Drifter stood by the arenas early in the morning, waiting for Ozpin. He had arrived early in the morning, letting his Ghost out to complete the finishing touches. He was careful to conceal his Ghost well before Ozpin scheduled his arrival. His Ghost was better kept a secret.
In the meantime, he sat on a rock, tossing one of his jade coins to pass the time.
The secrecy reminded him of the early years of his life. After he had first become Risen, he had hid his Light-given power. Instead of going off to fight, he opted to live a simple life in an isolated village, trying to fit back into normal human life.
None discovered his true identity, and life was good for a time. When the other villagers weren't around, he'd use his Light to work small miracles and help others when he was able.
That was centuries ago, though. He'd since learned the importance of self above all else.
Unfortunately, the peaceful life in the village did not last; the squabbles of the other Risen reached the village. The Iron Lords, so-called warriors of good, used the village to prepare an ambush for a group of Warlords. In the ensuring battle, everything burned, and none of the villagers survived.
It was his first real experience of what the Light was could do—the power to save humanity, being abused by fools in their petty disputes.
"Ah, good morning, Drifter," a voice broke his musings.
Turning, he saw Ozpin approaching with Glynda at his side.
"Morning," Drifter replied. "Ready to tour the arenas?"
"Lead the way, we will follow."
With the introductions done, Drifter stood and walked towards the center of the first arena.
They sat at the base of the cliffs below Beacon, positioned right next to each other. A thick swath of forest separated the two.
The circular arenas were small enough so that a fighter could jog across one in a minute or two. However, there was enough space to make sure positioning and weapon choice mattered. While fighters could see across the arena, they'd need to close distance to take out Grimm unless they carried a rifle.
"As you can see, I cleared the forest away from here," he explained. "The rock base of the cliff to our left is one zone. The forest up ahead is another, and that concrete rubble to the right marks our third."
Ozpin and Glynda looked around at each point as Drifter mentioned them.
"This is a lot of work for one person, especially in just a few days," Glynda noted. Her voice carried a hint of suspicion.
Drifter waved it off: "Eh, it's nothing, I've done this many times before. Not like I had to do any heavy lifting, anyway."
"Oh, is your Semblance related to telekinesis?" she inquired.
He nodded. "Something like that."
The lie came with no hesitation.
"We're reaching the center now, and up on this little hill is the Bank," he told them, pointing at a short metal cylinder sticking out of the ground.
He walked up to it and crouched, slipping a hand around to press a hidden button.
With a hiss it unfolded and rose, revealing a large, metal-capped glass cylinder. The inside appeared to burn with swirling black and white flames. On each side were four triangular shaped ports.
"That is a most interesting device," Ozpin noted.
"My pride and joy," Drifter responded. "Built every one of these myself. Grimm will come from one side of the arena at a time, students will go there, kill 'em, grab Motes, and bank them here.
"There's a second arena exactly like this one on over there," he said, pointing back the way they had come. "Got a little fence and some rocks around each one to mark the arena boundaries."
"I see. The setup is impressive. And your Banks," Ozpin said, gesturing to it with his cane, "they are what will let us harvest and use these Motes?"
Drifter didn't answer immediately, first glancing between Ozpin and Glynda. "In a way, yes."
"You may be frank, Glynda is trustworthy."
"All right then," Drifter said with a nod. "These Banks will pull Motes from Grimm near them. Like I said earlier, I believe they're a solution to your infestation."
"And what do the Motes do?" Glynda asked. "Besides summon Grimm, I mean. How do they help us fight them?"
"They're power," he replied. "Think of them as being like Dust—raw potential, raw power. With enough time to study them, who knows what's possible? I bet you could make a weapon to counter Grimm on a large scale."
Controlling Grimm was another likely possibility he knew, but left it unsaid. No reason to make them panic at the notion of the wrong person doing so.
"And what did you use them for previously?" Ozpin asked. "I recall you mentioned past employers."
Drifter cursed inwardly at the direct question. He'd been hoping to avoid it for a while longer, but knew it was inevitable. Eventually he'd have to explain the summoning of the Taken.
Better bite the bullet now.
