Red Moon Rising

by MasterofMasyaf9000

The beating of a butterfly's wings can lead to the whipping of a tornado. A world of bloody evolution is forever changed with the most minute of choices: What if Adam Taurus had never joined the White Fang?

10. Strangers We Remain

"Always towards better things"

---

Chapter 9: Strangers We Remain

---

The wind puffed the clouds across the moon, veiling the streets in near total darkness. Sullivan flicked the safety on his weapon in one hand, clutching his bloodied crotch in the other as scanning the area as he did his best to stay unseen.

'Fucking cunt and her pet bastard…"

He growled in frustration, hand itching to pull the trigger on the next person who looked at him funny.

Like many in the criminal world, Sullivan Harris believed that all his failures in his life came down to a string of bad luck. It wasn't his fault he lost all his money gambling or seemed stuck in his current situation. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't get promoted or that this city was such a shitty place to live. It wasn't his fault that the plan had gone terribly wrong. 'I've been in this city for years now. Why can't I catch a break? Just one chance, that's all a guy like me needs. Bam! I'd come up from the gutter.' But those were nothing more than dreams now.

It was a miracle he was able to move at all with his wounds.

The pain was beyond description. It was bad enough that the goddamn psycho fucker had killed all of his men. It was bad enough that he'd barely escaped with his life. It was bad enough, that if he did manage to live through this shit, the chief was going to pin this entire fucking mess on him, or even that, due to present circumstances, he'd left his police radio back in the car, and one of his fuckwit underlings had the keys. Oh no. Because on top of all of that… the rabid dog had cut his fucking nuts off!

And now he was limping his ass (hopefully to a hospital), literally holding his sack together with his bare hands, and trying to ignore how Sullivan Jr, had a goddamn katana through it! He'd be pissing sideways for the rest of his life! He'd almost passed out; the agony had almost kept him on the ground, but a combination of fear and fury kept him moving.

A group of four drunken thugs eyed him from the shadow of a decrepit building, clad in matching cheap looking suits. If they were sizing him up, they would find a tougher mark than they were bargaining for. He wondered if they could smell his blood. But they made no move after him.

He hobbled, half limped into the alley, ignoring the biting chill of the wind as it buffeted against him. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse now, people had seen his face. He had to get out of here. If any of them were JSC... "Son of a bitch..." Maybe it didn't matter, maybe they wouldn't know who he was, but it did nothing to stop the feelings of frustration and fear welling up inside him.

Eventually he finally stopped, leaning against a wall, his breath ragged. He'd gotten away from them, but for how long? That mongrel bastard would give chase soon enough...and without backup, he might as well have painted a target over his heart.

He found himself shivering from the sudden rush of cold air blowing against him. Covering his mouth with his bloodied hands, he exhaled to warm himself up. But it was no use—nothing was going to warm the chills he felt down his body.

Bodies. Everywhere. It was supposed to be simple. They get in, killed two bastards, and got out. Where the hell had it gone wrong? He skulked down the side streets, bitter, with his uniform in tatters. It was almost morning; soon the sun would rise, and skulking would become all more difficult. He had to get back to his precinct. Hospital. Anywhere that wasn't here!

Were those footsteps he was hearing, or was he just being paranoid? A shadow fell across him, and he whirled in place, but there was no one there – just a grubby local scab peering at him from across the street, hunched over a dumpster.

He glared back and she hurried her pace, a note of cruel satisfaction rising to the surface when she flinched and averted her eyes. Sullivan chanced another look over his shoulder, but there was nothing there. He could excuse the nerves after the night he'd just had.

Damn that mongrel bastard!

And damn this feeling of being watched! These pedestrians around him – he'd had enough of their stares. He swiveled left, reaching up to snatch his hat when it threatened to take lift. Immediately, his nose wrinkled at the smell of garbage and stale alcohol – thin walls lined with dumpsters, overflowing with trash.

There was a sudden, loud crunch behind him, and he slowly turned around. That, he had not imagined.

"Come on, damn it..."

A peal of laughter echoed across the alley before a voice spoke out, "I thought I smelled bacon around here…"

There was a figure in the mouth of the alley, silhouetted in dusk's shadows. So he had been being followed. Sullivan fingered the revolver at his hip.

That boy had been a fool to come alone.

But as he beheld the wraith that bore down on him, he realized a horror far more terrifying.

"You?"

"In the flesh, piggie."

He went for his gun, and the back of his head cracked hard against the pavement, sending bullets spilling onto the ground. His fear grew more and more primal, his thoughts tumbling into feral abandon. Even if he'd still had bullets for his revolver, he wouldn't have been able to operate it—his fingers were numb with cold and his hands were shaking.

It happened too fast.

"So..." the voice drawled slowly, savoring the emotions. "Officially, I'm not technically supposed to turn you into cutlets. Not when you're still useful that is. I didn't really like it, but it is what it is."

The tone was almost conversational, utterly incongruous with what was happening. if hed have had the presence or the energy, Harris might have laughed.

"But then you and your band of merry morons put your hands on my sweetie." The voice turned cold, and Harris felt the blood chill in his veins. What little hope he had shriveled, and that primal fear returned in force. The figure seemed to realize this, and giggled cruelly. "So I don't give a damn what the old man says. This little piggie... is going to the butchers."

And then he saw it - a rush of steel, slicing toward him. Slowly, his vision bled away. He felt something tearing into his flesh. Sullivan tried to shout for help, but his voice didn't work anymore. Nothing worked anymore—nothing but his nerve endings, transmitting endless pain.

Blood bubbled from his lips.

The atmosphere faded back to normality. A gust of wind blew the last of the clouds away from the moon, driving the shadows further down the alley.

And the night was as silent as the grave.

---

Hiding the bodies had been an odd experience.

Charlotte had quickly taken command of the situation, disappearing behind the bar, and down the stairs into the cellar, where Adam had heard her moving briefly; sounds of rustling, clattering and various colorful curses, before finally emerging , arms full with sheets for plastic and rope.

She had thrown them at a confused Adam, who barely caught the flying bundle out of sheer reflex, before sending him out into the alley to wrap the corpses. Possibly out of shock, he did as he was told, glad to keep his mind occupied. He'd grabbed his boots on the way out, careful to step over the headless corpse and deliberately ignoring the severed head wedged between the jukebox and the remains of a bar stool. She'd also mumbled something under her breath as she stumbled hastily up the stairs; something about finding out how their would be executioners had arrived. They probably hadn't walked, after all, and if they'd left their ride, it would only serve as more evidence of guilt, if they didn't get rid of it.

Taking some initiative, and doing his level best to be at least somewhat subtle, once he was outside, he decided to do some cursory searching of the nearest surrounding streets before starting with the bodies. He didn't have to search long before his efforts came up positive; a single, unmarked van, parked at the entrance to one of the adjoining lanes.

It didn't look, new, or flashy per say , but it wasn't what had drawn his attention. The rear doors were ajar, the headlights were flashing, and he was fairly certain he'd never seen it before tonight. That, and if he added in that it was one of the few vehicles in the neighbourhood that wasn't up on bricks, and most of all, the fact that the back of the van already contained several familiar corpses— the men who had initially ambushed them, and Adam could make an educated guess that he'd found what he was looking for. And if not…

He shrugged. He'd have to apologize later.

Carrying out his grim task in itself wasn't so grim. Perhaps it was merely the adrenaline wearing off, but he felt a strange sense of… calm almost as he went about it. Dumping each body and in most cases, a collection of assorted appendages, into the centre of a tarp sheet, using the rope to secure and tie off the corners, and carrying the makeshift sack on his shoulder around the corner to the back of the van. He wasn't sure how long it took him, but by the time the alleyway was clear of corpses, there was still no sign of Charlotte.

And there was only one left. He was going to have to go back inside. With a sigh, he pulled open the door and reentered the bar.

The corpse lay on its front, not three feet beyond the radius of the door, in a pool of blood that was almost completely dried. It gave the room a sickly-sweet butchershop odor. The criminal had never been a small man, and he was now, in every sense of the word, dead weight. It had taken some substantial effort to haul his body up, and through the door into the alleyway, but he'd just about managed, grunting as the sudden shift in weight nearly had him tripping over more trash, having to briefly lower the body in order to steady himself.

"Probably should have brought the tarp inside instead of carrying this deadweight out here..."

Something rattled against the cobblestones as he moved his foot. He looked down, and saw he had just kicked a barrel of a rifle, and looking up, he could see more, scattered haphazardly around the narrow space.

He supposed he'd better deal with those too.

---

Threadbare, frayed at the cuffs, shabby, patched, too short in the arms and legs, holey, a couple of sizes too big, look like an older brother's hand-me-downs, all of it old and none of it matching, battered looking. There had to be something useful in here.

She growled to herself.

Half her wardrobe was messily splayed out over the floor of her room already, but that didn't bother her. She had already used some of the old rags to tie a kind of makeshift sling— she made a mental note to call Inari later—around her arm, that for the most part was still proving serviceable too, but she wasn't about to try and pat herself on the back for that just yet either. She had another problem.

Her face might be unknown to the young-bloods and at least some of the uninformed vets of the Spiders, but anyone well connected, or simply observant enough might pick her and Adam out by sight alone, if nothing else. They weren't the only ones that could see in the dark, and she didn't believe in being reckless, especially when it came to her own life. Even more so after her having resurfaced briefly into the darker circles of the city's underworld, and tonight's little event. So she and Hornhead needed at least semi passable disguises. Not glitzy enough to catch attention from the vagrants of her neighbourhood, but not too poverty-stricken that the well to doers in town took notice of them once they passed through their turf. She shifted some of the old rags and dresses around, searching. After a few moments, she grinned. She had found what she was looking for.

Adam had finally finished picking up the rifles, and was in the process of carrying them back inside, when the side door opened and Charlotte stepped through , carrying a bundle of fabric in the crook of her good arm, a heavy looking red plastic container with a black handle from her wrist, and wearing a large overcoat with a turned up collar which made the garment look more akin to a black cape, hanging from her shoulders.

She looked utterly ridiculous.

Before he could process anything, she jammed the beanie over his head, obscuring his vision completely for a moment, an act that Adam might have found impressive at a later date, given that she'd done it with only a single arm, but at the time, it simply left him bewildered and a little annoyed.

"Wh-?"

"Because, red hair, horns and inconspicuous are not words that fit together, especially after you've killed a cop. Or several. Hold on a sec..." she looked up and down the alley. "Where the hell are all the bodies!?" Had he done something stupid like dumped them in the trash while she was away?

Adam however, simply flicked his head, nodding towards the end of the side street. "They came here in a van. Parked it a street away. Just need to find the keys."

He was really hoping that they weren't in the pockets of the cops that were already in the van. Or worse, that Harris hadn't run off with them.

"Huh. Not bad, Hornhead. I wouldn't bother with the keys though, if you haven't found them already. Pretty sure I can hotwire it if I have to, even with a bum arm."

A look of skepticism crossed his face for an instant. From the look he gave her, she hadn't convinced him one bit. King of loaded glances you are, Charlotte thought irritably. She'd met hookers who couldn't say half as much with glittering mascara stink-eye.

The sour stench of faeces radiated from the back of the van , beckoning flies to cautiously hover in mid air nearby, not too close but close enough to indulge in the nasal nightmare. There were noises now from the surrounding apartments, not nearly so much as in the daytime but all the louder for the absence of light and the quieter traffic, inspiring a deep sense of urgency in the two. The flies slowly edged closer, confident in their motions as Charlotte and Adam drew nearer, and it was then that she must have read something into the trepidation he was trying to conceal his body language.

Charlotte stared at him with mock exasperation. Adam simply felt annoyed.

"It's a body, Hornhead. It's not going to get up and bite you…"

Adam shook his head. "I've seen bodies before." Was his curt reply. What little of the skin that he could see had appeared to have a sheen to it; ruptured blisters, and the topmost layers had begun to loosen, almost drooping from their bones. Almost hurling the last body into the small space, before slamming the door shut, he tried to maintain control of his gag reflex, backing away from the van and shaking his head violently.

He was no stranger to death. But this was different. He'd seen it before, seen the vacant eyes, smelt the rot, but it had always been after the fact. He'd seen the emaciated corpses of workers in the mines who had fallen ill, or had been injured, and had no longer been fed, even the Grimm scavenging on their corpses left unburied on the hard Solitasian tundra. Mother would make a point to cover his eyes so he couldn't stare, in an attempt to preserve what little innocence the humans hadn't already stolen.

It was futile, he'd always thought, but reflecting upon it now, an older Adam understood to appreciate her efforts, that she had meant to protect him. Another lesson, it seemed, he had learned too late.

"So do you want to drive? I would but…"

She raised her sling, narrowly disguising a wince as she did so.

"I... don't know how to drive." Adam muttered quietly. "I've never needed to." He'd also never had the opportunity, no one to teach him, or the funds to afford a vehicle, not that he'd ever admit that. He yanked the passenger door of the van open a little too forcefully before slamming it shut behind him,hoping she wouldn't see the slight blush that was starting to creep onto his cheeks. "Let's go."

That awkwardness soothed something in Charlotte's soul that she hadn't even been aware of. She giggled and entered the vehicle shortly after, dumping herself into the slightly too high seat with some difficulty, before fishing around in the glovebox with her good arm.

Adam glared.

"I'm sorry, it's just.."

She couldn't finish, trying to suppress her own laughter at the ridiculous image. Here was a man gifted in combat, and apparently unafraid of death, who had, mere minutes ago, charged into automatic gunfire, blocking bullets with nothing but a sword, cutting down foes with breathless ease. And yet, he was still embarrassed that he couldn't do something simple, like driving.

It was ridiculous, childish, even,...and yet somehow endearing.

She smothered her laughter as best she could, using her knife to pry the plastic casing away from the steering column.

"Help me with this?"

Adam sighed, holding the steering column steady as she worked. "How do you even know how to do this anyway?"

"What?" She replied, clearing her long hair away from her eyes. "Hotwiring?"

"No, I meant interior decorating." The sarcasm rolled off him in buffeting waves, and even though Charlotte's many eyes were focused on her task, she could still hear the eye roll in his voice.

It made her smirk, in spite of her pain. "Well, being an ex-careercriminal helps." Charlotte retorted with matching snark. "And I may or may not have done a little work for a car smuggling ring. And or dated one of its members. Before I…" Her voice caught. "Retired. Honestly, if I hadn't opened my bar, I might have wound up a mechanic. But seeing how most of the cars in this city are stolen… I just figured it wouldn't have been a clean enough break, you know? Hold this." Transferring the handle of the knife to her mouth, she ran nimble fingers along the freshly cut wires, and after a moment's deliberation, found what she was looking for. A satisfied, albeit strangled sound escaped her lips. As she fiddled with the wiring, he felt the engine sputter into life beneath him. Silently, Adam watched her run her hand over the dash, searching for the headlight control.

The road ahead lit up and the dials on the dashboard turned electric blue. Carefully manoeuvring her injured arm, she put the automatic gearbox in drive and rolled the van out onto the roads.

---

The first few minutes of the journey were quiet. Adam spent the entire time sitting up straight and looking out of the open window, though that was in part due to the smell. The two of them having enhanced senses in comparison to humans wasn't always a blessing, especially when you were sharing an enclosed space with several rapidly decaying corpses. She drove a little slower than he would have liked under normal circumstances too, either because of her lack of her dominant arm forcing her to be careful, or, like him, she had a justified sense of paranoia regarding being pulled over for driving too quickly; she didn't say. Eventually she glanced over at him and cleared her throat.

He ignored it, allowing the silence to stretch out between them, looking on as bicycles and cars competed for the same lanes. Still, the cacophony of vehicles outside was less messy than the feelings in his head.

After what could only have been twenty minutes or so, but felt much longer to Adam, they pulled up to the automatic city gates.

Odd.

The gates were open. And unguarded. Adam knew from personal experience that this was irregular; he'd staked them out enough times. Charlotte didn't seem concerned, driving straight through, and into the darkened wilderness that surrounded the city. The van's suspension rattled over the bridge that led out of Kuchinashi. A small way east of the city, the river dropped in close to the hillside and ran deep and blue. The water was lined with trees, birch, redwood, fresh and green, and growing thicker and denser as the van moved off the dirt path and crawled up a gentle slope, rearing from side to side as it trampled bushes and tore a couple of small trees out of the ground.

The vehicle was hardly meant for off-road terrain, and Adam fought down a grimace as Charlotte struggled; hunks of stone and wood clattered against the underside of the car, and ground to a halting what looked like a clearing

"And here we are." She said, adjusting the hem of her dress which had hitched up slightly as she was climbing into the car.

The night air felt welcome on Adam's skin as he stepped outside and looked into the darkness ahead of him, flitting his eye back and forth while straining his ears, waiting for even the slightest sound. They were outside of city limits, and he doubted Charlotte would fare well against roaming Grimm, even less so in her condition. The only movements he could catch though, were the occasional bird, startling in a tree or a squirrel dashing up a nearby trunk. From his own travelling experience, he'd found that the local Grimm were generally nocturnal predators, and this close to dawn, they probably weren't much interested in hunting them now. The first signs of daylight were already now starting to appear in the far distance, causing the sky to the east of them to take on a strange purple hue.

