Trailer

Mutare Wallflower finished reading the reports and put them down on the wooden desk in front of him. "Sounds like my boy, all right," he said to the lion Faunus sitting across from him.

"I … I was afraid you'd say that," said Leonardo Lionheart nervously. Nervousness was his default state.

Lionheart was a middle-aged man with greying tan hair and a big beard, brown eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. Mutare was never able to tell whether his skin was tanned or really was that colour (it definitely wasn't fake tan, or else he would have been orange). He wore a brown greatcoat with a matching mantle, which had cross emblems on each side, a white dress shirt under his coat, a western neck-tie, dark brown slacks, and dress shoes. He also carried a pocket watch. He also had a lion tail, though that was unclear in his current position.

"It's never pleasant, having to deal with one of these things, but be glad you called me," said Mutare. "Things would've gotten a lot worse if you didn't."

Mutare was younger than Lionheart, though still in his late thirties – 38 or 39, though he himself wasn't sure. Birthdays weren't exactly a big thing where he was raised. He had pale skin, a result of quite a lot of time spent inside, short, straight, dark brown hair that was greying prematurely into a more silvery grey than most, and bright blue eyes that had long since lost their twinkle. He was well-built. He wore an olive drab, short-sleeved jacket that was long enough to come to just above his knees, a deep sky blue shirt that could be seen through the open jacket, a dark khaki belt, antique white trousers, and sea green boots. There was no current need for any accessories.

"I know," said Lionheart. "I'd have just preferred it if the damned thing had never come near here at all."

"Life would be simpler if they kept to less populated areas, true. It'd make my job a hell of a lot easier, too." He stood up. "Rest assured, the problem will be dealt with. Try to get some rest, Leo. The stress is gonna send your hair the same way mine's going."

Lionheart chuckled without enthusiasm. "You're younger than me, surely you wouldn't mind looking it for a change."

Mutare laughed, a bit more genuine than Lionheart's. "True, true. Not even forty yet, I don't think, and I'm already turning into a real silver fox." He turned around and started walking for the door. "Be seeing you, Leo, though hopefully under different circumstances next time."

"Good luck!" Lionheart called after him.

Mutare worked his way through the foliage as the trees of the woods began to get further and further apart with each step. He knew he was coming to a clearing. He stopped briefly, making sure his weapon was ready to go if things escalated, and then carried on. He reached the clearing and walked out from behind the trees without a care in the world.

The reek of rotting flesh hit his nostrils like a truck.

There was plenty of red mixed in with the green of the grass, and that red was flowing from the corpses of several dead people, humans and Faunus alike. None of the bodies were intact; all of them had pieces missing. Not cleanly cut off, but ripped and torn and bitten. There were no leftover heads, which came as no surprise to Mutare, given who exactly he was dealing with here. The cause of this carnage sat in the centre of it.

The giant was about 8 feet tall with grossly disproportionate bodily features. It had a slightly pointed, balding head with a large, rounded chin and jaw, a bulbous nose, and dark, sunken eyes. It was fat but clearly had a fair bit of muscle mass underneath it. The forearms were muscular and dangerous-looking, with fists that were almost a solid foot breadthwise. Though the feet were large, they were only large by human/Faunus standards, and for the creature itself were actually incredibly tiny in comparison to the rest of its body. It skin was dark and scarred; a few of the scars were put there by Mutare himself in the past.

"Bonjour, Fernand," Mutare greeted the giant.

It looked up from the gory mess in front of it and made eye contact with him. "Ah, Mutare, mon amie!" he exclaimed happily. Even though he spoke, his teeth, bloody and with bits of flesh stuck between them hideously, never parted. "So nice to see you! I was just having myself a petit pique-nique. Would you care to join me?"

"Je suis désolé, Fernand, maybe another time." He was lying through his teeth, something which 082 here was very familiar with yet always unable to recognise. "Had your fill of the outside world yet?"

"Non," Fernand shook his head. "I would like to spend some more time in my magnifique garden, if you wouldn't mind."

Mutare sighed. "I really wish I didn't mind, Fernand, but we both know you're self-aware enough to at least know what your situation is. I remember the little poetry reading you did for Dr Bernstein. If you come quietly, I'll put in a good word and get you some more writing supplies. Wouldn't that be nice? Your first poem was good, but like you said, it was your first. Doesn't it sound nice to refine those skills a bit?"

"Merci," Fernand thanked him. His expression had turned sad the second his little poetry endeavour came up. "But I shall have to decline, mon amie. I am enjoying myself."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

He took out a large object that looked like the handle of a knife if it was on a sword instead. He clicked a button and numerous weapons, melee and otherwise, sprang out, so many that it shouldn't have been physically possible. And it wasn't. Like Fernand, this object was anomalous. Mutare was the only one with permission to carry it.

