A/N: Bit of a later update, sorry. Distracted myself a bit too much over the last few days.

Disclaimer: I don't RWBY, Rooster Teeth owns RWBY.

The streets surrounding Junior's club had been extraordinarily busy over the last week and a half, and tonight was no exception. A relatively large group moved through the shadows, their destination, of course, the Club itself.

This group of thirty White Fang recruits, mixed in with some of the more experienced members, was led by one of the White Fang's oldest veterans – a huge, hulking Faunus. His actual name was unknown to most, but due to his position in between the leadership of the group and the recruits, he was generally known and referred to as the Lieutenant – despite the White Fang not actually having official military ranks.

It honestly amazed most of the recruits that he was able to move quietly at all, considering his build and his extreme choice of weapon – a chainsaw - but most supposed that it was simply a skill borne of experience and didn't question it further.

They stopped, close to the entrance.

"All right, brother, sisters. You know what we're here for – this club is harbouring enemies of the White Fang, enemies who may have had a hand in the death of one of our own. We're going to go in there, and make an example of them." The cold baritone of the Lieutenant never failed to send shivers down the spines of anyone who heard him speak. His voice was regarded as one of the most terrifying things about him, a legitimately impressive feat considering the competition.

He eyed the group. "We will probably face some resistance. I want one left alive for questioning, kill any others. And remember, if the little girl with the umbrella or the bar owner with the missile launcher appear, you leave them to me."

A round of nods.

"Good," he grunted, "Move in."

The first thing they noticed was that their entrance wasn't contested. Most didn't know what to think, but to the White Fang Lieutenant, it meant one of two things: either they were laying a trap, or the place was empty.

"Careful," he muttered as they made their way up the entryway – him leading the way as he knew he could take the hit from any ambush. His aura defences were extraordinarily good.

They reached the door that lead into the club proper. He waited for his best to gather at the front, then nodded, before kicking down the door.

They immediately noticed that the place was half-empty – even a significant amount of equipment was now missing, probably all of the most valuable things they could fit into a van or three.

"Keep your eyes and ears sharp," he commanded as they made their way toward the dance floor. When nothing happened, even when they reached the centre, he motioned for them to stop.

"Sir? What do we do?" one of the braver recruits asked.

He looked around. "Pay attention, recruits. This," he motioned around him, "This is how you differentiate a professional criminal from a professional soldier. They've bugged out. They've apparently taken a lot of the most expensive equipment with them. It's only been just over two days since our ally was here, which speaks for impressive ability on their part to relocate, but if they were soldiers," he shook his head, "They would have left their equipment behind and used that time to rig this place with traps. Spread out. Destroy whatever is left, and render this place as unusable as you can. Braith," he looked at one of the troopers.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take your squad and search any private rooms. In particular, I want any paperwork you can find. It's unlikely it will be here, but," he looked around, "This was quite the rush job. They may have left something behind."

"Sir."

Most of the White Fang began destroying everything in sight. "Disappointing," the Lieutenant muttered to himself, "That I won't be able to face any of our enemies tonight."

Still, a job was a job, and he had not gotten as far as he had in the White Fang by grumbling about his missions. With a growl, he revved up his chainsaw, and cleaved straight through the bar.

- Two Days Later -

The shrill sound of a whistle blowing echoed through the practice room, making Roman wince. That sound had quickly gotten annoying.

"...!"

"She says 'do it again, twenty times, maggot'."

If asked, Roman would admit that he was finding the whole 'Neo training Junior's minion twins' far less entertaining than he originally thought it would be.

Of course, watching them struggle as they were put through their paces was amusing enough at first – the problem was that he was forced to take part as Neo's interpreter, until they found an effective means of communication for her.

Melanie groaned as she started the routine. "I thought you'd be teaching us how to fight. All you've done so far is teach me how to do this break-dancing crap."

"...!" Neo glared at her. Roman still couldn't quite wrap his head around how she had managed to find a set of green drill-sergeant fatigues for her size, or why she was wearing them, but he was somewhat inured to his partner-in-crime's oddities by now, and so, shrugged it off.

"She says 'When you fought Mercury, he was able to keep you at bay just by threatening to knock your feet out from under you. If you had options once you hit the ground, you both would have been able to rush him and maybe even win the fight. This is the quickest way to teach you balance on the ground, Private. So stop asking questions that prove how stupid you are and do what she says."

Neo shot him a look. "..."

