That evening, Face sat alone in his room, as per his usual, fiddling with the variety of guns he had 'borrowed' from the police armoury. Of course, he had no intention of giving them back. That was why he didn't particularly feel troubled as he pulled apart a shotgun and began putting the more tactical parts onto one of the many Mann Co. Perch Defender 12 Gauge shotguns he had collected over the years. The one he was in the process of fitting a rather snazzy black tactical folding stock onto was his favourite.

It was called 'Gavin'. He had no particular reasoning behind the name. He just liked the name 'Gavin', for its sheer mediocrity. Like, if you were killed by a gun, you'd expect it to have some cool name, like 'Vengeance' or 'Venom'. But with Face? Nope, you got killed by 'Simon'. How boring is that? It's almost humiliating. Perhaps you'd even have an existential crisis upon respawning. The name was a weapon in itself.

Since he'd bought a Name Tag, filled it in, and sent it back to Mann Co. to receive the custom engraved plates with the name on, that small metal plate was bolted onto the side of the weapon as a way of discerning it from all the others that normally littered battlefields. And, as usual, it was just another gun that he had picked up; His backpack contained dozens of them.

He was fairly certain he could fuel another genocidal campaign through Africa with the all firepower he had. However, considering he was just the one person, he would likely get stabbed to death in the first town, then eaten or whatever it was that the more violent African tribes would do.

Regardless, Simon was his favourite. Thus, Simon received preferential treatment in all the tacticool parts being put onto it.

It was at that moment, not unlike the other night, where Face's Scroll buzzed. Continuing to zero the holographic sight of the shotgun, he leaned back on his bed, gripping the gun between his knees and resting it on his shoulder, using his right hand to adjust the sighting and his left to grab the phone. Upon twisting the sight adjustment a few degrees, he paused, and looked at the message he had been sent.

He frowned as he read the message's sender, and contents.

[NO USER ID]

wag1

r u face?

i was told by my boss 2 send u a msg about goin 2 juniors bar

she said she knows u and ur important or somthin

hed 2 juniors asap she wants 2 talk 2 u!

also dont tell no1 this is secret

c u l8r bby

xxx

"The fuck...?" Face murmured, trying to make sense of the unusual method of communicating. For a moment, he studied the message further, before sighing and placing the shotgun down.

Was this how kids communicated?

Sighing, he checked his watch. Only 8:30PM. There were still airships going out to Vale...but would he get in shit for leaving without informing Glynda?

Who the hell was even messaging him? If, for whatever reason, it was a trap, he had the feeling that the person who set it up was a bit of an amateur. Possibly even worse than that Spy who disguised as a Scout and began desperately trying to jump into Face's perch, failing every time only to have his throat slashed upon finally entering the perch.

The Sniper scratched his head, looking out the window.

Should he?

Shouldn't he?

Adventure, or not being bitched at by Glynda?

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't mind Glynda bitching at him. Recently, he'd noticed she spoke to him less like a criminal, and more like a misbehaving student, for some reason, especially after their fight in the arena. That metaphor even went down to her cornering him and placing an arm over his shoulder and against a wall to intimidate him as she scolded him.

He sniffed.

The more he thought about that, the more he thought he'd watched a porno that started like that, once. Those thoughts aside, he figured he could take Glynda yelling at him.

By that point, as he grabbed his backpack and began to clamber out the window, he was used to running a few risks at Beacon.

Two hours later, after a significant amount of walking...

Breathing a sigh of relief as he walked through the doors to Junior's club, Face was rather surprised to see the place was practically empty. Not even Junior was in sight, and the only person in the room (that he knew of) was him. That made no sense: Why leave the music playing and the lights moving?

He frowned.

Was it a trap?

Maybe, he thought as he slowly descended the stairs to the dance floor, keeping an eye out for movement. If this is a trap, I walked right into it. And by God, I'll fight my way out. For a moment, he paused at the bottom of the steps, assessing his surroundings.

Empty, except flashing lights and loud music playing. It sounded like something that Scout would put on his 'mixtape': Absolutely shit.

Once he was certain nobody was in sight, he called out. "Hello?" he shouted, eyes narrowed. "Whoever the hell you are, I'm here!" There came no response except his voice echoing.

