AN: Y'all get a double feature because I got out of work early today and was able to make a few chapters.

Chapter 3

As the afternoon drove on into the evening, the faunus of the White Fang camp continued on with their day while their leader, and higher caliber of operators were out on their mission… Unknown to the faunus, they were all prey… Well within the sights of a predator.

Overlooking the circle of tents, White Death hid behind leaves, and found concealment in their shadow cast by the evening sunset's light at his back.

Sitting in the crook of a tree and it's branch, White Death gently, quietly, sang an old song from the war, like he would to a sleeping child. "Look away, look away, look away, Dixie's land." Thin cigarillo between his lips, a falling block rifle in his hands, Death sat in wait, his dirty and grayed clothing blending in with the bark of the try behind him.

Placing his cigarillo on a nearby branch, the white sniper took note of his upwind possession of the camp, and then looked through the brass scope that ran the length of his rifle. Cheek welded on the padded leather around the stock. Eye close enough so that no edge of the sight picture was black. His crosshair drifted through the camp, first scanning for the biggest targets he could find, not planning to wait all day for Adam Taurus to leave his tent.

Picking from the inside of the herd, the biggest buck of the group standing around, White Death let the sentries on the outside think they were safe. Adjusting his point of aim lower, as his prey was closer than the distance he'd zeroed his scope, White Death put the pad of his index finger on the trigger, his middle pulling the set trigger, the gun now ready to fire if so much as pulled by a hair.

Death Exhaled.

The thunderous boom of a large rifle echoed across the forest, and without so much as a fight, one of the Faunus in the center of camp slumped over, bleeding from both ends of a bullet wound, face first into the fire he'd set. In a panic, the rest of his brothers and sisters hurried about, grabbing weapons and scrambling to what they assumed was cover. They knew the shot came from somewhere west of them, but couldn't pinpoint it. With another thunderous boom, another faunus fell dead, again a bullet piercing their aura then their heart.

Moving low and slow, a mouse faunus who recognized the attack of a sniper, a sniper he'd witnessed the work off before, crawled towards the radio to inform their leader of the situation, and ask for help from the party due to unload the train.

"Rodents…" Pale Lee said, spotting the mouse inching towards the radio. With another loud boom, that made three members of the White Fang dead. Three was enough, three was how many he promised to kill that day… Of course he was holding out, poking and prodding, awaiting the day his most dangerous game would finally slip up… He was closing in on them now. One day he would take Adam Taurus's hide.

Adding more notches to his rifle stock, (25 now by his count) before climbing down from the tree, Pale got to walking towards the nearest town, slinging his knapsack on his back, and his rifle on his shoulder.

Following the river that separated his tree from the White Fang down south south, then west as it split, he continued towards the coastal agricultural village of Felt. A tiny town, just outside of Vale. There was a bridge where the river ran under a set of railroad tracks. Pale crossed the tracks, noticing a few loose brass shell casings from a pistol strewn about on the gravel over the bridge.

Whistling Dixie as he continued walking, Pale made his way down a footpath to town, and went to the inn he planned to stay at. Waving casually at the Faunus man at the front desk, Pale went over to the bar out of the desk attendant's line of sight and then sneered. Three kills called for whisky, and Pale had turned 17 that day. Old enough to drink in Vale.

Half in a drunken stupor, Pale made his way up to his room, and struggled to unlock his door, until it opened from the other side, and to his surprise a black haired girl wearing a bow on her head appeared. "Can I help you?" She asked. At first Pale thought she was housekeeping, but then he remembered the inn didn't provide that service. The second thought was that she was kind of cute.

"How you doin'?" Pale asked, leaning against the door frame. The girl in the doorway cocked her head, and squinted at Pale, but by that point he looked more closely at the room number and then giggled. "Wrong room." He said with a slur, before backing up, bumping into the wall, and then heading next door. Once inside his actual room, he stripped down, took off his prosthetic leg, and passed out on the bed.

The sting of sunlight met the young man's steely gunmetal blue eyes, and with a groan, Pale rolled out of bed, falling to the floor. He looked at the clock. Grumbling that he'd missed noon, the perfect time to go out and hunt the Fang. Then he remembered something… Something from the night before… "Fang… Belladonna… Shiiiiiiiiiit." He muttered, pulling himself to his foot, and slipping the prosthetic limb near him over the stump just below his left knee. Of all the towns, all the inns in those towns, all the rooms in those inns in those towns, Pale was less than 20 feet away from one of Remnant's most wanted terrorists, and a top ten on his personal kill list for the fang members he bothered remembering the names and faces of.

