With the sun's arrival came another humid summer day. Commander Webb sweated pools in his uniform. Despite his patrol duties Webb opted to take a seat in the shade of one of the many warehouses. His fellow City Guard shot him spiteful looks as they passed. Envy burned like a fever in their eyes, but none spoke out against him. Webb slurped his water canteen, which really contained a strong alcohol, and laughed. In the years since being stationed at the Buffer he's become this pseudo-district's lead dog. What he initially thought of as a demotion revealed itself to be a blessing in disguise. Things were more comfortable in the Buffer. No rich merchants to suck up to. No clueless tourist to give directions to. And best of all no higher ranking officer to report to. The Buffer was mostly made up of recruits and fellow Guard who pissed off the higher ups just like he did. As the senior officer among them he quickly gained the rank of Commander over this sorry lot. His only duty was to write up a weekly report, something he had the recruits do for him.

Webb laughed at his own genius and took another swig of his canteen. By noon he was good and tipsy, which made it hard to discern whether the shadow emerging on the horizon was a hallucination or not. It wasn't a great span of distance away, but his drunken state made it seem that way. He watched the shadow grow closer and take shape without as much as a care in the world. It was all in his head after all. Or so he thought. Webb only considered doubt when other guardsmen reacted to it. One of the recruits under his command sprinted to him.

"Uhhh, Sir…we got a problem."

"What's going on out there?"

"People from the Mud District. A whole lot of them. They're marching this way."

The Commander got to his feet, an effort that left him heavy with breath. "What are you idiots doing? Form a line and block them off! None of them pass!"

"Sir, I think we should call for reinforcements."

"Are you in charge here?" The recruit lowered his gaze and shook his head. "That's what I thought. We don't need any help tossing pigs back in their mud pen. Now go, see to it that my orders are carried out! Any failure in their design will be on your head!" The recruit dashed away.

Commander Webb swayed before falling back onto his seat in the shade. All the screaming left him lightheaded. With a sigh he unscrewed the lid of his canteen and took another swig.

Runt marched several strides in front of everyone else. It was important for everyone to see him. Clementine stressed that several times. One foot in front of the other. That's what his whole life boiled down to in this moment. He could not falter, not with those behind watching him. Every able bodied soul had gathered for this march. More than half of the district. The cadence of their footsteps carried Runt forward.

They crossed the threshold into the Buffer's middle lane, the place where mud turned to paved stones. The cobbled street simmered beneath his thin-soled shoes, baking in the day's heat. Already the City Guard appeared panicked. They rushed about unsure what to do. Runt didn't slow his pace. The less time they had to organize themselves the better. Unfortunately, they managed to form a blockade up ahead. A line of guards stretched as wide as the ranks behind Runt, but nowhere near as deep. They each held a nightstick in their hands and a pistol holstered at their side.

Runt came to a stop ten feet from the line of City Guard. Without even saying a word the rest of the Mud District fell in behind him. Runt surveyed the row of faces blocking the lane. Behind their visor helmets drops of fear trickled down their brows. Many amongst them were young adults. Recruits judging by their slightly different uniform.

Runt steeled his voice, "We have come to answer crimes made against us. Crimes inflicted by your superiors. We have no quarrel with any of you. Leave now and there will be no need for violence."

The blockade shifted uneasily. Each man and woman glancing to their fellow guard at their sides. Confusion rode the wind of their words. It was clear to Runt that they had no idea what was going on. He pitied them. For a moment, there was nothing but their incoherent whispering before one voice spoke out amongst the rest.

"You think you can intimidate us?" A rather overweight guardsman shoved his way through the ranks. "We are the law here!" He staggered forward so that he positioned himself directly in front of Runt. "No one passes. Not unless you wish to leave the city, in which case we'll gladly be rid of you." The drink was pungent on the tiny man's breath. Runt recognized the smell all too well. The fool still held the open canteen in his hand, its contents swishing inside with every drunken sway. If the insignia on his uniform was what Runt thought it was then this drunkard was the commanding officer of the Buffer.

"You're drunk." Stated Runt, "Go home."

"I ain't nearly drunk enough to let any of you brown foots into my city."