He grabbed the handle of a big war hammer, and the rest of the weapons, as well as the giant knife handle he had initially picked out, seemed to roll up into each other until nothing was left but the hammer. Mutare brandished it threateningly.

"Pardon, big guy," he said. "But you're going back, one way or another."

Fernand let out a yell that sounded more like a roar and charged. Mutare met the charge head-on, letting out only the small grunts that came with wielding the hammer. Fernand's overly long arms reached out to grab him, his jaws open and ready to accept this fresh meat, but Mutare swung the hammer in a wide arc and hit one of Fernand's hands. The giant's hand bounced off the hammer and threw Fernand off his balance. Then, as he was tilting to the side, Mutare swung the hammer again and nailed him right in the head, sending him flying off to the side and sliding along the grass, bringing up dirt behind him like it was dust.

He got up, shaking his head, which was bleeding, and roared again. This time, however, he was more cautious, keeping back and trying to circle Mutare. He was looking for a moment of weakness or some sort of opening.

One good solid hit more should do it, Mutare thought. Despite his size and diet, Fernand was biologically human, and the Foundation had never unlocked his Aura for him or anything, so there was only so much he can take. I just need to be able to land it.

He continued to watch Fernand, legs squatted, ready to jump to action at any moment. They were in this stalemate for a few minutes before Mutare realised Fernand wouldn't be the first to attack. As long as Mutare had his guard up, Fernand wasn't going to risk anything, so he would have to make the first move this time.

He took a deep breath, then went for it. He ran at Fernand, roaring out a wordless battle cry, which, just as he'd wanted, prompted Fernand to do the same. As the giant neared him, Mutare pressed a button on the hammer's handle, and it suddenly shrank back into just a handle, as it had been at the start of the fight. He then used his forward momentum to role underneath Fernand's legs, the giant's disproportionately small feet making it easier to fit between his legs. He turned around and pressed another button on the handle that brought the hammer back.

Fernand turned around, confused, and was met with a second hammer strike directly to the face, which sent his body spinning. He span a few times, stopped, and for a moment Mutare thought the giant was still conscious. Fernand blinked a few times … then his eyes rolled back and he fell, making a dull thud sound as his body hit the dirt.

With Fernand down, Mutare sheathed his weapon. He took his scroll out and hit one of the speed dials. "It's Agent Wallflower. I found 082. He's down for the count." He rattled off the coordinates of their location. "I require an extraction team with a transport unit and some restraints big enough for 082 to fit into." With the official part of the call over, he went more casual as he spoke to the person on the other end next. "How many more of the fucking things breached containment this time?" He didn't like the answer. "'Could've been worse,' my ass! If even a single one breaks out, I consider that too damn many." A sigh. "I know some of this shit can't exactly be contained permanently without a miracle, but good God … Yeah, yeah, I'm fine … Might just need to take a few days, couple weeks, or something to myself. Job's getting to me again." A pause as the person on the other end spoke, then a laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right, it'd be more concerning if I was totally fine the whole damn time. Huh? Yeah, okay, you take care now." He hung up.

Working for the Foundation could be incredibly stressful, and that was on the good days, like this one. With the recent containment breach, there had been precious few of these good days for a couple of weeks. Mutare could only hope they'd be able to get everything back in their cells relatively soon.

Like his contact on the other end of the scroll said, it really could have been worse.

We're just really fucking lucky 682 didn't decide to join the jail spring, he thought, shuddering. If that fucking lizard got out again …

His scroll rang in his pocket. He took it out and looked at who was calling, then answered immediately.

"Hello, Professor Ozpin," he greeted.

As the call went on, a frown grew on his face. It was good news and bad news. The good news was that it would appear he had just been given a tip-off on one of the escapees. The bad news was that if that was true, he was going straight from one fight and into another.

Looks like I'm going to Vale, he thought.

I'd warn you against expecting the real first chapter of this for a while. I know the premise and the characters, but I'm still kind of working on the overall plot.

I'm a big horror fan and I love the SCP Foundation – so many mysterious objects, strange creatures, and eldritch monstrosities. I also love RWBY. Does that necessarily mean these things should go together? Probably not, but fuck it, I'm doing it anyway.

No pairing decided at the moment, but the three candidates I'm working with are Glynda Goodwitch, Winter Schnee (I don't care about age difference, she's in her early 20s and therefore an adult and perfectly viable), and Raven Branwen. You can tell me your preferences if you want and it might affect the outcome, but I can't promise that.

See ya!