Chapter 10: What A Surprise
Beacon Academy, Sanus, Remnant
78 AGW, May 8th, 7:51 am
Dressed in a black blouse and black slacks, Salem pulled a strand of her shoulder-length white hair behind her ear, quietly filling her mug with coffee from the thermos sat atop her large pentagonal desk. The rich aroma of Vacuo Golden Sands never failed to make her smile. Its smooth taste and texture were akin to what one would think of as a fine wine. Combined with the rhythmic orchestra of the many gears lining the walls and floor of her office - her sphere of tranquility - the experience was something that kept her grounded.
In all her thousands of years of torturous existence, Salem had somehow found little things here and there that made her life… bearable was not the correct word. Perhaps tolerable was a more fitting description. Until the day she could finally rest and cross over into whatever afterlife awaited her, the immortal woman had to keep herself distracted to avoid succumbing to madness.
The wonders of modern coffee blends definitely helped in that regard. Salem could perfectly recall what getting an exotic coffee from a foreign land used to entail. You either lived within the endless desert that was the western half of Sanus or made the trek to one of the sparse settlements and earned that silk drink.
Getting that liquid ecstasy now was easily accomplished by a trip to the supermarket or buying a cup from a coffee shop whose employees would potentially get your name wrong (Not hers, of course, but many others had experienced such within her sight).And with the advent of the internet, a person could order it online and have some underpaid worker in a warehouse ship it directly to their door. Salem could spend a comfortable evening in a cafe drinking a cup while listening to a local musical artist, enjoying the blessing of a heating and air system. So many ways that the witch could obtain her favorite drink. Modern marvels to someone who'd lived long enough that nothing surprised her anymore.
The ease of obtaining this sweet nectar was a change she was grateful for.
As was her current position as Queen of Vale and Headmistress of Beacon Academy. Salem spent so long fighting Ozma from the shadows of the world, pitting her followers and Grimm against his own champions and armies. Gone were the days of the worldwide chess game between them being a game of wits and schemes. Instead, her cursed life became no different than someone getting up in the morning, having breakfast, going to work for eight or more hours at a job they hate, then coming home and mindlessly flopping down in front of a television.
Boring. Predictable. Meaningless. Lifeless.
Until the Kaiju appeared during the Great War.
Such interesting monsters they were. Enormous in size, many were comparable to a Leviathan once they matured into adulthood. They were not Grimm, but they were just as dangerous, if not more in some ways. More so in numerous documented cases. Salem knew not where they came from, but they had provided her the perfect opportunity to usurp the control of Remnant from Ozma.
Explaining away her appearance and power as a 'gift' from the God of Darkness had taken a bit of time for the populace to fully accept. Once Salem had started killing the beasts regularly, however? It'd been all too easy to play the part of a young woman looking to use her gift against the monsters making playthings of her world. Where the weapons and armies of Remnant had failed, Salem prevailed. Strong as the Kaiju were, they had no defense against her magic.
All it took was killing a few, and the people of Remnant were eating out of her hand. For the thousands of years that had passed, sheep still flocked to the shepherd to solve their problems. It was pathetic. Another example of what she tried to get Ozma to understand; why help them when they couldn't help themselves?
True, the Kaiju were a bit different from issues regularly plaguing humanity. Perhaps apples and oranges invaded her thought process, but Salem had enough experience to judge things on a curve.
Like Ozma, she, too, had played many roles throughout the history of Remnant's second humanity. It was Salem's only defense against the madness and despair that her endless existence threatened while in isolation. Her most often-played persona was that of an urban legend and boogeywoman. The witch of the woods scaring children and adults alike. But, once upon a time, Salem was a teacher-an assassin-a royal advisor to a forgotten despot-and many more.
Still…
Salem's mental health, devastated as it was, could appreciate the change in routine her life was currently taking. That it was a slap in the face to Ozma, wherever he may be, was the icing on the cake. So long as she kept killing these beasts and playing the role of celebrity protector, the masses would gladly follow her. The beasts had no end in sight, and she was immortal. Until the day Ozma surrendered the Relics so that she may finally die, Salem's cult of personality would remain.
