'…Something's not right here.' Blake thought, looking at the pile of defeated gang members.

It wasn't that she hadn't expected such a pile to be made. After they charged headfirst into the two teams of Huntsmen-in-training with nothing but branches and old cooking utensils, that was really the only logical outcome.

It was the gang members themselves that were off. Sure, it hadn't been likely that they would actually hurt or injure anyone. But then there were little things, like the ragged state of their uniforms, and how few hits it took to keep them down for the count. And with how thin they were…

Blake could still remember some of the videos and photos the White Fang had used to promote the cause. Many of them had shown starving, thin Faunus, completely ignored by the systems that were supposed to protect them. She'd even seen evidence of starvation in a handful of the newer recruits, before the training and regular meals helped get them into shape.

And with how thin these gang members were, they looked uncomfortably similar to some of the worse cases she'd witnessed.

These people were clearly not eating well, to the point where some of them were practically just skin and bones. Even then, they'd still tried to attack, fighting until they had all been knocked unconscious.

Well, that or…worse.

She grimaced, looking over at one of the worse-off gang members. Thankfully there hadn't been too many of those, and she and Yang had been able to try and treat them before any of the others had noticed, but there was only so much she could do to hide broken bones or a ruptured eye. That wasn't even counting any possible internal injuries they might have gotten.

It was an unfortunate accident, even if it had all technically been in self-defense. None of their wounds looked fatal…hopefully…but they'd still need to get them medical attention soon.

But why would a group like this be out here in the first place? There had to be someone living nearby, or else none of the other islands would have working electricity, so why were they out here specifically? The train station looked like it had been abandoned long before they got here, so what would they gain from blowing it up?

'If it comes to it, I guess we can ask them when they wake up. If they wake up.' Blake thought, frowning.

At the very least, they still had some time to come up with a plan. JNPR had gone off into the station to try and look for anyone else who might be around, while Weiss and Ruby checked out the rest of the outskirts, leaving Yang and her to guard the gang members.

Not that they needed much guarding, per se, but at least they could make sure their injuries didn't get much worse.

And if things did get too dangerous, or if they did need to bring someone to safety, they still had the Bullhead parked nearby. All they would need to do was get back into range of the CCT Network, send off a message to Beacon, and wait for someone to come and help them.

Still, Blake hoped it wouldn't come to that. They had been sent out here for some reason, and they still needed to figure out what was going on. Besides, at least some of the other islands were inhabited. It wasn't that uncommon for towns on the frontier to have some sort of clinic, so they might be able to drop the gang members out there.

'And whatever's going on here, these guys managed to survive it somehow.' Blake thought, still keeping an eye on them. 'Maybe it's just a food shortage or something.'

The train whistles, again and again, filling the station with a constant, evil shriek.

"Where are you, Arthur?"

A stern-looking constable looks down, staring directly into Arthur's soul. After a few moments, the bobby gently directs Arthur back towards his father, away from the struggling form of Percy.

"Arthur? Arthur, please!"

The train begins to move down the tracks. As it leaves, the children inside press against the windows, begging for their parents to help them. None of them do.

"ARTHUR!"

And Arthur opened his eyes.

The differences between his memories and reality were immediately noticeable. There were no screaming children or sobbing parents. The grim constables and intimidating guards were nowhere to be seen.

Instead, he found himself in a dilapidated, dimly-lit room, with broken planks and chunks of stone covering the floor. What little light there was came from a hole in the ceiling, letting a few rays of sunshine catch onto clouds of floating dust.

And, of course, there was also the feeling of immense pain spreading throughout his entire body.

"Uuuugh…Gods, everything hurts…" Arthur hissed, slowly crawling onto his feet. His limbs were tired and hard to move, his back was creaking and straining just from the act of sitting up, and his head was throbbing madly. Even his umbrella was hurting him, jammed between his ribs and the cold concrete floor.

And this wasn't even as bad as it could have been. If the fall had been just a little bit higher, or if the rest of the floor had collapsed, or if those strangers had decided to follow him down…

He tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. It wouldn't help him to get caught up in thoughts of his own mortality again.

