The lands outside the protective shell of Vale's major city were the most gorgeous in Remnant. There was a rugged kind of charm to revel in. This realm, filled with thickets, oxbow rivers, and jagged rock faces, begged for adventure.
Many would disagree, vehemently. They would submit other locales for consideration.
Places like the morning tundra of Atlas. Or the ahupua'a of Menagerie. Or maybe the endless forests of Mistral. The truly masochistic argued for the deserts of Vacuo.
All of them were formidable answers. However, there was a specific feature that truly set the kingdom of Vale apart. One often overlooked or deemed unremarkable. The eastern end of the Sanus continent was home to numerous plains.
Wide, empty spaces were admittedly a strange feature to adore, but this was all a matter of perspective. Jungles, sands, and ice hid their dangers. Something was always lurking out of sight but never far from mind, subtracting from the beauty.
A plain, be it meadow, prairie, or savannah, was just a plain. Moss and grasses spread across an expanse. When one traveled, they came to appreciate landscapes that hid no secrets nor told no lies.
Unobstructed views were hard to come by. Safety was a scarce commodity on the roads in-between settlements. For travel-weary individuals, there was nothing like laying your head down to rest, knowing whoever stood sentry would give fair warning of an approaching threat.
It was in one of those meadows that the Vale branch of the White Fang had set up camp. They had arrived the night before. In a week they would have to move on to avoid detection. Until then, they could rest, plan, and train in safety.
Trifa watched over her brothers and sisters. Having scaled a medium-sized tree at the tail end of the flatland for this purpose, nothing escaped her attention. The mid-morning sun illuminated the world below.
The enforcer was not technically on guard duty. She simply preferred high spots and the insights they provided. None were aware of her watchful gaze. Just the way she liked it.
She could see what truly went on around their sanctuary.
Sat high above, she caught the happenings. In the middle of camp, training drills were causing new recruits to eat dirt. From the south-east, a hunting party was returning. Near the stream to the west a couple was canoodling without a paddle.
All of these were interesting. None were groundbreaking. What truly got her to sit up and part blue bangs away from her sight came from the north. Trouble had blown in.
Not wanting to waste time climbing down, she created a shortcut. Using her wrist spinnerets, she wove a thin rope. Attaching the sticky webbing to the wood, she kicked off the branch to descend.
Landing with a roll and a pop-up, she reached her feet. The most direct path was a straight line through the exercising newbies. A mouse girl in mid push-up let out an 'eep' as Trifa vaulted over. Their drill leader yelled obscenities at the interruption.
The spider faunus only casually noticed. Her faculties were too busy praying. Hoping she was not too late. She very nearly was.
Three guards had stopped a woman. Her red dress was out of place when posed next to their traditional black and white uniforms. She had not been trying very hard to disguise herself to pass in these lands uncontested.
That may have been the point.
All were calling on her to surrender, snarling past the fangs of their domino masks. Demanding acquiescence. That she wore an amused smile at the threats did nothing to lessen their aggression.
One of them yelled out. "On the ground!"
"Is that any way to greet an ally?" She covered her mouth mirthfully, giving no indication of cooperation.
"We don't align with humans." Another growled.
"So small minded."
"What did you call us!?" The last of the trio shrilled.
Guns that had been directed to the sides for safety were shifted. Now they were squarely placed on the outsider. Her warm titter ended. In place was an icy stare. A flame materialized in her hands, confirming her identity and Trifa's fears.
"Wait!" She interjected.
The guards flinched, not expecting anyone from behind. Thankfully, there was enough instilled discipline for them not to shoot. They jumped again when they regarded her.
Recovering from the scare, a guard asked. "Why, sister? Who is this?"
"A guest."
There was a murmur of bewilderment. Their rifles lowered. The woman sashayed towards Trifa with blatant disregard for those that had held her at gunpoint.
"What can I do for you?" Trifa gulped as the fire extinguished itself. "Ma'am."
"Finally, some manners. I have business with Adam."
"He's out on a mission."
"Of course." A put-upon sigh escaped her lips. "May I speak with whomever he left in charge?"
Although phrased as a request, the intent was anything but. Trifa shooed away the guards. They had no idea how close they had come to a fiery demise. With a brittle smile, she welcomed the danger in.
V. Audible
Their journey back to camp was not as heart pounding as the race through it. All that remained was a touch of anxiety on Trifa's part. Contributing to the unease was the tranquil expression of their visitor.
"Traveling here was very inconvenient." A trace of boredom laced her voice. "I do wish you all would consider relocating closer to the city."
