Life Carries On
1100
Main Operating Base Elysia, Atlas
"Are you still angry at me?"
Winter put down her pen and took off her glasses. She set them delicately on the table, folded her arms theatrically, and faced away, nose held high up in the air. "Perhaps,"
It was times like this Qrow membered that Winter had been, for all intents and purposes, the closest equivalent to royalty in modern Atlesian society. The gesture was elegant, rehearsed, and painfully monarch-like.
"Come on, Ice Queen. It has been an entire week." Qrow grinned, "I'm dying for some attention here."
"I can do another week more," Winter suggested, "Or perhaps I can go a month. Jungle warfare training was longer. You survived just fine then."
Qrow grimaced. Winter had come back exceptionally thin and lean after those particular months of training. The rainforest conditions of West Mistral were unique in the harshest sense of the word.
"Nevertheless, Qrow," Winter huffed, "why didn't you tell me?"
"That I can turn into a bird and it the powers were bestowed graciously upon me and my sister by a reincarnating immortal wizard that has walked the face of Remnant alongside the Brothers?"
"Well," Winter sighed, "if you put it like that…"
"See? I wouldn't even get a chance to prove myself before you put me away!"
"Do you really think I would do that, Qrow?" Winter gave him the look.
Qrow raised his hands up in surrender, "Not now, of course. But imagine if I told you 5, or 6 years back."
Winter thought about it for a moment, before nodding, "I suppose. At the very least I'd dismiss it as unique and special semblance. Then throw you into a padded room."
"Even if I did prove it," Qrow said, "the very fact that Jimmy did not breath a word of it to you meant that-"
"-that he didn't trust me." Winter cut in, her tone suddenly bitter. Qrow kicked himself. It was obvious she had thought about why too. Winter, despite her achievements in life, had deeply rooted self-worth issues.
"-that he didn't want to involve you," Qrow corrected.
Winter gave a wry smile, not believing it for a second.
Qrow drew in close to Winter, and offered his hand. Winter wrapped her fingers around his, and once again Qrow wondered how such delicate hands were capable of such violence.
"Jimmy trusted you with his life, Winter," Qrow said softly, "you should know that more than anyone."
"I know,"
"But, he never told you how he got those cybernetics, did he?"
Winter shook her head.
"It isn't a story for me to tell, even when he's gone," Qrow said squeezing her hand, "but if Ozpin thinks you and the boys are ready, then they are ready."
Winter shrugged, "I don't know if I want to, though."
Qrow frowned, "Why is that?"
Winter withdrew her hands. Qrow didn't like where this was going.
"I am not a Huntsman, not anymore at least," Winter said, unwilling to meet his eye, "his war against the Grimm, or Salem, doesn't concern me."
"What?" Qrow stared at her in disbelief, sharper than he intended.
"I'm not going to help Ozpin in his eternal feud, Qrow," Winter said calmly, "You are asking me to send my boys into a war fought with magic and sorcery against an enemy that is akin to a god." She looked Qrow in the eye. He saw the familiar steely determination of her made-up mind. Somehow, it hurt, as if Winter had just stabbed him in the heart. "I cannot in good conscience do that, Qrow."
"Winter," Qrow sat up straighter in his seat, his voice getting louder, "we are talking about a war against the greatest evil in Remnant history. The Grimm-"
"- didn't kill my family. It wasn't the Grimm that crippled Whitley. It wasn't the Grimm that drove my men onto this path of hatred, revenge, and damnation," Winter cut in smoothly, "It was ordinary everyday people like you and me." She jabbed a finger at her own chest to emphasize the point.
Qrow didn't know how to respond, so he said nothing.
"I am humbled that Ozpin thinks that I am capable enough," Winter said, shifting to her default polite yet firm tone usually reserved for strangers, "but I am no longer an Atlas Military Huntsman. I am a Legionnaire, a team leader of a team that doesn't exist on paper." Her eyes softened, "I'm sorry Qrow."
"Is this why you had been avoiding me?" Qrow asked.
Winter broke eye contact, "I knew it will wound you, Qrow. Ozpin to you is what General Ironwood was to me. If the roles were reserved…"
Qrow snorted.
"I'm really sorry, Qrow. I honestly am," Winter repeated, timider than he'd like, "especially after all you have done for me, I cannot risk the others."
"Those boys will walk into hell and back for you, Winter," Qrow pointed out, "they already have on a few occasions."
"Then you know damn well a few of them didn't make it back out with me, Qrow," Winter said sharply. Qrow recoiled, knowing he had stepped on a landmine. Winter took a deep breath, and sighed, "This conversation is over, Qrow. I'll tell Ozpin myself."
Qrow sat back and sighed. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander for a few seconds. He understood, of course. He was still disappointed, but once Winter made up her mind there was little chance of convincing her otherwise.
He sat back up, "It's alright Ice Queen," Qrow smiled. He held out his hand.
Winter hesitated, but still took it. She squeezed.
Qrow beamed. Everything was still alright.