He leaned towards the two, dropping his voice. "Believe it or not, there're monsters out there other than Grimm. With Motes, you can summon them. Use them. Make them fight for you."
He leaned back and gestured to the dark forest behind them.
"Look at this, you've got a forest full of Grimm right next to your own home. Huntsmen and Huntresses are strong, but they ain't enough to win a war! What you need—what we need—is an army of our own."
"Show me," Ozpin commanded. His posture remained as calm as ever, but his eyes carried a sharp glint to them.
"Sure thing, brother. Let's just get some space first," Drifter replied, stepping away from them.
He pulled a Mote into his left hand, keeping his right free to grab his gun, just in case either of his companions reacted poorly to the summoning.
He keyed it, spinning the little pyramid around his finger as it faded into the air.
The unearthly howl of a Taken portal sounded for the second time on Remnant. The dark portal opened in the air, spitting out a Taken Thrall, before closing in on itself.
Despite what he may have suggested, controlling the Taken was no easy task. Even for something as weak as a Thrall, it cost almost five times as many Motes to control it as it did to summon it.
With so many motes invested in the Thrall, Drifter was able to sense the potency of the Darkness surrounding him. It was as if he gripped the very threads of the Darkness itself and yanked them to control the Taken Thrall like a puppet.
He willed the Thrall to remain still, and it did. The inhuman creature stood before the three, hunched over. Its body twitched violently.
Ozpin and Glynda both flinched as the portal appeared, and they stepped away from the creature that fell out of it.
"W-What is that?!" Glynda gasped. "A monster?"
"Of sorts," he replied.
Ozpin approached the Thrall, careful to keep some distance. With no reaction coming from it, he adjusted his glasses and gave it a close look.
"Most interesting," the headmaster said. "I've ever seen such a thing. What exactly is this?"
Drifter shrugged. "Don't really know myself, but it's fast, strong, and loyal. A bit like a dog," he said with a laugh. "We found them on the other side of Remnant, in the far deserts past Vacuo. Not Grimm, I think, but about as tough a Beowolf."
Another lie, and one he had prepared beforehand if needed. It was easier than trying to explain how it was actually a corrupted foot soldier, taken from a space-bug monarchy built on Dark magic.
"Is it safe?" Glynda asked, as she too approached the Thrall to look it over.
"Sure," Drifter replied easily. "It only attacks Grimm. None of those near us, so it'll just stand here until I unsummon it."
"I can tell it's not a Grimm," she replied. "It has Aura, but it's faint and cold. It feels wrong."
"There are always new discoveries in this world, I suppose," Ozpin muttered. "Could you describe how you came upon it in the first place?"
Drifter nodded. "Ruins in the deserts, like I said. I'd been in the region, wandering for some time. Come in contact with some locals and they ask me for help with a monster problem.
"I'm thinking it's just Grimm, so I head in the ruins. A dark pyramid, and I found these fellas inside. Didn't attack me unless I attacked them. So, I experimented with them. Studied them. A year later and I figured out the secret.
"Never been able to find that ruin again, nor the local tribe. But after seeing how these things fight Grimm, I realized their potential. An army of our own—they're our Salvation."
"And so," Ozpin filled in, "you want to gather more of these. But to do so you need people to slay Grimm near your Banks?"
"You got it. Takes more than just the Banks, though, need the whole setup. Gotta kill lots of Grimm too-that's why I'm here, and not running through the woods shooting the Grimm myself," Drifter explained.
"This is a most intriguing development," Ozpin replied. "I see the potential, and it would be in Beacon's best interest to help you with your research."
Glynda sniffed. "I am wary of these monsters, but I agree we should carefully explore their potential." She gave Drifter a pointed look. "If you learn more about them, I trust we will be the first to know?"
"Of course."
"Good, good. If we are to begin research into Motes and these creatures," Ozpin continued, "I feel it is proper to extend to you a formal position at Beacon, both as a lead researcher for this project, and an instructor for Gambit."
Drifter smiled. "Sure thing, I'd be happy to accept."
"Excellent. Although, we will need a real name. Routine paperwork, I'm sure you understand," Ozpin said with a pointed stare over his glasses.
He gave a mock sigh. "Fine, fine, put me down as Dredgen Hope."