Adam's gaze returned to Charlotte, who seemed to be hunched over on the driver's side, searching for something under her seat.

"What are you doing?"

"It's got our fingerprints all over,' Charlotte explained, unscrewing the cap from the container she'd brought with them. "Most joyriders usually burn cars out. If we don't want it to look suspicious, and we want to get rid of any evidence, that's what we'll have to do."

She leaned inside and flipped open the glove box once more, pulling free a bunch of fast food leaflets and screwed them up into loose balls. When there was a mound of paper on the passenger seat, she flicked her lighter and set the edges alight. They had left the passenger and driver doors open so the fire could breathe, then ducking into the cover of some trees, they waited until they were sure the flames had taken hold.

The fire devoured the kerosene in a flash of scorching flame and soon began to burn the leather it had been daubed on. Thick black clouds of smoke choked the air. The front seats were quickly ablaze. Once the roof lining caught, the flames flashed into the back. The whole interior glowed orange and smoke started curling out from under the hood.

The corners of Charlotte's lips turned up, though it wasn't quite a true smile. It may have been the most heartbreaking expression he had ever seen on her face, and for the briefest of moments, he was overcome by a sudden wave of empathy. The evening had clearly worn on her, and as her adrenalin level dropped back to normal levels, he could see her blinking rapidly, as though she could barely keep her eyes open.

"We should wait a while until the sun comes up before we head back." He found himself saying, not knowing how to break the silence.

Charlotte nodded. It was a decent idea. If anyone asked, then they might be able to pass themselves off as late night travellers. Their lack of bags could be explained away by a Grimm attack; Adam did have a sword after all, even if he didn't have the ridiculous dress sense of the average Huntsman. He turned his head to regard her out of the corner of his one eye; she was settling herself on a mossy boulder a few yards upstream. If she found the seat uncomfortable – and he couldn't imagine that she didn't - she didn't show it. She turned to watch the fire, drawing loose another cigarette and lighting it.

When he began to make his way over to her, her eyes were already on him. "You okay?" It was a stupid question, he knew. Of course she wasn't ok. How could she possibly be?

She twitched without moving, a tight spasm reigned in at the place it originated. "Yeah. It's - really, it's nothing. He's dead now."

Was that regret? Maybe not, but it definitely wasn't pride in a job well done. Adam would've thought she'd be happier to get her own, after everything. In response to his stare, she pulled a strange expression and exhaled, blowing a stream of cigarette smoke into the air and directly into his own face.

Adam waved his hand irritably.

"Gee, am I bothering you?" Charlotte asked sarcastically.

He rolled his eye, voice dripping with mock derision. "Do you enjoy destroying your lungs?"

"About as much as you like devastating your liver." She laughed. "Don't think I never noticed those bottles. Live short, burn bright and all that. No point if you can't have fun doing it."

Adam was unfazed. "It'll kill you." He said quietly.

She flapped her hand in the universal symbol for nonchalance. "You act like such a kid sometimes, you know that? Someone is gonna take advantage one of these days."

Adam bristled. "I'm allowed to act my age once in a while. Second, someone like who? You?"

"In your dreams, Hornhead."

"Nightmares are dreams too, you know."

Charlotte couldn't resist a more genuine smile at that, one that almost brought one to his own face before the realisation of what he was doing began to set in. 'Don't tell me I've been around her smartass mouth for so long that it's rubbing off on me!?' He didn't waste any more time on self reflection, namely for the sake of his sanity, choosing instead to cast his view to his surroundings.

Soft colors painted a tender picture altogether unfitting for an criminal underworld encounter. It was now that Adam had begun to realise that they had chosen a good time for their task—the sunrise would mask the noxious smoke and tongues of flame that were now beginning to appear in the air. The air was thick with wisps of silver grey smoke curling and dancing their way through the haziness.

The fire gusted, blowing ash and cinder around the carcass of the van like a whirlwind.

"We should go. There's bound to be huntsmen around here soon."

Charlotte nodded, taking his hand, and letting him put his arm around her. They'd only gone a precious few metres when the heat blew out one of the back tyres. A few seconds later, the fuel finally caught and the rear end of the van went up in a fireball.

She blinked so hard the cityscape in the distance refocused. Something wet stung the bruise on her cheek. Her hand closed on the matchbook, and she fingered it in her hand for a moment before stretching out her arm and letting it drop into the river, watching it float away.

She didn't think she'd need it anymore.

---

A number of weeks passed without anything of note happening. Adam wasn't really counting the days; each one invariably broke down into the same few patterns. Moving heavy objects around the bar and helping out with whatever odd jobs and repairs needed doing, favours done partially out of a sense of debt; Charlotte's broken arm had been his fault, and he owed her far more than he could repay, and partially because he had nothing better to do, other than dwell in the depths of his own head.

Charlotte had learned not to ask where he went whenever he vanished for long stretches of time, only that he be careful, and not draw attention to himself, though she'd never lost that long-suffering stare whenever Adam eventually returned. She hadn't actually reopened the bar yet, partly out of caution, and partly to see to repairs; the furniture wasn't going to replace itself after all, and the events of that night or namely, Adam himself, had certainly done a number on them.

He wondered sometimes if her fears were warranted as more time passed; he hadn't seen any sign of anything out of the ordinary since that night at the bar. Even so, he'd still let that wretch Sullivan get away after all, and for at least several days, he and Charlotte had lived on high alert. At any moment, they could be raided again; he would come back with an army of cops and throw them both in a dark cell, if not just gunning them down where they stood.

And so, currently, his focus lay where it always had.

Training.

Or more specifically parts of his training he'd long neglected.

Meditation was something else his mother had tried to teach him; the act of sitting down and clearing one's mind, taking the time to reflect on one's actions, learn from them, and move on. A time to focus on the things and changes one wanted, or so it was said. It wasn't something he'd done since he'd first found his semblance, years ago.

But that was a skill he had never been able to master.

For one, singular reason above all. The key behind it, or so he had been told, was to have a clear mind. To think of nothing. To feel nothing. To cast shallow concerns aside, and reach the bottom of his soul and heart, and increase his mindfulness. In this way, the body and mind would be strengthened for any task that lay ahead. That was the theory, at any rate.

And no matter how he tried to centre himself, he made little progress. Invasive thoughts and memories of what he had done that night continued to bite and claw at him, like a pack of wolves, nipping at his heels each time he cast them off.

Eventually he sighed, opening his eyes, and breathing deeply.

His semblance was back. That at least, was an unmistakable success, even if it was an unintentional one. Adam flexed the muscles in his forearm, watching his skin tone bleed into charcoal. Tiny red sparks flickered across the limb, and he looked on, entranced by the flashes of scarlet lightning dancing between his fingertips.

His power.

Even as the now familiar scent of ozone permeated the air, Adam still couldn't get over how it felt. He'd grown so accustomed to the block that he still felt surprised every time it rushed to life. More than that, it felt… different somehow. He didn't know how to explain it.

He'd tried to figure out what it was in the days that followed, searching for ways to utilize his abilities. Mainly, that had initially just involved punching things, and using the energy it built up to slice up the remains of the bar's furniture. Despite his arguments to the contrary however, said bar's owner had taken exception to his tests, not least due to the strange scorch marks it left behind, instead of the wilted petals of his mother's variation, which had ultimately forced Adam to become more...creative in his pursuits.

Though that was arguably for the better.

Even now as he channelled energy through his body, it was as if his perception of the world changed, somehow; as if he were hypersensitive to every bit of movement around him. A moth beating its wings near one of his bedposts. The book at his bedside rustling in the breeze. Even the dust particles that danced in the daylight coming through the window. It was…. all moving so slowly...

He wasn't sure what it was.

Maybe it was just the boredom of having no one left to challenge seeping in.

But then, something else had changed too. Something more subtle, yet fundamental, deep within the background of his mind. Even Charlotte had started to notice. Ever since that night, he'd felt... lost inside almost, and he hadn't really felt this out of it since he first arrived in Kuchinashi and didn't really understand yet what it was he'd walked into. He wasn't stupid. He might not have been the greatest planner and forward thinker, but he was no fool. He knew what he was now, and he knew where he stood—at least he thought he did—and it was definitely no moral pedestal. He wasn't a hero, or any kind of moral paragon; he wasn't cut out to be one, he'd said as much to Belladonna's daughter when he'd lef-

That wasn't the point. He was trying to distract himself again. Letting his mind run to anywhere else but the issue at hand.

He paused.

When did he start thinking of Blake as just "Belladonna's daughter?" Adam exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

He remembered the humans he saw when he was a child- the ones without any remorse; the ones who treated the act of taking a life like a cheap alternative to a Saturday night in the bar. Who thought nothing of sadistic torture, all while professing their own piety. The idea that he might share any commonality with them was… unsettling.

'But I'm not like them. I'm not. Am I?'

The moth flew closer then, flitting around in front of his face. Unamused, Adam made to swipe it aside, without making any effort to acknowledge the distraction. However, as he made contact, a sudden jolt caused him to retrieve his hand in a muted cry of shock.

As he examined the appendage for bites, Adam realised that the jolt itself hadn't been painful. Simply surprising, more than anything. Even as he did so, he still saw the tiny trails of scarlet lightning that seemed to run like raindrops from the point of impact, quickly trickling down around his palm and the back of his hand before sparking out as quickly as they had appeared. But it was what he saw next that truly seized his attention.

The insect seemed to be hanging in midair. It's wings were frozen mid-flight, unmoving, it's legs splayed awkwardly in the air, in a bizarre sort of freeze frame. Had it gotten caught on something? His mind rushed to make sense of what he was seeing. A spider web he hadn't seen? That was his first thought. He waved his blackened hand above it, hoping to break the connection, but felt nothing. He tried snapping his fingers in front of it; an attempt to galvanise it into life. No response. Even the very act of moving his limb felt as though he were dragging it through mud somehow, instead of air.

A low crackle of electricity sounded through the air, as his fingers neared the immobilised insect. Adam quickly drew his hand away again, but there was no shock. Instead, he saw the sparks of the same lightning that had shrounded his hand moments prior flickering sporadically across its body. His fingertips were starting to go numb; not unlike pins and needles, he thought absently, closing and opening his palm in an attempt to regain some sensation.

It was another scream that startled him and shattered his concentration. More of an ear-splitting wail if anything, but one that he recognized well. Panic kicking in, and mystery forgotten, he reached out blindly, his feet tangling in his duvet as he tried to find a way onto his feet. His hand closed around something unfamiliar; cool and solid, and his eyes widened in horror. But by then, it was too late.

With a loud bang, a crackling scarlet bolt blasted skyward that immediately destroyed a large part of the ceiling. The shot was followed in quick succession by a small explosion that sent debris flying down haphazardly, the dust temporarily blinding Adam who was knocked out of his reverie when he was unexpectedly sent tumbling off the bed and to the ground by the surprise blast. Luckily, he wasn't harmed in the process, but the same couldn't be said for the objects in the room, covered as they now were with varying slabs of plaster.

It was a matter of seconds later before Charlotte burst through the door, hair wild and eyes wide before catching sight of him.

Head ringing and eye watering, the boy glared up at the woman he held responsible for his current position on the ground, and was now standing and staring open mouthed at his predicament.

Though he was a bit stunned and dazed from the hit, it didn't completely affect his motor skills. So, Adam pushed and twisted himself free of the duvet, bringing himself back up into a comfortable seated position on the floor.

Blinking the shower of debris from his eye, and slowly realising subconsciously that the danger had passed, he rubbed at his bandage covered scar with one hand, scratching the uncomfortable itching that the plaster dust that had fallen between the covering had irritated.

"What the hell is your problem?!" He snapped when he finally had his bearings.

"Why. The. Fuck. Is there a frozen head in my freezer?!" She enunciated quietly, and for that he was silently grateful. So that was why she'd screamed. Ok. That made sense. In different circumstances, he would have spent a little more time dwelling on that, but the other matters on his mind had taken unfortunate precedence. He dug through his mind for an answer to her question, before finally tugging at the memory.

"I needed it for the bounty." Adam groaned into his pillow, another unfortunate casualty of the explosion, although more of a growl than anything. He didn't want to talk.

"Oh. Right." She stiffened, looking chastised. "You… really could have mentioned that a little earlier, you know." Charlotte muttered awkwardly, reaching to scratch her head, before wincing in pain.

"How's your arm?" Adam knew she'd be fine; in her own way, she was as stubborn as he was, but he hoped his question would throw her off onto a tangent. It wasn't particularly subtle, but then he'd never been one for subtlety when it wasn't called for. The results however, suited him just fine.

Clearly amused at the sight of him, Charlotte folded her arms and grinned at him, urgency forgotten. "Hey, I'm not gonna let some stupid hunk of plaster get in the way of things," she said, waving her cast. Adam couldn't help but be skeptical. Inari had been less than impressed with her sling, and had insisted on giving her actual treatment for her injury. Seeing how the good doctor had seen to said injury however, was enough to make him glad he had the good fortune to be unconscious when they had first met.

Because Charlotte had two clean breaks, Inari had decided that there was no need to waste the hours needed for an actual operation to pin and reset the arm. Instead, her approach was to use a more, in Adam's opinion, experimental method she had learned from her sister, that was quicker to perform and would heal faster. What she had neglected to mention, of course, is that it would hurt substantially more. Much more.

Even with dulling a few of her nerve endings, it had looked, and sounded, less than pleasant to say the least. Whoever this 'Tsune' was, he felt a great deal of pity for whatever poor souls were left to her tender mercies. Worse still, Charlotte didn't have Aura, so she was still stuck waiting for it to heal the old fashioned way, something that had her grumbling for days on end.

So the fact she seemed in such high spirits was certainly something to be admired, regardless of circumstance.

"That's good, at least."

Placing his arms comfortably on his legs, he watched as Charlotte did the same, taking a seat on the bed above him. The silence didn't last long.

"Ow!"

"Hey." She repeated, preparing to flick him again if he didn't answer her.

"What was that for?" he grumbled, rubbing the spot she had hit.

"You were totally spaced out, I didn't know what else to do." she shrugged.

Truthfully, he wasn't looking that well, now that she noticed. His skin had paled a little, and the bags under his eye had become more defined and darker. However, despite his sleep deprived state, unlike before, he was able to maintain a clear head. It was… unusual from what she'd seen of him.

"Honestly, though. How are you feeling?," Charlotte queried, inching closer to him and grabbing his sleeve. Adam gently pulled his arm from her grip, surprising her.

"Bad."

Charlotte didn't look away from him-but she did smile. " This made me have feelings bad, or actual bad?"

"Bad," he repeated, gripping the pillow and pulling it down over his head more tightly. Maybe he would smother himself. It would be one way out of this conversation that didn't involve flinging himself out into downtown traffic.

"So, feelings, then."

"There was nothing to do with feelings!"

Adam had to free one hand from the pillow to bat away Charlotte's hand as she began to prod him. "Sorry, I couldn't hear what you said through the 'I am an angsty tortured soul without feelings'. And the pillow."

He took off the pillow entirely to squint at her, cursing the daylight. As he moved, he heard something clatter along the floor dislodged from the folds of the duvet. He didn't need to see it; he could guess what it had been. One quick glance confirmed what he had already known.

The gun. A sawed-off break-open weapon with wooden furnishings, with a prominent curve to the grip. While it had formerly belonged to Myst, Adam had kept it. He didn't know why; he still hated guns, but it still made him something of a hypocrite; having taken a liking to it despite the fact he had no real idea how to operate it. It hadn't been loaded—he'd checked, but somehow he'd already broken it. An ugly, jagged scarlet fissure now ran down the length of the twin barrels, still glowing with heat. Pieces of metal lay scattered among the debris of the ceiling.

He swung his legs underneath him and held the gun, turning it over in his hands. It didn't take Charlotte long to start feeling a little ignored.

"So should I have left you alone to your private time with your new sex toy, or are you going to get moving anytime soon?"

Adam didn't meet her eyes, too distracted to be embarrassed. His focus was on the wooden floorboards. There, twitching on the floor, trying to find its feet, was the moth.

Moving.

He stopped for a moment, looking down at his hands. And as he looked between the still smoking remains of the twin barrels of the shotgun, and the insect, which had since found its feet and had started crawling over the debris, the beginnings of understanding began to settle over him.

Energy. Motion. Momentum.

His semblance absorbed kinetic energy. Momentum. And when something had no more kinetic energy…. Adam thought back to his fight in the Pit, where he'd felt so much faster. According to that old woman, he was leaving afterimages; he'd seen one he made with his own eye! But more importantly, he remembered how slow some of the attacks his opponents had thrown, how delayed their reactions were. At the time, he'd put it down to battle fatigue, and the thrill of the fight messing with his senses, and he'd definitely taken a few hits in there. But what if it was something else? What if, not only did he absorb energy from direct attacks, but he could somehow draw motion from things moving around him as well?

He couldn't do that before. At least he didn't think he could.

