Ding!
The bell chimed as Drifter entered the shop.
"Be right there," called an elderly voice from the back.
It was a clean little store, designed for an upscale clientele—if the tasteful interior was anything to go by. Display cases ran the perimeter of the room, but most were empty.
The shopkeeper emerged and stepped behind the counter. An older man, with a lined face and patchy white hair. He flinched slightly upon seeing Drifter, but kept his composure.
"How can I help you today sir?" the shopkeeper asked. "I'm afraid our current selection is limited," he added, gesturing to the cases.
"Don't you worry about that," Drifter responded.
He walked up to the counter, lifting the case he had been carrying, and set it down between them.
Popping the lock, he opened the case and turned it so the shopkeeper could look inside. The man breathed in sharply upon seeing the contents.
"I got some Dust here. Looking to sell, you interested?"
"O-Of course!" he started. "Dust has been so scarce recently. Between Torchwick is robbing Vale blind, damn him, and the White Fang attacking the SDC convoys..." the man trailed off, shaking his head. "You must be the first person in months to have extra Dust to sell."
"Guess my preparation paid off," Drifter remarked with a smile. "So how much we lookin' at here?"
"I can give you market price?" he offered.
Drifter nodded.
"Excellent," the man smiled back. "Give me a moment, I need to get a scale and measure what you have," he explained, moving to the side and rummaging through the cabinets.
As the old man set about his work, Drifter tried to stifle a laugh.
Dust, the people of Remnant wanted Dust above all else. For them it was a vital resource, integral to their way of life.
For Drifter, though? He found that all it took was a little Glimmer infused with his Light to create new Dust. Solar, Arc, and Void Light could create Fire, Lightning, and Gravity Dust respectively.
He need to experiment more with other types to Dust. If he could find some for sale, his Ghost could analyze the composition. From what he had seen so far, Dust was a kind of Light-infused crystal. Curiously, it did not work outside Remnant's atmosphere, implying that proximity to the planet itself was the source of the energy. His Ghost had yet to find anything from its scans, however.
Drifter's eyes lit up as he saw the hefty sum adding up, as the shopkeeper measured and calculated the value of the crystals.
If he turned all his Glimmer to Dust, he could be the wealthiest man on Remnant! Not that he would, of course, as that would draw unwanted attention.
Plus, Torchwick's robberies had driven the price of Dust sky-high. Drifter wasn't about to let the man's efforts go to waste.
One transaction later, and Drifter left the shop and proceeded down the street again. The value of the entire case of Dust came out to nearly seventy thousand Lien-or about two years' salary for an average worker. Not a huge amount, but enough for a comfortable few months.
His pockets now had comfortable weight to them. Some Lien lined them, while he sent the rest to the bank account of one Wu Ming.
Being a literal alien to the planet made opening an account challenging. Luckily for him, government cybersecurity was nothing to his Ghost.
And so Wu Ming was born. Immigrant from Mistral, forty years old, and a wandering artist. That'd explain the large, irregular deposits to any prying eyes. Or so he hoped.
He would likely have to make a second identity to register with Beacon soon. Ozpin had accepted a certain amount of secrecy, but he seemed like the sort who overall enjoyed having his bases covered.
Drifter couldn't imagine they would allow him to become an official Beacon instructor without at least some personal information—not that he could blame Ozpin for his caution.
After covering a few more blocks, Drifter ended up back outside The Club. It was still a bright, early afternoon, and the street in front of The Club was deserted. He let himself in the front door and walked through the empty entrance towards the main hall.
"Ah, you're here," one guard by the dance floor said, jerking his thumb towards the bar. "Junior's waiting for you."
Drifter nodded, heading towards Junior.
The main hall was practically empty, except for a handful of Junior's men working to clean and repair the damage from the other night. Progress had been fast; at the pace they were working, they could reopen in another day.
He noticed the girls noted the girls in the distinctive dresses standing to the side. Seemed they had already recovered from the fight. Most of Junior's men were not as quick to recover, however. The fight from the other night had definitely thinned his numbers.
He supposed it was the difference between having Aura and having none. He found it odd so many people in Remnant lived without it.
