Drifter took in the sights as he walked down the streets of Vale. The people here were relaxed and at ease, he noted. A stark contrast to the ever-present caution of those back home. He couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight of how the Huntsmen and ordinary citizens mingled as they went about their business.

It had been a long time since he'd seen such a relaxed and content populace. Perhaps it was even the first time.

He was among the first of the Risen—warriors of the Light who came in the time before Guardians. There had been little guidance from the Traveler, other than to rally underneath it.

But many had rejected the call.

In the decades that followed, the so-called Dark Age, Drifter had a front-seat view to witness the worst humanity had to offer. Many of the Risen, with their immortality and Light powers, quickly turned to becoming Warlords instead of heroes. Ordinary humans were not allies to be protected, but merely pawns to control in the battles between Warlords.

Even after centuries, when Risen became Guardians, there existed a gulf between them and ordinary humans. The two simply did not interact, and why would they?

To be a Risen or Guardian was to receive great power, yet almost all of them had forgotten their humanity. Death was merely an inconvenience, while hunger and thirst were foreign concepts. The bodies of Guardians rarely held any signs of injury because they resurrected so often.

The Huntsmen and Huntresses were not as removed from their humanity, perhaps, yet they still lived far different lives than those of the ordinary people of Vale. Drifter could see the mutual respect between the groups, though.

He continued to let his thoughts wander as he turned down an empty street, enjoying the taste of the bun he had purchased from a street vendor earlier.

Back on Earth, Drifter was known for his hunger. It was considered a peculiarity by the Guardians, who let their Ghosts cure their hunger and other ailments. He knew they could never understand what it meant to starve and be willing to eat anything to survive.

Shattering glass and various grunts from up ahead caught his attention. Drifter turned another corner to see an interesting sight.

A young girl in a red dress stood in the middle of several incapacitated men. Most notably, though, was the massive scythe she carried.

"There's something you don't see every day."

Across from him stood a man with a cane, wearing a white suit and a curious looking hat. Walking towards them, Drifter caught the tail-end of their conversation.

"—eventful evening. But—" the suited man turned, seeing Drifter in the corner of his eye. The man groaned. "Another one here to cause trouble?"

The girl saw him too. "Stay back!" she shouted, "he's a dangerous criminal!"

Drifter raised his hands placating. "Don't worry about me," he said with a smirk. "I'm just here for the show."

The suited man rolled his eyes and mumbled something before turning back to the girl. Raising his cane, he fired an explosive at her before running away.

Drifter watched with interest as she recovered from the explosion, looking around frantically before seeing the man climbing a nearby ladder and gave chase.

"Hah! Crazy kids."

Moving along the street, he watched the rooftop battle. The girl and man exchanged a few more blows before he retreated again. A Bullhead swept in and hovered by the edge of the roof, and the man jumped on it.

He turned and threw a crystal back towards the girl and Drifter winced as a massive explosion rocked the rooftop. That'd definitely leave a mark.

The smoke cleared, revealing the girl, unharmed, protected by another figure. None other than Glynda Goodwitch, much to his surprise.

"I guess that answers the question of who's the bad guy."

Glynda used her telekinetic powers to launch several projectiles at the Bullhead before it could flee, piercing its hull in several places. It seemed as if she'd bring it down, until another woman appeared in the doors of the ship.

She was wearing a dress, curiously enough, but the shadows of the ship concealed her face. The woman and Glynda exchanged projectiles for a few seconds, as the former sent out powerful blasts of fire.

Soon, however, the ship began to pull away while the girl in red ineffectively fired off several shots from her scythe.

Drifter toyed with the idea of getting involved, but decided against it. Having his Ghost summon a rocket launcher would be a simple solution, but the cluster-bomb ammunition detonating above the city would likely cause a few other problems for him down the line.

It was the right call, he decided, as he watched the two converse briefly before she was pulled away by a stern-looking Glynda.

"Must be a student," he reasoned. "And it looks like she's in trouble."

Thoroughly satisfied with how the evening had gone, Drifter began to walk back towards the docks so he could return to Beacon.

Seeing his first real battle between Huntsmen had been a treat. While they lacked the same resilience as Guardians, they certainly made up for it with their penchant for high explosives and crazy weapons.

"Didn't catch what the Semblances of the other two were, but Glynda's telekinesis has potential. Can't imagine the damage she could do with that in the right situation."

The next day came, and the preparation for the Gambit arenas was now underway. Drifter had spent the early morning with Port, securing a few storage containers for Grimm.

