Chapter 13

The worst part wasn't that her mistake, her over-caution had cost six faunus their lives. It wasn't that the SDC had 'hired' them as proof of diversity and then kept them locked away like prisoners. Nor was it Liam's devastated reaction, blaming himself for not having been better, been faster, more thorough. For believing the crew that had told him there wasn't anyone else on the ship. That they'd left those humans behind to be rescued by the police, to be flown safely back to Atlas, when they deserved fare more than the humiliation that they'd received.

The worst part... was how everyone else reacted.

Perry had called them 'unfortunate martyrs'. Proof that the SDC's claims of inclusion merely meant new ways to cover up how they treated faunus like slaves. Nava had said it was sad, but that they were fighting a war. Collateral damage was going to happen. Adam hadn't even mentioned them in his response to her report, instead praising her for 'finally launching a proper raid'.

The rest of the combat cell wasn't much better. They thought of the entire thing as a great victory, a coup, and they'd howled when she'd put a hold on all future raids.

The support cell though... Tukson was doing his best in regards to damage control, but he was fighting an uphill battle. A day before the raid she'd been their darling. Proof that Sienna's new approach didn't mean reckless violence, that it meant carefully targeted violence to support a broad civil mandate. That it didn't mean scrapping all of the old Belladonna initiatives, that it meant supporting the soft hand with an iron fist. They'd broadly approved of Ilia... and then the day after the raid they'd turned on her. They were sure she was either incompetent, unfeeling, secretly an extremist, or all of the above.

Putting a hold on future violent action and having Tukson go all-in on a charity for the families of the dead was helping a little... even as it infuriated all of the extremists and the combat teams.

Ilia managed to keep a lid on everything for a month before she hit on a way to try and buoy her position. It wasn't a great plan. It wasn't even a good plan, she knew that much. But it was a plan, a way to show that she wasn't going to hide away in her office or surrender control of the cell to anyone else.

"Still say this isn't a great idea." Tukson's voice came from her ear piece, the man in question set up in her office at the warehouse. "You should at least have taken Lectrie or Liam with."

"Code names." She muttered in reply, tugging at the various pieces of her burglar's uniform. The black bodysuit tended to give people the wrong idea, especially when paired with Lightning Lash, but it was important to cover up all of her skin. She could usually control her color changing, but there was no reason to risk it. "Orange is just as good a getaway driver as they are."

His grunt was loud enough for his microphone to pick up. "You didn't say anything about this being a bad idea."

Ilia sighed. "I have to do something to prove that I'm still in this. That I haven't lost my touch. Something that all of the factions can approve of. Perry's probably already smuggling reports to Adam. If I don't do something I'll be relieved and he'll be put back in command."

"And going into Torchwick's territory to burgle the Winchester estate will help with that?"

She hoped so. It was what she was best at, her target was hated by everyone, and by doing it alone she'd remind everyone that she could handle herself. It would buy her more time to try and come up with a better idea to knit the moderates and the extremists back together. And... while she'd never admit it to Tukson, she was still debating the pros and cons of letting herself be seen by either the guardsman or the police. Roughing them up a bit would please Perry's crowd and prove she was a Huntress.

Well, the closest thing the White Fang had to a Huntress in the city, but still.

"Time check." Ilia murmured as she pulled her ski mask down, only settling her White Fang mask over top of that once it was set. A hand shifted left to right, confirming she had a pistol on her left hip and Lightning Lash on the other. Two dust grenades were on the back of her belt, her backpack was secure, and she had a knife in her left boot just in case. "Ready."

He sighed, clearly understanding that he wasn't going to talk her out of it. "It will be three hundred hours in five... three... now."

Blowing out a final breath, she tore if into a sprint, racing down the alley that she'd been lurking in. She flew across the empty street, leaped up to the edge of the perimeter wall, and hauled herself over.

Landing in the bushes with a small flex of her knees, she eyed the familiar mansion from behind the leafy cover. They'd repaired it after the Winchester boy had blown out half of the fourth floor's wall, replacing the old balcony entirely. A less skilled thief would have tried the same trick she'd used the first time; scale the building and slip in through one of the sliding doors.

She wasn't that stupid. Especially since a small bribe to the construction contractors who'd done the work had confirmed the balconies now all featured pressure sensors.

So she was going do this the old fashioned way.

Ilia settled into the bushes, let her semblance and skin shift to conceal her, and waited.

The 'security consultant' came limping by right on time ten minutes later. His mecha-shift rifle looked brand new and well cared for, but the same couldn't be said for the rest of him. Gray hair was tied back in a ponytail decades out of date for a man, his wild beard was in dire need of both a wash and a brush, and his old suit was plaid of all things.

Careful. He's an old racist Human, but he's still a retired Huntsman. Wait... wait...

Fingers wrapped around the hilt of her primary weapon as he walked closer, his eyes alert despite his limping gait. Sadly for him they weren't able to penetrate her semblance, sliding right over her amid the shrubbery as he moved past.

