Chapter 8: It Could Be

Vermillion Lance

"Forgive me, I've been running my legs into the ground—two trips to the Council, one to parliament, and the military command wants an in person assessment before the sun's down." Mrs. Belladonna had slid passed the many cubicles that made up Vale's police headquarters and into the glass box of an interrogation room Vermillion called home for the last twenty-some odd hours. Like a good host, the police chief came into her space with gifts: a tray of two pots and twin green mugs inscribed with the axe insignia of Vale. "Would you rather coffee or tea?"

"Tea, thank you," Vermillion mumbled as she shifted her seat from the floor to the metal chair, sensing another interrogation coming. After the heavyset Officer Bleu and lanky rude one who never gave a name, this, shockingly, was the first from Blake herself. "Coffee's too bitter."

"When I first got to Vale I hated it," Mrs. Belladonna began, setting the chrome plastic platter on the table. She took her own matching steel chair, pouring out a fine green tea into the Vermillion's mug first. The drink steamed, as fresh as one could hope, but Blake grabbed the second steel kettle for herself, pouring out a pitch colored drink that nearly gagged Vermillion. Extremely concentrated. "However, my best friend—she's taught me never to underestimate its pure kick. I think that's the only reason humans can stomach this dirt flavor." Mrs. Belladonna flashed her amber eyes up for the first time today, perked a bit by the smell alone. Taking a sip didn't wipe the bags from her eyes. "I fear before the end, I'll be happy to have your cup."

"I'm sure you're tired." Vermillion took her own mug, warm to the touch and sweeter on the nose, and sipped away. The flavor was stronger than it need be, but the warmth running down her throat and dripping into her core was godly.

"Very." Mrs. Belladonna leaned back in her chair, gripping the mug close to her as she crossed two legs and watched. She reminded Vermillion more of a hawk than a cat despite her ears. "I can't imagine sleeping here is any easier. Apologies for the low amenities. I wanted to bring out a cot for you. I honestly just got distracted."

"It's fine, Mrs. Belladonna." Vermillion slept in worse places. Under rain weary tents to escape a storm, under the dim light of a candle at the mouth of a cave. Worst of all was sleeping on a horse as it trotted down the road; a skill every rider had to learn, but not one learned quickly. A half inch thick cotton blanket and uncovered pillow was comfort enough against the linoleum of the station floor, though the noise of footsteps and hushed officers was constant throughout the night. Honestly, it wasn't sound or hard floors that kept her up for most of her stay, but apprehensive worry that balled into a painful spot in her lower left side. Vale's police made Vermillion deeply uncomfortable.

"Have you eaten?" Blake paused on her drink, tired eyes glaring at Vermillion over the rim, "I'm almost afraid to ask."

Vermilion cracked the most minor of smiles. "Officer Bleu brought me a pizza a few hours ago. I'm fine. Thank you."

"I'm glad. We're holding you for questioning, but you are allowed to ask for things. Like I said, we're not your enemy." You might not be, but the power dynamic remains unchanged.

"I can't say I don't look forward to returning to my dorm."

Blake nodded, swiping through the holographic screen of her scroll making finger checks on the unscrambled side. The police used scrolls with back's that projected noisy scattered images to make the screen completely incomprehensible to anyone not looking from the right angle.

"You'll be back soon enough, I promise. I just wanted to ask you a few more questions."

A few more questions lost its meaning around nine last night, but Vermillion remained cooperative all the same. She took to brushing through her hair again, thirsty for a shower to give the red mane some life again. She still had a film of grimm on from yesterday's fight that needed more than the five second rinse police showers could offer.

"You told Bleu that before arriving at the tower and engaging the terrorists, you were at Central Prison for the Aura Gifted, is this correct?" Mrs. Belladonna snapped Vermillion's attention back to the chief, stopping her right in the middle of fixing a loose strand of hair behind her horn.

"Yes, I was returning unopened letters my father sent me." Vermillion knew at this point lying was only eroding credibility. If Mrs. Belladonna was asking a rudimentary question, it was to build to something, something more potent if she even dared to lie. "I don't have a relationship with him and I wanted to make it clear that wasn't changing. Once I finished I saw the tower explode and rode on from there."

"Smart," Mrs. Belladonna commented, punctuating an unintended utterance with a self punishing click of her tongue. "Did you sign in at the CPAG?"

"Yes."