Something was off.

Narrowing his eyes, Face withdrew his revolver, opened the cylinder, and checked it was loaded. To his surprise, he'd apparently fired off five of the six available rounds. Perhaps he'd loaded duds in, again? No bother.

He kept a cautious eye on his surroundings whilst he individually removed the five non-functional .44 rounds, placed them into his pocket, and began fishing around for replacements. He wasn't feeling too optimistic about the evening: He was likely due for several hours of interrogation the next morning, which to students would likely appear as sexual tension between him and Glynda; He'd made a mistake in preparing his weapon, which meant he could potentially have done that with several others; And Junior's normally incredibly busy club was completely empty.

Why, just the night before, there had to have been a few hundred people present! Where the hell did they all go?

Speaking of missing things...

"Where're my fucking spares...?" muttered Face, patting his belt down. Now things were turning out very strange: He'd only packed ONE bullet for his revolver. Normally, his belt was full of spare rounds; At least thirty or forty bullets, just in case something took more than a cylinder to stop. It wasn't like him to just forget bullets and weapons: They were a major part of his life, never mind his job.

He paused.

...wait.

Slowly, he removed his hand from his belt, closed the cylinder on the handcannon, and slipped it into its holster. Then, he steadily reached back behind him.

His backpack.

He'd left his backpack in Beacon.

That in mind, it didn't take long for him to realize what that meant: He was in a place that was probably a trap set for him for whatever reason, meeting someone who likely planned to kill him, with only his empty revolver and his fists to protect him were anything to happen.

He grumbled unintelligibly to himself, and continued hunting for the other five shots for his gun whilst he began steadily advancing across the dance floor. "Where's all my bloody ammo gone...?" Face groaned, patting his pockets down as he walked. Eventually, he sighed, and opted to just pull his gun out, make sure the only bullet was ready in the cylinder, before slipping it away at half-cock. Safety was important; In the event that he bumped it on something, it meant two things. One, the hammer being knocked wouldn't set the round off, putting either a hole in his leg or the floor, wasting the only bullet he had. And two, he wouldn't look like a fucking idiot whilst he hobbled around, clutching his leg and trying to find medical aid.

For another minute, he rummaged around, before finally succumbing to the realization he was dumb enough to leave his ammo back at Beacon, and sighed. Scratching his beard, he began to walk further into the club, up the stairs, towards the bar. "Junior?" he called out, peering over to the unoccupied drinks counter. "You there, mate?"

Again, no response.

Something was wrong.

Grunting in disapproval, Face went up to the bar and took a seat on one of the stools. For a moment, he sat still, staring ahead grumpily. Then, he had an idea.

He reached into his pocket, and withdrew his Scroll, bringing up the messages tab. He selected [NO USER ID], bringing him a list of options. After a brief hesitation, he tapped the button labelled 'CALL', holding it to his ear.

Right behind him, a phone began to ring, and that was all he needed.

He lowered the phone to hip height, pulling his revolver out and spinning to level it at head height with whoever was behind him, snapping the hammer back with a loud click and gritting his teeth.

Instead of the Spy he had been expecting to see, he saw nothing. Nobody was there, yet the sound of a phone ringing persisted. For a moment, the Sniper breathed heavily, assessing the air in front of him. Then, after a hesitation, he slowly put his Scroll away, ending the call and the ringing sound, before dropping off the stool and checking the space in front of him. At around his chest height and below, there was a section of the air that seemed...fuzzy. As if something was there. It was vaguely similar to how he would see his team's Spy when he was cloaked, but without the reddish or blueish tint to the distortion. The distortion was completely colourless.

Was he hallucinating?

Maybe.

He crouched slightly, before steadily reaching out his left hand to the air. Lights danced through the glass-like substance like liquid.

Upon his hand making contact with the top of the material, Face felt something warm, with a hair-like texture to it. He quickly withdrew his hand, and pointed his gun just below the area he had touched, stepping back. "Who the fuck are you?" he snapped, gritting his teeth. "Was it you who brought me back here?" For a moment, there was no response. Finally, there was a brief chuckle.

