Around two hours later, Face walked up to Glynda's door with a medic bag slung over his body. It was about ten o'clock at night, which was normally a time when Face would be fully awake due to a massive amount of coffee for the past fifteen years, so going to Glynda's room was of no issue to him. He'd had a good dinner, so he wasn't on an empty stomach, at least. The hallway was empty: Due to Glynda's stature in the school and the fact that she could probably kill most of the other teachers with a dodgy look, as tempting as it was, nobody wanted to risk seeing her naked.

Thumbing the strap of the medic bag idly as he knocked on her door, Face glanced around down the corridor to see if anybody was there. Not that he gave a damn, of course, but it was more interesting than looking at a wooden door. For a few seconds, he thought he saw movement down the hall, but his attention was immediately drawn back as a hand shot out through Glynda's door and pulled him inside almost instantly, giving Face barely enough time to let out a small yell of surprise. Once he was in, the door slammed behind him, and he was half expecting to have to fight something due to the sudden nature of the event. Instead, he came face to face with Glynda's less-than-pleased face. "You're late," she grimaced, folding her arms over the towel that covered her body.

"You're welcome," Face whistled, unslinging the medic bag and moving over to a nearby table to get the medical gear out. Glynda took this as her opportunity to go over to the side of the bed and sit down. "Had to get rid of the spare meat, so I fed it to some of the captive Grimm."

"That's cruel."

"Ah, the bastards hardly even remember they have an arse sometimes, they won't give a fuck about eating their cousins." Face was in the process of removing a few reels of thread from the bottom of the bag when he exhaled again. "So, Glynda," he began, "What am I closing this evening?"

"Well, I was observing some sparring today, and a rather large crystal of Dust was sent flying my way. It ripped my shirt, and put a decent sized cut onto my stomach. I've had it bandaged up all day."

"How big's the cut?"

"A few inches across, navel to lower rib."

"Oh, that sounds bad. I can sort it, though, no problem. Lie on your back so I can see." Glynda's face went slightly red in embarrassment. Face remained indifferent. "Is there a problem, Professor?"

"Yes, there certainly is!" she snapped. "I'm not going to let you see my naked body!" Face raised a brow.

"I saw it yesterday."

"That was my back, and that's different. I'm not going to let you look at my chest."

"I don't give a fuck about your body, I'm here to stitch wounds shut. Plus, I'm more interested in weapons than women, so there's no chance that I have any dodgy plans."

"That's...no comfort." Glynda sat up, wrapping the towel around herself quickly. Face sat back on the stool and leaned forward, frowning.

"For the past fifteen years, I haven't paid any heed to anything outside of survival, and work." he said flatly.

"And your work was survival?" Glynda asked, deciding that it would be better to just put some pajamas on.

"It was. One wrong move, I could be machine-gunned, decapitated, gutted, disintegrated, stabbed, shot, blasted to pieces, incinerated, or beaten to death. One missed shot, and I would get ripped into by my team for letting the enemy capture the point. A failed attempt to push the enemy back, and we all went down in flames, literally. If I had my mind on anything else, people died. I could not focus on anything else. So as far as I'm concerned, just because I'm away from all that doesn't mean I should stop focusing on survival over everything."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Glynda asked, standing herself up and going over to a chest of drawers to get some sleeping attire. Face chuckled slightly, continuing to stare at where she had been sitting a moment before.

"My point in its most basic form?" he smirked. "I'm not interested in women." Glynda paused in the process of pulling her pajama bottoms up, and looked at him.

"So..." she said carefully. "...you're...ga-?"

"No, fuck off with that," Face snapped. Glynda quickly began putting her clothes on, being careful not to reveal her private areas to the man. "I'm saying that I'm not after love, romance, a relationship, whatever. My interests remain as getting home, and getting back at who dragged me here."

"Someone brought you here?"

"Of course they bloody well did. Someone tricked me to coming here. Someone fucked me. And I'm going to find out who they really were." He looked up at Glynda. "But first, you need that gash stitched." Glynda sighed as she buttoned up her pajama top.

