[5-A] Plastic, Paint, and Porcelain

Blake missed a step. She stumbled as her foot came down wrong on a cobblestone, and her stomach dropped like she'd just gotten to the bottom of a staircase a little to fast. She stopped dead. Looked around. Weiss was next to her, brow furrowed. Her hand rested at her hip where Myrtenaster should have been, but wasn't.

It was like waking up—like she'd just glitched. All memory of how she'd gotten here was gone. Blake turned to Weiss.

"Where... where are we?"

She'd expected Weiss to stare at her like she'd lost her mind. And she did stare at her, but the look on her face was anxious.

"I don't know."

Blake tensed. She cast a wary look around. The street they were on seemed almost ordinary, but it was too clean. Lots of white brick buildings, no trash on the street. She couldn't even see any graffiti. On a nearby corner, she spotted a group of men wearing red and black uniforms. There was an insignia on their backs—the silhouettes of a pair of crossed claw hammers.

Maybe we're in another kingdom? She couldn't think of one that had architecture like this. White brick wasn't a go-to material for building shop fronts in cities where they could be stained by just about anything. The symbol was unfamiliar, but maybe that was just because they were a local gang?

Weiss had spotted them too, and started marching in their direction. "Wait!" Blake jogged to catch up with her. "What are you doing?"

"We need information, don't we? It's not as if there's anyone else around." Blake really wished she could argue with that.

"Excuse me!"

The man nearest them turned, revealing a long face and somber blue eyes. He glanced at Weiss, then jumped and straightened into a strange salute. "Miss."

"...Pardon?"

Blake looked from him to Weiss, then back again. We didn't take over the world while we were out, did we?

"I apologize for the inconvenience," the man said, putting a hand on her upper arm. Weiss pulled back, but he caught her wrist. "We're supposed to take you home."

"What?!" Weiss pulled back again, harder. "What are you talking about? Where are we?"

The other two had turned around now. Blake stepped between them and Weiss, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. "Who—"

She never got a chance to finish the question. There was a scream from somewhere nearby, and a woman burst out of an alley in a dead sprint with long red hair and a bushy tail streaming behind her. She had a little boy on her hip, one hand on his back. He clung to her with his arms circling her neck and a monkey tail curling around her waist. A man was hot on her heels, but he wasn't the one chasing her—she reached back and grabbed his hand seconds later.

More men in red and black came tearing out of the alley. Three had truncheons, a fourth was carrying a heavy metal flashlight. The first group turned to look towards the commotion, and Weiss used the distraction to wrench her arm free.

"Hey—" the first thug protested, but the others that had been with him had already taken off into the street. The mother skidded to a halt in front of them, casting a wild look over her shoulder, her face going pale.

"Stop that!" Weiss marched up to the same soldier that had just grabbed her.

"Please stand down, miss. It's only a routine expulsion of filth." The casual way he said it made Blake's throat constrict.

"You stand down." Weiss put both hands on her hips, apparently going with the assumption that she had the authority to order them around. She seemed to be at least kind of right, judging by the growing discomfort on his face.

"You heard her." Blake wasn't sure if her word carried any weight at all, but she stepped up beside Weiss and tried to seem important. The soldier glanced at her for the first time, and she felt a chill. Meeting his eyes was like looking up through a microscope—she had a powerful impression of being examined, stared through, but all she could see was a glass lens.

In one fluid motion, he reached out and snatched off her bow. She fell into a crouch as four of the other thugs drew truncheons. Behind them, she saw the mother back away, then turn and run in the opposite direction. Blake couldn't blame her—the kid clinging to her was starting to cry. The father followed, casting guilty glances over his shoulder.

That's good. Blake could handle being chased a lot better than the average family.

"Get behind me, miss." The first thug brandished his truncheon and tried to sweep Weiss back, only for her to bat his hand aside.

"Excuse me? Put those down, you're making absolute idiots out of yourselves."

"We're only doing our jobs, miss." They fanned out. Blake tried to duck away before they could circle all the way around, but she hesitated an instant too long and all of a sudden running looked a lot harder.

"I'm not an enemy," she said, raising her hands. "I'm not going to hurt anyone." That had never worked in the early days of the White Fang, not even when they'd only been sitting in cafés that wouldn't serve them, but at least if she tried she wouldn't have to feel guilty about hitting them.

They drew in closer, shoulder to shoulder, erasing any gaps in the line.

"Stop!" Weiss grabbed the first thug and pulled at his arm. "I'm ordering you to stop!"

He shrugged her off easily, and Blake felt the beginnings of panic. She'd been assuming they were more or less normal people, but now... either they were stronger than they had any right to be, or she and Weiss were out of aura, somehow. Neither option was good. She retreated into the middle of the circle.