"Your city?" Clementine stepped forward till he stood at Runt's side. "We have as much claim to it as any. Who are you to deny us? Just a drunken fool who's uniform can barely contain him. Yet you're in charge of our safety? Our lives? You're better at beating children than protecting them."

The drunk commander blanched upon seeing Clementine. His hand absentmindedly sagged and the contents of his canteen spilled out onto the street. The recognition, Runt saw, went both ways. Clementine smiled at the commander, a threat as cold and plain as the unsheathing of a dagger. His horseshoe shaped scar around his eye paled bone white in the bright sun. Clementine, don't tell me this is the one...

The Guardsman backed away straight into his own men who lurched and had to catch their commander before he fell. It took three men to hoist the drunk back to his feet. Embarrassment boiled his face red and beating like a crab. His chubby cheeks quavered with anger and he drew his pistol.

Runt moved to intercept but he was too slow, caught off guard as he were by the deeply personal confrontation. The gun blast hammered into Clementine's chest, sending him spinning backwards. He fell to the ground, his body disappearing in the swelling surge of the Mud District.

Naz was the first of the frontline to charge. He never much liked Clementine what with his smart mouth and smug smirk, but he was one of them now. Whatever that meant. Brothers in arms? Siblings to the same cause? Above anything, Clementine was an acquaintance of Runt Braun. A man Naz had come to respect above all others. A man who had placed his hand on Naz's shoulder and in that moment shared his depthless strength.

The Mudslingers comprised most of the vanguard. Each and every one of them owed a debt and they were desperate to see it paid. They collided with the line of guards. Wooden clubs clashed against nightsticks. Neither side broke. The fight swelled, clogging the lane like a blood clot. There was no room to gain any sort of momentum. They were all pressed together, shoulder to shoulder. Two walls pushing against each other. Naz swung his club, batting aside nightsticks that lashed out like wasps. With a grunt, he brought the club down on top of a guard's helmet, snapping the wooden stick in half. The woman crumpled like a sack of potatoes, which would've been far more amusing if he didn't just lose his weapon for it. As soon as the guard fell another took her place.

A stray nightstick caught a lucky blow to his nose. It had just begun to heal too, but now it gushed blood once more. Naz grabbed the hand responsible and pulled him in close. His thick skull thwacked against the guard's helm. Naz headbutted again then again. After the third headbutt the jostled guard toppled to the ground. Naz stumbled, almost falling himself. His vison blurred until he was seeing double. Ahead of him, he caught sight of Runt Braun's broad back. Seeing the giant so isolated from the rest he plunged deeper into the enemy line. His mother had always said he was part ox. Thick of muscle and thick of wits. This is for you ma!

Naz bulldozed through several guards before slowing to a stop. They clung to him, forcing Naz to one knee. One of the guards managed to work his nightstick around Naz's throat. Choking, Naz reeled back. He flailed and spun about, but the guard stubbornly held on and if anything increased his pressure. But when it came to stubbornness the guard was wholly out matched. Naz refused to fall. He jumped into the air using his weight to throw the guard off balance. Gravity did the rest. Naz fell onto his back with the guard beneath him. The mustached man gasped for air and Naz drove his elbow into the guard's face with a satisfying crunch. He stood, rubbing his throat.

The Buffer was in full panic. There were more guards than originally anticipated. Stragglers from other lanes came pouring in through alleys. Each and every one of them went for the first and largest target they saw. Runt Braun dispatched them with seemingly little effort. He swatted away their weapons and slapped them about, never even closing his hand into a fist. Still, their numbers swarmed and piled on top of the larger man, weighing him down. Runt was no longer visible in that tangle of bodies. The dogpile was like a stitched together heart that contracted and exploded apart in one eruptive beat. Guards went flying every which way, some even landing on warehouse roofs.

The raw power behind it buffeted Naz like a shock wave. He stumbled and fell on his ass. The City Guard were fleeing for the Craft District. Their flight messy and staggered. In their wake, there might have been a roar of victory loosed from the throats of those behind him. If there were any, Naz didn't hear them. He and his Mudslingers stared up in silence. Awed by the sheer strength of one man.