More questions followed his theory; how it worked, how far his range was, how could he test it? Already he was comparing the two times it had occurred, taking note of the differences. But before he could dwell further, Charlotte was glaring at him again, her annoyance almost palpable.

Adam held up his hands apologetically, lightly tossing the weapon so it bounced onto the pillow.

Those questions, it seemed, would be a mystery for another time.

---

He had taken an old shirt from her and sliced it into wide strips.

Then began the messy task of wrapping up the head. It was an awkward job, and he ended up taking a few of his own old shirts for more cloth, but he ended up with a cocooned head. He hadn't been very careful wrapping it, largely due to wanting to get the task over with, but there was also the matter of the logistics of the task itself.

The frozen blood on the severed body part had formed into hard spikes of pale red ice, spikes that kept ripping through the flimsy material that he attempted to pass over them. Eventually Adam was forced to take an ice pick to it in order to chisel off the worst of them, but he'd ended up taking off a fair of the skin in patches with the ice. The face was still recognizable, if only just, but it was far less than he would have liked.

Before long, he ambled onto the street a few minutes later, blinking in the dim sunshine. He had come to realise that he had grown to prefer the night, and would have gladly slept in until the evening. But he needed to get to the office before sundown anyway—he couldn't exactly collect his bounty in the middle of the night, as convenient as that might be. Might as well take care of that one, Adam reasoned, tying a tattered brown cloak he'd borrowed from Charlotte around himself and throwing up the hood. He'd put it off long enough.

He made his way, winding down to the downtown government office. The building was plastered with signs for money lending and public services, so much so that it felt like a lifetime ago since he'd last been there. He didn't bother going to the desk this time, making straight for the stairs. There was already a long queue at reception, and Adam was acutely conscious of the growing wet spot at the bottom of his satchel. The ice preserving the proof of his bounty would be long gone by the time he reached the front of the line, to say nothing of how exposed he'd be. He retraced the steps to Amelia 's office, knocked once, before striding in with a confidence that he didn't fully feel.

The woman gave him a genuinely surprised look as he approached.

"Welcome back." She straightened up in her chair. "That didn't take too long. You have something for me, I hope?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Adam reached into his pack, pulling down the edges enough to show her the lumpen bundle crammed inside.

"Well, I'll be." She gave Adam an appraising look. "I have to admit, I wasn't expecting that. If this is really the one I asked for, you're something else."

"I had a little help," He said modestly. She cast a critical eye at him, as the hooded man stared back with a challenging eye.

"You wouldn't be the first bounty hunter the Mistrali government has sent after that scumbag, though. Might just be the last though. Let's take a look."

"You won't be disappointed." Adam lifted the wrapped head from his pack. "This one's…." He fiddled with the rags and they slipped away, piece by piece revealing a head that was . "Myst," he clarified, somewhat unnecessarily.

Amelia held out both hands for it, and Adam relinquished it gladly; surreptitiously wiping his hands on his cloak. With the grace of a consummate professional, she turned the head over in her hands, inspecting it carefully. "Well, the bottom's a mess, but it's recognizable," she commented. "Decent shape too."

His hands were burning. He could feel the adrenaline dribbling free like the frozen blood melting onto her fingers. Alive. Adam wasn't dead, and that was more than he could say for Levi Myst. He'd beaten him. He'd come out on top in the end, and this was the end.

Any moment, he would feel something about that. He had to.

Setting it down on the rags, Amelia beamed in a way that served only to make him more uncomfortable.

"Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. You just might have a future at this."

---

There was definitely something wrong with him. She didn't need all eight eyes to see that. The first sign? He'd come back smiling.

It was a smile that was unlike him, almost totally carefree, but there was a darkness in his visible eye that would linger there whenever she stared too long. He, like her, had jealously guarded his past with the utmost privacy and the fiercest sense of independence, and right now, he wasn't unlike that of a wild animal that had wandered into her backyard; perhaps even something more elusive and uncatchable, like a unicorn maybe. Or maybe a bicorn, would have been a more appropriate analogy, but that was besides the point.

. If she said the wrong thing, made one wrong move, he'd turn and run and she'd get nowhere. Equally, he'd never come out and admit anything on his own.

She had to press him firmly, but carefully.

"Poker." Charlotte spoke, slumping down next to him at the bar.

He glanced up, perplexed. She was looking at him expectantly, and the comment had obviously been directed at him, but he had no idea where she'd pulled poker from.

"…What?" he finally tried, when it became clear she was expecting a response.

"Poker. Play it, you do not." She gave him a small, guileless smile. "Maybe you could let me teach you one day. There's a secret to it you might find handy."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He was starting to get irritated. "I haven't got time for card games."

Charlotte made a frustrated noise. "I'm talking about tells. Little habitual things that a person does that give things away, like whether you have a good hand or a bad one. Half the fun of learning to play poker well is reading other people's tells; the other half is concealing your own. And you, my dear bully boy, frankly suck at both."

Adam stared impassively at her, before huffing and burying his head in his arms.

"It's nothing. I got screwed on the bounty, is all."

That much was true.

He didn't manage to get the full reward. He'd expected that; Amelia had said as much when he'd first arrived at the office to ask for information. He only was going to get the whole thing if he'd brought him in alive, and judging from the severed head he'd brought in lieu of that, that was hardly viable anymore. What he hadn't realised, was how miserly the government would be. He'd barely come away with two thousand lien, less than half of the original bounty, and he'd only gotten that much from arguing and intimidation.

The explanation was complete crap too; "unable to verify the target?" Ok, so maybe he was missing his lower jaw, and a few patches of skin, but come the hell on! Aside from that, the head was fine! Amelia , to her eternal credit, did her best, but the best she'd been able to manage was to ensure that his bounty also came with a finder's fee, which he was planning on giving to Charlotte for her involvement in the short bout. Eventually, he'd realized it hadn't been worth arguing about; All he'd be doing is drawing more attention to himself, and this was as good as he was going to get. So he'd taken his money and walked out.

But that was hardly the sole reason.

Not that he was in the mood for explanation.

A pair of arms suddenly encircled his midriff, and Adam's entire body stiffened as he felt Charlotte's face press into his back.

"You're running away from your problems." she mumbled.

"What are you doing?" Adam asked, his voice clearly strained.

"This isn't a hug. I'm clearly holding you hostage until you explain. You've been like this for days." Charlotte grumbled. "You don't get to escape that easily."

Of course he didn't. Because of course, things couldn't be that simple. "Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you have a choice! Either you tell me what your deal is or I start guessing." Adam swore he could feel her smiling behind his back. "I might be wrong. And either way, you could always lie to me?"

"That's exactly what I'd be doing if I thought I could get away with it," he said flatly. "Still thinking about it, to be honest."

The edges of her cast had begun to dig into his stomach, almost uncomfortably so. He winced. Not in pain, but for the fact that he knew his opponent well enough that she had a will as relentless as his own, and that she wouldn't stop. Before the silent clash of wills could begin in earnest, the bull faunus made the decision to relent.

"Fine."

Surprised, she released him. Adam closed his eye and turned his face upwards before sliding onto one of the barstools. During a few moments of silence, Charlotte stared at the back of his head, not even able to guess at what thoughts he could be thinking. When he was done meditating on whatever troubles had weighed upon his mind, he faced her again. This time he relaxed a little. Was she making progress?

"You've heard of Odessia, haven't you?"

Charlotte looked on, puzzled.

There wasn't a faunus alive who hadn't heard of that nightmarish place. But she didn't see what that had to do with- Oh. She was quiet as she processed the revelation. This was the first time that he had ever revealed any personal detail from his life.

It was an SDC mining colony, thankfully defunct, that had haunted the nightmares of many a Faunus over the decades. Based in the frozen mountains of Solitas, far from civilization, The conditions were as close to hell as anyone could imagine. Daily beatings, workers starving to death, child slaves….The rumours were legendary, the reality no doubt all the worse. That had only changed ten years ago, when almost every living soul in the place had met their end, as if by an act of the gods themselves.

There had been no survivors. Officially at any rate. It was difficult for her to believe someone like him had ever had something to do with that place at first. But she had seen his scars; the night she had tended to him. They were everywhere, … on his chest, across his back. Lashes, from a whip, no doubt. There were even marks on his throat, indicating that someone or something had tried to strangle him at one time. All of those wounds had been old. But when she saw his uncovered eye, and the three letters seared into his flesh, it had painted a picture she had hated the look of.

And above all, else, as she'd already said… he wasn't much of a liar.

"I was born there." Adam said quietly, confirming her suspicion. He took a quick breath, the sound shaky, "I was a kid back then. Stupid, self-righteous...saw bad things happening and I just wanted to go in there wanting to "help" or screaming with my fists out. My mother always tried to keep me on "the right path", though. Always tried to make sure I had my head on straight..." His thoughts ran through his head at a mile a minute, only certain ones jumping out at him. The food, the watery sludge at midday with sausage jelly in contained pieces of ice. If anyone did not keep up with work, punishments were swift and merciless. Frozen stiff, the bodies, loaded like stones on vehicles and taken out to the tundra. Memories he'd fought so hard to bury. Nightmares he could never forget.

What had come after that fateful day; on the run, both still bathed in blood, she'd made him promise. He would never try to kill an opponent. As the years passed, and he'd tried to move on, he'd made the silent compromise that he wouldn't hold back either. If they died in battle, they died in battle, and they shouldn't have stood to fight. He expected nothing less than fatal force in return from his enemies, and who they were to him didn't matter, any one of them could kill him.

Reality as it had turned out, had been far harsher on his psyche than that simple line of thinking. No matter how much he tried to use it to reason with himself, it wasn't doing enough to cushion the blow.

He had slaughtered those men… …. He was a murderer.

He'd cut them down with his blade as a farmer reaps a harvest.

He was a killer.

But he didn't feel like one. He had killed more than once, so where were his emotions? The guilt? The overwhelming regret? Those men were all gone, and in their place, Adam felt…

Nothing.

That was what had horrified him the most. Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all, beyond a callous indifference. He had to do it, he did it, it was done. Move along to the next problem. 'Now that's not the whole truth, is it?' Came the small voice in his head. 'You enjoyed the feeling of flesh ripping apart underneath your blade. Man. Woman, Faunus. Human. None of it matters; you despise them all in equal measure. As long as they put up enough of a fight to entertain you, as long as blood is spilled, and the walls turn crimson with every deafening scream of mercy. Mercy you learned long ago, that none of them deserve.'

He looked down at the bar.

'Really? Why bother denying it?' His mirror image stared up at him from the varnished wood with a vicious red eye and hellish grin. 'We both know I'm right.'

All at once, everything began to pile on him. His mother's words, Charlotte's voice, the memories of the mine as he desperately began to search for something that made sense. Even when he was away from the adrenaline, he had thought of it , but there had still been nothing earth shattering. He'd replayed it, hundreds of times, waiting for the world to end, the hills to give up their dead, and his mind to finally snap, but it never came. And in the end, the only thing he could think was: "Is that all?"

It still sickened some small part of him, even if it had just been the worthless dregs that made up Remnant. The voice he'd heard, the same as that night; the one that told him that they were nothing to him. He'd resonated with that. Still did, if he was honest with himself. All people had done his whole life was lie to him, hurt him or manipulate him. What value should their lives have to him? And yet, despite all of that, the answer always came back to her. Charlotte. After all, she had done the same. She had manipulated him from the moment they met, even if she had meant well for him in her own way. She had used him as an instrument of her revenge. One that was rightfully deserved, that was true, and one she would never have been able to achieve herself.

He understood her. He could see the threads that had led her to do what she did. But if he were to go by his own logic, she was no different than Belladonna, than the bastards from the mine. But even as he thought it, he knew that wasn't true. Because despite everything, he cared about her. And he didn't know what to do with that.

"Hey.."

A familiar voice brought him back to reality after he had become lost in his own thoughts. He had no idea how much time had passed. Charlotte filled his vision, taking him by the shoulders.

Adam flinched.

She'd seen him that night in the heat of battle; blood spraying, metal shattering, limbs flying. She'd seen the brief moment when he burst through the door, ready to kill everything before him, before recognition cooled his eyes back to sanity and drained the bloodthirst from his face.

She'd seen what he was, and with every unspoken accusation he imagined, he found himself shutting down by degrees; it had taken every ounce of concentration to keep his uncaring mask in place. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and fumbled in his jacket, jamming his hands into the pocket so she wouldn't see them shake.

A smile. A warm word. Good-natured ribbing that went long into the evenings. The novel feeling of being wanted; the novel experience of just being, without any threat or end goal. Somebody who tried to know him for who he was. Somebody who understood him, or at least made an effort to, and tried not to condemn the parts she couldn' he was truthful, it was the main reason

He didn't want to push her away. But it was probably better for them both that he did. The words were out of her mouth before he could stop them. "Charlotte, why don't I feel anything?"

The sudden change of subject caught her off guard. "Whaddaya mean?"

"I killed people the other night. It was the first time I ever...did something like that." Adam muttered in a tone of near disbelief, "So why don't I feel the "crushing weight of guilt'?"

"Because you damn well shouldn't, that's why," Charlotte scoffed. She had heard enough.

She continued, fire in her eyes.

"You feel guilty? It'll pass." She shrugged. "It is what it is. Those 'men' were all black hearted bastards, who were trying to gun us both down in an alley like dogs. You didn't have much a choice there. Honestly, I really don't know why you would waste the ti- "

"It wasn't a bet." Adam interrupted.

Confusion raced across her face.

"You asked me. How I lost my eye."

It took her a few moments, but suddenly, the memory sprung out at her.

"You know how. But you don't really know."

She made to interrupt him again, but his next words cut her off. "I know what it's like. To put my trust in people you thought would have your back. People who tricked me…" Adam sighed. " Remember what I was saying just now? About me being a dumb kid? Well, one day, I tried to help the wrong people, and to spare their own worthless hides, they burned out my eye and tossed me in a hole in the ground." Adam sighed. "I was trapped in there, without for three days. No food. No water. Just a stupid brat and a dark cold abyss. I was seven years old."

"Adam…"

She stared at him, bewilderment crossing her eyes. And yet, her mouth opened in surprise at his revelation.

Adam cringed at the sight, lips curling in disgust. "Don't look at me like that. I got over all that a long time ago." He glowered at her disbelieving glance, as if the enormity of his lie was too much even for her. He stepped away, running a hand through his hair. "Even so, I think those days changed me… warped me somehow, at least a little. Ever since I pulled myself out of that hole, it's like part of me… it's like part of me stayed down there. When I look at people, I just don't see anything worth liking. I see the worst in people, because nine times out of ten, that's all that's there. I don't need to look past seeing them to get all I need." Charlotte winced, but Adam was quick to continue. "The point I'm making is...I don't regret saving you, Charlotte."

Her words died in her throat as Adam spoke so quietly she nearly didn't hear; his voice nothing more than a hollow whisper that was laced with a melancholy that seemed almost unnatural to him. "I'm not saying I feel like I should; I wouldn't have let them hurt you. I don't know what it was about you that was different—I.. don't know why. But.."

Several long moments passed.

Charlotte nearly quipped 'No take backs' till she saw the look in his eye. A shadow seemed to glaze his face, his thoughts suddenly awry at the subconscious realization of what he had just uttered.

And with it, the nightmares that he had no doubt given life to.

"If you don't mind my asking…" she said softly. "How did you get out? Of Odessia, I mean?"

Silence was all that met her voice.

"It's—" He started, searching for a word through all of the flashing images. The shadow of a woman, framed in fire. Complicated. Cumbersome. Inexplicable. Torturous. Painful. Several synonyms flew through his mind, but nothing fit, no words suited what he was willing to convey to her.

Charlotte wasn't blind to the way his shoulders tensed. His lips curled again, lending a ghastly view of his countenance.

"Hey… Hey. It's alright. Eyes up, Hornhead." She snapped her fingers, grabbing his attention before he could get lost in his own head again. "You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready." He seemed to bristle under her touch, as if he couldn't decide whether he wanted to stay. Getting Adam to relax seemed like an exercise in futility, but she'd be damned if she didn't try. The current state of affairs was painful to watch. It wasn't right, for someone with as much heart as him to spend so much of his time afraid. "As for the other night… They made their own choices and you dealt them the consequences. You shouldn't cry just because someone falls into the hole they dug."

That much, Adam could accept. It was truthfully how he felt, or at least how he thought he should, and to hear someone else reaffirm it was… liberating. Surprising too. But then this wasn't the first time she'd hit the nail on its head.

He always seemed to be on the back foot when dealing with her.

That, he thought, was a pretty fair approximation of their whole relationship. Charlotte had a knack for keeping him off balance, always on the defensive. She had all the advantages – the knowledge, the intelligence, if not the physical strength - and she knew it; it was simply another part of the seemingly inviolable self-confidence that seemed to define her. Even though he knew that assuredness was not complete – she had admitted as much to him– it was difficult to challenge.

Particularly when she was usually right, he thought glibly.

"Thanks." Adam said, "I don't know where I'd be without you." "Probably in a ditch somewhere,"

Charlotte chuckled, embracing him again, a little less awkwardly than the last time she'd tried. "Or a dumpster." she said with a wry grin, that much to her pleasure was returned.

