Weiss descended the courthouse steps, relieved that she finally got to go home. She'd just had to testify against one of the miscreants who'd attacked her. She should have felt vindictive against those men, eager to help in ensuring guilty verdicts. But being forced to relive that experience and be in the same room with them again wasn't worth it. More than anything, she just wanted to put the entire ordeal behind her. The one who'd actually wielded the knife had pleaded guilty, which saved her the torment of seeing his deformed face again, at the very least. It was too bad that not all of them were so compliant.

As she neared the sidewalk, Weiss noticed a pair of pale red eyes watching her. The man was tall with slicked-back dark hair and leaned against a black car, a tilted cross dangling from his neck on a silver chain. His gaze showed recognition.

Weiss froze, suddenly nervous, suspecting that he knew exactly who she was. Given the last time she'd been identified on the street, she had the impulse to put as much distance between herself and him as possible. But before she got the chance to even turn around, one of the tinted windows rolled down just enough to reveal a bespectacled face she'd seen on the news. Her wariness now replaced by confusion, she approached, and the window rolled back up.

"Hmm," the stranger said. "Same eyes. You're definitely her sister."

"You know Winter?" said Weiss.

"We've met. Now get in the car. Oz wants a word."

"About what?"

He shrugged. "Ask him. Hurry up; he's a busy man."

Deciding it to be unwise to retort, Weiss held her tongue and slid into the backseat, directly opposite a gray-haired man in a green scarf. There was a cane on the seat beside him and he held a steaming mug in his hands, but the air was absent of the distinct scent of coffee.

"Weiss Schnee," said Mayor Ozpin. "You've dyed your hair."

"I did," was all Weiss could think to say. She was strangely intimidated. She had met political figures in the past when her father invited them to dinner, but this was different. That calculating look in his eyes—it was as if he knew every last thing about her.

"I must apologize for my associate's abrasiveness. In truth, my schedule is very much open for the rest of the day."

"How does he know my sister?"

"You can say they were colleagues, at least at one point. As I'm sure you're aware, Vale fell victim to a siege two years ago. We worked closely alongside the military to clean up the aftermath. Winter Schnee was among those sent to help re-establish order."

"Oh, right." The statue came to mind again, the one she had still yet to see up close. "The day she died . . ."

Ozpin nodded sadly. "Indeed. Her sacrifice saved countless lives. Pyrrha Nikos was, by all accounts, a hero."

Weiss had been in class when it happened, back in Atlas. She hadn't learned about it until they'd been dismissed, and every student in the hallways was suddenly glued to their scrolls and muttering about an attack. When Weiss pulled up her own, she found every media site reporting the same thing—a mechanized army was assaulting Vale. No one knew who they were or where they came from. It was entirely out of the blue.

In the days following the attack, the full story came out. Their leader had been a woman named Salem, who built up a massive underground organization capable of taking control of an entire city in a single day. That's what she did to Vacuo—murdered all city officials, raided police departments, and staged mass breakouts at the penitentiaries, enlisting the convicts into her army. But she hadn't done any of that until all communications towers had been sabotaged. Word of what happened never reached the military until Salem was already leading her forces to Vale, where she met her death.

"Mr. Mayor," Weiss said tentatively, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course. As I've said, I have nowhere else to be."

"I've read about your views on vigilantism."

"Ah. Yes. Naturally, you'll be opposed to them, given your recent experience."

"I suppose so . . ."

"But you had a question?"

"Right. It's just . . . You said you'd pardon Pyrrha if she was still alive. But what about the person who saved me? The one who's impersonating her?"

"Well, firstly, I think your use of 'impersonating' isn't completely fair. I believe this new Protector is merely trying to carry on her legacy."

"And secondly?"

"Secondly, they are still breaking the law, and are therefore a criminal. There's only one stance to be had on criminals."

"How can you say that?"

Ozpin sipped his drink. "Miss Schnee, I don't say 'hero' lightly. Pyrrha Nikos was a hero. This new Protector did a heroic act in saving you. But that does not mean we should readily give them our trust. Police officers are trained and tested, both mentally and physically, to protect and serve the citizens of their city. A vigilante is a wildcard who we know next to nothing about that doesn't acknowledge the law. Most are wannabe heroes with little competence; we arrest them for their own safety. But one with capabilities akin to those of Pyrrha Nikos is a danger we cannot allow to operate uncontrolled. At any moment, they can go from playing the superhero to playing the villain. That is not a risk I'm willing to take."