Buckets knelt on the warehouse rooftop, watching the scene play out from above. The two forces came to a standstill a mere ten paces apart. Buckets recognized the man dressed in the Commander's uniform. The very same senior officer from six years ago. The fool looked drunk. How he even attained that rank was beyond Buckets' comprehension. When Clementine moved up alongside Runt, the Commander turned white as churned milk. Dumbstruck fear twisted into startled rage.

That gunshot would have killed any normal person. Somehow Buckets knew Clementine would be fine. He was more capable than he let on. A simple aura could block the shot, but maybe not the stampeding riot immediately following it. Idiots could very well have killed him in their rush to avenge him. Though one can't expect much thought process from an enraged mob, especially one with Naz at its forefront. Sned's former gang of criminals and misfits did the majority of the fighting. More brawlers than soldiers, but they did what they do best. Naz was the most enthusiastic of the bunch. He was either desperate to prove himself or to catch up with Runt who had brushed through the enemy line as if they were no more than cobwebs. Knowing Naz, probably both.

For lack of a better description the street became a clusterfuck. A mass of bodies locked jaws with each other like starved wolves. Kiera popped up out of the press. As nimble as if she were wholly panther. She leapt from people's shoulders, crossing the distance to where the fighting was open enough for her to move. Buckets sighed. There was no satisfaction to any of this. Here he was just watching his friends fight each other. The old and the new. He could not participate. He hadn't the heart. As expected the Mud District beat back the guards. There was never any real doubt in Buckets' mind. The City Guard stationed at the Buffer were equipped only to handle a gang of thieves trying to sneak into the city, not a full-on assault by an entire district.

Buckets flinched when the group that had piled on top of Runt exploded into the air. One of the unlucky guards flew over his head and tumbled across the roof. Buckets stared in wonder as Runt simply brushed the dirt off his shoulder. There was a power behind him and not just the raw physical strength, which he always possessed. Despite his obvious strength, Runt was not a man of action. The events of the fire had left the large man broken. Buckets saw it in the pits of his eyes every time he stumbled into Coll's inn for another night of numb drunkenness. Runt had been starved of the pleasures of life leaving his face seemingly gaunt. Even his work as a carpenter brought him no joy or fulfillment, despite the praise of his skills from others. Buckets suspected his only reason in his work was to simply keep himself busy.

Looking down on Runt now, Buckets knew that those days were passed. Runt had been awakened to himself. The truth behind the fire had nothing to do with it either. In fact, such a revelation looked to have haunted Runt further. It was only when he went off deep into the Mud District with Clementine did he return anew. Whatever bond the two now shared returned them both from their self-isolations and Buckets for one was glad for it.

With Runt untethered from his own past sorrows he stood unrivaled. A beacon of power and hope that the rest of the District looked up to. The City Guard had no one capable of stopping that man. Despite this fact Buckets couldn't shake this feeling. This unrest. Like they had just bitten off more than they could chew.

In the midst of the stampede Clementine managed to not get trampled, which was an achievement in of itself. Had he remained on the ground he might have been killed by the very people who so eagerly charged in for his sake.

It was hard to pin point the exact moment where they gained the upper hand. Though Runt sending more than ten men flying through the air marked the start of the City Guard's retreat. Those that were left standing threw down their weapons and fled the Buffer with much haste. Just like that the fight was over. Clementine walked the street, carefully stepping over the wounded. There were many on both sides. Men and women. Young and old. Clementine spared a small sliver of pity for the City Guard. They were, after all, just doing their jobs. He did not wish what happened upon any of them. All expect one.

Clementine found him in the back, trampled by his fellow guard in their hasty retreat. He stood over Commander Webb, watching as the man stirred awake. Wasn't he just that? A man. Clementine once thought him a demon. In those pain addled nights after the fire he'd conjure the Guardsman in his head. With each passing day, the image grew more monstrous with the addition of fangs, claws, and red eyes of Grimm. Looking down at him now, Clementine new the truth. He was a portly man with a drooping face and eyes so close together he appeared somewhat cross-eyed.