In a sense, he was relieved. He had thought about how different his life would be if Summer Rose had rejected Ozpin's call. How many more people would still be alive and here with him today.
While Winter still walked a path of thorns, just not the one set by Ozpin.
"Let's take Ozpin out for a bite, eh?"
"Huh?" Winter looked at him, surprised.
"It's easier to convince him when he's fed and caffeinated. Plus-," Qrow tugged on Winter's fingers, "- you didn't eat breakfast."
"As long as I'm paying," Winter smiled back.
1230
Atlas-Mantle Terminal 2, Mantle
The small quaint restaurant was bustling with activity and was filled to the brim with the workers of Mantle. The three men often visited this particular restaurant, as the owner – a balding shopkeep that never seems to open his eyes full- hailed from Vale. The food was almost familiar, and most importantly, affordable enough.
"Do you remember Velvet?" Asked Cardin over lunch.
"Velvet?" Russel replied, "Garnet Velvet? The Beacon canteen lady that gives you way too many peas?"
"No you idiot," Cardin laughed, "Velvet! Velvet Scarlatina! Faunus girl, rabbit ears, one year above us. How the fuck did you remember that canteen lady anyway?"
Russel shrugged, "I hold grudges, Cardin. You should know by now."
"Yeah, I certainly remember the time you almost choked to death on peas."
"Did I?" Russel asked, with a touch of concern.
"Sky and Dove held you down and I punched you in the gut so hard I got a face full of half-digested shit."
"Shit, I did, didn't I?" Russel whispered in horror, his suppressed memories suddenly resurfacing. "Shit!"
Ren chuckled quietly at them, "You're like an old married couple, you know that?"
"I'm not sure if I should be offended." Said Cardin.
"I'm not sure which one of us should be more offended," Russel added.
"I remember her, this Velvet," Ren pointed accusingly at Cardin and Russel, "your two assholes used to pull on her ears at lunch."
"I remember that one!" Russel snapped his fingers. He paused, frowning as he recalled his time at Beacon. Ren could almost see the man sifting through his memories. "Wait, which one? Cardin pulled a lot of ears back then."
Cardin buried his face in his hands. "Man we were dicks."
"We still are," Russel said.
"Quiet, you."
"What's this about Velvet, then?" Ren asked, suddenly curious.
"I saw her in Mantle a few days ago," Cardin shrugged, "went up to say hi."
"And how did it go?" Russel pressed, knowing the answer by how Cardin's mouth thinned,
"Oh you know," Cardin glanced at Ren, "Bout' as well as you'd expect if you meet the dickhead that fucked with you for an entire semester."
Russel laughed loudly, drawing the attention of other tables by his sudden outburst. Ren snorted, shaking his head.
"I don't know what I expected," Russel wheezed, "what were you expecting, Cardin?"
"Just trying to make peace, I guess," Cardin shrugged sheepishly, "but not everything works out."
Ren sympathized but held his tongue. Whatever lashing Cardin got, be it verbal or physical, Cardin at least knew he deserved it. Else he would have been complaining a lot louder.
Ren looked at his scroll, "Right, I better get going if I want to get to Argus and back by night," He waved to the waiter, and gestured for the bill.
"Damn, here I was thinking of another mochi ice cream." Cardin mourned.
"You'll end up looking like a mochi ice cream." Russel snorted.
Cardin laughed. He patted his stomach, "Pure muscle, this! Abs glorious enough to rival our team leader's!"
"Well if you keep lifting those weights, soon you'll have tits to rival our team lea- ow!" Russel hissed as Ren stamped down hard on his squad mate's shoe.
"What was that for?" Russel demanded, but then he noticed Ren staring behind him.
He felt a gaze burning the back of his head, and Russel suddenly felt his chances of surviving the day drop drastically.
"What were you saying, Thrush?" A voice sounded behind him. Russel could hear the cold smile.
A shiver ran down the man's spine, as cold and harsh as the snow on the highest peaks of Mantle. Russel turned to face Winter and Qrow looming over him. Ozpin was there too, his face frozen with apprehension.
"M-ma'am! What a pleasant surprise to see you join us lowly grunts in Mantle!"
"Carry on the conversation, Legionnaire," Winter smiled, her eyes narrowed. The temperature around them seemed to drop significantly, "By all means don't stop on my account."
"I- uh," Russel was sweating profusely despite the cold, "I'm dead, aren't I? Should I save everyone the trouble and cap myself?"
Winter inspected her nails and mulled over his fate, as an Emperor would to a defeated Mistrali gladiator, "You know what. The day is nice. The sun is out and it's not snowing."
Russel began to relax.
"But," Winter continued, "sloppy situational awareness. All of you, gear up and meet me at the kill house. Let's sharpen those skills."
"Yes ma'am," the three men chorused.
Ren visibly deflated, and Russel clasped his hands together in apology, "Sorry Ren. I fucked up."
"Fork over some Lien and I'll forget about it."