"Now…where am I?" Arthur wondered, taking a closer look at his surroundings. While the lighting was poor, he was still able to make out a few details. A large wooden table filled the center of the room, covered in old papers and bottles. Boxes and suitcases were piled into one of the corners, with toys and children's clothes spilling out of them.

…Wait. They didn't take the clothes or toys?

Arthur frowned. "Did…did the Numbs leave all this here? But why?"

He could somewhat understand them leaving behind the toys, with that whole 'no fun allowed' mindset of theirs. Those bastards had banned just about every form of recreation in Wellington Wells within the first few weeks of the occupation, from cricket matches to chalk drawings.

But why leave behind the spare clothes? Surely those were practical enough to bring along to wherever the hell they ran off to?

Shaking his head, Arthur turned away. 'It doesn't matter. If they were storing these things here, then there's got to be a door to the tracks somewhere nearby.'

After all, there were only a handful of doorways from the room. One seemed to lead off towards some public toilets, another was labeled 'Parts Storage', and the last one's door had been completely knocked off its hinges.

'Well…I suppose it's less ominous than the other tunnel was. At least there's no blood or bodies around this time.'

Basking in that cheerful thought, Arthur made his way through the ruined doorway, hissing in pain with each uncomfortable step. If he bothered to take the time to look, he would probably find his whole body was covered in cuts and bruises. Still, at least none of his limbs were broken or twisted the wrong way. Even with the tracks nearby, he didn't fancy his odds of making it to safety with a ruined leg or arm.

Even better, the next room was devoid of any rabid Uncle Jack fans this time around. The place appeared to be a generator room, with massive machines whirring and rattling on the walls. Warnings of electrical discharges were plastered all around, and he could see a hand crank on one of the furthest generators. From there, one last doorway opened out into-

"The tracks! Yes!" Arthur cheered, pumping a fist into the air. Just ahead was the beautiful, soothing, incredible sight of the station platform, finally within reach. He could just peek over the edge at the rail tracks, leading off far into the tunnels beyond.

His ticket out of Wellington Wells was right ahead.

Right where everything went to shit, all those years ago.

"You are too old to go to Mantle, are you not?"

"He can't take care of himself!"

They'd even left the chain link fences standing nearby, their tops still covered in spools of barbed wire.

"I promised I'd go with him!"

"No! NO!"

Arthur shuddered, clutching his shoulders. It hadn't been his fault that he'd been left behind! They had only taken those who were under thirteen! He should have lied about his age, should have gotten on the train with Percy…but that damned constable…

'I'm sorry, Percy. But we'll meet up soon. Just like I promised.'

Stumbling towards the edge of the platform, Arthur slowly lowered himself down onto the tracks. The tunnel floor was lumpy and uneven, with piles of gravel spread out everywhere under the rails. With the way his legs were aching, it was all he could do simply to walk forwards, even unsteadily.

Unfortunately, his trek ended much, much too soon.

Just out of sight from the platform, only a few dozen feet away, the tunnel had collapsed. Car-sized chunks of stone and rubble were strewn everywhere, lit up by a single flickering light bulb.

The path to the Britannia Bridge was completely sealed.

"No…please, no…" Arthur whispered, clutching his head. "What the fuck do I do now?"

What could he do? It wasn't like he could just stroll back to the Parade District, with the Bobbies and Joy Detectors on all the bridges. The Underground was too labyrinthian for him to just backtrack his way to his office. There wasn't any way he could swim to the mainland unless he fancied trying to jump off the cliffs and into the ocean.

…Was there any way left to get out of town?

"FUCKING LEG IT, LADS!"

Startled at the sudden noise, Arthur twisted around. Back by the platform, a handful of people were rapidly approaching, lit up by their head lamps and the occasional fluorescent bulb. They looked like Headboys, but instead of the cocky, arrogant bastards that had charged into the station, these ones looked like they were running for their lives. Their jackets and jeans were torn even more than normal, and at least one of them was bleeding.

Which could only mean that the strangers had made it down to the tunnels as well.