"Wow," came the female response, "Someone doesn't like being set up for blind dates." Face didn't know how to respond, instead opting to just grunt slightly and tighten his grip on the revolver in his hand. The transparent figure in front of him appeared to do what looked like folding its arms, before shifting its weight. "Oh, come on. Lighten up. We're just here to talk."

Again, Face didn't respond vocally for a minute. "Show yourself."

"Why do I need to? I reserve the right to maintain anonymity in this anonymous meeting."

"Well, I'm not fucking anonymous, am I?" retorted the taller man. "You obviously know who I am. I deserve to know who the hell you are." The figure groaned, and threw its arms wide.

"Ugh! Fine!" 'she' sighed, before the transparency began to fade away. Face didn't relieve his aim, but he did take note of the woman's appearance. Standing in front of him was a young, dark-skinned teenage girl with short green hair. She was wearing unusual clothes, and crossed along her lower back was what appeared to be a pair of Mexican crossdraw holsters containing guns of some kind. Her entire clothing set seemed to revolve around green, and white. Rather solid colour choice, in Face's opinion. Green and white hats and clothes sold for a lot in Mercenary markets. She looked back at him with her arms folded and a pout on her face. "Happy now, Mr. Tough Guy?" The Sniper eyed her up, narrowing his eyes, and prompting the girl to frown. "Stop checking me out!"

"I ain't," retorted Face. "I'm sizing you up."

"You're checking me out."

"Sizing. Up."

"You're totally checking me out." She leaned back slightly, looking over her shoulder at the bar. "Merc, this creepy old guy's checking me out."

To Face's surprise, a grey-haired lad popped up behind the counter, leaning on it as if nothing was wrong. Instinctively, Face stepped back, and pointed the gun at him. "Yep, he's checking you out, alright," whistled the teenager. "Dirty old man." Face grit his teeth.

"Where the hell did you come from?" he snapped. "Who the hell do you two think you are, calling me out here late at night?" The girl laughed, and moved back to the counter, hopping up and sitting on it.

"Yeah, sorry to interrupt your sleep, old timer, but this is important." Whilst she had a look of predatory smugness on her face, her partner looked rather disinterested by the whole meeting. 'Merc' was checking his nails and scratching his face in idleness. "Our boss wants to speak to you."

"Then where the hell is she? Couldn't she just find a more convenient bloody time? And why bring you two kids? Shouldn't you be doing homework, or something?" The girl glared at him.

"'Kids' or not, you pull anything funny, we're here to put you in the ground." Face let out a 'pfft'.

"Yeah. Go on. I'm fucking terrified. Tell me about how you're gonna sneak up behind me and stab me in the back with a butterfly knife, you 'orrible little spook." The teenage girl looked to be getting more agitated as he spoke. "Looks to me like you've never been in a bloody fight. I'm gonna make the assumption you're trying to pass yourself off as a pro gunfighter or something with both those little things." Emerald's glare intensified, prompting a smirk from Face. He looked at the two crossed revolvers on her back. "What're those little peashooters chambered in? Nine millimeter?" He reached forward and tapped the frame of his own gun with a nail. "Try forty-four magnum, predator killer powder loaded. Maybe you'll actually hurt something instead of pissing it off." Before the green-haired girl could answer back, Merc spoke up, looking at the area behind Face.

"Oh. Hey, boss."

Face stepped to his left as quickly as he could, keeping his gun aimed at the teenage girl (Not Merc, though: He seemed alright), before he then took the chance to look over his shoulder at 'Boss'.

There, approaching up the stairs in the same clothes he remembered seeing her in that first night, was Cinder Fall. She was looking dead at him with the same, unnerving look she gave him on the night at the docks.

After a moment's pause, he raised his gun up, twirled it round his finger, and released the hammer, before putting it back into half-cock and returning it to its holster. "Cindy?" he asked, stunned. "Thought you died in that airship crash." The shorter woman halted right in front of him, placing a hand on her hip.

"That wasn't my airship," she replied coolly. "I'm glad that prison wasn't too rough for you." Face smirked.

"More like I was too rough for prison..." he muttered, rubbing his head. Then, he gestured to the two teenagers at the bar. "What's with these two being here?"

"Oh, Emerald and Mercury? They're just added help," Cinder explained. "I did watch that stream of you fighting Professor Goodwytch. It was rather impressive: Frankly, you're slightly more impressive than I'd formerly expected. I couldn't afford to be careless when hosting a meeting with you."