"I'll get it done," she replied. "Just...not tonight. Why don't you go down to the city tonight? You don't have any lessons set for tomorrow, and I did overhear you mentioning that you wanted to go visit 'Junior' at his club." Face raised a brow in thought as he began to pack up the medical supplies.

"Is that even legal?" he asked. "Thought I wasn't allowed off Beacon premises unless given specific orders to by the police or Beacon staff." He turned to face Glynda, who was standing in a set of white button pajamas with her arms folded. "Is it an order?"

"It could be," she smiled back. "But if it were, the second half of the orders would be to attend the Staff Sparring event and have a few fights." Face rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door.

"Sure, why the hell not," he exhaled, scratching the back of his head, "Got nothing else to do except teaching."

"Excellent," Glynda nodded, pushing Face out the door. "You go have fun in town."

And with that, the door closed in Face's face, leaving him standing with a medic bag in front of Glynda's door. He gave it a brief look, before shrugging and deciding that he may as well go into town; He did say he would go visit Junior's club, and there were a few things he needed to go see if anybody had found his backpack.

If he was due to go to the Staff Sparring, he'd make sure nobody knew what the fuck was going on.

One airship ride with an obnoxiously talkative pilot later...

As the airship passed over the rooftops and the pilot finished explaining his divorce, Face grabbed his equipment, gripped his hat brow, and slid the door open at the side. Making sure the pilot, a fellow named Bile, had gotten into describing how he was regularly employed by a band of robbers to carry bags of stolen loot, Face used the distraction to hop out and land on the top of a small building. On landing, he rolled, and used his momentum to follow up with another roll and stop completely on his back. It hurt a fair bit, falling ten metres to a solid surface and rolling twice, but it didn't bother him much. Catching his breath and watching the airship fly towards the terminal, he finally stood up and made his way to the edge of the building roof before looking down.

There wasn't that much of a drop. A floor, at least, and he could land on a conveniently placed car to break his fall. As Face vaulted the small wall protecting people from falling off the roof, it would be now that it would be good to note that since he was from the late 1960's and hardly ever left the Steel facility, Face had absolutely no idea about the conception of car alarms, nor the fact that they tended to go off when something hit the vehicle in question at speed.

So, it was to the Sniper's surprise that the moment his feet touched the roof of the black Schneesmobile, the car began to emit a noise similar to that of an air raid siren, loudly ringing through the air and smashing the near silence of the streets. As he scrambled on the roof and fell onto the ground, the siren continued, and he was certain he could hear police sirens in the distance. He quickly got to his feet, and looked down the street. He could see the entrance to Junior's club quite a distance away, and the two guards near the door were looking towards the commotion down the road in interest. Before Face could even consider making a sprint down there, there was a sudden bang as a pair of striking white figures dropped down nearby.

Face shielded his eyes from the dust, and quickly put his rifle in his hands, pointing it into the smoke and rubble. He kept it level as the car alarm blared away in the background. It was difficult to know who was in that smoke because of the noise: Cops? SWAT? FBI? Saxton Hale?

He hoped to fucking Christ it wasn't Hale.

He was just about to back away and vault a nearby fence, when there was the sound of a charging energy weapon that rang apparent over the sound of the alarm, forcing him to remain still to see off the possible threat. Two silhouettes appeared in the smoke, before marching out into view and surprising Face. Rather than the two police officers he was expecting, standing in front of him was a pair of white robots holding rifles at hip height. They had no facial features like Gray Mann's robots he'd fought years before; those dullard, blank faces he'd come to recognize on robots were replaced by black glass plates in a shape similar to the eye-holes on that Spartan helmet he'd seen a BLU Soldier wearing once. Outside of that, they had no centre portions, instead having a set of pistons and a thick 'spine'. In spite of the fact that they were machines (an enemy that Face and a few others at Steel had once been given the pleasure of fighting, forcefully disassembling, and being dismembered by), there was something off about them. He didn't know how much damage they could take, but it wasn't something he wanted to test.