Her office door silently opened as Salem's Deputy Headmistress walked into the room. Unlike the hero-styled uniform worn during Kaiju attacks, Glynda Goodwitch's black skirt and white blouse combo was the epitome of a no-nonsense professional educator. She'd asked Glynda to act like some outrageous comic book character alongside her, to pander to the masses and their love of heroes. The woman put up with it, despite wanting to focus solely on the actual academic running of Beacon Academy. To teach new generations of Huntsmen and Huntresses and ensure they were adequately prepared to fight Grimm.
Moving around and sitting in her chair, Salem nodded toward the personable woman. "Good morning, Glynda," she greeted her partner.
"Good morning, Salem," Glynda returned, pulling back her chair to sit.
In one hand, she held her open scroll, currently displaying what was likely their schedule for the day, and in the other was her own cup of coffee. Fresh Vale Crisp Wood filled her cream-colored mug, imprinted on the side with the phrase "#1 Teacher" - a birthday gift from Salem. The witch was not the biggest fan of that flavor, but it was leagues above Atlesian Black, without question.
"How is our day looking?" Salem asked.
Glynda took a sip of her drink and tapped a couple of icons regarding their schedule before replying. "We need to finish assigning our fourth-year students their final exam missions. Right now, 10 out of the 25 teams are still without a test. The allocation of the remaining funds from this semester's budget also needs to be signed off for. Plus, I've compiled all the paperwork needed for the staff reviews you wanted to start this month. And the Remnant Defense Force has called for an emergency conference regarding a new Grimm they're concerned about."
Salem perked up at this news. "A new Grimm? Has there been news of a settlement being attacked?"
"All the message said was they have obtained evidence of a Grimm that's been classified as a potential threat equivalent to a Class IV Kaiju. Perhaps even a Class V," Glynda explained, grimacing at the idea of such a destructive creature.
"A Class V… " the immortal muttered. "No Grimm has ever been ranked above a Class III, and even then, they're anomalies. What could make them believe it is so dangerous, I wonder?"
"For a conference of this size, on this short notice? I dread the answer to that question," Glynda admitted.
"What time is the conference?" she inquired, taking a long drink of her coffee.
Tapping another icon on her scroll, Glynda answered, "It has been scheduled for 9:30."
Nearly an hour and a half away. Salem would have enough time to approve the budget and finalize the tests for the fourth years.
"Very well. Notify the RDF I will be available for the call," she instructed. "Once I finish the budget, we can review those ten teams."
Once the duo started, the work was completed with twenty minutes to spare before the RDF's conference was to begin. Salem finalized the school's budget relatively quickly, then she and Glynda hashed out the remaining tests. When it came to Beacon Academy's final exams, Salem allowed the final decision to be made by her Deputy. Glynda was the school's combat instructor; she spent five days a week drilling and training their students to make them into great warriors. The blonde woman knew their strengths and weaknesses better than many of them knew themselves. Salem felt that she best served her graduating students by informing them of what options awaited them once they received their License. Be it as freelance Hunters, a team that stayed within the kingdom, or even applying to become part of the RDF's growing ranks.
In reality, she didn't care where the fools ended up. But Salem was nothing if not a master thespian leading the production. And she'd had eons to perfect her craft.
When the conference finally started, the first one to speak with the Director of the RDF. A man who also held a seat on the Atlas Council: General James Ironwood.
Ironwood was a middle-aged man with a square jaw, short black hair (though the sides had begun to gray), blue eyes, and six-foot-six of firm muscle; he easily fit the image of a career military man. Sadly, his outfit was rather colorless compared to how most people of Remnant dressed. The white overcoat and pants mixed well enough with the black sweater and silver boots, and the gray accents on the coat and boots were a nice touch. Even the glove that hid his prosthetic hand was paper-white. Salem could understand the color scheme if a person were looking to camouflage themselves in the snowy wilderness of Solitas. But the man hadn't seen frontline combat for years. Instead, he'd carried on the Atlesian tradition of blandness, a holdover from their days of emotional repression. The least he could do was a splash of color, like the growing number of the RDF's enlisted individuals.