She clung to that, because that had to be something. She wanted to help him; she owed him her life, for crying out loud! She could at least do this much for him. If he wanted to fight her on it, then that just made it a challenge. "Don't let it get you down, alright?" The sympathy and regret in her tone somehow surprised him, and he gingerly returned the hug. "I'm sorry Harris got away." Adam broke the silence, eyes downcast. "If it makes you feel any better, I promise he'll never touch you again."

"You're not responsible for m—" she stopped, moving her hands to his waist and leaning back."Wait, what do you mean?"

Adam mumbled with an embarassed flush, and Charlotte had to strain to hear him. When he did, she had to double take, taking by the shoulders and rounding on him.

"You what?!"

Adam winced. "I'm sorry, I know it wasn't my place to do that; I didn't mean to imply anything—"

"You… You did that… for me?"

At his second tentative nod, she couldn't help herself. She started shaking, head bowed, eyes closed. Adam stiffened. She was furious. He was sure of it. Therefore, he was taken aback when Charlotte reared her head back and laughed hysterically, with tears running down her face. Desperately, she clutched at Adam for balance, making a vain attempt to catch her breath.

"Cut.. his—"

Fresh peals of laughter cut off her speech and she descended into raucous laughter once again. And she seemed so genuinely happy, that he couldn't help smiling himself. When she finally dragged herself upright, within a moment, she burrowed herself into his arms in as tight of an embrace as she could muster. Adam was taken aback, startled.

"Now you are getting a hug."

"Char, I'm sorry…"

"Shh." She pulled him to her, his head against her breasts and patted his back. He froze, still in her arms. "You're a fuckwitted ill-tempered dumbass but you're sweet."

He smiled awkwardly, trying to pull a little back. "Can't say why you'd think that."

"Because you're sweet." She tugged him close again, delighting at his embarrassment. He writhed in her grip, trying to free himself. She knew full well he could—his strength far outmatched hers— and probably cause her serious damage in the process, but she could tell that he was trying not to hurt her. He was deliberately keeping his physical attempts to distance himself as far from her cast as he could, a fact that made her all the more sure of her decision. "I like it. Even when you pretend you're not."

"I like who you are now too." Adam said slowly, meeting her gaze.

"And who am I now?" She challenged coyly.

"Someone who gives good advice.." His eye smiled with a hint of mischief. "Sometimes."

She did not consider herself timid. To her, bashful belonged in fairytales. She'd developed thick-skin from five years of living in the slums, not to mention the fact that she owned a bar. Slimy assholes from liquor distributors didn't have exclusivity to leers and gropes and she evaded grasping hands daily. Even when she decided to flirt with a man, heavy with innuendo, it was only as a form of entertainment, a passing fancy or pastime. A way of regaining control of herself.

Charlotte looked away before she was tempted to do something she didn't think either of them were ready for. Adam was….bemused by her reaction. He hadn't seen her so nervous before. "Is that all?" She mocked gently, disguising her disappointment. For some reason, she wanted to hear more.

Adam observed her, and while he knew he wasn't good at reading people via their faces, he felt the energy in the room shift with her body language. Maybe he should choose the right words. He wasn't the best at expressing was upset, and he silently blamed himself for not keeping her at ease. So he settled for another way to comfort her instead. "Should I explain why I want a friend like you?" His voice was soft and deep.

Charlotte closed her eyes, letting the sound of his tone replay in her mind again. That was one voice she never wanted to forget. She was getting carried away… Should I explain why I want a friend like you? Truth be told it was a mystery why he thought he wanted to be around someone like her. She was a broken, freak of a woman with eight eyes, who owned a rundown bar and had spent the better part of her teen years in jail. And he'd killed for her. However if they carried on this conversation, she would drown in such feelings, and it scared the hell out of her. Something told her she wasn't used to feeling like this. Jitters under her skin and feeling as if she couldn't stand still.

Charlotte shook her head.

"Save that conversation for another day." She said finally, smiling. "That wasn't the only reason I wanted to talk to you. Think it might cheer you up."

He was already suspicious.

"And what would that be?"

---

Adam wasn't sure if being here was having the effect Charlotte intended.

The Lower North side of the city was as bad as he remembered it. Aside from Xiang restaurant, which wasn't too far from here, if he remembered right, there still wasn't much to the place. Another street, another row of dilapidated buildings. Torn, crumbling to debris; the wounds ranged from filthy walls and barely-clinging paint jobs to entire walls having fallen away, leaving rusty skeletons of the structure's higher points. Even from this far away, he could smell the stink of the river. It wasn't much of a moodsetter, and coming from him, that meant something.

"I really don't know what's so cheery about being your packmule."Adam griped, lugging two heavy canvas bags over his shoulder. "What's in these things anyway?"

Charlotte shrugged at his side, though the movement was hampered by her cast. "Don't worry about it, Hornhead. Trust me. Besides, you need to get that shotgun of yours fixed, don't you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" He bemoaned, though of course, he would not receive an answer, beyond another coy smirk.

'Figures.'

They soon came across a dirty bronze sign. 'The Emporium.' Itread in rusted over lettering. The building blended right in with the rest of the street. It was a passage through the city and little more for most of Kuchinashi's urbanites, just another place to drive through with the windows done up, never a thought to stop.

"Charlotte, no offence intended, but watching an old man pull a rabbit out of a hat probably isn't going to improve my mood."

"Ha ha. You say that now, but this guy's a real magician. Just you wait."

"We'll see."

The bottom corner of the sign had a hastily painted arrow, pointing them in the direction of the entrance. Climbing up a ramshackle, emergency stairwell that tenuously clung to the building it was attached to, Adam moved slowly but carefully, his every step straining the rusted metal beneath his feet. He found them standing in front of an old wooden door that looked closer to that of a hotel room than an actual business entrance. A doubt that manifested deep within Adam at the sight, but his companion had no fear, simply pushing open the door and striding right in.

The door chimed as they entered, tinkling merrily. The shop was long and spacious but poorly lit; dark – windowless, and lit solely by a single dull lamp. Metal shelves lining the walls, holding all sorts of expensive-looking knick knacks. Charlotte paid no notice to the valuables around her, heading straight for the back counter, Adam following closely at her heels.

He could make out the dim silhouettes of crates stacked around the entrance and against the far wall. Still, it was a lot fainter than he was used to seeing, and it took a few moments for his eyes and night vision to adjust to the gloom.

"Damn," she said, moving to allow her companion up the stairs. "That is a lot more guns than when I was last here."

Adam did his best to restrain his disgust. "These are marked as perfume," he noted, curiously.

"Huh. So they are. Definitely guns, though," she confirmed, kicking open the nearest crate and peering inside. "It's how he smuggles the parts. See that logo? Atlesian Military. Apparently the old pervert has a few contacts up on Solitas to swap these out with overseas shipments."

Well, if her telling him that meant that she expected him to trust whoever ran this place, Adam was starting to wonder if she was still playing with a full deck. Still, if this was a weapon store, maybe there was something worthwhile around. Maybe he sold more than just firearms. Perhaps it was a matter of his lack of depth perception, but Adam was almost certain that there was something wrong about one of the walls, but he couldn't place it no matter how hard he looked.

Before he could investigate further, the lights snapped on, blinding both faunus, and an elderly looking man, short, and wearing an expensive tailored suit, and most bizarrely of all, an absurdly large emerald green top hat, appeared behind the counter, a hand banging on. Adam decided to file the wall mystery away for later, following Charlotte to the counter.

"Just because you're pretty, doesn't mean you don't have to knock!"

"And just because you're old, doesn't mean I won't deck you if you keep staring down my top every time I come in here!"

A heavy silence settled over them, thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Adam shifted uncomfortably, taking several steps back. Finally the silence when the old man seemed to switch from fury to friendly with a flick of a switch.

"You buying or selling, Char?"

Sell, mostly." She was smiling now too. At her motion, Adam set down the two poorly-sealed bags he had been carrying down on the counter and began to unpack –, a sack full of police issue carbine rifles, a couple of Dust powered batons. "But I am looking for a couple of things, if you've got 'em."

"Ooh, carbines! The diminutive man commented, reaching out for a rifle to get a better look at the haul. "Very nice, although I'd say these have all definitely seen better days.

"Our tax lien hard at work. How much you think they're worth?"

Leaving Charlotte and her haggling behind, Adam's attention was firmly elsewhere. He crossed to the back of the store to that mysterious wall, where the gun shopkeeper had displayed some of his wares for show.

He moved on to the guns with morbid fascination, looking at all the pistols and rifles bolted to the wall on display. A pump action shotgun with a severed barrel caught his eye – a decent enough weapon at short range, , but it looked far too slow to be of any real use. Before long, he caught sight of Charlotte waving him over out of the corner of his eye.

"My friend here could use your expertise."

"Ah! Where are my manners?" He bowed at the waist in a sweeping gesture, an act that seemed a bizarre blend of sincere, yet utterly comical, an image not helped by the erratically twitching long ears that sprouted from his uncovered head. Adam wasn't sure what to make of it. So he resorted to what he knew best.

"Probably in that giant hat of yours." The red haired faunus retorted sarcastically before being elbowed in the ribs by Charlotte.

The man, to his credit, simply cackled, reaching into the base of it, as if he were a magician pulling a rabbit, before withdrawing his limb, and flipping the wide brim back over his ears.

A faunus. Rabbit or hare? Adam shook his head. Neither of which seemed important in comparison to his evident lack of sanity.

"Do you know how to use a gun?" asked the gunsmith.

Adam met his stare impassively, with cool disinterest. "Well enough. It's not exactly interesting to me."

"Then, what is the caliber of this gun? he fired back, taking the shotgun from him and handing a new weapon over to him. "This is a ...huh. I forget the name." Adam spoke quickly, trying to cover up his lack of knowledge. Admitting ignorance was never going to be one of his qualities.

He could hear the slap of flesh behind him as Charlotte sighed, palm over her eyes, no doubt looking every bit as embarrassed as he felt.

"You're an awful liar, you know that? I'm not going to put work into a gun just so it can be mistreated by an amateur brat."

Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose. She knew better than anyone that the Hatter had a prickly reputation, only selling weapons to those who took his fancy rather than those who offered enough cash.

"Suit yourself. " Adam plucked the shotgun up from the table. "Guess I'll take my business elsewhere. That, or just stick with my sword."

Though neither Charlotte or Adam could see it under the brim of his hat, the gunsmith raised an eyebrow.

"Sword?"

"Yes." He blinked at him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hatter paused, crinkling his nose. He had heard of people using swords, but none of them had ever come to his shop. He didn't see the point of them, himself. Fancy huntsman weapons were fragile as shit, and couldn't stand up to bullets so a sword was useless in a fight around here. Just big knives and clunky bits of metal that you couldn't conceal.

"Hhmph."

Adam's brow furrowed dangerously. "I'm good with it," he objected. "Want to see?"

"If it doesn't throw bullets, explode, or have tits, I don't give a damn about it, brat." The long eared maniac fiddled with some components he had been working on, still sprawled out over the counter before snatching back the shotgun at a speed that took Adam completely off guard. Before he could object again the gunsmith was already examining it.

"It's a very egalitarian kind of weapon. Poor man's machine gun. These barrels are supposed to be smooth bore, conveniently, there's no rifling to leave forensic evidence like tool marks behind on the projectiles. Load this thing with "rat shot", and you can rip a man, faunus or Grimm apart like canvas, blow hinges off doors, or rearrange someone's face, which would probably make it more difficult to identify a body and to have an open casket. Even more so if you add Dust into the equati-"

"I don't want Dust." Adam interrupted quickly, with a vehemence that would have given even Charlotte pause, had she not uncovered the revelation about his origins. He didn't want guns as it was, but he'd be damned if he debased himself further with the use of that cursed fuel.

"Good. I hate the stuff! It's always Dust this, and Dust that! What the fuck is wrong with a good fashioned explosion?!" Hatter's pupils had shrunk, and he was deep in Adam's personal space. A few seconds passed awkwardly before the old man exuberantly hopped down from the counter. Then, as if replaced by another personality entirely again, the anger seemed to evaporate from his face like water on hot tarmac, as Long Ears, as Adam had taken to calling him in his mind, started grinning, as if the last thirty seconds were simply imagined. "So what are you looking for then?"

Adam blinked, temporarily stunned by the rant before regaining his composure. "Never mind; A model that runs on powder would be nice, I guess. Something that can hit several targets at the same time would be perfect."

He hesitantly pushed the gun back at Hatter.

Back in Odessia, they weren't big fans of using regulation low grade Dust for mining and quarrying like some of the other mining colonies. Spending money to make money was stupid, at least in the eyes of the mine overseers. Black powder was the preferred explosive of choice, due to being far cheaper to create, with fewer laws to govern its uses, due to its lack of versatility. He had heard tell that it was possible to use a variant of it as a propellant for a firearm instead of Dust, but it was a stab in the dark all the same.

"You're old fashioned. I like that."

Hatter turned back to his table and began sorting through gun parts, laying the sawnoff down on one of the workbenches. Adam and Charlotte watched as he got to work, deftly unscrewing and replacing parts, working with expert hands. He was aggressive with his handling – Adam flinched when he pried off the wooden casing of the grip with an audible crack and tossed it aside - but he couldn't find fault with his methodology, largely because he had no idea how he would do it better himself. Still, even he knew when a gentler tack was required.

Charlotte however didn't look the slightest bit concerned. In fairness to her, she'd once seen him use the incredibly technical method of jamming a screwdriver's tip into the chamber of one of his works in an attempt to remove a lodged bullet. While staring down the barrel at that. If the old man had survived that experience, then he was damn near immortal as far as she was concerned.

He continued to study the weapon, mentally reconfiguring it for superior performance. "I'll have to strip down the frame," he said finally. "Even then, the cost for parts alone wouldn't be worth it. Forget about it." Time and money meant that some weapons got tossed instead of improved. "This thing? It's an antique. It was made to shoot Ursas, not people. The aim is atrocious, the barrels needing replacing not withstanding. You'd still basically have to press the barrel right against the target." Hatter wasn't even looking at them now, his attention fully engrossed in his task.

Adam started to protest, but Charlotte held a finger over his mouth.

"It's going to take a while. Come back tomorrow, and we'll talk more. Got it?"

After they had gone, he turned back to the table and studied the parts arrayed in front of him. Six pieces had to be completed before he turned in and he couldn't just forget about them.

But this one was going to be fun.

---

Waiting wasn't something that Adam was accustomed to. And yet, as the time passed, the days drew on, and he waited for the commission to be complete, he found himself more and more at ease with the prospect.

It gave him time.

And yet the question he asked, that his soul asked. of him, was one that he wasn't sure he wanted answered.

Did he want to stay?

Charlotte was safe. At least, it looked that way. It had been weeks now, and there had been no reprisals. The word was, according to Charlotte, the disappearances had been blamed on the Snakes, and that the beginnings of a gang war were starting to bubble up. That, he thought, wasn't really his concern. He'd dealt with the mess he'd dragged her into, and he had the money to travel now.

The world, and the fight, still called.

But none of that; none of it, made the decision easier.

Having Charlotte in his life, was quite possibly the closest he had come to having an actual friend since he'd left Menagerie. He enjoyed being with her. But equally, a part of him felt to be a burden to her, though she would never say it. The void in his chest that had been so painful to him when he'd first set out on that ship had dulled… but it hadn't closed. There was still something missing.

Most sane people would have simply accepted what they had, and Adam, deprived as he had been for most of his life, could certainly see the logic of such. But could he truly call himself a man if he never left, choosing instead to shelter himself here? If he spent what was left of his days ignoring his passion? What kind would he be if he simply accepted that emptiness?

He had a duty, above any other, to find it.

He'd packed and unpacked his belongings a thousand times over, practised various variations of the speech he would give her, but every time he searched for the words, they would always turn to lead on his tongue.

It was on these thoughts he dwelled now, before two words brought him from his musings.

"No good!"

Hatter instructed, giggling madly to himself, clutching the brim of his top hat.

"Try again!"

Adam grimaced, forcing down his frustration and raised the pistols once again. His "assignment" was to hit eight fast moving targets in the gunshop's shooting range in under twelve seconds. He didn't like leaving Charlotte on her own, but dragging her all this way in her current condition wouldn't end well for anyone.

She'd challenged him to a drinking contest in a fit of pique; and last he'd laid eyes on her, both of them were still suffering the consequences.

It had been quite a shock for him, to discover that he, as it turned out, had a much higher alcohol tolerance than Charlotte, a professional bartender by trade, did. Or maybe he just hadn't had as much. In truth, he hadn't been able to tell the difference after the third or fourth glass. Her sobbing into his jacket had been both unexpected and highly unwelcome, though. He strongly hoped she didn't do that again.

It was nearly four in the morning when Adam had arrived at the Emporium—Did that old man ever sleep— and the sign still flashed 'open', which he took to mean that he had a job on the boil. He'd been coming here nearly every day since, and not once had he ever seen Hatter wane in his exuberance. Adam supposed, that was what passion and purpose did for a soul.

