Note: in the interests of managing expectations, some events in the next few chapters will rhyme with canon, since the nature of canon requires it: all students arrive at Beacon, all students sleep overnight in the ballroom, etc. None of those events will go like they do in canon, because things have changed. The more dramatic divergences will start manifesting in Chapter 5 and grow more profound over time.

I know we're skipping ahead from the last chapter. There's a reason the story unfolds like this- we'll get there.

From Dust Till Dawn had not been Penny's first choice of shop. She had, in fact, visited several shops in Vale that day, and those trips had consumed all her afternoon and evening. Now it was so late that very few stores were still open.

It'd been a good use of her time. She was entering a new phase of her life, and as she understood it, that big a change called for a new wardrobe to help mark the occasion. Penny now had two bags full of alternative outfits for her to try.

As pleased as she was with her choices, it wasn't until she was on her way back to the airship dock that she realized something was missing, inspired by some of the children she'd seen during her trip. Wouldn't the perfect finishing touch be to have stickers or, even better, temporary tattoos for herself to mark this new phase? One on her cheek, or perhaps even both cheeks? Yes, those would work nicely!

That left her with two problems to solve. The first was finding a store that was still open and sold such tattoos, and the second was choosing which tattoo would work best.

The first problem was solved easily. This store, though primarily a Dust shop, was also a 'convenience store'. Penny was rapidly coming to appreciate that term, for it had turned out to be extremely convenient. In addition to all the Dust and Dust accessories it sold, it had magazines, snacks and beverages, and, most importantly, a small vending machine to the side of the door for doling out personal decorations just like she was after.

There was a broad range of choices, enough that her processors reeled at the prospect of having to pick just one. She was immediately attracted to the rainbows for the display of color, which would stand out well against her pale like-skin. Even better, rainbows showed the full spectrum, like a display of all the grand possibilities, and wouldn't that be perfect for a new beginning, a day when anything seemed possible?

But there was also a puppy tattoo, and although the puppy lacked any of the symbolism of the rainbow, it compensated by being incredibly cute. (Her Thesaurus function readily supplied other options: delightful, cuddly, and squeal-inducing. She took a note to modify Thesaurus' code to reduce the breadth of its searches.)

Rainbow or puppy? Rainbow or puppy? She brought up images of her face and the tattoos and superimposed them. That didn't help; both the puppy and the rainbow made her look adorable. (Synonyms: loveable, gorgeous.)

It was almost too hard to decide on a logical basis. Did she really need to turn this over to her random number generator?

The question consumed so much of her attention that she paid no mind when the store's bell rang to announce the arrival of other customers. Oh, she noticed; her Tactical subroutine kept up her situational awareness even when higher consciousness was preoccupied, but until it met certain threat thresholds it didn't divert her primary cycles.

Maybe she was thinking about this the wrong way. Instead of 'rainbow or puppy'… maybe it was 'puppy or rainbow'?

("Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a Dust shop open this late?")

Or… wait. What if… puppy and rainbow? Or would that be too much? Was too much cute possible? Penny didn't even know!

("Please, just take my lien and leave!")

("Shh, shh, calm down, we're not here for your money. Grab the Dust.")

Tactical blared a warning. Penny tucked the aesthetics question into her short-term memory and looked up.

Half a dozen identically-dressed men with openly-held weapons had entered the shop, along with a differently-dressed man with a cane who was clearly their leader. She checked her threat database and got a hit almost immediately: Roman Torchwick, a notorious criminal who'd grown increasingly brazen in weeks past.

"Excuse me," Penny asked, since she had to be sure. "Is this a robbery in progress?"

All eight of the men in the shop stared at her. She felt the strong sense that she was supposed to already know the answer.

"No," drawled Torchwick, "we just needed a little pinch to keep the stove hot tonight."

"But you are carrying weapons," Penny objected.

Torchwick looked pained. "Yes, this is a robbery, and you just became a part of it. Come on, you lugs, do your jobs."

Even as one of the large men (redefined as "hired muscle" and assigned threat values, albeit very low threat values) approached her, Penny felt a great sense of relief. She'd understood the situation after all, and now she was free to act.

She dropped her bags.

As the first hired muscle (redefine: "thug"; "hired muscle" was needlessly long and grammatically awkward) approached, a cleaver held in ready position, Penny stepped forward first and was inside his guard before he'd even realized she'd moved. One hand went to his collar, one to his belt, and—with not even enough effort to register the strain—she threw him bodily out the window of the Dust shop.

"Okaaaay," Roman said, visibly reevaluating her. He looked at the other thugs. "Get her!"

