Chapter Eleven

Resolve

/-\ Yang Xiao Long /-\

We all stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder. I didn't dare turn to look at any of the many different uniforms on display, but I knew already that I was the only one wearing XCOM's Base Security uniform. I was the only one here already affiliated with the program save for Tech Sergeant Mendez – a gunner from Strike Two – though he was dressed in the grey-and-gold dress uniform as opposed to my blue combat armor. It had only been a couple days since I started and I was nervous as fuck, but that wouldn't stop me. No, my only regret was the need to chop off my hair to regulation length. I'd faced down those alien bastards twice already – as long as I kept my head in the game, I could do this.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Mendez shouted, pacing in front of a ginormous live-fire course. "We are gathered here today to see which of you scum-sucking maggots are fit to become slightly less scum-sucking rookies! XCOM accepts only the best of the best, so even with your home country's recommendation, only the top five of you little shits are gonna be getting a bunk in the barracks!"

My heart plummeted. There were fourteen people besides myself here.

"Now, your first task is to run five laps around the entire perimeter of this course carrying a full simulated kit. That's a total of about eight klicks – a nice little warmup, don't ya think? After that, you will proceed directly to the firing line where you will load your weapon and put as many accurate rounds on target as you can. You will then be allowed a short five-minute water break and then you will proceed to the obstacle course, where you will run it once forwards and once backwards. You will then proceed to the showers and get your sorry asses cleaned up while we tally your scores. If you fail to complete the course by oh-nine-hundred – an hour from now – you automatically fail the course. If you are wounded and cannot continue, you automatically fail the course. And for the love of all that's holy, if you mishandle your weapon before, during, or after the live-fire segment, you automatically fail the course!" he shouted. "Do I make myself clear?!" We shouted our affirmatives. "Then get your sorry asses off my starting line!"

And so began the most grueling experience of my life.

I was already middle-of-the-pack when I didn't quite realize what he meant until others started off at a sprint. I set off, straining under the forty-pound backpack of literal rocks they'd strapped to my already heavy armor. My only comfort was that everyone was carrying an equally heavy load – those without plate carriers on their armor had even heavier backpacks. Even with my newfound aura keeping my muscles from simply dying within the first hundred feet of the run, I was already hurting.

But I knew it wouldn't be easy when I enlisted. I pushed on, even as I gradually slowed down. I kept going even as almost everyone else passed me. On the second lap, it became clear that I wasn't going to make the cut. I considered tapping out right there – my legs were burning, the backpack was heavy, the armor was digging into my shoulders and sides, my hands struggled as I gripped my rifle, my breaths were heavy and exhausted… but I couldn't give up. Dad wouldn't've given up. As I passed one of the observation windows, I saw everyone watching – Blake, Ruby, Mom, Qrow, even Penny. I had to complete the course, at the absolute least.

I was going to be sore as all hell and probably practically immobile, but I'd do it, and I'd get in next time, damnit! So I pushed on. My legs were numb before I completed the final lap, but that didn't matter. I'd already resolved to complete this damn torture session that was somehow just as bad as what Blake cooked up for an introductory course, condensed into the first segment. To my great surprise, I actually passed someone on my fifth lap. They were hunched over, throwing up off to the side. I barely caught a red-white-blue tri-striped flag on the side of their uniform, but I was never good with countries – all I knew was that it wasn't the stars-and-stripes. I looked back as I passed him, making sure he was alright. He wiped his mouth and continued running, though at an even slower pace than I was. I turned back towards the course, legs pumping away on a numb autopilot.

Most people were already done with the shooting portion by the time I arrived, gasping for air. A bored-looking man in the standard off-duty fatigues handed me a magazine and directed me to a shooting booth. My hands shook as I aimed, but I knew I didn't have time to waste. I shot more often than I should've – only every second or third shot pinged off the Sectoid-shaped steel cutout. When my weapon clicked empty, I cleared it, left the magazine on the bench, and promptly skipped the water station.