"Was this your first visit?"

"Yes"

"Could any of the admin's, desk staff, or guards identify you?" A quick image of the guard choking on the floor, chain wrapped around his throat wiped Vermillion's mind. Difficult thing for him to forget she would assume.

"Yes."

Mrs. Belladonna swiped the screen again, yellow eyes scanning what one could only guess was Vale's brand new file on Vermilion Lance, or gods forbid, Taurus. Considering the legally questionable method of entry into the country, would that be the first of all Valen government documents to bare her face? They can't deport me without Beacon's approval, the schools are independent, Vermillion repeated in a cycle to herself every time the older woman's eyes flashed to a new page.

"Chief, your daughter's here to talk to you." An officer Vermillion didn't recognize peeped his head in the open door. Beyond him through the crack, there were traces of someone with hair like black iron and gold plated streaks. Dawn.

"A moment please," Mrs. Belladonna waved him off, the door left ajar and the officer outside awkwardly shuffling from side to side. Beyond the crack Vermillion could see him gestating to someone, probably dawn. "That's problematic," Mrs. Belladonna tugged on Vermillion's chin with two monotone words, bringing the chief back into focus. "I had someone check, there is no record of you and not a single person our department asked recognizes your student ID photo." Fuck. To keep everyone out of trouble it was best to purge her from the system; she was never there, no guard was hurt, no inmate electrocuted. They're covering for her. "Mrs. Lance, you don't have to lie to me. What were you really doing around the tower? Give me someone who can place you anywhere else."

"There were some children, playing with my horse," Vermillion adjusted the collar of her wrinkled jacket, she could tell it was one hell of a stretch. "The guards are just trying to keep me out of trouble—"

"What trouble are they trying to keep you out of?" Blake interrupted. A weight laid dormant and rusty at the bottom of Vermillion's belly and spread, building nervous ache. She was so stupid coming to Vale. What a foolish child.

"I can place her," Dawn's voice peeped from behind the horizon, swinging open the door with the officer behind him sweating down to his pits. "I was following her. Vermillion has an alibi. She was visiting a prison. I can't say why, but when the bomb went off, she was as shocked as me. She's clear mom."

Vermillion stared at Dawn, mixing a confused wide-eyed surprise with comforted softening of the jaw. In twenty-four hours she'd gone from bully to hero. Dawn glanced at her, but those yellow cat eyes said nothing.

"Good," Mrs. Belladonna broke the tension and slumped her shoulder, a faint relaxed grin on her sleep deprived lips, "I'll send your scroll an affidavit, sign it so I can put this to bed. Since you're here, is my time up already?" It's over?

"Yep," Dawn popped her P and rested two hands on her hips, lazily leaning on the wall for support. "I'm a courtesy call. Summer's furious outside." Summer? It shouldn't surprise her, a good team leader wouldn't ignore a day long being in a box with nothing for hours had a way of making Vermillion forget she had a team.

"She's very much like her mother," Mrs. Belladonna joked, standing from her seat and putting away her scroll, she took three steps towards Dawn. "I'd tell you to stop spying on your teammates, but it's turned out very helpful. Thank you." Dawn turned away as soon as her mother reached out and held her cheek. Mrs. Belladonna grinned one sleepy, proud smile. "Any more surprises? The mastermind of the attack hanging out in the dorm one over, maybe? Please?"

The delivery made the joke and even Vermillion let out a nervous chuckle and Dawn dare to smile. "Nope, sorry mom."

"Mrs. Lance, you're welcome to leave. Do you need an escort home?" the chief dismissed and kicked the door open into the office.

"Summer brought a spare helmet," Dawn countered. She remained behind her mother as Vermillion happily stood, legs feeling creakier than ever. She had little of her own, Arondite, a leather wallet from home, and her quarter-of-a-century old scroll. All awaited her at the front desk. "I'll catch you at the dorms Vermillion. Oh and don't worry, already brought your horse back to the stables."

Vermilion left it at that, offering nothing but a smile and thank you before she left the pair. As the door shut, she caught a glimpse of warmth, the sight of a mother embracing her daughter.

In the lobby the officer on dispatch already had her belongings ready. Throughout the office everyone had a hollow dead look, bags under their eyes and something oppressive hoisted on their shoulders. Didn't stop Summer from being merciless. Vermillion caught her stomping impatiently back and forth in the lobby, a helmet in one hand, Excalibur in the other.