If this fight continued, Penny knew, there was a high chance that the live Dust in the shop would ignite. That was both tactically and ethically unacceptable. Besides, the shop was a confined space, and if she was to use her weapon, she needed room to operate.

She leapt out the window using the hole the first thug had made (or, rather, that she'd made with the first thug). Once she was in the open and a safe distance from the shop, she disengaged the magnetic stow on her back. The hilt of her weapon dropped from inside her shirt into her waiting hand, and with a flourish, she brought it into a reverse guard as—clang-clang—it assumed its battle form, double the width and quadruple the length of its collapsed form.

"Whoa, that's a big sword," said one of the thugs.

"Indeed!" said Penny cheerily. "Specifically, this is Elektra, and it is a Dust-Amplified Double-Breadth Claymore with Integrated Burn Dust Projector!"

Five thugs stared at her.

"It's a big sword with a flamethrower."

The deadpan voice came from Penny's right. Penny looked over just enough to see a teenaged girl with yellow bracelets approaching. She had a large volume of blonde hair spilling out behind her, the smallest shorts Penny had ever seen, an open vest over a tank top, and a red sash tied around her right arm. She had a half-smile on her face and a total lack of concern about the many weapons being brandished in the street.

"I know that get-up," she continued as she drew closer to Penny. "You're Junior's goons. You don't have any more manners or sense than last time, either." She looked at Penny. "These jerks bothering you?"

"They are in the middle of attempted robbery," Penny said. "I was performing a citizen's arrest."

The blonde flexed; the bracelets on her hands unfolded into gauntlets with embedded firearms. Tactical classified them as Huntress-grade weapons. "Want a hand?"

"I would appreciate any assistance," Penny said.

The thugs hadn't been idle; they'd used the time to spread out until they covered 180 degrees around Penny's front. Three of them had melee weapons, two had submachine guns, and zero had any chance of harming Penny.

"You take left, I'll take right, and we meet in the middle?" the girl said.

"Accepted," Penny said.

The guns opened fire.

Penny turned the broad flat of her sword towards the guns, felt bullets pattering against it. The left-most thug was using the opportunity to approach, his cleaver raised high.

Penny stepped out from behind her sword to her left, pivoted clockwise, and swung her sword in a broad arc with its flat leading, like she was swinging a giant paddle.

Her blow connected and sent the unfortunate thug flying through the air so far he jostled the submachine gunner. Penny noted that these men seemed to have thin Auras, and dialed down her Power setting from Four to Three.

Setting off in a sprint at the gunman before he could recover, Penny planted Elektra against the street and used it like a pole to vault into a flying kick. She hit him squarely and he, too, briefly joined an Airborne regiment before hitting the face of the Dust shop and falling limp.

Penny turned towards her impromptu ally to see that she'd crumpled her two enemies into a tangled, motionless mess of limbs and weapons. Having disposed of them, Yang charged for the last thug just as Penny did, and that thug seemed to realize all at once that he'd gone from being on the heavy side of a 5-on-2 to the light side of a 2-on-1.

He collapsed on the spot.

The blonde pulled up her charge. "I didn't even touch him," she said.

Penny approached, briefly swapping to IR vision to ensure that he was still breathing. "It appears he fainted," she said.

"That's not very professional for 'professional muscle'," the blonde said with a shrug. "I guess he… couldn't take the heat!"

Penny blinked.

"You know, because you have a flamethrower and I'm—hey, what about that one? He's getting away!"

"Getting away is kind of what I do," said Torchwick, who had used the brief fight to make a break for it. "Being arrested would totally crimp my style. I'd break out, sure, but it's still so annoying. I'm afraid I'll have to pass."

With that he turned his cane towards Penny, who quickly realized that it was more than just a cane.

Penny dodged backwards as a flare exploded where she'd been. When the dazzle faded from her eyes, Penny saw Torchwick two-thirds of the way up a ladder in the alley leading away from the Dust shop.

"You won't escape," said the blonde, but before she could pursue, Penny reached out to grab her wrist. The blonde shot her a hot look that soon melted into confusion. "We should chase this guy," said the blonde.

"No, we should not," said Penny. "Roman Torchwick has eluded capture on many occasions, which suggests he has his escape plans laid out ahead of time. If he is retreating in that direction, there's a reason for it."

The blonde's mouth was open, probably to object, but at that very convenient moment, a Bullhead-class airship roared out of the night sky and hovered alongside the building Torchwick had ascended.

"Okay," said the blonde, "point taken."

Penny, judging that the crisis had passed, let go of the blonde, and the two of them watched as the Bullhead rose into the sky and powered away.