That water bottle looked like the nectar of the fucking gods at that moment, but a single glance at the clock revealed I only had fourteen minutes left. "Drop your ruck!" I heard someone shout. I did so on instinct, shaking hands unclipping the weight right next to a dozen others. I ran past and into the barbed wire section, quickly diving down into the mud. Bullets shot overhead and I was met with the faster rookies already coming at me when I was half-way through. I scooted past them as best I could, dragging my face through the mud to keep from snagging on the wire or getting my fucking head blown off Jesus Christ.

I stumbled back to my feet at the end, hoisting my rifle up and running as best I could to the next obstacle. The others were already rappelling down the nearly vertical wall, making short hops. I grabbed a rope and pulled myself up despite the screaming of my muscles. It went that way for the rest of the course – my mind fighting my muscles for every ounce of energy they had while my nascent aura struggled to keep me from outright collapsing. In the end, I was stumbling over my own feet trying to get to the finish line as the last few seconds ticked away.

My foot hit the painted line with only a few milliseconds to spare, upon which I promptly collapsed as the announcer stated that time had expired. I laid there for a while, finally able to rest my tired… everything. Yellow lightning danced across my arms as they were splayed out ahead of me. After far too short a time, a pair of men in fatigues came by, one with a water bottle.

They had to help me sit up; I physically did not have the strength to do so. My armor was caked in mud, my face was covered in brown sludge, and it felt like I pulled every single muscle in my entire body. They actually had a medical officer come down and examine me, right there on the artificial grass, and I ended up going to the infirmary instead of the shower.

I passed out on the way there.

/-\ Weiss Schnee /-\

It was nerve wracking, walking to the Engineering Wing for the first time.

In the end, I'd decided to accept Doctor Shen's offer – it was a golden opportunity to study here under actual engineers, and I was not going to squander it. If I was to reclaim my position as heiress, I would need to be even better than I possibly could have been before. Given the objective of the agency here, it would not be a stretch to say that they are some of the best our planet has to offer. The wealth of their experience that I soak in coupled with the prestige of their tutelage… father would have to restore my position. There was simply no other logical outcome.

And if I can aid Humanity's best in defending our shores, that's a nice bonus, too.

But all these lofty dreams and expectations were for future me to take advantage of. Current me, however, was putting on the provided personal protective equipment required to enter the Engineering Wing. After all, I still had to actually learn from the opportunities provided. I strode into the workspace, finding it mostly empty. A woman and a younger-looking engineer were off to the side, huddled over one of the workbenches with tools in hand. Looking around, I saw no one else – just various machines.

I checked the printout again and compared the time and location of the meeting to where I currently was at. Both were correct, which meant… Frowning, I approached the duo and hoped I wasn't intruding too much. "Um, excuse me, but I'm looking for the internship program? Would you happen to know anything about that?"

"Just a sec," the woman said, concentrating on filing a part down a few more times before taking a measurement with some calipers. Finally, she set her workpiece down. "Ah, sorry, had to finish that. What's up?"

I repeated myself, feeling a little annoyed that it was necessary.

"Oh, you're the new girl? Well, you're in the right place – I run the internship thingy. I'm Summer Xiao Long and this is my daughter Ruby. I'd shake your hand, but mine are pretty greasy," she said.

"Umm, hi," Ruby mumbled, not looking away from her own part that she was filing.

I did a double-take. Ruby… this is the girl that the other me was so unkind to, I thought. She looked like just any other girl – blue eyes, coveralls, black hair though with sandy blonde roots… there really wasn't anything remarkable about her. And yet, my twin initially viewed her as an existential threat. I understood that there were cultural – and apparently racial – differences at play here, but in the moment, it just seemed so trivial. "Oh, umm, very well," I said, trying to make it look like I hadn't almost gotten lost in a rabbit hole. "I am Weiss Schnee. I was told to be here at six o'clock, was that erroneous?"

"Nah, me and her just got a bit of a head start," she said, turning back to her workpiece. "Slide up a chair, we're building a laser rifle – just cleaning up the cast parts right now, shouldn't be too difficult. You ever used calipers before?"

I sat down on the third chair, beside her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that her name tag also had an identical title to that of Shen's. "I can't say I have, Doctor Xiao Long. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to explore the practical side of my interests before now."