"Summer," Vermillion mumbled, giving a small bow of acknowledgement as soon as Summer noticed.

"Finally!" Summer sprinted over and before Vermilion could say hi, her arm was already tossed over the young faunus' shoulder and pulling the pair into a one handed hug. Vermilion seized up from the awkward affection; her tribe was not exactly the most touchy of people, such affections reserved fro the closest of friends and family. Summer had no such compunction, and weirdly enough Vermillion was happier for it.

"I'm surprised. You came all the way out here for me?"

"Of course," Summer chuckled, pulling apart and holding out the free helmet to her partner, Azura's, painted blue and dented from prior battles. Bucephalus was a war horse in its own way. "When I found out you were being held chargeless, Dawn practically had to talk me and Azura out of planning a jailbreak!" Summer continued, "Come on, let's go, I want to be available for Azura if they wanna talk about yesterday."

"Summer," Vermillion muttered, refusing to take the helmet.

"What?"

"I have horns."

Summer's eyes opened into wide silver plates shocked but not moving an inch. Petrified on top of mortified. Vermilion couldn't help but giggle. "That, uh, that you do." Summer, despite the paralyzed face, spun on her heel, towards the door, "Guess we'll start your newfound freedom by breaking the law in front of the station then." With a flip of a fur-lined hood, the metal plates of her own helmet folded over Summer's head providing her a convenient mask before she looked back at Vermillion. "Where's Dawn?"

"She's inside with her mother," the faunus replied, following her out the door. The motorcycle Bucephalus waiting patiently for them right outside, the lights and engine roared as soon as it… sensed them? Vermilion didn't understand the tech.

"Good god, not her too! I swear I will strangle auntie Blake if I have to come back in there one more time," Summer groaned, hopping onto the bike and snapping the free helmet to its magnetic holster, on the other side Summer's sword slide into place, fitting right into the frame made special for her. "Get on." Summer punctuated with a slap to the half a seat left, half a foot of space at best.

"Will I fit?" Vermillion asked, stepping forward and sliding Arondite onto her back for comfort.

"Never been on a bike before? Yeah, just don't be shy. You'll want to hug me."

"I suppose I would…" Vermillion mumbled, feeling a redness on her cheeks.

"What?"

"Nothing." She tossed one leg over the frame and settled in as best she could. Summer was right. She had to squeeze to fit, but fit she did, arms wrapped round her partner's frame. The metal plate between them, Vermillion expected it to be cold, but Summer's exposed bits and jacket left her warm to the touch. When the bike lurched forward, already moving faster than any horse she'd ever ridden, Vermilion clung tighter.

"Thank you," Vermillion muttered as they entered Vale's highway, riding down the sunset orange path to Beacon. All the city's widows were turned into reddened mirrors, and from above it looked unchanged by yesterday's awful bombing. Six more support towers stood their post not to mention Beacon's green glow from afar. "I just want to go home."

"We'll be there in just a minute." That wasn't what she meant by home, but as Summer took one hand off the throttle to put it on Vermillion's gripping arms, switching to AI control and scaring the hell out of her in the process, she thought maybe it could be.

Blake Belladonna

"Hey," Blake placed two boxes of old paper records in her arm on the entryway table, the plop nothing compared to the echoes of news regurgitating her own reports from the living room. She recognized the voice of the VNN's newest anchor by his uncomfortable stutter as well as her wife's tan boots propped against the foyer's wall. Yang, if the smell of slow cooked salmon didn't give it away first. "You're home." Blake didn't mean to sound annoyed, but the pure exhaustion coupled with surprise sure dragged her uttered blurb to that spectrum of sound.

"Yep, I got dinner," Yang's voice rang from the kitchen, bouncing off the living room walls, "so come sit your butt down."

Blake didn't bother arguing, not that she had a reason to. Yang's voice pulled her forward by the chin even if her legs just wanted to give up and drop her to the floor. That honeyed sound cracked the supports keeping her awake and forced her forward all at once.

"You're really back?" Blake asked once she passed through the red-tinted-brown foyer and into their relatively small living room adorned with a single three seat couch and matching reading chair. The place was downtown, modern, and secured with a rudimentary AI system and even an automated sentry standing in the corner. Two bedrooms upstairs and two-and-a-half baths, it was all they needed. No one in the family ever stayed home for long.

