Inspired by an ask to my Tumblr. This takes place after Adam has unwillingly allied with Cinder but before anything significant happens.


Beams of moonlight sliced down through the dock warehouse's broken windows. In air laden with years of dust, they were almost solid. Their glow bathed the warehouse's decaying interior in silver. Whatever goods had once been stored here were long gone, the Dust company that had once rented the space long since buried by the SDC.

The cargo was gone, but the warehouse was not empty. Summoned by an anonymous tip, the Vale White Fang descended on the silent scene like ghosts. Their footfalls kicked up puffs of dust but were too quiet for human ears. Weapons, safeties off, shone when they passed through the moonbeams. Eyes, peering through slitted masks, probed the thick shadows beyond the cracked support pillars marching down either side of the rectangular space.

At the head of the wave and with his gaze focused forward, Adam was the first to see the disruption against the far wall. He held up a fist and his men stopped. The silence stretched.

Adam's hand fell. He advanced alone. With every step the grisly scene awaiting him grew clearer. The patterns on the wall not mold but blood; the streak along the floor not rust but blood; the splotches on the body not paint but still more blood.

He came to a stop just before the woman's feet. Her left sandal had a sticker on the bottom, missed when she was removing the new pair's tags. The cheery pink fabric of her sundress had been stained red and blackened where the brand marked her thigh. Her backpack, artfully arranged on her chest with her arms hugging it, was the only unstained thing. Its myriad buttons gleamed. Discarded during the chase, brought back for this scene.

As Adam stood there, the nearest faunus shared a look and then cautiously approached. Though he heard them, Adam made no move to stop them. They all knew what this was.

They all had the discipline not to shout or curse or cry out. Three swiftly turned and made for the exit, hands up to their mouths. Others shed silent tears their masks couldn't hide.

Adam said nothing. That, in itself, was a warning sign. Were he barking out orders, the other White Fang members cautiously spread out around the warehouse would be able to leap into action. Were he venting his rage they could back away to give him space. But standing still? Standing silent? They were stuck in place, exchanging nervous glances behind their masks while they watched the shadows spread like spilled ink across the floor. Their snarling red insignias pulsed like beating hearts.

Adam's shoulders fell. With them, his semblance. Moonlight that had disappeared too gradually to be noticed flooded back in, forcing several more light-sensitive faunus to squint or raise their arms.

"Take pictures." His soft voice carried but did not echo. "Document it all. Then bring a sheet. I'll contact the family."

He turned away while other faunus descended on the scene to follow his orders. Several steps away and many flashes of light later, a sharp gasp pulled his attention back. One faunus had removed the backpack from the woman's grip to reveal the hole punched through her torso.

His right hand, fallen to rest on Wilt, squeezed the metal grip until it hurt.


The photos decorating the front page of every newspaper the next day were graphic, invasive, and the final sign that the police were incompetent. If they couldn't even keep things confidential enough to stop the press from getting that close, the killer would always be one step ahead. He'd been making a fool of all of them for a month and three murders now.

Adam wondered, absently, if the stories ever made their way to Beacon.


"Ever since our founding we have endeavored to provide the highest quality Dust to everyone in Remnant. In no way does this mission permit the brutality that has tragically arrived in Vale. We do not condone these terrible murders and hope for swift justice to come to those responsible."

As Jacques Schnee finished his prepared statement, the pressroom erupted into uproar with every reporter jostling and shouting to be heard. This station's cameraman was apparently hit by someone else, because the picture abruptly tilted before stabilizing. Even so, Adam had caught the brief flare of amusement from Jacques at the scene. He was enjoying the attention. He didn't care about the victims or the implications; any press was good press.

The spokesperson that next took the mic was far from that, though, scrambling to answer questions and deflect blame. Adam muted the TV and turned to his lieutenant. "What do you think?"

"They wouldn't do it in plain sight," he rumbled. "Too obvious."

"They could be backing the killer, but you're right. They don't need to bother with this. They get away with worse under the letter of the law." Adam scowled as the subtitles continued to crawl across the screen.

Our labor policies, they read, as well as our anti-racist statement and resources, can all be found on our website and are posted in every breakroom for our employees to consult if they feel their workers rights have been violated.