'How did they all get down here?! The stairs were all blocked!' Arthur mentally cursed, looking for a place to hide.

He wasn't fast enough. Just as he noticed another door at the side of the tunnel, one of the Headboys caught up to him. The gang member quickly grappled onto him, trying to wrap his arms around Arthur's neck. Arthur struggled against him, but between the exhaustion and the rusty cleaver the Headboy had pulled out, he was quickly forced into submission.

Right where the two strangers were approaching, with two motionless Headboys in their wake.

"D-don't come any closer! I-I'll kill him!" The remaining Headboy shouted out, pressing the rusty blade against Arthur's throat.

Shockingly, the strangers didn't simply charge in and try to kill them both. Instead, the two strangers paused. Both were still keeping their weapons ready, but they almost seemed…hesitant?

'Now they're waiting?! What the hell is going on?!'

"Let him go." The strange girl said. "You've got nowhere else to run. We don't want to hurt you."

"D-don't want to – you just killed Harry and Henry!" The Headboy screamed.

"No, we didn't! They're just knocked out!" The strange boy said. The fact that he was glancing back at the bodies as he said that did little to bolster his argument.

"I-I'm not gonna let you turn me into V-Meat! Either you let me walk out of here, or this dumb sod gets gutted!" The Headboy continued, pressing the cleaver harshly against Arthur's throat. He could already feel a sharp sting from where the blade was cutting into his skin…

…and then it was gone?

Glancing down, Arthur noticed that the cleaver was starting to move away from his neck. However, it didn't seem like the Headboy was removing it willingly. Arthur could make out the gang member's arm struggling and shaking as he held onto it, like he was trying to pull it back in place.

The strange girl shrugged. "We warned you." She said, gesturing with one of her hands.

As she did so, the Headboy seemed to go off-balance, stumbling forwards and sending both him and Arthur tumbling towards the ground. The cleaver didn't drop down with the Headboy, however.

The cleaver was still floating in the fucking air.

"No…no, no, no!" The Headboy cried, inching backwards. "Witch! You're with the-!"

He never got to finish the sentence, as the girl's shield flew into his face with a brutal clang. The gang member immediately flopped backwards, unmoving.

The strange girl sighed, lowering her arm. Immediately, the cleaver stopped floating in mid-air, dropping onto the gravel with a soft thud.

"Hey, are you okay? Did you get hurt?" The strange boy asked, walking forwards.

Arthur blinked. "…You're…not going to kill me?"

The two strangers seemed startled by the question. "W-what? No!" The boy yelled, shaking his head. "We're here to try and help you!"

'…What.'

"You were the one that fell through the floor, right?" The strange girl asked. "Are you sure you're alright?"

So. The madmen who just showed up out of nowhere, thoroughly trounced an entire mob of Headboys, and had the ability to control metal with a gesture were supposedly concerned about his well-being.

…Well, this day had already featured some of the most bizarre events he'd ever experienced. Might as well go along with it until things started to make sense again. Or until he could get away from these madmen.

"No. No, I'm really not." Arthur grunted, cautiously sitting up. "Who are you? You're from out of town, right?"

"I'm Pyrrha, and this is Jaune." The newly named Pyrrha said, looking oddly at him. "We're student Huntsmen from Beacon Academy, sent here to…well, we're not entirely certain, to be honest. What's your name?"

"…Arthur Hastings." Arthur said, trying to filter through the rapidly increasing number of questions their arrival had raised. All those Headboys had been taken out by students? They had been sent here, of all the towns on Sanus, without even knowing why? Why had it taken anyone this long to send anyone to check up on Wellington Wells? And why the hell were they so calm about all of this?!

"Uh, hello? You're kinda spacing out there." Jaune interrupted, waving his hand in front of Arthur's face.

Arthur sighed. "Just…look, it's been a rough day for me, and this whole situation is completely mental. Can we…talk about this upstairs?" He asked, wincing as he stood up.

"Sure. If you want, we can also patch up any injuries you have up there." Pyrrha nodded, motioning back towards the platform.