The old man might have been half out of his tree, but he'd been completely serious about not selling to an amateur. The argument had been fierce, each of them refusing to give ground until finally Hatter had laid down conditions. Pass his test, and not only would he give him the repaired sawnoff as agreed, but he would do so at a discount, including any ammunition he may subsequently require.

He'd accepted Hatter's little challenge immediately, as it was the only way the man would let him use said range to practice, and earn his coveted weapon thereby. After how much of her own savings Charlotte had sunk into repairs, she was unlikely to be best pleased if he started filling it with bullet holes. Again. This was a relatively simple solution.

The challenge itself however, was harder than Adam initially thought.

He'd been training with Hatter for days on end now, learning the ins and outs of gunmanship, and Adam still wasn't sure how he felt about them. His rudimentary had taught him a begrudging respect for the craft, but he could not help but prefer more… martial weaponry. Even so, Adam was fortunate that Hatter's teaching style was one that he had subscribed to surprisingly often of late; watching others demonstrate, figuring out how it worked, and giving it a try himself. It had been trial and error, and a huge factor in his successes had been the fact that all his learning had been practical. A big part of his learning had been instinct: he'd always done what came naturally to him, allowing his body to guide him. And so that was how he'd applied himself here; he'd picked up quickly, if he said so himself, taking on the instruction and learning with little to no issues.

'Well… perhaps that was a slight embellishment.' He thought to himself, remembering the bullet holes that had shattered several of the old man's windows in the process of his training.

Eventually, as night turned to day, Hatter had offered him a final challenge. He'd taken him up to the roof of his shop, where he'd seen several targets laid out, store mannequins, propped up on stands at the far end of the roof in irregular, uneven positions. Another crate filled with guns and ammunition propped open the door to the roof.

"I'm going to watch you shoot. See what you've learned."

The midget lunatic assured him that the neighbours wouldn't be alarmed: they were used to hearing him try out the guns he was working on. Adam took him at his word. This wasn't exactly an upstanding neighbourhood after all.

Adam's confusion began to be replaced with clarity when the older man pulled out a pair of crude, bootlegged pistols from the top of the crate.

He shot six times, just to prove it was possible, so quickly it startled him, for his weapons were free of his holsters by the time he'd said "Draw". Adam was looking directly at him and only saw a motion & he was firing. No use in asking how he did; He only saw his arms were not straight, yet somewhat relaxed. There was a perceptible curve to his arm, but very slight- every shot was in the paper target that covered each mannequin's head, and two in the spot, but all of them within one inch of a vertical line. Dead-on.

He handed Adam the pair, semi automatic pistols. He weighed them in his hands, trying to find the balance between himself and his weapons. The old man had explained that this was essential to the technique he called instinctive firing.

"Remember – you have to shoot instantly. You can't stop to take aim. If you do, well, you'll die. In a real combat situation you don't have time to mess around. You and the weapons are one. And if you believe that you can hit the target, you will hit the target. That's what instinctive firing is all about."

'You and the weapon are one.' That at least, he understood.

Well, if a man with skin wrinkled enough to be older than paper could do it, Adam liked his chances. He regretted that almost as soon as he said it.

He had thought it would be reasonably simple, until the old man insisted that he use both at the same time. But even though he'd accepted, there was still one glaring detail he'd overlooked, one that would become apparent the second he pulled the first trigger.

He was using bootlegged guns.

The weapons were perfectly capable of spitting out violence, but shoddy materials meant they would always be on the verge of crapping out entirely, to say nothing of performing the act itself- keeping control of the recoil felt like trying to put a leash to a hurricane. As his anger intensified, he failed to notice his clothes and hands sparking with red energy. The hard casings of the guns had grown hotter and hotter with each wild round fired out of the barrels. He had ignored it at first; partly because he was so unfamiliar with firearms, partly because of his own ramping frustration. The task set to him was one that had placed him at an inherent disadvantage.

Either way, it had completely taken him off guard when both guns had exploded violently in his hands.

Nevermores on a shitting pike , did it hurt! On instinct he threw the smoking remains of the guns to the floor, nigh unbearable pain emanating from his forearms and palms, his thumbs having narrowly avoided being seared by the small explosion. A coating of a hundred tiny shards of red-hot glowing metal covered his lower arms and part of his hands, the stench of burning flesh quickly permeating the air. At the least, his fingers had at least come out okay, the grip of the guns having at least shielded those parts.

His aura, a comforting dark red glow, shrouded his body, and had begun to chase away the pain, kicking in a little too late to protect him from the wounds. He had cast a glance over at his erstwhile teacher, who was half laughing half hiccuping at the sight of him on his knees.

Once again, Adam heard the bane of existence; the series of beeps that signalled the resetting of the timer. The old man waved a hand in the direction of the crate propping open the door of the roof access, stacked high with all kinds of castoff guns. "I've got plenty in stock."

It was a combination of his agony, and his pride that kept him from throttling the little midget. Doing that would be as good as admitting defeat, and he wasn't about to hand over that satisfaction. This had been the fifth time now, and he was rapidly reaching the end of his rope.

The trick to passing this little challenge, Adam had eventually found, was to carefully control each weapon to prevent them from recoiling upward after each round, and to do it before the gun's inevitable destruction. The problem was that, like with nearly everything else in his life in recent memory, that was easier said than done. The lack of his right eye to provide depth perception or judgement of distance, was a significant setback, but he wasn't about to fold in the towel now. even if he could scarcely think straight with rage.

He forced himself to focus, willing himself steady amidst the hurricane of adrenaline assaulting his nervous system. He was going to pass this little farce of a test, and then he was going to put one of these bullets right in that precious hat of his! He crossed the bootleg clones over his chest, waiting for the signal. The calm before the storm.

"Begin!"

Swallowing his anger and snarling to himself, energy began crackling around his hands again. He gripped the new guns tighter before firing off a fresh barrage at the targets. He knew the magazines would soon be empty, but in that moment he didn't care. The passion that blazed in him demanded his attention, transforming his frustration into a single minded focus.

The old man began to take interest as dozens of scarlet eruptions bloomed one after the other. 'Is he…?' He could only watch as rapid-fire bullets shot target after target with uncanny accuracy until at last his chambers were empty. He grinned ear to ear as Adam hit his last target. The timer in his hands read 11.4 seconds. "Good job, kid!," he congratulated. "You finally pass!"

The words took a few seconds to click in, but when they did, Adam unwittingly slumped forwards, relaxing his straining muscles and allowing his tension and fury to ebb. He'd been lucky. He noticed just how hard he was gripping the near ruined weapons in his hands. His knuckles had gone white from a lack of blood, and his fingers were too stiff for him to even move them. It took the use of his other hand and a quick pained grunt to pry the wrecks out of one hand, where they both clattered to the ground, the weapons themselves now so hot, they were smoking.

Adam chuckled, despite his previous anger. "You think too highly of me, old timer." he said. "It took me over a week to get to this point. And I still don't think I could do it again"

"You passed the test." Hatter said with an uncharacteristic sternness. "How long it took doesn't matter anymore."

Adam supposed the old man was right, in a logical sense. The perfectionist in him said different. He took a moment to cast his gaze at the targets. Or perhaps more, accurately their remains. He winced. The bullet-ridden mannequins were nigh unrecognizable now. Adam's shots had ripped them apart, tearing off large chunks of plastic with a ferocity belonging more to a wild beast than a man. The 'wounds' still glowed dull with a pale red light, smoke wisps from the gaping crevices his bullets had left in their wake.

"These guns…"

Adam looked down, picking up the fallen weapons and examining them. Their mouths were sullied, tinged a glowing red but burned black with soot.

"Oh, you can keep those." Hatter waved his hand dismissively, as though Adam hadn't turned his shooting range into a mortuary for life sized dolls. "They're castoffs anyway, couldn't shift these orphans for love nor lien. They'd be happy to find a new loving parent."

"These use gunpowder propellants, don't they? That's what you wanted me to use them for… this."

The old man smiled. "Would you look at that! He's learning!" The old man was wondering how long it would take him to come to that conclusion. Black and smokeless powder were cheap to manufacture, and far more reactive than the typical low grade Dust that was typically the criminal's propellant of choice, but that also meant it was more dangerous and less versatile as a result. It was rare that anyone ever came in to commission something that used it over Dust-based weaponry, but Hatter was most pleased with the boy's choice. He'd do nicely.

'And if this keeps up,' Hatter thought to himself, a grin still , 'he'll be one to watch.' How he knew to fire a gun so proficiently as a beginner was still a complete mystery to him, and he imagined, to the boy himself, given the astonishment that read on his face as clearly as block capitals on a billboard.

He hadn't been in a firing stance or anything, he'd simply… reacted. The boy was better than he realized; he'd fired every one of those shots like white lightning and on top of that, he'd actually aimed them.

It wasn't just a matter of how fast someone could pull the trigger. It was a matter of how fast someone could fix in a new target. There hadn't even been an instant's pause in his rate of fire when he'd switched to the next target after shooting the hell out of the previous one. And he hadn't even realized.

Hatter could work with that.

The older man began to walk away, moving with a surprising amount of purpose and resolve.

Adam made to follow, but something made him stop. He looked back at the targets. He had done that. And he had a fairly good idea just how he'd done it too. His memory faded back to the day prior, when he had blown a hole in Charlotte's roof with the shotgun. The same glow had been in the crack of the barrel when he'd blown the barrel apart. And even before that, at the club. The revolver.

His semblance. It was the only thing that made sense.

It was childish, and he'd deny it to anyone who asked, but he felt a juvenile sense of elation at his discovery. It must have worked on the same principle as when he had used it with his sword. He absorbed kinetic energy, imbued it into his weapon, allowing him to release that power in red shockwaves of raw power, as he had the night he'd killed Myst. It was almost embarrassing for him for it to only just occur to him that there was no reason for that to be limited solely to his sword, though in fairness, he had only just begun to reawaken the power that he had lost.

The only problem, it seemed, was the matter of the explosions that followed his (admittedly accidental) attempts to use it on firearms. Was it something to do with the reactivity of the propellants? Or was it because he was working with subpar materials? He couldn't say. The question bore exploring at a later date. For now though, he could content himself with his new toys, and the fact that he hadn't blown off his fingers.

"On the other hand…" he muttered to himself examining the semi automatic pistols in his hands and looking back at the now headless central target. "The results do speak for themselves… I guess I should thank the old bastard."

"I'm not getting any younger down here, brat!" cane the bellow from the stairwell, shaking Adam from his thoughts.

He glared, before trudging his way back inside.

He took it back. Damn him to the Grimmlands and everyone who knew him.

The faunus watched for several minutes as the old man hobbled around his shop at an impressive speed for his age, frantically slamming and opening the wooden drawers that surrounded his chaotic workstation, narrowly avoiding knocking over several other haphazardly placed tools in the process.

The assault of metallic noise came to a sudden halt. "Ah ha, there you are!" he crowed. The gunsmith pulled himself up from the floor, steadying himself on the table with one hand, and carrying a small wooden box in the other. Almost hopping over to his customer, he gleefully presented it, beaming with undisguised pride.

"Here we go, like I promised. A deal's a deal, after all. I'm pretty happy with the result."

Hatter had completely refashioned the sawnoff Adam had taken from Myst, adding so many components that any normal man would scarcely be able to keep a grip on it. Adam's gun knowledge gleaned from the little old man was far from an extensive education—yet— but he couldn't deny that he was impressed with what he saw.

It functioned by way of a linked double bolt being forced back during firing, and locking in the rearward position, the gun being broken open to eject the fired cartridges, and on closing, the bolt being released to chamber fresh shells or pellets in both barrels. It also had two small detachable magazines located just behind the break-open hinge, and a reciprocating bolt handle on top of the rear section.

But most notably, Hatter had modified the double-barreled weapon so that it could load up to twelve shots at once via a magazine that had somehow been fitted to it. Adam honestly hadn't thought that was possible, but he supposed that Charlotte hadn't called him a magician on a whim.

He examined the weapon in front of a proud Hatter. "I don't know much about guns, and I'm no expert like you, but even I can tell this is a finely crafted piece. Not bad for a fossil." Gently, with a level of care bordering on reverence, Adam removed the oilpaper that had been crammed into the movable parts and bolts. Hatter was briefly almost taken aback, before looking on with a sense of subdued satisfaction. The kid had certainly seemed uncomfortable enough with guns at first. But now, his examination grew nimbler as time wore on, as if he was absorbing information from the firearm itself.

The modifications had made the weapon exceptionally heavy for its size but he didn't appear to mind in the slightest. He waved it gracefully through the air, tracing a lethal path that would have given him numerous targets in an actual combat situation, before returning it to its box and fixing the clasp shut.

"I like it. I think I'll take it."

"I've got a fair amount of ammo for you, too." Hatter held up two distressed looking cartridge pouches, jingling them gleefully. "You'll need to use these custom variants, because typical reloads won't work after what I've done to the barrels. You could probably use regular bullets if you want, but scale back on the gunpowder if you're planning on blazing away like a madman."

Hatter looked at him with a combination of his usual unhinged stare, touched with a degree of reproachfulness, like a teacher lecturing an errant pupil. " I mean it, Brat. Lay off the firing. I redesigned the gun, but I don't think it'll last long with the way you'll treat her. Unless of course you want to blow the thing to hell. I won't hold it against you!"

"Have some faith, old man. Didn't I pass your little test? You saw me, didn't you?" Adam groused. "Unless your cataracts are kicking in?"

"You can use that line once you've earned it, ya' little hellion. How many guns did you wreck before you pulled that off again? And the only thing I saw, was you having no respect for precision instruments."

A one fingered salute was his only reply.

Adam tossed a handful of lien on the counter. "Here you go."

"Not so fast."

Adam stopped in his tracks, perplexed. He turned to find the man smiling mischievously, a hand adjusting the brim of his top hat. "What the hell do you want now? You're giving me the creeps."

"You didn't think that gun was finished, did you, boy? You haven't even named her yet!"

"What exactly did you mean by that, old man?"

"Exactly what I said. Second of all, you have to get used to using it properly. I can't just let one of my babies out into the wild without a name after all! I have a reputation to think of!"

"It's a racket. You're just going to make me keep coming in to get more ammo after I waste it in here."

"Don't be like that! Think of the money I'll take out of your hide as an incentive to learn how to shoot right."

"I hate you."

"Besides, it won't take long! A few minutes, tops!"

It would be at least another three hours before he was finally able to slip away and leave the gunsmith's shop. In that time, Hatter had managed to talk him into buying several more items, including holsters, a cleaning kit, several clear containers of smokeless powder, and he'd even insisted that Adam stay for tea of all things. When the last scintilla of his patience had finally begun to fray, Adam grabbed his jacket, which Hatter had advised him to take off, lest he want it to forever smell of ash and smoke, draped it over his shoulder before standing up to leave. The fossil yelled something after him, as he watched Adam disappear into the stairwell, but the bull faunus would confess to not really being the best listener at times.

He wandered the streets wordlessly, deep in thought, his jacket doing little to save off the chill he felt. Walking with the new weight of his dropleg holster secured to his thigh was something that was going to take getting used to, though in his eyes, it wasn't really a price worth paying. He personally thought he was an idiot for letting Charlotte and the old man convince him into spending almost all of the bounty on this stuff, but least that investment might pay off in the end.

He hoped.

The newly christened 'Blush' sat snugly in her new home, heavy at his side. The bootlegged pistols; he hadn't bought holsters for, (mainly because he'd already lost most of his savings on this little venture) were haphazardly crammed in the insides of his jacket, literally and figuratively blackening the linings of his pockets. His distaste for guns had not faded an inch, but he couldn't deny that knowing how to use one might be useful. Hatter had insisted he take them—he'd tried to leave them behind on the counter the first time he'd tried to leave, but the gunsmith wouldn't have it.

A fair amount of the time he had spent being unofficially held prisoner, had been spent watching Hatter fixing them, adjusting the slides, replacing the singed and broken parts with similar-looking replacements, and taking a soldering iron to the ones he didn't. By the time he'd finished, the pistols looked far more akin to frankensteinian monsters than the weapons he had held earlier, though Adam surprisingly had very considerably fewer doubts about their efficacy.

Looks could be deceiving after all.

Much to Adam's chagrin, he'd actually found himself growing to like the man over the course of their conversation. He was a few bullets short of a magazine, but he'd still taught him something valuable, even if he'd been a complete cryptic pain in the ass about it. And he made surprisingly good tea.

'Please tell me I'm not becoming sociable…' Now that was a terrifying thought.

As he rounded a left corner, his boot splashing against of the slum's many potholes, Adam picked up an uneasy feeling he was being tailed. His feet traced out a path through the alleys and byways, taking him far from the crowds and traffic. But he knew he was not alone.

They were good, but not enough to escape his instincts. Unbeknownst to him, it was a mistake common to those who entered the criminal underworld, either because they were used to battle, or they were overconfident in their ability.

Adam raced through his options, betraying no sign that he was on to his pursuer. He made a right, and the feeling was stronger. Apparently, whoever it was was quick on their feet, and knew the area well. Adam began walking faster, quickly taking another left towards the bar. Just a little further and-

He unsheathed his sword.