"Damn,"
Without another word, Winter turned on her heels and strutted off. Ozpin cast them a look of pity and followed. Qrow glared down at Russel, but there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, "You said that at the wrong time, kid. Just plain bad luck she heard it." Qrow looked back to make sure Winter was far enough before turning back to wink at them. "But you aren't wrong. Lucky me, eh?"
Qrow jogged off before the boys could process what he said.
1300
Elysium CQB Facility "Kill House", Atlas
The team moved down the corridor, guns panning and sweeping, covering every single corner and angle as they advanced.
The kill house was immense and was currently configured to be similar to an apartment complex in Mantle. Cold blue light lit the dusty corridors, shining through the thick layer of dust kicked up by the three pairs of boots. Empty rooms lined the corridor, some with doors ajar and some locked shut.
The target could be in any of these rooms, on any of the 5 stories of this kill house.
They swept each room, Ren covering the back of the corridor as the other two breached and swept each room.
This was the 19th room they had breached this round, and they were out of stun grenades. Cardin smashed the door in with a boot. Before the door was fully open, Russel was already through the breach, his firearm ready and sweeping.
A halo of light lit up the entire room, blinding Russel for a brief second as his corneas fought to adjust.
He was the first to get shot.
A streaking projectile whizzed through the air and detonated onto his chest in an explosion of white powder. Russel was flung backward, cracking his head into the wall.
Cardin was hot on Russel's heels, his firearm roared back several times, but he could not see the target at all past the eye-watering glow.
Ren rushed in and they fanned out, searching for their target. The room was a jungle of old office cubicles and half rusted cabinets. The target could be anywhere at once, pop up at any time, and take out any of them with just one shot.
A flash of white hair from the cubicle on the other side of the room. Ren narrowly dodged the shot aimed for his head.
Ren and Cardin charged forwards, Ren leaping over the desks and Cardin simply barraging through the obstacles. Dust and paper scattered in the air as the pair fired, hoping to keep their target down.
Another flash of white hair, and Cardin roared in frustration as their target twisted and danced beneath their projectiles, and out into another room.
Cardin kicked aside an offending desk, destroying it in a splinter of rotten wood, as he thundered headfirst into the other room weapon raised.
As he barrelled through the door, a hand smacked Cardin's rifle up. The rifle shot uselessly into the roof, showering the pair in a puff of shattered brick and concrete.
Ren hesitated, not wanting to hit Cardin. That hesitation cost him.
Winter spun the large man around and fired her own gun, the dummy round cracked straight into Ren's cheekbone and dropped him like a puppet with its strings cut loose.
In one smooth motion, Winter kicked out Cardin's feet and flipped the roaring man onto his back. Disengaging, she leveled her firearm at Cardin.
Cardin blinked, confused and surprised, before sheepishly raising his hands.
Winter fired a shot into his stomach, then another into his thigh as he howled and curled into a ball.
She lowered her aim, "Check your damn corners, Winchester." She looked up and shouted, "Reset!"
Ren and Russel got up from the floor as the scenario ended, a layer of white powder coating their black uniforms. Ren spat out a glob of blood and checked the integrity of his teeth. Their bruises already healing from Aura.
"Alright boys," Winter reloaded the dummy rifle, "let's run this through a few more times."
They repeated the scenario, again and again, each time with different settings and different scenarios. In one scenario, Atlesian Knights- painted orange and white and armed with the same dummy launchers- were scattered through the complex to simulate the team attacking a stronghold. Another run, this time with live ammunition, Winter acted as the "hostage" in a rescue scenario. The team had nailed three simultaneous headshots on three different targets, uncomfortably close to Winter's head.
They went on for hours, until their sweat left white marks of dried mineral on their black fatigues. Until the sun set and until Qrow forcibly ended the training session for dinner.
Ozpin watched the entire training process, impassively watching his former students go through thousands of rounds of ammunition, live and dummy, in nightmare scenarios that would make the most veteran Huntsman team hesitate.
Winter had told him that they were not suited for his missions, that they were not hunters of Grimm anymore. That their skillsets were too different to be an effective force, unlike the senior members of his inner circle.
Winter wasn't lying. They weren't Huntsmen anymore. They are killers, and damn good ones at that too. This impromptu training session was to demonstrate that fact.
However, Qrow and Winter were both wrong on one aspect.
There was no one else better suited for the job than killers of men.
All she needed, was a little push.
Ozpin wondered if Leonardo Lionheart was still alive. While Leonardo was a shell of his former self, he still had his uses.
Maybe this will be one of them.
0800
SDC Manor, Atlas
The SDC Manor was not what it used to be.
Whitley called it home, but he knew his sisters had a vastly different outlook. He supposes he could understand why. Perhaps, to them, there were too many memories, many of them unpleasant, still echoing in the halls.
Still, it was his home. Sometimes, when Whitley closes his eyes, he could imagine that his family was still alive. His father, in his office, working. His mother, locked up in her room, drinking. Weiss, in her own room, practicing her many talents.