The robots, however, had different problems: They couldn't find the person who'd set off the alarm. There was no sign of a living thing in the alley: Just a weird object with a hat and glasses. That couldn't have set off the alarm, since it was more than likely a statue of some kind. Running diagnostics on Vale's artists and craftsmen to see if anybody had made the statue that lived nearby, the two robots began to advance further into the alleyway in order to find the person who'd just tried to steal the car. Face remained absolutely still with his rifle raised at the original position they had been in as the made their way around him. A few moments passed as the car alarm shut off automatically, and behind him, he could finally hear a door slam as the robots entered the building.

He finally lowered his rifle and exhaled, looking behind him to ensure they were gone. "That was bloody close," he muttered, scratching his head and beginning to make his way down the street towards Junior's club. "And here I was, thinking that Washington SWAT responded fast." Briefly remembering a botched assassination job a few years before, he decided it wouldn't be best to test out how good Vale's Anti-Terrorism Unit was and quickly began to jog down the street.

One argument with the doormen later...

As the doors slid open, Face was hit with the sound of heavy dance tunes and cheering people on the dance floor. Casting a brief glance around and squinting under the heavy laser use and strobe lighting, he began to make his way down to the platform-floor around the dance floor and walk around. He could definitely feel some eyes looking him over for his carriage of three guns and a machete, but that wasn't going to be an issue as long as they didn't turn it into an issue. Whilst he looked around to see if he could find Junior, he once again cursed his strange habit of constantly wearing sunglasses: The room was already dark, meaning that everything was even harder to see due to the polarized lenses.

Just then, he caught sight of a large figure leaning over at the bar counter, flanked by two women in white and red dresses, respectively. He smirked slightly, and began to make his way over to Junior's position. The club definitely had a few people that would more than likely try pulling money from him: Pickpockets, thieves, muggers, prostitutes. However, due to his distinctive lack of cash, the worst they could end up doing would be diving their hands into his pockets and then getting them cut off. This in mind, Face kept an eye out as he went between groups of people in case there was an opportunist among the dancers.

As he got closer to the tall figure near the bar, he realized that Junior wasn't just looking down at the bar: He was trying to ignore a group of drunks that were harassing him. The lead man, a Faunus with blonde hair, was constantly trying to put his hand over Junior's shoulder, only for it to be shrugged off immediately. Over the sound of loud music and talking, Face couldn't make out what he was saying, but obviously he said something wrong: Junior raised a hand without looking at the drunk, clicked, and immediately a pair of men in black suits and hats approached from seemingly nowhere, grabbed the man, and dragged him away. The rest of his group was quick to disperse into the crowds, fearing the wrath of Junior.

Face grinned.

It was just like being back in prison: Try and fuck up Junior, and his guys fuck you up. This was a public place, and it was just like the enclosed concrete building he'd been in for a few weeks.

Well, with less shower rape.

Face silently remembered to thank the warden for giving him use of the guard showers, and made his way over to Junior. He pushed his way in-between two groups of club-goers, and was just about to tap Junior on the shoulder when he felt a hand on his own shoulder. Quickly, he turned, to come face to face with one of Junior's guys. "No weapons in the club, man," the thug ordered. Face shrugged.

"Nobody stopped me at the door over it," he replied calmly, obviously lying since about ten minutes were wasted as he explained to the doormen that he wasn't a criminal. Again, that was a lie. "And what's to say I'll be getting them back when I'm leaving?" The man frowned.

"Time for you to leave, pal," he said suddenly, attempting to pull Face away. Without even a sign of any effort, Face brushed the hand off his shoulder.

"If it's any consolation, I'm just here to see Junior. Heard he was out of jail, and since I knew him from there, I figured I'd drop by and see him." The thug remained unconvinced, hand beginning to rest uneasily near his pistol.

"If you were in prison, I don't recognize you."

"What, you didn't see me egging on Jim Oxworth when he was stabbing that White Fang hate preacher with a sharpened toothbrush in the canteen?" The thug paused.

"What were you shouting?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Uhh...there was 'Ram it in his ears', 'Through the eye', and 'Oh my God, that was amazing, can I have a go?'. They're the ones I can remember shouting." The thug considered this, then let go of Face's shoulder.