That spokesperson was overwhelmed. It would have been cathartic if not for the circumstances that had led to this moment. Adam vented his aggravation with a sigh and gestured to the maps on the table. Specifically, to the ones of Mountain Glenn. "Any news from our taskmaster?"

His lieutenant's frown was hidden by his mask but obvious anyway. "I will be moving a significant portion of our forces there after the next rally."

Adam frowned. "We'll lose people."

"We've already lost people."

Adam closed his eyes. They were already so far past the point of no return, but that didn't make these day-to-day agonies any easier to bear. "Leave this killer to me and focus on keeping our people as safe as you can."

"Understood."


Adam looked over the photos one of his people had sent. They told a simple story: a local SDC shop vandalized nearly beyond recognition. A single question from his White Fang brother accompanied them: was this us?

No, Adam sent back. It hadn't been a formal order, at least. He might as well make an official unofficial recommendation that they take advantage of this unrest to inflict more damage on the company while public sentiment was more in their favor. He was mentally writing up what he'd say when the flap to the command tent flew open. A badger faunus he recognized as one of their best scouts stopped on the other side and heaved for breath.

Adam waved off the two other faunus who had followed him into the tent before coming out from behind the table. "What's going on?" he asked.

"M-my brother," the faunus spoke thickly, and when he raised his head, Adam understood why. His eyes were red and watering, his nose running, his whole face flushed from exertion. Adam's next question died on his tongue when the faunus held out his scroll. There was an exchange with someone titled "Big Sis" and the most recent message was an image from the sister.

Adam ignored the message that came through while he stared at the brutalized faunus splayed out on the throw rug. He didn't want to hear about how the police were arriving. All he wanted was the human who had seared the SDC brand into that woman's back.

But this wasn't the time for rage. He gestured for the man to lower his scroll and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll arrange for transport to the city immediately," he said. "Take whatever you need and head to the entrance of the camp."

The badger faunus nodded jerkily, some of his composure returning now that he had a plan. "I'll send you it," he said, rubbing at his eyes. "The photo. Everything I can."

Adam nodded but squeezed his shoulder before he could leave. "We will find him."

The faunus left without another word. Adam ordered one of the sentries outside the tent to take a truck and drive the bereaved faunus to Vale then told the other that he was not to be disturbed unless there was another emergency.

When the tent flap was closed, Adam went back to the table and braced himself on it. The largest map of Vale mocked him with the location of every murder so far.

Eight murders. Eight innocent faunus. Every single one bloodied and branded with that fucking mark. His fingers curled, nails digging through his gloves to snag on the table's surface.

The police had found nothing. There was a serial killer ripping their way through the faunus making their racism clear for the world to see, and the police had found nothing in the month and a half since this sickening saga began.

And oh, he wanted to call their incompetence malicious. Some of it undoubtedly was. But not all of it, because even Adam, even all of the Vale branch not swept up in Cinder's schemes, couldn't figure out who was behind it.

He slammed his right hand down with a shout. The table cracked and buckled but didn't break completely. Snarling, Adam abandoned it and began to pace. There were common threads here, he just had to connect them. The brands were the most obvious. Of note was that they were the SDC acronym, not the snowflake, the latter of which had grown more common over the last decade or so while the SDC worked on its marketing.

Beyond the brand, most of the victims had defensive wounds. A few had taken stab wounds to the back. Two had died of blunt force trauma. One died of shock, presumably when the brand was being applied. Whoever was killing them, they didn't care for the element of surprise. They wanted a struggle, but they were confident that they could win with whatever weapon they had on hand.

And why wouldn't they be? Every target was a non-combatant. No members of the White Fang, no police officers, not even a member of any local self-defense class. All with weak or nonexistent aura.

A wolf preying on sheep. How he longed to see this wretch run up against someone far greater than his equal.

How he longed to be that instrument of retribution.


After the tenth murder, Adam relocated the team he'd dedicated to this serial killer into Vale proper. They'd been making forays to gather information, but now the inconvenience of being in Forever Fall was untenable.

Not that their move did anything to prevent the eleventh innocent from being slaughtered and branded like cattle a mere two blocks from their safehouse. They got there well before the police thanks to a plainclothes patrol of theirs sounding the alarm, but Adam could hear the sirens approaching while he knelt next to the child's body. This one had died with a stab through the heart. Adam hoped it had been swift.

