Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

I greeted the sun and the gentle breeze as I exited Beacon Tower. Recursive Nature emitted a soft chime from my wrist, causing me to glance at its face. 2:00. I faintly recalled Adrian mentioning when classes finished for the day. 4:30? 5:00? Somewhere around then. Regardless, I had a dorm to find and a few hours to kill.

At random, I decided to begin my search to the left. I rounded the statue-topped fountain and strolled past colonnades and stone arches. While a smattering of students passed me in both directions—some in battle gear and touting weapons—others were on the campus green, reading beneath a tree or tossing a ball. Beacon thrummed with a calm energy.

My smile at the relaxed atmosphere lessened as my thoughts began to churn.

My episode in eavesdropping had supplied me with knowledge of conditions in Atlas. Some destructive force was wreaking havoc while the Kingdom busied itself with festival preparations. I understood that the last thing Ironwood wanted was to besmirch Atlas's reputation, yet it sounded as if matters had grown beyond his control.

However, my thoughts that I had a tie to this mysterious force were farfetched and unfounded. Atlas had been holding me hostage—cold metal was not usually a sign of a favored guest. My ability to influence events in a concrete bunker a hundred feet below ground was certainly limited in scope.

No, Atlas had made their own bed. It was their turn to lie in it.

With Ironwood's remarks taken care of, I turned to Ozpin's. Somehow, the headmaster had surveillance capabilities in the northern Kingdom. While a bit of spying between Kingdoms was expected to a certain extent, peering into an isolated facility seemed too far removed from general intelligence jobs.

My curiosity, already piqued, roared to full force. A heist may lie in my future.

Finally, I had my Semblance and my weapon to attend to. A full examination of Recursive Nature's modules was a good place to start. I didn't want to cost my team a victory when the perfect tool had lain on my wrist the entire time. In addition to my weapon's capabilities, I wished to assay my own. While my Semblance could obviously manipulate machines, I desired to know the true extent of that ability.

On top of all that, I needed to rediscover my teammates, return to my studies, prepare for the Vytal Festival qualification matches, and reconnect with friends and family.

In other words, busy.

Wait a moment. Family. Why hadn't I thought of my family before now? Had Ozpin told them of my return to Beacon? Or of my MIA status? Or was my disappearance merely written off as an extended mission in a foreign land?

My pace quickened. Answers awaited me at my dormitory.

I arrived at a cluster of buildings. The first I encountered turned out to be dedicated to classrooms and lecture halls. The second was a dormitory, but its address above the entrance proclaimed it as the wrong one. Upon a third failure, I deciphered the addressing scheme and set off for the other end of campus. Just my luck.

As I strolled past another hall reserved for classrooms, the doors sprang open. What once had been a trickle of students became a flood. The class must have dismissed late, as a majority of students sprinted past me. I tried to avoid becoming a human obstacle, but a few bumped shoulders were inevitable in the rush.

"Excuse me."

"I'm sorry."

"Coming through."

"Watch where you're going!"

"Pardon m—Phoenix?"

I whirled around. A pair of green eyes stared back at me, wide in surprise. The girl's wavy blonde hair bounced from her own about-face, gleaming flaxen in the sunlight.

She clearly recognized me. A friend? She looked vaguely familiar. Was she a member of one of the other teams that battled today in Goodwitch's class?

Dust, I needed to break this habit of running into people I didn't know. Tough habit to break, though.

"Uh, hello," I offered.

Her eyes crinkled into a smile. She rushed forward, wrapping me in a tight embrace. "I'm so glad you're back!"

I blinked. Wasn't expecting that. I awkwardly returned the hug, unsure of how to continue. A few seconds later, she gave me a final squeeze and proceeded to hold me at arm's length by the shoulders.

"Look, I've got another class, and I can't be late. Give me a call this evening," she said quickly. With that, she shot off to wherever she was needed next.

I stood amongst the flood of students until it became a trickle once more. How many more surprises awaited me at this campus? It seemed another piece of forgotten history lay in wait behind every corner.

Pushing my questions to the back of my mind, I continued my search for my dormitory.

I stood before a white-painted wooden door. A golden placard on the wall had the word "APCT" engraved into it, marking our living quarters. With a deep breath, I grasped the handle and gave it a turn.

Locked.

Of course it was. The door likely locked automatically when it was shut. A simple security measure, one designed to keep out petty thieves.

And, as it turns out, me.

I huffed. I was so close, only to be foiled by something as simple as a lock. My thoughts turned towards my wristwatch, curious if a lock pick was among its collection of modules, when my eyes passed over the knob. Its smooth surface looked spotless, a sphere with no scratches or dents.