He studied Ozpin and Glynda's faces, looking for any signs of recognition. There were none.
Ozpin smiled back and offered his hand. "A unique name to be sure. Glad to have you aboard, Mister Hope. Glynda will send you everything that needs to be signed?"
The woman nodded. "I'll send it to your Scroll by the end of the day."
"Thanks," Drifter told them, shaking their hands. "But please, just call me Drifter."
After the demonstration, Ozpin and Glynda returned to the headmaster's office.
"What do you think of him?" Ozpin asked her.
Glynda sighed. "I don't know what to think. I certainly don't trust him. That monster he created, we've no idea what it is. Is it possible that he and Salem—"
"No," Ozpin interjected. "No, I like to consider myself a good judge of character. He's not one of her pawns, of that I am sure. Too free spirited."
"What of the monster, then?" she asked.
"I doubt that's one of Salem's creations," Ozpin replied. "She only has power over the soulless Grimm. Despite its appearance, it has some kind of Aura."
Glynda frowned. "So an unknown?"
"Precisely." Ozpin moved behind his desk and took a seat. "I've never heard of monsters such as those, but it's possible they existed on the outskirts of the world and outside our knowledge."
"I suppose that is true, especially for the regions past Vacuo."
"Indeed. It is also important to remember that my power, and Salem's, resulted from only one of the gods' many actions on Remnant. This may result from something else entirely, unrelated to either of us."
"If Salem is ignorant of their existence, this may prove beneficial for us," Glynda reasoned.
Ozpin nodded. "My thoughts exactly. It's been a long time since we've had any hidden cards on our side. This Dredgen Hope—or Drifter, as he prefers—will be a valuable piece against Salem."
"So you trust him?"
"No, not yet. But can we afford not to?"
"I suppose not."
Ozpin tapped his desk for a moment, deep in thought. "Dredgen Hope is an unusual name. Not a modern one, for sure."
Glynda looked up in surprise. "You don't suppose…" she trailed off.
"It's a possibility. When we first met, he said a most curious thing to me: 'You're like me.' I believe he knows what, but not who, I am."
"If he truly is from your era, why reveal himself now?"
"A good question. For now we can only guess at his motives. I have many questions I'd like to ask him myself, but I fear if we are too aggressive, we will drive him away and straight to Salem's arms. For now we must wait and watch. Glynda, can I trust you to help me with this?"
"Of course," she answered. "I will monitor him closely."
"Thank you, but take care to be discreet," Ozpin said with a nod. "No need to ruffle any feathers just yet. And speaking of which, I will get back in contact with our little bird soon. Another pair of eyes would be useful."
Drifter sat back in the office chair in his room, submitting the last of the forms with a click of the keyboard. He kept as much as he could blank, only answering the bare minimum, and letting his Ghost generate all the fine details so they'd stand up to scrutiny.
Dredgen Hope, born in a village on the outskirts of Vacuo. Forty years old.
To take the title of Dredgen was a risk, he realized, but one he had to take. It comforted him that Ozpin had not recognized.
"Dredgen" was a title adopted by Light-wielders who also used the Darkness. To don it was to make a bold statement, one that would draw attention from all factions and create strong foes and allies.
If there were any others from Earth on Remnant, they'd come for Drifter immediately, for better or for worse.
Dangerous, perhaps, but at least Drifter would learn of their presence quickly. If other forces of the Light or Dark were present in Remnant, he could not afford to be ignorant of their existence.
As he thought back on that morning, Drifter was still pleasantly surprised that Ozpin had accepted his cover story for the Taken Thrall so easily. He had assumed that the deserts of Vacuo would be a mysterious area and thus relied heavily on that mystery in the story.
Despite how smooth progress had been thus far, he was aware Ozpin did not fully trust him yet. The headmaster might even get too nosy for Drifter's liking as time went on. However, that did not matter to him. As long as he got Gambit running, things would take care of themselves, and he would have a steady supply of Motes and a pool of fighters to recruit into his crew.
Even if Ozpin were to find out the truth and remove him from Beacon, he could get Hunters to follow.
After all, Gambit was like a drug.
