The inn grew packed. Almost the whole district showed up to their meeting. They cornered Kiera and Buckets, pinning them with their questions. Worry had spread across the Mud District and they craved answers. Kiera couldn't blame them. She shared their worries. Buckets took the brunt of their questions. He tried addressing every individual issue to the best of his abilities, but before he could fully answer one question, ten more piled up. Wasn't long before they turned on each other over things that had nothing to do with anything. Old rivalries, past slights. Individually, most were well behaved. But put the crabby bunch together and they fight like hyenas over dinner. Kiera pleaded with them to remain calm, but her words fell on deaf ears. She was out of her element and drowning.

Kiera leaned back in her chair, defeated. "Wrangling farm animals was easier than this."

"Don't sweat it." said Buckets, "They need this. Let them vent out their frustrations. It's good."

"Good?" Kiera pointed out into the tumultuous crowd, "Those neighbors are arguing about how one never returned the other's frying pan. Those kids are complaining to Mr. Flood about over-priced chewing gum. And the Boyle brothers over there are fighting about the time one pulled the walking board out from the other, dropping them into the wet mud…Fifty years ago!"

Buckets chortled, "At least they're not stressing on the real issues anymore."

"I still don't see how this is good. Things will get out of hand if we don't do something."

"Relax. My little brother and sister used to argue like this all the time. I never understood how twins could be so different." He shuddered as if remembering something unpleasant. "Didn't you once tell me nothing lasts forever? Eventually, they'll burn themselves out and when they do there will be this empty space inside them ready to be filled. It will be our job to fill it."

"Fill it with what?"

"Love, friendship, comradery," his eyes lit up in a peculiar way, "…ale?"

"You of all people should know. With the exception of Coll and Runt, people here don't drink easily. It's practically the opposite everywhere else."

"One the strangest things about the Mud District I'd say."

"There's a lack of desire and supply. They only drink on special occasions."

"I'd wager this to be one such occasion. Coll has a stockpile, I know it. How else he manages to get drunk every night?"

Kiera licked her dry lips. "It is hot out. A cold ale might just be what they need. Think you can convince him to crack it open?"

"I'll go find out." Buckets set out, pushing his way through the packed inn. Kiera lost sight of him as he neared the bar. Having seemingly forgotten about her or the reason they're all here the crowd continued to argue. One man separated himself from the nonsense and came over to take Buckets seat.

"How's the arm?" asked Kiera.

Greenberg wiggled the fingers protruding from the cast. "On the mend. How are you holding up?"

"Fine. Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What about?"

"You taught Clementine when he was younger, yeah?"

"I did. His sister too before him."

"What was she like?"

"Risa?" Greenberg smiled upon recalling her, "She was a sweet girl. Hard working too. Got along with just about everyone."

"And her little brother?"

His smile disappeared, "Less so. He was never much interested in what I had to teach him. He preferred to find his own education. While the kids were learning the basics of say math and the like he would bring in his own materials. Specialized topics. Little curiosities to be explored. Where he got them from I have no idea. Anyways I didn't have him for very long. Stopped coming altogether after the first few weeks."

"Did he have any friends?"

"One…If you can call it that. Just ran into her in fact."

"Who?"

"Blind Shan."

Kiera struggled to remember the woman. "Old Gran's sister?"

Greenberg paused as if he never considered that before. "Are they?"

"Old Gran complains about her enough to be. I haven't seen her in a while. Thought she left the city."

"Evidently not. She's the reason I came to talk to you in the first place. She's outside with a message for you. The reclusive woman refuses to come in."

Kiera stood, "Where outside?"

"Near the water well."

"Thanks, Professor."

"I'm not a professor!" he shot back but she was already halfway towards the door.

The well wasn't far. Kiera knew how to get there by heart. Back and forth she once went. Blinded and choked by smoke. The well was located in the middle of an intersection a stone's toss from the blackened husk remains left by the fire. She found Blind Shan sitting idle under the well's roof absentmindedly yanking on the pulley rope. The suspended bucket jostled with every pull. The old woman appeared to have shrunken over the years or maybe that was just her hunched posture. Her wrinkled face turned to regard Kiera's approach.

"Are you Kiera?" she asked.

"I am."

Blind Shan hopped off the stone well with surprising ease for someone her age. "Am I supposed to take your word for it? Come here, let me have a look at you."