According to the professor, however, Grimm didn't last long in captivity, so he'd have to wait until closer to the first game before capturing them.

With that on hold, Drifter focused on preparing the arenas. Ozpin had offered limited aid, but Drifter declined it, stating he already had everything he needed. And so, he stood alone on the parcels of land given to him, by the edge of the Emerald Forest.

Not necessarily a lie. Thanks to the power of Glimmer, of which he had plenty, building the arenas was an easy task.

Glimmer was the de facto currency of the entire Solar System back home. Being a form of programmable matter, able to take a plethora of forms, it was valuable for almost any application.

Luckily for Drifter, his Ghost had accrued a great deal of Glimmer-related abilities over the centuries. So now it hovered around the area, converting Glimmer into preliminary structures for the arena.

"I'm thinking, three distinct areas for this. Already got forest, so maybe make that one area and clear the rest. One third forest, one third rocky cliffs, and the last section could be something a little more close-quarters. Concrete ruins?

"That'd work. I'll stick the bank and portal in the middle. Hard part will be making the second one identical to the first."

Normally, Drifter only needed one arena, while the second existed in a mirror dimension of sorts. Sending students to alternate dimensions would raise all sorts of questions, unfortunately, so he'd have to do things the old-fashioned way.

While his Ghost worked, Drifter walked deeper in the woods. He had a little experiment in mind, one that required a partner.

"I'm sure there's one of you around here somewhere," he called out. "I got a present for the first Grimm to come—hah, and here we've got a volunteer."

A Beowolf emerged from the bushes, sniffing and growling at him.

"Here boy, I got a friend you can play with."

Drifter summoned a Mote, and keyed it in his hand as it dissipated. Suddenly, an terrible howl split the air as a black portal opened up before him, spitting out a single figure before closing on itself.

The Taken Thrall he'd summoned was vaguely humanoid in shape. It'd probably stand around six feet tall, but its hunched posture made it appear much shorter.

Its body was a gradient of energy, a scorching white at the legs to a black torso and head, with a single, bright-white eye in the center of the head. The black arms ended in claws, burning orange with Solar energy. Flecks of dark energy continually floated off its body, as if it were dissolving into the air itself.

It stood, growling and twitching violently until it locked onto the Beowolf. The Grimm in question had flinched back at the summoning, clearly unsure of how to respond to the Taken in front of it.

As the Thrall approached, the Beowolf finally reacted. It charged forwards, sending a powerful swipe at it. The Thrall vanished, however, leaving a wispy, dark trail through the air before reappearing behind the Beowolf.

The Thrall clawed the side of the Beowolf with its claws, causing the Grimm to roar in pain before turning and trying to attack the Thrall again. The Thrall merely teleported again and continued its assault.

The game of cat-and-mouse went on for a few more passes, as Drifter watched in mild amusement. Eventually the Thrall was unable to teleport quickly enough, and the Beowolf's claws ripped the head off the late Taken, causing its body to fly backwards and dissolve into nothingness.

It was a not a clean victory for the Beowolf, however, who was sporting many wounds from the Thrall. Drifter pulled out his hand cannon and shot the Grimm, which went down without a sound.

He turned and walked back to the site of the arena, pleased with the outcome of his experiment. That Taken Thrall were only a little weaker than the resident Beowolves was a good sign.

Thrall were cheap to summon, and he could bring forth dozens or even hundreds at a time if he wished. While weak, their claws were lethal and their constant short-ranged teleportation made groups of them a nightmare to fight.

A mass of Taken Thrall should have no problem dealing with most problems that might crop up.

"I'll have to come out here again sometime and try that with a Bank hooked up," he decided.

Banks weren't just a place to throw Motes. They also allowed him to generate Motes from slain enemies. In the past he'd been able to pull Motes from killing almost anything of significance—humans, aliens, undead, and so on.

If the Bank worked to pull Motes from Grimm, he'd never run low again. Remnant was simply crawling with them.

The end of another day marked another night in town for Drifter.

He glanced down at his scroll as he walked.

Roman Torchwick:

Suspected Associates: Hei Xiong aka "Junior" …

A brief scan of the database had given him some insight into the world of crime in Vale and some knowledge of the white suited man from the previous night.

While he had secured a nice position at Beacon for the near future, Drifter didn't quite trust Ozpin for the long-term.

He had nothing against the headmaster, really. He just didn't trust anyone anymore.

Establishing a few connections with the city's underworld could provide a useful fallback in the future. And in a way, he found their types more reliable.