"Wu, good to see you again," Junior welcomed him, having walked over to meet Drifter halfway. "How've you been?"
Drifter caught the hint of expectation in the man's voice.
"I'm all right. Here, got something for you" he replied, reaching in his pocket for a stack of Lien and tossing it over. "This outta cover the damages."
Junior caught it and flipped through the cards, nodding. "You came through, I can respect that. Nice to have someone reliable around!" Junior rose his voice at the end, shooting a glare at his men.
Drifter laughed. "Glad to hear it. That's not all I got for you, though. Brought a few of those guns, if you're interested. You got somewhere I can set 'em down?"
He received a quizzical glance from Junior, who was pointedly looking at the empty-handed Drifter. "Alright, follow me," he eventually said with a shrug.
Drifter followed him to the back and through a set of doors, coming to The Club's stock room.
"This'll do. You got them under your coat or something?"
"Not quite," Drifter said with a grin. "Transmat firing!"
"Transmat wh-"
A long, short wooden crate appeared in front of them with a flash.
"What the heck?!" Junior shouted. "What was that?"
"Trade secret," Drifter said while stepping over to the crate and prying off the top. "Don't worry about it."
The crate's lid came off, clattering to the ground. The two men stood beside it, peering inside. A row of ten submachine guns sat inside, a faint orange glow coming from them and the word "VEIST" marked on the grips.
Junior tilted his head to inspect the sides. "Fancy looking things."
Drifter reached inside, picking one up and patting the top.
"Got the best for you, brother. Side-loading submachine guns. 900 rounds per minute, integrated suppressor, and an internal Solar-er, Fire Dust reactor to give your shots a little extra kick. Got an on-board computer too, helps with targeting and recoil."
Junior whistled appreciatively as Drifter handed him the gun. "Quite a long list. Where'd you get these, some kind of Atlas tech?" he asked while he looked it over.
"You guessed it."
Junior was wrong, but Drifter wasn't about to correct him. No point in opening the 'extraterrestrial technology' box of worms if he could help it. The presence of a technologically advanced, secretive military power like Atlas was a boon in that regard--Drifter could write off anything strange as being a stolen prototype from Atlas.
"Can't wait to see how they perform, then. Atlas always had the craziest stuff. How much do I owe you?"
"Couple thousand, just to cover transport costs. Consider these a sample of sorts. If you like them, I'll get you more."
"You really came through on this," Junior replied. He extended a hand to shake Drifter's. "My thanks. Though I'm guessing you're wanting something in return now?"
"A little information," Drifter admitted. "Hoping to meet that Torchwick fella, know where I could find him?"
Junior shook his head. "Roman's a hard man to find. He and I are done, anyway," he said. His voice carried a hint of anger.
"He's that unhappy with your men, huh?"
"Maybe," he answered, setting the gun back in the crate. "Better for me, though. I hear he's got new partners, including the White Fang. Don't know why he's working with them, but terrorists are always bad for business."
"Huh, White Fang. Haven't had the pleasure of meeting them myself, but I've heard of them. They're the train robbers, aren't they?"
"Something like that. Those Faunus claim they're about equality, but from what I've seen they just want anarchy," Junior groused. "Their presence in Vale is growing, that only means trouble for us."
Drifter nodded in understanding. He thought quietly for a moment before turning to Junior.
"Tell me about them."
The Faunus were an item of interest to Drifter. Nothing like them existed back on Earth. When he'd first seen the animal traits on people in Vale, he'd assumed they were just an odd fashion choice.
If the archives were any indication, Golden Age humans had worn stranger things.
He'd have to research their species more later on. He was rather curious as to their origins. Magic gone wrong, perhaps?
Drifter decided to investigate the White Fang as well. If they'd work with humans like Torchwick, they'd probably be open to work with him too. An organization like theirs would surely need guns and Dust. He could establish ties with them and make some Lien alongside a few new friends.
Right now, Drifter wanted to play both sides-doing so had served him well in the past.
There was no such thing as too many friends, after all.
He wanted Gambit to get big. Real big. He'd seen how the Hunters loved to fight, and he saw potential there.
Drifter could use them to farm Motes, and pick up a new crew along the way. The thought excited him, a rare emotion for the man.