"I'm not sure if I ought to take that as a compliment..." mused Face, scratching his chin. "But whatever. It was just like fighting a Soldier. What of it?" Cinder remained silent, beginning to slowly circle around him, eyeing him up and down. After a moment, she spoke.

"You know...I never did get to have a good look at you on the first evening we employed your services." Face raised a brow, folding his arms and shifting his weight whilst he looked at her.

"Right...?"

"You must be...hmm...at least six foot of trained killer?"

"Six foot two."

"Even more impressive. And how many kills was it you said you'd carried out?"

"Over ten-thousand on one rifle. That doesn't count the other kills with my revolver, SMG, machete, or bare hands."

"Well, to consider you've survived for this long in a new world, I'd say those kills were well-earned..." Cinder paused, before reaching towards his revolver. As she did so, Face was quick to bat her hand away.

"What're you trying to do, there?" he asked quickly. "Hands off the gun." Emerald braced up, hands steadily reaching for her own revolver, before she hesitated, and calmed down, smirking. The Sniper just shot her an aggressive glare, but before he could make a comment about her behaviour, something touched under his chin, and it felt like silk. Face almost shivered at the feeling; It was softer and more gentle than anything he'd felt in a long time. He swallowed, as the object guided his head to look back at Cinder. The shorter woman was reaching up and gently caressing his chin, lightly circling his beard with her gentle thumb. Cinder's focused expression suggested she was inspecting him, as she pulled him down to her height, using her other hand to turn his head left to right whilst she shifted herself around slightly to look at his face.

Face, meanwhile, was completely unsure what to do. Hit her? She was his employer! Not that he hadn't ever whacked off a client after they'd double-crossed him, but most of his rather fuzzy mind was telling him not to do it. Normally, he'd have no problem, but Cinder just emanated an aura of...of...he didn't know. But just taking her the fuck down didn't seem like a good idea.

Besides...he'd never been that close to a woman before. Whether or not it was the time to be thinking such thoughts, or comparing his love for guns to his love for women, he didn't care. All he cared about was a fifty fifty split between Cinder continuing to 'inspect' him, or for her to let go so he could get answers.

Just then, Cinder carefully stood him back up to full height, before shifting his motorcycle jacket out of the way and inspecting his shirted torso. It didn't take long to figure out what she was going to do as she reached towards his waist, and lifted up his shirt. He could barely even utter an angry response at the fact he was being violated in a nightclub before Cinder's seemingly magic hands reached his chest. The woman was steadily smoothing her palms and fingertips over his skin like some kind of massage goddess. Never had the Mercenary experienced such emotional confusion over events, and his face showed it, much to Emerald's entertainment.

Face remained still for another moment, breathing heavily. Just then, Cinder let out a quiet 'Hmmm...' that sent shivers down his spine.

For the first time in a very long time, Face was scared.

Cinder smiled up at him in a rather predatory way. "You think of yourself as a huntsman?" she asked mockingly. Before Face could make a remark, her gentle hands suddenly planted themselves firmly onto his chest, surged forward with a surprising strength, knocking him straight onto his back. He let out a yell of surprise, scrambling for his gun, and upon withdrawing it from its holster and levelling it with the woman now standing over him, he yanked the trigger.

Cla-tik.

Cla-tik Cla-tik Cla-tik Cla-tik Cla-tik Cla-tik.

"You're taking the fucking PISS!" yelled the marksman, pulling himself backwards. As he moved, Cinder stalked after him, Emerald dropping down from the counter and Mercury hopping over the bar to follow behind. Face, meanwhile, flipped the revolver cylinder open to see if the round had actually been hit, only to see the round was...gone. He nearly froze in shock, but kept moving. His mind was spinning; One minute, she was touching him up, the next, she chucks him on the floor.

Angrily, he flicked the revolver closed, putting it away and beginning to try getting to his feet. Just as he managed to make it into a low crouch, there came a sudden force to the side of his face, causing him to yelp and stumble back onto the ground again. Groaning, Face looked at the floor, and spat.

No blood. Good start.