"Alright, I remember you now," he said finally. "Just don't go shooting anything up, most of us have guns, too."

"Alright...I guess I'll keep that in mind?" Face muttered as the suited man walked away into the crowds, likely hunting for more people that might try and cause trouble. Just a shame that Face could probably break both his arms off and beat him to death with them. He shrugged after a brief pause, and continued on his way over to Junior.

Upon arrival, one of the two women that had been standing next to Junior had already began the process of eyeing him up. Judging by her relatively unamused facial expression, first impressions didn't seem too good: He was armed with three guns and a machete, was wearing a pair of sunglasses whilst indoors, had a black beard similar to Junior's, and was eyeing her up in return. She was fairly small, of a similar build to the other girl. Their faces seemed relatively similar, but what seemed to be the way of telling them apart was the colour of their clothing. The one who wasn't really paying much attention to Face was wearing a white-ish dress with blue accents, however the girl that was inspecting him was wearing a blood crimson dress with black accents. It was almost reminiscent of RED and BLU: Mercenaries on both teams would look almost exactly the same were it not for red and blue uniforms, silly hats, and ridiculous guns.

Face took this opportunity to make his presence known: Casually, he approached the bar and stood behind Junior. As he reached a hand out to tap him on the shoulder, air nearby whipped loudly, and three sharp objects went up against his throat. He didn't raise his throat up as a normal person would in that situation, instead choosing to put his hand back to his side and look back at the girl that was now threatening him. The unamused expression now carried the slightest impressions of a frown, and her until-then-unnoticed black claws were reached up to Face's throat. He raised a brow. "Claws. Wow." he said flatly. The girl continued staring at him.

"You realise that you're carrying weapons into a class establishment," she replied. Her voice had a strange bored, monotone element about it. "So it's kinda dumb that you're trying to tap the owner of the club on the shoulder so you can kill him." Face snorted.

"If I'd have wanted to kill him, I'd have shanked him in prison," he explained. Junior's ears pricked up at the familiar voice, and he quickly stood and turned.

"Face!" he smiled in surprise, extending a hand for Face to shake. "Didn't think I'd see you outta the joint!" Face shook his hand as the girl in red backed off and returned to standing at the bar.

"Surprisingly, neither did I," he replied. "Great to see you again, Junior."

"Likewise," Junior nodded, gesturing to the club. "Like it?"

"Oh, absolutely," Face whistled. "Where I'm from, a 'class establishment' meant you'd get shot in the face after five minutes instead of one. This is genuinely a nice change."

"Glad you're enjoying it. Didn't think you were much of a clubbing person, and here you are, visiting old Junior in Downtown Vale. What've you been up to?" Junior gestured to the barman to bring over a bottle of beer as he reclined against the bar, Face doing the same.

"You remember when that woman walked through the jail cells? Looked a bit like a secretary?"

"Ah, her," Junior grinned. "She was popular talk the day after. You'd think the guys had never seen a woman before."

"True," Face smirked, folding his arms. "But the thing is, apparently she was Glynda Goodwytch, one of the senior staff at Beacon. Came up to my cell with this 'Ozpin' guy and offered me a job for some reason."

"Which job?" Junior asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Substitute teacher. Supposed to be teaching Huntsmen and Huntresses how to survive in the wilderness."

"I figured they would already know how to handle themselves." Junior looked at one of the glass pillars that had been replaced since...her visit. His jaw still ached a bit.

Bloody Hell, was that expensive.

"That's what I said!" Face cried. "But apparently, they needed to teach them how a 'hunter' survives. They didn't bear in mind the fact that I mentioned that for the past fifteen years, I've hunted men, so I'm not holding back on the Grimm they're throwing at me to use as teaching material."

"What, killing them?"

"Nah. Made it painful for an Ursa earlier. Shot out the kneecaps, ripped its leg bone out, turned it into a shank, then starting twisting it around in its eye."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Then I called a Faunus girl to the front, and she grabs my revolver to put a hole in its head and 'mercy kill' it. Used the dead Ursa for a barbecue, so that was good."

"So you didn't get taken away for experimentation?" Junior asked. Face raised a brow at him.