She waited until his back was entirely to her before she rose, stepped forwards, and flicked her arm forwards. Lightning Lash extended with a quiet whisper, then wrapped around his bare neck.

The old bastard was good. He began to twist the moment it began to cut into his skin, blue aura sparking around the point of impact to stop it from penetrating further than a shallow cut. If that had been it he probably could have gotten around, opened fire, and made this a complete mess.

Unfortunately for him, all she had to do was hold down a finger to send electricity surging down the length of her weapon and directly into his aging body. He seized up instantly, dropping like a puppet with his strings cut, quivering on the ground. Ilia carefully retracted her weapon, approaching slowly as smoke trailed up from where she'd struck him. When he began to stir she hit him again, his brain too scrambled to summon up his aura, sending another surge of power into his body.

That was enough for the old man. His eyes rolled back and she instantly eased off before she killed him. Not that she'd have mourned him, she'd found plenty of evidence online that he was an enemy of the faunus, but the last thing she needed right now was another person dead by her hand. Besides adding another ghost to haunt her, it might be enough to make moderates begin to quite again.

Irony. I can't kill a racist human because your death would hurt the cause of the faunus more than you living does.

Said human didn't do much besides shudder when she kicked his weapon away. Nor did he resist when she rifled through his pockets, finding his scroll and the mansion keys after a couple of seconds. His breathing was unsteady but he was still breathing.

"Guard is down but alive." She relayed as she pushed him onto his belly, her latest set of huntsman-grade handcuffs being used to make sure he'd have a hard time even if he recovered. "Could probably use medical attention, call someone after we're done."

"Got it." Tukson replied. "Keys?"

They jangled in her hand as she slid his scroll into a pocket. "In hand."

"Nothing on police channels. Should still be clear."

Nodding silently, Ilia stepped over the fallen Huntsman headed for the side door. If the Winchesters had actually been home rather than living outside of the city there probably would have been someone else manning the cameras. As it was, they'd definitely see her on the recording come morning. Which was fine. They'd howl about it and it would serve as further proof that she'd done what she came here to do. She just had to avoid anything that would easily identify her.

"Returning to the scene of the crime." She shook her head as she tried keys, finding the right one on attempt number three. The door slid open and she wasted no time in gliding inside. "I'm in."

"You should be in a servant's corridor. Main hall is directly head, should have a stairwell to the second. Contractors said there's some kind of display room in there, that's the most likely place for the target."

"Confirmed." The house may have been tall but it wasn't all that wide; the common failing of even the wealthiest homes in Vale. It didn't take her long to jog down the hallway, enter the small ballroom, and then turn to the stairs.

Floor two had the same simple walls and flooring that she remembered from the upper levels, two balconies overlooking the ballroom below, then a short hallway with three doors.

Door number one was a darkened kitchen. Its opposite number proved to be an opulent bathroom, probably intended to impress any guests. But the third door opened into a display room that reminded her strongly of Lord Winchester's office. Old Valean flags hung from the walls, paintings of battles and huntsman in places of honor between them. Armchairs were set up near a grand fireplace, while a few tall tables were carefully arranged near a well appointed bar. Cigar boxes and ash trays were strategically positioned on each, and despite the Lord's death there wasn't any dust on anything.

Only wealthy humans would waste lien on having maids dust a dead man's study.

Her target was hanging above the darkened fireplace.

"Got it. One ancestral weapon within reach." It was a fairly impressive one; a two handed mace with vicious spikes set around a holder for dust crystals. Old fashioned and out of date, but literally invaluable to the family who owned it.

Or to wealthy collectors who prized antiques and didn't ask questions.

"Be ready to run. Soon as you grab it an alarm will probably go off." Tukson warned her.

If she'd been a simple thief she'd have taken more time on this. Maybe gotten something to get around the security systems, found a way to cut power to the building, that kind of thing. Found a way to avoid drawing any attention until she was long gone.

But that wasn't the point of the White Fang.

"Setting the scene." Letting her backpack fall to the ground, a quick tug on the zipper all it took to let her start pulling cloth out.

Replacing all of the Valean battle flags with White Fang banners took longer than she'd have liked, but it was very cathartic. And tossing the old ones into the fireplace along with some of the expensive booze from the bar, then setting the entire thing alight with high priced cigars really worked for her.

"Shame you're not here. The fire really makes the banners look good." She smiled in memory. "Reminds me of the beach bonfires on Menagerie."

Tukson actually chuckled. "Maybe next time, Lash. Don't admire it for too long, smoke will be coming out of the chimney soon."

"I know, I know. Pulling the target."

Moving her backpack over, she stretched out her arms, took a deep breath, and then reached up to grab the Winchester mace from its display rack. The moment she yanked it free she heard the Huntsman's scroll begin beeping rapidly in her pocket. Hopefully that was the only alarm that had been triggered, but there wasn't any point in testing that theory.

A quick inspection found a button to collapse it down to a more manageable size, and she wasted no time in stuffing it into her bag. Still heavy but now infinitely easier to carry.