But now, the manor was not as empty as before.
No longer was it just the personal palace of the Schnee family, a monument to their financial success.
Children, both faunus and human, now strode along the hallways. Their pattering of their shoes ringing loudly along the large halls. A bell chimed, the short tune now familiar to Whitley's ears, signaling the start of class. Eventually, the sounds of life died down, and the halls were silent once again. Laughter and chatter gave warmth to the once cold halls of the Schnee Manor, even during the quiet hours.
The SDC Manor was no longer a manor at all.
It now provided education and training to family members of SDC employees, almost completely paid for by the company.
It wasn't limited to those residing in Atlas, in fact, the majority of the students have family residing in Mantle. Those that could afford to live in Atlas usually sent their children to other more established institutions. But for the workers in Mantle, it was a golden opportunity.
Whitley's close brush with death made one thing very clear to his young mind. They were all equal in death. The wealth and comforts his father had hoarded and built up all suddenly felt hollow and meaningless. It had scarred him, physically as well as mentally.
Despite all the advancements in Atlas technology, there was no replacement for the nervous system.
"Master Whitley,"
The exoskeleton supporting Whitley's legs whirred and purred as he stood up from his desk, "Yes, Klein?"
Klein, the Schnee family's ever-faithful butler stood in at the entrance of Whitley's study. He was in a good mood today, Whitley could tell, "I was just informed that Master Winter will be making her way back to the manor within the hour,"
The man was getting old, Whitley could plainly see. The wrinkles on his forehead had gotten deeper, and whatever hair the butler had remaining was slowly greying. But he had been with them since Winter was a child, and effectively hand raised the current generation of the Schnee family.
Arguably, the loss of Weiss affected the poor man more than it did Whitley.
"Thank you for informing me, Klein," Whitley took off his spectacles, "is she bringing any guests around this time?"
"Apart from her usual companion, I was informed that there will be…someone that needs to keep a low profile."
"Oh?" Whitley looked up, "we haven't gotten those in a while."
"Indeed, sir," Klein cocked his eyebrow, "with your permission-"
Whitley waved him off, "You know these matters better than I do, Klein. Place this person as you see fit."
"Very well, Master Whitley."
Whitley nodded, "Let me know when they pass the gates. I have a brief meeting coming up soon."
"Very good, Master Whitley."
As Klein left, Whitley poked his head out of his office, "Mr Winchester. If you please."
Cardin Winchester stood up from his seat, tossing aside the magazine he was reading, "I overheard. TL is coming over?"
TL meant team leader, to Whitley's understanding. It aggravated him sometimes when the military types spoke in their abbreviations and codes. But of course, Whitley never expressed his frustrations. The man towered over Whitley and was easily twice his size and weight in muscle, after all.
"Yes, Winter will be coming over for some business. But not to worry, our meeting won't take long."
Whitley locked his exoskeleton as he sat down, forming an improvised chair. He gestured for Cardin to take a seat too.
"Now," Whitley began, "your daughter's-"
"For the last time, she's not my daughter," Cardin grumbled.
Whitley ignored him, "-academic performance is cause for concern. Let us begin by reviewing..."
The weeks after Ilia's extraction had been hectic, to say the least. Ozpins revelations coupled with squeezing every bit of information from Ilia and the piles of paperwork required had drained Winter more than any combat encounter.
Behind the wheel of the car, Qrow Branwen yawned. Winter stifled a snigger, arched an eyebrow, and shot him a questioning look. Even Ilia, seated at the back, drifting in and out of half sleep.
"Too early for you?"
"Damn you military types and your unreasonable hours," Qrow grumbled, "getting too old for this."
In truth, Winter was tired too. The bags under her eyes seem to be a permanent feature now. But in a way, she was used to it.
"Sorry," Winter said, patting the man on the thigh, "I'll get one of the boys to do it next time."
"No, no," Qrow shook his head, "you know I just want to spend time with you."
"Oh wait," Winter clicked her tongue, "I'm not supposed to be talking to you."
"Winter," Qrow groaned, "I thought we resolved that yesterday."
"Hmm," Winter thought back, "oh right. Yes, so we did."
"Getting old too," Qrow laughed as he pulled up to the gate of the Schnee Manor.
He rolled down the window and waved at the security guard posted at the front. They let the car in once they caught sight of Winter.
The manor used the most lavish display of wealth and power even by Atlas standards. Then again, the Schnee manor used to house only one family and their servants. Now, at least 300 students and staff roamed the palace-like hallways, with a good number of them living in rooms converted into dorms.
From the back seat, Ilia had snapped awake and almost had her face pressed to the window. She drank in the details, gazing wide-eyed at the regal architecture. It was everything she had imagined as a child, and even more. She looked up when she sensed Winter's gaze.
"Remember, you are no longer legally Ilia Amitola," Winter reminded, "you are now Catalina Ivo, as you wished."
It would take some time getting used to being called her mother's name, but somehow it felt appropriate. Ilia smiled, a pang of sadness shot through her heart.