There was no Vanguard or Darkness in Remnant, and so, nothing to challenge him.
Beacon was a start but he'd need more than Glimmer and Grimm. He needed manpower, information, and for all the other factions of Vale to stay out of his business.
He believed Junior would prove his value in time, but getting in bed with the White Fang could be beneficial too.
He spent over an hour at The Club getting information. Junior knew few detials about White Fang operations, but he knew enough to be useful. Rival gangs were being pushed out of Faunus-heavy districts of Vale. These territorial shifts indicated the likely storage locations and meeting points for the White Fang.
"Adam Taurus and Roman Torchwick. Doesn't make much sense, but those'll be the major players in Vale now," Junior had told him.
"Is it odd they're working together?"
Junior had nodded, stroking his beard in thought. "The Fang hate humans. And Torchwick, his thing was looting expensive stuff, the big jobs. He switched up his entire MO to Dust only at the same time he allied with the Faunus. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was working for them."
Drifter thought on their conversation as he rode the Bullhead back to Beacon.
Junior was right, he realized. It was strange for someone like Torchwick to drop everything for Dust robberies and an alliance with the White Fang.
Perhaps the Fang merely had deep pockets. Or, perhaps they were missing something. Assuming Torchwick didn't have a change of heart, he wondered if there was a third party involved.
Regardless of their hidden motivations, he found the idea of investigating the White Fang appealing, as it would be a new experience. Back home there were pirates, outlaws, and invaders, but terrorists were something he never experienced before.
Disembarking from the Bullhead, he began to walk back towards his room. While crossing the Beacon campus he noticed a familiar black-and-green suited figure coming down the path towards him.
"Ah, Drifter. How was your trip to Vale?" Ozpin asked as he approached.
"Good, good. Vale's got a lot to see."
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Glad I ran into you actually, I had something to talk to you about."
Drifter raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yes, well, I'd just like to ask how you're progressing? I haven't yet had a chance to see your progress for myself."
"It's going well, should be done in a day. You want come by and see it? You'll be the first to get a grand tour of the arenas."
"That is an excellent idea. I have a few other things to discuss then, as well."
Drifter nodded. "Send me a time and I'll be there, boss."
Ozpin wished him a good evening, and the two parted as Drifter gave a casual two-fingered salute. As the other man went out of view, Drifter's smile dropped.
Ozpin was an enigma to him. Drifter could tell the man was several lifetimes old, but he was not a Light wielder like himself.
The headmaster hid his thoughts well, but Driftet could tell Ozpin only wanted him because he was an unknown.
Fine by him. After all, he just wanted Ozpin's kids for Gambit.
Still, Drifter knew he would have to remain cautious. It was all pleasantries now, but sooner or later they would be trying to play each other.
Drifter was accustomed to deceit, but rarely had he had to deal with such subtlety. Back in the Dark Ages, diplomacy was nothing more than keeping up boldfaced lies until someone pulled out a gun.
Even the Guardian Age didn't require much subtlety, since most people didn't trust him anyways.
Returning to his room, Drifter scanned his scroll to get inside and flipped on the lights.
"Ghost, pull everything we have from the database on the White Fang," he called out as he sat down at the desk. "Faunus too."
It'd be a long night.
The Ghost complied, scanning the computer and pulling up the needed files. Drifter began to click through them, his eyes flying across the screen as he quickly read through the page of information, committing important facts to memory before switching to the next page.
He idly flipped one of his signature coins—green jade with twin snakes-in his left hand while he read. His Ghost stayed hovering quietly by his shoulder.
Drifter sat there for hours, long past the setting of the sun, and continued to read. He finished learning all he could about the White Fang from the database, though Beacon lacked a great deal of information about their inner workings.
He moved on to learning about the Faunus species, although they themselves appeared to be shrouded in more mystery than even the White Fang.
'Despite the concerted efforts of global teams in researching the origin of Faunus, current theories differ greatly, with the field having one of the most skewed theory-to-data ratios of any subject.'
'Read more: Faunus origin theories'
'Other topics that may interest you: Fairy tales of Remnant.'
"Fairy tales, huh?" Drifter muttered.
He clicked.