"Guy like Ozpin, you gotta make him like you. Have to work for it. Fools like these will stick by you given money and fear," he thought.

As he continued down the weathered streets, Drifter could see a few shady types giving sideways glances. None of them tried anything, though. A man like him didn't seem to be an easy mark.

Even if they wanted to, they wouldn't get far. Knowing he might get on the wrong side of some Lightbearers—rather, "Aura users"—on this side of town, he'd swapped out his normal hand cannon for a rather special one.

A heavy, black revolver with sharp, angular lines and green light emanating from the core.

Thorn.

Its weight was reassuring, but not comforting.

Thorn was an ancient weapon, once cursed to drive the wielder insane. The curse had been since lifted, but the lethality remained. Imbued the darkest magic in the galaxy, built through hate and sorrow, it was a weapon created for slaying Guardians by devouring their Light.

Drifter had yet to test it on an Aura user, but he could imagine the effects.

Back home he'd never dare carry a weapon like it openly—it'd draw all kinds of attention from all the wrong people. Here, though, he could afford to relax.

Looking up, he saw the glowing lights from the building ahead. His destination, The Club, would be a good place to get started.

Drifter slipped in, facing no challenges. The inside of the club was dark, with flashing lights and loud music playing. Dozens of people were on the multicolored dance floor.

He stuck to the sides, making his way to the bar on the side. A few of the nearby patrons gave him curious looks. Unsurprising, given how his attire stuck out from the rest.

"Looks like I'm in the right place," Drifter thought as he saw a distinctive hat and white jacket.

Torchwick was here, speaking with a bearded man by the bar. They appeared to have a disagreement, as Torchwick turned and went for the exit, while the man groaned and shook his head.

He made his way over to the bar. Seeing Drifter he groaned again.

"And what do you want?" he challenged.

Drifter spread his arms with a smile. "What, can't a man come here to have some fun?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Not dressed like that. You a Huntsman or something?"

"Nah, just new in town. I reckon you're Junior"

"Hm, so you know who I am," Junior replied, stepping over to the bar. He grabbed a drink from the bartender, but kept an eye on Drifter the entire time.

"Course I do, I came here just for you," Drifter said, leaning next to Junior. "Like I said, I'm new in town. Lookin' to make some friends."

"I run a business," he replied stiffly, taking a drink. "Not a social club."

Drifter laughed. "I get that brother, everyone's gotta make a living somehow. I could use some information here and there, maybe some of your guys to watch my back later on. That sort of thing."

"Is that so? If you've got the Lien, we can make something work."

"I got plenty of that, don't you worry. Saw you over there talking to ol' Torchwick, I figure you're in the market for a new customer now?"

Junior grumbled. "Idiot sent my men against a Huntress, what'd he expect?" He gave Drifter a sideways glance. "It'd be smart to not throw around names like that though. Never know who's listening. Speaking of, you got a name? Always nice to know who you're doing business with."

"Wu Ming."

"Don't suppose that's your real name?"

Drifter shrugged. "I've got a few. It's as real as Hei Xiong, anyways."

Junior raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to m—"

"Strawberry Sunrise, no ice. Oh! And one of those little umbrellas," a voice next to them cut in.

Junior pushed himself off the bar and looked over at her. "Aren't you a little young to be in this club, blondie?"

Drifter turned to look at the blonde girl, quickly glancing her over.

"Quite a provocative outfit she's got on. Those bracelets don't look normal to me, guessing they're one of those Mecha-Shift weapons everyone's got. Could be another Huntress."

"Aren't you a little old to be called Junior?" she shot back.

Junior crossed his arms. "So you know who I am, huh? You here for pleasure or business?"

She glanced over at Drifter, eyeing him up. "I got business with you, Junior."

"Don't worry about me, he and I were just about finished," Drifter told her with a wave. "I'll swing by later, we can work out all the little details," he added with a look towards Junior.

He stepped away from the two, giving them some space. Drifter didn't care much for eavesdropping. At least, not when it wasn't anything of importance.

Leaning back, he swept his gaze over the crowd. So many carefree people partying and enjoying themselves was something he had never seen back on Earth.

Drifter wondered if he'd ever been to a real party before. He once got a front-row seat for watching a team of Guardians beat down Tech Witches and stuff high explosives down the mouth of a wish-granting space dragon. Not quite the same as a nightclub, but he would certainly call it a party.

Hearing a commotion, he looked up to see the blonde girl punching Junior across the dance floor. Her bracelets expanded to reveal several gun barrels, and Junior's men began drawing weapons.