Then the pack was around her shoulders again, and her feet were pounding on hardwood.

"Still nothing on police scanners."

"Good. Send a ping to Orange, I'm on my way... crap!" She skidded to an awkward stop, nearly falling face first down the stairs before regaining her balance.

A petite human girl was standing at the bottom of them... a very stylish girl. Her coat, boots,and parasol made her look like a wealthy young teen ready to go on a stroll more than someone who should be standing around a darkened manor in the middle of the night. Multi-colored hair was cut in a loose bob, either naturally or artificially matching the two-toned eyes peering up at her.

Her appearance was odd but it wasn't had what caused Ilia to slide to a stop. That honor went to the small scroll in the girl's hand, currently displaying a man's face as she pointed it towards Ilia.

"Well now..." His voice was tinny through the small speakers. "...this is an unpleasant surprise. Here I thought you'd learned your lesson, but I guess you just can't teach an animal once it reaches a certain age."

Torchwick. She recognized his face and his voice from the news. Dammit. He or the girl must have spotted her while she was casing the mansion. May have even been casing it for themselves. There was probably quite a bit of expensive material in here beyond the mace, and with the Winchesters gone it made for a tempting target. She'd have honestly thought Torchwick would have hit the place a long time ago... but evidently he'd been content to wait a while.

Her luck was truly terrible.

"Normally I'd take that kind of thing rather badly, but I'm in a good mood tonight. Hand over whatever you grabbed and I'll-"

The girl shot backwards a second before Ilia's attack would have struck the scroll, then spun to her left to avoid the follow-up crack of her whip. Torchwick snarled something that was inaudible as Ilia pressed aggressively, racing down the stairs, working Lightning Lash in a continuous series of whip-strikes to keep her enemy away.

Ilia had no idea if the girl had aura, and the last thing the White Fang needed right now was for the authorities to find a woman dead at her hands. A lot of noise, some uses of the dust to send sparks flying, and rapid movement kept her back without being all that threatening. It bought Ilia the time she needed to run for the servant's entrance.

She sent a final flick to make Torchwick's helper scurry back, the girl's eyes wide and startled, then bolted for the door.

...where she only barely got her aura up in time to stop a heeled boot from breaking her nose.

The blow snapped her head back, a follow up kick slamming into her jaw. She managed to get an arm up in time to divert a third, backpedaling rapidly and shaking her head.

Her enemy gave her an almost demure little smile to go with a mocking bow, parasol resting casually on one shoulder.

"How the hell..." Semblance. Obviously. But a semblance meant aura, and aura meant she didn't have to hold back.

"What's happening!?"

"Torchwick!" She snapped as she took one more step back, then sprinted for the front door. The girl was small but quick, parasol lashing out at Ilia's legs. She parried it away with her own weapon, then launched a riposte at the mismatched eyes only to strike air. Her opponent nimbly hopped back, then darted back in, lashing out with two more quick kicks that forced her to keep her arms low, leaving her open for the frilly weapon to come flying at her face.

Ilia hissed in pain as it struck her cheek, again trying to retaliate in kind only for the shorter woman to slide backwards with another grin.

It became a horrified expression when Ilia's free hand emerged from behind her back, a dust grenade flying right at the girls' face. She frantically batted it out of the air, sending it to ricochet around the ballroom... and left herself open for Ilia to land a solid hit of her own. Pink light flared as two quick slashes hit her chest, sparks flying as the electrical dust tried to find a proper channel.

The girl practically flew backwards, an unhappy snarl on her face, some of her multi-colored hair now standing on end.

For her part Ilia was already moving again, sprinting laterally to get to the inert grenade she'd used as a distraction. Her enemy saw her target, bared her teeth, and then came rushing after her.

Ilia waited until the last possible second before abruptly changing direction, moving to the right, racing for the front door. She heard boots skidding on the hardwood floor, though oddly the girl didn't curse, shout, or make any other noises at all. Grabbing onto the handle she yanked it open just enough to dart through.

Her enemy rammed into the door just as she got clear... slamming it shut on Lightning Lash hard enough yank it free from her fingers.

It was Ilia's turn to jerk to a halt, cursing as she scrambled to recover her weapon. She'd barely gotten the hilt back into her hand before the girl got a hold of the other end, pulling it back inside with surprising strength.

Then she slammed the door shut on it again, the already bent blade snapping in a new direction.

"Bitch!" She hauled back, the grip working to her advantage as she managed to get it free. The top third had been bent nearly to the horizontal from the first hit, the second adding a less severe but still damaging bend farther down. There was no way she could retract it into the hilt, much less shift it back to whip form.

The doors swung open, the girl panting a bit but once again smug as she looked over Ilia's broken weapon.

"Lash! Cops incoming!" Tukson's voice barked in her ear. "Get clear!"

He'd barely finished before she heard the first sirens, and it was a fight to resist the urge to look away from her opponent.

Said opponent didn't feel the same, turning left in some kind of instinctive response to the sound of authorities.

Ilia was running before she could turn back.

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