Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.
"…Douglas is responsible…"
"…knew something was different about…"
"…never should have trusted a Huntsman…"
Fragments of conversation assaulted my ears as we ran, gowns and suits flitting past as we skirted around tables and chairs. Some cast a glance our way, but most were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay the four of us any mind. Normally, I would have been disgusted by the way these aristocrats and moguls climbed the social ladder amidst political turmoil, but my attentions lay in avoiding obstacles.
Yet it was clear to me that the banquet hall hummed with negative sentiment. Calder no doubt had his supporters in this crowd, but in the wake of Glass's statement, their voices fell silent in the face of sowed doubt, agitation, and I-told-you-so's.
As a warrior, I preferred a sword, but as I navigated the hall, I realized that gossip was as sharp a weapon as my own. Dissent damaged more than violence—soldiers could be disarmed, but rumors festered with lives of their own.
Glass had unleashed a beast, and it was our duty to try to contain it.
Another squeal of feedback sounded through the space, doing little to quiet the chaos. Through the ruckus, I heard Glass's smooth voice, cutting into the cacophony like only a silver-tongued orator could.
"Calder knew of the explosion, of course. He called for his son to protect him from the enemy he loosed upon the city. Even now, his son flees, as guilty of corruption as his detestable father."
Ah, there was Glass's ace.
I felt eyes swivel towards me, but I dared not look, else I stumble at the baleful glares I would surely find. Besides, I knew that if I glanced down, I would start a shouting match I didn't have the time for. Instead, I settled for a jutted chin in an attempt at warding away invective.
"…those damnable children saved that corrupted…"
"…ensure that Ozpin fails them…"
"…their generation will undo all of our…"
The flow of conjecture and hearsay pummeled me from all sides. The fact that my name passed their lips along with their baseless theories only caused my distress to intensify. My stomach roiled as empathetic worry morphed into personal consternation.
I stopped myself from deploying Recursive Nature, if only to refute their claims. If I gave into the temptation, worse things would result than a battered reputation.
"Guards, stop them," commanded Glass from the stage. At Glass's mention, I spied a scattering of event security personnel ringing the hall. The guards, already unsettled from the commotion, ceased nervously thumbing their handheld radios and rushed towards us.
"…blasphemous that Beacon housed criminals…"
"…held responsible for the deaths they caused…"
"…eager to see them behind bars…"
My Aura stirred within me, restless and ready for battle. Directing some of that power into my legs, I vaulted over a table. Patrons beneath me gasped and cried out. Silverware clanged and clattered. My shoes hit the carpet soundlessly, and I continued my race through the crowd.
"Terra." Adrian's voice to the left, measured and sure. Even in a sea of disorder, he braved the waters with a calm hand. Unbidden, thoughts of the EEG flashed into my memory, which I forced away. I couldn't afford a loss of focus.
"Got it." Terra's reply from the right, curt and strong. A look to the oncoming guards showed them struggling behind glowing white force projections.
"Head to two o'clock, don't engage." We shifted course towards a set of side doors. In seconds, we emerged from the array of tables, running in the carpeted space without obstruction. With Terra's projections in place, we arrived at the doors without further complications. Caelum, in the lead, bashed his shoulder against the wood and stumbled through the doorway. The rest of us followed.
"Where to?" asked Caelum. However, without giving a reply, Adrian sprinted to the right, receding into the maze of hallways. Trading glances with my teammates, we dashed after him.
Lefts and rights blurred together as we headed deeper into the complex. After a few turns, I could no longer recognize any landmarks from my visit a few days prior. It seemed Adrian was not taking us to his father's office—or Glass's, for that matter.
My thoughts churned, as directionless as I was. Cognitive dissonance at the recent events threatened to overpower me, a cry of frustration building in my chest. I longed for catharsis, yet I tamped down on my writhing mental state. Answers would have to wait.
Suddenly, Adrian shot through an unassuming doorway and into a darkened room. A few steps behind, I only caught a glimpse of the sign outside the room, marked "Server Room," before I entered as well. I heard Caelum and Terra step in behind me, followed by the sound of a shutting door.
As I walked further into the room, my eyes adjusted to dark. Green diodes from server stacks on either side of me blinked. As I examined the stacks, a sense of familiarity washed over me, assuaging my fears and irritation. Even so, my discontent simmered behind my curiosity as to why Adrian had brought us here.