Clementine glanced around. No one paid him any sort of attention. They were too busy picking themselves back up. He waited for Webb's eyes to meet his before bringing his right foot down on the man's gullet. Webb tried to push the foot off, but his attempts were feeble. A pink tongue darted in and out of his gaping mouth. His eyes bulged as if popping out of his skull. From his throat came a less than human croaking sound. Clementine leaned over his leg, applying more pressure. Webb squirmed beneath him like a turtle pinned onto its back. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. Not long now.

"Clementine!" Runt was upon him before he could even look up. With one arm he snatched Clementine away, tossing him back several feet. The conflict drew the attention of ragged beaten faces. The wet eyed tears of victory paused in the face Runt and Clementine's scuffle. They were watching, unsure and puzzled. The window had passed. Hissing under his breathe Clementine, addressed the wheezing commander behind Runt.

"Tell your superiors what happened here today. Tell them that they can collect their wounded, but after that none of you are allowed here again. The Buffer and everything in it now belongs to us."

Commander Webb crawled away, whimpering. He struggled to his feet before sprinting from the Buffer as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast. Everyone watched him go, laughing as he tripped and fell in his escape. That at least eased some of the tension. Clementine stalked towards Runt, stopping as they brushed shoulders.

"It isn't over." He whispered so only Runt could hear, "This is just the beginning."

Runt grabbed Clementine's arm. "He was your red X, wasn't he? On your map. All this…Tell me it wasn't just for you to exact revenge on that drunk."

Clementine wouldn't meet Runt's eye. He knew the giant would see the truth in them. There was no hiding it. He refused to.

Runt's grip tightened, "Tell me."

"Let go." Whispered Clementine, "Before you cause a scene I just gave up so much to prevent." As soon as the grip loosened Clementine wrenched his arm free.

Whatever Clementine said rocked Runt. The younger boy left the giant standing there with a horrified expression. Kiera approached with cautioned steps.

"What was that about?" she asked.

Runt eyed Clementine's back as he strode off. "How are we?"

"Well, no one died. So better than expected. The Mudslingers took the brunt of the beatings and coincidently dulled out the most as well." Kiera reexamined the Buffer lane. "What are we going to do about the wounded guard?"

"We'll tend to them for now. At least until someone comes to retrieve them."

"I'm not sure the others will agree."

"I don't care. See that its done."

Kiera turned to regard the street behind her, "Looks like they're working it out themselves."

The wounded had split up, Mud District on one side of the street with the remaining City Guard on the other. The injuries varied from bloodied noses to broken bones and cracked ribs. The two sides didn't interact with the exception of Buckets who helped carry in an unconscious guard.

"What's he doing?" asked Naz when he saw Buckets. The brute's nose was broken all over again leaving his mouth and chin dyed red. Clementine stood nearby with a hole in his threadbare shirt but not a scratch on him. He was staring off into space before turning in response to Naz's question.

"What does it look like?" asked Clementine.

"It looks like he is helping the enemy."

"Yeah…helping them leave. Or do you want them to stay?"

Naz shot Clementine a look, "I liked it better when I thought you were dead."

"Don't sound so disappointed."

Naz's smile was a nasty gap-toothed thing smeared in blood. "How can I be disappointed? The day is ours. We've won."

Clementine nodded, "Now it's time to collect our prize. When your men are ready start raiding the warehouses."

"We're way ahead of you" He jerked a thumb at the warehouse next to them. "It's locked up nice and tight. They all are, but I already got our best lock picks on the job."

Kiera snorted, "Picking? Thought you guys would just bust the door down using someone else's head as a battering ram."

"You volunteering?"

Kiera smirked and started walking across the street. "Not at all. Let me know when you get through."

"You're not the boss of me."

"No, but you'll do it anyway." As she approached the other side many of the injured guard turned from her regard. Defeat weighed on them like a heavy cloak. Their wounded egos and injured bodies made the youthful recruits indignant. However, fear stifled their prideful wrath. Most of them glared at Runt unable to comprehend the man's strength. Some Kiera saw had their eyes on someone else.

