The rough rope rubbed her palms raw. Her right hand so recently mended cried it protest. Kiera fought through the pain, barely aware that there was any. She held her protective aura back, knowing full well she'll need every bit of it for the fights to come. While her arms pulled her up, her legs walked the side of the Spine in support. Up she went. Her pace brisk, almost rushed. She hadn't even bothered securing the safety rope around her waist in case she fell.

Buckets and Kiera were scaling the Spine when they heard the shots. If they had moved faster, gotten up and over the Spine then maybe they wouldn't have heard it. Then maybe Buckets would still be alive. Kiera was aware how selfish her thoughts were. If they hadn't arrived there's no telling who else might have died. Yet still, she wished for it all the same and it made her sick.

At the top of the Spine waited more lines of spikes hidden in the brush. Same as the ones they used in their last ambush. Made from strips of rope and metal scrap collected from the edges of the Craft District. Wasting little time, Kiera slung the loop of spikes over one shoulder and set out. The trees whispered in the rush of wind. The baton secured at her belt whistled a reply. With every twist of her hips the baton shifted to a different pitch as if she were playing music. The deeper into the woods she went the lesser the wind became until finally the woeful tune came to an end.

Kiera followed the familiar tracks leading to the truck routes that were known to her. She set up the spike strip across the dirt road, masking its presence in the muck. When it was good and camouflaged she scurried to the side of the road. Hiding behind the brush, she waited. Hours passed and nothing. Convoys were sent to Refuge only once a week, yet trucks were moving in and out of the Quarry every day. During their recognizance for their last ambush they had tracked trucks leading outside the Spine's valley. Black market shipments. None knew where they went, but it was only a matter of time before one of such trucks passed her by. Kiera was content to wait. She marked the time by the chirping of the birds.

Such serenity was known to her once. Back when she was just a wild child in the forest. The scars of shackling still marked her dusky skin then, yet it did not matter. When she plunged her tiny hands into the stream water the blood of the past washed away in the current. Such days were forever close behind. Even now, over a decade later those memories were as clear to Kiera as the water in the stream. If she just closed her eyes she might be able to find it again. Too late. The rumbling sound of an engine approached. A single box truck on its way back to the Quarry. Kiera prepared herself.

The wheels popped upon hitting the spike strip, causing the vehicle to veer. Kiera lunged from her hiding spot before the truck even stopped spinning. The kick up of dirt hid her approach like a fog. She arrived just as the man in the driver's seat was getting out. Kiera drove her knee into the Ophidian's stomach before bringing her elbow down onto the back of his head. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of the barrel lifting towards her.

Kiera ducked as the Dust bullet shattered the driver's side window where her head used to be. She jumped into the air, grabbing the top of the truck and using the strength of her arms to fling herself over. The Ophidian was slow to react. Kiera landed at his side and with the sweep of her leg brought the man flat on his ass. He tried to get up but she pounced on him. Her punch went straight through the raised rifle, snapping the gun in half. The back of the Ophidian's head slapped against the dirt. Kiera thought he would try to get up so she punched him in the face. Then punched him again. And again. And again. Her fists wouldn't stop. They continued their assault, tenderizing the man's face into pulp. She watched on helplessly, reduced to a mere spectator of her own fury. When at last her punches slowed it was due to fatigue.

Wheezing heavy breathes, Kiera stumbled back. Her hands were shaking and stained with blood. It took a focused effort to unclench them. She knelt next to the unconscious Ophidian and placed two fingers at his throat. Still breathing though his face was unlike what it was a few minutes ago. Her own beating heart thumped in her ribcage. Kiera made her way to the back of the truck, dismissing what just happened. She unlocked the latches keeping the double doors secure and with both hands, she pulled them open.

The concussive blast of scattered pellets took her square in the chest, fracturing her aura in an instant. The force of the blow hammered her into the dirt where she bounced off gasping for air. Ophidians filed out from the truck's otherwise empty cargo hold. Kiera scrambled backwards but they quickly surrounded her. The man who shot her passed his steaming blunderbuss off to one of his buddies.