For a fraction of a second, part of him was tempted to test Blush for real, his fingers practically itching with anticipation. But he hadn't time to fully get used to it, yet—and he didn't trust himself not to miss. Those custom bullets had been rather dear to his wallet, and wasting them was out of the question, even if he still wasn't sure about carrying guns. Adam closed his eye and focused his senses. The alley left few places to hide.

"Strange place to meet," he said lightheartedly, seemingly to thin air, trying to draw out his lurking tail. "I'll be honest, I don't like being stalked. Come on out." He spoke in a casual tone, but every muscle was ready for action. "If you don't show me your face, I'll get it myself on the edge of my sword."

Time passed. Adam felt the tension rise. His pursuer hadn't made a move after he'd called out. Intuition told him that he was in danger; whatever was stalking him wasn't afraid. It was then that he heard the voice.

"You have been a busy Cowboy, haven't you?"

Anyone else would have missed her, assumed it was a trick or a shadow in the overbearing darkness of the shadows, but to him she was clear as day. Looking up at the fire escape, he raised an eyebrow at the figure sitting on top of it: A familiar woman, in jeans and snake-themed halter, arms crossed behind her head, leaning back against a window. She ran a hand through her chestnut hair, which was tied in an exotic low ponytail at the right side of her head. She now sported a straight fringe, not unlike Charlotte's, though this one was parted on the left side instead of being uniform. But the most interesting thing, or perhaps the most alarming, was the streak of red that now flowed through it; a shade incidentally, that matched his very own. Even so, it would be a long time before he forgot her eyes. "The debt collector," he realized with a start. Despite the grin, her movements were measured, controlled...whether that was a good or bad sign he didn't know. What he did know, is that he didn't have time for her right now.

"But where are my manners? I have you at such a disadvantage. Here I am, knowing everything I need to know about you, and you don't even know my name."

"Mariko, isn't it? I guess I have been." Adam replied calmly, his head turning to look up at her. "Though, you'll have to forgive me for not knowing how it's any of your business and all."

"Oh, baby, don't be like that! I've been tearing up this place for days trying to get your attention! She giggled, like a schoolgirl who'd just heard the juiciest piece of gossip. "You like the new hair?"

It suited her. But Adam wasn't one to give out compliments easily. "It's.. different, I guess." The faunus remarked impassively. "In a 'static cling' sort of way."

The smile grew wider. "Always leading with your mouth, sweetie. That's not always a bad thing, but it's a great way to lose your head!"

Despite the lithe movements and quickness she had displayed in their last encounter, she was slower than he'd expected; he tilted his head to the side to avoid the sai that whizzed through the air, catching by the handle just as it neared his face.

"You'd know better than me, lady. Now—"

He looked up to see that she had vanished, the space above him now empty.

"I knew someday my prince would come... I just figured he'd be harder to get the drop on." Her voice sounded through the narrow space, far closer than he was expecting.

By then, he knew what was happening, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid it. Two thin arms snaked around him, one holding onto his waist tightly while another pressed familiar steel against his throat. The tip was barely an inch from touching the skin, and the giggle that followed as she pressed herself into his back didn't help his nerves. A singular sound seemed to punctuate her every movement, like every word was underlined by glass being ground under stiletto heels.

"Oh, stop struggling, darling. I came all this way just to talk to you, after all."

How had she done that? There was no way she should have been able to get behind him. She was fast, yes, he knew that first hand, but not so fast that she could outmanoeuvre him that thoroughly. Either way, he wasn't pleased.

"Funny….This is 'just talking' to you?" He growled.

"Can you really blame me, sweetheart?" She inched the blade higher, tracing it lightly across his cheek, "You put on such a sweet show. I mean, damn." Her tongue darted out and licked the drop of blood before it could fall down his face, the pink organ lingering on his skin for a moment before she giggled, slowly planting her lips over the graze. "I knew you were special, but if I'd known just how special..Oh, I just couldn't wait!"

"...The feeling..," Adam reared his head forward and threw her over his shoulder. "isn't mutual."

His victory was short-lived.

As her head hit the ground, it seemed to sink into the shallow puddle at his feet, along with the rest of her body, before she reappeared above him, emerging from the glass as if it were liquid. Quickly, Adam glanced behind him, noticing the single pane window behind him. 'Her semblance,' his mind put the pieces together with a start. 'It's the reflections. She had some way of moving through reflections. Creepy… but surprisingly useful.' Filing that information away for later, he glared up, hand still on his sword.

Her voice trembled in excitement.

"Good gods. Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you're angry? Keep staring at me like that and I might get a little more...frisky."

"I'm too busy for… whatever the hell this is. What do you want?"

Her smile grew wider. "I want you, silly. But we can talk about that later. What I want to know, is why someone, like you, is doing working freelance chicken slop bounties when you live in a city where lien flows like water, and anyone with half a guy could swim in it, if they wanted to?"

"Maybe I don't care about the money. Your point?"

"I'm saying, darling, that you don't have much in the way of ambition. That's what I wanted to talk about." She chuckled from her perch, her smile somehow growing wider as she crossed one leg over the other. "You probably don't know this about me, but I'm something of an amateur stage magician. I know, I know…. Where do I even find the time for a hobby?"

Adam raised an eyebrow.

"The thing is," Mariko explained, resting her cheek on her knuckles. "there's just so many elements you have to get right. Pyrotechnics...to put a fire under the audience. The right props are a must too. Take Enyo for example." She raised her remaining sai, the twin to the one he still held in his hand. " Can you believe how often this thing goes dull? The point's always getting caught in things. Bones, tablecloths, a certain castrated pig that was wandering around where he shouldn't be after dark…"

'She couldn't mean…' Adamfought the urge to look astonished. Had she caught Harris? Had he talked in the end? It seemed unlikely. The fact that he'd been walking at all when Adam had left him was frankly a miracle. But even so...He had escaped.

"But if there's one thing you made me realize, it's that it really helps to have a hot assistant. You and me could be great together. You ever consider a cape and a frilly shirt? Pop open the top few buttons and give the crowd what they really want?"

The lack of response from the red haired faunus seemed to surprise her. She cooed and pouted in disappointment, but then, to Adam's annoyance, her smile returned. "You really do know how to make a girl feel like a stray cat, you know that?"

His scowl became more pronounced. "What can I say? I'm not a fan of cats."

Mariko laughed, neither hostile, or even mocking, simply one filled with genuine amusement, her tone still laced with that same sensual edge. "So mean….I bet you know how to use that sword, don't you?"

It was a statement, not a question, and Adam saw little point in denying it. "I don't wear it for decoration, that's for sure. But you knew that already."

Mariko purred in satisfaction. "That's great! For you I mean. Cause my boss isn't in the business of wasting his time. And he really wants to talk to you. Probably something boring and stupid. But he wanted me to pass the message along, so here we are." She shrugged.

The faunus rolled his eye."And here I thought anyone calling themselves a grown man didn't need a mouthpiece. Shows what I know, I suppose." Adam remarked, sounding bored. "And second, I'm thinking I share his feelings for having my time wasted, so what's say we cut this short?"

"Oh, I'm petrified, darling." she deadpanned, kicking her legs idly. "Care to share what you've got in mind? Is it fun? 'Cause the boss-man won't be too pleased if this little meeting of ours doesn't go so well. He might take it out on your little fr-"

Mariko didn't get a chance to finish her taunt.

All she knew was that she had been sitting beyond his reach one moment, and the next, a flash of scarlet and she was spread-eagled on the ground, the remains of the fire escape crumpling to the ground around her in neatly cut pieces.

"Wh- you-" she wheezed and spluttered, trying to regain her breath. "Did you just-"

Adam regarded her coldly. "I don't think you'd be interested in my kind of fun." A drop of blood trailed down her neck. The edge of his blade pressed harder into the flesh. He didn't feel the resistance of her aura, and it was that in part that kept him from pressing further.

"Look at me." she said in a honey-dripped voice that was almost girlish in its pitch, that seemed to border in awe. "Falling head over heels for a pretty face."

Red light glowed in his eye socket.

"Who ordered you to hunt me down?"

The corners of her lips curled into a besotted smirk.

"Oh, Darling…. How could I ever say no to you?"

---

The atmosphere in the bar had changed indelibly by the time Adam had arrived, charging through the front door with a crash. All eyes were fixed on the newcomer. Several hands grasped for weapons. Immediately, he saw Charlotte darting her eyes from table to table, and then back to him, no doubt keenly aware that the slightest faux pas could end in violence. Adam took advantage of the lull to survey the room. His face was far from inscrutable, but the tilt of his head projected a confident calm. He blasted the room with his most withering stare, daring them to make a move.

The man he actually recognised was seated at one of the tables, across from a pale looking Charlotte, same beard as Adam remembered, and clad in a neat pressed suit, the kind you only saw on high priced lawyers and gangsters. He took in the room with a single sweep, his grey eyes settling on nothing, before catching sight of Adam, and breaking out into a cold smile. Just out of his vision, he could feel Charlotte tense. He was flanked by four guards, armed, two standing on either side of him at the table, two seated at the bar, even now still half-reaching for barely concealed weapons.

In his mind, Adam was working out the numerous different ways he could play this out. The thugs were poised to get the first strike, and that was a big point in their favour, but were they planning on killing or merely robbing? Were they seasoned criminals, or were they fresh enough to hesitate at the critical point? The other two were experienced, if the way they carried themselves was any indicator. The man had a knife for close quarters, but the other three thugs had pistols, the sort of thing that could be easily used in close quarters as well.

Finally, their leader broke the terse silence.

"So. You are Adam Taurus?"

"Well I'm not the Hero King of Vale, if that's what you're asking." Adam's irritation climbed, as did his suspicion. "What's it to you?"

"First of all, my friend, allow me to congratulate you – I know talent when I see it, and as far as you are concerned, you're truly one of a kind." His voice had a rich sibilance. "I've had plenty of underlings in black suits in my day… a little fist, a little gun, but none that would dare do as you have. Myst has long been a thorn in my side, and I cannot help but feel some level of gratitude to the one who removed him."

"You're welcome, I guess. Though I had my own reasons."

The seated man frowned, taking note at the object on Adam's belt. "You got here earlier than we expected, though. Did my associate outside not welcome you?"

"Yeah..." Adam twirled the sai's handle between his fingers, before tossing it underaarm to the other man, who caught it, and began examining the blade. He'd kept one of the pair; by accident incidentally, keeping the one she'd thrown at him. Mariko herself was still breathing—The fall having apparently knocked all the fight from her. He wasn't sure how much he believed that, at least not with the way she still seemed to be smiling, sighing, and and batting her eyes at him as he fled.

"Don't think we're finished here, baby. I'm not giving up on you yet.."

It was...unnerving, to say the least. Even so, he hadn't been able to bring himself to kill her, and though he would have liked to say he spared her out of compassion, that was hardly the whole truth. Something to reflect on at a later date, but right now, he had more pressing business.

"She tried. But her skills weren't quite up to the task."

He sighed. "Ah yes. I must offer my apologies for Ms Claret. She's been...infatuated with you ever since your little dust up a few weeks back. It's only gotten worse since, to the point where she insisted on testing you herself, and I'm aware she has something of a way with people. As my lieutenant, her opinions have a great deal of value to me, despite her… eccentricities." The swordsman said nothing, merely staring impassively. "I assume you're not pleased with your reception in here, either."

Adam's interest in dialogue was dwindling rapidly. "What do you want?" he repeated, more forcefully this time. One of the weapon toting grunts nearest Adam spoke up. "Listen very, very closely. Show some damned respect. If it was up to me, you'd both be crawling out of here with broken legs."

Adam had the genuine audacity to shrug.

"But it's not up to you, because you're just a knuckle dragging gorilla and nobody gives a damn what you think. Now if I have to repeat myself a third time, I'm liable to get upset."

Xiang, hiding his mirth, raised a hand before his goon could retort.

"I think we could help one another." He offered the same hand to Adam, which was not reciprocated. "Very well then, straight to business: I don't know what your motivations are for going after the late Mr Myst- or The Tarantula, as he sold himself. Whether for professional or personal reasons, these things are irrelevant— but when I see an opportunity I'm not one to pass up on such a chance.

Adam was startled to witness a flicker of real concern cross Charlotte's face. Had he not been looking at her – had he even blinked - he would have missed it, so swift was she to marshal her features to neutrality. Her voice was perfectly calm and level; and if he had not seen her reaction with his own eye he would have believed her.

Xiang's eyes caught the silent dialogue between them and merely laughed, the gesture doing nothing but infuriating the bull faunus. "Regardless, I'm not here to get into a juvenile pissing contest. As a matter of fact, as I said, I'm here to offer you an opportunity."

The voice that the man responded with was quiet and calm - but the tone it carried was cold. The two of them stared at one another, each as silent as the grave. They looked into one another's eyes, each awaiting a reply from the other, but neither receiving anything but a frosted glare.

"Mr Liu." Charlotte interjected to break the silence, bowing her head in deference. "If this concerns the matter of our protection money, I can only apologize and say that there must be some kind of mistake, as our percentage has already been paid in full this quarter. If the amount has changed, I would be happy to rectify that, though you may wish to ensure that your collectors inform us beforehand in the future." Half the effort was finding her voice. The other half was keeping it steady. She realised she was slouching and brought herself to attention— sycophantry wouldn't help here. The balance was being respectful without appearing weak. It wasn't exactly ideal, but she supposed she couldn't be surprised that Xiang had so quickly discovered Myst's death. Criminals in this city routinely made a habit of spying on one another, "to watch each other's backs". More commonly, in her own experience, it was invariably to work out where exactly to plant the knives.

She knew he'd amassed a generous fortune at the expense of countless lives. Liu had ambitions, ambitions to take control of the criminal underworld, a fact that had made him a number of enemies and an even greater number of fearful underlings. And now he had eyes on them. On him.

Well, fuck if that wasn't the single most ominous thing she'd heard all day. The context implied he wasn't about to have them executed on the spot, but being singled out was not a good thing, ever.

"It does not. My business concerns Mr Taurus."

Charlotte swallowed tersely. She wasn't going to leave Adam out to dry if she could help it. Speaking of the man, he was tense, but he'd seemingly taken a step down from imminent murder. His expression was a cross between confused and pissed off, but he was watching her, not Xiang– hopefully taking cues. And indeed, he had begun to understand that it was betting against the house to ever be surprised by Charlotte demonstrating skill with people; She knew how to read them like Adam knew swordplay, bred down deep into his bones and honed by circumstance and necessity.

When Adam had turned that terrible look her way, she valiantly smothered her flinch. There were many times she liked to draw attention to herself and this was absolutely not one of them. At least she could pretend she had any sort of handle on this. "Excuse me then, but would you mind explaining precisely what it is you want with us?"

"All in good time. First, I would like to inform you of the good news."

"Good news?"

Adam narrowly restrained a scoff. Good news. The man didn't want to start playing at being some religious evangelist, now did he?

"Last night, Police Captain Sullivan Harris showed up in front of an abandoned lot." Xiang took the time to draw out the silence, watching their reactions. "Dead."

Adam said nothing, though Charlotte's mind meanwhile, was still racing.

In a way that was good news. Dead men didn't talk after all, and they certainly didn't hold grudges. More importantly, if this information had reached Xiang, then it had reached everyone else in the underworld. Which meant that it was probably exaggerated to the point of uselessness. Hundreds of two bit thugs would line up to take credit for his death, for the prestige of being a cop killer. Best of all, they hadn't been the ones to kill him anyway. It could never be traced back to them; none of it could. So why was Xiang here?

It was definitely a cause for concern. One that was exacerbated by his next words.

" With his death, along with that of Mr Myst, Kuchinashi's underworld is in disarray. It's likely to get worse before it gets better. Two of the three factions in this city are now leaderless, too busy vying for control internally to pay much attention to anything else. Given time, I'm sure they would regroup and pick up where they left off. But in the meantime, I intend to pick up the pieces."

Adam raised an eyebrow.

"And that, is where you come in, Mr Taurus."

"Sorry to interrupt." Adam interjected, sounding anything but. "But you've left some important things out in your little speech."

Xiang paused, confused. "Oh?"

"Satisfy my curiosity. What's stopping me from seeing how many times I can twist your head around that skinny neck of yours before it comes off like a tomato on the vine?"

The Serpent Head chuckled. "You know, I think you might actually mean that. I rather imagine you could, too. From what I've seen with my own eyes, and from what Mariko has reported to me, I sincerely doubt there's even a single one of my men who could stop you if you had a mind to do as you claimed. But can you say the same for her?"

The Serpent Head steepled his fingers.

"Say you do as you mean. Do you believe it would be the end? I do have other men you know. Dealing with you would be a challenge of course, but even you cannot be everywhere at once. And unlike you, Ms Cavitica isn't quite so martially adept. It would simply be a matter of distracting you by throwing bodies en masse." Xiang continued, " From there, we'd have a number of options. I may even make some profit from them."