"Come again?"

"Kneel down child, you expect me to reach at my age?"

Hesitating for a moment, Kiera knelt so Shan could reach her face. Her hands were bony, yet her touch gentle. They moved over her features feeling her jaw and nose, passing over her eyes and lips. Shan nodded, "Hmmmm, pretty." She clasped Kiera's shoulders and gave them a small squeeze. "And strong too. A powerful combination…I was told you are a faunus with the tail of a panther."

Kiera flicked her tail forward. She waved it in front of Shan who after a few swings seized the tail with one quick snatch of her hand. The old woman brushed her palm over the tail, petting the sleek black fur. Kiera shivered and instinctively recoiled.

"Sorry." Apologized Shan, quickly releasing her hold. "I know that must feel weird to you. Understandable considering. I knew a few faunus in my day. A handsome, broad man with the fur of a bear and a beautiful lady with the teeth of a piranha. They too were sensitive about their animalistic features. She never liked to smile-"

"What's the message already?"

Blind Shan retreated back under the well's shade. "Didn't mean to stir up anything…Young Clementine sent me. He and Tysa's Runt are investigating something beyond the Spine. He said they would be back tonight and expressed desire for you to hold down the fort here while they are away. He also said to recruit some buckets to help," she yanked on the rope once more jostling the attached wooden bucket, "but your guess is as good as mine."

Kiera bit back a curse, "What are they investigating?"

"An irregularity sensed by myself and young Mr. Braun."

"Could you be more specific?"

"I think it will be best to wait for their return."

Kiera groaned in frustration, "How did they even get past the Spine?"

"I jokingly suggested they climb it. Runt Braun isn't very good at recognizing a joke, is he?"

"How am I supposed to keep things settled here while they go off sightseeing?"

"He didn't say."

"Oh, that's just great." She stormed off without another word. Behind her the blind old woman muttered something about the usefulness of a bucket. Her words had a way of chasing Kiera across the eerily quiet district. Kiera found herself teetering on the edge of a run just to get away. Only when she caught sight of the inn did she relax some.

Buckets was waiting for her at the door. "There you are." He said when she came into view. "We might have a prob-"

She grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him inside with her. "Nothing a drink won't fix."

"You alright?"

"Did Coll agree or what?"

"Y-yes." He stammered.

"Then what's the problem?"

His smile placated her. "It's nothing."

When the two of them set out again they walked side by side. A small fact that made Clementine happier than he expected. Their encounter with the Grimm had left him rattled. What followed, even more so. Risa and Runt…the thought had never crossed his mind. Not once. Clementine wasn't sure how to feel. Dismayed by the revelation long kept from him? Heartbroken that Runt grieved alone and in silence for all these years?

There was no hiding how close they must have been. It was clear as day. Always had been and yet he never noticed until now. The veil had been pulled from his eyes. Clementine feared he would lose sight of who Risa was, but now it seemed he barely knew her at all. The thought turned his stomach so he cast it from his mind and instead focused on the Grimm.

The outside world was more dangerous than he initially thought. No more than an hour's walk into the woods and they were set upon. Somehow the danger did nothing to dissuade Clementine of his curiosity. On the contrary, he was more intrigued than ever. Runt was right. Books could only teach a person so much. The real thing was far more breathtaking. Clementine found himself craving more.

"You handled yourself well enough." Runt may as well have been talking to the trees for all Clementine could tell.

"What's that?"

"When you went to take on that Beowolf. It was a good stance. And your lunge was elegant, I admit it. A duelist's lunge. You didn't hesitate or look away. Not until the last second. Even so, for someone who's never seen Grimm before that's no small thing."

"Is that a compliment?" teased Clementine, "Am I hearing right? Are you actually praising me?"

"Don't make me regret it." warned Runt.

"Wouldn't dream of it. But I don't deserve it. I froze right when I was close enough to strike."

"There's no shame in freezing up. You can't prepare yourself for something like that. My first time seeing a creature of Grimm I pissed myself."

Clementine chuckled, "As amusing as that is, I didn't freeze up because of how terrifying it was. I've imagine worse."

"What then?"

"It's hard to explain…I am pretty good at reading people. Just one small exchange and I can get a feel of who they really are. But looking into that Grimm I felt nothing. Nothing at all."