Pulling "Rebel Yell," the model of 58, 6 shot revolver out of its place in the stock of "Dixie's Revenge," Pale, went next door, and knocked hard three times, receiving no response. He bent down, and fiddled with the lock. Not a master of subversion tactics, and still hung over, Pale gave up on forcing the door open, went back to his room, leaned out the window, and saw she had left her own window open.

Shimmying out onto the ledge of the building, Pale managed to make his way inside, finding his target to be gone. Overturning the mattress and rooting through all of the drawers in the bedroom and bathroom got him no information, so he looked in the trash cans, again finding nothing. Looking outside, he saw the janitor taking out the trash from the rooms, tossing two black bags in the dumpster. Sighing to himself, Pale waited until the cleaner was gone, then tossed himself into the garbage container, landing with a groan. The two bags were right on top, so at least there wasn't too much garbage to sift through.

Ripping the bags open Pale made a mental list of everything he found.

Candy wrappers.

A crumpled up newspaper from the day before.

A used tampon. Pale quickly tossed it away and shivered in disgust once he'd pulled it out of the bag. "Fuckin' Hell!"

At the bottom of the bag, he found what looked like sketches from a notebook… Erotic sketches but sketches nonetheless. It was an easily recognized figure. "Taurus." Pale spat, seeing the name written over the sketch of the bull. It was Belladonna's trash all right, and if Pale's information was correct, she'd been traveling with Adam… At least since… Pale closed his eyes and buried the memory deep, his missing limb beginning to burn. Feeling his breathing become unsteady, Pale held a hand to his head, and pulled on his long hair, waiting for the moment to pass.

The house burning down around him... The screams of a young girl outside... A gunshot here and there... The sound of gnawing beyond the door.

And the rage...

It had only been two years ago, and that was what made it so surreal. Innocence lost, and hatred gained.

How many had he returned to ashes, before he began to count? When had he begun to count?

The Kuchinashi Globe Theater... He'd just got his leg replaced... Slipped his grandfather's 5 shot pocket revolver up his coat sleeve... Was struck by luck that the door to the private booth was left unlocked, and his footsteps mistaken for those of another by the White Fang agent who'd thrown the first torch... Her aura left down... The deer's head jolted forward, as the small lead ball left a pretty little hole in the back of her skull...

Shione... An ally behind the bar... Stale breath... The cries of a young Koala faunus... Aura weakened by the liquor in his system... Begging for his life... For forgiveness... The six shot pistol he'd stolen from the man only seconds ago, taking away the face of a rapist so vile, as his victim to be ran screaming murder into the night.

Salt Sands... Anima's west coast... Sunset... The wind blew through the streets, as the raven faunus walked to the park... A coin thrown in the fountain... A fate chosen by chance... A bullet ripped through the air... His aura overcome by the force of Pale's hate made manifest... The water ran red...

A 16 inch "Meat Knife"... Slowly pushed into the heart of its victim... Like a scalpel, pressed first gently to the skin... The Soul fails to protect what it holds closest... Trusting the knife... Guts ripped from their body... Three dogs eating the entrails of their owner... A savage dog, owner of savage dogs.

Domino, after domino... Notches added to every weapon... 80 notches in all...

Taking a deep breath as his mind calmed, Pale continued his search through the trash.

The only other piece of information Pale was able to get out of his little dumpster dive was a pamphlet for Beacon Academy, with the telephone number for the school's application office being underlined. Sitting back in the pile of filth for a second, Pale pondered on that. "Fang's trying to infiltrate a huntsman academy… Well shit… Looks like I'm going to school." Pale said, before a passing hobo looked at him, and laughed.

"Hey man, we can all dream." The hobo said, as he walked by.

Pale sighed, reminding himself that he was in fact, hung over, locked out of his room, in a dumpster, in his underwear, and his prosthetic leg had fallen off in Belladonna's room. "Fuck."

AN: If ever there was going to be a controversial character... It would be Pale Lee.

Please, feel free to follow fav, review and share with anyone you think might like the new story.