In his room, Drifter's Ghost projected holograms displaying dozens of files pulled from Beacon's secure database. Drifter sat before them, staring at them with narrowed eyes.
"What are you hiding, Ozpin?" he muttered.
With a finger, he traced a line across one document, the schematics of Ozpin's tower. It was an impressive structure that stuck out among the other buildings, and constructed from expensive, sturdy materials. Compared to every structure at Beacon, it was extremely overbuilt, as if to withstand a direct assault.
According to the schematics, there was only a small storage area underneath the tower. Despite this, his Ghost scanned a much larger cavity beneath it. By itself, not a noteworthy fact. However, the tower also drew a disproportionate amount of power, more than any other building on campus. Given that there was nothing significant on the upper floors, Drifter was sure Ozpin was hiding something in the hidden basement. It was either the world's largest coffee maker, or something important enough to warrant such secrecy.
The archives of Beacon had more interesting points of information to offer as well. He'd read the fairy tales of Remnant, which were merely stories told to children—or so they seemed. To the people here, magic was a myth. Drifter knew better.
The Maidens had especially caught his interest. At first Drifter dismissed the tale as dealing with a rare, powerful Semblance. But the more he dug into Beacon's database, the more he suspected there was truth behind it.
For a mere tale, Ozpin had many files on the topic. Dozens of files detailing the nature, the Maidens' power, how it transferred between hosts, and how it linked the bearer's soul.
It was then Drifter found the reports on sightings and potential locations of the Maidens.
Mistral. The name showed up countless times in the reports. Marks spanned the entire area, covering remote villages, patches of forest, and trade roads. Whatever Ozpin was looking for, it had to be in Mistral.
After learning that, Drifter had immediately made plans to travel to Mistral once the semester was over. Still, it was a large place, and he didn't know what to look for.
He'd need more information.
Several sharp knocks sounded from the door and shook him from his thoughts. He pulled his feet off the desk and pushed his Ghost aside as it faded away.
"Come in!"
The door cracked open, and Yang shuffled into the room. Her movements were stiff, lacking their usual easy nature. Her hair had odd strands sticking out of it, and her fists seemed locked shut.
"Hey sister, how's it hanging?"
"Fine."
Drifter raised an eyebrow. "Something happen?"
"You said if I work for you, you'll help me get stronger, right?"
"Sure did. You interested?"
"Yeah. I'll do it."
Drifter leaned back in his chair and looked Yang over critically. "First, tell me why. Then you're in."
"Why does it matter?" she retorted. "I said I'd help."
"Come on sister, I'm not blind. If you're gonna be working for me, I need to know what's going on."
Yang looked away and tensed. Then she sighed, and her arms fell loosely at her sides.
"Take a seat," Drifter prompted.
Yang sat down in a chair across the desk. She looked around the room, as if searching for a starting point. One hand idly ran through her hair.
"Ruby got hurt," she said.
Drifter nodded. "Heard about that, fighting the Fang at the docks? Nasty business."
"I should have been there to help her."
"Hey, that's not your fault."
"It is!" Yang insisted, starting from the chair. She sighed and slumped back into it. "We were in Vale searching for Blake—she'd run away after, well, after an argument, and went to fight the White Fang by herself. Ruby found her first and tried to help…" she trailed off.
"So you want get stronger, so it doesn't happen again?"
"Yes! I was too slow to help Ruby, and Blake… Blake didn't trust me, I guess. Didn't think I could help against the White Fang."
"Partner problems, huh? Hah, sounds like Jaune," Drifter muttered.
"Jaune?"
"He's working for me too. Seems he and you have a common goal."
Yang cracked a smirk for the first time all day. "Yeah, Vomit-Boy could use the help." She frowned in thought. "Although, he has gotten a lot stronger recently. Was that because of you?"
"Sure was."
"I heard he got detention for beating up Team CRDL the other day."
Drifter grinned. "What can I say? He's got spirit." He leaned forward and set his elbows on the desk. "Jaune's improved a lot. You can too, Miss Xiao Long. Remember what I said to you?"
Yang nodded. "You said I have potential."
"More than you think. Meet me here this time tomorrow, and I'll get you started."