"No surprise there. Grimm are monsters with no souls. Nightmares…" Runt's voice drifted.

"For nightmares, they were little trouble. You handled them well. Like you've done it before."

"I was raised to fight them. By the time I was fifteen I could wrestle an Ursa to the ground. Did you see the bones on the outside of their bodies? That's one way to track their age. That and their size. They were young and reckless. Puppies compared to what I've faced. And a small pack of them at that. We got lucky. I'm not sure how they found us…The wind must have carried our scent."

"They can sniff out our negative emotion." Said Clementine, "That's how they found us."

"That's just a theory. A story to frighten children and make them behave. It's never been proven. How can it? The only way to study a creature of Grimm is watch it from a distance or fight it tooth and nail." Runt seemed to remind himself of something. "The other day you said you knew all these things about the guard who hurt you. Where he slept and ate. Seemed you knew his whole routine."

"This is true." Confirmed Clementine.

"If your desire for revenge was so strong how come you didn't strike sooner? Why wait all this time? You must've thought about it."

"I did. More than I'd care to admit. Sometimes I felt like it was the only thing keeping me in Refuge. But you see, I was hesitant to act on my own. It wasn't until I had my foot on his neck did I realize."

Runt slowed in his pace so that he fell behind a little. "Realize what?"

"How easy it was."

"Taking a life should never be easy."

"And yet it is."

"The physical action perhaps, but that's only half of it. What comes next is far worse. You think you can shoulder the burden of another soul on your conscious? You'll be taking them everywhere you go for the rest of your life."

Clementine looked back to see Runt staring at the ground his hands clenched into fists. "Have you ever killed someone?"

Runt glanced over his shoulder as if eyeing someone behind him. "The lives you take. Directly or indirectly. Innocent or guilty. They become linked to your soul. Bonded till death where they will wait for you."

"Sounds unpleasant."

"It can be." Runt turned back around and strode to catch up. "You fight utilizing your aura, yes?"

Respecting his change of topic, Clementine nodded. "I do. Taught myself to let it out in pulse bursts when I strike. Makes me stronger."

"An aura is the physical manifestation of one's soul. To fight with it is to brush souls with your opponent. In a sense, you open yourself to them. Maybe this allows you to glimpse their true nature. Could explain the null dread you felt when you closed in on that Grimm."

"Is that a common thing?" asked Clementine, equally curious and worried.

"No, it's not." Admitted Runt, "You're full of surprises."

"Same could be said of you. I saw you fight those Beowolves. I saw one rear back its head and howl but I didn't hear anything and judging from their lack of reactions, neither did the rest of the pack."

"It's called semblance…Didn't you read about that in one of your books? I can manipulate sound. Amplify or lower it as I see fit to myself or those around me."

Clementine's face scrunched in thought then he laughed, "So that's how…So many things about you just made a whole lot more sense." His laugh quickly turned into a gag as the wind carried in something foul. "Gah, what is that?"

Runt sniffed the air, "I'm not sure."

They picked up their pace. As they went the stench grew fouler. Dark clouds overhead dimmed the once bright sky gray. Runt pointed out a gap in the leaves. Somewhere up ahead smoke billowed like a baker's chimney. A lot of it too. The smoke gathered in the clouds, scorching the sky. Runt slid to a halt, stopping Clementine as well.

"What is it?" asked Clementine, "Hear something with your super hearing?"

"If you shut up and listen, then you can hear it as well."

He was right of course. There was a commotion up ahead. A muttered clamor similar to the ambiance of the Craft District. They approached with caution. The number of trees dwindled, leaving the cracked ground barren. The lack of cover left them exposed while also allowing them to see farther. About fifty feet ahead the ground fell away and from that pit arose a swirl of dust clouds and smoke. They moved close enough to the edge to look down.

The pit was deeper than he dared imagine. The depth of it was almost equal to the height of the Spine itself. Every fifty feet was another layer funneling down to the very bottom. The small forms of people scurried about like ants on every level. There were hundreds of them. Thousands. On the other side of the gap that made up the pit's mouth were ramparts of a sort. Hard to tell from the distance and hazy air, but pulley systems were in constant motion hauling up and down people and cargo both.

Runt released the breath he had been holding, "It's a damned mining quarry!"