"Don't you dare try to get back on your feet without my permission," Cinder snapped, hand on her hip. To punctuate, she walked up and placed her high-heel onto the back of Face's hand, pressing down and causing him to yell in pain. "Do you want to know something?" yelled Cinder, grinding her foot. "I don't see what Ozpin sees in you! You teach huntsmen? Are you supposed to be a HUNTER?" This was accompanied by the woman bringing her foot up from his hand and delivering a swift kick to Face's jaw, throwing him onto the floor again.

Why the hell couldn't he bring his body to fight back?

And...why the hell was he sort of enjoying the pain?

Whilst he lay there, clutching his face and struggling to right himself, he felt something stabbing into his back, forcing him straight down again with a grunt of pain. The mysterious woman was now stood over him, placing one foot onto his spine and stabbing the heel of her stiletto into his back. "I don't see a hunter: All I see is a weak, pathetic animal. You're just prey."

It was at that point that Face growled loudly, and decided enough was enough.

Angrily, he slammed his palms against the ground, pushing against the force on his back and prompting Cinder to stagger backwards. That gave Face the opening he needed to get straight to his feet, and crack his knuckles, spinning to face Emerald, Mercury, and Cinder. "What the hell's this shit all about?!" he roared, getting into a fighting stance. Emerald was quick to draw one of her guns, aiming it at his chest, but was stopped as Cinder raised a hand dismissively. The two parties stared each other down. Face rubbed his cheek. The cut across his left cheek had reopened, and was dripping blood. Sniffing in frustration, he wiped the red liquid onto his trousers and raised his fist again. Cinder said nothing, which only aggravated him more. "Don't you be fucking silent with me, you creepy bitch. You wouldn't be the first employer I've ended up killing, so I suggest you tell me EXACTLY why you brought me here." The red-dressed woman eyed him up, then chuckled lightly.

"I missed you," she replied smoothly. "That's all."

"Bullshit."

There was more silence. Slowly, Mercury leaned over to his boss. "Ohhhh, he's good..." whispered the teenager, hands still in his pockets. Cinder assessed Face for another moment. Finally, she let out a sigh.

"Well, it seems there's no fooling you, is there?" she said finally, hand on her hip. "Put simply, we might need your services again." Emerald looked surprised, shooting a look at Cinder.

"W-What?!" she gasped. "But he's-!"

"A previously employed third party contractor," Cinder said calmly, not taking her eyes off him. "And from what I gather, his time at Beacon has...toughened him up, shall we say. He did successfully defeat the legendary Glynda Goodwytch in combat, and holds a position within Beacon which could aid us." Face narrowed his eyes.

"So why set up a meeting in which you start beating the hell out of me?" he asked.

"To consider your absence from our presence, I felt it would be necessary to establish the hierarchy within your mind."

"And you decided to do that by making the assumption I was into S&M?" Cinder, to his surprise, shrugged.

"It's worked before. It's how I drew in your replacement."

"Well, it ain't working on me," Face snapped, jabbing a finger at her. "And besides, I've made it a rule to not reveal secrets of one party to another if I've promised not to give out secrets. I'm no Spy."

"Then it's a good thing it's not part of my task for you. We have someone in Beacon carrying out espionage already." Face raised his brows, thinking over staff members who looked shifty. "You wouldn't have seen them. That's the reason we employed them."

"Fair point," Face nodded. He relaxed his stance slightly. "So what am I meant to do? If I get found out, I go straight back to prison."

Just then, Mercury raised a hand. "If that happens, it's my job to break you out," he explained. "That doesn't guarantee you'll stay fully intact during the escape. I'd suggest staying discreet about it." Face eyed him up and down.

"Nice boots."

"Thanks. They're chambered in twelve-gauge." Face raised a brow.

"Wha...in fact, considering some of the bullshit I've seen, don't bother. Just don't. Anyway, nice ones." He turned his gaze back to Cinder. "What am I meant to be doing?"

"Simple," she smiled. "Gain their trust. Stay amongst them, and make them think you're one of them. Once they believe you, your duty is to stab them in the back before they do any damage to us." Face sighed.

"I just said I'm not a Spy." He huffed, standing straight. "I have enough revolvers for it, but I'm not an aficionado in espionage, I don't own a disguise kit, and I can't turn invisible. How do I stab someone in the back without that?" His response came as Cinder offered a smile.