My leader led us to a computer terminal. The terminal, a bulky thing that looked ten years too old, was littered with sticky notes and discarded pencil stubs. The monitor glowed a green that aroused nostalgia within me I identified but could not place. The screen's light reflected off the keys, projecting shadows that reminded me of chessboards and lunar craters.
Adrian stopped and turned to face us. His tuxedo jacket was rumpled and his bowtie lay askew, yet his face was a study in collectedness. His azure eyes sparkled in the weak light.
"Welcome to City Hall records," he said, motioning to the room with a flourish of his hand. "Phoenix, if you would."
I gestured to the terminal. "What do you want from there?"
His brow furrowed. "My father isn't responsible for that explosion, but Glass wouldn't have left a trail leading to my father's exoneration—he's too careful." He looked pointedly at the terminal. "But in what he left…well, the holes will suggest a solution."
I faced the other half of APCT. Caelum's tuxedo was wrinkled similarly to Adrian's. His crossed arms suggested surety, but he wore his determined features like an ill-fitting mask—where had his smile gone?
Next to him, Terra played with the hem of her knee-length skirt, clearly uncomfortable in the garment. Tufts of hair framed her face, with traces of her intricate hairstyle all that remained of an afternoon spent at the beauty parlor's. But even as she fidgeted with her dress, I sensed the strength she would unleash if danger but showed its face.
APCT must not falter tonight. And APCT will not falter.
I would make sure of it.
Giving Adrian a nod, I stepped to the terminal. Tapping into my Aura, my Semblance surged forth, and reality shifted.
The terminal's nexus, marked by regular flashing bits and trails of data, was so much more inviting that RUST's alien construct. I relaxed, familiarity anchoring my thoughts. I glided to the nearest banded stack, ready to analyze.
After a few seconds of passive observation of the various stacks, I finally located the file manager. Melting into it, I absorbed the latent data. Numbers peppered my consciousness.
Then, I realized those numbers wouldn't help.
I cursed my lack of experience manipulating file managers—my Semblance had no control over data storage, and I doubted my ability to use the file manager as an effective medium for file recall. A methodical search did not lay in my future this evening, as much as I would have wished it otherwise.
Instead, I gave the banded stack a treatment analogous to kicking a vending machine and deactivated my Semblance. The server room materialized around me.
Motion from the terminal caused my eyes to snap to the screen. Lines of text flowed past, scrolling by so rapidly I barely registered the first two letters of any single entry. Seconds passed, yet still they came.
"Great, he's crashed it," muttered Terra from behind me.
"Terra," growled Caelum. His gruff tone prompted me to tear my eyes from the screen to look at him. A hint of a scowl colored his features. My surprise at his strange temperament was curtailed by Adrian's voice.
"It's done," my leader said, a finger pointing to the computer. A glance to the screen confirmed his observation. Above a blinking cursor sat hundreds of directories and miscellaneous files, with no indication as to how many more lay offscreen.
I gave a weak laugh. "I found what you wanted."
Adrian grunted, but I didn't miss his slight smile. "Now filter it," he said.
Rolling my eyes, I returned to the terminal. Fragments of syntax came to mind as my fingers hovered over the keys. After consulting a help page, I entered a single command and pressed 'Enter.'
The terminal cleared, then outputted lines of text as before. However, this time the files were ordered by author. When the process ended, I scrolled through the array, searching for Glass's name. The organized list allowed me to locate his directories in seconds.
"There," said Adrian. He handed me his Scroll. "Copy them."
I set his Scroll onto a Scroll reader that looked as old as the terminal itself. After the clunky machine sluggishly completed synchronization with the device, I keyed into the Scroll's directories. From there, I copied Glass's files. The four of us watched as a progress bar inched to the right at a mind-numbingly slow pace.
Either Glass had a lot to say, or the decade-old technology lacked any kind of virtual horsepower. I suspected both, much to my chagrin. I drummed my fingers on the computer's plastic casing, a hollow metronome for the languid bitstream.
Suddenly, the door to the server room clanged open. Sounds of boots and unlatched safeties rang through the space, followed by commands of "hands where we can see them" and "freeze."