"Much appreciated." Arthur mumbled. He started to shuffle forwards, but paused as Pyrrha made another gesture. In an instant, her shield had flown back into her hand, looking as if it had never been thrown in the first place. She hadn't even blinked as that happened!

'…What the hell have I gotten myself into?'

Ollie Starkey hated Fridays.

Granted, he hated most days, but Fridays tended to be especially frustrating for him. Not because of any hoity-toity Wellies or shitty hours at an office. No, Fridays were usually the day where his luck was simply the lowest in the week. Like the time the water pump broke down and he couldn't find spare parts, or the time someone fixed the loudspeakers a few blocks away and let that bastard talk again.

And now, after a remarkably noisy evening, he would have to add 'total Headboy warfare' to the list of terrible Fridays he'd experienced.

Fucking wastrels, with their bombs and their bullets and their stares. Who were they to take away the few bits of food he had tucked away? If they wanted their precious carrots and tea leaves that badly, they should have posted more than two guards at their supply cellars.

Well, all their taunting and bombing had been good for one thing; it gave him enough time to finish setting up the last of the barricades. If they tried to barge into the rest of the Station, they'd need another bomb just to get through the doors.

"It's just a bench. Do you really think that this will keep out whoever's shooting outside?"

"It's better than leaving the doors unlocked." Ollie replied, glancing back at Margaret. As usual, the young girl was just sitting around on part of the scaffolding, watching him do all the hard work. She did have the excuse of being dead to fall back on, but the constant questioning was still a little too much.

"And if they try to blow up the building again?" She asked, swinging her legs.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. With any luck, they've all gunned themselves down by now." Ollie waved her off, moving back towards the center of the hall. He could use a break after all that taunting and barricade-building, and a cup of tea sounded like just the thing for it.

Margaret looked like she was about to give off another retort, but suddenly paused. "…Do you hear that?" She asked, looking around.

"Hear what?"

"Someone else is talking. I think it's coming from downstairs."

Ollie paused, glancing towards the stairs to the platform. Sure enough, after a few moments, he could make out the faint sounds of conversation coming from underground, gradually getting louder and louder.

It was a bit of a shame. He'd spent all that time covering up the other entrances to the tracks, and the wastrels had managed to pry their way in anyways. Bunch of greedy, murderous bastards, the lot of them.

Oh well. He'd just have to show them the way back out.

Grabbing his cricket bat, Ollie carefully made his way over towards the top of the stairs. Best to deal with the rats before they got into the pantry, after all. Not like there was much food for them to steal in the first place.

It wasn't like any Headboys would be much of a threat, in any event. A few good knocks on the head would be more than enough to deal with whoever was down there, and if there happened to be too many of them, or if they still had guns, he'd just toss a Banger at them. It'd worked enough times in the past.

…Come to think of it, that may have something to do with why they'd set off a bomb outside his house. Those bastards sure knew how to hold grudges.

"Wait." Margaret said, suddenly appearing near the bottom of the stairs.

"What is it now?" Ollie asked exasperatedly.

"They don't sound like the other wastrels. They're…younger. And I think one of them is a woman." Margaret replied, peeking around the corner. "They certainly don't look like the other wastrels."

"What the hell does that-" Ollie started to say, only for the newcomers to walk out into view and bring his thoughts to a halt.

To put it plainly, the new arrivals were fucking weird.

The red-haired lass was dressed up like some sort of medieval soldier-type, straight out of the history books or fairy tales with her ancient armor and fancy metal stick. The blonde lad had just slapped a piece of armor plate over a jacket and some trousers, but the sword he was carrying looked like an actual proper tool of warfare.

And limping along between the two of them, of all the people to show up, was Artie fucking Hastings?!

"…Margaret? You didn't happen to invite a couple of friends to torment me, have ye?" Ollie asked.

"Not this time." Margaret cheerfully replied, reappearing right at his side.

"…Alright. Then I suppose we'd best go and meet the new arrivals." Ollie said, pointedly ignoring the implications of that answer.

Big thanks to Maldevinine for beta-ing this chapter!