Yang pulled out her Scroll and glanced at it, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "All right, I'll be here."
She walked out, and as the door closed shut behind her, Drifter let out a relieved sigh.
He'd received the news from Ozpin—students in a fight at the Vale docks, against the White Fang and Torchwick. Ruby Rose was the only one injured, after a bullet got through her Aura. The general belief was that Torchwick had weakened her, allowing the shot through. Drifter, however, had immediately recognized what kind of weapon had caused that wound.
Oops.
His Ghost reappeared in the air and tilted slightly, as if giving him an admonishing look. Drifter raised his hands placatingly.
"Not my fault. Junior's the one who lost 'em."
His Ghost stared.
"Fifty-fifty."
If its red eye could blink, it surely would have.
"Don't give me that, I got a plan, anyway," Drifter said. "If the Fang's running around with my tech, they're liable to make trouble. Too much of that, and it'll be tough to get any work done."
Drifter stood up from the chair and stretched. "I got the intel on their safe houses, so we can deal with them anytime. Wish I could say the same for our Ozpin mystery."
His Ghost vanished into hiding as he exited his room and stepped outside. The evening air was brisk, the first sign of the changing seasons.
He smiled at the sensation. Most Guardians never noticed such things, their Ghosts always keeping them isolated. For Drifter, however, the little reminders of being alive drove him forward.
Drifter walked swiftly across the campus. There were a few students still out, crossing between the buildings. In the weeks since the first Gambit game, Drifter, and his rough outfit, had become a known sight on campus and no longer received the same odd looks as he had before.
A few who had played in Gambit even gave him a wave or a nod.
He returned them with an easy smile, though never stopped to make conversation. Drifter had to maintain at least some level of enigma.
Not that he disliked the students, not at all—he found them to be refreshing company. Strong, yet grounded in their humanity. However, they were too naïve, and he really didn't need them trying to get involved in his business.
Once he was on the far edges of campus, where no prying ears could listen, he pulled out a Scroll and tapped a familiar number.
"Wu, what can I do for you?" Junior asked as he picked up.
"You got any intel on what goes on in Mistral?"
"Nope, sorry," Junior said loudly, speaking over the background noise. "I only know what goes on in Vale. Mistral's way too far out."
"I figured," Drifter replied. "Know anyone who might?"
"Can't say I do. Only contact there would be through the CCTS. Someone who hangs around there might have a lead on whatever you need."
Of course, the Cross Continental Transmit System was the only means of communication between the continents of Remnant! Drifter's shook his head and laughed at himself—it was so obvious that was the solution!
"Thanks brother, that's a good idea. One other question—the White Fang giving you any more trouble?"
"N—one second." There was a ruffling sound followed by a click on the other end, and the background noise disappeared. "Not recently. My guys finally woke up and they've been able to keep them away."
"Good. Those guns the Fang stole popped up the other night."
"Yeah, I heard, the docks right? Heard it was a big show between them and some Beacon brats."
Drifter leaned against a tree and glanced around, making sure there was still no one around.
"Sure did. One of them got hurt, too."
There was silence on the other end for a moment. "That a problem for you?" Junior asked. There was hesitance in his voice, likely wondering if Drifter was upset with him.
"Not yet. They think it was a lucky shot. If it happens again, though, Ozpin might investigate."
"I understand. I can make sure my guys keep it together, but the guns the Fang already has—"
"Don't worry about it, brother, I'll take care of that. Just try to keep it from happening again."
Junior voiced his understanding. And with that, the call ended.
Drifter pocketed his Scroll and walked to the airship docks. The ride into Vale was quiet, and so was the trip through Vale. There were a few people out on the streets, carefree citizens whose numbers dwindled as Drifter entered the far side of town, replaced by grimy alleys and distrustful Faunus eyes.
The number of shadowed hoods increased, a sign that he was close. Drifter stayed to the sides of the street, in the shadows, letting his Light bend them around him and cloak his form.
He was no Nightstalker—Guardians skilled in using their Light for total invisibility—but he could do enough. He stood before a large, weathered warehouse. Armed members of the White Fang stood guard outside it, scanning the streets for any sign of trouble. But, even with their natural night-vision, their eyes passed right over Drifter.