"That would be difficult to arrange. Our fight for freedom is not embraced by the four kingdoms. We have to avoid those who would seek to destroy or use us."
"Was I one of those you sought to elude?"
Trifa stayed quiet on that front. Rumor ran rampant about the previous visitation. It had happened before she had linked up, but the clean-up had been ongoing. She had seen the charred tents and burn marks on their soldiers.
On one hand, the injuries had enraged Trifa. On the other, she had been intrigued about the raw elemental power that had been thrown around. Their leadership had been downright enthralled. And so, an unlikely alliance had been forged.
The woman laughed at her silence. Soon they were walking past the regiment. Many turned heads tracked them.
"My. We're a popular pair."
"It's not every day we have a visitor." A human, no less.
"Yet they are staring at you as much as they are at me."
Those that they came upon gave Trifa the twice over. For many, this was the first time they had seen her in the daylight. As always, she wished her attire came with a hood to draw on like the regular troopers.
They stared for a reason. Gray veins criss crossed her pale chest and arms. Similarly colored hands with spindly fingers gave her an otherworldly strangeness. Even among her own kind, these insect traits made her an outcast.
Nothing was meant by the gasps at her appearance. They were honest reactions. Still, she preferred to avoid drama. Her self-selection into the solitary services of scouting, espionage, and hostile exfiltration were for this purpose.
That was out the window now. She had somehow stepped into the unexpected role of mediator. This exposed her to more scrutiny. More judging eyes. How she longed for the shadows and a perch.
"I'm considered…" Trifa paused, ultimately landing on the word her previous partner had used to describe her. "Exotic."
"Truly?"
Her nose wrinkled. "Are you really unbothered?"
"The road I walk has exposed me to all sorts. Some downright alien. Your complexion is downright pedestrian in comparison."
"I shoot webs out of my hands."
"There is a man who injects venom from his tail."
No further elaboration was provided. The arachnid chewed on those words as they moved deeper into the encampment. Word spread fast as others turned out for the novelty parade.
Soon they arrived at a covered pavilion. Trifa held the entrance flap open for the woman. She nodded and let herself in.
The insides were bare, containing only a collapsible stand and a steamer trunk off to the side. Stacks of missives and charts dominated the table surface. A white, triangular mask served as a weight on the largest pile. Red lines were painted on in a pattern to suggest a monster's face.
Imposing over the table was a man. Tan, tall, and muscular, his back was to them. He stood engrossed in personal correspondence. Trifa coughed to get his attention. A head of cropped black hair craned in her direction.
"Elder? We have company."
The White Fang lieutenant reached for the mask. A mountain of papers toppled. He slipped the wicked visage on before facing them.
The lady in red stepped forward. "Greetings. I am-"
"I know who you are." He snapped before addressing Trifa next. "Thank you for bringing her to me. You may wait outside."
She gave a brief nod before retreating for safety. Elder was not happy. Distance was needed before the fireworks started.
Out of sight, she hurried to the back of the pavilion. There she found an off-colored flap. Lifting the loose material up, she poked her head in. With the extra tarping over her neck to block out the sunlight, she lined up with the secret eye hole.
As a part of the clandestine services, she was tasked with knowing everything about everyone. That included the local leadership. Now she was using her skills to analyze their mysterious visitor.
The woman was fascinating. Her ongoing conversation with Elder was a master's class in intimidation. Every movement exuded power. Each touch a declaration. She could control him with merely a trace of the arm.
Although the dialogue was inaudible, body language spelled out that things were not going well for him. His mask hid his emotions. The rest was not as well covered.
Small indicators of stress accumulated and bubbled up throughout the talk. Thick muscles clenched in preparation. When the dark-haired lady reached down to her hip, even Trifa was unsure of what would happen next.
From a thigh pouch, she produced a Scroll. Teasing his clenched fist open, she pushed the device in before forcing his hand closed. He tried to pull away, but she held firm while saying a last line.
A threat? A promise? A tease? Perhaps all of the above.
Then she let go.
With a pat to his cheek, she made an about face to leave. Elder shook his hand. He seemed ready to pounce but relented. He knew when he was outmatched.
The spy was quick to extract herself from the hidden viewer. She was compelled to try and catch sight of the woman again. Little did she expect to bump into her while rounding the corner.
"There you are!"
Scared of being caught, Trifa's mind went into overdrive to locate exit points. Then she realized that she was not being attacked. Steadying herself, she spoke with great effort to keep the quiver out of her voice.
"You needed me?"
"I did not want to leave without saying goodbye. Your assistance was invaluable." Those golden eyes pierced the faunus' soul.