"Subtle," Adrian murmured. Shrugging off his surprise, he commanded, "Caelum, screen. No guns. Split up." Finished, he crouched and stalked off to the left. As I sank into a crouch, I caught a glimpse of Terra rounding a server stack to my right. Looking back, I observed Caelum leaning against the terminal, the shadows seemingly wrapping around him. The terminal itself appeared shut off, with no trace of a Scroll currently siphoning a Councilor's private files.
I would have whistled if it wouldn't have caused me to be at gunpoint.
Facing towards the door, I crept forward. I thought to expand Recursive Nature into a longsword, but I discarded the idea. Adrian had stressed staying undetected, and my weapon's whirring might alert the guards tramping through the aisles.
Fists it was.
I reached an intersection in the stacks, diodes the only motion in my view. Then, a guard plodded out of a stack to my right. His hand hovered next to his handgun's holster, the other on his radio. When his eyes darted away from my direction, I sprang forward, fist cocked back. Perhaps hearing my jump, he swiveled his head around—only to meet my knuckles.
The blow jerked his head to the side, and he staggered back a few steps. A crackle of static sounded from his radio. As I landed, I noticed his thumb had engaged the transmission button. Stepping back into his guard, I knocked his hand aside and tore the radio from his vest. I threw it to the ground and smashed it underfoot.
Ducking under his haphazardly thrown fist, I swept his feet out from under him. He landed heavily, and a swift kick to the head rendered him unconscious. I raised an eyebrow at his lack of Aura, but at hearing sounds of struggle nearby, I abandoned the thought and moved his body to the side.
I arrived at another intersection when a shot rang out. I felt the bullet whiz by my ear, and I instinctively rolled to the side. Battle experience announced the shooter's location to my left. A swift glance revealed a guard with her handgun pointed at my skull. Our eyes met in the gloom, and she squeezed off another shot. This time, the bullet impacted my shoulder. My Aura halted the shot, the Dust from the round coloring my white dress shirt.
An interesting visit to the dry cleaners lay in my future.
Surging at the guard with Aura-powered strides, I sent a kick flying at her midsection. She crumpled around my shoe, the force sending her to the ground. With a thud, she skidded across the tile floor, her gun clattering beside her. Booting the gun away, I struck at her temples. Her eyes rolled up into her head at the blow.
"All clear," Adrian called from the door. "I'll keep watch for more. Phoenix, check on Caelum and the Scroll."
Retrieving the guns from the guards I had downed, I returned to the terminal. Caelum stood to the side, no longer shrouded in shadow, and Adrian's Scroll had reappeared on its dais, unharmed. The cursor at the terminal blinked, indicating the file transfer had completed. I tapped a few keys to restart the terminal, then snatched the Scroll. With the prize in hand, Caelum and I retreated for the door.
APCT reassembled at Adrian's post. Satisfied his Scroll contained Glass's files, Adrian directed us out a side exit. A pleasant breeze and Remnant's shattered moon greeted us, but the red and blue police lighting dancing on the neighboring buildings broke the tranquility of the evening.
Glass's words echoed through my head. "You four will be the people of the hour."
Oh, the irony.
We spent the next hour circumventing their barricades, Caelum's manufactured darkness cloaking us as we navigated Vale's streets and alleyways. Eventually, we reached an air ferry service and clambered into the aircraft. When the doors closed, we all breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. Tension dissipated.
As the aircraft whisked us through the air, I recalled my previous ferry ride. It, too, had followed an escape. It, too, had been framed by the broken moon above and the milky waters below.
But no longer was I lost, adrift in the psychological mists of amnesia. Now, I sat with friends, an indivisible cadre of four.
Despite myself, despite the warring powers around us, despite the criminally-tinged situation we found ourselves in—I felt at peace.
"Are you sure you can't, Phoenix?"
I nodded gravely. From what I had seen, my Semblance had its limits, and file decryption was definitely one of them.
A rare grimace of irritation crossed my leader's features, if only for a second. He reined his emotions in quickly, but the fact that his composure broke communicated leagues.
"But Phoenix, I need…" He sighed. "I'm sorry. You can't do what you can't do."
I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll get an algorithm cooked up, I promise. It just won't be as pretty as my Semblance."
As Adrian looked at me, I could see the worry behind his eyes fade. "Thank you," he said.