"Ah, alright. Sucks, but that's what we're here for – we'll show you the ropes. Also, don't bother with the whole Doctor thing – I know a lot of people like to be addressed by their title, but just Summer is fine for me."

That request jarred me – she achieved one of the highest academic honors a person can and she doesn't want it recognized? I knew for a fact that I would want to be recognized for my efforts, especially those it took at least nine years of schooling to complete. "I, umm… very well. Where… do we start?"

She picked up another workpiece from a different side of the bench and handed it to me. It looked like half of a pistol grip – even not knowing guns like I didn't, that was obvious – but it wasn't as uniform as it should be and there were burs everywhere. She then grabbed a blueprint with various specs on it. "Alright, let's start with blueprint reading – what do all these marks mean?"

I blinked – that was actually very familiar already. I quickly rattled off the various lengths and tolerances listed. She said I got them all right – of course I did, this was something I'd made absolutely sure to master in my independent studies. She then handed me a calipers, taught me how to use it, and asked me to point out what was out-of-spec from the casting of the alien alloys. This took significantly longer as I fumbled around with the calipers, but I eventually got there. Afterwards, she handed me a rasp and said to make it in-spec. After a quick lesson on how to use a rasp – apparently I couldn't just saw it back and forth – I settled in for the long haul.

Despite the rasp also being diamond-tipped, the alien alloys of the pistol grip were supremely resilient – taking a lot of effort to chip down. Every so often, Summer would stop me and check my work to ensure I wasn't taking away too much material. To my embarrassment, she was right to do so a few times. Though I was concentrated on my piece, I did occasionally glance over at Ruby, who needed far less help than I did.

She found a rhythm to her work, even as her expression betrayed a deep sorrow in her soul. I couldn't exactly blame her for it – even I'd heard what happened to her sister two days ago – but something told me that wasn't the full story. However, I knew when to mind my own business. I had things to concentrate on – like making sure I was staying ahead of someone clearly so much younger than I.

However, after only forty-five minutes, my hands were cramping up to the point where I was forced to set the rasp down. I had almost completed the other half of the grip, but I simply could not go on. I needed a break. Summer saw this and showed me some hand and wrist exercises. While they didn't help that much immediately, she said they would strengthen my hands to where using them for long periods would become less of an issue.

For a while, however, I was forced to simply stand by and watch while they did the work. I still absorbed as much as I could, but there wasn't that much to learn from rasping various parts. The radio on Summer's belt dinged – she took it off and held it up to her mouth. "Xiao Long," she said.

"Summer," a male voice answered from the radio. "Olevsky just got his face broken by a flying chuck key – I know you're off-duty, but we could really use another set of hands to finish up a few projects."

She groaned. "I told him that he'd start making stupid mistakes if he kept overworking himself… I'm with the kids right now, you okay if they come with?"

"Long as they stay out of the way – hell, they can go hang with Lily if they want."

"Roger, I'll be there in five," she said, stowing the radio back on her belt. "Well, change of plans, kids. I just got called up and I can't leave you unsupervised."

"Unless it's with Lily, apparently," Ruby said.

Summer nodded. "Unless it's with Lily." She stood up, stretching out her arms and legs with a groan. "Alright, c'mon, let's get going."

She led us out of this workshop and through several more. These workshops were much busier than the ones we'd had basically to ourselves – men and women ran all over the place trying to get various projects done. We came to a staircase labeled 'authorized personnel only'. I felt awkward following her in there, but it was her choice to lead us there, not really ours. At the bottom of the stairs was a bank of respirators – she put one on and passed one to each of us before showing us how to don it. "Don't take this off for any reason while you're down here," she'd said.

The next room was obviously a decontamination room – it sprayed us with various smokes and whatnot, but we were let through soon enough. The other side was even more industrial-looking than the workshops above us. Large, curved steel beams supported the ceiling and the heat of several forges permeated everything. In the corner, next to a drill press, someone was cleaning up a splatter of some kind.

