise that, given the newcomer's face was filled with red and throbbing veins.

The original blonde rolled her eyes in disdain, threading her arm around Adam's and pulling it into her cleavage. "Oh, shut up! This doesn't even concern you, Saph! What the hell are you even doing here?!" Sable's voice rang with irritation bordering on fury.

"The hell it doesn't! I'm not going to just let you just go out with any old boy that comes your way! You haven't even graduated Haven yet, and you're sneaking out to places like this on a school night? What would Mom say about this?!"

'Haven?' Adam thought, zeroing in on that detail. She was a Huntress?! So what was she even doing here, in a den of seasoned criminals, in the first place? He could sense the tension brewing in the audience over that little admission, and suddenly he could tell that the crowd were suddenly a lot more nervous than they had been before. Cowards, though they may have been, he wouldn't fault their apprehensiveness in stepping into the ring now. This one certainly didn't fight like a Huntress.

"First the fuck of all, Sis," Sable growled, eyes still narrowed as she jabbed a finger into her sister's chest. "I'm in my final year, and I've had top grades the entire time. I could flunk every class from here till graduation and have a high enough grade average that Leo would still pass me with flying colours. Second, I don't know if you've ever been a student, but since Daddy dearest isn't sending me money like he does for you, I'm fucking broke, and pure grade Dust, not to mention summer rent, isn't cheap. So if I wanna pay for my equipment, food and board, this is about the only decent income I have. And third, She'd tell you to stop being a clam jammer because she wants grandkids, that's what she'd say! Just because you're my big sister doesn't mean you get to run my life, Saphron! I can decide to go out with anyone I want!" She tossed her hair dismissively, eyes burning with indignance. "Besides, I didn't say anything when you and that Terra girl snuck off at the family dinner party last year an-"

"That's besides the point! And I'm not putting up with your back talk on this! Don't make me put you over my knee and embarrass you in front of all these people!"

"Oh, please! That's an empty threat, and you know it. You're a lot of things Sis, but Mom, you ain't. " Sable laughed.

"Shame." Saphron growled. Then an idea struck her that caused her lips to rise in a devilish smile.

It was one that unsettled even him. Unconsciously, Adam took another step back.

The leering sadistic grin on Saphron's face grew larger. "I may not spank you, but I do have those baby pictures…."

Sable gasped as the colour left her face, hands balling into fists at her side. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Remember the time when you were five and you refused to wear clothes? I bet your teammates would love to see those…."

The younger blonde squeaked in terror. "I thought I burned them all!"

"I asked Mom to save a few, just in case!" Saphron was savoring the moment for all it was worth. Being so close to her in age, her unruly little sister had never listened to her, even when they were younger, and as much as her elder sister loved her, she was a terrible influence on their siblings. Even their brother wanted to be just like her, bad traits and all. And she had finally found a way to bring her to heel!

"You bitch!"

Realising his arm was free of the blonde's grip and shaking free the last of his cobwebs, Adam's eye darted between the sisters as the yelling match grew to the point that neither of them realized that they even had an audience. Seeing his opportunity, he slowly backed away to the edge of the ring, crawled carefully through the thankfully non electrified ropes, and entered the crowd. With any luck, the domestic spat would give him enough time to collect his winnings and be far, far away before either of them noticed he was gone.

The bookie looked as stunned as Adam felt when he made to collect his money, barely keeping his eyes on counting while the bickering in the ring escalated ever further. By the time Adam reached the elevator, he swore he could still hear the two arguing, even after he had already but three levels of steel and solid concrete between them by then. Even after he reached the ground floor, and subsequently took off as if the hounds of hell themselves were at his heels, he would soon find he couldn't outrun their voices… or his own thoughts.

Eventually, Sable would calm down, and regain enough awareness to look around for her newly minted boyfriend, using her considerable height to peer over the crowd

But he would be long gone.

---

As the next night came, and the moon rose, Adam rose with it, eager to put himself to work, if only to distract himself from the chaos of the past twenty four hours. In truth, he had been awake for some time, looking up at the ceiling. He simply hadn't been able to muster the desire to leave his bed. In fairness against any accusations of laziness, he had tried. Legitimately. Once he'd rested long enough to be recovered from being electrocuted, he'd been more than prepared to spend his daylight hours doing something productive,. But try as he might, he hadn't been able to stay focused on even his training all day, his usual refuge from the ravages of insanity.

That had never happened before.

"Then again", he thought, reaching out for his sword, before remembering that he didn't have it, " A fair few things had happened yesterday that had never happened before.

Notably, the obvious one.

The kiss.

At the thought of last night, the faunus felt his face flush as red as his hair and swore profusely under his breath.

There really were no words to describe the encounter with the Arc woman.

Adam had spent the past few months believing his opinion on humans had been chiselled in stone. None of them were particularly friendly or flattering, and he had had very little reason to change them, save for two bumbling brats who were more than likely on the other end of the continent by now. An exception to the rule but verifying it all the same. Until now, that was.

Did she think he was wearing Beast Ear? No, that couldn't be right. He'd been pretty clear about that in their banter.

But all these thoughts, all these theories, simply brought his mind back to the prevailing question.

Why?

Why had she kissed him?

And why had he enjoyed it?

He'd finally put one emotional and existential crises to bed, only for entirely another to rise to its place, and he had no one he could possibly trust to even talk to about any of it.