Stowing his Scroll away and sitting up, he turned to address the rest of APCT. Across from us, the other pair sat on Caelum's bed. While Caelum still wore his tuxedo, Terra was clad in a sweatshirt and shorts. From the way her dress lay in the corner of the dorm room, I could tell she wasn't wearing it again anytime soon.
Adrian cleared his throat. "As you've probably guessed, the newsreels are fixated on what happened at the Gala. Lisa Lavender alone has interviewed ten partygoers, all supporters of Glass. My father's in police custody, and our faces have appeared several times over the past hour."
"In other words, it's not a pretty picture," Caelum said.
"Do you think that explosion went off because of your father?" asked Terra.
Adrian frowned. "Contrary to what Glass said, no one else seems to have any evidence of what caused the explosion. The Vale PD has been silent this entire evening."
I leaned forward. "Glass went renegade?"
He shook his head. "Not likely. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a direct line to someone in Dust shipping that would know about damage along the railway. Vale PD doesn't have those kinds of contacts."
"A setup, then," Caelum voiced.
Adrian rubbed his temples. "I doubt that too. As much as Glass craves power, he wouldn't endanger thousands to achieve his goals."
Terra crossed her arms. "So was it an explosion or not?"
My leader sighed. "Look, the explosion doesn't matter here," he said. "What matters is what will happen to my father."
"Impeachment," I said.
He gave a weak nod. "The Councilors will vote, with Glass as senior member splitting any ties. If successful, then judges of the Vale Supreme Court will determine if the charges hold water."
"I'm sure you already know what his chances are," Caelum guessed.
"Unfortunately, I do," he said. "Impeachment is almost certain, with Councilors likely voting along party lines. Trial is a bit fuzzier, but I'd hedge fifty-fifty."
Caelum's shoulders stiffened, and his frown deepened. "Your father's a good man. They're fools to attack him now."
"Fools, yes, but powerful fools," Adrian replied. "Glass scored a hit this evening, and the rest of them smell blood. The other Councilors know the odds."
"And it's better to back a winner," Terra said. "I know the type—Vacuo's factions are rife with behavior like this. When the roulette wheel spins, they all bet on where the ball will land, forgetting that letting it roll free results in a loss every time."
Adrian grinned, a humorless thing perfectly suited for the occasion. "We're to make sure it doesn't fall where the chips are. Starting with these." He motioned to his pocket. I thought to the encrypted files on his Scroll. Stirrings of the needed program began to assemble in my mind.
"If we manage to decrypt them," Caelum began. At Adrian's and my looks, though, he said, "when we manage to decrypt them, what do we intend to do with them? Leaking them to the press isn't the brightest idea."
"I'll give them to my father or to Vale PD," Adrian said. "Not everything, mind you, but just enough to point them towards a contradiction, a string that will unravel the tapestry Glass spun tonight. It may not be enough to restore my father's reputation, but it'll be enough to keep him from behind bars."
"I'm happy you think so," a new voice said. Startled, I turned to see Ozpin in the doorway, a steaming mug in one hand and his cane in the other. A glint of amusement in his eyes peeked out from behind his spectacles.
"P-professor," said Adrian. He jumped up to greet our visitor, but the headmaster gestured for him to retake seat on the bed. Adrian complied, the springs in the mattress giving a muffled squeak.
Ozpin stepped into the room. "Tonight's entertainment was something else, wouldn't you agree?" Adrian and Caelum looked unamused, and Terra rolled her eyes, but he continued as if he didn't notice the lukewarm reaction.
Ozpin sipped at his mug. "Glass is a cunning man. Pundits bandied about the possibility of Glass usurping Calder's position, especially with an age-old loophole in the Constitution that few are aware of."
"And what would that loophole be, Professor?" asked Terra.
Ozpin settled into the chair stationed at APCT's lone desk. "Once one has served as Presiding Councilor, the position must be surrendered to the next in line. But in the case of impeachment and conviction, an election is held for the open seat. However, in a state of emergency, no election is held, and instead the next senior member occupies the position for the remainder of the term, plus his own time as Presiding Councilor."
Caelum's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Glass wanted another term."