How many lives had been wasted for her to come back onto a peaceful life?
Too many, Ilia concluded. But it won't be for nothing.
"Thank you, Winter. For everything." Ilia said.
"You have done us a great service, whether you are aware or not," Winter returned the smile. It seemed genuine. Ilia decided she liked the woman when she wasn't on the job. "I'll discuss details with my brother, but for the first few months, you are to lay low within the manor. You will be compensated for the work that you do."
Ilia's parents worked in the SDC mines too, and they had died there. Ilia was aware of the poor conditions and treatment the workers get, especially the faunus. Yet here she was.
Ilia could taste the irony.
Winter smiled, "Don't worry. Whitley is not my father."
"Was it that obvious?" Ilia managed an embarrassed laugh.
"An educated guess," Winter admitted.
"How long will I be staying?" Ilia asked.
"Until we are certain you are off the radar," Winter shrugged, "might be a month, might be a year. But you will have time to plan your next move."
"My next move…" Ilia swallowed. She had dedicated a good portion of her life to the White Fang, but she hadn't really thought of what to do after the fighting was done.
Now that she had given up the fighting, that time was suddenly a lot closer than she had anticipated.
The car slowed to a stop.
"Remember, though," Winter said as she got out of the vehicle, "if you do tire of civilian life, or have trouble adjusting, you are always welcome to try out for the team. Pass selection, and we will be working together once again."
Ilia grimaced at the thought, "I'll keep that in mind."
1500
Mistral-Mantle Port, Argus
It was a short flight from Atlas to Argus. The Atlas military often has flights to and fro, and civilian transport ships sailed between the two landmasses periodically. The costs were reasonably low, especially for Huntsmen or Atlas government-affiliated personnel, and Ren took full advantage of that.
Ren strode out past the gates of the Atlas base. He nodded to the soldiers on duty, and waved at the poor recruits patrolling the area.
He went and bought a bundle of flowers, the best he could find. They were fresh, the brightly colored pink petals still had droplets of water still on them. He had paid a good amount of lien for it. He wore his sharpest suit for this occasion and prepared a stack of freshly cooked and packed pancakes.
It was Nora's birthday, and he wanted to look the best he could. It felt stupid because they had known each other for their entire lives, but Ren felt like he owed it to her to at least look the part.
The lady in the flower shop always smiled and lamented how she missed young love. Every year she would ask who the lucky girl is, and that she would love to meet her. Ren would always smile and say the same words to her politely, "It's complicated."
It wasn't complicated, but Ren had not corrected the old lady for the first few years. It was too late to clarify now.
The Argus columbarium sat close to the ocean, up high upon the mountains overlooking the city of Argus, far away from the bustling noise of everyday life.
Ashes of the dead rested on this piece of land.
It was peaceful here, but in the sombre sense. Sometimes when he visited, Ren would feel as if he was standing in the middle of a silent crowd. Other times, the stillness of the columbarium unnerved him, as even the crashing waves seem to be muted on this sacred soil.
There were always visitors. It was a large columbarium after all, and a good amount of the dead seemed to come from the continent of Solitas, across the ocean. Hundreds of them, their lives all cut short in the same year, almost 16 years ago.
Ren knows little of the past. He has actively wondered about the tragedy for almost 5 years, but he never got a direct answer. An oddity, for sure, but not entirely unnatural.
Hundreds of people vanish all the time, be it from bandits or Grimm. Ren would know.
As Ren walked through the columbarium, passing rows and rows of black plaques, he found his usual spot taken. Unusual, but then again this month always had more visitors throughout the year.
A man and a woman stood in front of Ren's destination. The man was in a black suit and the woman in a full black dress. Ren couldn't see the woman's face, as it was covered in an opaque black mourning veil.
Were they here to visit family too?
The man turned to face Ren.
His face was half bandaged as if he had been wounded in battle, covering everything but one of his eyes. Ren could see the black horns jutting from beneath his fiery red hair, poking through the bandages. He had the most brilliant blue eye.
A sword dangled from his hips, its black sheath exquisite and beautiful. A wounded huntsman, Ren concluded.
"Can I help you, sir?" The man asked, courteous but wary.
"Apologies, I am simply waiting for my turn." Ren gestured the plaque above.
"Ah," the man smiled sadly, "forgive me, then. It won't take long."
"Take as long as you need, sir." Ren nodded, "I understand."
He watched the bandaged man kneel and run a gloved hand across a name plaque.
"Hey, mum…" he began. Ren stepped away to give the man some privacy.
The woman accompanying him, however, was an oddity.
Even through her black veil, Ren could feel her eyes on him. There was something painfully familiar about her too. Perhaps he had met her somewhere before.
Perhaps he should take a peek, maybe her emotions will sho- no. Ren will not activate his semblance. The Columbarium is not a place for such actions, no matter how much his instincts screamed for him to do so.
The man was true to his word. He left shortly after, giving Ren a small nod of acknowledgment.