Or a keyhole.

If students didn't use physical keys, then what did they use? Ozpin seemed the practical type—he'd use a solution that required the least amount of headache. Plus, he didn't give me anything when I left, even though he knew I was headed to my dorm.

Right, you don't have a Scroll. A Scroll, then. But since I didn't have one, I'd have to improvise.

My Semblance activated, and I traded realities.

I found myself in a setup akin to the one from the Atlas facility's keypad, but fewer flashes of light illuminated the pathways. I filed away the observation for later investigation.

I traveled to the nexus. Inside sat three constructs. One pulsed with regularity, one lay dormant, and the third remained lit. Some subconscious intuition told me the last of the three controlled the lock. I raced forward, fused with my target, and what must be data flooded my awareness.

In Atlas, I hadn't paid attention to my interactions because of worry of discovery. Ditto for Ozpin's office. And for whatever reason, Recursive Nature differed. Yet another aspect of my Semblance to explore in the future.

Some combination of information caused the lock controls to disengage. I retook my place in the corporeal world, gave the knob another turn, and stepped into APCT's dorm room.

Near the windows across from me sat four beds, two to a corner. The ones on the left were made, but the pair on the right were a jumble of covers, blankets, and clothes. I wondered which was mine.

To my left, a few bookshelves lay flush with the walls. Their rows of shelves were chock full of books, mostly textbooks and nonfiction pieces. The top shelves, however, were dominated by mystery novels. The spines were creased, indicating they had been well-read or very poorly read. My suspicions lied with the former.

The right side of the room contained a pair of doors, likely for a bathroom and a closet, and a desk. Shoved to the top of the desk were more books, with sheaves of notebook paper wedged between the pages. However, the majority of the desk was devoted to spare parts. Nuts, bolts, screws, wire, and various tools were strewn about its surface.

As I completed my initial sweep of the room, a few additional details caught my eye. Well-marked posters of different models of Dustcraft were tacked to the walls. A music stand, with its accompanying sheet music, had its place in front of the bookshelves. A stack of newspapers lay on the windowsill. Each of these items was a piece of personality, each told a story. The room's decor clamored to be read.

However, a note on a bed to my left demanded to be read first.

I plucked the note from the bed. It had been leaning on a sack similar to the one Adrian had deposited onto my chest this morning. Looking at the note, I began to read the flawless cursive:

Hello, Phoenix! If you're reading this, then you probably didn't join us in battle this morning. If that's the case, then feel free to hop on over to the dueling hall. Perhaps you could join us for a spar after all!

In the bag you'll find some of your personal effects. Welcome home.

Adrian

I set the note back on the bed and reached for the bag. Apparently, my team had left me some mementos. How thoughtful of them.

The first object I removed was a photograph. The four members of APCT stood beneath an oak tree, arms thrown over shoulders and grins stretching from ear to ear. A vignette of camaraderie, if I ever saw one. While no markings dated the photo, I knew this picture had been taken at the start of our first year. The twinkle in our eyes, so characteristic of youth, hadn't yet faded. We were battlefield virgins, yet we seized the most extreme job description with full hearts.

No longer did we appear so innocent.

I placed the photo on the windowsill with a smile.

I retrieved another item. A metal statuette weighed down my palm as I removed it from the sack. Constructed from thick wire and nuts and bolts, a crude figure brandished a sword at me. Welded into the figure's foot was the name "Terra." A gift. The statue took residence next to the photo.

The third item was a Scroll. I thumbed its on/off switch. Amazingly, the thing still had a charge, and a cartoonish parchment and quill graced the display as it booted up. A few seconds passed, and then I was met with a simple GUI. Swiping through my applications, I was amused to find a door control switch for the dorm.

Thoughts of friends and family resurfaced, and my ministrations summoned a contacts list. While some were no surprise, such as my teammates and Ozpin, the rest were a mystery. I assumed most were students, but I had no way of knowing their identities beyond their name and profile picture. As I continued to scroll down, a flash of gold caught my eye.

It was her. My Scroll dubbed her "Lily Vermeer." That same tickle of recognition had returned, but at least I had a name to the face. A very strange call lay in her future.

Scanning further down the list, I found another name.

Robin Hayes. My mother.

Memory flooded me.

"Mommy, what are you doing?" I wiped my nose with my sleeve. The fever was gone, but the runny nose was a nuisance.

She turned in her chair. "Are you feeling better?"