To his own surprise, Charlotte's name was the first to pop into his head. But as he thought about it, it sort of made sense. She was female, for a start, and as a result was likely to have far more insight into the mind of Sable Arc than himself, but more than that, she was social. She understood how people worked in a way that he could only dream of. There was no doubt if he explained the situation to her, she could explain the motivations that seemed to utterly elude him.

He looked at his Scroll, before violently tossing it back into the mattress, where it bounced twice, landing face down on his pillow.

Yeah. Not exactly his brightest idea.

How would it look if he told her he was busy locking lips with human girls while she was at home, injured and fearing for her life? If the roles were reversed, he couldn't say he wouldn't be pissed, all things considered. Besides, she'd helped him enough as is. He wasn't about to burden her with his dilemmas, or the contents of his scarred psyche, after she'd already saved his life and given him a home. He wasn't her problem.

This was going to have to be one more thing to work out for himself.

Having found his feet, and his jacket, he restrained the urge to headbutt the support pillars in an effort to forcibly remove the thoughts from his head.

He didn't think it was entirely his fault that he was out of his depth.

Women weren't an area he really had experience in. Between his misanthropy and his absolute focus on his combat training, it left very little room or desire in his life for people in general, particularly the fairer sex. He'd had one friend, and even that was using the term in the loosest possible sense, given how that disaster had ultimately turned out, and the less said about his prospects on the romance front, the better.

That said, it was now that he admitted that his time away from Menagerie had been something of an education. He'd recognised that he was attracted to Charlotte in a physical, and later, emotional sense. His instincts and impulses had been made painfully aware of that during their time together, almost annoyingly so, and as they had grown closer, while he'd cut out his own tongue before he admitted it, there was a small piece of his heart that… seemed to desire something more. But Adam was nothing if not self-aware.

Just because he felt, or thought he felt, something for her, did not mean she felt anything for him. He was simply a means to an end at the end of the day, and he would not be the fool to conflate kindness with desire. More besides, ever since he had come into her life, it had unequivocally changed for the worse. In the few months he had been in it, she had been threatened, beaten, had her personal space infringed, her property damaged, had several excruciatingly painful memories dredged up, and had been nearly killed to boot. All of this as either direct or indirect results of his presence. More to the point, how would it even work, even if all of that wasn't true? He had no idea.

For all her faults, she would have to be crazier than he was to want anything else to do with him, and while he could admit it, it still tasted bitter, for reasons he couldn't put words to.

Despite the logic in his thoughts, Adam could still feel a quiet, dormant part of his mind sifting through the past he had sworn to abandon for a frame of reference of caring for… anyone in that way.

It was with a somewhat resigned sigh, when he realised that he didn't really have one.

People always seemed to accuse Belladonna of being in love with him or he, her, and while Adam had always laughed it off as the nonsense of gossiping brainlets, in hindsight, the way she would always flush beet red, or bury her face into his side, had new connotations that he would rather not consider. Unconsciously, bile rose in his throat. He had never felt anything romantically for her, and he had absolutely no idea why anyone would think otherwise. To say nothing of how grating the girl could be, she was far too young for him, for one, and at best, he could say she pissed him off slightly less than nearly everyone else, and even that was being at least somewhat charitable. The only believable candidate he could imagine, was Sienna, having been the closest thing to a friend he'd known in his youth. He enjoyed her company, he enjoyed sparring with her, and even though parts of their shared history had ultimately been lies, he couldn't say that, looking back, he didn't find her attractive as a woman, and he had relished her company much more than most. Maybe, once upon a time, there had been something there…

Not that it mattered anything, now that he had buried her with the rest of his past. There was nothing to be done about that.

But...Perhaps that was it. Charlotte and Sienna, for all their differences in personality, ambition and ability, they were both faunus, and faunus and humans, were fundamentally different. Perhaps if he wanted to make sense of a human's intent, it would be more productive if he had to compare it to another human.

That, he realised with some annoyance, flexing his fingers with a satisfying crack, was far from an easy task. Before he had arrived on Anima, virtually all of his experiences had been negative with them, and even then, most of his recent interactions had been more of the same. They were as disgusting and wretched as they had ever been, and while he had treated them in kind, only a confounded moron would say it had been unwarranted. And yet, this had happened.

The very fact he was still thinking about it suggested things that the Adam of old would have recoiled in horror to even contemplate. If someone had told him then that a human would steal his first kiss, and worse, a part of him had not only enjoyed, but worse, reciprocated, he would have asked if they'd lost their meds and straitjacket. It was with a sudden and ironic sense of comprehension that Adam realized that he just felt more disgust for the idea of being romantically involved with a Belladonna than he did at the idea of a human paramour.

The corpse of his former self stirred in it's grave, telling him that he was dishonouring his mother's memory, that he had no right, no honour, no dignity in so readily shacking up with her murderers. Before it could break free, a stronger part of him kicked the dirt back over it, choking it into oblivion. It got easier every time, he noted with a wry grin. The voice was barely a whisper now, where once it had roared so loudly it was all he could do to think past his base emotions. He'd grown stronger in much more than just his body.

Even so, while he was sure of a far greater number of things than he had been prior to his rebirth, he'd be lying if he said he knew how he felt about the previous night. But it had happened nonetheless, and he didn't feel repulsed.

That was the key thing, and in all honesty not knowing why, terrified him.

Hormones? It was a valid line of inquiry, he supposed.