"Well," said the blonde, surveying the mess, "that was a thing."

"Indeed."

Penny jerked in surprise as a third person joined their conversation, dropping down from a height almost into the middle of the two girls. She recognized the figure in an instant. "Professor Goodwitch," she said.

"Professor..." the blonde said, and Penny could see the moment her search of her memory banks retrieved the correct answer. "You're the deputy headmistress at Beacon!"

"Yang Xiao Long," said Goodwitch, "and Penny Pallas. Why are you two out and about on a night like this?"

One of Penny's subroutines acted as a truthfulness filter. It warned her if she was about to say something untruthful, and caused her to simulate a hiccup if she lied anyway. At the system level, Penny knew it as Justness and Integrity Monitoring and Enforcement, abbreviated JIMN. For ease of reference, Penny called it Jiminy.

This time, Jiminy let her speak freely. "I was out doing before-school shopping," she said.

"Ditto," said the blonde.

Analysis subroutine connected Yang's weaponry with her desire to go to school and her appearance, and threw its conclusion into Penny's consciousness. "You are going to Beacon also?" she said with excitement growing in her voice.

"You got it," said Yang, smiling broadly.

"Sen-sational!"

"It's not too late to retract that invitation," Goodwitch said sternly.

Other subroutines ceased to operate as panic consumed all Penny's available processor cycles. "Do you mean that?" she said, and tried not to make it a whine.

Goodwitch looked at the two girls, took in the scene, and sighed. "Not this time, no. At least the two of you had the good sense not to chase after Torchwick to try and catch him on your own."

Penny smiled as positive reinforcement strengthened those parts of her neural net. Yang stiffened.

"For tonight," said Goodwitch, "we have a mess to clean up here, and statements to take from the two of you. I believe that will take us past the departure time for the night's last ferry to Patch."

"Yeah, it will," said Yang with evident alarm.

"You'll stay at Beacon tonight," said Goodwitch. "I'll inform Taiyang that you won't be home until tomorrow."

"You have my dad's number?" said Yang.

Penny couldn't identify the look that came over Goodwitch's face, although Thesaurus made a valiant effort of it. (Dry, stern, unamused, exasperated.) "You're not the first Xiao Long to complicate my life. You and Miss Pallas should sit here on the curb until the authorities arrive."

"Yes, ma'am," said Penny.

Goodwitch gave them another complicated look that Penny saved for future examination, then strode away and drew her scroll. Penny made for the sidewalk and sat down, where Yang joined her. "So," said Yang, "your name is Penny?"

"Yes, it is," said Penny. "And you are Yang Xiao Long."

"That's what dad calls me, anyway," said Yang brightly. "Only when I'm in trouble, though."

That confused Penny. "So he calls you by other names when you're not in trouble? Should I know those names, too?"

"No, it's just a joke," said Yang, sounding as disconcerted as Penny felt. "You know, most of the time people use your first name, but dad only breaks out the full deal when he's trying to get my attention."

Penny thought that one of the functions of names was to get people's attention, but Yang's expression suggested that pushing for more clarification would be counterproductive. "Okay," she said instead. She collapsed Elektra to replace it on its stow.

"Nice sword, by the way," said Yang.

"Oh, thank you very much!" said Penny. "I made it myself and I am very proud of it."

"And I gotta say," Yang went on, "I think sticking a flamethrower on it is tasteful. I run pretty hot myself, you know?"

"Sure, I know," said Penny, but Jiminy alerted on the words and she hiccupped.

"Although," Yang went on, looking at Penny, "I'd say you're more cute than hot!"

And she made a novel hand gesture where she pointed at Penny with both hands with her thumbs raised.

Penny's different subroutines passed Yang's words around and returned "no content" error messages.

"Wow," said Yang, dropping her hands, "tough crowd."

"Oh! Was that a joke?" said Penny.

"Not my best work," said Yang.

"Should I laugh?" said Penny earnestly. She didn't want to disappoint Yang! "I can laugh if you'd like."

"Nah, it's cool. I'll keep working at it."

Yang was composed, but Penny thought that she would be dreadfully embarrassed if she tried a joke that didn't work, and so to spare Yang further embarrassment, she searched for a change of topic.

Found one. "We'll both be going to Beacon, won't we?"

"Looks like," said Yang, and to Penny's delight she perked back up again. "I can't wait!"

"I am full of anticipation, too," said Penny.

Yang laughed easily, which Penny found fascinating. "You've been waiting for this chance for a while, huh?"