"You still alive, girl? I damn shot you point blank and here you are, still kicking. Are you trying to make me look bad?" Kiera tried to get up but the man kicked her in the stomach. "Think you can outsmart us, huh? You see we were told to expect a little retaliation from you muddy bastards. Though I have to admit. You're far better looking than what I imagined. Who would've thought the Mud District had such a beauty. And a faunus no less."

Kiera folded over the pain and without her aura there was a lot of it. One of the other surrounding Ophidians spoke up.

"Dwain, she damn near killed Brock."

The Ophidian named Dwain shrugged, "Damn, would've been doing us a solid there. The man's downright irritable."

Kiera reached behind her back, finding the grip of the baton. She lunged out swinging, taking one Ophidian in the arm and another in the face. The rest backed away out of her reach. Kiera spun around looking for a way out but they formed a tight circle around her. In her unbalanced haste, she slipped in the dirt and fell to one knee. The Ophidians laughed.

"We got ourselves a real feisty one." Said Dwain, "Boys, teach her how that kind of behavior is treated around here."

They all advanced at once. Kiera swung and roared in a desperate attempt to defend herself but there were too many. They knocked her to the ground and then proceeded to beat her. Kiera curled into a ball. Her animalistic grunts of pain became fewer and farther between until she stopped making any sound at all. Then it was just the thwack of their boots and leather billy clubs.

"That's enough." Ordered Dwain, "She's learned her lesson." He knelt next to Kiera, grabbed a tuft of her hair and yanked her head back. "Always liked a girl with curls." He lifted his gaze to his friends. "Hair springs back in place no matter how much you pull on it."

Kiera twisted her neck around and bit into the fleshy part of the man's hand, deep enough to draw blood. The effort pulled some of her hair out but it was worth it to hear Dwain holler. Her jaw locked tight. It took two others to tear her away from him.

Dwain screamed, "You rabid bitch!" The back of his hand caught Kiera across the face, twisting her around so that she fell on her stomach. After a moment's dizziness, Kiera clawed her way to where Buckets' baton laid in the dirt.

"Oh no you don't!" Dwain grabbed her tail and tugged her back, dragging Kiera through the dirt. She growled in fury, but lacked the strength to pounce. "Somebody muzzle the animal."

Kiera tried to push herself back up but others held her arms down and restrained. Following Dwain's orders one of the Ophidians tied a loop of rope between her teeth. When this was done Dwain placed his boot on the back of her neck, forcing her face first into the dirt. Something cold and sharp pricked the base of her tail.

"I know people who would pay an exorbitant amount of money for a faunus' tail." Taunted Dwain, "Should I make a friend happy?"

Kiera gnawed into the thick manila rope but was unable to speak.

There came a rustling of leaves followed by sudden voices. The Ophidians jumped in alarm, their startled yelps filled with panic. Those forces holding her down relinquished their grips. Even the dagger fell away from her tail. Kiera rolled onto her side. Someone new stood over her. A rugged face with a bristly beard and hair aged silver. There were others as well she noticed pouring in from the sides of the road. They wore uniforms of mixed greens rather than the snake skins and scale armor of the Ophidians.

"What are you doing here?" snarled Dwain.

The silver haired man responded, "Our jobs. Keeping the peace."

"She attacked us. She's ours."

"We'll take things from here."

Dwain chuckled, "Don't you Rangers understand? You work for us. We own you."

The Ranger's jaw bunched, "I don't know what kind of sewage is stewing in your brain but you better empty it out and listen. We don't work for you. We tolerate you. So, don't push your luck."

Dwain bit back a snarl, "Fine. You want the girl? She's all yours. Be my guest. But the tail is mine." He stepped towards Kiera but froze when the Ranger reached for his sword.

"Does it really mean that much to you?" asked the silver haired Ranger.