Ozpin hummed. "But at quite the interesting cost. Should his bet fail, his stint as politician will surely end, and I can't say the SDC would welcome him onto the Board of Trustees with open arms."
"So why play such a game?" asked Adrian.
The headmaster swirled his mug about. "The same reason you all are here. High rollers reap great benefits, whether in power or status as heroes. Risk is just a means to an end."
He motioned to Adrian's pocket. "Those files will weight the dice, but make sure their impact will have the greatest effect. You've one chance."
"Professor?" I asked. Ozpin's eyes found mine, simultaneously calculating and warm. "Why support us? We're practically on wanted posters by now."
Setting his mug on the desk, he leaned back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling. After a pause, he said, "I am among a select few that oversee grand projects necessary to our survival. My position isn't something to take lightly."
He looked back to me. "Great powers need not bother with smaller issues. It sends the wrong message." He smiled. "But that doesn't mean we ignore the world around us. A chess master plays the game, but pieces fight the battles."
"Are we pieces, then?" I mused. My question hung in the air. Ozpin gave no indication as to its answer.
"Glass was wrong about the origin of the explosion," he said. "It was not human-caused or Dust-caused."
Adrian stilled. "Grimm…"
Ozpin's smile vanished, his face growing stony. "Not just any Grimm—the cyborg Grimm."
My leader leaned forward, hands in fists. "Professor, we need answers."
"And I'm here to give them," he assured. "We've staunched media coverage of these monsters, but it's only a matter of time before grainy Scroll videos and scattered eyewitness testimonies accumulate into something that cannot be stopped."
Ozpin retrieved his mug from the desk, taking a draw of his beverage. "The index case was the beast you fought in Atlas a few months ago. Prior to your sighting, no cyborg Grimm of any kind had been recorded in any Kingdom. Your report alarmed us, and so we sent teams of Huntsmen to examine every square inch of Atlas's tundra and frozen forests. What they found terrified us."
Across from me, Caelum and Terra shifted uncomfortably. I felt a bit uneasy myself, flashes of APCT's battle in the Atlesian forest haunting me. Only Adrian seemed unruffled.
Ozpin ran a hand through his hair. "As you know, Grimm spawn from darkness and negative energy. Pools of strange chemicals act as catalysts for their creation, but Grimm do not breed. They come into our world through alien natural processes impossible to replicate, for if they could, they could also be halted."
He looked at each of us in turn, steel creeping into his gaze. "Yet we found a factory in the Atlesian permafrost. Its construction was not human in nature, nor was it Grimm, if such a thing existed. Yet the Grimm flocked to it, and they walked away bearing cybernetic attachments. Loosely organized bands of Beowolves, Ursai, and other Grimm became corps of monsters. The longer the Huntsmen teams watched, the more they felt an intelligence passing between them all, a sort of hive mind operating in the frosty moors."
Adrian shot me a look. I shook my head subtly. Ozpin didn't need to know right now. Besides, he probably already knew, or at least had his suspicions.
Ozpin continued. "Needless to say, the Huntsmen slew the Grimm and destroyed the factory with Dust charges and their Semblances. They tried to salvage some of the factory's parts, but when the first explosion rang out, the factory appeared to self-destruct, as if knowingly preventing us from obtaining a portion to study. After that, no traces of cyborg Grimm were found on any Kingdom—until a few days ago."
Adrian refocused on Ozpin. "The Grimm that entered City Hall was a cyborg."
"I'm not surprised," he said. "They coordinated their attack, City Hall their goal from the outset. As I mentioned earlier, they engineered that explosion. Traces of ash were found on the remnants of the Dust train. The Beowolf would have been a martyr if the Grimm had such a concept."
"Then why haven't you told the public?" asked Caelum, his tone accusatory.
"The same reason why the public doesn't know of the cyborg Grimm in the first place," Ozpin responded. "Between mass hysteria and political upheaval, a little politics seems a blessing."
"Still, my father's on the chopping block," Adrian said. "But now we can't save him by revealing the true cause of the explosion. Glass wins."
"Don't be too hasty," warned the headmaster. "There are many ways to skin a Beowolf. Certainly you've learned a few."
With that, Ozpin stood and left the room.
The cold bit at my exposed arms, but my Aura softened the chill. The lack of any breeze caused my misted breath to cloud at my face. Retrieving my Scroll from my pants pocket, I stepped to the roof's edge. I sat down on the ledge and let my feet dangle over the side.