"But what if it was Pyrrha who rescued me?"

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible. Her body was retrieved from the wreckage and delivered to her family in Argus."

"But what if it wasn't? If she were somehow still alive and acting as a vigilante, what would you do then?"

Ozpin took a long sip from his mug before answering. "A pardon forgives past transgressions. It does not grant immunity from the law."

"So you'd arrest her?" Weiss said disbelievingly.

"No. We wouldn't. We'd try."

She didn't know how to respond to that. A silence ensued while she stared at her fingers, interlocked in her lap. The way he talked, the tone of his voice—it made it difficult to disagree with him. But, obviously, Ozpin was wrong . . . right? If he had his wish for the world, then who would have saved her?

"Your injury seems to be healing up nicely," the mayor finally said.

Her hand instinctively went up to her left eye. "For the most part. It doesn't hurt all that much, anymore."

"And how are you faring?" He paused. "Mentally?"

She watched him suspiciously. "Is that why you came here? Just to see how I'm doing?"

"No. I sought you out on city business. But I've always been rather fond of an idle chat."

"Well I'm faring fine, thank you."

"And financially?"

Weiss pretended not to have heard. "What business do you have with me, might I ask? My family doesn't have much influence these days."

"I didn't seek you out because you were the only Schnee in this city. What I'm interested in is something that you and you alone can provide—your services as a psychotherapist."

She shouldn't have been shocked, but she was. "How did you know about that? I didn't put my name on the ads."

"A good mayor is well versed in the goings-on of his city."

She waited.

"I'm privy to the secrets of a certain bureau," he elaborated.

"Oh."

"Councilwoman Goodwitch has written a bill that allocates more funds toward the rehabilitation of convicted criminals. Yesterday it passed four votes to one. There is some leeway there that would cover your fee, if we can reach an agreement."

"You want to pay me to heal prisoners?"

"Correct."

Weiss hesitated. "Excuse me if I'm overstepping, but that doesn't exactly seem like the wisest use of taxpayers' lien."

Ozpin took a sip and appeared momentarily contemplative. "Atlas, despite having one of the lowest crime rates in Remnant, has an abnormally high recidivism rate. Why do you think that is?"

"I'm not sure."

"It's because their prisons neglect rehabilitation, in favor of putting excessive emphasis on prisoner detainment. It is my firm belief that the primary purpose of a correctional facility is right there in the name—to correct inmates' behavior, not punish them."

She crossed her legs and frowned thoughtfully.

"I've spoken with Mayor Hill," said Ozpin, "and she's in agreement with me. Unfortunately, General Ironwood is in charge of Atlas's penitentiaries and is quite set in his ways. But I do have a say in how those in Vale are run, and I mean to do everything in my power to minimize the crime in my city. Perhaps then people will see that there truly is no need for vigilantes, though I suspect that that is too optimistic to hope for."

"That's your aim, then? Reducing vigilantism?"

"My aim is to do what's in the best interest of Vale, always. Stopping vigilantes is part of that, but not where my focus currently lies."

Weiss bit her tongue and stared out the window, where she could still see people shuffling in and out of the courthouse. She didn't believe that arresting people like the Protector of Vale was at all in the city's best interest.

"So, might you be interested in my proposal?" Ozpin asked.

She hesitated. "You honestly think that me healing convicts' mental illnesses will lower crime rates?"

"Perhaps not drastically. But if you stop one criminal from reverting to bad habits, then it's a job well done and one worth doing."

"How many would I be treating?"

"Unless you have objections, as many as consent."

Weiss opened her mouth to answer and was about to look back at the mayor, but then caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. A man with familiar blonde hair and a backpack over one shoulder was disappearing into the courthouse. While she was distracted wondering whether that was who she thought it was, Ozpin seemed to grow impatient and cleared his throat.

"Sorry," she said, meeting the mayor's eyes. "I'll do it."