Dwain hesitated for a second before his ego got the better of him and he raised his dagger. The Ranger's crescent shaped blade took the Ophidian's hand right at the wrist. The fool howled in pain, grabbing at his spurting stump. The other Ophidians moved in to help, but none raised a finger to the rangers who now all had their weapons out. Crossbows and swords. Many homemade by the varied look of them.

"Take your friend, get in your truck, and go." Said the Ranger, unmindful to the blood that blotted his face. "Drive fast and he might not bleed out by the time you get back."

None raised a word in protest. They loaded their wounded back onto the truck in quite the hurry. The Ranger commander, for his rank was clearly superior judging by the air of authority about him, knelt and picked up the severed hand.

"Don't forget this." He tossed the fang tattooed hand inside the truck just as the double doors slammed shut. The blown-out tires flapped, kicking up dirt as they continued on their way. Their hasty retreat prompted a few chortles from the surrounding rangers.

Kiera tore away the rope gag and spat out blood into the dirt. Gritting her teeth, she tried to push herself to her knees. She made it halfway up off the ground before her arms buckled and she collapsed. She would've cried out in pain if she had the strength for it. Her limbs were useless and her head felt stuffed full of cotton.

The Rangers all turned towards her. Their leader sheathed his khopesh at his side and retrieved Buckets' baton. He held the metal tubed weapon before her.

"This does not belong to you. Where did you get it?"

Was that worry in his voice? Anger too. But confusion most of all. His obvious concern struck Kiera dumb. She couldn't formulate a response for the old veteran. She just couldn't. Whatever he saw in her face though, made him grimace. He spoke again, this time panicked.

"Where is the man whom this belonged? Where is Sanguine Stroud?"

"Sanguine Stroud." She repeated, "Funny, this is the first time I've heard his real name. All these years and I've never known his real name."

"Where is he?"

"Dead." She said, her voice breaking into a sob. "He's dead." Tears broke out across her face. Dammit. I thought I was done with this. Cried myself dry already. Kiera was shocked to see she was not alone in her sorrow. The rugged Ranger Captain's eyes watered.

"That's not possible." He stammered, "It can't be."

"I buried him myself."

The Ranger blanched at that, "Lieutenant. Help her." He ordered, "See to those injuries."

"Yes, Sir." Several rangers rushed to her side. With surprising gentleness, the Ranger medics lifted her to a sitting position. They began their work cleaning out and dressing her wounds. Things slowed down then. Kiera's vision swirled. She would've fallen over if the medics didn't keep her up.

The Captain shoved an uncapped canteen under her nose, "Drink this."

She sniffed, "What is it?"

"It's for the pain."

"I'm fine…Had worse."

"I don't care."

He brought the canteen to her lips and poured. The spicy liquid burned her throat. They continued to treat her. Silent and efficient medics. Bandaging cuts. Applying poultice to her collection of severe bruises. A slow process. By the end of it whatever the Captain gave her worked its way through Kiera's body. Her vision cleared and her body's aches faded to a single dull thud at the back of her skull. It banged like desperate drummer boy seeking attention.

The medics stood, "That's all we can do for her now. She needs to be taken to camp for further treatment."

The Ranger Captain nodded and crouched before her, "You still with us?"

She blinked up at the man's face and found sharp eyes staring back at her. "You're the Captain of the Ranger Division?"

He nodded, "The name's Ashur."

"Captain Ashur. Buckets talked about you some. He had a great deal of respect for you."

"And I to him." His nostalgic smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. "How did he die?"

Kiera sniffled, "Smiling."

Whatever tears the Ranger Captain was holding back broke through like a ruptured dam. Kiera saw that his obvious emotion shook his fellow rangers. Ashur fell back onto the dirt and buried his face into his hands. His Lieutenant crouched down next to him and started stroking his silver hair. The comforting gesture revealed something between the two of them, which the other rangers viewed with gentle eyes. As if looking to hard would break the fragile thing.