Careful not to make a sound, he stepped right past them. The light flickered as he went, but the guards did not notice.
The inside of the warehouse was large, dim lights overhead illuminating the many crates stored inside it. Rows and rows of them stacked high, creating a maze-like interior. Drifter caught sight of their contents through a few open lids—Dust and weapons.
He felt a buzz from his Ghost confirming this was the place. The Veist-made guns that the White Fang stole were easy to track, thanks to their onboard computer. It could only tell their general location, however, and with a warehouse this large, it could take all night to find them.
Luckily, Drifter wasn't there to reclaim the guns.
He walked to what he assumed to be the center of the warehouse and eyed the stack of crates before him. Satisfied that it would be enough, he jumped on one crate on the floor, and used it to climb up onto the higher ones. At the top he turned and sat, dangling his legs off the edge.
Drifter took in the view—if it could be called that. He could see the White Fang members milling about in the cluttered, dim warehouse. Some worked while others stood guard, but many seemed to just be standing around and talking. In fact, they seemed relaxed and in good spirits.
They weren't all hardened terrorists, Drifter realized. Especially here, where many of their members were likely new recruits from the local population. Faunus from the squalor, feeling helpless and oppressed, and given a new chance at life with the White Fang.
A burst of laughter broke through the quiet. Drifter saw a group of Faunus off to the side, laughing and joking with each other.
It was odd, he thought, that he'd never really fought an enemy like this. The enemies of earth were unquestionably evil; wholly dedicated to the eradication of humanity. Against them, reason was never an option. The humans he had fought in his time were also of the worst sort, either being unrepentant marauders or those who let the Darkness corrupt them.
It wasn't the same here. These men and women were ordinary citizens in their daily lives. In fact, other than their affiliation, many would still be innocent of any wrongdoing. They could be reasoned with.
Perhaps another time. With his guns, the White Fang was a problem to his plans. The best thing to do now was to deal with it quickly and thoroughly.
He cast a handful of Motes into the air and Taken portals erupted all around the warehouse. The White Fang members stood still in shock for a moment before chaos erupted. Frantic yells punctuated by gunfire filled the warehouse as Taken Thrall poured from the portal and fell upon their targets with earsplitting screeches.
It couldn't be helped—these Faunus chose their path.
A loud clatter caught his attention and Drifter looked over to see a tall stack of crates fall to the ground, spilling dozens of volatile Dust crystals across the floor. Volatile crystals sitting underneath wild gunfire and the flaming claws of the Thrall.
A few errant shots struck them, causing small explosions to break out. The nearby White Fang flinched away, and the Thrall took the opportunity, charging through the smoke and leaping on them. One fired wildly as he fell, the bullets erratically flying to the side. A few caught his fellows, and the rest hit the crates by Drifter, causing them to splinter.
Drifter looked down and saw that he was sitting on crates with the same Dust marking.
"Huh," Drifter spoke aloud. "Hold on, Ghost."
Drifter peered into the mirror, using a wet cloth to rub out the last patches of soot from himself. Despite the explosive exit from the warehouse, he'd come out unscathed, thanks to his innate Light shielding taking the brunt of the blast. The explosion was a boon as well, as it had destroyed the stolen weaponry, the White Fang warehouse, and any evidence of his Taken.
By now investigators were surely crawling over the scene from last night, but they'd only find evidence of a Dust explosion likely caused by the incompetence of the White Fang.
Afterwards, a sooty, scorched Drifter had dragged himself back to Beacon. He'd made sure no one saw him on the way, to avoid being linked with the explosion.
Well, no one except the fast food vendor. Sometimes, the reward was worth the risk.
Drifter nodded to himself in the mirror, satisfied he'd cleaned and patched up his clothes enough to look almost as good as before.
A Ghost could mend armor and clothing in an instant, but it knew better than to offer. To Drifter, even the little inconveniences were reminders that he was alive.
Not that he rejected all help from his Ghost—there were certainly some tasks the little thing was more adept for than he would ever be. One of which he was about to use to great effect.