One of the guns rose up to the level of Charlotte's head at a motion of Xiang's hand. "Her eyes would sell for fifty thousand lien each, leaving her blind but otherwise in good health." The gun dropped again. "She could live without her pancreas. It would make me a further one hundred thousand lien. While she recovers from each operation, I could drain off her blood cells and plasma. They could be kept frozen and sold at five hundred lien a pint. And finally, of course, there is her heart. The heart of a young healthy woman could fetch up to a million lien more. Do you see, Mr Taurus? Killing me does you no favours… and it does your lovely friend even less."

He sighed dramatically, missing the way that the swordsman's irises flashed scarlet, and his sclera bled black.

Adam's rage had reached a cold plateau. Instead of making him shake or blurring his mind in a red mist, everything was clear and focused. His words had a frosty clarity. He spoke almost calmly, clinical even. "And now the snake sheds his skin. You lack honour. That hardly speaks well to any kind of arrangement." His tone was more than enough to unnerve Xiang's guards, if his visage didn't do it first.

"Perhaps…" Xiang said with the faintest hint of appeasement, "but no more so than most men. If honour is what you seek, this city will never suit you."

"Kuchinashi… intrigues me." Adam defended, though the venom that had become an ever present shroud in this encounter was tinged with something new… doubt perhaps?

Xiang chuckled.

"You are a terrible liar. I see the contempt in your face. It's more than clear that you have a strong distaste for me. For what I do. I wouldn't expect you to comprehend yet. You are young. All you know is what you see. Little knowledge of the world around you, or of the past. You speak of honour loosely. The way a furious child would when he catches his parents in a lie. And like that child, you have yet to accept the greatest secret of this world; that honour is a figment of the imagination. The pride men cling to in helping them through their lowly existence."

The older man tightened his grip on the table with one hand and Adam could practically hear the wood straining under his grip.

"You've seen this city. Do you think that all of this," He waved his hand. " is a product of honour? No. It is nothing more than a kabuki girl thrust into a sequined dress. This entire land is dead; corrupted from its foundations. Even it's Huntsmen… moral hypocrites that they are, shoving false values down our throats while casting them aside at every opportunity. There is no honour in them. No honour in what they do to those unfortunate enough to be at their mercy. And as you well know, that goes triple for the Spiders. Honourless dogs, the lot of them. Why should they not be paid in the wages they have earned?"

He took a moment to calm his nerves,mastering the slip in his composure before continuing.

"What you're looking for, you'll find nowhere but at the end of a bottomless pit. Men like you and I, men who believe in principle, are a dying breed."

Adam scoffed, although that earned him a surreptitious kick from Charlotte. "You talk as if I want something from you."

"You want what everyone who comes here wants. Answers. You travel from the wilderness, to this cesspit. You see what can only be charitable described as people, selling their honour for scraps, and the question you must have been asking yourself, the one that dwells in the deepest recesses of your mind even now, is: 'how is this is possible?' If honour is lost, what is left? And the answer is simple.." Xiang settled into his seat. "Power. It's time to grow up, Mr Taurus. Help me punish these wretches for their arrogance."

There was conviction in his voice and it gave Adam pause. It hadn't been too long ago where he'd thought near identical thoughts. He had despised the inherent evil and hypocrisy in the people around him that he had desired seclusion from the world, set on burying himself in the one thing that in his eye, was still pure. Part of him still wanted that. But that didn't mean he would let this so-called crime boss play games with his head.

"You don't trust me, Mr Taurus, and I can accept that. In this business who can truly trust anyone? But there's a saying I'm rather fond of: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." Xiang flashed a smile so wide it threatened to cut his face in half.

"...And which am I exactly?" Adam said finally, his eye finally returning to its dusky cerulean.

The older man barely reacted. "I leave that in your very capable hands."

Adam met his stare without flinching. What Xiang had threatened to do to Charlotte; perhaps his only friend, it wasn't just a random threat; the "I'll get you!" that most people threw at each other in anger but never had the guts to act on. No. This was a threat of someone who knew what could happen and possibly, more than likely, could and would make it so. He knew that kind of voice. And yet here, now, Charlotte was impassive. Her eyes betrayed no glimmer of emotion; there was no fear in her voice, no quaver. Nothing but steel.

"Say what you have to say..."

And it was that, more than anything else Xiang had said, which stayed Adam's hand.

"The unfortunate charges that were being drawn up by this city's inept police department for a man fitting your description. They've been dropped. A paperwork error here and there. The bodies were after all, beyond recognition, and doesn't take a genius to figure out exactly how they died. As adept as Ms. Cavitica is, she is not without flaws. It was an inspired scheme, I'll give you both that. Dump the bodies outside the city and make it look like a Grimm attack. I even thought to provide you with a little much needed aid."

At the somewhat incredulous looks on the pairs' faces, Xiang allowed himself to smile.

"Ask yourself this, Mr. Taurus. The Spiders are an organization that spans a good majority of the continent, with ties everywhere. If even one of Myst's surviving members had a grain of sense, they could have called on support from the capital, if only to defend their interests. If they wanted to find you they could have done so easily. And why haven't they? Simple." He tapped his foot on the ground twice, "Someone's been keeping them from doing that. Did it not concern you that no one stopped you, or raised the alarm, despite the two of you driving a vehicle carrying several bodies? That the guardsmen just happened to be away from their posts, and the gates unlocked? How do you think you both evaded the law and reprisals from the remnants of both the police and the Spiders so easily?"

"Are you finished tugging your own horn, or are you going to find a point some time soon?" Adam retorted, before Charlotte gave his arm an insistent tug.

Xiang again, paid no mind to the faunus' barbs. "If I wanted you dead I could have simply kept quiet, leaked the information on who was responsible for both the attack on the Serenade Lounge and the death of its owner to Mr Myst's loyalists, and taken advantage of the confusion to consolidate my powerbase while my enemies fought among themselves. No. I'm offering you an olive branch here, and I'm sincerely hoping you don't waste it."

"You also have my personal guarantee that the Spiders will not bother you or Ms Cavitica in the time that you are performing this task, and neither will any members of the Serpent Clan so long as we continue our dealings. We don't have to trust each other, but we can still come to a level of mutual benefit."

"...I'm not going to kill for you."

"And I wasn't asking you to. You're more than just a lowly hitman for hire, and I wouldn't sully your skills with something as crass as killing some gangbanger down the block. Instead… I want you to find something for me."

He reached into his inner pocket, and produced a photograph, sliding it across the table to Adam, who picked it up and studied it carefully.

The girl was around his age; a teenage girl with short black bob style hair, with a straight fringe and pale green eyes, highlighted by heavy red makeup. She wore a dark red strapless dress, including a large long wing-like red feather and two short white feathers above her left ear. A short garish black fur shrug held by four beaded chains covered her shoulders, with a white gemstone at the centre of her neck. As far as Adam was concerned, she was just another human with poor taste.

"Who is she?"

Charlotte was the one to speak, asking the very question that had been about to leave Adam's lips.

"Her name is Miltia Malachite."

From Charlotte's reaction, he guessed that was supposed to mean something, but Adam was completely in the dark. After waiting for a moment and seeing that no one cared to elaborate, he spoke.

" Anyone care to fill in the rest of the class on some key points? Which would be somewhere between the start of your sentence till now." Adam interjected, breaking the silence. A little knowledge never hurt. Well, that wasn't always strictly true, but he was pretty sure that this wasn't one of those exceptions.

"She's—" Charlotte started, before being silenced by Xiang.

"She is the youngest daughter of one Julia Malachite, though most know her mother by her nom de guerre 'Miss Malachite'. Her mother was Mr Myst's superior among other things, and happens to run a substantial number of rackets and enterprises from the capital as the boss of the Spider Syndicate, several of which have begun to conflict with my own. "

He leaned closer.

"I won't bore you with the full specifics. Suffice to say that should these activities continue, there will be severe consequences for more people than you can imagine."

"So what would you have me do?"

"In truth, I have nothing against her daughter. I merely mean to use this as leverage. I want you to use your considerable skill to bring her to me. Alive."

"Why me?"

"That much is simple. My men are loyal, for the most part, but this is a challenge that few if any, would be willing to undertake. You however, are an outsider. You have no ties, no allegiances, and you are clearly unafraid to make enemies. In the unlikely event you fail, I can simply claim plausible deniability with no risk to myself."

"Either way, you win and I lose. Do I have that right?" Adam was short with everyone, but Charlotte was familiar with him enough by now to detect an edge to his voice. He was the kind of guy that would pull fight-or-flight if somebody made eye contact with him. Not exactly useful input when it came to dealing with the fragile line between potential allies and potential enemies.

"I would like to think we both benefit," Xiang replied evenly. We do have a common enemy after all. My motives should be obvious; with Malachite the younger gone, the reputation of the Spiders is liable to take a hit after it becomes clear their leader can't hold onto her own kin, much less those who rely on them for protection. And should you wish to use the logic of pragmatism, then you should be aware that I have nothing to gain by lying to you. And if that isn't enough… I can ensure there are monetary incentives."

"I'm getting paid for this?"

"Of course. You've done me one service, and I do not intend to allow another to go unrewarded. Five thousand now, Five thousand on completion. Ultimately it's up to you." He reached under the table by his feet, his hand emerging with a small attachè briefcase, which he laid on top of the table expectantly. Tentatively, Adam approached, hands fiddling and, after some effort, popping the clasp.

The case was filled with turquoise plastic cards with rows of small notations on the front. Five thousand lien, all in unmarked twenties. Absently, he heard Charlotte whistle in disbelief.

"Consider it an apology for disrupting your home. That and the… unpleasantness. "

"I see…" Adam managed, doing his best to keep his thoughts to himself for once.

Xiang nodded, satisfied by the speedy response. "Excellent. You'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon. Will you accept?"

Only a matter of months ago, Adam would have ejected Xiang and his entourage onto the street via the window without further comment and damn the consequences. Instead he stood from the table, offering his hand to Xiang and doing a half decent job of keeping the disgust off his face.

"I'm interested in your current problem. Consider us partners as long as our interests coincide. So long as we clear some things first."

Xiang leaned forwards, nodding.

"... If you threaten me or her again… I'll leave just enough left of you for the vultures to fight over. Understood?"

Xiang's smile never wavered.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He hadn't had much of a chance to say his goodbyes to Charlotte; she hadn't exactly been best pleased with him the previous day. No sooner had Xiang left, had she rounded on him furiously for his 'cavalier' attitude towards their lives.

"Adam." A long-held breath whistled through her nose. "What. The. Hell."

"Tch." The sound clung to his throat, terse and derisive. "This is what you dragged me here for?"

"Like hell I did – don't try and turn this around on me." Anger was good. She didn't have to consider who she was grappling with. How he'd looked. "You can't just mouth off here – what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that he needed to learn where we stand."

Incredulity lent her a new pitch. There was nothing resembling regret in his voice, and her jaw tightened all the more. "That's not how it looked to me." "He could have had y-us, killed."

"Uh huh," Adam mumbled in an absentminded manner, leaning back onto his elbows. "Even so, I'm not some mongrel to be kicked. I'd rather die a man than live like a dog."

Her respect for him silently crept up several notches, but not enough to quell her displeasure. More worryingly though… there was a trace of a manic glitter in his eye. Someone who just didn't care because they didn't care about anything, not just because they had confidence. The Adam she'd met behind the bar all those months ago hadn't cared one way or another about "impossible odds." This Adam seemed to want them.

It vanished quickly enough, replaced by his trademark scowl as he crossed his arms. "More to the point, just because Xiang wants me for something doesn't mean he isn't going to kill us both anyway when he's done with me. I could smell the snake oil rolling off him, and I'm not just saying that because of his little gang's name. It's just what they do, right? Tying up loose ends. So yeah. Not especially thrilled."

Charlotte sighed. "Sometimes you just have to man up and deal with the assholes, okay?" She tried an encouraging grin, once again failing to get a response. He was right and she knew it, but she wasn't about to start giving him ground now, if only because she knew full well it would just enable him in the future."There are other ways to screw people over than threatening assisted chest cavity surgery, trust me. We'll work something out."

He made a noncommittal noise, refusing to even look up at her.

They'd gone to bed without speaking further, but Adam had woken early, finishing his preparations to find her downstairs already, trying to fit what looked to be a mop into the small cupboard under the stairs. The sound of his footsteps above her had drawn her attention and she looked up to meet him, leaning her good shoulder against the door, which closed with a satisfying click.

Taking note of his appearance, she hummed to herself absently, though whether or not it was put of approval or disappointment, he couldn't say.

"You're just taking one bag?"

Adam shrugged, stopping in place and using his free hand to steady himself against the bannister. "I haven't got much stuff. The bag, and my weapons. Besides, probably best I travel light. Don't plan on being there long."

He reached the the stairs, neatly sidestepping her as she passed him on her way to the bar, her gait brisk and shoulders hunched. Her face, when he turned to follow her, was hard and sombre. As she settled into one of the battered leather chairs, Adam propped himself on the edge of the doorframe across from her.

She was silent for an oddly long time, chewing her lip, before speaking again.

"I'm just trying to help you, you know. I don't me-" She cut herself off.

It was a different voice – nobody could match hers – but the inflection was identical. His mother had used those very same words on him, several times, when her eternal war against his antisocial tendencies came to a boil.

"I know." He answered quietly, moving to sit next to her.

Affection was something he craved for too, more than acceptance. Some of his moral codes were... inconvenient, but not unbendable. This was the first time in years she'd cared about someone. This was the first time in years she'd cared about anything. But she hadn't needed to say it, and he didn't need her too. They sat together in silence, ignorant of time passing around them, each lost to their own thoughts.

The loud honk of a car horn outside broke their reverie.

"I think that's my chariot," Adam said, standing to his feet.

She finally turned to him, and he was relieved to find a hint of her usual humor.

"You take care of yourself. You die, I'll look stupid, you hear?" Her tone was light, but her expression was far too pensive to match.

"Bold of you to assume you need my help for that." Adam's voice however, betrayed his true feelings; a mix of mirth and worry. "Sure, I'll avoid biting down on a bullet while I'm there. Long as you do the same. Besides, you still owe me a card game lesson."

"Poker," Charlotte corrected him. "Give 'em hell, Hornhead." She clapped him on the back.

Adam picked up his bag and weapon, then turned and nodded. "I will, Charlotte." He saluted (with the hand holding the sword, it somehow managed to look cool instead of stupid), and was off.

---

Xiang had wanted to make sure that Adam upheld his end of the bargain, it seemed, having sent two cars with some of his own men, cocooning a third chunky sedan to escort him to the station personally. He was to be dropped off at the railway station by midday, the estimated time of arrival of his train to Mistral. Adam would have been insulted at the idea that his word wasn't good enough for the man, but given his own total lack of faith in his current benefactor, he couldn't exactly begrudge him for it. Apparently, they'd also been instructed not to speak to him, since none of them uttered a word as he got in, which suited Adam just fine.

The view of his surroundings beyond the sedan were mostly obscured behind black windows, supposedly offering protection to the passengers, but he had begun to assume it was for more nefarious purposes, though what they could be, he couldn't divine. He took it in all the same. In a short time, the city had begun to feel like a new home, and he knew it would be the last he'd see of it for a while.

On reaching the station, he was handed two slips of paper— one, a train ticket, the other, a scroll number to call once he was in the capital, and no sooner had they touched his hands, the makeshift convoy had left, peeling back onto the road and out of sight. Making his way inside, he was then informed that the train was an hour late. Because of course it was. He considered checking his scroll, growled when he realized he'd put it away in his bags instead of his pockets before, taking his seat on one of the nearby benches to wait.

He had almost forgotten how it felt to walk by the time the train finally screeched to a halt in front of him and the bodies around him shuffled past to make their hurried exits. Through the overhead intercom, a robotic voice stated plainly the time and place, doling out its usual instructions through the white noise of people flitting to and fro. When he reached the platform, he stepped up through the first set of open doors he came to and immediately began to twist his way out of his duffel, carrying it in his free hand so he could better maneuver down the cramped aisle.

The train had baggage, coach, sleeping and dining cars. By the presence of sleeping cars, he figured that meant the train was at least a few overnight trips to get between Kuchinashi and Mistral. Forty-nine hours in transit—fifty-four, with delays. After some navigating, he managed to find an empty compartment near the rear of the train. It wasn't exactly luxury, but it mattered little to the faunus. The room was 4'6" by 6'8", and framing the window were two plush seats; interspaced by a small checkered folding table.

As soon as he sat down, Adam felt his body begin to relax, the firm seat easing the stiffness in his legs , his hands heavy and uncurling from Wilt's sheath, now in his lap. His thoughts briefly strayed to the shotgun and pistols that had been hidden somewhere in his duffel. For some reason, the railway staff seemed to take exception to people waving guns around but swords? Perfectly fine. Was good to know human stupidity hadn't been cured while he'd been staying with Charlotte.

On the plus side, people had given him a rather wide berth regardless, so he supposed it was true that there were silver linings on every cloud.

It didn't take long for the train to start moving.

As they left the city limits, Adam quickly became fixated on the rolling hills and mountainside outside the window. Lush trees covered the landscape with a flourish of warm colors. Pale yellow, sunset orange, and apple reds and greens swirled together as the wind ruffled the leaves. He could barely hear the soft slough of the machinery propelling him across the continent.