Kiera did not know what to do. She came to get away from all this grieving and yet here she was, spreading it to a whole new group of strangers each sharing in her loss. Ashur wept silently. It was a long while before he lifted his head again and when he did his nose was running and his face wet with tears.

"You were close?" he asked Kiera.

"Very."

He studied her a moment before retrieving Buckets' baton and placed it in front of her. "This then belongs to you now. But you should know, you're using it wrong. Nameless is a one of a kind weapon. Not a club meant to swing and bludgeon. I don't know how but it captures and stores energy through constant movement and hard contact. The hum builds to an ear-piercing whistling. I've heard it only once, but I'll never forget the sound."

Kiera looked down at the peculiar baton named Nameless, "Only once…He never liked to fight."

"No, he never cared for it…What's your name?"

"Kiera."

"Well, Kiera. You can stay with us for however long you need to recover."

She shook her head, "No. I have to get to the Quarry."

"You're in no condition to go anywhere and it will be dark soon. The Grimm will be more active then."

Kiera took Nameless in her hand, "I can make it."

Ashur crossed his arms. "Stubborn girl. Stand and walk towards me. If you can make those steps, I'll let you go."

Steeling her defiance, Kiera struggled to her feet. Every motion no matter how small was torture. Her legs wobbled under her own weight. She couldn't even stand up straight. The pain forced her to fold over her stomach. Refusing to give up, Kiera took her first teetering step. The thud in the back of her skull burgeoned. She fell into her next step, just barely managing to stay on her feet. Two more steps now. That's all it took to reach Ashur. She stepped again, hardly lifting her feet off the ground. One more. Kiera lifted her leg and planted her foot firmly into the dirt. She looked up at Ashur, baring her teeth in a mad grin.

"Made it."

Ashur sighed and nodded to someone behind her. Something clunked against her head and her vision went black.

Captain Ashur stood guard at the entrance flap of the medical tent, waiting for the faunus to wake. Her complexion was chilled and clammy despite the warm summer air. Ashur thought about waking her several times, but it was obvious she needed the rest. She slept like a rock through the night. He wondered if she was even alive until at last, movement. The faunus shifted in her place on the flat cot. Her pale eyes fluttered open. She groped her surroundings as if blind. After taking in a few ragged breathes she tried to sit up.

"I wouldn't." warned Ashur, "You have three cracked ribs, a possible concussion, a few scrapes and more bruises than I can count."

Kiera eased herself back down. "Concussion you say? I wonder who-who I have to thank for that."

"Sorry, but I couldn't let you go."

"Am I your prisoner now?"

"You're my patient." Ashur moved to the chair next to the cot. He sat himself down and leaned closer so that she didn't have to strain to see him. "Why did you attack the truck?"

"Can you really not guess?"

"Revenge won't bring him back."

Kiera was long in responding. "No, it won't. But the Quarry is a wrong that needs to be righted."

"You think you can attack it by yourself? They'll kill you."

"Perhaps," she admitted, "but I have to try. There is no one else. The Mud District is under siege. Everyone's fighting just to protect themselves. Such a fight will last forever unless I put an end to this. If I liberate the Quarry, not only would I free the slaves there, but it will cripple the entire corrupt system that Refuge depends upon."

"You would risk your life for this?"

"He would…He did." Her brittle reply threatened to bring Ashur on the verge of tears once more. "You ask a lot of questions Captain Ashur. Mind if I ask you one of my own? Why do you serve her? The Tradeboss."

"You're referring to Ira Glass?"

"That's the one."

Ashur sunk back in the chair, "How long have you lived in Refuge?"

"Six years." Answered Kiera.

"Forty for me. In the beginning, there was no real authority here. Refuge was just another Mistral population far outside the reach of the Council. The city was ruled by splintered factions of criminals. Mafias, street gangs, mercenary cells, and assassin guilds. Wars were waged over ownership of the very same Quarry you seek to liberate. The only reason I ever became captain of the Ranger Division was because all my superior officers were killed in one of those wars. The precious Dust mine must've traded hands a thousand times, each one leaving their bloody print soaked into the ground. Whatever representative the council sent down to restore order either became just as crooked as any other criminal or died within a week.