"Thank you all for being able to join me this morning. I know this is a bit unexpected, but the Remnant Defense Force has obtained evidence of a Grimm we believe poses an imminent threat to all of Remnant," General James Ironwood quickly spoke. Appearing on one of the many screens displayed above Salem's desk, the man's brow was creased quite fiercely. Rare was it that she saw the general look so uneasy. Most of the other faces plastered across her screens immediately became concerned.
A councilor from Vacuo frowned as he leaned forward. "All? Not just a single city or residence? What evidence do you have to support this claim?"
"Footage sent to us directly by a concerned citizen," Ironwood explained. "Along with more footage and the facts we've gathered, we believe the Grimm was trapped in an Anima mine."
Leonardo Lionheart, the lion faunus who was headmaster of Mistral's Haven Academy, shared a look with his council. "We received a report of a large mining operation being disrupted by Grimm activity eight days ago, but no one explained the severity of the situation."
"The footage we have shows the events in full," Ironwood answered, nodding to someone out of camera view. "Start the videos."
Everyone watched with bated breath as the image of an utterly enormous Grimm, standing within the ruins of a small mountain, appeared before them. It spent a minute seemingly checking over itself, then grabbed its head as if in pain before floating into the sky, where it disappeared among the clouds. A brief moment of the screen turning black was followed by a blurry video fading in and out of focus. The same Grimm was bathing, of all things, in the water off some unknown shoreline. Everyone listened as a woman's voice narrated what was happening while giving her opinions. Without warning, the screen cut out, ending their view of the creature. Luckily, they could still hear everything clear as day. A harsh smacking sound told them the woman was probably abusing her scroll to restore its functionality.
General Ironwood paused the video. "We had our technicians attempt to clean up the images, but they couldn't get much out of it. Someone else already tried the same, with little improvement from what we can tell. Unfortunately, we didn't have a solid foundation to work with. Luckily, the recording restored itself eventually, and we got this."
Resuming the video, they were treated to loud roaring, followed by a lower-pitched growl. The screen came back to life just in time for the assembled group to see a Leviathan firing off an energy beam into the face of the other Grimm, who completely no-sold it. The second beam met the same ineffective result. When the unknown Grimm stood up and began walking towards the Leviathan, still unaffected by the attack, everyone present could see just how large it was. Multiple eyes widened as the councils and Headmasters realized what Ironwood meant when he said this Grimm was being viewed as a threat to the entire planet.
Ironwood paused the video again, cutting off the woman's frantic talking. "We had our people calculate the size of the Leviathan. We estimate it was roughly 47 meters in height. Compared with the Leviathan, the unknown Grimm stands around 120 meters tall."
Gasps spewed forth from the speakers in Salem's desk. One of her councilors even grasped at her chest in fright.
"A hundred twenty… by the Gods," Lionheart choked out.
"There's more," Ironwood informed them, playing the last of the video.
The ease with which the unknown Grimm twisted the Leviathan's head 180 degrees was startling. The meaty, crunching sound of its neck being snapped had one of Atlas' councilors fighting to hold their breakfast down.
Salem had watched everything without saying a word. Whatever this creature was, it was not one of her Grimm. The Queen had created many unique and powerful Grimm over the years, testing to see the limits they could reach. Of which the crowning achievement from Salem's experimentation was the gargantuan whale Monstra. Which, while dwarfing this beast in sheer size, was not meant for direct combat. Its purpose was transportation and to create more Grimm simply by existing. Similar to the Wyvern currently hidden underneath the city of Mountain Glenn.