I nodded. "I finished the soup. It was kinda cold, though."

She gave a warm laugh. I loved that laugh. "Well, to answer your question, I'm working on a project for work."

"Can I see?"

"Sure, hun."

I toddled over to her chair and clambered onto her lap. She wrapped her arm around me and brought me closer to the computer screen so I could see. Lines of text filled the screen. Complex diagrams littered the desk and monitor.

"What's that?" I gestured towards the text.

"It's computer code."

"Code? Like a secret message?"

Another laugh. "Kind of. You know how you do addition and subtraction at school?"

"Yeah! I like those. We might be doing our multiplication tables soon!"

She tousled my hair. "Sounds exciting." She pointed at the monitor. "Computers do the same thing you do. By adding and subtracting numbers a whole bunch of times, they can do all sorts of things. Code just tells them what to do."

"Does Nebula Wars have code?"

"Even your video games run on code. Without code, computers wouldn't know what to do."

I looked at the screen. I frowned. "But if code is just adding and subtracting, why are there words?"

"Computers use a language called 'binary.' Humans can't understand binary, and computers can't understand English, so programmers write in words and the computer translates it to binary."

"Is that what you are? A programmer?"

"Yes, hun."

"I want to be a programmer!"

She turned me around on her lap. She smiled warmly. "But I thought you wanted to be a Huntsman. Like Daddy."

I pouted. "Why can't I be both?"

She kissed me on my forehead, causing me to squeal. "You can, if you want."

I began to play with her ruddy locks. "Then I'll be Remnant's greatest programmer and Remnant's strongest Huntsman!"

She chuckled. I loved to listen to her laugh. "I've no doubt in my mind that you will be." She set me on the ground. "But right now, Mommy has to work."

I whined in protest. But when she started to tickle me, I ran from the room.

Remnant's greatest programmer. That's what I wanted to be, but when I turned at the doorframe and looked back at her, that's what I saw.

Robin Hayes. Remnant's greatest programmer. My mother.

The final dregs of the scene faded. A warm feeling suffused within me. My heart swelled twofold—once from the memory, once from discovering a piece of my past.

Perhaps the veil would lift after all.

I selected my mother's contact and opened a chat window. I didn't know how much Beacon had told her, so I opted to be conservative.

Hey, Mom. I'm back from my mission.

I sent the message. Within a minute, the Scroll chimed with a reply.

Welcome back, honey! Can't talk right now, about to present to Cloverleaf. I'll call when I'm free.

I smiled, then sent a reply of my own.

Sounds good. Let me know when.

The door to the room slammed shut. Startled, I looked up. Terra had arrived with a bang, and she quickly ensconced herself at the desk. I hadn't gotten a good look at her face, as her brown curls had obscured her features, but the tension between her shoulder blades suggested something on the anger spectrum.

"What are you—"

"Shut it. Not right now," Terra cut me off. Sounds of screws rolling about and metal pieces clicking against each other began to fill the room. I knew a 'Do not disturb' sign when I saw one. I returned to my Scroll.

Strangely, my father was not among those in my contact list. Perhaps he was technophobic. Although, if he was, it would make his marriage with my mother a paradox of sorts. I decided to ask my mother about it when she called.

Seeing how a cursory glance through the rest of the contacts did little for me, I exited to the bank of applications. Most were self-explanatory: clock, calendar, music, settings. One, however, did not fit the mold: "Comet." Noting that Terra did not yet appear calm, I opened the application. A comet icon took its place above a loading bar. Bits of text reamed beneath them, an indication of some startup sequence.

The loading bar reached 100% and faded away with the comet. A second later, a complex UI filled the screen. Esoteric information was arrayed about in some semblance of order. I touched one at random, earning myself a convoluted file tree for my action. Strange file names graced the screen. I guessed these programs were for Recursive Nature, but I wouldn't know unless I looked at one of them.

Giving a mental shrug, I selected one, marked 'DesignRunner.' Lines of code replaced the file tree. The code appeared foreign to me—I could have deciphered hieroglyphics with better success.

I was about to examine the code more thoroughly when clattering sounded from Terra's direction. Looking up, I was met with a wind-up toy skittering across the desk's surface, its creator standing to the side, watching it. A smile, ever so slight, teased at her lips. Terra had calmed down.

"What's that?" I asked.

Terra's smile morphed into a wistful look. However, when she turned my way, her features had hardened. "It's a wind-up toy, doofus," she replied.

I rolled my eyes. "I know that, but why'd you make it?"

Terra caught the toy as it fell off the edge of the desk. "It's a habit," she stated simply.