"That kid should be dead." Whispered one of the guards who stared at Clementine. "A shot like that…point blank range-"

Buckets fixed a makeshift splint into place causing the man to grimace. "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

Kiera motioned him closer, "How are they holding up?"

"They'll live, despite themselves. You shamed them in this defeat. Guarantee they won't remain employed in the City Guard after this."

"Perhaps that's for the best."

He didn't respond to that but his eyes revealed more than any words could tell. They held nothing back. Not from her. Kiera took him by the arm and guided Buckets out of earshot from the injured guard. "I'm sorry. I know this is difficult for you. You're the only one to have friends on both sides of the battle."

"That said, it scares me to think..." his voice drifted, "I could have easily been one of them. Standing in rank against you."

"Be thankful that you're not." Kiera found some shade in an alley between two warehouses, away from the chaos of the street. She sat down and tugged on Buckets hand to join her. When he took his place next to her she continued. "The other day…that was fucked up of me. You didn't deserve that."

"It was bound to happen eventually." shrugged Buckets, "We were foolish to think otherwise."

"We never talked about our pasts with each other. Why is that you think?"

"I found you and you found me. Nothing before that seemed to matter and with everything going on at the time there was little chance to focus on anything but the present. Afterwards, when things settled, I think we just grew used to each other. We've already been through so much by then. What was left to learn by diving into a painful past?"

"What makes you think it's painful?" asked Kiera, her throat dry.

"Just a feeling."

"Bullshit."

He winced, "Not long after the fire, when the district still smoldered, you and I were walking through the wreckage. Surrounded by destruction, which happened to be the only place we could find solace from the grieving atmosphere. Their sorrow choked us more than the lingering smoke. Yet, despite the ruin you wore this face. Like you've seen it all before. Was I right?"

Kiera turned away, shocked by the accuracy of his perception. "You weren't wrong."

Silence filled the gap that followed. They watched the remaining City Guard pick themselves up. Those who couldn't walk leaned on the shoulder next to them. With painstaking steps, they limped away. The small party of wounded disappeared into the Craft District. Those of the Mud District who remained in the Buffer watched the guard's exodus with a somber expression. When they were gone, Buckets spoke.

"I was born to a prominent family in Atlas. My father was a powerful person deeply involved in the Atlesian military. As his eldest son, I was also his pet project and subsequently his disappointment. When I could, I left. Fled all the way to Mistral just to put as much distance between myself and him. I signed up to become a Ranger because I wanted to be a part of something I could be proud of and the Rangers had that reputation. However, my training and induction into Refuge's Ranger Division was cut short."

"What did your father do that made you run so far?" asked Kiera. When she saw the pain fill his eyes she backpedaled, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. We don't need to know everything about who we were as long as we know who we are now."

"It's alright," he said, blinking the pain away. "I want you to know. My father tried to turn me into something I'm not. My training started the moment I took my first step. He wasn't interested in raising a son as much as he was in honing a weapon. You can laugh if you like. I know I don't look like much to you. My pacifistic nature makes people think I'm a coward and perhaps I am. I'll happily be a coward every day of the year if it meant I didn't have to fight anymore."

His words stunned her. "You can fight?"

He nodded, "I'm not like you though. I don't enjoy fighting."

"But you're good?"

Buckets smiled at that. The same carefree smile she'd seen before a thousand times, yet this one was different somehow. The humor in that smile didn't reach his eyes. Buckets turned to examine the sky as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "When I was sixteen my father had an argument with a close family friend on whether his training methods were superior than that of the Academy. When the argument became a heated debate, they decided to settle things for good. A trial to prove the point. They put me in a ring with the Academy's top student, James Ironwood…an old friend of mine back when we were snot nosed kids. They forced us to fight and hurt each other just to win an argument. Well, my father won the argument and I lost any sense of who I was. After that I knew I couldn't stay."

Kiera remained quiet for a moment, considering all that Buckets said. "I'm sorry, but your father sounds like a real dick."

Buckets broke into genuine laughter, "Yeah…that he is."