"Not on any map I've ever seen." Commented Clementine.

"This-this shouldn't be here."

"And yet here it is. Just out of sight. Nicely tucked away in our own backyard and we didn't even notice. All except you, Runt." His voice trembled, "I never even bothered to look this way."

"You're looking now."

"And I can't turn away." Overcome by a sense of vertigo, Clementine took a precautionary step back from the ledge.

"Hey!" shouted a voice from their left, "Who the fuck are you two?!" The fast approaching man wore patches of scale armor and skins. Worn and strapped at his limbs. A serpent's fangs were tattooed on the man's cheek. He had a mercenary look about him. No City Guard, that's for sure. And yet the gun he aimed at them was the same model gifted to Sned.

Before the patrol got within earshot Clementine whispered. "Let me do the talking."

As the man drew closer he took note of Runt's size and stared up at the larger man, bug-eyed. "What are you two doing here?" he hissed.

Clementine stepped forward, prompting the man to aim the gun at his chest. "What does it look like we're doing here you simp? I was told you people would meet us halfway, but you were a bunch of useless no shows. Now, after what felt like hours trudging through the woods lost, you dare point a gun our way?"

The mercenary wavered slightly, "Who are you two?"

"I come on behalf of Councilman Moss."

The mercenary went pale, "What?"

"Oh you don't got a clue, do you? Go find someone who does and have him meet us at the lifts. Don't bother with an escort. We've managed fine on our own without your help. Now go, before I have my man here toss you over the side like the useless sack you are."

Runt nudged forward an inch and the mercenary practically jumped. He examined Clementine closely, then took one last glance at Runt before scurrying off. After he was out of earshot Clementine chuckled softy.

"Nice touch there. He looked ready to shit himself."

Runt rumbled a laugh, "Where'd you learn to demand people around like that?"

"I've been a spoiled child once or twice in a theatre play. No trick to it. Just act like you know something they should and always remind them of your powerful daddy."

"But the councilor…"

Clementine smirked, "A shot in the dark, but not a blind one. He oversees all of Refuge's affairs. If he's not running this operation, then he is at least involved in some fashion. Right now, his name is our key to get in."

"Wait, you're serious? You want to go down there?"

"Truthfully Runt, I didn't expect to find anything out here. I thought you were just sleep deprived or something. But now that we're here we might as well find out as much as we can. Don't you think so?"

"How? We've already been noticed. There are too many to sneak past. Look at us." Demanded Runt, "I mean really look at us. A blue eyed giant and a posh looking squirt with bare feet. We're not the most inconspicuous pair. They'll spot us for sure."

"I'm not saying we sneak in. We go along with the lie. Ride that train as far as it can take us. I'm the son of some spoiled high-class family here to do Moss' business. You are my bodyguard. Just glower at everyone you see and act like you belong here. If we think it, then so will they."

Runt grinned, "You're insane."

"No dear bodyguard. I am a performer. Now the stage awaits. Let's not keep the audience waiting, shall we?" Clementine set out and after a brief second Runt followed. They walked along the Quarry, circling around to the front where the lifts were. Clementine strode a step ahead. Whenever assuming a role, he always liked to get into character by mastering that character's walk. The stroll around the giant Quarry pit provided ample time to practice. His movements transformed with long strides, a puffed-out chest, and an upraised chin.

Along the way other mercenary guards stopped and stared. The one Clementine had belittled earlier had obviously spread the word because no one tried to stop them. Each and every one of them were similarly garbed in patches of scale armor and lizard skins, presumably from a snake. They all had the same serpent's fang tattooed somewhere on their body or painted onto their armor. It appeared to be the icon of whatever group they made up.

It was a good long walk to the lifts and by the time they arrived a small party had gathered to meet them. The cheek tattooed man who carried Clementine's message was bent over wheezing from exhaustion. Next to him stood a formidable figure. The man was short now that Runt had arrived, but he was just one solid slab of muscle. The pickaxe he carried looked more like a toothpick in his meaty palms. He had an unsettlingly cherubic face despite his obvious age. The left side of his cheek was swollen with some kind of cud that squelched inside his mouth.

"Welcome my friends." Whatever he was sucking on stained his rotten teeth and lips pink. "Sorry about trouble. Didn't hear about no visitors."