She'd never created anything of this size or with such a humanoid shape. The Leviathans that naturally developed were similar, but with their hunched backs and digitigrade legs, they were less mobile when out of water. They served their purpose of disrupting ocean travel, but beyond that she had better options. However, this creature had the same basic shape as a person. There were differences, to be sure, such as the tail and the trio of phallic heads. An intriguing combination of monster and man. Salem would have happily claimed it as one of hers.
Just as she was mulling about surprises…
The headmaster of Shade Academy, Professor Theodore, rubbed his red glove across his chin. He looked to his left when one of Vacuo's councilors whispered something. Answering with a quick nod, he turned his gaze towards Ironwood's screen.
"And you're sure this is all legit?" Theodore asked seriously. "It's like something out of a monster movie."
"A dozen audiovisual analysts have run the footage through every available filter and screening program we have. This evidence is the real deal," Ironwood responded, a tinge of concern in his voice. "Our investigation into the person that filmed this turned up no red flags. Her name is Lisa Lavender-an exotic dancer that lives in the city of Shion, within the kingdom of Mistral. She runs a website full of vlogs documenting various issues affecting Anima, with a forum for members to interact with each other, see her videos, and even post their own content. The woman is an otherwise normal amateur reporter maintaining a small following. Plus, we have corroborating evidence authenticating this footage from within the Turkana mine."
That was the perfect opportunity for Salem to put some of her thoughts forward.
"Yes, you said it seemed like the Grimm was trapped there. Not waiting or reacting to the mining group," Salem pointed out. She nodded at the first footage. "What have you learned?"
General Ironwood didn't immediately respond. A nod to his people again changed what everyone was seeing. Although the audio was muted, it didn't take away from the overall effect of seeing the artificial structure. Salem's red and black eyes narrowed into a concerned glare. The audio was turned back on just in time for the audience to hear the strange words spoken in the recording RDF agents had filmed. Combined with the image of the Grimm imprisoned in some force field, it perplexed everyone, including the immortal witch that had personally interacted with Gods.
"I don't have all the answers right now, and I'm asking more questions with every update sent. No language on record, human or faunus, matches the recording. The symbols we've found also match no alphabet we know of," Ironwood responded with an irritated grunt. "The Remnant Defense Force is still gathering information at this time. A firm conclusion may not come for quite a while, however. Our current theory is that the structure's purpose was to keep the Grimm contained."
"Could someone have been… breeding Grimm?" Glynda asked, stepping closer to Salem.
"There is the possibility," a new voice joined the meeting.
Salem focused on Atlas councilor Jacques Schnee. The billionaire was sat behind his office desk, lightly puffing on a thick cigar. The man appeared calm and collected, which some might think was just a mask to hide his fear and trepidation regarding the situation. Salem knew better. The emotions and intentions of others had long since ceased to be a mystery to her. Jacques Schnee had no fear at the moment. Slight concern was there, but it was smothered with arrogance. The reason for this stood before Jacques' desk with his arms crossed.
He was an elderly human in his early 70s. The man's gray hair, bushy mustache, and chinstrap beard were messy like he'd just risen from bed. A few deep scars etched the skin around his robotic left eye, earned from an encounter with a Grimm. He wore the red and white uniform of an RDF officer; white pants and a white coat lined with red trim, and a dark badge on the right side of his chest. The image was a Beowolf mask over an orange background, the RDF's Department of Grimm Affairs emblem.
He was Doctor Wells Merlot, Commander of said department.
"I have been going over the data our people are gathering, scant as it is. Even if we can't understand the language, a picture is worth a thousand words," Merlot began elaborating. "Someone, or more likely a group, had the Grimm held for a specific purpose: it was being used as a test subject. We've only seen the one clip within the stasis field, but the setup and the extended amount of talking by the unknown person are intimately familiar."
"Because you do the same, of course," Glynda sarcastically rebuked. Then she drove the point home further, "How many days has it been since one of your people was injured or killed?"