A thirty-foot fall be damned—my Aura could take it. Besides, I needed the peace and quiet. Algorithms didn't write themselves.
After typing in the framework for a brute force decryption program with semi-numb fingers, I heard the roof door clang open behind me. Caelum joined me on the ledge soon after. He sported his characteristic smile, but his posture suggested unease.
"Strange that your feet led you here," he said. "You loved coming up here to work."
I snorted. "Old habits, I guess." Saving the program, I closed the Comet IDE, turned off my Scroll's screen, and let it sit in my lap. Turning to Caelum, I said, "Something struck a nerve with you tonight."
Caelum's face darkened, the shadows clinging to his features. "I don't like politics—it's an ugly game. The price is steep, the rewards meager."
My eyebrows rose. "Tell me more."
He sighed. "I came to Beacon to escape Mistral," he said.
"Because of the Council?"
Caelum turned his gaze upwards. "The Council of Mistral is… different than Vale's, mired in tradition and insistent upon the old ways. At face value, the nine Councilors are the Council, but everyone in the inner circle knows the Presiding Councilor is the true ruler."
"You were in the inner circle," I guessed.
He tilted his head to the side. "Not me, per se," he said. "My father was a member of the governmental retinue. He was a man with empty power, a secondary figurehead of the regime. But when a coup broke out, the new leaders considered him among the enemy and banished him from the capitol."
I turned to face him fully, a leg on either side of the ledge. "Where did you go?"
"My family fled to a small village on the outskirts of the capitol. We ran a music shop, my parents's collection of sheet music transformed into a profession to feed a table of six. Law enforcement was rare, so I learned to throw fists along with how to tune a violin."
Caelum closed his eyes. In the moonlight, I could see his hands clenching the ledge. "My father, though, was a broken man. He felt responsibility where there was none, saw ghosts of the men who fell at the hands of the new regime.
"I never forgave the system that crushed his soul."
His words carried a venom that was palpable in the night air. The carefree violinist was nowhere to be found, a tempered pragmatist in his place.
"Then why smile?" I asked.
Caelum's tense posture melted away. He looked at me, a hint of a grin at his lips. "Because laughter heals. In a broken world, we seized any balm we could." He paused. "Old habits, I guess."
I grinned back. "Touché."
The sound of the roof door broke the still air, announcing a third presence to our midnight rooftop gathering. "Mind if I join you?" Without waiting for a reply, Terra plopped herself down on the other side of me. "What were you talking about?" she asked.
I shifted back to my original position on the ledge. "Why we smile," I replied.
Terra scoffed. "That's easy. The sword is for the enemy, but the smile is for friends."
Caelum hummed. "I see Vacuo's left quite the mark on you."
Terra shrugged. "It's impossible to live there and not feel changed. With your fingertips on the pulse of survival, life comes into a sharper focus."
"A simple life," I said. "Then what do you make of all this?"
She huffed, her breath swirling about her face. "Needless. Strength determines who rules in Vacuo, not how well one can twist words and play to the masses."
"It's the opposite in Mistral," Caelum said. "Subtlety is the weapon of choice—warriors have no place as ruler."
I stared out at Beacon's campus. "And Vale seems to be caught in the middle—a warrior and an orator, struggling for dominance," I mused.
"And a robotic enemy to boot," added Terra.
"About that," I began. "I had a conversation with Ozpin's 'hive mind' when Adrian and I chased down that Grimm at City Hall. It called itself RUST."
Terra shuddered. "So Ozpin was right," she said.
I cradled my Scroll, its metal casing chilling. "It called me a variable. It had a goal in mind."
"And what do you suppose that goal was?" asked Caelum, biting his lip.
"I don't know," I answered. "But I'm sure we'll find out. This isn't the last we'll see of it."
We watched silently as a cloud drifted in front of the moon, until a clattering caused me to look down. Terra had produced another windup toy from the pockets of her sweatshirt. It hobbled to the end of the ledge, then toppled off onto a small force projection.
"Hey, Terra?"
"Yes, Phoenix?"
"The toys…"
She retrieved the toy from its precarious position. "What about them?"
I watched as she wound it up again. "You make them quite a lot."