It was possible emotional attachments weren't always the only factor needed to form attraction. Not for the first time, his thoughts turned again to the bloodthirsty sadist, Mariko, as he ran a finger over the faded scar on his cheek; a memento of their last encounter.

She fought in a somewhat similar manner to him, and their chance meeting had been responsible for giving him his first real martial challenge since he had first set out into the world. When they had first fought, Adam had felt a thrill, a storm in his veins, and a fire in his soul, that had been similar if not greater than the one he had felt with the Arc woman. Even if she put him seriously on edge, if she got under his skin in a way he didn't fully understand, he couldn't help but feel at least on some level there was something there, that he understood.

Like the blonde, but more importantly, like himself, Mariko seemed to fight purely for the thrill of battle, but unlike anyone else he had ever met, she never shied away from her bloodlust, and while she had never- Adam began to think back on their previous encounters. The words exchanged, the actions taken. A picture, as hazy as it was, started to form.

"I want you, silly."

I apologise for Miss Claret. She's been infatuated with you…"

"Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you're angry?"

Could she..?

No. That was impossible. She was a human.

'And yet, one openly kissed you and declared you her boyfriend.' The quiet voice remarked from the back of his head. Adam ground his teeth against each other. It was possible that both of them were screwing with him somehow. Apparently people did that. Not that he'd know: He didn't really have social connections to speak of. Maybe he'd ask Rodaine or something.

Why couldn't they just have been trying to kill him? He knew how to handle that.

Well, he supposed the jury was still out on if Mariko wanted him dead, but something told him she didn't. She'd had plenty of opportunities, especially with that semblance of hers, and had taken none of them. And the blonde… It was stupid to think about, wasn't it? It wasn't as if he'd see her again.

Adam sighed, running his hand through his hair, before letting it settle in his fingers. He really wished he had listened when his mother had tried to give him lectures about women.

As it stood, he got the distinct impression that life had been far easier when he was living as a hermit in the Anima wilds.

Finishing his preparations, he left, the slam of his door behind him startling him back into focus. Getting distracted now was the last thing he needed.

The plan.

The plan he'd formed in his head was that he would start combing the district, try to make friends with the 'working girls', and. In doing so attempt to 'charm' them into talking. It wasn't much, and if he was honest with himself, it wasn't even a good plan, but there was no sense in pushing his luck in the violence department, especially not after yesterday. So here he was, tossing his hat to the wind and hoping it paid off.

Adam knew where he was going, if not what the hell he was doing, but he wanted to be sure— The White Widow was one of the places those stooges had mentioned so he figured he'd try there first; and so he'd knocked on Rodaine's door to retrieve his weapon and to ask for directions.

The results had been...less than pleasant.

The door hadn't been locked, and when it had opened at the touch of his knuckles, Adam immediately saw his sword and sheath lying on the kitchen table, and moved to retrieve it. No sooner had he done so, and finished affixing it to his belt, than he caught sight of Rodaine in the adjacent room.

He had been halfway wiped, entertaining two girls in bunny costumes, but he'd been lucid enough to give him a kind of knowing smile when he'd asked how to get to the brothel, and Adam hadn't liked it one bit. What he'd liked even less, was the fact that he hadn't been lucid enough to get a straight answer out of the man. Not that he didn't understand why; considering the bald bastard was in the middle of a two-way dance and didn't seem to care at all that he caught up with him. Or that he'd left his door wide open in the breeze.

The women he was with had given him strange looks too. A lesser man would have been self conscious, but he'd stood his ground and swallowed his pride. Maybe they'd have an answer for him. It'd be a good test run, if nothing else. Even if they looked as strung out as the weaponsmith himself. Adam didn't know if his new look would help with his terminal case of anti-socialitis, but maybe, now that his missing eye was better hidden, it wouldn't unsettle people, as much as his exposed bandage did. Not that he really gave a damn about whether they were comfortable; but Charlotte never seemed to need intimidation to get what she wanted. He could stand to try things her way at least once.

The moment he caught their attention, they began to blush and giggle.

Adam could already feel what little confidence he had in himself begin to wither.

It was just perfect.

One of the girls shook her head before looking up at him with a faint blush and replied. "Ahem, sorry, what was your question again?"

Adam raised an eyebrow and asked again, being sure to speak slower. "I asked if any of you know where the White Widow is?"

The same girl seemed distracted, still blushing and listlessly examining his body before she finally answered his question. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I do."

Silence passed as Adam stood, waiting.

"Care to share with the class?"

"You sure you don't know already?"

Adam narrowly kept himself from gritting his teeth, choosing instead to chuckle. If this evening was going to bear results, he was going to have to get used to human stupidity. Not that he hadn't had practice…

"I'm not exactly in the habit of asking questions I know the answers to, you know." The faunus had enough self control to keep the edge and annoyance out of his tone, but the smartass in him couldn't be negotiated with.

"Huh...so you normally try lipstick? Cause you got some on your neck there."

His eyes widened and he wiped at his neck, but the damage was done. Even through the fabric of his gloves he could see the color of faded red clinging to the fingertips, '...Should've cleaned up after myself.' He tried to ignore the heat on his cheeks. Honestly, what did he care if she found out? She wasn't his mother and it shouldn't have bothered him that she figured out his activities.

"So..." she said, dragging the word out uncomfortably, batting her eyelashes at him. "You gonna say anything?'