Another man came up to us, wearing overalls and a full-face respirator just like Summer was. "Alright, kids," he said. "I'm the foreman here, Doctor Fields. Summer probably already told you, but don't take off your goddamn respirators until you leave here, got it?" We gave our affirmations. "Good. Summer, I want you on station X-2, blueprints are there all ready for you. Kids, you can either watch her work – as long as you stay out of the way – or you can go see what Lily is up to – she's right over there," he said, pointing towards a girl in much the same getup everyone else was around here. She stood next to Doctor Shen, only a few stations away, looking over something on a bank of monitors.

"Umm… if you… don't mind, mom…" Ruby started. "I kinda wanna see what they're up to."

"Go ahead, Ruby. Just do what they say," Summer said.

I, however, took a deep breath of the filtered and stifling air inside my mask and followed Summer to her workstation.

Even what little work I'd done today had shown just how inadequate I truly was. I would need every chance I could get to rectify it.

As I watched her work with increasingly more complex equations to get the tools to do what she wanted, however, I began to wonder if I'd ever truly catch up…

/-\ Blake Belladonna /-\

I sat down on the primitive computer once more. This time, my focus was not on the aliens currently invading the planet Earth – no, I'd learned just about all I could from external sources on that subject. My focus now was a… curiosity of mine.

Myself.

It was incredibly easy to find information on one Blake Belladonna – she posted all sorts of things online. I remembered when I did something similar, though the White Fang put an end to that. Given I'd had to- given that I'd chosen to leave everyone, there wasn't all that many people to reach out to, either. CCT connection was too spotty most of the time anyways.

Blake from Earth, though? It was clear she never had the same experience. Though we didn't share this particular hardship, that didn't mean she hasn't gone through any. I already knew about her parents being… gone, but scrolling through her post history, it became clear she always posted a remembrance three days a year. Mom's birthday, Dad's birthday, and the day they died – all in the form of stylized drawings.

For a moment, I wondered if I would've gone down that career path, had I not joined the White Fang. I did have an interest in drawing as a kid, but there was never any paper to spare after I'd left. Everything was needed for inventory, orders, or messages between cells.

I delved further and further into our differences, comparing and contrasting just where and how we diverged as people. How much of it was a difference in environment? How much of it was lost in translation between the Faunus-to-Human divide being crossed… or was it Human-to-Faunus? Which one of us was the baseline and which was the alternate twin?

My spiral continued as I scrolled through her many drawings until I came upon one that depicted a Southern Mistralian warrior facing off against an armored woman. It was titled Achilles and Arc: a Tale of Time Displaced Love. I blinked, now realizing that it was actually coverart for a story. Just from the art style, I could tell it wasn't the kind of romance to be put in the front of a bookstore where anyone could see. Some things never change, I thought.

Before clicking on the story to read, however, I noticed something. That Mistralian warrior looked… familiar. Very familiar. In fact, it reminded me almost exactly of a gender-swapped Pyrrha. That brought me completely out of my own little world and I remembered where I was. This was a public library and I had two armed guards looking over my shoulder. My face heated up as I realized just what I was about to do.

I shook my head, closing down my twin's social media and logging off the computer. I headed to my room for a meditation session, idle thoughts evolving with every step. I stopped half-way there and turned to one of my guards. "Do you think I can see Pyrrha?" I asked. "The EXALT prisoner. I need to know why in the world she was with those people. On my world, she is a respected huntress and a very kind person." My ears folded flat against my head. "I need to know how she fell in with a group of terrorists." The same crowd I fell in with, too.

Both guards were shocked at first, but gradually got calmer as I explained myself. They contacted Bradford, who approved the meeting under an increased guard. I agreed and they started leading me to the brig. As we walked, Bradford's comment about putting me on a vivisection table came back to mind and I shivered. I kept my eyes and ears just a little more open than I normally would've on the way there.

We met up with a quartet of additional guards, all walking behind me. I casually glanced down every corner – or at least I tried to make it look casual – looking for an escape route should it be necessary. Eventually, we arrived at the brig and we were let inside the secure area. We passed a dozen empty cells before we came to Pyrrha's. Two more armed guards sat outside it, though given they had chairs, they were probably there on principle rather than because I was visiting. A few bars on the door were visibly dented outwards as well – not enough to be concerning, but enough to be surprising.