"For 83% of my... life," said Penny with a hiccup. She'd very nearly said 'awareness', which would have been more accurate (and measured in days), but that wasn't a word she'd ever seen another person use that way, whereas 'life' was used all the time.

Yang unknowingly played into this a moment later. "I never did the math on it," she said, "but I suppose for me it's been… eleven years? We'll call it 60%-ish of my life, how about that?"

A little bit of Yang's good cheer had faded for reasons Penny couldn't figure. Without seeming to notice it, Yang's left hand had risen to trace over the red sash she wore above her right bicep.

Penny much preferred Yang when she was smiling, though, and so she said, "Being able to do something you wanted to feels very good, doesn't it? Especially when you've been practicing for it for so long!"

Just like that, Yang lit up again. "Hell yeah, like how we wrecked those bozos! They never had a chance!"

One of said bozos (Thesaurus busied itself updating its entries based on Yang's words) raised his head. He noticed Yang and Penny and lowered his head to the street. Penny couldn't tell if he'd fainted again, or if self-preservation had told him to stay down.

Smart, either way.

Unnoticing, Yang rolled along. "You got done almost as fast as me, I was impressed."

"I would have been faster," Penny said modestly, "but I didn't want to hurt them too badly, so I had to slow down to be careful."

Yang's smile changed in a way that made a Tactical raise its threat assessment. "So you were holding back, is that it?"

"Oh, yes," said Penny. "Weren't you?"

"Sure, I didn't want to fill those losers full of pellets even if they are crooks. But that means we can only get a real workout if we spar with each other some time."

"As I understand Beacon's curriculum," said Penny, "that seems unavoidable. I will look forward to that, too!"

Yang cocked her had slightly at Penny, although her smile never wavered. "You know," said Yang, "you don't really talk like most people I've met."

Penny went very, very still.

Because she wasn't like most people Yang had met. That was the cold, hard reality. Penny was not a real girl.

But she wanted to be treated like a real girl. Oh, how she wanted that. She wanted to be with people, to make friends, to learn about them and laugh with them and fight bad guys with them. Could that ever happen, would she ever have that chance, if people knew how not-a-real-girl she really was?

It was a terrifying question with an unknowable answer.

In her panic, she froze as completely as possible to avoid sending any other signals that might betray this secret. (Failing to understand that absolute stillness was itself a giveaway.)

To her surprise, Yang snapped her fingers. "You had a private education, didn't you?"

Penny evaluated this possible cover story as her top priority, ran it past Jiminy (verdict: good enough), and updated her self-profile accordingly. "Yes," she said, and heard the relief in her own voice, which she modulated to tone down. "Yes, I had a private education to this point. Very non-standard. That is one of the things that's so exciting about Beacon! It will be a new experience for me, getting to learn alongside many other students. I can't wait to meet them all."

"I kinda feel the same way," said Yang. "I went to Signal Combat School growing up, so that's not private education, and I did have a bunch of other students around. The thing is, most Combat School students don't get into an Academy. Most of them aren't even really trying to. Almost none of them tried as hard as me, so almost none of them could hang with me. I've been the biggest fish in that pond for, like, three years now.

"But once I get to Beacon, that'll change. We'll be up against the best, other students who care as much as us and can push us to the max, who'll really make us work. Man, I need that so badly."

"I think we have much to learn from each other," Penny said to Yang.

"I think you're right," said Yang. She gave Penny an appraising look. "You know what, Penny? You're alright. Wanna be friends?"

Penny gasped. "Do you mean it?"

"Sure," said Yang with a shrug. "It'll be nice to have a friendly face around, especially one who I know wants to do the right thing and can handle herself in a fight." She gestured at the feebly stirring bodies scattered around them.

Penny could barely contain her excitement. She had run estimates on how long it would take for her to find her first friend, but, having no experience or frame of reference in the matter, the variance in that estimate had been extremely wide. This was close to the short end of her estimates, very nearly the best-case scenario, and that was delightful. If Penny could make her first friend this easily, did that mean she could make more friends easily, too?!

As Analysis set about furiously redoing all her friends-making calculations, Penny clasped her hands together and said, "I am thrilled to be your friend, Yang. When do you think we can start doing Friendship Things? We can try on clothes, and paint our nails, and talk about cute boys! Why, back in the Dust shop I have two bags of clothes even I have not tried on yet!"

Yang chuckled. "Slow your roll, there, Penny. I don't think we'll get to the slumber party stage tonight, not unless Goodwitch puts us in the same room up in Beacon. We'll see what happens once we're students, okay?"

"Okay," said Penny, agreeing with every fiber optic of her being. She was more than okay, in fact.

She was sensational.

Next time: Welcome to Beacon