She let it skitter on her arm. "They remind me of home."
"How so?"
When the toy exhausted its power, she stored it back in her sweatshirt. "My father's shop had all sorts of screws and pieces of metal lying around," she said. "I created my first one in third-grade and sold it to a kindergartener. Hardly covered the cost of materials, but my father insisted I continue to manufacture them."
"A stipend, then," I said.
She nodded. "Sales of trinkets like these relieved some of the burden two mouths put on a single salary. Making them became second nature."
I hummed. "And what about Ozpin?"
"You mean when we first met?" At my nod, she said, "He visited my father's shop to have his wristwatch repaired. Normally, we don't do that sort of work, but Lien is Lien.
"My father was out that day, so I managed the store when Ozpin came in. As I worked, he chatted with me about the city and the shop.
"Then he asked me how my Umbra combat final went."
I raised an eyebrow. Terra paused, then said, "The day Ozpin visited was the day my combat final was scheduled. I had missed it because I had to run the shop."
"But Ozpin knew," I said.
Terra rolled her eyes. "Ozpin always knows," she said. "Anyway, he asked me in a knowing manner, a kind that left my indifferent reply dead on my tongue. Then, in the next breath, he offered me a spot at Beacon, a Scroll presented to me with the requisite forms."
Terra pulled out the toy and fiddled with it. "He then told me he knew of my father's underworld ties and assured me that if I signed, my father would suffer no legal repercussions when the crackdown happened the following day."
She shot me a wry grin. "I was speechless, naturally. I didn't understand his reasoning behind the offer, and I still don't know why he did it. But signing his Scroll was one of the greatest decisions of my life."
I stared back up at the moon. "Then let's not let him down."
Initializing…
Scanning for updates…
Logging in Hayes, Phoenix…
Startup completed.
Welcome to Clover Search Engine!
Type a word or phrase below to begin searching.
Search phrase: "Artificial Intelligence"
Retrieving…
Artificial intelligence (AI) is a branch of computer science devoted to studying and creating intelligent systems that process data and commands in much the same manner as humans and faunus do. While colloquial use of the term "AI" almost always refers to higher cognitive functions, such as creativity or problem-solving, AI applies to any class of program that seeks a goal using sufficiently advanced heuristics. However, since its scope is constantly expanding, computer scientists find it difficult to classify AI to any concrete definition.
The Great War saw the inception of AI, where rudimentary AI operated robotic soldiers on both sides. While these precursors to modern-day Atlesian Paladins suffered staggering losses in the face of a human or faunus enemy, generous military funding ensured AI's speedy advancement. Its momentum continues today, with Atlas investing billions of Lien a year to its Computing and Artificial Intelligence Research iNstute (CAIRN). The other three Kingdoms follow suit, albeit at slower paces.
While AI research faces obstacles in natural language processing, abstract reasoning, and an ability to plan, computer scientists almost unanimously believe that AI will eventually surpass humanity's and faunus's natural intelligence. At this point, a technological singularity may develop. AI critics claim crisis will sweep Remnant as any conscious AI goes rogue, while AI supporters believe it can be trained to do good. Currently, computer scientists predict three decades of research would lay the proper latticework a conscious AI requires. Further, they claim an additional decade of implementation may follow as disparate theoretical ideas are brought together into one construct.
For further reading, see the following:
Atlesian Paladin OS
Computer and Artificial Intelligence Research iNstitute (CAIRN)
Technological Singularity
Closing search…
Saving cache…
Goodbye, Phoenix.
A/N: To all those that wondered at what Phoenix's command was, it was likely: "ls -l | sort -k3,3 -rnk5,5." This command in Unix sorts files in a directory by author and by size. Normally, it only outputs files from the working directory, but Phoenix's Semblance may have done something to circumvent that.
On another note, I'm juggling two plot points right now. I'd like to know your thoughts—are the characters responding correctly? Do I strike a good balance between dialogue and action? I've reached the point that many authors feel, that twinge of dissatisfaction in any words I write. I'll continue writing, but direction seems a bit hazy.
Anyways, two weeks per post seems to work for now, but if the workload increases, I may have to stretch it to three weeks. But two weeks it is!
Update (9/15): Changed story name to "Retrograde Shift" from "Shift."
-CTech