Drifter knew all too well that even the best of people would question themselves once they felt the intoxicating power of the Darkness at their disposal. Nearly every Guardian that played one game of Gambit came back for another.
Well, except those whose team permanently died. They always seemed to hold a grudge.
On the desk, his Scroll began to vibrate. Drifter saw the caller and frowned. He'd have to pick up a second Scroll soon. If he got a call from Junior while next to someone like Ozpin, there would be some troublesome questions sent his way.
He picked up the Scroll and answered. "Junior, how's it hanging brother?"
On the screen he saw Junior standing against a dimly lit wall. From the faint music in the background, Drifter assumed he was calling from The Club.
"Hey Wu, got some info I thought might interest you in," he said.
"Oh? What's that?"
Junior checked the sides before turning back and answering. "Fang's made a move on my turf. Small abandoned warehouse a few blocks away, bordering the industrial district. I don't care for it, but they do. One of my guys saw a bunch of theirs offloading supplies in it."
Drifter hummed in thought. "Anyone important there?"
Junior shrugged. "No clue. That's all I know."
"Then give me a few of your men. I'll go check it out tonight."
"What?! Are—" Junior leaned closer to his Scroll. "Are you crazy?!" he hissed. "I'm not starting a war with the Fang, no way!"
"Easy there, brother," Drifter said. "Not starting a war, just want to have a chat. I can make a deal with 'em."
"And they're not receptive?" the other man challenged.
Drifter shrugged. "I'm sure I can make it work. Besides, if things go sideways, your men got brand new guns to dig us out with."
Junior hesitated before replying. "Fine, but try not to start anything. I can give you, like, four guys. That's it."
"Sounds good, brother. I'll come by The Club later."
The call disconnected. Drifter stood, taking a second to stretch.
"Come on, Ghost," he called. "Let's go meet some bad guys."
"—and I want all my guys back tonight, and in one piece. Wait, four pieces!" Junior shouted over the music as he tried to keep up with Drifter. The two were walking across the dance floor of The Club, back to the entrance.
Drifter rolled his eyes. "Don't worry* brother. I'll have your daughters back by midnight. Safe and sound."
"Wu, I'm serious. Between Roman and that blonde chick I can't afford to lose any more men."
"Money problems already?"
"Forget the Lien. If word gets out working in my gang is a suicide job, no amount of money will help."
"Hey, if the Fang get violent, I'll put them down myself," Drifter reassured him. "Your boys are just here for numbers—these them?" he asked as the two reached the entrance of The Club, looking at four of Junior's men who were standing there.
They wore the distinctive black suits and hats with red glasses, but this time each one carried a gun from the set Drifter had provided.
"Yeah, and we got you a truck waiting out front. Don't start shooting unless they do, alright?"
"Junior, brother, have a little faith." Drifter turned to him. "Have I done you wrong yet?"
"Well, no—"
"Then don't worry and trust in ol' Drifter. Go make yourself a Strawberry Sunrise and relax. Let me worry about playing nice with the Fang."
Junior threw his arms up in resignation and walked away grumbling.
"All right boys," Drifter addressed the four henchmen. "Let's go say hello to the neighbors."
He and two of the men climbed in the back, while the other two sat in the front. The engine rumbled as it started up, and soon they were on their way.
The nighttime traffic was light in the area. They drove down empty, dark streets illuminated only by spotty lamps. Changes were clearly visible as they drove towards the industrial side. The roads had visible marks and holes, fences, and doors were coated in rust, and many of the buildings appeared to be in disrepair.
"Not the nicest neighborhood, huh?" Drifter noted aloud.
"Places like this get forgotten easily," one man in the back with him explained. "Stuff the factories make gets outdated, and suddenly the whole area shuts down. Council doesn't want to spend the money clearing it, so it sits until one of those big companies buys it."
"Perfect place for the Fang," the other man spoke up. "Lots of Faunus squatting in these buildings, I bet."
"Hmm, so I see," Drifter replied, looking out the window.
Drifter could see why Faunus would end up in the White Fang, if they were stuck living out here with nowhere to go. Too bad they were only normal citizens, he thought. If they were stronger, he'd be out recruiting them for Gambit in a heartbeat.