"Figured you'd need a meal." The kitchen was open from the livingroom and Yang stood at the center reheating a few separate pans. Dressed in pajamas with a smock, it was rare to see her arm off, the cybernetic limb rested instead on a charging station hooked into the wall. She never did like tapping into its backup battery. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"I'm not sure." Blake felt her knees buckle, tapping the beige couch seats. She tumbled into the cushions, feeling a hazy fog fall over her body. Her hand went to her scroll, popping up recent emails. Blast analysis was finished, planted explosives, military grade compact dust charges, placement suggested pre-planting. Then why be there in person?

"As expected," Yang mumbled. Blake found it morbidly interesting how well she balanced things even with only a nub and one hand, tray of plates and bowls she held up with 1.5 arms, placing it right before them on the coffee table. The smell was grand. Salmon, veggies, a seasoned mash, and some sort of stew with a tall mixed juice. The servings were proper for three, and with Yang sliding Blake's legs off to make space for one more, she guessed it was just them. "Protein rich, carb strong, and a varied meal served hot free of charge. Don't you dare skimp on a single dish."

"Thank you." Blake sat up to eat, but her body just shifted and slid onto Yang's shoulder. Warm, she didn't push back. She kept one hand on her scroll, cycling through work emails while the other sliced off a piece of the finest of fish. "I'm happy you don't hate me anymore."

"Oh, I still want to deck you." Yang reached her for a spoon and took a bite of the mash. Her violet eyes flashed at Blake's fork, making sure it never stopped. "But some things are more important. Even if I won't stay I need to be here right now. If I don't make you eat, you'll starve."

Blake chuckled weakly. No, her work habits never got better, maybe got worse. Whenever lives were spinning with the coin in the air, she was just as bad as always. Blind to anything but the threat, either tackling it or run—no, she didn't run anymore. No more running.

"I'm sorry you're stuck babying someone you hate," Blake mumbled between bites. Her stomach was waking now, the painful grumbles, she could feel the shrinking and it stung like a knife tossing and turning with the salmon. Food was what she needed.

"Contrary to common belief," Yang whispered into Blake's hair, confident her special ears heard it loud and clear, "I don't hate my wife." Blake's eyes shut themselves and the danger of passing out right there was real. "I just hate the stupid shit she does." Yang laughed and shook Blake awake, but she didn't mind.

"I don't want you to." Blake kept an eye on the new anchor, he was sweating as he reported the White Fang's newest act of terror and the context: a bombing on the same year as the Vytal Festival, though tensions with Vacuo probably meant the actual games could be delayed as far as next spring. He was connecting obvious strings, but nervously. One of the editors must not be sure about this call. Same information, but the perspective shift can chan—

"And I really don't want you watching this." Yang hit her scroll and swapped the channel from news to prime time. A romance/drama show she'd heard whispers about was on, featuring faunus and human lovers alongside controversial critiques on racism. Tropey, cliché, but trying, she guessed. "I want you brain dead and eating. Work's for later."

"I'm running for council, I'm chief of police, and there was a terror attack yesterday. I'm going to keep working," Blake scanned emails again, mostly collections of office messages, even the most minute of details gathered. She was waiting on analysis from the Military Intelligence Committee cross checked with Atlas' report.

"Then you best get better at pretending you aren't." Yang pulled the table closer, pointing to the rich stew. The smell was hefty with some sort of broth and Blake submitted, taking another bite. Sweeter than she expected and so followed another.

"Or what, you'll leave?" Blake stupidly added. She rolled back between a bit of mash and another salmon piece with a "Make sure you get your fill too. Must be chaos at the school." A verbal retreat from an untenable call out.

"It's a little hard. I'm missing the spoon attachment for my stub," Yang joked, a rather old jest, but one they enjoyed, "Not as much as you might think. Anxious yes, but with Pyrrha literally glued to the place, I wouldn't want to be the fool who tried. Beacon's not ready to fall twice in thirty years."

"I saw Dawn this afternoon, she's got herself centered." An email came in from Weiss, the special low hum of Blake's scroll caught her attention. An attachment of all related info passing through Roseland or the SDC. A new perspective.

"If we don't cause her troubles, I don't think there's a force on Remnant that can shake Daw—" Blake felt the scorching sensation of the Summer Maiden's eyes carving up her neck. "If someone new hasn't died and you touch your scroll one more time I will leave."