Heading out the door, Drifter checked the map pulled up on his Scroll. The set destination was the CCTS tower in Vale, a large and impressive building, and the single facility that allowed communication with the other continents.
The technology on Remnant was primitive by Earth standards, and his Ghost had no problems getting whatever he needed. So far, Beacon's database alone had been a great asset. With access to the CCTS, there would be little that he couldn't find out.
Perhaps he could even find Cinder Fall.
She was a secondary objective, however. Terrorists running around Vale were irrelevant to him if there was truly a source of magic in Mistral, as Ozpin's documents suggested. He would need to find it, and then either capture or destroy it.
Magic was a dangerous force that could kill Light-bearers permanent if applied properly. The Darkness-fueled rituals of the Hive proved that all too well.
Once he dealt with this, would there be anything else on Remnant that could kill him? So far, his investigations said "no." Life without fear of death—it was a tempting idea to Drifter, who'd spent centuries clinging to survival.
The thought lingered in his mind as left the building, and it still occupied him as he approached the CCTS.
Drifter cleared his mind to focus on the task at hand. Now was not the time to linger on what could be, not with so much work to be do. He didn't come this far just to slip up now.
Even at this early weekend hour, many Beacon students milled about the broad steps in front of the CCTS building. Drifter passed a group of students exiting the building, as the group talked about the family and friends they had spoken to.
He passed through the lobby and into an elevator at the back. The doors closed, and a voice spoke from the speaker inside.
"Hello! Welcome to the CCT, how may I help you?"
Drifter looked at the wall-mounted screen. "Need to get to the communications room."
"Absolutely. Could you please place your Scroll on the terminal to verify your identity?"
"Uh huh," Drifter said while holding his hand low and summoning his Ghost. His Beacon issued Scroll would give him access, but he didn't want his presence there on record. "Get us in," he whispered to it.
His Ghost floated over to the panel and began scanning it, digitally entering the system and granting them access.
"I'm sorry, unrecognized command," the computer said. "Please try—," it cut off and flashed. "Override registered," it announced as the elevator lurched upward.
"Good work," Drifter told his Ghost. It gave a semblance of a nod.
With a ding, the elevator doors opened and Drifter walked into the communications center of the building. It was a large room, with many video terminals throughout it. It was more crowded than he would have liked, but he could work around it.
A holographic woman flashed into existence behind the front desk. "Welcome to the Beacon Cross Continental Transmit Center. How may I help you?" she asked.
Drifter hoped she was just a virtual assistant. He leaned forward on the desk, providing concealment for his Ghost to move forward and begin its work.
"Looking to make a call to Mistral," he said.
"Absolutely. If you could provide a routing number, I'll patch you through."
Having no answer to that, Drifter rattled off a few random numbers. There was no answer, as his Ghost completed its task.
"Override registered, Terminal 9 reserved."
Drifter grinned as he walked over. Getting in was even easier than he anticipated. He took a seat at the terminal, sitting on the end by the wall, and pulled up the chair to be closer to the screen. Positioned where he was, there was little chance of someone coming up behind him.
He noticed the room was full of security cameras, however they wouldn't be much of a problem. His Ghost could wipe the footage on their way out. It'd draw suspicion, but they'd have no way of knowing who did it. Besides, given the technological advancement of Atlas, they look for someone with inside knowledge of the system. A normal guy like him would be a poor suspect.
That was Drifter, just a normal guy doing normal human things.
He waited patiently as his Ghost hacked into the system. As advanced as Ghosts were, processing the vast amount of data in the CCT system would take some time.
Drifter looked at his PDA as his Ghost sent the files it found that were immediately relevant. The device was something he'd brought with him from Earth, and useful for situations like this, where a Scroll just wouldn't be enough.
Already his Ghost had found several logs for highly secured communications. Beacon's database was sorely lacking in many areas, and Drifter knew Ozpin was likely using other channels for such communications. Searching through all high-security communications from Vale was his best chance of finding out what those were.
The files were encrypted, so his Ghost would have to process them for them to be of any use. That could wait until later, though. Drifter leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, deciding to relax. It'd be a while longer until they had what they needed, and their area of the room was still comfortably deserted.