Taking the time to dig around for his scroll, Adam decided it might be a good idea to check the time or perhaps send a message to Charlotte. The woman had given him her scroll number, with express instructions to keep in contact while he was away, and Adam had accepted, if only to mollify her ire. There was no clock on the train, and he wasn't about to go out and ask one of the other passengers every few minutes.

His scroll screen lit up a brilliant white for the briefest of seconds...and then refused to turn on, flashing a low battery icon. What remained of his good mood had soured substantially. 'How could it possibly be out of battery?!' He had charged it mere hours ago!

Before he could think of how to address the problem, the sounds of footsteps and voices at the door stole his attention away. He quickly stowed his device away in his bag. Not for the first time in his life, he regretted only having one eye; he couldn't see who it was who was standing outside. They didn't seem a threat, but Adam daren't risk moving.

"We should keep it down… we don't want to disturb people."

One of the voices was distinctly male. Reserved, young, and even Adam would be remiss in failing to notice the note of exasperation in his tone.

"Aww, you worry too much! Look! This one's empty!"

The second voice made him cringe. It was female, loud, annoying, and grating. She sounded young if not younger than the male, but he could hear her practically vibrating on the balls of her feet over the soft sounds of the machinery of the train. 'Please don't come in here…' He begged mentally.

His begging went unheeded, as the door opened with a loud bang, and loud heavy feet stampeded inside.

Hiya!" the ginger girl said confidently. He started at the sound of her voice. Damn it, she was definitely speaking to him. Did he just not look menacing enough, or had she singled him out for a different reason?

When Adam gave no response, the girl cocked her head to the right, squinted her eyes, and scrunched up her mouth as if investigating him. "You a mute or something?" the girl questioned finally.

"Nora!"

Her friend cried out, aghast at her lack of propriety. You didn't just blurt out that kind of thing!

"What, Renny? I was just askin'!"

'Renny' frowned. "You can't just blurt out stuff like that! It's rude!"

"Aww, you worry too much, Renny. It's fine! Besides, if he is a mute, then he can't hear me, and there's no harm done!"

Adam growled, flushed with embarrassment as well as contempt; he was almost never at a loss for words and didn't take kindly to others implying that they thought him unintelligent. "One." He uttered, glowering with all the menace he could muster. "That's not how that works. Two, no I'm not." His words were sharp and quicker, cutting off any form of retort." And three; even if I was, it wouldn't stop me from reading your lips."

He'd hoped his tone would be enough to cow the girl into silence, but to his horror, she only seemed to become more emboldened by his response, turning to her friend in delight.

"Aha! I knew I could get him to talk! See Renny, I told you he wasn't mute! Detective Nora closes another case!"

'Renny', apparently ignoring that moments earlier, she had said the exact opposite, quirked an eyebrow.

"I thought you were 'Queen Nora'."

"Of course I am, Renny! I just moonlight as a detective by night."

"It's the middle of the afternoon."

The girl tapped her nose knowingly, as she carelessly flounced right into the seat next to Adam, with no regard for his personal space. "Ah, but it was night yesterday. So technically, I'm just late for my shift."

'Gods above, what did I do to deserve this?!'

The train was beginning to gather speed, and he noted with some idle curiosity that her legs were swinging pendulum-like, back and forth in time with the motion of the train. There was a goofy grin plastered across her face. Her clothes were simple, efficient, and seemed durable. However, the knees were worn and dirt powdered her whole body.

She wiped her nose swiftly, out of habit. This action gave Adam the opportunity to see the girl's hands were rough with calluses and overwhelmed by dirt. The boy's were no better, despite how feminine he had first appeared. Fighters then. But if Adam had to make a guess, they were probably stowaways, if the heavy looking camping backpacks they'd just shuffled under their seats were any indication. He wondered if he could run them off by calling for a steward and asking to have his ticket checked, but that meant calling more people into his rapidly shrinking personal comfort zone. Besides, if they were stowaways, it was none of his business. Provided they left him alo-

"Are you a pirate? Oh! I always wanted to meet one! Do you have a flying ship? A treasure chest?! I always told Renny pirates still existed, but he never believes me when I say it,cause he always says the pancake monster isn't real either, but I know it i—"

"Nora!"

"It's fine," he said gruffly, brain struggling to catch up on everything she'd said. It was like talking to nine people at once, and he was slipping. Conversations outside of his interests were never his forte to begin with.

He glanced away , debating on whether or not he should just walk out on the girl. It was more of a compromise than anything else; part of him that sounded like a suspicious fusion of his mother and Charlotte nagged at him that such an action would be rude, while primal cornered instincts wanted to remove the annoyance directly; legal issues be damned. She probably had aura. What harm would a crushed voicebox cause?

Then he considered the attention and noise and people it might bring along, and mentally held back a sorrowful wail.

This was going to be a long journey.

---

They'd formally introduced themselves eventually, when Nora finally had to take a breath in between babbling; Nora Valkyrie, (she'd yelled at a pitch close enough to shattering the glass windows of their compartment) and Lie Ren, in an attempt to be friendly and apologise for his exuberant companion. Adam had done the same, both out of a sense of courtesy, but more prominently, because he had quickly grown unamused with Nora calling him Redrust the Pirate.

The problems truly began when the conductor had made the decision to make a temporary stop in the middle of a forested wilderness. Apparently word had come through on the radio of roaming Grimm further north on the track, and official orders were to wait for them to be cleared out by the local Huntsmen. Adam's first thought was that it was a shame— he'd happily have helped out.

Not because he cared all that much, or that it would interest him wasting his time on weaklings, or even felt particularly altruistic, but it would have gotten him out of his current predicament for a while. Which was the bad news; the passengers were officially supposed to remain on the train until the conductor was to receive word on departure. A feeling Nora seemed to share.

"This sucks!"

She declared loudly, startling both Adam and Ren out of their seat, as she crossed her arms and pouted.

"We could play a game?" The boy suggested, though his voice sounded about as enthused as Adam felt.

"Like what?"

"Eye spy?"

"Hmmmm..."

She tapped her jaw with a finger and smiled, her eyes glittering in the sunset.

"I spy with my little eye…"

'She's a child, Adam. You can't toss her off a moving train…'

The faunus fought down the urge to scream, instead turning his face to the window, taking care to keep his good eye semi-closed. After he had discovered intimidation and direct confrontation were useless, his new strategy to avoid conversation was to feign sleep. A simple, if not particularly brave strategem. And one that had been surprisingly effective, at least in the short term, even if Valkyrie's attempts to be 'quiet' ended up being as loud if not louder than her "inside voice."

Travelling long distances by train was a tranquil, yet annoyingly tense experience. While Adam didn't mind the travel, he did mind being seated with chatty people who wanted to make conversation for the duration of the ride.

What Adam hadn't realized was the fact that Nora Valkyrie was going to be within a five-foot radius from him for an unforeseeable amount of time, or the risk that she could start jabbering again at any moment, and his instinctive reaction to any prolonged exposure to that voice that did not involve weaponry, or useful information was the same reaction he would have had towards an Atlesian Military bombing run – to get the hell away.

Finally, he couldn't take anymore. He'd "awoken", made for the exit to their compartment, making some excuse; he hadn't cared to remember what it was, and without giving her a chance to object, he turned on his heel and strode away.

He wanted- needed to be somewhere inaccessible once she was done violating the brain of her companion. Suddenly Adam frowned. Ren had seemed… surprisingly decent. For a human anyway. Did he feel guilty about handing off his ginger problem to him, on the other hand?

…No. No, he did not, he decided a moment later.

The other problem he had yet to consider fully in his haste, was the fact he was on a train. Which meant there was only a finite amount of distance he could put between himself and Valkyrie before he ran out of room to run.

And minutes later, that was what he had found; the dining cars of the train; one end of the car containing a galley at the far end, with an aisle next to it, so passengers could pass through the car to the rest of the train, while the end nearest him had booth seating on either side of a centre aisle.

In that moment, Adam put together two things.

Firstly, he'd somehow managed to cross the entire length of the train and all of the other compartments were full of people.. That wasn't as much of a problem as he'd made out— He thought, sliding into one of the booths-the rest of the train wasn't going anywhere, and he at least had a moment's peace in the here and now.

Unfortunately, secondly, and more alarmingly, he'd left his duffle behind.

On the chair.

In the compartment.

With Valkyrie.

Adam swore.

As if in response, a voice suddenly sounded out.

"Hello, I'm Lisa Lavender. I want to welcome our viewers around Remnant and here in The Kingdom of Atlas. We begin with breaking news. The footage you're seeing is…" rumbled the quiet buzz of a small television hidden in the corner of the car, playing some 24 hour news station.

On the screen, bold white letters appeared on a pitch-black background. The letters quickly spelled out "ANN" before they, and the background, disappeared with a bright flash. A woman with light-purple hair was suddenly on-screen, staring at the camera from her seat at a large, crescent-shaped deck, a stack of papers gripped in both hands. The woman's face was set in a stern countenance, and after the camera zoomed in to get a closer shot, her lips began to move without sound.

The bull faunus leapt up in surprise, his eye resting on the flickering screen that was now blaring an annoying static between fuzzy clips of the reporter. So much for that, then. He was rather surprised there was even a signal to reach out here. It was probably for the best that he didn't watch the show anyway, even if it was a choice between that and another rerun of the Nora-Valkyrie-special-that-didn't-know-when-to-end. The last thing he needed was to hear about how the Belladonna Brain Trust were doing from people too stupid to know better.

Then again, he thought with a wry smirk. This was an Atlesian network. Maybe it would be fun to watch them rip into Belladonna, between the flagrant disgust and thinly veiled racial slurs. He wasn't one for compromises, but he was sure he could have handled that trade off.

"...clash between the 'White Fang' and anti faunus protesters erupted in violence when civil activist Ghira Belladonna, aided by the renegades known as 'The Happy Huntresses' led over six hundred marchers across the Valeureux Bridge in Central Mantle, and faced brutal attacks by oncoming state troopers, who were called to intervene and disperse the violence. The deaths, as well as widespread peaceful protests, have at times been overshadowed by the shocking images of heavy-handed police and military tactics, as well as vandalism and arson. The..toll...circumstances of the killings are still being sorted out. Dozens ...injured... chaos, and the remaining faunus agitators were forced to flee the city."

"Atlas' chief investigative agency claimed that the police found Belladonna in the street, severely beaten, barely managing to bring him to the Central police st-...The official statement from the spokesmen for the Mantlean Police Department is that a preliminary inquest into his death is still underway."

Death.

Never before had Adam noticed how time was much like water; that it could pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink. The minutes passed like thousands of camera frames per second shown one at a time. In the slow time-bubble of those words, the birdsong outside was louder, coldness was colder and colours were brighter. All the while his insides felt as if there was nothing there, nothing to need feeding, nothing to have any need of anything at all.

He swallowed convulsively, trying and failing to dispel the sudden tightness in his throat. He wanted to somehow express his emotions, yet what poured forth from his lips sounded akin to astonishment. Indeed, it might have been just that. He screwed his eye shut, ignoring the discomfort of trapped moisture under his eyelid. The past and present blended into a seamless vision, and he was unable to distinguish between them.

He no longer cared.

Adam Taurus laughed.

The lack of oxygen didn't matter. All the anguish of the past few days melted like a snowball on hot sand. He could feel in his lungs, so hard that it took his breath away. But he just couldn't stop. It was a high cold chuckle, piercing the air like a knife. Adam hardly recognized the voice as his.

"Gods," he whispered to himself, his voice breaking.

Belladonna was dead.

Belladonna was dead.

He was dead!

Adam almost couldn't trust that triumph secondhand.

After everything. After all of the worrying. All of the sorrow. All of the wondering if he'd done the right thing by trying to compromise his desire for vengeance with his mother's wishes, he was dead. And not only was he dead, he was dead by the hand of humans no less, the very same that he had so eagerly been willing to sacrifice his unwitting lemmings for, who he had cast off like chaff simply to receive their favor and acceptance.

He snorted, and found it wasn't actually very funny at all. It wasn't that he was sorry that he'd been wiped from the world, far from it—He'd had long suffering dreams of the day that Belladonna reaped the harvest he had sown, at his own hand in a few of them. Now Adam apparently had what he wanted, because he'd skipped that day entirely, and all he could think of now was how badly he wanted to go back to the way things were before.

What was the point of it all now?

Tears gathered in the corners of his eye, as he was fully swept into a rising tide of madness, laughing still, as they were threatening to spill over. Charlotte had told him that it didn't matter who pulled the trigger, that you didn't have to be the instrument to own an act of revenge. That it was enough to know you'd made it happen. She'd been lying to him at the time. But now, he wondered if she hadn't been right about it anyway. The fact hit him like a brick wall, His stomach lurched and he buried his head in his hands. Nothing he could have ever orchestrated could have been this karmic, this...satisfying. Something that had seen Belladonna fall to the same fate he had so gleefully abandoned his mother to in the name of "progress."

Had he raged at his powerlessness before he died? Had he seen the irony of his demise in the moments before his blood turned cold and the light left his eyes? Adam had thought that knowing these details would have been worthwhile, but standing here now, it just... wasn't important anymore.

The man's end had happened with such… spontaneity that even he, as hard bitten and cynical as he was, couldn't help but think that maybe it had somehow been meant to happen. Ordained. He didn't normally subscribe to that kind of sappy, melodramatic nonsense, but he was currently at a loss for any other way to explain it.

It was then that slowly, a sobering thought crept into his brain. He felt his neck hairs stand on end, watched his hand clench and unclench on the table with an uncomfortable realization.

The last loose end from his past… gone.

There was really nothing to go back for. Sure he knew that already, but he'd never really known it.

With that parasite dead, it called into question, more than anything else, nearly everything he'd forced himself to believe in. The venomous hatred that he'd cultivated, that which had made him strong enough to endure any insult thrown his way without flinching. The hatred that allowed him to be indifferent to a world that had turned its back on him. It kept him going when all else failed. It had served him well, and he suspected it would for as long as he lived. But he didn't know if it was enough now.

He wanted more. He wanted to live. Not to carry on anyone's legacy, or for revenge. He wanted to live, for himself. Why torment himself over something he was never meant to be? This is how his life was going to feel from now on, until he died. This is what his life was supposed to be.

"Would you like anything to drink, sir?"

Jolted from his thoughts; he hadn't even realized, numb as he was to the world around him. He must have missed the announcement. The train was moving again now, and it was far easier to occupy himself than it was to think. Adjusting his composure, he stood and turned, avoiding the eyes of the approaching train staff as they passed by him on the way to the galley.

He shook his head, and the stewardess frowned, leaving him behind to join her co-workers.

After all that had occurred, he felt hope. And hope felt good. With hope came the thought that "things would turn around," that somehow, "Someone in the great Somewhere" had stepped into the arena as his champion.

He felt the wind tousle his hair through the open window, cool, refreshing and let his eye fall to the view beyond. The sunset blossomed upon the horizon as if a million scarlet blooms ignited. The confusion, the guilt had left him. No emotion. No more tears. But as he left the compartment to return to his own, two words slipped from him unconsciously.

"Sleep well, Mother."

The whisper disappeared in the wind.

He smiled defiantly.

It was a sign that all was right with the world.

Ren and Nora had been quiet after Adam had left.

Eye-spy had eventually gotten boring, and Nora had felt bad about accidentally insulting the faunus they'd been bumping with.

At first, she'd just been prodding, trying to see if this stranger actually spoke, instead of just sitting around being as menacing as humanly possible. If clipped, awkward replies counted, she guessed she could say he did. He was a little like Renny when they'd first met; touchy, and super-serious.

But still! She didn't mean to make him feel bad about only having one eye! Silently, Nora kicked her feet, planning her devious scheme to befriend him when he returned. She had Renny, but there was never such a thing as too many friends! He wasn't that much older than them, right? And imagine what it would be like to be friends with a pirate!

Her eyes caught sight of a duffle bag, laying across the seat that Adam had once been occupying. A bored Nora was a curious Nora.

"Nora. No."

Ren hadn't even looked up.

"But Renny…"

"No."

"I just want to peek."

"It's not ours."

"Bu-"

When the door opened again, and the redheaded faunus had returned, the two were more unnerved than ever. The new persona had a different demeanour, a casual edge that silenced the two onlookers.

"Sorry. I had to step out for a minute."

Adam managed half a grin.

Nora was the quickest to recover, breaking into her trademark smile and doing her very best impression at innocence.

"No problem! We were watching your stuff for you!" She raised the duffle he had so carelessly left behind. He didn't even have the strength to be annoyed, taking it from her gently and setting it down at the foot of his seat.

Settling down into the vacant spot by the window,, Adam Taurus rested his eye, holding it shut gently, and allowing the warmth of the fading sun to warm his eyelid. The sun enveloped his hair like a blanket of fire, making the red in his hair shine even brighter than it did on an average day. Soon after, the rattle of the train under him and the seat lulled him into a deep slumber, snoring softly. And for the first time in so very very long, he didn't dream.