"Not really." He finally scoffed. Why did she care so much? "Prodding me isn't going to get you anything. That work for you?"

"...Fair enough." The way she said it was almost petulant, lips curved into a pout that on almost any other woman might have been cute. Adam rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to sigh.

He repeated himself again, making them both giggle again, and he caught a knowing smirk from Rodaine in his periphery, which he barely avoided rolling his eye at. Finally, the man saw fit to rescue him, giving him clear directions. Figuring it was well past time to leave, Adam said, "I'll be on my way then. Thanks for the help."

A lien card appeared in his hand and was tucked behind one of her ears, to more giggles.

Women were insane, he decided with resoluteness.

Turning on his heel, he was back out of the door and slamming it behind him, missing the looks at his back; the girls pouting as he left.

That had been… tedious.

Still, this was his best option., he reminded himself, trying to keep in character. There had always been a vast difference between authenticity and improv, and the latter was not his strong suit. Scowling and growling wasn't the way to go this time, no matter how much it went against the flow of his default demeanour.

He followed the directions easy enough, and before he knew it, there he was.

The gentleman's club hardly looked impressive or elegant, hiding the greasy grip of the buildings further down the block. He knocked on the door when it proved to be unlocked. He was banking that at least some clients would be arriving at this hour, so someone should have been on hand to open the door.

He immediately found himself in a smallish anteroom, painted in an obnoxious lavender.

A powerfully built bouncer scowled in annoyance and rose from a dirty looking couch, as Adam tried not to stare at the goods: a half dozen women around his age, or in very early twenties. They sat on modular sofa units, wearing silk gowns and high heels.

"You a customer? Come on in. Leave any weapons with me and come get em' when you leave."

Adam paused, before reluctantly uncoiling the sheathed weapon from his belt. "Your rules."

As possessive as he was, the faunus took careful note of where the man stowed his prized katana; thrust away in a cabinet with nary a second glance. He'd be back for it later.

"Hmm. Welcome to the White Widow. We hope you enjoy your stay."

It was a pointless ordeal in Adam's eyes, though at least the bouncer looked as impatient and bored as he felt. He'd turned over his sword, and he'd left Blush back at the apartment, though he was still wearing the empty holster on his thigh. The man turned his full attention on Adam. The faunus couldn't help but go stiff as the man frisked him, patting him down for weapons anyway. It was going to be a pain in the ass either way.

Complaints aside, Adam couldn't help but be relieved when he realized his little plan had worked.

Before he'd left his apartment, he'd assumed that there might be a frisk of some kind before he got in. While he didn't know a damn thing about brothels aside from the obvious, he couldn't imagine the owners were huge fans of bloodbaths. The kind they weren't being paid for, anyway. And yet, having fouled up because of his own impatience, he didn't want to take the risk of wandering the streets completely unarmed. He'd brought his beloved sword along for that purpose, the logic being that if he had an actual weapon to turn over, whoever did the search either wouldn't bother searching further, or would be exceptionally lazy about their job.

He doubted the workers here got paid enough to care too much.

His shot in the dark paid off.

Not only did the hired muscle not even blink at the empty holster, more importantly, he hadn't noticed what was stashed in a hiding nest under his jacket. That hadn't been his choice— Even if Blush wasn't totalled, it would have been far too big and bulky to fit under his clothes, and he'd tried, damn it. Even when he'd finally managed it, it left a hard bulge that even the most cataract riddled geriatric couldn't miss, or mistake for anything else that wasn't a gun. Not to mention he'd damn near taken a chunk off his rear—would have if it had been working, or if he hadn't had the sense to unload the weapon first— when he'd tried to walk with it.

It was why he'd bought the holster in the damn first place.

He had fewer qualms with firearms now, in fact when they worked, he found he enjoyed them a great deal, for someone with so little experience using them, and they — for the most part — had served him well in that time. But he didn't have any of them now. Which meant he had to work with what he did have.

And it's name was Thorn.

The weapon was a modification of a kyoketsu-shoge; essentially, the lovechild of two weapons; the rope dart and kusarigama. It was a simple thing, consisting of a double-edged blade protruding from the end of a hand sized sickle ,which was itself connected via a length of sturdy wire to a weighted iron ring. Combining the best elements of the two weapons, it was capable of a vast array of unpredictable free-form attack techniques; but on the flipside, notoriously difficult to control, and practically useless in battle to most, unless skillfully wielded. The particular version's length of braided metal wire and heft of weight were at their conceivable limit, making it even more unpredictable and difficult to wield than normal. And yet somehow, Evelyn Taurus had managed it.

She had instructed him in its use when he was younger, alongside his other martial training before she had passed down Wilt, and later on, when Evelyn herself began to use Thorn as her primary weapon, Sienna had modelled her own weapon, Cerberus, after it, at least in principle.

Adam could freely admit that there were numerous occasions the past few months where it's use would have been… beneficial, to say the least. But had he been asked, he would have formed a cornucopia of excuses why he hadn't. Each one would have been less convincing than the last; He hadn't practiced in well over a year- that one at least was true,- He hadn't had time; a flagrant lie. But the truth was, he hadn't really accepted yet that it was his to use, even when he had packed his mother's belongings back in Menagerie. Still hadn't, not completely.

But fate and necessity had forced his hand, and it was what he had.

The most important part at present, was that with a few sewing alterations to his jacket, and carefully winding the cord around the ring, he could fit the entire weapon comfortably behind his back, with no one any the wiser.