He watched as the pair left, frowning slightly as the woman hesitantly ran a gloved hand across the name plaque above the one the man was talking to. Perhaps she couldn't see that well in the veil.
Ren stepped up, "Hey, Nora." Ren said, "Happy birthday."
Ren put on a smile, forcing his facial muscles up.
"It has been a while since I visited. I brought you pancakes." He lifted the packed deserts, and with his other, he held aloft his bundle of flowers, "Flowers too, of course."
He eyed the name plaque below Nora's.
Eve Taurus. Loving Mother and Daughter. This woman had died 16 years ago, one of the hundreds in this columbarium.
Ren banished any lingering questions in his mind. He was here for Nora. Ren rolled out a mat and placed the offerings in front.
"I know I said I would come and visit more often. Forgive me, Nora. Duty called. I even went all the way to Menagerie," Ren huffed as he knelt on the ground, "It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. You would have hated the humidity there. Bugs, rain, mud, everything."
"I wanted to visit earlier, but you know how it is. Training sessions at the drop of a hat to keep us prepared. Russel fucked me over for that trip. Thank the Brothers it didn't happen today, I would have shot him."
He lapsed into silence. Distant thunder rumbled.
"Sorry," He shook his head.
"Hey," Ren looked up, "Remember the promise we made to each other when we were 8?"
"Yeah, in that lightning split willow tree, when we finally ran away from that awful place."
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the scene, to pretend as if 18 years had not passed in a blink of an eye.
She had always been small. Scared and timid. His heart ached when he remembered the bruises she had tried to hide from him and a flash of anger at his younger self for not realizing what had been going on sooner.
He remembered when they huddled in the empty bark of that willow tree. Nora's eyes, puffy and red from bawling her heart out. She had suffered so much in that wretched place, and he had been blind to it.
They had held onto each other for hours, shivering from the cold Mistral night. Unsure if they were going to make it to the next village, or die alone and forgotten in the wilderness.
He had not forgotten a single detail.
"What if this is our life?" Nora had whispered, her voice hoarse, "What if we never find anyone?"
"Then I'll stay with you," Ren had said, "as I had till now."
"I'm just afraid, Ren," he remembered her shaking, "I'm afraid that I just blew it for you. You had a chance to get adopted, to finally have a family. If it wasn't for me you might have even-"
"I don't want it."
"Ren?"
"I want to stay with you."
Her eyes had widened, surprised and bewildered.
Ren had not even known what he was saying back then too. His young mind had been desperate to make his one and only companion happy.
"When we are old! Like, super big and strong! Yea!" Ren had sputtered, desperate to see Nora smile, "We'll be the ones doing the adopting! You and me, together-together!"
She had giggled, and it had been the sweetest sound he had ever heard.
"Yeah. I wish we could keep that too."
Ren opened his eyes. Nora was not here. Of course, she had never been.
The past was gone, like ashes scattered into the wind.
0000
Mantle Port, Mantle
As the final airship departed from Mantle on their return flight to Argus, Fiona Thyme and Joanna Greenleaf prepared to meet their client.
The Happy Huntresses have been operating in Mantle ever since their graduation from Atlas Academy. From their academy days, they had striven and worked towards one purpose: to help the people of Mantle through any means necessary.
Maybe living down in the slums of Mantle had altered the perspectives of Fiona's teammates, but her goal has not changed since she signed up to become a Huntress in Atlas Academy. Perhaps that was why Robyn Hill trusted her the most.
But Robyn Hill's days of raiding Atlas supplies and breaking Atlas law was over. She couldn't be seen doing such things now that she was in the Council, and it was a miracle that none of their high profile misadventures had been tied back to Robyn herself.
Now, as Robyn Hill sits in Atlas, the Happy Huntresses have become somewhat of her shadow hand. Operations range from stamping out exploitive criminal rings, to redistributing "commandeered" resources that were bound for Atlas.
Smuggling people through the border is one they often do too. The multicultural aspect of Solitas meant it was almost impossible to separate the natives and legal immigrants from the illegal ones.
With a little bit of lien passed under the table, anyone could be registered as someone who has lived their entire lives in Mantle.
Tonight, they had one such case. A large group of people, wanting to start a new life in Mantle with the hopes of making it in Atlas. It wasn't going to be easy, but there were plenty of success stories out there.
Mantle Port was crowded, a sign of a poor economy. Ships would rather pay to dock than run cargo, as that would cost less. Distant ship lights shimmered brightly in the distance, almost like stars in a moonless night. Only a handful of ships have come in and out from Argus Port to Mantle. The last shipment of the day, was their client.
As soon as Fiona laid eyes on her client stepping out from the ship, something in the back of her mind went off. She wasn't sure what it was, the gentleman looked normal enough, even despite the head injury he kept wrapped up in bandages.
Her partner, Joanna Greenleaf, shared the same sentiment.
"I'm not so sure about this one, Fi," Joanna grumbled, "I don't like the look of the guy."
"Hush," Fiona whispered, "just let me do the talking."