"Right." She squirmed under the attention. "Do you need an escort out of camp, ma'am?"
"Call me Cinder, and no. I can show myself out."
Brushing by, she roamed her fingers across Trifa's shoulder. There was a blast of warmth. Not to harm but to caution. The warning sent shivers racing down the afflicted flesh.
"Trifa." Cinder stopped to listen. "If we are exchanging names, then that is mine."
Once again, there was a tinkling laugh. "Farewell then, Trifa. May we cross paths again."
Cinder strutted away, unbowed by her surroundings. Trifa wondered if she should follow. That idea was soon rejected. She did not want to risk being found out. Not when she was unsure of what she was dealing with.
Instead, she slunk back into the planning tent. The lieutenant had not moved an inch. He was contemplating a map of Vale and the new Scroll.
"What did she want?"
The bluntness of the question would have shocked anyone else. Elder nodded in appreciation. He disliked those that obfuscated their motives.
"She had a task for Adam."
"I told her he was out on assignment."
"Which he is." Officially.
Unofficially, the story was very different.
"How is he?"
Elder shook his head. "The last I saw of him, he was stalking off into the wilderness with only his sword and a pack of water."
Between the fire woman and his actual last mission, Trifa understood why he had done so. Everything had been going wrong, especially for him on a personal level. He needed to blow off steam. The sabbatical had come at a bad time, though.
"Should we send out a search party?"
"No. I will handle this."
The hulking faunus walked over to the trunk. Unlatching the top, he rummaged around inside. At last, he pulled out a bulky chainsaw. The guide bar was the length of his body, yet his strength was enough to lift the contraption one handed. In the other was a sack.
He brought both items over to the table. Opening the sack revealed grease containers and fuel. This was his maintenance ritual before going on a mission.
"Is this something I can help with?" Although this was not her faction, and by extension, not her problem, she offered.
This was a chance to learn more about Cinder. She was an enigma. An unaccounted-for variable. Professional curiosity demanded she find out more.
"Yes. Your services would be welcome. This task is not something I have experience with."
He pulled the starting cord. The weapon revved to life. Ritual complete.
/ / /
How did the average person go about fitting their entire life into an eighteen-by-eighteen cardboard box? Did they start with the most expensive items? The most meaningful? The most practical?
Or did they shove in everything they could and hope for the best?
Neopolitan was inclined towards the last method as she raided Roman's penthouse. Having grown up with, and rejected, wealth had left her with little appreciation for material possessions. Taking was so much more interesting than keeping.
Finding meaning by which to prioritize objects was also difficult. She carried everything consequential. Right now, that list was limited to her weapons and the clothes on her back.
Likewise, utilitarianism only got her so far. After collecting the bug-out bag from a separate hideout, they were set. Inside was everything needed to go on the lam, including fake IDs, bank account details, and hard currency.
With this, she could buy or steal anything else that was necessary. That made divvying out what else to snap up difficult. After spending an hour picking up and examining random objects, only to set them down without deciding, she took a break.
The silent thief had not had a chance to decompress. Not since receiving that message from Roman. She had swung between bouts of grief, rage, and relief. A rest was needed.
Splayed out on the couch, hat on her stomach and empty box on the coffee table, she blew a strand of pink off of her nose. It stubbornly landed in the same place. Her thoughts wandered, contemplating how she had ended up here.
She knew Cinder would betray them. Roman knew Cinder would betray them. Cinder knew that they knew she would betray them.
Yet they all played along. Pretended like they could pull a few heists and be allowed to walk away. The hunger in the witch's eyes at witnessing Neo's Semblance in action had deluded them into thinking that she was important. Enough to maybe spare Roman.
Cinder had that effect on people. She could charm the condemned all the way to the gallows. Right up until they voluntarily placed their heads in a noose.
Again, they knew this. They saw with their own eyes the manipulations. How Cinder bent everyone around her to her will.
Yet they bought in.
Short term self-preservation had won out. Really, they should have disappeared as soon as they crossed paths with her. There was no future under Cinder's heel.
Now Neo wondered if she was making the same mistake. This time with her newest ally. Jaune, the noodly teenager claiming to carry Roman's essence, was suspicious.
He had to be lying. Everyone did when they believed their life was on the line. It was not even a good lie either.
Two souls in the same body. That was ridiculous fairy tale nonsense. Neo had thought she had outgrown those stories.
She knew Roman was dead. The failed robbery had hinted. The bloodied crash site suggested. The frost covered body confirmed.
Yet she bought in.
Confusing matters were the details only her and Roman should have known. But it was possible that Jaune had been eavesdropping. Waiting for a chance to rob them. When caught red-handed, he had come up with that load of crock to play with her emotions.