A topic for later discussion, then. "So, why are you back without the others?"

She sighed. "Kicked out of class."

"What for?"

"You know the drill by know." At my quirked eyebrow, she realized her mistake. "Actually, you wouldn't know the drill." She paused. "Outburst in Aura manipulation class."

I motioned for her to continue. Shooting me a glare, she said, "I get frustrated, okay? I lash out when a new technique doesn't work right away." She crossed her arms.

I'd need to be careful, lest I rile her up again. Time to utilize a different tactic. "What was the technique?"

Terra flopped down in the chair by the desk, fiddling with a screwdriver. "Aura can be used to stop projectiles and blades, but Professor Slate lectured about using Aura to manipulate blades on contact."

"So, if you're in a fight, you could transform a hit into throwing your opponent off-balance?"

She nodded. "Except I couldn't. My Aura was dropping and I couldn't do it. I saw red."

"Lashed out?"

She nodded grimly. Given her reticence, I decided not to push the issue. Casting about for a change in subject, I said, "I've got this program on my Scroll called 'Comet.'"

"Your IDE. What about it?"

"IDE?" Goodness, I needed to do some reading.

"It's an acronym, but I don't know for what. You use it to program things, like Recursive Nature and other projects."

"I see."

"I take it you're back to square one?"

"Yep."

Terra gave me an inquisitive look. "That reminds me... Adrian told me what you told him earlier, about what happened after the battle, but... how much do you remember."

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

I waved my hand in a so-so gesture. "Bits and pieces, but nothing about that battle. But I know my name, what Aura and the Grimm are, and a general understanding of my weapon and my Semblance. I also just had some sort of flashback involving my mother."

"What about me?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. I didn't even know your name when I woke up."

She hummed. "What about Adrian?"

Something in the way she phrased her question gave me pause. "Nothing…why do you ask?"

She glanced to the side. Her answer was clear. "Terra…"

"You two are childhood friends," she said.

At hearing Terra's remark, anger welled up inside me. Someone or something at Atlas took my memory from me. It could very well have been the cyborg Grimm, but having my past ripped away from me suddenly did not sit well with me.

"You okay?" Terra's question shook me from my thoughts. The feeling faded, but it pulsed in the background. "Yeah, just angry that I don't know anything about Adrian. Or you, for that matter."

"What you and Adrian talk about isn't my business, can't help you there." She offered me a smile. "But I can help you with me."

I smiled back. "I'm all ears."

Terra reached for the toy on the desk. Her fingers ran over its surface as she began. "I was born in Vacuo."

"Remind me again which one that is."

"Western Kingdom on Sanus. Desert climate, but the cities are in an oasis."

"Thank you, carry on."

She paused, ostensibly to collect her thoughts. "My father is a mechanic, has his own shop. My mother was a Dust miner."

"Was?"

She frowned. "Died in childbirth. Medicine isn't as prevalent in Vacuo as in Vale, and we didn't have enough Lien for a qualified professional."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It happened. That's it." When I didn't speak, she continued, "My father's shop provided for the two of us, but barely. Dad pulled me out of school from time to time to work on rush jobs and whatnot."

"What kind of work?"

"Schnee jobs, mostly. An occasional government craft. A trickle of smaller consumer work year-round kept the coffers in the black."

I considered the girl before me in a new light. Her threadbare clothes now looked loved. The perpetual grease stain on her hands bespoke a perseverance, not a disregard for hygiene. The screwdriver she twirled in her fingers as she fiddled with the toy was no longer a tool but an extension of who she was.

"You know, mechanics don't normally become Huntresses."

"This one did. Penny-pinching and additional odd jobs ensured a first step: Umbra, the combat school next to Shade."

"And then straight to Beacon?"

"Not quite." Terra's incessant tinkering with the wind-up toy produced a different form, this one now jumping across the desk. "I had a visit from Ozpin."

"I'm sure he was persuasive."

"Quite." She grabbed the toy when it ran out of energy. "He's the reason I leave the dorm at night. I go to repair the campus' Dustcraft and other machines. You know how hard it is to fix the headmaster's obsession with cogs?"

"How hard?"

"Harder than Aura manipulation, that's for sure."

I snorted. "Anything else?"

Terra shook her head, pocketing the toy. "That'll cover you until Ozpin gets you the team file."

I raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. "It's standard procedure. Transfers into teams of three receive similar files. Except your name will be in it."

"I guess so," I said. "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, Phoenix?"

"Why did you give me that statue?"