She strode forwards, putting on her trademark smile and cheerful demeanour. No doubt these people had a long and hard journey, so the least she could do is put on a smile.
"I'm Fiona Thyme," Said Fiona, walking up to the man getting out of the leased car, "Are you, Adam Scarl Tanner?"
The faunus man nodded,"Yes." He turned back to help a woman that trailed behind, her face veiled in black silk. Fiona had not seen her at all, for her dark clothes seem to blend into the night despite Fiona's faunus vision. A shiver ran down her spine, and it took all of her will not to physically recoil at her presence.
It's a cultural thing from some parts of Vale, she remembered suddenly and quickly worked to suppress any shock that she might have shown on her face. Fiona didn't know where that reaction came from, but she mentally chided herself for the rude thoughts.
"A pleasure, sir," Fiona opted to bow instead of a handshake. It might offend his woman.
"Likewise, Ms. Thyme," his singular exposed eye was not on Fiona as he replied.
"We will begin with the unloading soon," Fiona began, "worry not, Mr Tanner. You aren't the first batch to cross into Mantle, and you won't be the last."
Adam smiled coldly, "A lot of clients? I didn't know Mantle is such a popular destination."
"You would be surprised, Mr Tanner. You have made the right choice in asking the Happy Huntresses for help," Fiona smiled sweetly, "While Mantle still has its problems, I can assure you it has improved leaps and bounds since-"
"Since the protests?" Adam snorted, "It's not that high of a bar."
"You're from Mantle." Fiona stated.
"I was in the thick of it back then," Adam nodded, "but now I'm back."
Fiona grimaced. He was right in a sense. No one outside of Solitas knew of the protest turned massacre. Many of the younger generations have no idea it happened at all. It was Atlas's unspoken stain in history. Information suppression worked wonders.
"You are right, of course," Fiona conceded, "and that is why I am doing what I am doing. Us Happy Huntresses?" She thumped her chest for emphasis, "We were formed exactly to ensure Atlas never oversteps that drastically again." She forced a bright smile, "But believe me when I say, Mantle is leaps and bounds better than what it was two decades ago."
The man nodded as if satisfied. The other woman was oddly silent, and unnervingly still, almost like a flesh statue. Fiona stole a glance, but her eyes failed to penetrate the black veil.
"Now! Without further ado," Fiona gestured for the pair to follow her, "welcome back to Mantle! Let's get your friends out."
Joanna leaned in close to Fiona's ear, "Bit of an ass, isn't he?"
"Quiet," Fiona hissed, "might hear you."
"His friend creeps me out."
"They are mourning, Joan," Fiona said, "I've seen some people from Vale do it. Must have lost someone on their journey here"
"Still creeps me out."
"Hush," Fiona snapped.
Joanna just shrugged.
The offloading process was slow but smooth. Shipment containers were stacked in their designated areas by giant lumbering stripped-down Paladins. Decommissioned Atlesian knights handled most of the logistics and mundane tasks, and Fiona took this chance to observe her client a bit more.
There were 6 of them, including Adam and his partner. They were all faunus, and kept to themselves. There was an unusual intensify radiating off them, like they were on alert.
Fiona's heart broke at the sight. No doubt her kin had suffered greatly for the simple fact of being a faunus. If Adam was born in Mantle, life outside the kingdom of Atlas must be even harsher than she realized if he's coming back here. Even after having lived through the protests.
A singular shipping container, painted forest green and sporting the logo of an obscure shipping company, was singled out by the droids, and placed on a cargo truck.
This was their queue. Fiona signalled Joanna, and directed her to the designated warehouse.
Fiona turned to her clients, "Now, if you follow me. We will begin the process in a more discreet location. Joanna is a talented medic as well as a huntress, if anyone needs medical treatment, then we will immediately provide it."
"Quite a complete package, for the price we paid," one of them said, a tall man with bat wings remarked.
"Quiet, Yuma," Adam snapped.
"It's quite alright," Fiona smiled, "the costs paid cover what is strictly required. Bribes, equipment, droids, and so forth. We are not here to make a profit, sir."
"Droids?"
"They will be scrapped after we use them," Fiona clarified, "we don't want to leave any trace back to our clients in their data cores."
"Impressive," Yuma folded his arms, "Hard to get people like you in these days."
Fiona beamed and bowed. "Now, shall we?"
They arrived at the designated warehouse in leased vehicles driven by droids. Joanna had already started the unloading process with the help of several droids. Joanna had connected the container up to the power source, just as she could if they were shipping crates of fresh food supplies.
Fiona's heart skipped when she saw what was being unloaded. Fury, hot and heavy, flowed like poison through her veins. There were very few things that set her off like this.
"Cryo pods, huh?" Joanna remarked, her nose cringing with distaste.
"Mr. Tanner," Fiona turned to the man, "if I may be so bold to ask."
"Is there a problem?"
Fiona hesitated, "Who was your fixer in Argus?"
Adam frowned, "Why is that relevant?"