If so, bravo. He was the greatest improvisational con man she had ever met.
Another puff of air shot the strand up. Wrapping her arms around her chest, clutching the bowler still, she turned on her side. The gesture offered little comfort. It reminded her of what had happened in the shack.
After being convinced of Roman's continued existence, she had let her emotions out. Buried herself in a stranger's chest and cried. Turned back into that young girl she thought left behind in Mistral.
Worst of all, the mark comforted her. Hugged her. Promised everything would be okay.
Damn him. Her as well. No one was that nice.
Sitting up, she checked her Scroll. Mid-afternoon had come around. She needed to wrap this operation up. Against her better judgment, she would follow 'Roman's' instructions. At the same time, her knife would be ready for when he showed his true colors.
Spiteful ideas were dispelled by the sound of the door to her right unlocking. Shocked, her body moved on instinct. She rolled over behind the sectional.
Creaking footsteps indicated someone had entered. More than one someone, if the succession of beats on the flooring were to be believed. Eventually they called out to the living room.
"Police! Anyone home?"
Her eyes narrowed. They should not have been up here. The crime scene was several floors below. She had also been careful to sneak in undetected.
"Told you so." Another chimed in.
They approached her hiding spot. She stilled. Their voyage stopped short of full discovery. Something else had caught their eye.
"Ooh. That's convenient."
More movement. Then they were walking away. Minutes passed of them shuffling about the apartment. When it sounded like they had moved on to another room, she peeked over the side. Her box was gone.
Bewildered, she pulled her hat on and tiptoed after them. In the kitchen, there was clattering. Things were being moved about. The area was too cluttered to go in undetected, so she stayed on the other side.
Brusquely moving on, they entered the master bedroom. Quick on their heels, she was at the next doorframe in a flash. Flush against the oven, their voices carried far enough to be overheard.
"...cut it out!"
"Don't be a spoilsport."
"We don't have time for you to screw around."
"Relax. That slut owner won't notice her spare keys missing."
Confident they were distracted, Neo leaned around. There were two millicants inside, dressed in the standard dark blues. One wore a bushy mustache. The other was roughly-shaven with a deviated septum.
Both were beside the bed. The blinds had been drawn back from the windows, allowing them to look out onto the city. The downtown skyline was impressive.
Bushy was particularly excited as he continued speaking. "What are the odds she became intimately familiar with these sheets and that view? Two-to-one?"
He pawed at air while pelvic thrusting. A few fake moans were added for emphasis. Crooked rolled his eyes.
"Are you done?"
"Yeah. Don't get your panties in a twist."
Neo found the missing box near the foot of the bed. From her position, she could not see inside, but she had a feeling valuables were being placed inside. This was confirmed when Crooked reached inside and brought out a decanter of wine.
They were robbing the place. Robbing Roman.
Melodic Cudgel was drawn as he uncorked. Bludgeoning them with their would-be patsy's cane felt right. There was also an urge to use Hush. Butchering a few pigs was as appealing as it was fitting.
Before getting too worked up, Neo forced herself to inhale and hold. After ten seconds, she exhaled. Calmed, she returned the blunt implement to her side.
As much as she would have loved to thrash them, that would complicate matters. If two cops disappeared, someone would ask why and come up to investigate. No one had connected this floor to the incident. There was no reason to change that over meaningless trinkets.
Besides, getting blood out of silk sheets was next to impossible. Roman would not have liked her ruining them. Again.
There was a hollow thunk as Bushy kicked the frame. "Say, what have we got here?"
Chugging his drink, Crooked watched on as his fellow officer squatted down. He returned to view holding the slide out portion of the hidden pinewood cubby. With great effort, the bin contents were upended onto the mattress.
Instead of the expected rave paraphernalia, out fell chunks of white. Metal clinked and bounced. The finder picked up what appeared to be an armored chest piece.
"Looks like-" Crooked burped. "Someone took the phrase 'protection in the bedroom' a little too literally."
VPD's best and brightest snorted like the children they were. Sarcastic guilt nagged at Neo for underreporting her taxable income. The department clearly needed the money if they had to settle for hiring these jesters.
"Hello, beautiful." Bushy lifted a gold-trimmed sword. "What's your name?"
Cronus Mons. Or something similarly pretentious. Neo could have slapped herself for forgetting. That should have been the first thing she grabbed.
"Is that real?"
"Only one way to find out." Unsheathing the blade, he flicked the edge. "Sharp! It's authentic all right. Kind of old, but well maintained. Do you think a huntsman lives here?"