"Excellent," Ozpin said with a smile.


"Is this really necessary?" Weiss asked uncomfortably.

"We have a protocol. The mayor vouching for you doesn't exempt you from it," said the warden, a burly man with a short posture.

"She's clear," said the prison guard after she finished patting Weiss down.

"Can I have my bag back now?" Weiss asked.

"No personal possessions around the inmates," said the warden. "You can have it back when you leave."

"But what about my card?"

"What card?"

"My license from the CAB. I have to show it to all my clients."

"Why?"

"Because I don't intend on coming back here in a jumpsuit," Weiss said impatiently. "It's legally required of me."

"Fine. You can have the card. Lark." The warden gestured to one of his men. The guard named Lark stepped forward and extended Weiss's bag to her. She snatched it away and dug out her license, then hesitantly handed it back.

"All set?" the warden asked.

"Yes," said Weiss.

"Good. This way." He set off down a hallway.

Weiss followed a pace behind him. "So how many convicts am I treating?"

"Five."

A smile crept onto her lips. Five guaranteed jobs—that was more than she usually got in a week. On top of that, she had two more contracts outside the prison. With that plus the minimal restitution she was receiving for her hospital fees, she might be able to pay her sister back and keep up with her expenses—and Winter would accept the money even if Weiss had to force her to.

"And they've all been pre-diagnosed?" Weiss asked.

"By a licensed psychiatrist, yes," the warden answered. "And they've all signed contracts approved by Mayor Ozpin himself, which are in line with Goodwitch's bill."

"And the mayor informed you that it might be beyond my capabilities to do all five in one day, correct?"

"Correct."

They continued on for another minute, passing a handful of guards and other staff members who ignored Weiss or gave courteous nods. At one point, they walked by a window through which she could see prisoners roaming in the courtyard. And for a moment, she could picture her father out there with them, utterly unprepared for life at the bottom of the barrel. She smirked at the thought. But she wouldn't be seeing her father today as he was imprisoned in a different city, not that she was complaining.

The warden stopped by a closed door and turned to face Weiss. "Who do you want to see first? Think you stomach a psychopath right away, or want to save him for last?"

Weiss was surprised. "Someone with psychopathy actually consented to this?"

"Yes. Don't worry—you'll have a pair of my men in the room."

"Well . . . I suppose it doesn't matter," she said with feigned confidence. "I'll treat him first."

"Fine. Head inside. We'll bring him along."

Weiss stepped through the door and found a small room with nothing but a table and two chairs inside, as well as a camera in the corner. She sat facing the door and waited, playing with her card as she prepared herself to meet an actual psychopath.

A few minutes passed, and then the door opened, admitting three men inside. Two wore uniforms and the third was dressed all in orange, shackles binding his hands and feet. He was, in all, underwhelming. He had a scrawny build and curly hair, and stared at her with inquisitive brown eyes. The man looked completely normal, which actually made him even scarier.

The prisoner said nothing as he sat in the remaining chair. One of the guards connected his chains to his seat while the other walked over to Weiss, speaking in a low voice. He gave her the inmate's name and informed her he was diagnosed with both psychopathy and kleptomania. Then both guards stepped back to flank the door, and all three watched her expectantly.

"My name is Weiss." She decided it was best to introduce herself.

"Let's make this fast, darling." The convict smiled. "I'm brimming with excitement."

Weiss gulped. "Alright." She wiped her sweaty palm on her shirt and then showed him the card, her last name once again carefully obstructed. "You just need to read this first."

His hand made a jerking movement as if he wanted to grab it, but his restraints prevented him from doing so. After a few seconds, his eyes moved from the card to meet hers, and she took that to mean he'd finished.

"Are you ready, then?" she asked.

"I said to make it fast, didn't I?" he said.

"I'll need to touch your forehead."

"Touch whatever you like, sweetheart."

Weiss cringed. Nevertheless, she reached a shaky hand toward his face. She hesitated, worried he might bite her, then closed the gap and lightly met her fingers to his temple. One deep breath later and she was back in the Emerald Forest.