"It's too important, Yang. People died."

"I don't care. You are useless killing yourself like this. Gods, we've been through this. Do you really think you're going to figure it out when you can't even sit straight? One hour of a well rested and feed huntress will outperform a day of a starved, exhausted girl." Yang was loud, an instructor's voice reverberating in their house. If Blake wasn't so tired, she'd have shuffled over and collapsed against the flooring.

"I can't do anything else," Blake whined, feeling the urge to cry, but never did.

"I'll leave. Plenty of empty dorms at Beacon," Yang growled. Blake could feel the rage steaming from her nose as she breathed, every bit of their last fight was stinging her. This sweetness was not easy for her. Blake though, she wrapped her drained arms around the one she rested her head on and held tight.

"Anything I can say to make you stay." Blake stared up at Yang, at the mercy of her wife. She'd collapse without her sturdy shoulder, without the food or warmth of another body. Belladonna felt pathetic like this, just thirty-six hours and she'd been reduced to a cracked shell, a little girl who needed someone else just to act like the hero she wanted to be. Blake was so tired, and only getting more so. A shoulder, a lap, even a beating chest, all better than a desk.

"Saying, 'I'm sorry," Yang offered, even knowing it wouldn't give Dawn her year back, it wouldn't suture together the fault line running down the spine of their home, "and, I need you.'" Sometimes, Blake guessed, sometimes you just put pressure on the wound and hold it together.

"I'm sorry and I do need you," Blake mumbled, just loud enough so not even the flies on the wall might hear. She couldn't believe it needed saying. Hadn't Yang noticed by now? She's just one bloody mess.

"I can stay," Yang replied after a long pause, "But I will make you sleep tonight."

Blake bounced her stress ball off the white brick wall of the hospital room. She made sure to match the low beeping throughout the building with the bouncing as it came back to her. A concentration technique from Zawisza himself.

"What are you doing here?" There he was, Zawisza Czarny, possibly the oldest man in Vale who just obstinately wouldn't die. Former master of Schnee Security and mentor when Belladonna first joined that order. He wrinkled since then, not the distinguished gentlemen of the noble classes anymore. He was tired now, plugged into bed, cordoned off to die with a pot of lilies to his left, sunlight, and a windowed view of Schnee tower to break from the clouds. He had grown tired of their pleasantries half an hour prior and now of their mutual silence.

"I have a meeting at Beacon tonight." And thanks to Yang eight hours sleep, a breakfast on top of dinner, and an incomplete case to bring to the The Guardians.

"Then go be with your family, work on your case, or ask what you want to ask." Zawisza waved his only agile limb left at her, a worn Schnee prosthetic arm, one of the earliest models. It aged slower than he did.

"I'm not allowed to share case files, especially not with a foreign national." Blake's critics in One Vale had long jabbed her for involving Atlas citizens in national matters, which was in large the most accurate complaint levied.

"You're certainly not here for charming company; I'm far too passed the expiration date," he joked, his voice much more gravely than when Blake was in her early 20s, "I was born in Vale, if that makes it any less illegal to do what you're going to do eventually."

Blake caught the ball on the return. She slid it back into her coat pocket, digging out her scroll. With her left foot she kicked the door shut, leaving them to some privacy. She skipped all the analysis, confidential material, and focused on the footage itself, cobbled from a shop security cam. Blake projected it against the ceiling, easiest for him to see. "Tell me anything that catches your eye." Blake started at the beginning. The citizens were abound as normal, some began to run once the white eight-wheeler took out a police car full speed. No sound plays as the offending vehicle crushed it and the people inside.

"They're using an SPC-435. Despite the dreadful paint work, I recognize the build and horsepower," Zawisza grumbled as his dull eyes scanned the projection. The giant detached from the back and operatives too blurry to see poured out the side. "It's an old personnel carrier concepted and built by Mantle's military right at the close of the Great War. Never saw military service."

"I didn't think Mantle used land vehicles." In war she had always read about Atlas' alpine terrain and their preference for aerial development. The vehicle couldn't fly, though once she fast-forwarded through the footage towards the end, it could definitely take a dive.

"Not against Vale, but in Vacuo sandstorms ruined our airships. Peeled off the light plating and stuffed the engines. Standard carriers did poorly on the desert's tractionless floor and would fill with sand particles. The SPC was vacuum tight, immune to sand, or in this case, water leakage. It's powerful engine meant the eight wheels could carve up against the worst of the dunes, and apparently drag around a small mech," Zawisza droned on, tapping into a century's worth of military history. He was just a kid when that was made. A tank as old as Zawisza.