"It's our job to protect you," the leader said, and something struck Blake's shoulder. She staggered. Someone grabbed both her arms. There was a loud thump, and when she looked up she saw that Weiss was hitting him repeatedly on the shoulder, the back of his head, and once on his ear. It was uncharacteristically graceless, she wasn't used to fighting bare-handed, but from the way he was wincing it still hurt.

Blake's arms were forced behind her, and the leader snagged Weiss' wrist for the second time when she landed a nasty hit on his jaw. "Sorry, Miss," he said, still with that same strained politeness, "but we need to take you to your father."

Both of them froze. "What does my father have to do with anything?" Weiss demanded, glaring. "Where are we? Who are you, and why are you doing this?"

The leader sighed. "Just come along, please. He's waiting."

They were dragged into an intimidating-looking room in an intimidating-looking building, all in the shadow of a massive white brick wall. Blake's head was spinning. Weiss' father was involved in all this somehow, but since when did he have control over an entire city? Was this Atlas? How did they get here?

Then they stopped in the middle of the room, with guards all around, and every question died in her throat. There he was, the man himself, reclining casually behind his desk with his hands folded. He didn't seem surprised to see Blake, now obviously a faunus, in his daughter's company.

"Well?" Weiss crossed her arms expectantly.

"Well, what?" He spread his hands. "I believe this is traditionally when the wayward child offers some sort of excuse."

"I'm the one that needs to give an explanation?!" Weiss stepped forward. The guards tensed, but didn't stop her. "What are you doing here? Where are we? And how did we get here?"

"You've always been here."

"No, I haven't. I've been at Beacon."

"That doesn't mean you haven't been here."

"What's that supposed to—"

He held up a hand, and she cut off mid-sentence. It was as though he'd just hit stop on a tape recorder. "I think you're confused."

"I'm not confused."

"You're home, Weiss." He gestured at the room at large. "After making quite a fuss about how qualified you were to roam about Outside, and finding it wasn't to your liking." He put an odd stress on the word 'outside,' the kind that made Blake imagine it capitalized.

"Wasn't to my—your men grabbed me!"

"They are there to protect you."

"Protect me from what, exactly? Strange men with clubs who chase families through the streets?!" The guard next to her grimaced. Mr. Schnee's gaze snapped to him, and an unnatural stillness came over his face. He straightened, his posture suddenly picture perfect.

"I know you think you're invincible." He leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his desk. "So did I, at your age. Unfortunately those in our position don't have the luxury of clinging to ideas like that."

"But—"

"No."

Again the tense stillness. Weiss grit her teeth, apparently trying to think up a rebuttal, but she wasn't saying anything. Blake opened her mouth, then realized an instant too late that she did not want to draw Jacques Schnee's attention.

"Yes?" He gestured to her. "I think I'd like an explanation from you, as well. Just what do you think you're doing within these walls?"

"They dragged me here," Blake pointed out, indignant.

"Not the building." He waved his hand, as if the distinction was ultimately not worth the bother of trying to educate her. She bristled. "I've worked quite hard to keep any... undesirables out of this place. Filthy creatures, unhealthy influences, imperfections. It's a point of pride, for me."

"Fine," Blake spat. "You don't want me in your city, and I don't want to be here!"

"Don't you?" He gave her a strange look. "You broke in."

"I..." The denial died in her throat. Maybe she had needed to be in here for some reason—she couldn't remember.

"I have invested quite a lot of time and effort into cultivating this space. Everything within these walls must be kept neat, clean, and pure."

Weiss stared at him. "What on Remnant is wrong with you?"

He scowled. "And free of dirty influences, of course."

"You're not acting like yourself." She cast a wary glance around, focusing mostly on the guards. "Just... where are we?"

"Am I in the habit of feeding you answers to blatantly obvious questions?"

"Obvious?!"

He flicked a hand, a clear dismissal, and refocused on Blake. "I'd like to know what you think you're doing here."

"I'm not going to apologize or make excuses for my existence. If being a faunus is a crime here, it's not like anything I say will make much of a difference."

"Hm?" He narrowed his eyes at her, his eyebrows knitting together. "No. Being a faunus is hardly a crime. It's not as though you have the power to control it."

"You don't think there's anything wrong with me? That's hard to believe."

"That isn't what I said, now is it?" His eyes bored in to her. "You're a filthy thing, but that has nothing to do with how you were born. It's what you've made of yourself. You had a clean beginning, and you soiled it. I have no place for such things in my garden."

"Your what?" Weiss backed up, accidentally treading on the foot of the lead guard. He didn't even blink. "What is wrong with you?"

"You don't know anything about me," Blake gritted out.