Clementine surveyed the ramparts with an unimpressed expression. Off to the side was a gravel road leading away. A number of box trucks were parked in a line beside the road. They were the same as the ones that delivered to the Buffer. Mercenaries worked on loading and unloading the trucks. Some of the cargo containers had the Vulcan Industries 'V' logo stamped on it while others were marked with just a black spot. Clementine noted that they were split up onto separate trucks. He allowed his attention to wander, purposefully drawing out the pause before finally regarding the one who spoke. "And you are?"

"The Foreman, little Sir."

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes."

When it was clear the Foreman wasn't going to elaborate further Clementine continued, "Right, so you're the one in charge here?"

The Foreman had to think about that for a few seconds before replying with a, "Yes. I believe I am." He didn't sound very sure of himself. Great, the man is as thickskulled as the rocks he breaks.

Clementine waved his hand to disperse a cloud of dust the wind had seen fit to blow into his face. "Can I assume you at least heard of the incident?"

The Foreman blinked, "The what?"

The exhausted patrol mercenary next to him spoke up, "He means what happened in Refuge the other day. The people from the Mud District revolted. They took over the Buffer. The City Guard there were savagely beaten but those brown foots let them flee so that they would walk the streets of Refuge, a threatening warning to any who would oppose them."

Clementine's face twitched. A flicker of his real emotion showing through just for a moment. "Is that what they say?"

"It's what I heard." Shrugged the mercenary.

Without warning the Foreman cracked the mercenary in the head with the flat end of his pickaxe. There was no anger in that devastating blow. None that Clementine could spot. The action was quick and instinctive like swatting a fly. The mercenary went face first into the gravel and didn't move.

"You hear and not tell me? What use are you then?" he gestured and a couple more mercenaries came and retrieved their comrade's body, dragging it away as casually as one might mop up a spill. The Foreman scratched his shaved head with the pickaxe's chisel end. "Sorry, what you say you were here for?"

Clementine feigned a smile, "In light of recent events Councilor Moss thought it best to send me to check on things here."

"Is this an inspection?" asked the Foreman.

"Nothing so formal."

His eyes brightened, "A tour then?"

"If you would be so kind."

He looked up at Runt, something he clearly wasn't used to. "Who's your friend?"

"My bodyguard. He goes wherever I go."

The Foreman nodded, "Big fella, ain't he? Could use a man like that here. Other tools break to easily. How much for him?"

"I'm afraid he's not for sale."

"That's too bad." The Foreman spat a glob of pinkish phlegm into the gravel and spun around. "Follow me, little Sir."

With the Foreman's back turned Clementine chanced a glance at Runt. The big guy wasn't holding it together as well as he hoped. Clementine couldn't blame him. At the mention of sale, a shiver ran down his spine. You don't sell workers, only slaves. Even with Clementine's abundant imagination he could not think of anything worse than slavery. The subjection of one's freewill left a vile taste in his mouth. With some effort, the dark pit in his gut swallowed that bitterness down, allowing him to move towards the lifts with a smile.

Grumbling something incomprehensible under his breath, Runt followed suit. The bodyguard scowl he wore soured from a mix of revulsion and rage. Runt stopped just before stepping foot into the metal cage lift. He leaned over the edge. While staring below a bead of sweat trickled down his face. Clementine cleared his throat of dust, using that instance to secretly beckon Runt to get on. Runt shot Clementine a sneer and entered the lift.

The Foreman beamed, "All ready, yes?" With a pull of a lever the lift began its slow descent. Runt moved to the lift's railing, grabbing on so tightly his knuckles whitened. Clementine joined him at the railing overlooking the Quarry below. Each level protruded from the last like a grand staircase. Heavily armed guards manned each of the levels where lifts stopped. They were marked with the serpent's fangs same as the rest. However, the Foreman was absent the symbol. Whatever the reason, Clementine kept his thoughts to himself and instead focused on his surroundings.

A vast web of chain and rope created the pulley system that operated the lifts. An impressive feat of engineering far past anything these mercenaries were capable of. There were more than ten caged compartments going at once. They descended at an angle so that they would meet each level's platform, just barely missing the edge of the previous. The thick wires that were the lifts' zip lines sagged ever so slightly under the strain.