Merlot's smug smile was as obnoxious as it was unnecessary. "There is no need for ill feelings, Goodwitch. My Department and I have learned a lot from our experiments on the Grimm. Our research has expanded our understanding of their survival capabilities and the absolute best ways to destroy them. It requires a stronger constitution, with a desire for knowledge as the ultimate passion. Accidents are an unfortunate fact of our job."
Glynda's contempt for Merlot was well-known to Salem. Surprisingly, the immortal agreed with her somewhat. In her existence, Salem encountered many men and women just like him. A person whose actions were dictated by their obsession. In Merlot's case, his belief was that Grimm could be altered with scalpels and chemicals to serve humanity. Grimm were not living beings to the doctor; they were data. Living was subjective in the case of Grimm, but the point remained.
"But back to the topic at hand. Someone went through the trouble of building a prison specifically for this Grimm. It was either running around unchecked somewhere on Remnant before being captured or whoever built this structure also created the Grimm," Merlot explained. "We've too many questions and not enough information."
Lionheart, of all people, raised a hand signaling for everyone's focus and asked, "Are we sure this creature is even a Grimm? Its behavior has been the complete opposite of how Grimm typically act."
Salem knew the answer to that question, but she stayed silent, which allowed Merlot to scoff at Leo's suggestion. The scientist eyed the headmaster like he'd suggested the sky was falling.
"Of course, it is a Grimm. To look at it and think otherwise is ludicrous. It's most likely aged enough to have learned beyond simple mindless aggression." Merlot huffed in agitation. It was quickly replaced with an almost purring tone as he said, "I look forward to learning more about it."
Salem, and many others present, wondered if the man was aware his statement regarding the Grimm's status had no evidence to support it. Shortsighted of him, but 40-plus years of cutting open Grimm gave Merlot preconceived notions in his area of expertise.
General Ironwood had other ideas.
"Even if the Remnant Defense Force could capture and contain this monster, the risk of causing more damage if it escaped is too great. Our goal is to locate and destroy it with extreme prejudice," Ironwood firmly stated.
Merlot's eyes honed in on James, their gazes locking like two wolves squabbling over territory. His brow narrowed, the amusement from before replaced with a look of cold contempt. James' eyes hardened with a firm sense of unyielding authority in response. There it was: the real men revealed. One who would cross any line pursuing his obsession, and the other a leader who meant well but could very likely be pushed to take complete control over everything around him to achieve his goal. For better or worse, each believed their way was best
This confrontation was nothing new to Salem. The immortal had seen it thousands of times, between thousands of men and women, over thousands of years. Individuals who considered only themselves at the end of the day. Not always the same way, not always in a consciously malicious manner, but the sentiment was there. And she would see it thousands more. A pity. Had Ozma listened to her, they could have been better people.
Salem and irony did not hang out in the same social circles.
Merlot finally looked away, deterring any further friction.
"Now that my subordinate understands the situation, there is a second matter the RDF has decided on," Ironwood continued. "We believe it's best if knowledge of this Class IV Grimm is kept secret from the public right now and that any person you would like to share the information with be vetted by us."
As expected, the handful of outbursts that followed his proclamation stemmed from the civilians. Those who'd experienced combat against the Grimm nodded or gave small verbal agreements. One voice, however, overrode the others.
"And how is that going to work? You have a multitude of witnesses to it escaping, and potentially hundreds online sharing the footage of the fight," Jacques Schnee inquired. "At the very least, our supply chains should be made aware so plans can be devised that keep the flow of Dust moving. If Dust acquisition and distribution are interrupted, it will cause price soars, gouges, and aggressive stock fluctuations. Our economies could be affected for years."
His words brought forth glares and whispered criticism. Professor Rumpule, Theodore's blonde-haired Deputy, had no qualms calling him a greedy bastard loud enough for all to hear.
Salem had no such reaction other than frowning to appear offended like everyone else. His point about censoring knowledge of the creature was a valid one. Information had a way of spreading like a virus. Communication was once hindered by the technology of the age. But in today's digitized society, stopping info from being accessed proved difficult. It could be done to a certain degree, but no net was perfect. Video evidence alone would vindicate any stories about the monster. They couldn't be carelessly brushed aside as raving lunatics.