Crooked looked around nervously. "I'd rather not find out."
"Good point. Let's wrap this up."
The protective plating was returned to the cubby and slid back under the bed. The sword, however, was added diagonally to the box. With everything else inside, it fit snugly. The bottom half of the grip stuck out the top.
"We're taking that with us?"
"'Course we are. You know how much collectors pay for this stuff these days?"
"A lot?"
"Last week a replica of that Nikos chick's javelin was sold for a boat load. A replica! We stand to make major bank with an antique like this."
"I dunno. This seems like bad juju."
"Oh no! Bad juju!" Bushy mockingly shoved the box into the other copper's arms while swiping the wine. "Please."
He tipped cru into his mouth and headed for the hallway. After adjusting the heavy box, Crooked followed him. The door slammed into his shoulder as he tried to nudge it open. Then they were both gone.
Their tail's lips changed to a grumpy frown. The clowns had taken the one thing she needed to keep Roman's supposed blond meatsuit happy. There was no choice but to continue shadowing.
After waiting the requisite amount, Neo slithered after them. She caught the trail again at the stairwell. Over the railing she saw them descending.
They were chatting amicably about this, that, and the other. On the second to last floor, Bushy tossed the nicked polyclef ringlet into the adjacent hallway. Probably to convince the owner that they had dropped the keys instead of them being stolen.
He did the same on the ground floor with the half full wine bottle. It shattered and dripped all over the carpet. Both men howled at the mess.
Using the emergency exit, they stepped out into the back lot. Neo halted. To follow further, she would have to go out into the open. That was impossible to do without immediately being spotted. She was not easily overlooked.
At least not in her current form.
Reaching deep into her soul, she found the resonance. Her imagination ran wild, breaking and reforming the world accordingly. The Semblance-fueled distortion faded, signaling completeness.
What was once outwardly presented had been greatly altered. Black hair and green eyes replaced the original tri-coloring. Her dress morphed into a police outfit. The bombĂn shifted into an officer's cap. For funsies, she also added some height to bring her around the female average.
None of these physical features were permanent. She was not suddenly taller. But, the illusion would be good enough to fool the unsuspecting. Since the effect was limited to her body, she could move around and take a few hits without breaking the charade.
Her fingers fiddled with a laminated badge around her neck. It was safer to pretend to be 'Cadet Janus' than a full officer. Any mistakes would be attributed to her beginner status.
Stepping outside, she was quickly swamped. The area was filled with fuzz and lab techs. A yellow evidence trailer dominated the space. Everyone around was helping load it up.
Her eyes scanned for the bad cop/worse cop duo. She found them a distance away from the others. They were crowded around an unmarked sedan.
Her approach was cautious. Weaving around the forensic investigators, she went at them from the side. She needed to grab what she came for and bounce. Problem was, the sword was nowhere to be seen.
Had they stashed the box already? Where? The lock-up? The car? How was she going to get close enough to find out?
"Hey! You!"
Those considerations were broken up by a harsh voice. Everyone around her had ceased their activities to take notice. Bushy was looking in her direction. Glancing around and seeing no one else responding, she pointed at herself.
"Yeah! You! Get over here."
Lizard parts in her brain screeched to run. A more reasonable side disengaged from that panicked response. Fleeing would have been more suspicious.
She ended up winding her way over to them. Those that had been paying attention to the exchange returned to their work. Once within range, the mustachioed man continued addressing her.
"Busy?" He answered before she could indicate either way. "Not anymore. We need a driver."
Neo had forgotten to factor in hazing when creating her disguise. Frat culture appeared to run deep in the department. As a recruit, she was subject to random displays of machismo. Normally she would just walk away.
No sword was worth the degradation.
What stopped her was a feeling in her gut. Roman always told her to trust her instincts during an infiltration. Right now, she smelled an opportunity.
She nodded and hopped behind the wheel. Quick seat adjustments allowed her to see over the dashboard and reach the pedals. They were too focused on frivolous matters to take note of how this clashed with the illusion.
"Cat got your tongue, rookie?" Bushy asked while sliding into the passenger's seat.
"Lay off, man." Crooked chided before piling in behind her. "You weren't much better as a fish."
"Even more of a reason to teach her what's what."
His hand landed on her knee and squeezed. He only backtracked when she gave him a withering glare. The grope was played off with a chuckle.
Adjusting the rear-view mirror, she caught sight of the box in the back seat. A grin forced its way onto Neopolitan's face. Starting the engine, she eased out of the parking lot eager to start her education.
And maybe teach a few lessons of her own.
Author Note: This story is now in full production.