"As I say, we have someone for that." Cinder replied. "I'd say he's the Spy equivalent to you; Mediocre. No offense intended to you, of course."

"None taken. I'm fairly shit at sniping compared to some other guys I've faced."

At that moment, a shockingly familiar voice rang out from behind him, accompanied by the sound of decloaking that he'd come to dread. "That you are, Face," came the British accented response. The Sniper froze, and glanced over his shoulder.

Staring him down was the familiar form of a friendly RED Spy. More specifically, the same lime-trimmed Spy who he'd worked with for over fifteen years in the Steel facility: Ding. As he remembered, his green-brimmed Chapeau was straightened as ever, whilst his green-edged concierge coat was replaced with a lime green Victorian-era coat. Face stared him up and down as the Spy idly twirled an Ambassador on his finger.

"...how'd you find me?" Face asked. Ding shrugged.

"Went looking for work with the guy who replaced you. He met Miss Fall, and I got dragged along."

"So you've been shadowing me."

"No, I've been cloak-and-daggering around Beacon. You seem to have an interesting relationship with Glynda."

"Hey, prick," Face interrupted, jabbing his finger at him whilst Emerald and Mercury laughed. "Bear in mind I'm actually hanging with someone my age. Not like that lass you tried pulling who turned out to be about seventeen." Ding groaned.

"Oh, come on, Face," he sighed, gesturing with the universal 'why' gesture. "Don't be that guy."

"I'll be 'that guy'," he retorted, folding his arms. "So I suggest you keep my professional relationships out of this."

"Are you two quite finished?" Cinder asked frustratedly. Face and Ding glanced over to her.

"Yeah, I guess we can catch up later," Face nodded. "So...I just keep at it?"

"Indeed," Cinder replied, nodding. "From now on, though, any messages sent from the number we used to set this meeting up will be from one of my assistants, who will meet you in a specified location to give you information, or a task for completion." After a moment, Face bobbed his head understandingly.

"What about Ding? Will I be seeing him around Beacon?"

"We're already planning to open a...space for him," Emerald cut in, folding her arms. Likely, we'll get him passed off as a foreign teacher when the Vytal festival comes around.

"Right." Face sighed, rubbing his forehead. He checked his watch.

11:42PM.

"Well, I need to get home," he said flatly. "Next flight's at twelve thirty."

"Would you like us to drop you off at Beacon?" Cinder asked. "We'll be taking Ding there anyway." Face raised a hand dismissively.

"Nah. Looks more convincing if I go in the legal way. That way, I only get a roasting from Glynda, not a whipping." Ding snorted at the comment.

"And you told Miss Fall you weren't into S&M..." he chuckled.

"Jog on, you sneaky prick," Face snapped as those around began airing their amusement. "Ex-teammate or not, I'll still kick your teeth down your fucking throat." Ding raised his hands defensively. Once the laughter had died down, Cinder gave an understanding nod to Face.

"Your choice is understandable," she mused, turning to leave. Mercury, Ding, and Emerald followed on behind. "Welcome back to the White Fang, Mr. Face. Do not let us down." Silently, Face raised a thumb as they went, watching them leave through a side door of the club. The music was still playing, so he wasn't concerned anyone had listened to their conversation, but his mind returned to the fact the club was empty. Once the door closed, he released a breath he didn't know he was holding, and converted his thumbs up to the gesture for 'wanker', shaking his hand side to side in an imaginary grip.

"Get absolutely fucked!" he called after them, shaking his head and beginning to make his way out of the club. Just before he left, though, he noticed some shiny, individual objects standing on the bar, arranged in lines. He couldn't make them out from the distance he was at, especially not with his sunglasses on. He hesitated, considering whether to leave or investigate, before making his way over to the counter.

To his frustration, lined up neatly on the black worktop was every single .44 Magnum round he'd brought with him, all arranged in lines of ten, as well as a note. At the front, there was an additional six. Presumably, they were the ones from his revolver. He stared in disbelief, slowly unfolding the note.

Mr. Face

Nice bullets.

Mine're bigger.

- Emmy xxx

He grit his teeth.

"You cheeky little bitch."