Only the delusional would dismiss clearly untampered video evidence of an event.
His other point about interrupting local and international supply chains might have been good had the CEO made any effort to hide the real reason behind his statement. He was, indeed, a greedy bastard. Salem watched him rise to the top of the business world after marrying into the Schnee family. Jacques used underpaid labor, unsafe cost-cutting working conditions, and unscrupulous tactics against other dust companies. She knew what his primary focus was: money.
The root of all evil, some said. Perhaps, Salem conceded, it was even true. Jacques was not cartoonish in his behavior. The billionaire was obsessed with money and all its benefits. Like Ironwood and Merlot's personalities, Salem had encountered far too many Jacques', consumed by the accumulation of wealth and the status it brought. All at the detriment of others. They were the kind of people who would sooner sell their own children than risk losing out on any and all profit.
Most of the rich made choices benefiting themselves, while the poor and struggling suffered in a world not built for them. At least when Grimm caused suffering, it was because their sole purpose was to do just that. Humans did it because they could. It was further proof of the words she'd spoken to Ozma.
Still, appearances must be kept.
"While his true concern is quite obvious, deplorable as that is, Councilor Schnee does have a point," Salem swiftly interrupted, garnering the attention of the conference. "How do you plan to stop news of this Grimm from being exposed to the general public? If the intel from the Remnant Defense force is accurate, then footage of its actions has been online for several days already. Whether we like it or not, the information is out there. It will spread like a virus to every person that sees it. If we announce the situation and calmly present a plan of action, the people can at least be prepared. It will lessen the negative emotions when they learn about the situation."
"How can you be prepared for a beast like this?" one of her councilors muttered in disbelief.
At that moment, the idea of arranging an 'accident' in the woman's near future crossed Salem's mind. No beast had withstood her powers; she only made it appear so. One would think her unbroken record spoke for itself, yet this fool instantly folded against the unknown. T'was only the effort she would need to expend finding a slightly less offensive replacement that stayed her thought in its tracks.
Regardless, Salem had not even lied when she spoke. A part of her believed telling the populous was the best idea. The court of Public Opinion had never been kind to those that tried to hide such things from them. Whether in a close-knit village of thirty or in the purview of thirty-six million living in the digital age, people did not like when their leaders hid information from them. Salem recognized that honesty was the best policy for protecting the people. How did the kids say it today? 'Best to rip off the adhesive bandage quickly'?
"People may indeed panic - there are many that will - but when the world learns you tried to hide the truth from them? The backlash could be quite severe," Salem concluded with feigned indignation. "It is our duty as leaders to safeguard the people of Remnant. Not leave them in darkness."
"I think General Ironwood's plan is the best option, your majesty. Causing panic by not being able to assure everyone we can kill the Grimm will do more harm in the short run," Lionheart spoke up softly, feebly attempting to placate her.
Salem turned her demonic eyes onto the lion faunus, who flinched back as if she'd raised her hand to strike him. Leonardo predictably folded like a card player in the face of strong-willed opposition. The fact this spineless coward became Headmaster of Haven Academy, a fine institution that produced courageous and competent Hunters, legitimately offended Salem. Even in her moments of half-assing it, Salem achieved better results than he ever could. Although she had no proof, Salem would not be surprised if Lionheart was Haven's Headmaster because racist humans put him in that position. Mistral was well-known for the prejudice they'd held onto since the war. But this stereotype could be discredited by pointing to the faunus running their prestigious academy. They have a faunus in a position of power and influence, so they couldn't be racist. And all the while, they could dog-whistle all around about how the one faunus headmaster was, quite honestly, the worst.
A disappointment, all things considered. But life itself was a disappointment. Salem learned that lesson when her father locked her away.