"By the time I took command I was just about ready to give up on this City. Then Ira came. She opened my eyes to the truth. There is no stopping the tide. One could only control it. And that's exactly what she set out to do. She brought order and stability to a city splintered in a thousand pieces. Bit by bit she sowed them back together. But Ira didn't stop there. She wanted more. She convinced us of the very same. To make Refuge thrive. Better than any city in Mistral could. The Quarry was the key to that. Same as it had been the fulcrum in all preceding conflicts. It would live on. A necessary evil."

Ashur paused to drink from his canteen before wiping his mouth of the booze and continuing. "She promised that over time she would end its slavery…Its use. And you know what? I believed her, because I think she even believed it herself. Well, years passed and it became clear that Ira had arrived at the same conclusion all her predecessors had. The Quarry stays. The few suffer and the majority thrive. And you know what? I was okay with that. Why not? The city had become a landmark in the Mistral Kingdom. A place of invention, music, and wonder. The Quarry itself had become far more humane. I threw these things in my face as often as I could so that I could learn to tolerate. But this…this conflict with the Mud District has gone too far."

"Then help us." She pleaded, "Join me. Together we can liberate the Quarry. End it all." Ashur froze, his mouth open but no sound coming from it. Kiera sneered at him, "You do what you will. But when I get better, I'm going for the Quarry. I'll fight this whole Division if you get in my way."

Ashur chuckled, "You two were very different, weren't you?"

A thin smile appeared on her half-swollen lips. "We were. That's what made it great. I was the fist and he the pillow."

"No one wanted to join the Rangers for years. Our recruiting office was turned into an abandoned storage facility. One morning after a long night of heavy drinking, I came stumbling back to the barracks. On my way, I passed the recruiting office and there he was. Just a kid sitting outside the office door. Looked to have been there all night…waiting. He tells me he is looking for an honorable path in life. I told him to look elsewhere and continued on my way."

Ashur smiled upon recalling the memory, "The little bastard followed me all the way back to camp. Now I had no patience for this, hungover as I was. Some dewy-eyed brat reminding me of all that I once wished to be…I grilled him, said things that would've crushed the hopes and dreams of most other kids. But not him. He just smiled, thanked me for my time, and moved on.

"I thought I saw the last of him then. That is, until a couple of days later. We were tracking a pack of Grimm through the forest. We traced their movements to one of the main roads were a trade caravan bound for the ports was passing along. Must've been a pack of twenty or so. Beowolves and Ursa as big as carriages. To be honest, I thought the caravan was doomed. In my head, I was already writing up the paper work. I expected to find a massacre. Instead I found the same boy holding a whistling baton, surrounded by over twenty patches of black smoke. The only damage the caravan suffered was a few frightened children and a blown axle."

Kiera wiped at her face, "He was a hero."

Ashur nodded, "A friend."

"Sanguine Stroud." She spoke the name with more wonder than familiarity.

"No," said Ashur, "You're wrong about what you said the other day. Sanguine Stroud was just the name given to him at birth. His real name was Buckets. He told us as much."

Kiera stared up at a hole in the tent roof, where the sun spilled in. "Buckets…fuck, what a stupid name."

Ashur choked on a laugh, surprised by her genuine annoyance. "It is a little silly." He replied.

"A little? Damn ridiculous!"

They laughed together stopping only when the pain in Kiera's chest became too much. Ashur stood and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Rest. We'll talk more later."

Kiera looked as if she wanted to resist any sort of comfort, but the weight of her eyelids was too much to be denied. Slowly, she drifted to sleep in the cot. Ashur counted the number of bruises on her and cursed himself yet again for not arriving sooner. He only wished he could have repaid that offense with more than just a severed hand. One day soon, he would do just that. Ashur sealed that silent vow in his soul.

Soon.