He'd only been there for a few minutes before the clack of an access door opening caught his attention. Across the room, several men were filing into the room. They were speaking quietly, and Drifter strained his ears to catch what they were saying.
"…unauthorized access came from this room, unknown terminal. Look for whatever caused it."
Drifter stood up and stretched. "Time's up," he whispered to his Ghost.
It looked up at him.
"Whatever you got, it'll have to do."
His Ghost seemed to nod in understanding. It turned and sent a final scan at the terminal, wiping any evidence of their activity before returning itself to hiding.
Drifter slowly but deliberately walked towards the exit. Like the night before, he pulled on the power of his Light to mask his presence. He tensed with every step, ready to run if needed. He wasn't the best at this trick, and it was far less effective in this brightly lit room than the cluttered, dark White Fang warehouse.
The security guards had spread out around the room, and were checking the identification and status of the communications terminals, much to the annoyance of the students there.
"Hey, I'm in the middle of a call!"
"I'm sorry ma'am, but I need to check—"
Drifter was close to the door now. Just a few more steps.
"Routine procedure, everyone, please just let us do our job."
"Can't believe this. Now I'm going to be late."
One of the security guards was standing next to the door. Drifter would have to go right past him to make it through, but he doubted his concealment would work if he were that close.
A quick glance around showed no other options. He stepped up to the door slowly. The guard didn't move. He inhaled, and took two sharp steps past, into the hallway.
Drifter gave a small sigh of relief.
"Huh? Wait, sir, you can't leave yet!"
So much for sneaking out. He'd been so close, too.
He broke into a sprint down the hallway, hearing shouts of alarm from behind. He turned, running towards the elevators before stopping. His Ghost could probably hack the elevator again, but he didn't want to risk getting stuck if security could disable them. Drifter looked around for another option, ignoring the increasing sound of his pursuer's footsteps.
There! He ran towards a nearby door, smashing through it and into a stairwell. The stairs would be a better option than the elevator.
Stairs, he realized, that only went up. There was a reason he never claimed he was a lucky man.
Drifter ran up the spiraling stairs, wearing a grin the entire time. Admittedly, he missed this kind of action that once was a daily occurrence for him. That his pursuers weren't bloodthirsty Thrall was a plus.
The top of the stairs lead onto the circular walkway that ran the circumference of the CCTS building. He could see the whole of Vale from the dizzying height.
"Not ideal," he muttered. There was no clear way down from the top, and he could hear stomps from the guards echoing in the stairwell.
He peered over the balcony, judging the distance to the ground below. A fall from this height would probably kill him—it was the number one cause of death of Guardians, after all. Risen he may be, Drifter wasn't eager to throw away his life just because he could resurrect. That was the fool's choice in his mind. A normal human wouldn't consider it, so neither would he.
Facing the guards would be a difficult situation. He couldn't risk being found out, not yet. The guards themselves posed little threat, but if Drifter attacked them, it'd complicate things.
If only he had a transmat ready.
No time left now. The guards burst out onto the walkway behind him. He'd have to escape the hard way and hope he could go unrecognized.
"Ghost, gonna need a disguise—fast," he said in a low tone as he turned to face them.
There was a quiet whoosh and a rustle of paper. Drifter's vision blurred as something covered his face. He squinted—what was he wearing?
He sighed as he recognized the white-and-red interior of a papercraft festival mask.
"Of all the things, you got the chicken mask?"
ANs:
Hi all! Sorry for the long delay since the last chapter, it's been a busy few weeks. As always, thank you for your support and please comment if you have any questions or feedback.
Q&A:
"I know this is late to ask but what made you pick the VEIST weapon line over something like Häkke or SUROS? I won't bother asking about OMOLON considering the design philosophy states..."
I like their futuristic and uniquely dangerous-looking design. In Remnant, they stand out more as "something new."
"Will drifter be a good guy if so things would be a lot more awesome, I thought of a giant taken ogre against that big major behemoth elephant and later act like a puppy after defeating it like ruby rubbing his taken tummy."
Drifter's always on his own side, so only time will tell where that ends up. And, maybe petting a Taken Ogre is the secret to quickly getting past Morgeth?