Ironwood motioned to the window containing the footage and the information on Lisa Lavender and explained, "Our Intelligence department is currently doing everything it can to trace where the footage has been shared. We're deleting everything and scrubbing the information from Ms. Lavender's site. Without video evidence to corroborate the story, no one will believe this Grimm exists. It isn't perfect, and I'm aware that some things may slip through the cracks, but this will give us time to track the Grimm down and eliminate it."
Salem felt disgusted by that statement. Seeing the general talk so casually about censoring this random woman, making decisions that affected her life without her knowledge or consent, brought to mind the numerous tyrants and authoritarians from the past who had done the same. Ironwood's belief that what he did was best did not give him the right to act on those beliefs. But it appeared that impassioned words failed to change his mind.
"Very well. If that is your choice, then be ready for the potential ramifications," Salem relented, letting the man give himself a little rope to hang himself with later.
The meeting concluded a few minutes later, with Ironwood promising to send new information as soon as it was obtained. Salem, however, was not interested in any of it. If and when she faced this monster, her magic would kill it like every other being that opposed her. Perhaps if they found out why this kaiju - for what else could it be - looked like one of her Grimm, the witch would focus her time on the matter.
It was just another beast. It would not derail her plans.
RDF Site "Prometheus", Anima, Remnant
78 AGW, May 8th, 10:15 am
Standing near the landing zone of their developing post, Winter waited patiently for the linguist Headquarters had sent to exit the newly arrived Manta. She had read the woman's file and was impressed with her work. The 32-year-old woman had been contracted by the Remnant Defense Force to start working on the unknown language discovered inside the… They were classifying it as a repository for now. With their additional findings over the last five days, it was an appropriate description.
Several attempts at obtaining more information from the computer banks had only retrieved one new file. Worse still, it was nothing but lines of text. Unable to understand the symbols, the file remained useless. However, what they couldn't learn from the database was evened out by the discoveries within other parts of the facility.
Further progress into the structure had been slow, either from damage that cut off entire sections with collapsed ceilings or doors requiring an Aura user to open them due to warping and lack of lubrication. But so far, they had located what appeared to be a few living quarters, a room they believed was for training, a small room with a moldy food storage device and a table lacking seats, and an armory with rifles and pistols that looked like nothing ever produced on Remnant. Luckily, unlike the scientists and military personnel portrayed in many films, no one had tried to fire the weapons or place bare skin on the mold that was found. Everything was carefully removed and taken to the buildings throughout the area to be cataloged and studied, carefully treated like the hazardous materials that they were.
Winter's musings ended when the linguist stepped out, holding a suitcase in her right hand and walking her way. The woman stood the same height as Winter, with a head of brown hair shaved on the left and everything else held in a side pony about a foot long. Light copper eyes sat in a gaunt face. The woman looked very skinny, with cheekbones that could cut diamonds. She wore no makeup or hair products that Winter could tell. Her dark brown suit appeared to be fitted for her slim frame instead of being some off-the-rack number. Bright yellow sandals covered her feet, and her toes were painted neon green. Anywhere else, this would have been a crime against fashion.
On Remnant, it was beautiful post-War Expressionism in action.
Winter happily approved.
"Professor Alana Touring?" Winter asked.
"Yes, and you are Specialist Winter Schnee, correct?" Alana confirmed as she lightly shook Winter's hand.
"Yes, ma'am," Winter responded. She turned to escort the other woman to the tunnel leading into the structure. "Did you receive the brief our Intelligence division sent you?"
"I did. And I have to say, I'm highly intrigued by all this. I've never seen symbols like this before, and the spoken dialect had a wonderful cadence. So exciting," Alana energetically spoke as they walked, smiling like a child on their birthday. "Have you managed to gather more samples?"
Winter nodded as they entered the tunnel. "Only one text file, I'm afraid. But the symbols are on the walls in various places. Our best guess is that they are labels or names."
"That's good to hear. I won't know for sure until I start the cipher process, but we'll be able to verify if the translation is correct," Alana expounded. By now, they'd entered the main computer room.