She looked at the windowsill. "That thing? Just a gift."

So I was right. "For what?"

Terra chewed her lip. "I'd rather not say."

So the statue wasn't given for a birthday or some other celebration. "How come?"

She pursed her lips. "Look, over the past year and a half, APCT has shared many secrets with each other. It comes with the territory. But when you show up, a clean slate, the others want that, too."

I completed Terra's thought. "And telling secrets a second time around doesn't hurt any less."

She gave a slight nod. "Regret threatens trust."

With that, Terra sought out one of the books on the head of the desk. She opened to a page and continued taking notes in a messy scrawl. The conversation over, I was about to return to my Scroll when I decided my glaring lack of knowledge about computers needed to be addressed. Perhaps the library at Beacon had something to offer.

"Terra, where's the library?" Without turning around, she gestured to my Scroll. "You've got a map and a brain. Figure it out."

I frowned. Terra's terse nature would need a little bit getting used to. "Okay, thanks. I'll see you later."

"Bye," she said absentmindedly.

A minute of searching on my Scroll rewarded me with a live campus map. With my destination located, I shut the door behind me.

One of the librarians had been overjoyed to help me. Apparently, students preferred to use the spaces between the shelves for socializing or studying textbooks. Rarely do students come through looking for actual books.

With my prize in hand, I had proceeded to locate a quiet corner, away from the aforementioned socializers. The book, entitled "Introduction to Methods and Algorithms," lay on the oaken table in front of me. It appeared unread. I thumbed past the table of contents and the introduction and began to read:

Computers and Scrolls have revolutionized the modern era. While on their own they are great instruments for data collection, storage, and analysis, with the introduction of the CCT Network, an increasingly globalized Remnant has developed. Today, communications technologies ensure the trade of goods and services at a more safe and efficient level.

Beyond computers's economic impact, Scrolls enable citizens to communicate across vast distances. Now, family members on entirely different continents may share text, pictures, and video at a push of a button. Scientists may collaborate at unprecedented levels, magnifying the rate of scientific discovery by a significant factor. Governments may make decisions about policy and foreign affairs without risking diplomats on dangerous overseas trips.

The discussion of technology's impact on Remnant continued for the rest of the page. Turning to the next, I read:

First marketed by Cloverleaf Technologies forty years after the Great War, the complexity of computational devices has increased at an exponential rate, consistent with…

More history of computing. Skipping ahead:

All computers, regardless of design or function, have analogous inner workings. Computers are encoded with a specific set of commands to carry out certain tasks. These commands, often bundled into programs, contain the explicit logical steps for a computer to complete a task.

Turning the page:

Computers operate in binary, a number system comprised of only 1's and 0's. The smallest unit of information, called a bit, is a single 1 or 0. Groups of eight bits are called a byte, 1000 bytes a kilobyte, and so on.

Okay, so that's how information is stored, but where's the hardware? Another turn of the page:

CPU chips form the heart of a computer. Inside is its random access memory, or RAM. Using thousands of clever logic gates, RAM can simultaneously store data and programs. Discussed more in Chapter 3, we will see how RAM runs a program and addresses data.

Does my Semblance interact with RAM, then? If so, that would explain how I can open and close doors, as the program to operate the lock always runs. Recursive Nature must also be constantly keeping its modules in RAM. But what about the security system in Atlas, the cameras I disabled? I didn't know.

With the remainder of the chapter referencing future topics, I flipped to chapter three. Before I could begin to read, though, a note in the margins caught my eye.

Memory is fickle, don't you think, Phoenix?

What. The. Hell. My blood ran cold. I read, reread the note. Still, it did not change.

Who wrote this? How did they know I would read it? The book was brand new, unread. How could this be?

I rifled through the pages, looking for another message. Surely there was another here. There had to be.

On the back cover lay a series of numbers, handwritten in. No doubt the companion to the first message.

532-0-661-52708-7

I couldn't make heads or tails of it. A code? A Scroll number? Coordinates?

I was shaken, no question about it. Suddenly, the walls of the library looked a bit darker. Tucking the book under my arm, I hustled out of the library.

I had to talk with my team.

A/N: A window to the past. Multiple paths to the future.

I'm very excited to see this story grow and evolve. I started with a single concept and it's taken on a life of its own. I can't wait to see how it progresses from here.

As always, favorites, follows, or reviews are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading. I'll see you in two weeks with another update.

-CTech

Update (7/28): Minor adjustments, some added transitions, and closed a MAJOR plot hole. Thanks for bearing with me while I iron this thing out.