Unlike the other murders, this one had no posing. Perhaps their patrol had interrupted the murderer before he could get to that part of his ritual. It was paltry comfort.

He gently rolled the child onto his back. The constant drizzle coming down had kept the blood mostly liquid; some of it, released from under the body, flowed past Adam's shoes towards a nearby drain. The cause of death was clearly the wound to his chest; no others appeared. And judging by how the hole in his front was larger, this was the exit wound. He'd been hit from behind.

Adam breathed deep to keep himself in check and reached up to close the child's eyes.

He froze.

The brand. It was seared into the kid's face, and not just anywhere. Heart pounding like a drum and a roar rising in his ears, Adam stared into the three letters seared over the boy's left eye.

This was not a coincidence.

The asphalt, the pooling rain, the dissolving blood, all of it around his feet peeled up and wilted away. His outstretched and shaking hand closed into a fist. Adam pulled in a deep breath and fought to keep his composure. When he was sure his semblance was tightly contained, he closed the eye that allowed it and stood.

Rain, true rain now, pattered against his horns and shoulders. Some of it pooled on his hairline and ran down his face, but there were no tears to accompany it. His fury was cold.

"Pictures," he ordered his men like it would make a difference in the end. All his power, all his authority, and all he could do was arrive too late. It burned. "We need to identify him and let the family know. Get out before the police arrive."

The patrol saluted and got to work on the tasks that should never have become routine.


"They've never repeated a placement before."

"It doesn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe they just liked the way it looked better than the others."

"Sick fuck."

"With how staged the scenes have been up to now, it doesn't seem right that they would just abandon a pattern."

"But what would it even mean?"

"It's not like they've changed their target."

"Another child. The Vale police aren't the only ones being questioned now. People are wondering what we're doing to let this keep happening."

"We upped patrols, offered to escort anyone traveling alone. What else can we do?"

Adam, fingers knitted and knuckles pressing under his chin while he rested his elbows on the table, watched from behind his mask while his branch's ranking members discussed the latest development. Like the boy in the alley, the latest victim—a young woman arranged into a macabre left-handed salute—had been branded over her left eye.

When the discussion fell into a lull, Adam raised his gaze from the table. That slight motion was enough to draw all eyes to him.

"When their earlier theatrics didn't draw me out, they decided to taunt me directly." Adam lowered his hands. "That's why they're repeating specifically the left eye. They know about my scarring, which I haven't shown in public in years."

"He's right," the woman to his left noted. "To most of the world, you're known by your mask."

"Could it be someone from your past?" a man across the table asked. "Someone out for revenge?"

Another woman shook her head. "After everything Major Taurus has done for our cause, that's an impossibly long list even if you narrow it to those who have seen his face."

"It's an angle worth pursuing," Adam decided. "I'll investigate it. High Leader Khan has also reached out about the situation. It's time I update her; she may have some insight as to who is responsible. Dismissed."

When the last of them were gone, Adam pulled off his mask and rubbed at his temples with his other hand. A headache he hadn't been able to shake for weeks throbbed behind his eyes. Stress, probably. Between this serial killer and a full three-quarters of his men being forced to relocate to the fallen city, his branch was stretched thin.

A muffled voice came through the closed door: "Major?"

Adam put his mask back into place, composed himself, and called, "Come in."

The deer faunus reported that one of the individuals on the team being assembled to steal the footage of the latest murder from the police was out sick. Adam sighed, raised his eyes to the sky hidden by the ceiling, and cycled through his options. "Sergeant Fable can replace them," he said. Her squad had been relocated but she had chosen to stay behind in Vale. This would probably be a welcome break from heading fruitless patrols in the city that all too frequently ended with tense police standoffs.

The faunus saluted, Adam nodded, and he was alone again.


Adam sipped his coffee as he descended the stairs. It did a little to relieve both his tiredness and his headache, but he would have to kick the habit when this was over.

At the bottom of the stairwell was the door to the basement. Beyond was a claustrophobic space packed with boxes of paper and data drives. The tables set up amid the chaos had a couple of tablets scattered on them, left by the people reviewing footage when they called it for the night. The theft two days ago of the footage hadn't yielded anything yet besides the frustrating confirmation that, like the others, this murder had occurred during a camera blackout.