As usual, she immediately drew her rapier and took a second to look around. The reason she'd developed this habit soon became apparent, as a roar shook the forest and a creature came barreling toward her. Like all Grimm, it had a body as black as coal that was accented by bone plating. This one took the form of a giant scorpion, a golden stinger hanging from its tail.

A hasty backward somersault brought her out of range of said stinger as it came shooting toward her. The creature scuttled after her, snapping its pincers at her legs and forcing her to keep retreating. Weiss was eyeing its weak points, trying to figure out the best way to get a solid strike in. At the same time, she kept her ears trained and was watching the woods behind the Death Stalker, wondering where the Geist—kleptomania—was.

She chanced a glance behind her and saw a tree off in the distance, thick enough to withstand an attack. She turned and ran toward it through the dense woods, hearing lesser trees fall to the Death Stalker's claws as it continued its pursuit of her. As soon as she reached her target, she placed her back to its trunk and took a stance. The Grimm roared once more as it closed in on her. As she'd hoped, it attacked with its tail. She dodged out of the way at the last second, and the stinger sank deep into the wood.

Weiss circled around, avoiding the snap of one of its pincers, as the beast failed to dislodge itself. Angrily, it began to hack away at the tree, sending chunks of bark flying. Knowing she only had seconds before it recovered its maneuverability, she placed several quick jabs into its unarmored backside. Wisps of black smoke emanated from every puncture.

In its fury, the Death Stalker forgot about the tree and whirled around, twisting its tail unnaturally. It reared up on its back four legs and tried to get at her, but Weiss was out of its reach. She held her sword at the ready and prepared to strike. Black lines were spreading along the tree from where the stinger was stuck, rapidly wilting it. She shot forward, bounded over its pincers, and kicked off its head. Her rapier swooped in a wide arc, and then she hit the ground running. The Death Stalker roared louder and longer than ever, flailing and writhing as smoke billowed from its tail where the stinger had been severed.

Weiss stood and waited for the opportunity to strike again, still keeping alert for the Geist. The venom was taking over the tree now, a whole dark patch surrounding the trunk. Then the damage became too much, and a deafening crack reverberated through the woods. The tree toppled over and landed directly on the Grimm. To finish it off, Weiss closed in and buried her rapier hilt-deep into one of its ten eyes. The Death Stalker let out a final roar and weakly clicked its pincers one last time. Then it became still. Within a matter of moments, it was nothing more than a cloud of dark vapor.

Weiss dropped to a knee, holding onto her sword for support. In the minute she took to rest, it began to snow.


The Geist hadn't proven to be an issue. The commotion she'd made in killing the Death Stalker had drawn it to her. Weiss had fought one before, so she knew its weaknesses. Plus, it hadn't found anything useful to possess. The hardest part had been chasing it through the snow when it tried to flee, but once it made the mistake of entering a cave, it was over.

Weiss opened her eyes and quickly withdrew her hand from the prisoner's forehead, then used it to wipe the sweat off her own. Her heart was beating faster, and her breathing was heavy; it was almost as if she'd actually done all that running and fighting. But she wasn't completely spent yet.

"Is . . . that it?" one of the guards asked. "Did you do it?"

Weiss nodded. "He's healed."

"That fast?"

"That fast."

"Alright then," said the other guard. "We'll bring in the next one." He walked around the prisoner to release his restraints, then paused. "What's wrong with him?"

The former psychopath hadn't moved a millimeter since Weiss left his mind. He was staring, wide-eyed, right through her with a blank expression on his face. He didn't seem aware of what the rest of them were saying, or that they even existed.

"Shock, I expect," Weiss answered. "People react to the lack of their afflictions in different ways. I've never treated something this severe and deep-rooted before, but I can safely say it'll take some work for him to adjust to the change. He'll probably be feeling guilt and regret for the first time, now, which will be difficult to cope with."

"Well, what do we do with him, then?" said the guard. "We can't just throw him back in with the other inmates in this state."

Weiss thought for a moment. Usually, she told her clients to take a day off and recuperate, and to try to get into the habit of meditation. She also suggested they begin keeping a journal, and taught them some helpful brain exercises. The most important piece of advice she gave was to avoid any situations or patterns that might have caused the mental illness to develop in the first place. But this man wasn't fit to even hear those instructions, let alone act on them.