Caverns honeycombed the Quarry walls, hollowing it out like a beehive. Most of the top levels appeared empty, but as they passed by figures emerged from the shadowy caverns. They were hard to make out. Clementine could only see the whites of their eyes through the dusty air.

"A wonderful sight, I cannot lie." Lied Clementine.

"We have over a dozen caverns per level with countless tunnels sprouting from each one. They stretch out miles." The Foreman spoke with a passion for his work that at least made his words more intelligible. "I was but a baby suckling on dry dirt when the pick first revealed this land's jewels. It's been more than fifty years since then and still this place shows no signs of depletion."

"You must be proud to run such a fine establishment."

The Foreman regarded the quarry before him, "I am."

"How much Dust is churned out of here weekly, would you say?"

The Foreman sloshed the wad in his mouth with his tongue as he thought. "About a hundred crates. Half to the smiths and half to the black."

"The black?"

The Foreman raised a mostly burned away eyebrow, "The black market."

"Ah, right." Giggled Clementine, "Of course."

Almost a quarter of the way down they spotted the main body of workers. Gaunt, hunched over. Men and Women coated in grime. Their clothes were tatters and rags. Faunus mostly. Their animalistic attributes made them easy to differentiate. Most moved unaware of their presence, spurred by the barking orders of their overseers. But one looked up, a boy. Half Clementine's own age. He wore thick goggles that covered most of his face. Behind those tinted lenses his eyes met Clementine's. The boy's cracked lips pealed back revealing a strange smile. The two front teeth on both the top and bottom rows were much longer and thicker than the others.

"You use children?" Runt's voice was taut.

The Foreman nodded, "My tunnellers. The most valuable tool. Each one worth ten fully grown. They get to places most cannot."

The railing crackled and splintered under Runt's constricting grip. Clementine placed a hand on his arm, which miraculously soothed the giant man enough to prevent him from snapping the railing in half.

"Why so many faunus?" asked Clementine.

"Just what I'm given." Answered the Foreman, "Condemned prisoners and slaves. Some see in the dark. Very useful." The farther down they went the harder it became to breathe. Dust was thick in the air and heavy on the tongue. Each breath was a painful wheeze. Clementine cleared his throat.

"Some harsh conditions here, don't you think?"

The Foreman squirted out another pink hued glob of spittle between a gap in his teeth. "You get used to it."

Clementine peered below. The very bottom of the pit was shrouded in a veil of colorful smoke. "What happened down there?"

"An explosion a week or so back. Someone struck wrong crystal. Started chain reaction. Laid out entire bottom level."

"Is stuff like that common around here?"

"Common enough." Shrugged the Foreman, "Deeper we go more volatile Dust becomes. Easy to trigger something if one's not careful."

"It's been over a week and the stuff hasn't cleared out yet?"

"Even after Dust's exploded the resulting smoke don't just float away like normal. Dust lingers. No choice but to let it air out on its own. Even in gas state they're dangerous. Stuff can be ignited all over again by natural elements. Its why lantern light only given to the steadiest of tunnellers."

Runt shifted his focus away from the slaves for the first time since spotting them. "The storms."

The Foreman considered Runt's sudden interest before nodding, "Aye, stuff mixes with clouds and come the storm the sky rages in bright lights. We use the noise to muffle our own detonations when needed."

"The lightning sets it off?" asked Clementine, trying to sound less interested than he actually was.

"Seems like. I'm not scientist."

The lift slowed to a halt on the level just above the smoke-filled bottom. The guards stationed there straightened to attention as the Foreman and his two guests exited the lift. After a few threats from the level overseers the slave workers picked up the pace on whatever task they were doing.

The Foreman took the lead. The slaves parted as if he were a boat and they the water. They avoided eye contact, but Clementine could feel their gazes on him. Every time he turned in their direction they shifted away. This up close he could make out the details of everyone he passed. The number of years spent here were easily marked by their weathered faces. They moved about freely, if that word could ever be used here, with nothing restricting their limbs.

"I expected chains." said Clementine.

"Chains make it hard to work. No chains needed."

"Then you risk them escaping?"

The Foreman's plumb cheeks grew cherry red, "None escape. None ever have. Lifts are only way in or out. If they climb they are shot down. If they somehow take control of lift, then wire is cut."

"An impressive record then."