And it had worked.

He'd even managed to tuck his shuriken into the same pocket, and no one had been any the wiser.

His first real smile of the evening crept across his face. So far so good.

Giving the bouncer a nod and feeling quite pleased with himself, he walked calmly to the door on the other side and stepped inside the White Widow proper, wincing at the abrupt switch from the tranquillity of the comparatively empty dark streets muted noise to the loud noise and bright lights inside. It slammed into him like a bullet, the resulting stab of pain making him grimace.

The downstairs bar brimmed over with people, occupying most tables, hardly visible with his vision clouded by heaving, swaying mass of sweating skin and skimpy clothes—the ones that were wearing them anyway. He paused at the door for a moment, slowly taking in the wildly moving huddles. The inside of the building continued in the same vein , with leather and chrome fixtures, stripped wooden flooring and a dirty looking staircase with purple carpet that rose up through the centre of the building.

As he stepped deeper into the building, the sharp smell of sweat met him immediately, a mass of bodies grinding one another, rolling hips to the beat of the music that had grown so loud as to almost numb his senses altogether. He was surrounded; women of many colours and sizes dressed in virtually nothing, with nothing but stiff drinks and sex flowing through their systems .One man was kissing a girl hard on the mouth, another kissing a man completely naked for everyone to see.

Some humans in lavender jackets and shirts swaggered by as if on patrol amidst the crowd, but two stood guard at the door dressed slightly differently. Now he thought about it, a good amount of the people he saw appeared to belong to some kind of common group. He figured they were in gangs; some of them wore the same ugly colours as the thugs he'd met the previous night, and all of them had that same stupid tattoo that Myst had in his bounty mugshot. That pretty much told him he had the right place.

People moved all around him, mingling, no doubt scoping out the drug situation. The chemical of choice that night wasn't very potent among addicts, but new users would quickly find themselves too high to function properly. Adam, thankfully, restrained his first instinct to march through without caution for them, instead keeping out of the way of drunk women and firmly batting off the odd man that tried to drunkenly proposition him. Though those events certainly tested his resolve, and his stomach as he tried in vain to casually avert his gaze from the numerous drug-induced strip teases going on around him.

Dismissing the idea to go over and introduce himself to people, Adam opted to find somewhere to stay put and play the observer, keeping his smiling mask in place, uncharacteristically keen to avoid an incident in a place as public as this. Asking pointed questions about the owners was only going to get him thrown out, or worse, recognised. He might be playing this almost entirely by ear, but there was no need to tempt fate.

It was then that Adam noticed something. Or someone. short, neatly-groomed military hairstyle, heavy-duty boots, or baggy clothing with lots of pockets. It was completely incongruous with the styles of everyone else there, and marked their owner as an outsider as an even bigger outsider that he was.

The man turned, staring at him with a sneer, before shrugging off the hands of the bouncer, who Adam could see, was tightening his grip on the shorter man's shoulder. The goon

seemed unphased, shoving him none too gently towards the exit.

Before Adam could follow, or find out what was going on, A woman suddenly appeared in his sight, far too close for his comfort.

"Welcome, sir. Would you like the-" She spoke well, and her tone certainly fit the atmosphere, but she was completely dead behind the eyes, as if someone had blown out the candles in her brain. It was…. unsettling, to say the least. He had to assume she was meant to be the appetizer; a pretty woman in a slinky red dress to give a taste of what was to come.

And if that was so… the smart thing to do was to turn tail while he still could.

Instead, he flashed a smirk and tried to summon the persona of a man at ease, brimming with swaggering confidence and flashing a handful of lien.

"Give me the guided tour, would you?"

The music in the place was enough to give him a headache.

As she led him towards the stairs, the woman walked forward meekly, gliding through the practiced lines and whipping her head back to look at him, as if for approval, after every few seconds that passed. It was odd; he didn't even have to make threats to make her do what she wanted, and she took his money almost too gingerly, almost bordering on reverence...he didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing. He decided on 'useful' for now.

"Upstairs are the VIP rooms, where we let our more favored clientele enjoy our services. We offer many services, especially for clients such as yourself." She looked him up and down, eyes again lingering on his face. "If you'd like, I could-"

As he scoured the place for something that wouldn't catch his eye, he finally spotted what he was looking for in the form of something quite different than he expected. A young woman with an olive complexion and dark hair sat alone right at the other end of the outwardly curved bar, long hair spilling down to bounce and curl on her shoulders as she slouched, stirring a drink with a short black straw.

The lights from the bar touched and curved around the woman's face, silhouettes of bottles reflecting in the most intense very peculiar green of her eyes. he'd deny later - stared at the open cleavage she practically flashed in his face. His stare lasted for only a couple of seconds before he forced his eyes up and looked her in the face. And in that moment, in spite of everything he pictured her. He pictured her face, her body, the heave and shift of her bosom...

'It wasn't her.'

Adam shook his head. Of course it wasn't her. The woman was a brunette for one, not a ravenette, and she didn't have any tattoos. The longer he stared, the more the differences started to show. He felt stupid for even thinking about it. She was at home right now. Probably sprawled out on that beloved couch of hers, or arguing with liquor distributors over her scroll. Or…

"Did someone mention my name?"

Before he knew it, she was in front of them, her attire showing off far more skin than what was considered appropriate. Although, given the locale, it probably was more appropriate than not. He could only assume he must have looked like an easy mark.