"I know the sort." He blinked, and all of a sudden the look on his face seemed off to her, like there was something else hiding behind it. "You say the world has done you wrong, and you think that gives you the right to lash out like an animal. Do you deny it?"

"Yes!" She tried to move towards him, but one of the guards grabbed her arm and held her back. "I never wanted—"

"Of course not." A small smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. Snake's eyes. "You didn't want anything to do with the bloodshed. Too squeamish. Unfortunately, you were never very good at dodging the spatter."

"I—"

"Well? Are you going to tell me your hands are clean?" He leaned forward. "You've never taken part in any deaths, is that it? You haven't been violent. Haven't been complicit."

Her stomach twisted, and she retreated a step. The soldier's grip on her arm loosened. "I didn't... I never wanted..."

"No, you never wanted any of them dead." He smirked. "Never wanted revenge, only justice, and if it started happening here or there... well. That wasn't your fault. Of course you eventually ran out of excuses and bolted, thinking that made you innocent."

"You... you don't know anything about me."

He sat back, both hands splayed out flat on the desk. "Do you deny it? It's a simple question."

She made the mistake of glancing to her left, catching a glimpse of wide blue eyes. Weiss' mouth was open, like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Blake shied away again, felt a light pressure where the soldier's hand was still on her wrist, glanced into his face.

Wide brown eyes, curly brown hair, a hint of freckles on the bridge of his nose, all bared when the white helmet was pulled off. The Atlesian symbol on his chest. The smell of blood.

Then he was himself again, with the hammer insignia in place of Atlas' torch and gears. Blake twisted her arm free, turned, and bolted. She was in the doorway before any of the other guards reacted, and in the hallway by the time one of them caught up with her. She kicked him in the shin, sending him reeling, and then she was dashing towards the window. There was a fire escape, one window to the left and two floors down.

"Blake!"

It sounded torn out, and before she had to look back Blake shoved the window open—unlocked, or she'd broken it open in her panic—and threw herself into empty space.

She hid in a cramped, foul space between a dumpster and an alley wall, thinking that out of everything Weiss' father had just said to her, the bit about his city being 'clean' and 'pure' was the most blatant lie. Soldiers moved past her, but the search felt half-hearted. The soldiers just walked past the mouth of the alley, one by one, hardly even glancing around.

Still, the fact that they were out there gave her some very unwelcome time to think about how she'd just done exactly what Weiss had told her not to do in a situation like this.

Damn it. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped both arms around them, then pillowed her head against one shoulder. The man's face—a boy's face, really, he'd been older than her but not by enough—still hovered at the edges of her perception.

When she stopped hearing the guards, she decided it would be better to wait a little longer. So she stewed in silence, running the conversation over and over again in her head, trying to think of just how much she had said that was incriminating. That wasn't it, though, not really. It was what she hadn't said, the way she hadn't found it in herself to put up any kind of denial. Weiss always said the innocent never run.

Maybe this place was just as filthy and morally deficient as any other city on Remnant, but that only made him wrong about that, not about her. She hadn't been born wrong no matter what everyone kept telling her, but that could change. Had changed.

She glanced up at the building she'd just escaped and muttered a curse. If they'd been back in the dorms, she could maybe have believed that it would blow over. Ruby would handle Weiss, make sure she didn't jump to too many conclusions and watch her back in case something happened. Yang would talk to Blake, make her feel less like a monster. And probably point out that she was being stupid.

Ultimately, it wasn't a question of whether Weiss would be angry or not. She'd just run off in the middle of a confrontation with Jacques Schnee, and they were trapped in some alien city. Neither of them even knew its name, let alone where it was. Maybe Weiss would do something even more drastic, and maybe the agreement they'd come to after the docks had just broken, but... she couldn't just leave her in there.

"Damn it." Blake stood up, brushing a hand through her hair and eyeing the building. It looked a lot harder to break into than it had been to break out of, and guards were still passing by every so often. She waited a while for them to stop, but they never did. More just kept coming at a steady pace, about two or three in a minute. Their movements struck her as oddly stiff. She slipped out of the alley just after one of them had passed. From there it was easy to climb onto the roof of the building she had been leaning against, one that overlooked Jacques'... palace? Meeting hall? Prison?

The soldiers looked like ants, all marching in a neat column. Her finger traced their movements back to a wide set of doors, like those of a hangar, leading into the same massive white-brick complex. More were streaming out, dividing up into smaller lines that each wound their way into separate streets.

Was that their barracks? Why were they coming out now, when judging by the sun it had already been daytime for a while? Was it a mess hall? She approached by jumping from rooftop to rooftop, and soon spotted a small service door a little ways away from the wider one. It was partly hidden around the corner of the building, and there were only two soldiers outside guarding it. Blake picked up a handful of gravel off the roof, then tossed it into a side street. It made a loud clatter as it hit the ground, and the men turned their heads that way.