The Foreman grunted, but said nothing else.

A slave emerged from the closest cavern struggling with a wheelbarrow full of rocks. As he came close the wheelbarrow careened, taking the man with it. The two pitched to the side and collapsed on the rough ground. Clementine resisted his urge to help the fallen slave.

"Best leave him be." Said the Foreman, "If one tool breaks then it wasn't meant for job."

Runt forcibly shoved past the Foreman, "Or maybe you're using your tools wrong." The Foreman's jaw muscles bunched, the cud squelching like a sponge between the man's grinding teeth.

Clementine muttered a quick apology before moving to join his supposed bodyguard. Runt knelt beside the fallen slave. The man's hands were bloodied from calluses. He was new, not yet used to the labor. But it was only a matter of time before his hands hardened into the scarred, puckered things that were a common trait among all that labored here.

"Are you alright?" Runt flipped the man onto his back. Soot sheathed his face like war paint. A glaze rested over his blank eyes. He looked straight into Runt's face and all fog that shrouded his vision dissipated. Sned stared, eyes sharp with alertness while Runt was too stunned to move. Clementine held his breath. That alarm in Sned's expression died as quickly as it appeared. He flicked his broken gaze to Clementine then back to Runt before peeling himself away from the stunned man's grip. Without saying a word Sned went back to work shoveling the fallen debris back into the wheelbarrow, marking them each with a bloody handprint. Runt finally stood and stepped back, allowing Sned the space to haul himself away. The former Mudslinger leader didn't even look back at them as he left.

Pretending as if nothing happened, Clementine wiped his clammy palms onto his pants and continued towards the cavern where Sned came from. The footsteps of Runt and the Foreman were close behind.

At the cavern mouth, something white caught Clementine's eye. He spun in place, examining the ceiling. There were five in total, evenly spread out across the edge of the cavern. "What are those?" he asked.

The Foreman's ghastly smile was something Clementine would never forget. "I call them sticky puddies. Make them myself. Grounded up dust crystals mixed with an adhesive and fixed with remote detonator. In case we tunnel into Grimm. Collapse it all, cut them off before they break out."

"What about the workers inside?"

"What about them?"

It hurt to smile. "That's very clever of you. Didn't think that was possible."

"Thirty years I run this quarry. I've personally handled more Dust than any man alive."

"Councilor Moss will be pleased to hear everything is running so smoothly, then."

"He will?"

"You doubt it?" questioned Clementine.

"No, little Sir-Only, the Councilor never showed any interest about this place before. All he care about is profit, not the work."

"I can assure you that the Councilor cares more than you know." The Foreman considered that for a moment before smiling. "You're doing a bang-up job here Mr. Foreman," continued Clementine. "I thank you for the tour. I've seen more than enough to be satisfied and then some. It's time for us to go."

"Okay."

"Oh, and keep my visit here quiet. After what's happened, the Councilor is a little more than troubled. He's not sure who he can trust."

"He can trust me, little Sir."

"And I will tell him just that when I see him next."

The Foreman damn near blushed.

Mole watched the lifts ascend back up to the ramparts, carrying away the two fascinating visitors. Guests were a rare joy at the Quarry. In all of Mole's eight years he had never seen ones as interesting as the two who came today. The most obvious of the two was the giant. Easily the biggest man Mole had ever seen. Even the Foreman looked as if a child standing next to that man. What shocked Mole the most was how similar the giant appeared compared to them. Those large hands of his were heavily calloused and what Mole could see of his dark skin were patches of burn scars as if he were caught up in a Dust explosion. The giant's crystal blue eyes pierced through the hazy dust filled air. Mole couldn't guess at the grim expression they held.

The other visitor had been much more subtle and yet equally fascinating as his partner. Mole had briefly locked eyes with the young man only for him to look away out of disgust. He understood. His smile had that effect even amongst his fellow tunnellers. The young visitor who stood as if he owned the Quarry puzzled Mole. His strange appearance was in itself a contradiction, or so Mole thought. He wore fancy clothes and had a clean handsome face like a true noble. Yet, he walked barefooted like Mole. Feet smeared in grime and filth. Mole wasn't sure what to make of that. Granted, he didn't have long to ponder it. The bell rung through his level, announcing lunch's end.