Not-Charlotte smiled.

The one in the red dress huffed, turning on her heel to head back downstairs. She seemed… upset about something. He wasn't sure what it was about. Maybe it was the loss of potential lien? If that was the case, Adam didn't feel too bad. He'd already given her a considerable bribe.

"Well, what do we have here? I was hoping you'd swing my way again." Not-Charlotte purred, her arms slinking around his neck, pressing her whole body against his side. The poor thing didn't exactly react to her as expected- he nearly jumped out of his skin like a virgin, and his face reddened when he turned his head, and found her merely an inch or two away from his face.

He recovered quickly.

"I know you?"

"Mayyybe?"

"Something you need?"

She shrugged, with the same nonchalance that Adam so recognised. Close… and yet, so far. Her eyes didn't seem right to him, but there was an intelligence there that felt familiar in those bright green eyes.

"Nothing, really. Just looking for conversation."

"And you picked on me? Well, I'm touched to say the least." He replied, "But you don't seem like the kind of lady to do things without a reason."

"Do I need one? You looked like someone who's trying to have a good time." Her red lips curled up in an inviting smile, the color contrasting with her dark hair and eyeshadow, and Adam felt his cheeks heat up. "Want some company?"

"Funny you should mention that. I was really hoping for a minute of your time." He remarked boldly.

She almost reminded him of an animal hunting its prey… but almost.

It was tougher to handle than he'd expected—and he hadn't expected a picnic—, but he'd tried to summon up a combination of Charlotte's and Rodaine's mannerisms; that should have left his throat as a passable attempt at a laid-back drawl. It came out garbled and unnatural. He'd never had to mimic anyone before; his voice cracked and the tone was inconsistent.

All that did was get her laughing again, tittering at him as Adam felt his embarrassment peak. As if he'd needed new reasons not to step out of his comfort zone. Thankfully his hair made a good effort at hiding at least some of his face. This was a stupid idea.

"Honey, you can have way more than that."

She shuffled closer to him, close enough to invade his personal space. Utterly unused to a girl blatantly propositioning him, he tried to change the subject, and took a deep breath. It was far too claustrophobic for his liking. He clenched his fist and toes and fought down hard on his discomfort and the childish impulse to move back.

How much?" He gave her what he hoped was a lopsided smirk. He wasn't exactly seductive, but she'd hopefully seen worse.

"Two hundred and fifty lien, one hour. I don't do any weird shit. That costs extra..." She traced a manicured nail down his jaw and he barely restrained a flinch. Long, lush dark brown hair flowed down the sides of his vision. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating in a place like this. "What do you say, you want in?"

And now he had a chance to talk to her alone, away from prying eyes. Who said Adam couldn't be subtle? Careful to stay in character, he moved a hand to hers, bringing himself to continue the charade.

"I'd say, you were the answer to my prayers." He remarked, the playful tone he usually reserved for taunting opponents being employed with far greater ease than his prior attempt.

'Kill me…'

There was no way she was buying this.

To Adam's utmost shock, she seemed to like his less stilted dialogue, if the giggle she suppressed was any kind of indication at all, shifting his arm around her shoulders.

He rifled through his pockets with his free hand, pulled out the money and pressed the cards onto her lap. More than what she'd asked for, but he didn't trust himself not to make an ass of himself again so soon. "Here...would that get me your name, too?"

She raised an eyebrow at the odd request before shrugging, "Name's Cerise, though for you? You can call me whatever you want." She picked up the assorted cards and stuffed them into the hem of her short skirt.

Adam smiled to himself.

Rocky start aside, so far so good. The hard part was over. Not even he could screw things up from here.

After producing a key, she grasped his hand, leading him behind a royal blue curtain at the back of the room. Music thumped as they passed the entrance to a concrete-floored storage area stacked with crates and bottles, up a narrow staircase and out into a corridor with a series of doors on each side. Just like downstairs, everything looked cheap, while making the pretense at being expensive.

The rooms were nothing but plywood partitions and paper lattices, held together by wood and interspersed with plaster—another failed bastardization/imitation of traditional Mistrali architecture that seemed to permeate this district for people who tried to pretend they were classier than they really were.

But then, none of them were there for the scenery.

…So why not?

They exited into a desolate hallway, dark and cozy, littered with half naked couples.

He missed her meeting eyes with a few of the other girls almost possessively, letting the other whores in the room know that she'd "called" him. It wasn't every day that she did that, but tonight was an exception.

When they entered the room, the thing that immediately caught Adam's attention was the large bed in the centre of the floor, with the lights dimly lit. Ironically, the darkness made him feel more uncomfortable in the situation.

As Adam walked inside the room, Cerise locked the door behind them. Part of her just wanted to throw the man to the bed, and get it over with, while another part of her wanted to drag it out as long as she could. The longest time she was ever with someone, it was almost an hour—the bastard had enough lien to keep her for that long, and she'd been fucked in a number of screwed up and painful ways. Hence the 'no weird shit rule' , though she didn't think he had to worry about that with this one. Not to mention it all had gotten monotonous very quickly, and faking moans had gotten tiring.

There'd be other customers; there always was. Better to savour this one.

"So, you said your name was Cerise- " Adam was stopped when the woman came onto him again, their bodies practically melting against each other as Cerise laid her hands against Adam's chest, as though waiting for a kiss.

Her hands roved his torso, delighting in the solid feel of his muscles beneath her hands.