"Blake Belladonna, here to see the prisoner," my lead guard said to the two outside her cell.

They nodded and one pounded on the cell door. "You've got a visitor, Nikos!" The gruff-looking one nodded to me then jerked his head towards her cell.

I took the invitation, walking up next to it and peering inside. In all honesty, it was one of the better cells I'd seen – no chipped paint, no rust on the appliances, and a bed that looked somewhat comfortable. It also had a toilet, which – while not remarkable for prisons inside the Kingdoms back home – was still a step up from a fair few SDC "correctional facilities". Pyrrha herself was sat at the round table, occupying its lone chair and playing a card game with herself. Her long, blood-red hair was undone, cascading down the orange jumpsuit she was forced to wear. Her eyes held an anger that I never thought I'd see on the visage of the overly-polite tournament champion that lived across the hall.

She barely glanced up for a second before going back to her card game. "Leave."

I crossed my arms, giving her a flat look. "Hmm… I don't think I will." She didn't react, moving cards around with clear purpose, but not one I could understand. "You knew I was a Faunus at Harvard. I looked it up and that word has no basis in your society – at least not in that context. So just how long were you following us?"

"Clearly long enough, Miss I-Can-Kill-A-Bear-With-A-Kitchen-Knife."

One of the guards glanced towards me for a moment before shaking his head and resuming his watch.

I frowned. "Fine, stupid question, I suppose, so I'll just jump to what I really want to know," I said, leaning in slightly. "Why in the world did you join EXALT?"

She reclined in her chair, a little self-satisfied smirk on her lips. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "They're the only ones doing anything to improve the world. XCOM? They're just a bunch of puppets completely focused on the alien threat. Even then, they restrain themselves further – they don't use every tool in their arsenal to repel them. EXALT are Humanity's best hope for not only survival, but also for unification. XCOM are beholden to their precious Council, do you really think the individual members will give up the power they have for the betterment of us all? No, they'll go back to squabbling like children the second this threat is gone – even assuming XCOM is somehow successful in their defense."

I blinked. Was she really this petty? I wondered. "If that's the case, why aren't you helping them?" I asked. "The aliens are clearly attacking everyone. Do your people not have a version of the Black Truce? When the survival of everyone is threatened, differences and squabbles are put aside to deal with the threat so a victor can exist instead of everyone dying because they couldn't see the bigger picture! If your people are so superior to XCOM, then surely you can beat them after the aliens are driven away with little-to-no trouble and there will be more people alive at the end, correct?"

Pyrrha opened her mouth then closed it. She stared at me for a few moments before her eyes narrowed. "No… no, there must be a reason. We are strong enough to fight both at once and win. Of course you would suggest that – you're the one who led Jaune to his death, did you not?" She went back to her cards. "Leave me. I tire of you."

My head whirled from whatever garbage just spewed out of her mouth. "What?" I muttered. I explicitly told him and the others to stay with the truck while I dealt with the situation. Sure, I'm not completely blameless in his death, but for her to outright say that… I sighed. "Look, Pyrrha, I…" I cut myself off. "Jaune didn't deserve to die there, but we weren't talking about him. I just want to understand your internal logic of siding with EXALT over… anyone else, not even necessarily XCOM."

She kept playing with her cards, not acknowledging me in the slightest.

"Pyrrha, please, just talk to me."

Once again, she ignored me.

I opened my mouth, but then thought better of it. She'd made it clear that she didn't want to talk to me. As I left her cell, I couldn't help but wonder just how she got to… this from the friendly champion I knew. Did his death really affect her that much? I wondered. This was the first time I'd talked to her, after all – she's had a lot of time to stew in that cell. Maybe she's just angry at the world?

Regardless of her reasoning, it was clear there wasn't any changing her mind.

Not for a long while, at least…

/-\ Yang Xiao Long /-\

It was three days before I was allowed to leave the infirmary.