"You knew it was a mech?" Blake rewound the footage to highlight her own fight. Not that she was proud of it. Vermillion's safety kept bugging her. She thought the rest of SVLR might be inside.

"The large thing with an iron face the size of three of you? I had my suspicion—" a cough interrupted his joke. The gods prefered them serious today, Blake guessed. Don't make fun of an old man, Belladonna. You're better than that. "Sarcasm aside, it's also a Mantle device. AES-3 nicknamed the Jäger. An exoskeleton prototype developed after the war. A man inside can be as frail as me and match the strength and tenacity of an experienced hunter. It was retired in favor of the first model of paladin like the newer model we see today once grimm hunting was the main logical concern. We built hundreds of them alongside the same factories making the original CCT prototypes." Damage resistant, took every bullet Blake had without a flinch, and absorbed Vermillion's lightening. Not agile though. Blake could dance around the thing, even scare it off. Ruby's rifle might put a hole in it, too… Perhaps the police needed to prepare heavy munitions.

"Weren't willing to give peace a chance? Mantle sounded primed to conquer," Blake asked, starting again from the beginning. The question seemed asinine, but with Mantle war tech the only clues, a history detour might be the mental trick to follow.

"We were shaken and terrified. We had superior tech and resources, but a young ice-capped kingdom to the north with quickly industrializing enemies everywhere? We couldn't match aura user to aura user with the other kingdoms, Vale's prime advantage was fielding double the aura gifted we could along with their great king's personal touch. If Mistral wanted our dust, we would have little to say against their superior hunter numbers." The Great War, the Faunus Right Revolution, war in general. A portal opened up from the past to a more civilized age and blew up their tower.

"You were allied to Mistral? The war was over anyways." Blake was more curious than spiteful. She had no dog in the race, a Menagerie girl and a faunus whom neither treated well. Even her faintest of loyalties sure weren't to the Mantel-Mistral slave holding faction.

"You don't understand the times. It seems today as if it was always like this, the kingdoms partnered like they are now, but your normal was our extraordinary. Unity wasn't the world I was born in, or Mr. Schnee. We lived with a rifle in our hands fearing the southerners as much as the grimm, not to mention the faunus rebellion. All four kingdoms were doing much the same, I'm sure," Zawisza spoke and it seemed almost like dust emptied from his lungs. Blake couldn't believe how young her world view was. All things are transient: peace, war, their lives. Nowadays unity felt like a truism, but he was right, it absolutely wasn't.

"But here we are. The White Fang have military tech, all of it from Mantel and Atlas. I can't go to the Navy telling them the White Fang is armed with Atlas military technology. They're practically begging to put the blame on a Schnee. Winter can't be behind this. Hell, Atlas intelligence tried to tip us off, just a minute too late. Coco will call that evidence, too." A new clue and it just so happened to threaten to destabilize Atlas relations. It can't be Winter.

"And Winter isn't for certain. Klein may have handled the children primarily, but Mr. Schnee always had me around. Winter wouldn't vote for this, she lacks the resolve. Most definitely wouldn't have allowed Azura to be in danger." Zawisza tapped his metal finger against the bedpost, a metronome of thought they were both following. "There's a bigger question. It's Mantle tech, but it's—"

"It's all old. Functional, but old. If Atlas was funding terrorism it wouldn't be with fifty years out of date personnel carriers." Blake exhaled some stress, feeling reassured a foreign state wasn't bombing her city. Back to terrorists.

"Exactly," Zawisza agreed, a smile pulling on his wrinkled face, "There are stashes of these war munitions all over the northern continent and some abandoned bases on the snowy tips of the others. Abandoned and easy to steal if you had the manpower."

"Issue is, they would need to know the location of the caches." Which didn't rule out, but certainly complicated, the White Fang background.

"Meaning not Winter, maybe none of the Atlas Council, but someone involved in the military, or a Mantle veteran if any are still alive, is helping the White Fang, if they are the White Fang." Interesting Zawisza.

"You don't think they are?" It all starts with a fake ear. Mercury. The tech. Vermillion. Their failing strength. Remove one and she might have been sure of it, but all combined, that tie just felt forced.