A lascivious smirk appeared on Cerise's face as she practically pushed him down onto the bed. Adam hadn't been expecting it; a playfully, lenient shove that caused him to fall back and land on his rear. His face flushed as Cerise leaned over him, straddling him. Despite being a clear foot shorter than him, the cocky smirk on her face made it clear who was calling the shots.

She chuckled at his nervousness, before shedding the robe from her shoulders and sliding onto his lap. He settled himself so he was a little more comfortable with her weight on his thighs. She rubbed herself against him like a cat stretching after a long, languid nap. A groan escaped his mouth.

"I'm all yours now, baby." She began to slowly shrug him out of his jacket, almost annoyed to see that there was a vest underneath. "Why don't you lie down on the bed? Make yourself comfortable, and I'll take real good care of you..."

Adam tried not to wince as the jacket fell to the ground with a thud far too heavy to be just cloth, praying to every god that Cerise didn't see; didn't notice the gunmetal grey poking free from the scarlet lining. She was a faunus, or so he thought, so he was hoping that she wouldn't notice anything. He needn't have worried.

Adam was quickly overwhelmed as the enticing siren pressed her soft, slender frame against his torso. There, she hummed a quick sound before using her teeth to gently tug and suck at his neck, soothing the skin with her tongue. Adam nearly rolled into the back of his head when; as she licked playfully, she slid further along his lap until she was settled just right over his groin.

Adam desperately grappled for control over his baser instincts, making a sound as though the air had been punched out his lungs. He had no real experience in this, and he was so startled by her sudden move that he didn't think to pull away. She found his mouth on one pitched intake of air, cutting off that steady breath with her soft, wide lips, her hands playing at his neck and hair.

He'd never been kissed like this before. She kissed him carefully, gently, humming at his taste. He felt something shift and change, felt the spear of it inside of him. Some dormant part of his competitive nature and pride—aware that he was lying there like a dead fish—burned in his chest, and before he was even realized what he was doing, instinct told him to copy her, to fight back. His lips moved after hers, and his tongue rubbed against hers in a clash for dominance.

"It's alright to want." she whispered into his ear.

He shook his head a little, trying to deny his own lust. The taste of sweet liquor on her lips was a taste of all the fun he could have, if he just gave in. She could see the internal battle he was fighting and guiding her free hand around his neck and into the back of his hair, she worked to tip the balance. When a second gloved palm firmly engulfed her other hip by itself, edging her closer to him, her breath hitched.

Every touch of her silken skin against him was heaven and hell all rolled into one. She rubbed herself against the lower half of his body, enjoying the sounds escaping his throat as she worked them both into a higher state of desire. His hands twitched at his sides. He itched to reach up and feel her.

"Go ahead," she breathed in his ear. "You can touch me."

A small, guilty voice spoke briefly in his head, whispering a reminder that this wasn't what he was here for, he came here because...because...? Because of something important but...ahh, it was slipping further and further from reach with every second. He slid his hands under her dress clumsily. earning himself a pleased hum. "More," she whispered, nipping his neck.

'More?' What did she mean for him to do, exactly? Tentatively, unsure, warm palms dragged up her sides before taking a breast in each hand. Still, that little puritan part of him felt confused, overwhelmed . Her hands gripped his face, grabbed his shoulders, tried to find something to hold on to while he devoured her.

His hesitance just seemed to spur her forward. The brunette chose then to playfully grab at his crotch, working at the bulge in his pants with her fingers, before she undid his belt buckle. Almost unconsciously, he leaned up a little, allowing her to ring it off of his waist and send it sailing off into the darkness. Down the zipper went. He squeezed gently, rubbing the pad of his thumbs over her nipples.

She arched her back, rolling her hips against him harder. Just a little longer , Adam told the voice. She pulled insistently at his waistband until it came free, gently tugging at his trousers until they were off his upper legs. He found his hands lowering to grip the silk at her waist while trying to remain still—before finding purchase along her hips to lift her away, breaking their contact.

"W-Wait!"

She paused, flushed.

"I'm supposed to be here on...business."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." Her body writhed against him. The residual dopamine left him feeling like he was dizzy. He stifled the urge to press forward, to have her taste in his mouth again—'What the hell do you think you're doing, you utter moron? godsdamn it all—but resisted, letting her curious gaze linger.

She bit her lip, reaching down to grab him by the chin and force his head back towards her, fixing his gaze. He couldn't have been older than eighteen or nineteen… maybe twenty… No, scratch that, he had to be nineteen at the most. Because no twenty-year old would be blushing as hard as he was at the moment.

"Can we..."

She found she liked the sound of his voice very much. She had liked his kiss even more. There was an innocence about it. She craved it. Needing more and more. She didn't care about anything anymore, except that she needed to keep on kissing him. Needed to know what he tasted like. What he felt like when he was wanting as badly as her. She massaged his tongue with her own, stroking him with a sympathetic hand. He surrendered to her entirely, feeling her tongue dart back into his mouth as he gave up control. He found himself pulling her closer as he begrudgingly accepted the identity his brain was trying to apply to the anonymous prostitute, not bothering to fight anymore.

A single blue pupil stared up at her; large and unfocused and she couldn't help her smile as the redhead cleared his throat several times, shook his head as if to clear it. She was being mean. She was being terribly, terribly mean. But he was just so godsdamn sweet. How was she supposed to help herself? Her cheek rubbed against his as she nuzzled against his neck, listened to how ragged his breathing had gone. One hand still held one of his down. "Say please."