I spent the first mostly unconscious – I was tired and everything hurt. The doctors told me I'd pulled a majority of my muscles, sprained both ankles, and gave myself heat exhaustion from over-exertion. I was awake more during the second day, but it was filled with a low-level throbbing in my entire body that regular pain meds just didn't solve. Everyone came to visit at least once – even one of the soldiers who passed the test did. He was from Germany and being assigned to the newly stood-up Strike Eleven – said my story was making the rounds already. He also said a few people ahead of me dropped out mid-way through the course once it was clear they weren't going to win. I still didn't make the top ten, but I wasn't quite as low as I thought I was.

On the third day, I was finally allowed to go back to a semi-normal lifestyle and I took full advantage. Even though the mess hall and the infirmary served the same food, it just felt better eating it at a table instead of in a bed. It was also nice eating with the family again, even if it was still really awkward between me and Ruby. It was right after I was finished that I got word I was supposed to go to security for a shift. I didn't really know what I could do there, since I sure as hell couldn't heft around all the gear we were supposed to, but it's not like I had a choice in the matter.

I arrived in the security office and was met by the de-facto head of security: Sergeant Ozga. From what I'd heard, she used to be on a strike team, but lost an arm and moved here instead of MECing up. She wore the standard Security blues, just with a civilian prosthetic arm quite different from the ones MECs used around the base. "Hell of a performance for someone with three days of training," she said. "But it wasn't good enough. Doctors said to have you on light duty, so you will be learning how to clean and maintain your gear for the rest of the week."

And so that's what I did for the remainder of that day. She had another Security Officer supervise me while I cleaned every weapon and set of armor we had at our disposal with only Qrow around to help lift heavy things. It was boring as hell and my muscles were still sore, but I eventually got through it. Sleeping back in our family's quarters was nice, though.

The next day, I went back to the gym, planning on some very light activity. Blake was there already with her two guards and we did some aura training as well. We mostly reviewed what little I'd accomplished before the tryouts. Part of me – okay, a lot of me – was angry I wasn't moving forward, but she stressed the importance of foundational aura knowledge. I grumbled, but did as she said. Eventually, we moved on to the light workout that I came here for – just some calisthenics to knock off the rust of a couple days of inactivity.

It was in the middle of my pushups that I just so happened to look up and see Blake off to the corner doing yoga. She twisted in ways I barely thought possible, held poses that stretched her stomach in just the right way to reveal a hidden eight-pack… For just a moment, I paused my exercises, transfixed. I paused it too long and my exhausted muscles gave out, making me flop to the ground like a fish out of water.

The impact jarred my mind out of the gutter – away from just what else those legs could do. I shook my head. Jaune's been dead for barely two weeks and I'm already looking at someone else, I thought. Didn't I love him? Am I so shallow that some abs and a little leg are enough to get me going?

I let out a deep sigh, face still planted firmly on the floor. I stayed that way for a few more minutes before getting up and heading to the shower. I couldn't be late for my shift, after all. Said shift was just as boring as the last, though this time, one of the other Security Officers took me aside and ran through some basic military tactics – at least in a classroom setting. He was a Syrian and he ran through various scenarios that he and his men used against ISIS. After lunch, I got a different tutor; a Mexican Marine who had a decade-plus experience against the Cartels.

The days started to blur together after that. I'd get up, go to aura training and an intense workout with Blake and sometimes Ruby, go to my shift in Security where I sometimes stood guard but more often than not was just an excuse to either have me do another workout or get training from the vast pool of experience there. At night, though, I'd work on a… project.

Throughout the days, my mind would inevitably go back to Jaune and the times we shared together. His body had been returned to his family – as had his rifle – but things were very hush-hush otherwise. While they knew the aliens killed him, they weren't told anything else. So I sat down with a notebook and started… writing.

I wanted the Arcs to know everything that happened between the last day they saw their son… to the day he returned to them in a pine box. I knew I wouldn't be able to give it to them for a very long time – security briefings made that clear – but they still deserved to know. So I wrote. What started out as a letter grew into something more.

In the end, it took almost three weeks to complete and spanned seventeen typed pages. From that point forward, I always kept a copy on me, just in case I had to save them after failing him.