Fiona gestured at the unloading pods, pointing with her thumb, "These, are cryo pods. Mortuary boxes, Mr. Tanner. Used to preserve and transport corpses between Kingdoms."
Adam nodded, his face unreadable, "I see."
"They were not designed for living beings, Mr. Tanner," Fiona continued, her voice shaking, "the injury and survival rate-"
Adam cut her off with a hand, "Please, Ms. Thyme. I appreciate the concern. But let us continue."
For a moment, Fiona was at a loss for words. What was this man saying? Joanna was a good medic, but they were woefully underequipped for any cryo related injuries. They weren't the first people to have been smuggled in by mortuary boxes. However, many leave the cryo conditions with crippling injuries, and some won't even wake up at all.
At first, Fiona thought Adam and his compatriots must have been tricked. They were faunus, and there was no shortage of people out there that will deliberately pull this kind of malicious trick on them.
But his reaction was too cold, too measured. Like it was deemed an acceptable risk. It reminded her too much of certain Atlesian groups when they knowingly consign people to their deaths.
Fiona bit her lips, hard enough for her Aura to kick in. They were on a time limit, and the further she dallies on the lower the chances are for the refugees in the pods.
Wordlessly, she nodded to Joanna. The process began.
Joanna broke the shipping seal and fiddled with the complex locking mechanism. The cryo pod disengaged with a hiss, like the last breaths of a dying man. Fiona felt her gorge rise as a pungent, cloying smell filled the air.
The smell of death.
"Aw fuck," Joanna cursed as she gagged, "Shit, shit, shit!"
Fiona clenched her fists. There must have been a malfunction with the cryo pod units.
The pod hissed open, revealing a mutilated man.
A young man, bloodless and pale. There were vicious claw marks ripping through the front of his chest, and a single glance told Fiona the man had fallen in combat.
Joanna looked Fiona quizzically before disengaging another cryo pod.
Another corpse. A woman, this time missing an entire arm.
"Seems like a shipment of fallen Huntsmen to me, Fi," Joanna said, "shit they barely look like they graduated from the academies."
"Keep looking, Joan." Fiona cast a baleful look at Adam, "I'm going to have a few words with our client here."
"Fi, cal-"
"No!" Fiona snapped, "This is disgusting, disrespectful! I cannot-"
"Fi!" Joanna hissed. She looked her in the eye, "We'll let Robyn know. Let her deal with it. There are still people that need our help."
Fiona swallowed hard, then nodded. Joanna was right.
These bastards had packed legit corpses at the front end to throw off any inspections. The wounds were Grimm inflicted wounds. These people were most likely Huntsmen being shipped back to their home in Mantle and Atlas for final burial.
And they used their corpses to smuggle themselves into the border.
Fiona broke open the seal of another, and sighed, "Another dead one,"
A faunus, this time. Denoted by the scorpion tail that wrapped around his waist. Like the rest of the corpses, he was unnaturally pale. His skin was almost like the snow that covered Mantle. Black veins of poisoned old blood were painfully visible under his sheet white skin.
"Fi?" Joanna whispered.
"Yes?"
"This one is alive." Joanna looked at Fiona her eyes were wide with bewilderment. She pointed at the readings on her scroll, "Low vitals, barely registering. Doesn't look like coming out of cryo suspension, but more like sleeping."
"Equipment malfunction, Joan," Fiona bit her lips, "just look at his veins. Poisoned by a Death Stalker."
"I thin-" Joanna began. Then, she yelped in horror.
Joanna was already moving back and drawing out her crossbow. Fiona barely had the time to register the signature thwip of a bolt being fired.
The corpse moved.
It shot out of the cryo pod, a blur of white and black. The bolt was battered aside, and Joanna fell back, gurgling. Blood ran from her throat in a torrent, splashing like a waterfall on the warehouse floor. Her body flashed as her Aura feebly tried to kick in.
Fiona was moving before her mind registered anything. She leapt through the air, staff flashing in an overhead strike, her movements powered by Aura.
The Happy Huntresses were competent fighters, one of the best teams when they graduated. Had she been a lesser fighter, she wouldn't even have drawn her weapon.
But it wasn't enough.
The corpse thing twirled danced, hands glowing purple lashed out.
Her Aura gave way in an instant.
The crossbow staff clattered on the floor.
Fiona Thyme hung for a moment like a fish on a hook. Her legs kicked out weakly, as she struggled, gasping in pain. She grasped feebly at the scorpion stinger that had penetrated through her heart. Her mouth gagged open, as blood welled out over her chin.
Tyrian Callows, murderer, assassin, the Ripper of Anima, grinned as he brought the struggling woman closer to his face. His first act in Mantle was to rip the still-beating heart of Fiona Thyme out of her chest.
AN: A build up chapter, more or less showing the downtime and what everyday life is for these guys when not on a mission. I have trouble indicating the passage of time, but hopefully it comes through that weeks has passed. Let me know if you think this chapter flows, and dont forget to review! Thanks!