Mole went to collect his gear before returning to his tunnel. Deep in the caverns and out of sight from the overseers were the most dangerous places to be for lone workers. It was where the mean men and women liked to operate. People like them were on every level. Each their own separate gang. Yet they did the same thing. Extorting the weak, taking from their rations and forcing their own work onto them. Any who resisted were found beaten or worse. Mole often heard the screams of their victims echoing throughout the caverns. Even long after the deed was done those screams remained as if trapped in the stone.

The big bad on his level of the Quarry was some faunus named Vance. Rumors said he was once a member of some faunus rebellion group until his own extreme actions had him excommunicated and eventually arrested. Him and his gang of thugs often looked upon Mole with contempt. Yet none of them ever bothered Mole for he was a tunneller. One of the Foreman's favorite. His mole front teeth for which he was named proved quite useful in the excavation of tunnels. A talent the Foreman drooled over. None would lay a finger on Mole else risk the Foreman's blunt wrath. That didn't stop their hateful gazes from tracking him as he went by. Mole hurried past them, lantern in hand. The isolation of his own personal tunnel was heaven to him. Here he was safest. Only another tunneller child could crawl through to reach him. No other could fit.

Reaching where he left off, Mole started chipping away with his pickaxe once again. He hoped to reach another vein of Dust by the day's end. Then the Foreman will take over giving him a reward based on how large the vein and type of crystal. Red was the most common and often the most destructive to handle. A vein of yellow or white crystals proved the rarest to find.

The lantern provided enough light to eliminate the crushing sensation most tunnellers got when stuck in a tight-fitting space for a long time. That's what often saw the end to most. More so than choking Dust or tunnel collapsing. It wasn't uncommon for workers to be found twitching in a puddle of their own making. The shakes people called it. An overwhelming fear that seized control of the body and buried the mind. Mole was determined not to fall victim to it. He had little fear of the cramped tunnels. He had been born in such a place. What he feared was retirement.

When tunnellers got older and grew into their new large bodies they lost their value. The Foreman set them aside without a second thought. Unwanted and unneeded. Without the grace of the Foreman's protection most former tunnellers became victims of the mean men and women who glared at them for years. Some Mole heard found refuge with other gangs comprised of kindlier folk, yet just as strong. Such groups however, were outnumbered by their hateful cousins and Mole knew of no such kindly folk on his level.

There would be no protection for him. Mole had no family left or friends to begin with. Vance and his hateful bunch will pounce on him for sure. Unless, he manages to escape before then. Mole often thought about it. Escaping. The impossibility of such a task proved daunting enough for Mole to forgo any attempt. However, the visit by the two guests today revitalized his desire. A whole world existed outside this Quarry. One full of such strange people like the giant and the prince. One he wished to see without the dust sheathed lenses of his goggles.

Mole dreamed about standing on the precipice of the Quarry pit, looking down on his fellow workers like a god. With the flick of his hand he'd set them all free. All but the mean men and women who wanted to hurt him.

The only thing that kept that dream alive was the whispers of a story he heard long ago. It was scarcely talked about because if the Foreman heard about it then he'd have you killed or worse. He'd chop of your toes and fingers. Gauge out your eyes and leave you to crawl blind and hobbled in the caverns with only your ears to listen to your own cries. The gruesome punishment was thought to be a spook story told by the elders of the Quarry to make it seem like their telling of the tale invited more risk than it actually did. Mole however, had come across such fated people in the deepest most forgotten parts of the caverns. Or so he thought. All he heard were their strangulated groans and groping stumps in the dark. Mole had fled before coming any closer.

Still, such a punishment did not dissuade all. The seniors of the Quarry cared little for themselves or the Foreman's wishes and so the story was told in hushed whispers. The story of the one person who ever escaped the Quarry. It was many years ago, long before Mole was born. He had been a tunneller like him. The Foreman's favorite. Rumor is he disappeared in his own tunnel never to be seen again. Not uncommon. Yet when it was discovered he had stolen weeks' worth of rations and supplies the Foreman sent others after him. The tunnel he disappeared in stretched on seemingly forever. All sent were forced to crawl back or risk the shakes. To hear the old timers tell the tale the boy had tunneled his way to the end of the world where he emerged a full man grown.

Mole thought about that story more often of late. In its repeated telling the desire for escape grew until it was all he could think about.