He expected to see the place empty at this hour, but his loose plan of looking over what little evidence they had in the hour before his next meeting fell apart at the sight of a badger faunus slumped over the nearest table. Holographic projected footage flickered above him; six different views of the block where the murder had occurred playing out silently at double speed.

Recognition dawned when Adam got close. This was the scout he had put on leave after his brother was killed. He debated letting the man sleep, but there were better places for him to catch some shuteye. Besides, if he'd been here all night, he needed to go home and see the rest of his family.

The faunus didn't rouse with the first shake of his shoulder, but he groaned on the second. He blinked blearily up at Adam, then shot up to sit straight in his chair. "Major Taurus!"

"You've been here all night." It was as much a statement as a question.

"Uh, I—what time is it?"

"Six-thirty."

The man stared with bloodshot eyes. Adam pointedly chose not to look at the bottle of pills by his elbow. "Oh. I must've fallen asleep." He shook his head a bit. "But that's fine. You're here now."

Adam frowned, order for the faunus to go home dying on his tongue. "Did you find something?"

"I think so."

His heart jumped and he leaned forward, coffee set aside. "Show me."

"Right. Watch this."

Adam looked up at the screens. The half-dozen angles of the street with synced-up timestamps stared back.

They'd already checked the time of the murder but found nothing. For precisely two hours surrounding the murder, the feeds all went dark. Ostensibly maintenance, but it was too well timed. Either the murderer had someone on the inside conveniently feeding them the maintenance schedule or the maintenance schedule was conveniently being altered to cover the murders.

He was willing to bet it was the latter. The human supremacists were everywhere and more than willing to flout the law and turn away if it meant that faunus would suffer.

This wasn't that time, though. This was four weeks earlier—the first day recorded in the footage they'd taken.

"Look at feed three," said the badger faunus. Adam looked. There were a handful of pedestrians visible as they strolled down the sidewalk. "It should be…now."

A man jogged across the screen. Following his path, Adam switched his gaze to feed four, then five, and finally watched him leave six.

The badger faunus rolled them forward a day. The same man ran across the screen. Another day; another run.

"Explain."

"You see the time? Every day, four o'clock, this guy goes out for a jog. It's like clockwork. Rain, shine, that miserable fog that sometimes drifts in from the water—doesn't matter. He's out there. The only days he's not…"

"Are the days there's a murder," Adam finished.

"Exactly."

"It's a thin connection."

The badger's tail lashed. "Okay, maybe, but it's something, right? We can investigate him. I know where he lives. And look, I even got a face shot." He tapped away on the tablet and feed four expanded to cover all the rest with a paused frame of the man's face. "We can—"

His voice died when he looked up to Adam, who had gone still as stone upon seeing the runner's face. Even grainy and blurry, even with all the time that had passed, he knew that man.

His hand on the back of the faunus's chair squeezed the cracked leather hard enough to make it creak in protest. Not a coincidence indeed.

"Sir?"

Adam stood straight and headed for the door. "Go home, get some rest."

"But—"

"Your family needs you." He paused in the doorway, looked back. "We will not waste this opportunity you created."


It took another eight days for the surveillance team placed by the killer's house to report that the man had not engaged in his daily run. Adam was on location within the hour, and when the man left his townhouse from the back and slunk into the shadows deepened by the new moon, Adam tracked him from the rooftops.

Trevor Cook. At first glance, unassuming, in part due to his new name. Anyone digging into his records would see a curious five-year blank spot before he ostensibly moved from Mistral to Vale and got a job with a known front for the Vale human supremacists.

To anyone else, that gap was odd but not worth more thought than that. It had ended over ten years earlier, so his resumé boasted plenty of employment history since then.

To Adam, it was everything.

His scar throbbed while he vaulted between buildings. Trevor hooked an abrupt right beneath him and stopped partway into that alley. Adam stopped too, eyes narrowed behind his mask and one hand braced against a gently puffing chimney while he watched Trevor watch the way he'd come. Trevor didn't know Adam was up here—even if Trevor looked directly at him, the angle, lack of moonlight, and clouds blocking the stars rendered Adam all but invisible to human eyes—so from what was he hiding?

A minute passed. Adam's legs were cramping, but the shingle under his right foot was loose and he didn't trust the noise of repositioning himself to go unnoticed when Trevor was so obviously on alert. He instead focused his aura on his legs to brace the straining tendons. As a toned-down version of what he did in combat to achieve otherwise impossible speeds without tearing his own body apart, it worked surprisingly well.