She dropped down when one of them wandered off to investigate. The other started to turn, but she wrapped an arm around his throat. It was harder than she was used to—she still had no idea what was wrong with her aura, but it hadn't come back. Eventually his struggles ceased, and he slumped to the ground. He had a key in his pocket, so she didn't even need to pick the lock.

Inside was a cramped hallway. She dragged the soldier in after her—his fellow would be suspicious when he got back either way, but it wouldn't hurt to have him look around or call for the other one for a while before he went in after her. She gave herself maybe a minute before he sounded the alarm, if she was very lucky.

She walked briskly, not bothering to hide. The walls were the same white brick and she was wearing all black with no cover to be found. She kept glancing behind her, waiting for the inevitable shout from outside. The hallway turned, and here the walls were covered with corrugated metal.

It didn't go far before it opened up onto a catwalk. Blake crouched down and poked her head into a much larger room. On one side were the massive garage-style doors she'd noticed from outside. The other was obscured by a huge curtain. Soldiers passed through it in a steady stream, picking up batons and even a few guns from long tables laid out on either side of the room. They were steady, methodical, so much so that she would have been hard pressed to tell the difference between them.

Blake moved as quickly as she dared, trusting mostly in the fact that humans rarely looked up. The wall behind her was more metal, not brick, so she wasn't as glaringly conspicuous as she might have been, but still. She'd always hated walking on catwalks (pun very much not intended, Yang was rotting her brain), because it was almost impossible to do it quietly.

Then she was moving past the curtain. It was bright, glaring red, with a white circle in the center and the same crossed hammer insignia in black. And behind it...

She froze, staring down. They were getting dressed, and not just in the sense of putting on their uniforms. Soldiers walked out from behind another curtain stark naked, then slowly filed down the length of the room, picking up bits of clothing as they went and pulling them on. As far as she could see, there was no consideration for fit. Everyone wore the same slacks, the same shirt, the same coat. One size fits all. Or rather, all fit one size.

Now she was moving even faster, arguably faster than she should if she didn't want them to notice her. But, honestly... she did not need to see that and would very much like to stop seeing it as quickly as possible. She approached the next curtain and hesitated. Weiss wasn't here, and neither was a way out of the city. Whatever she decided to do, this wasn't going to help. But, well... stereotype or not, she'd always been curious.

The second curtain was identical to the first. She snuck past it, then leaned in close to the railing to see. There were mirrors along the walls, and a few men walking around with airbrushes and paintbrushes and sponges. At first, she thought they were all putting on makeup. That was true, in a really twisted sense, but the further back she looked the less human they were. One of the soldiers closest to her was tilting his head to the side, allowing one of the technicians better access, and she watched in horror as his face was painted on.

Blake recoiled, making a small clattering sound as her back struck the wall and her feet went out from under her. She turned towards where another curtain was hanging, and the soldiers marched out in single file. They were stiff, blank slates, all paper white, with clear seams at their elbows, wrists, and throats. Their heads were blank, with only shallow dimples where the eyes should be.

They moved, she thought. Their faces moved. They had expressions.

One of them turned his—its!—head, tilting it up towards her. She froze, heart in her throat, but it turned away just as quickly. It was one of the ones without a face, still getting the skin painted onto its legs. At this point there was no question left—she had to see what was at the far end of the room. Then she'd find Weiss. Maybe she wouldn't want anything to do with her from now on, but she deserved to know about this.

She couldn't pass behind the next curtain from the catwalk, though. It ended in a rickety-looking ladder, one that was thankfully well hidden in the shadows. It was even harder to climb ladders silently than walk on catwalks, but there was also a steady mechanical droning in the background that hid the sound of her descent.

Her boots touched the ground just as she heard a cry go up somewhere far behind her, back where she'd come from. She ignored it, slipping past the curtain just as one of the soldiers was coming through, to disguise whatever ripple she made.

Behind it was a much dimmer room, walled in on three sides. The source of the stream of soldiers. They marched out of the base of a massive steel cylinder, all eyeless and earless, and they paid Blake no mind even though she was standing not twenty feet away from them. There was a whirring and rattling noise coming from the ceiling, somewhere right above the machine, but she couldn't see its source.

She crept around the back of the huge cylinder, trying to see if there were soldiers going in, but there was nothing. Just a few pipes, a heavy grate that was welded shut, and a ladder. Blake looked from that, to the ceiling, then back again. Something had to be going in, if the guards were coming out.

There was no telling how much tighter security was getting outside, and she couldn't see any other exits. She should really just leave.

Blake bit her lip, glanced around, and started to climb.