"Isolate him until he can talk again," she decided, "then he'll need frequent attention from a normal psychologist. Keep a close watch on him. I've already given your warden a file with detailed instructions on what else he should do to prevent his newly healed mind from deteriorating." She stood. "It might be simplest to leave him here for now, if it's possible for me to treat the next patient in another room."

"I'll clear it with the warden," said a guard.

Fifteen minutes later, Weiss was sitting in a new chair in a new room when the guards brought in her next patient. He was bald and on the heavier side, but packed a decent amount of muscle. As the guards chained him to the chair, he wouldn't look at her and had a noticeable quiver in his hands. Weiss wondered how much better she'd looked when they brought in the psychopath.

"Bole Maze," a guard quietly informed her. "Generalized anxiety disorder."

"Nothing else?" she said.

"No." He joined his colleague at the door.

She turned her attention to the inmate. "My name is Weiss."

"Bole," said Bole.

She allowed him to read her card, and he had no comments. As soon as he said he was ready, Weiss touched his forehead and returned to the Emerald Forest.

As usual, she drew her rapier and observed her surroundings, but her target wasn't as easy to find this time around. She found north and set off at a brisk pace. She was looking for a Beowolf, a creature she'd slain four times already. GAD is among the most common mental disorders, and the one she'd treated the most often. If there were no more surprises, this was set to be a simple enough case that she should be able to heal a third inmate today.

A couple of minutes later, Weiss passed by the cave she'd trapped the Geist in. A quick glance inside told her that her adversary wasn't there, so she moved on. One window had appeared so far, and Weiss paid it no mind. She'd only passed one in the previous prisoner's mind, but that was probably because of how little time she'd spent in there. A handful would likely pop up before the Beowolf fell.

Weiss could almost feel the card still cupped in her hand in the real world. It was the same one she'd shown Jaune Arc. Paragons are legally required to report any and all developments in their semblances to the Civil Anomaly Bureau, then they're issued an updated registration or license. But she had yet to contact them. As long as she didn't abuse the new ability, there was no harm in keeping it secret. No one knew about it. Well, except for Jaune Arc. But if he hadn't reported her to the CAB yet, then she doubted he ever would.

Ten minutes later, Weiss had passed two more memories when she heard a howl off in the distance. She took off at a run in that direction, giving the sky a quick glance. The moon was out with its shattered side hidden from view, making it look whole.

The trees were racing by, and the Beowolf howled again, sounding a lot closer now. She thought it might be just up ahead in that clearing. Her grip on her rapier tightened, and she quickened her pace. It was fifteen feet away now. Ten feet—

Bang!

Weiss tripped and fell, scraping her hands on the ground. She scrambled to her feet and looked around for the source of what had unmistakably been a gunshot. Then she saw it, not five feet to her right, another window. Her instincts carried her to it while her mind told her to walk away. But her eyes were glued to the memory now.

Bole was in a dark building, a dropped flashlight illuminating a portion of the scene. He watched a slender woman walk away, handing a pistol over to someone walking alongside her. Her features were obscured by darkness, but she was tall and had bleached hair and wore heels that clicked against the floor with every step.

"Wait!" Bole called out to her, a slight quaver in his voice. "What do we do with the body?"

"Leave it," the woman ordered. "She can't do any harm to us now."

Then Bole looked down at the body, lying in a pool of blood. It was a female police officer, by the looks of it. She had a bullet wound in her forehead and stared up at the ceiling with a blank expression. She looked familiar, yet Weiss couldn't immediately figure out why.

Then she remembered her last failed contract, for the paragon who had claimed to be suffering from insomnia. A picture leaning against a grave swam into memory, and Weiss gasped.

Bole knelt down and closed the silver eyes of Summer Rose with a gloved hand, then he stood and walked after the woman who was apparently his boss.

Weiss stood there, frozen in shock. The Beowolf had managed to completely slip her mind, and she was reminded of it in the most brutal way possible—with claws tearing into her back and fangs piercing her neck.


A/N: Credit to my beta readers: 0neWhoWanders, Bardothren, and I Write Big. They're great writers who are a huge help with making this story as good as it can be.