If Trevor was just going to stand here, then Adam could just—

Sharp, defined footsteps echoed down the alleyway. Adam froze and then strained his hearing but couldn't pinpoint the source with how much the sound bounced. Trevor shifted at the sound, sliding ever so slightly closer to the corner. Cursing his positioning, Adam strained to see back to the larger alley and failed to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. With the echoes, even as clear as they were, he couldn't accurately pinpoint their position.

Did he warn them and risk losing Trevor to a chase? All it would take was Trevor hollering that he was being attacked by the White Fang and the authorities would swarm like flies thanks to whatever contacts he had in the force.

Trevor lunged from his spot. There was a shriek, a meaty thud, a crack, and then Adam was throwing himself over the side of the building, noise be damned.

As he dropped down, he saw Trevor back off and stare with a grin while a faunus woman with hooves crawled away from him. One of her arms had snapped. Fury coursed through Adam's veins and gravity pulled him to Trevor's inevitable end.

At the last moment, Trevor threw himself to the side and Wilt went two feet into the ground instead of through his skull. Adam, crimson aura flaring from the impact that hadn't wholly been absorbed into his blade, yanked it free and glared down the murderer from behind his mask. Some kind of shadow or sound must have tipped off his prey, but no matter. He didn't need the element of surprise to put him down.

Rather than cower in fear, Trevor lit up. He threw his hands into the air. "Finally!" he declared to the sky. "Finally he shows his face! Or," his hands fell, and he looked at Adam with a sick little smile, "maybe he's not so keen to do that anymore."

Any lingering doubts Adam had about Trevor's identity burned away. The shadows in the alley drank up the light but Adam took a deep breath and pulled it all back.

"Oh, come on," Trevor cocked his head, "cat got your tongue?"

He stepped forward despite himself.

"You've got that fancy mask now, but I don't think it's doing what you want it to. I can see right through it and I know exactly what kind of coward sits behind it."

Once more the shadows crept beyond their intended borders. Adam reined them in with effort and lifted a hand. If Trevor was so dead set on proving his mask was just a shield, then—

Through his fingers, he saw Trevor's grin and eyes widen in expectation, and he paused, realization dawning. The killings, the brands, the taunts, this far too glib one-on-one confrontation—it was all for one purpose: Trevor wanted Adam to rage. He wanted to know he'd broken through to the boy he remembered, prove that Adam was still that animal in chains.

Rather than remove his mask, Adam simply ran his hand through his hair. Trevor's grin dipped.

The murderer didn't see Wilt move until the hilt was cracking against his jaw. Adam was there to follow up in an instant, snatching the blade in a reverse grip and ready to decapitate this degenerate.

A thin but solid metal staff expanded between him and Trevor, blocking Wilt and throwing up sparks. Adam jumped back, sheathed Wilt, and reassessed his opponent. In the lull, he heard the panicked breaths of the woman he'd come here to save.

"Go," Adam said, turning his head just enough to make sure the woman was listening. At the sight of his mask, she stiffened but some of her fear drained away. "I'll take care of this."

She ran.

Trevor, tapping his staff against his shoulder, heaved a sigh. "Now why'd you have to send her away before the chase even got started? That's the best part."

His voice, barely changed even after all these years, dug into Adam's ears and scraped across his brain. With it came a wave of tension down his spine and through his limbs. He didn't bother to stop his finger from pulling Blush's trigger.

Trevor had a smirk and quip on his lips when Wilt's pommel slammed into his face for the second time. He reeled.

"Fuck!" he yelled, one hand going to clutch his nose. "Fuck!"

Adam snagged Wilt from the air and pressed the attack. His first blow nearly jarred the staff out of Trevor's one-handed grip. Staggering back and bringing his other hand to his weapon, Trevor warded him off by hairs but each strike was closer than the last and his defense was crumbling. Snarling, Adam shifted and fired Blush point-blank into Trevor's wrist, stunning the limb and letting him wrench the staff out of the way.

The three bullets to his face snapped Trevor's head back and had his gray aura flaring bright. As Adam was rotating Wilt to stab down at Trevor's heart, though, a flicker of unexpected movement from Trevor's staff had him leaping back instead.