"I never knew my parents. I don't know if they're dead or what. From what I know I was born in Menagerie. When I was still a baby I was taken along with a handful of others. Shipped over to Mistral to be sold. My oldest memories are ones spent in cages on a rocking boat in an ocean's tempest. I grew up wearing chains believing no other life existed uncollared." Her words hurt him as she knew they would. "Now you understand why I was never too eager to discuss my past with you or anyone for that matter." She held out a hand to an imaginary person in front of her, "Hi, my name is Kiera and I was once a child slave." Her outstretched hand turned into a fist and she pounded her thigh. "No one wants that on their minds when talking with you."

"Kiera…I'm so sorry." His hand moved towards her, reaching out uncertainly.

She flicked him in the forehead. "Enough. I am not telling you this for your pity. Yes, I was once a slave. But I escaped. eight years old and alone in the wild. Now maybe it's the faunus in me, but living in such a state of being was euphoric. I danced with the wind, hunted alongside the wolves, and slept in my own den. Before long I ran on all fours and was quicker for it. I inserted myself into the food chain and climbed each rung until I was at the top. Never in my life have I tasted such a freedom, before or since."

"You adapt to survive and struggle until you thrive." Buckets recited the words like a poem. "Something a tutor of mine once told me."

"Your tutor was right. But the freedom of an animal is different from the definition of freedom society has fashioned for themselves. They mistake comfort and security as liberties of the free. This is not the case. Freedom…true freedom is wild. I imagine the prospect of that to be scary to most people and it is…Every day you live and breathe as if it were your last. But in such a life no day is unlived."

Kiera found him studying her. She froze like a deer spotted by prey. This was the moment she feared. Revealing her most vulnerable self meant opening their relationship to change. Would he look at her any different? That's what it all boiled down to. Would he stare at her with pity? Or perhaps unease? She found neither in his soft brown eyes. The sight of it took her breathe away and when he smiled she smiled along with him.

"So, you grew up alone in the woods?" laughed Buckets, "How come that doesn't surprise me in the least?"

She playfully punched his shoulder, "Nothing lasts forever. Eventually the hunters came and their dark presence drew the Grimm. Soon enough I was driven from the forest I called home. Forced to flee or die. I traveled a road, hungry and alone until finally I couldn't take another step. I collapsed and when I came too there was a girl standing over me. At first, I was frightened. Humans were a danger and I was too weak to defend myself. However, this little girl offered me an apple with a smile. You can imagine my surprise. She led me back to her farm where her and her father lived. They took me in. Treated me as if I were one of their own. My first taste of a real family."

"Where are they now?"

"That old Sap is still there I imagine. At the farm. I write letters to him every week though I've yet to find any reliable means of sending them. I came to Refuge in search of his daughter…my sister. I wanted to join her on her adventures. She refused me. Said it was too dangerous. But I chased after her anyway. Trail ran cold here. I spent days trying to pick it back up again. Was just about to return home when I saw the fire rising over the rooftops."

"After it was over, when the fire was doused and the district safe…What made you stay?"

She met his eyes, "What made you?"

Buckets grinned at her for they both knew their answers were identical. "Thank you for telling me. I am honored that you let me understand you even better." She could hear the humbled pleasure in his voice. Joy flushed her face and for the first time she had no idea what to say. All at once Kiera realized how tired she was. Exhausted, she sagged against Buckets who leaned against her in turn. The commotion out on the street dwindled into a small buzz and even that faded. Her eyelids slowly closed. When she opened them next, it was dark. Naz stood in the alley mouth, kicking at Buckets' feet. Something soured the Mudslingers expression or perhaps that was his usual grumpy face.

"Get up." Said Naz, "Clementine wants you both inside."

The Buffer had cleared. Only a handful remained and those who did were all Mudslingers. They patrolled in pairs very much like the guard they had kicked out. Only difference being is that they now faced the opposite way.

"Where'd everyone go?" asked Kiera.

"Home. Where do you think? There's work needs doing and we can't sleep all day."

"How come no one woke us sooner?"

"Braun said to leave you be." Explained Naz, "But not anymore so get up."

Buckets groaned awake, "What got you in such a pissy mood?"

Naz pointed towards the warehouse across the street, "Go inside and find out."