"Hah, called it! Guess I can assume anything weird these people carry is a gun of some kind. And now it looks like the real party is about to start."

The ordinary patrons screamed and fled as Junior's men engaged the girl. She jumped into the air as they closed in, punching the ground on impact and creating a shock wave that sent the men flying.

Drifter ducked as one of them was sent past him and behind the bar, where he crashed noisily. He looked back to where the man had landed and saw something that got his interest.

"Looks like Drifter's got himself a free Strawberry Sunrise," he thought, grabbing the forgotten drink and pushing the umbrella aside to take a sip. "Not bad at all. Sure beats boiled Vex milk."

He turned his attention back to the fight. Most of the guards were down, and it looked like the DJ was next. The DJ, wearing a giant teddy bear mask, had pulled out a gun and began spraying at the girl. She nimbly evaded the inaccurate fire, jumping behind the equipment and giving the DJ a thorough beat down before throwing him back towards the center of the room.

There, in the center, were another two girls walking up. One in a red dress, the other in a white one. They spoke to each other briefly before engaging the first girl.

"This damn world's crazy," Drifter thought, shaking his head. "What's with all these heavily armed girls swinging guns and blades?"

He watched the fight with interest. The newcomers were definitely a cut above the rest of Junior's men.

"Are they Huntresses too? Maybe rogue ones," Drifter muttered aloud. He stuck an open hand behind the bar. "Hey Ghost," he whispered, "get me some data. Don't let them see you."

The Ghost appeared, covertly scanning the fighters from its position.

From the two fights he'd now witnessed, Drifter felt like he was getting a good understanding of the capabilities of Huntresses. They were fast. Very fast, and their skill in melee combat was commendable.

He'd even go as far as to say their proficiency in these areas surpassed Guardians. Even Guardians of the Titan class, known for their love of barehanded fighting, would look slow and simple comparatively. Not that it speed was much of a hindrance for them, when a single punch could literally turn an enemy to dust.

"Ouch!" he remarked, as the blonde girl got the better of the other two and sent them flying into the wall with powerful kicks.

"Yang Xiao Long. Hotheaded brawler with a penchant for trouble," Drifter summarized, glancing at the data his Ghost had pulled. Finding out the blonde girl was an incoming student at Beacon was a useful bit of information.

Junior reappeared on the far end of the dance floor. This time he looked ready, carrying a massive rocket launcher on his shoulders.

"You're gonna pay for this," he growled, pointing it at the girl, who squared off against him.

"Hey now!" Drifter called out. "I think now's a good time to stop. You crazy kids are about to destroy the whole damn building."

The two stilled, turning to look at him. Junior seemed annoyed. The girl looked like she'd found another target.

"She wrecked my bar!"

"Stay out of this, unless you want some of this too!"

Drifter set his drink down and pushed himself off the bar, walking towards the two. The girl stiffened as he approached, pointing a shotgun-gauntlet at him.

"Easy now," Drifter said, raising his hands. "I can pay for the damages, Junior. Consider it a gift to start our new friendship. And you, Miss Xiao Long, should stand down. I'd hate to see one of my students hurt in a bar brawl."

Yang's face paled and she stepped away. "N-No way. You're not a Professor at Beacon, are you?"

He winked. "I'll be seeing you in class in a week. Don't worry, this'll be our little secret. Besides you didn't start this fight, you finish—well, no, you did start this fight didn't you? Still, I won't tell."

Her combat rage gone, Yang looked mortified at the revelation. Junior shot Drifter a glare.

"Seriously? You can't expect me to ignore what she's done."

"None of your boys died, and I'll pay to fix your club up. Just look the other way for me, will ya?" Drifter turned to Yang and gestured toward the door. "Why don't you head out for now, while Junior and I talk."

She nodded mutely before hurrying towards the door.

"Damn trouble-making brats," Junior complained, setting his launcher down. "You better have enough Lien to cover this damage. This place is a mess."

Drifter patted him on the shoulder. "Like I said, I got plenty. Just send me the bill. Gotta say though, all your men beat up by a little girl again? Not a good look, brother."

Junior threw his hands up in resignation. "They're cheap goons. I stick 'em in suits and give them a weapon. I don't expect trained Huntresses to come down here and pick fights."

Yang Xiao Long was not, in fact, a trained Huntress yet, but Drifter decided that part was best left unsaid.

"I get it," he replied instead. Drifter leaned forward conspiratorially. "Though if you're looking for a firepower upgrade, I might just have the thing."