The truck rolled to a stop, and the group disembarked. The warehouse in front of them suited its surroundings—a sloped roof sporting patches of rust sitting upon weathered walls. If it weren't for the scattered crates by the door and the two armed guards there, it'd look downright unremarkable.
"Looks like they're not done unpacking," he muttered.
Drifter walked straight for the warehouse door with Junior's men falling in behind him. The guards tensed as the group approached, but didn't open fire—yet.
"Hey, get out of here. This place is off-limits," one of the White Fang guards shouted. He tried to sound authoritative, but his tail swishing from side-to-side gave away his nervousness.
Drifter noticed his behavior. The Faunus traits shared similarities with the real thing, he realized.
"Easy there hotshot, we just wanna pass on a message," he said, raising his hands.
"Junior's guys, right? You've got no business with us." the second guard added.
Both guards raised their guns at them as they closed more distance. Drifter and the others stopped as the guards did so, standing almost ten feet before them. He noticed their slow reactions and hesitation—the White Fang may have had fanaticism, but they lacked training for all their members.
"Well, we might," Drifter said with his signature smile. "Like I said, hoping you can pass on a message for us."
"For who?" the first guard asked.
"Adam Taurus."
He laughed. "Give up then. Adam's not even in Vale, not since that human—oof!"
The guard cut off as his partner elbowed him in the side.
"We can't do that, so buzz off before we shoot," the second guard said.
"Oh? Adam's not in the city, huh?" Drifter asked. "I don't suppose that other fella, what's his name—Roman Torchwick, is running things here?"
The first guard remained silent; the second growled.
"Maybe you can give my message to him instead?" Drifter pushed.
"Do you not understand what we're saying? Get outta here!" the first guard shouted.
Drifter shook his head. "You're on Junior's turf, brother. But, despite the wretched humans we may be, we're believers in the cause too. We're more than happy to let you shack up here. Do us a little favor in exchange, all right? Unless you want to explain to Torchwick why you started a war with Junior."
The guards exchanged glances before lowering their weapons.
"Fine," the second one huffed. "Tell me, but make it fast."
"Glad we could do business. Tell him I found a nice, big stockpile of Dust he missed. Figure he might want it. If he wants to talk, he's gotta go through Junior. Already sold some to that shop off Main, so he better hurry."
"Hm. That it?"
"That's all. We'll be out of your fur now," Drifter said as he began to walk away.
He suppressed a laugh as he felt the guards glaring at him under their masks. Looked like he'd touched a nerve.
"Let's go, fellas," Drifter told Junior's men. They nodded and moved back to the truck, throwing a few final glances at the Faunus guards.
If Torchwick wanted all the Dust in Vale, Drifter guessed that would draw his attention. If it didn't, he'd have to do things the hard way, either by tracking down Torchwick or committing a few robberies himself!
Drifter suspected the partnership between Torchwick and the White Fang had more to it than they let on. Meeting with the man himself would yield more answers.
He needed to identify all the major players in Vale before he went big, lest he risk being blindsided.
Drifter hated unknowns.
The drive back was short. As they entered The Club, they encountered a very relieved looking Junior.
"You're all back. Good," he said.
"See brother? Told you not to doubt." Drifter grinned and gave the man a pat on the shoulder.
"What'd you find out?"
He shrugged. "Not much. Needed to schedule a meeting with our friend Roman. By the way, you might get a visit from him soon."
Junior raised an eyebrow. "What's your business with Roman, anyway? You don't seem like the thieving type."
Drifter laughed. "Nah, I just want to ask him a few questions. I suspect something's up and he's got answers."
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Nothing concrete yet, but I have a hunch," Drifter replied. He leaned next to Junior. "I think Roman's not the one pulling the strings," he added quietly.
Junior jerked back. "No way, Roman's his own boss. He'd never do someone else's work."
Drifter shrugged. "Like I said, a hunch. Keep it quiet for me, will ya?"
"Yeah, yeah, I can do that."
"Good. See you around, brother. And call me if Torchwick comes by."
Exchanging farewells, the two parted ways. Drifter began making the trip back to Beacon.
These routine trips tempted him to set up a Transmat from Beacon to The Club.