"Experimentation? Who said anything about that?"

"Well, it's fairly well known that Glynda Goodwytch is legally allowed to requisition inmates that are in for life, for use in experiments and target practice. She rarely does it, so most of the guys figured that she was taking you away to use you for that. Guess not." Face frowned, as per his usual reaction to being told something.

"Well, I guess I'm not good target practice if I beat her in a fight." Junior paused, and looked to Face. "What?"

"You're trying to say...you beat Glynda Goodwytch in a fight?"

"Well...yeah?"

"The Glynda Goodwytch."

"Yeah."

"The best Dust user in the kingdom."

"Yeah, it wasn't really that hard and I was only nearly killed."

"I call bullshit."

"No, really, ask her."

"How am I gonna do that? I don't have her number and she'd probably kill everyone in my club and on my payroll."

"She's not too bad if you get to know her. All I did was stitch her wounds shut after the fight and she's kind of stopped being exceptionally moody towards me." Face paused, and looked at the two girls that were with Junior. They were now standing next to each other, both remaining flat in expression towards Face. He pointed a finger between the girls. "Who're these two?"

"Oh, right." Junior sighed, and stepped to the side, gesturing to girl in white and girl in red. "Face, this is Melanie, this is Miltia." The introduction came as a half-assed attempt to sound formal.

"And they hold what jobs here?" Face asked, putting his hands in his pockets. Junior paused.

"Uhhh...?"

"As in, what do they actually do, besides threaten people?" Face clarified. Miltia folded her arms and rolled her eyes.

"Uh...I guess they're kinda like enforcers? Occasionally we get people threatening to damage this club, so I send a couple of guys, and Melanie and Miltia their way. Teach 'em not to mess with Junior."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense." Face shrugged, and looked around the club. 'What else was I here for...? Oh yeah, my stuff.' "Hey, by the way, Junior?" Face asked. Junior raised a brow.

"Hm?"

"You didn't happen to see what they did with a brown backpack that might have been evidence from the dockyard, did you?"

"Not that I know of. There were a few federal guys going down to the evidence rooms in the prison with a few crates after you went to your cell, so maybe it was there. Why, did they not give it back?"

"No, they didn't," Face replied, scratching his stubble. "And the problem is, that one backpack contains all my weapons and gear I gathered for fifteen years. Pretty sure I'd end up needing some of it at some point."

"Ah. Well, I guess you could try appealing to the police to get it back. I mean, it's not like you could just break in and steal it, right?" Junior laughed. Melanie and Miltia joined in with their dulcid, monotone laughing, and Face joined in as well.

"Yeah, as if I would do that!"

One hour passes...

Face crouched down behind the bins in the side alley near the prison. Making sure nobody was looking, he pulled out a White Fang mask he'd found on the floor, then put it on. It went over his sunglasses easily, but it didn't mean it wasn't just as hard to see. "Perfect disguise..." he mused, before turning towards the direction he'd seen the prison supply department entrance and began to crouch towards it.

From his time in jail, he could remember nearly nobody using this entrance. According to Jim Oxworth, it had been disused since it was difficult for trucks to get in and out of, so nobody would be overlooking it. Face kept an eye out for anybody nearby, and looked over the wooden door in front of him.

He tested the handle.

Locked.

"Shit." Face considered blowing the lock off with his revolver, but without a suppressor, that'd be loud. However, to his luck, there was a flathead screwdriver on the floor next to him. Quickly grabbing it, he rummaged through his pockets until he found what he need. He removed Glynda's hairpin that he had...uh, procured, and placed it into the door along with the screwdriver. Carefully, he began to rotate the screwdriver, moving the hair pin around the lock carefully. For what felt like ten minutes, he kept working on the lock, until...

ca-clitik

"Gotcha," Face smirked, before grabbing the handle and gently pushing the door open. Inside, it was dark, and in the echoes from the building, he could hear prison wardens walking on the steel catwalks connecting cells on the upper floors.

So they were still awake.

Face drew his machete, tipped his hat brow a slight lower, and began to advance into the building.

"This should be fun."