He whimpered. Absolutely, undeniably whimpered; it was small but it was there and she fixed the sound in her memory like a golden treasure. A wicked smile now grazed her mouth and she began to coo, and hum, and purr nondescript words as she nuzzled her face against his like a cat, or more accurately, a tiger preparing to feast on its prey.

"I—um—how about we just talk first, for a minute?" Adam managed to get out, managing to keep his voice at least somewhat even this time. He could feel his heart pounding beneath his vest, and there was a heavy throbbing in his ears.

Colour climbed up his neck into his cheeks. It took her a moment or two, but the rush of understanding came flooding to her, morphing her smile from confusion to amusement. It shone in her eyes for a moment, but it almost faded as she composed herself. She reluctantly separated, gracefully sitting down next to him, their shoulders practically touching, and her hand on Adam's. "Yes?"

He narrowly resisted the urge to snarl. It was his go-to for clouding anything that resembled embarrassment, but it wouldn't get him anything here.

"There's someone else I need to 'see' while I'm here," he said, switching subjects, and perhaps letting a little too much of his eagerness into his voice. "Missing girl. black hair. You wouldn't happen to have seen anyone around these parts, would you?" Seconds later, it hit him with a sudden wave of clarity, what he had just allowed to happen.

The change on her face was like nothing he'd ever seen. Formerly warm and inviting, he could only look on while every muscle in her body locked up in abject terror, as she stared at like he had just threatened to eat her firstborn. "What the fuck are you trying to pull? What do you want with me?"

Adam cursed mentally. He was silent at first, surprised by her volatile reaction. He'd made a point not to mention the name 'Malachite', knowing by now that using it was only going to be more trouble than it was worth. He hadn't expected Cerise to simply tell him everything the first time he asked either; He figured she'd either play coy, or tell him outright that she didn't know anything. Instead, she'd thrown him for a complete loop by raising her hackles the second he'd so much as prodded the subject. He'd come in too hard and too fast, and now he was going to pay for it.

'So much for subtlety, Taurus. Her guard went up sky high. She bails on you, or runs off screaming, and you're screwed. Got to find a way to put her at ease somehow.'

Damn it, was it too late to bluff his way past this? After all, she didn't look like she was about to run, so he must have been doing something right. In spite of his best attempts, he knew full well he was terrible at the subtle diplomacy apparently required with women. Diplomacy in general, if he was going to be truly honest. Whatever he was going to call it, he'd just stepped in it, big time.

"If you're asking me if I look good in a uniform, I guess I'd have to say yes. But brown really isn't my colour. Not a lot I can really wear as a redhead and all."

'That's it, tell a dumbass joke. Something, anything that keeps her from screaming for the hills. What would Charlotte do?'

The woman stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. What was he? A cop? The last boy scout? Did those still exist? Or a bored Huntsman wannabe expecting a damsel in distress? Finally she bit the bullet and asked.

"Who are you?"

Adam panicked, but somehow schooled his face into a mask of calm. He was getting good at that.

"Sorry, but I don't get into the habit of giving my name on a first date. The other secret agents would laugh at me." He teased with a false grin, doing his best impression of what he was; a teenager hopelessly out of his depth.

'Please buy it please buy it please buy-'

"I'll bet." She replied with a dry snort and the beginnings of a smile. "Pfft. I'm overthinking this. No way you're a cop."

Slowly her smile returned, and Adam tentatively breathed a sigh of relief. That was until she suddenly pressed herself into his body again, finger tracing his jawline. "I'll talk…" Adam smiled. "... but I have conditions…" His face fell again.

Of course there were.

The faunus suppressed a sigh and the urge to grit his teeth in frustration. At least he'd cleared the first hurdle. He was unable to find the words to express his contempt for her in that moment, all the more infuriated with the return of that same traitorous swelling in his loins.

"What do you want?" He asked coldly, more so than he would have liked. His mask was beginning to crack.

The sudden change in attitude caught her a little off guard, but she tried to tell herself that it didn't matter. "You could try and sound a little more excited, you know…. Bad enough you want to talk about other girls, when I'm right here. A girl could feel upset."

"It might if you want to get paid, Hornhead..."

Damn her.

"What did you have in mind?"

The girl chuckled.. She made it obvious, a show of arching her back and giving him a low, completely and totally perfunctory moan as if she was saying hello. "You know what? You're right. I shouldn't have said anything., I don't know what I'm talking about anyway. I'm just talking outta my ass so, I should really go...

Adam went still, trying to find his inner steel. What the hell was he doing? What was this? She was toying with him, he knew it. He KNEW it. He knew it in a thousand ways. But he just kept letting her. She surveyed his arms and chest with eager seduction in her eyes, smiling as she tempted him further.

"Wait!" He heard himself say, hating how it sounded on his tongue. "What do you know?"

"Don't you want to get what you paid for, Mr Secret Agent?" She ensnared him in her legs again. "It'd be a waste not to."

"What I paid for?" he repeated.

She crooked her finger back and forth. "Oh no, I won't let you steal this gig from me for free. If you want to know more, you're gonna have to work for it."

Adam raised an eyebrow., barely restraining a sigh. "How?"

Her eyes, so distinctly Charlotte's but now so strangely human, turned serious again.

"Seduce me."