"Okay, so the last sentence may have been open to interpretation. Give me a break, here, Sarge, I need to amuse myself somehow."

"There's no way she said all that," Miltia said in disbelief as she continued with her own practice.

"When you spend your life not talking, you can get very good at expressing yourself in other ways, girlie," Roman snorted, "To anyone who really knows how to read body language, Neo can practically sing."

The first thing Neo had done was have the pair go over their fight with Mercury in as much detail as possible, before going over the entire thing with a fine-toothed comb to pick out areas for improvement.

She'd found them. A lot of them. Unfortunately, they didn't have time to rectify everything, so she was focusing on the most efficient ways to give them short-term gain.

"...!"

"Also, she says 'and you can drop and give me twenty for the sass, soldier'."

"I'm not a soldier," Miltia muttered miserably as she began doing another round of push-ups.

Melanie had an obvious weakness: she was entirely dependant on staying on her feet. The obvious solution had been provided by their foe; teach her how to fight on the ground. This would give her far more options defensively and offensively. Break-dancing, particularly parts that involved balancing on her hands, back, or even head, would provide the basis for her to expand her fighting style.

Miltia was a bit more unclear, but Neo had eventually decided that what she needed more than anything was more physical power and durability. Neither of the pair could really take hits, preferring to focus on dodging, but the problem with this was that dodging required that you be either faster, or significantly more skilled, than your opponent.

Against the likes of Mercury, they were neither.

So having one of them be able to tank a decent amount of damage would give them a lot more options, particularly in pinning down an opponent and setting up joint attacks. And speaking of attacks, Miltia needed more striking power. She only managed a few hits against Mercury and doing so had little to do with speed – if you're not going to hit your opponent often, you needed to make the hits you do land count.

Which was why, in addition to her physical exercises, Miltia was also tasked with trying to slice her way through gradually more durable objects and materials. She was currently trying a stone block.

Neo had made it clear to him that the improvements they could make here would not be huge, however, and would still take time. When he asked if there were any ways to get them a bigger boost, her only suggestion was for the girls to discover their semblances – however, despite her many talents, Neo was not an academic trained in the intricacies of aura, so she had no idea whatsoever how to go about bringing out another person's semblance. As far as she knew, most people discovered it on their own while training.

His musings were interrupted by one of Junior's men, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying in a large blackboard. One of the first things Roman had made clear was that Junior's men were not to go anywhere or do anything in uniform any more. They'd get picked up by the White Fang and their backers in a heartbeat and that could be disastrous.

"Thank god," he praised, "It's about damn time."

Why it had taken them so long to find Neo something large to write on was beyond him, but he was glad it was finally here, as it meant he no longer had to play interpretor and could more effectively focus his time on other areas – like planning.

"Well, now that you have your own way of communicating your displeasure to these two unfortunate souls, I'm going to take my leave," he informed Neo as he exited the room, "Have fun, and do what you're told, girls!" he gave one last parting shot over his shoulder.

"Hate you!" came the almost identical tired groan in response, before another blow of the whistle shut them up.

He mused about the latest developments in their little private war. The White Fang had reacted even quicker than he had expected – while none of his group had gone back to the Club, since the White Fang would surely be looking out for them there, they new from the grapevine that the place had been ransacked. Junior, despite knowing it was coming, was quite upset, even with them managing to get most of the most valuable stuff out of there – the booze, most of the electronics, the paperwork, etc.

Roman didn't quite get why he was so attached to the place. Junior simply told him that he wouldn't understand what it meant to have your hard work destroyed by some Faunus nutjobs. Roman privately agreed with the man – after all, he had never done any hard work in his life.

He turned his thoughts away from the recent past, and towards the future, particularly, his plan to find the enemy's base of operations. He was under no impression that doing so would be particularly easy - the fact that he was putting his own life in danger ensured the stakes were sufficiently high, even for him. He needed to handle it carefully – dripping out information about a possible defector here and there, not enough to arouse the suspicion of a cynic, but enough to gain the interest of an enemy. This would require time and patience, and while they felt they had about enough of the former, the latter was a virtue.

Being a man with no virtues whatsoever, he knew that would be the most annoying part.

There was also the question of what to actually do with that information once he had it. Raiding the place was foolish. They had neither the manpower or the brute force to attack the White Fang directly. However... there were other groups that did, and didn't like the White Fang any more than he did.

"And as I always said," he muttered thoughtfully, "The enemy of my enemy... is the guy I throw in front of the bullets."