An electrified flail whipped through the space his neck had been. Adam straightened somewhat and sheathed Wilt, eyeing the new threat. Trevor's simple metal staff had split into conical segments connected by a chain, with a long handle on one end and a spiked segment on the other. Some of the segments must have contained Dust because the entire thing buzzed enough to set Adam's teeth on edge.

Underhanded and cowardly. Exactly what he should've expected.

Gasping slightly, Trevor leaned back. "Gods and Grimm almighty, let a guy get a word in!"

A word in. As though Trevor had ever bothered to stop and listen when Adam screamed for mercy.

Adam didn't voice any of that or the ten-year-old screams clawing at his throat. The only sound that crawled out of his mouth was a guttural growl. Wilt handled the rest, lighting up a searing vermillion as he brought it down on Trevor's hasty guard. The Moonslice infused into the blade tore through the staff and gauged a line from Trevor's left shoulder to right hip. Trevor staggered back, confusion in his eyes and his weapon in two pieces. His blood welled up to stain his jacket and flow to the cracked asphalt below.

Letting Trevor absorb that he'd just been dealt a deathblow, Adam flicked the human's blood from his blade and sheathed it. The electricity hadn't made it a third of the way down Wilt's blade; Moonslice had absorbed it all to further strengthen the strike.

"What?" he asked, the sound of his voice making Trevor jolt. "Nothing more to say?"

Trevor chuckled, making Adam's hackles rise. He tried to pull a hidden dagger from the handle he still held, but the blade was cracked and broken from Adam's strike. Trevor's broken weapons fell from his hands; a moment later, his legs gave way and he folded to his knees. "What gave it away? I was so sure I thought of everything." He snapped his fingers. The sound echoed. "The one I did too close. It was my daily run, wasn't it? Someone picked up on the pattern. You know, I should've gone out even on the planned days, but getting all sweaty and tired before having to chase someone down just didn't appeal to me." The ground around him was slick with his own blood. "You understand, I'm sure."

Eyes narrowing, Adam approached. Trevor straightened as much as his wound allowed, expecting some cutting remark, but he just set himself up to take Adam's kick to the chin instead of the chest. He tumbled back, head cracking against the ground, and groaned.

Adam drove a boot into his bleeding chest, earning a pained cough. "The rest of your group. Where are they?"

"No idea what you're—"

Another stomp. Trevor wheezed but his smile didn't fade.

"The ones shielding you. Names. Now."

"I'll never tell," Trevor said, and Adam believed him.

Before Trevor could register that Adam had removed his boot, Adam drove Wilt through his eye. The murderer's body twitched once and then lay still. Adam wrenched the blade free, flicked the blood from it, and sheathed it.

In the silence punctuated only by the occasional car passing by, Adam let out a slow, shaking breath. He knelt next to Trevor. The staff wasn't what he'd used to brand faunus. It took several seconds and required rolling the body over, but he found what he was looking for.

The brand had been modified for covert carry. The collapsible handle retracted into itself and the actual SDC logo twisted sideways to lay flat. Against the small of Trevor's back and hidden under his baggy jacket, it had been completely invisible. Just holding the metal in his gloved hands had nausea brewing in Adam's stomach. He swallowed it down and examined the tool more closely. A small latch at the bottom of the extended shaft revealed a store of fire Dust that, at the flick of a switch, would heat the metal to searing temperatures.

Sickening in its simplicity. Flooding his hand with aura, Adam crumpled the logo, rolled Trevor back over, and jammed the grip into the hole in his face so the destroyed metal faced the sky.

He stood. Stared at the body.

This wasn't enough. This wasn't nearly enough. One death couldn't balance out the dozen this human had derived pleasure from taking.

But for now, it was all he could do.


Lisa Lavender read out his message, signed as the whole of the White Fang, to Vale the next morning. No one had discovered the body in the alleyway yet; if he'd included that with the message, they wouldn't have spread it.

The killings are done.

He let those in the command room enjoy the victory for a moment before Lisa moved on to cover the incoming SDC shipment of Dust. As a PR offering to aid victims of the killer organized well over a week ago, it was laughably inadequate. The humans, of course, ate it up. The faunus saw it for what it was.

Everyone else in the room met his gaze with fire in their eyes, and he allowed a grim smile.

The fight would continue.