"Why the CCT? A support tower, no less? It represents nothing, but the most universally disliked element of their history and with what force? They've been kicked out of even Menagerie, barely control some tribes on Vytal," the last bastion of White Fang territory, Adam's clansmen on an isle famous for one treaty and nothing else, "Best they've managed to do in years is sneak a spy into Beacon. Not hard considering the blonde wonder's been left running the show. Rubbish." Someone's been leaking things to him.

"We don't know she's a spy." Blake's gut put the betting money on innocence, though something in her wanted the girl gone. Even the smallest chance Vermilion might hurt the kids….She just looked so much like him. Blake felt razors bounce around in her chest every time she saw Vermilion. Still, she's clean. Cleaner than Blake was.

"But you know she's a retired White Fang officer and she's on the Heiress' Team." So the SDC spies say, specifically that she was a member of the grimm hunting division who acted as village defenders. Vermilion Taurus was honorably discharged after less than two years and planned to become a full time huntress. She left her nomadic village of Junshi only three months after getting released. Vale has no record of her arrival, she has no legal paperwork—including no arrests.

"Mr. Schnee would have had me kill her, but his daughter hasn't so much as petitioned to have the child sent to another academy," Zawisza muttered with unusual venom on his lips. He was always a cold man, but never as bitter as this subject made him. He wasn't going to be any help with the case. "It's like seeing a mangrove grow from an oak seed."

"Weiss doesn't know. Ruby's asked us to wait until we're sure of her intentions." Part of the meeting tonight was to hash that out. Blake planned to propose a harmless shuffle. Just switch her to another team. Precautionary and no one gets hurt. Ruby would, will, disagree. Jaune was a coin flip. Weiss though... Gods, when she finds out it was allowed to get to this point...

"Hell, she might ask me to kill you instead." Zawisza smiled with his lips but not his eyes. The years told Blake that meant he was trying to be funny. He was almost...alien sometimes.

"We're not hurting an innocent kid." Blake made it clear, just as she intended to if Weiss ever even… no, she was better than that. The guardians swore to be better than the generation before.

"Well, the infamous team RWBY can't have only good ideas." He kept trying to be funny, but Blake felt flush and irritated. She couldn't work here anymore. "Are you leaving? Stewed with me enough?" he asked as she turned the projection off and rose from the uncomfortable guest chair.

"Yeah, I realized why no one visits." Blake was shocked to hear a rattle from him approaching something close to a chuckle.

"So long as you're useful Blake, people will always make sure to visit," Zawisza managed to bring back one last taste of his old sing songy charm right as she was at the door.

"You're a product of another age, Zawisza," Blake called back, opening the door to the outside. She had an hour left to work before the evening meeting, perhaps at Beacon's records looking up Mantle's Jägers. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Blake," Zawisza called back, finger tapping away, "Remember, the other shoe always drops. Be ready when it does."

***Hey all! I know this is coming late as heck, but I did write this in early December. Been a crazy winter break, spent most of it in New Hampshire on vacation visiting my editor and enjoying an occasional winter storm! Rare for me, a poor fool who's stuck living in Florida for now. .

So for my fanfiction schedule. I still have plans to work on this along with the two other AUs, though I might release a Magical Girl Rising short I really wanna write about La Pucelle, but so far it's coming out sort of cliche and uninteresting (Their City touches a lot of the same subjects with more grace and wit.)

Also to be frank, and I apologize if this hurts my audience's feelings, I've gotten...less inspired by RWBY of late. I'm not meaning to insult or offend anyone, just as Volume 4 comes out I'm finding my interest waning when it should be waxing. Maybe it's that I'm more in love with the idea of RWBY than the show itself or just volume 4 running in the same season as fantastic shows like Flip Flappers or MGRP, I just find myself again and again more interested in the community works then the original. Frankly put, I don't know how many new fics for this series I'll write. I've never not finished a project, (baring Snow White Knight) so don't expect my current ones to end prematurely, just understand if my bloodborne cross over never comes or short stories dwindle in this fandom. I hope you all understand. Thank you! And who knows, Volume 4 could turn around and win me over in one shocking twist, we will see!

Thanks again to Lazy Katze for her wonderful work editing and inviting me into her home for an awesome vacation. Leave reviews and comments of your thoughts, it's the biggest motivation to move forwards, and I hope you appreciated the rwby heavy chapter.