A handful of technicians worked around the room, endeavoring to rig up a way to make their scrolls compatible with the foreign system. Panels had been carefully pulled away to reveal the unknown circuitry within. Aside from the gold color of the wiring and what appeared to be see-through computer chips, everything looked normal. Still no progress on a successful connection, but at least Watts was gone. The scientist had taken up residence in one of the examination rooms filled with the recovered weapons. Winter appreciated every minute free of his presence.
A moderately-sized holographic screen was sitting on the three-seat console to the keyboard's left, with the picture of the text file displayed, enhanced to appear clear as possible. Alana happily rushed forward and threw herself onto one of the old vinyl-lined seats. The techs had cleaned the dust and grime out of the room days ago, doing their best to lower the chance of a bacterial pathogen infecting anyone.
The woman looked between the translucent keyboard and the file several times, a grin on her lips. "I'll need complete silence while I'm doing this. My Semblance takes a lot of concentration, and if I'm disturbed, there's a chance I could give you a bad translation cipher."
"Do you want us to leave you by yourself?" Winter asked.
Alana shook her head and placed her hands above the keyboard. "No. Just need the quiet."
Winter nodded, then motioned for everyone to put down their equipment.
For almost a minute, Alana kept her hands positioned over the keyboard. Winter was about to ask if anything was wrong, until the other woman's fingertips and eyes suddenly glowed orange. A moment later, every symbol on the keyboard lit up the same color. Before Winter's eyes, they floated off their keys, peeling like colorful stickers. Alana moved her hands until they were pointed at the file, and the glowing symbols followed along under her command. It was like watching the noodles in alphabet soup moving through the broth.
Alana's fingers started to move at a quick pace. The thin digits twitched and curled, locked up and tapped invisible surfaces, and occasionally halted completely as her hand would rotate or move horizontally. Symbols were arranged in sequences that matched those of the file, duplicating themselves and being pushed to the side so more could be copied.
Once Alana's power recreated every sequence, she started moving the set of symbols from the keyboard, muttering to herself along the way. "Definitely zero matches to all known language… 31 distinct characters indicate individual letters in an alphabet, variable of at least one or two forms of punctuation… singular characters in strings likely analogous to vowels within our language."
Without warning, Alana's head violently twisted to the side, mouth wide open as if she inhaled a large gulp of air. Winter stepped back, startled by the sudden action. She was about to call out Alana's name but remembered the linguist asked for complete silence. This proved the correct move, as Alana's mouth closed, and she looked forward again.
Alana's fingers moved faster as symbols grouped themselves into random sequences over and over until each one again hovered on its own. "Three-character grouping shows 34 times in both sections… separation between groups indicative of paragraphs… character at the end of paragraph one possible punctuation… likelihood 76%… cross-reference… symbol appears five times in the first paragraph, four in second… nine sentences?… specific character… equivalent to a period… three-character grouping… 'the' 'and' 'but' 'are' or 'can'… substituting the letters."
The words the linguist put forth moved closer to her hands. Above them, five of the same three-character groups pulled themselves from the glowing copy of the file. All five were subsumed by the Vytalian words, then, one by one, each was tested within the two paragraphs. This went on for a few minutes, with letters turning black after being placed in certain spots. Eventually, Alana squeezed her hands closed three times, and a short string of words followed her command, detaching from the paragraph.
'*** ****** ** *** ****** *****'
Professor Touring resumed her mutterings as her Semblance did its job. "The letter 'C' is extremely unlikely… because… yes, that group is only two characters… speak to me, my friends… uh-huh… substitute a 'T' here, here and here… this group of six, 'T****T'… do you want an 'E'?… 'T***ET'… so then this one would be '****ET'… what was that?… yes, I agree… this string, '*** T***ET ** T*E ****ET E**T*'… but that would be… the vowels and consonants, do they translate one-for-one? Of course, thank you for explaining."
Who was she talking to? Winter watched as the foreign alphabet from the keyboard pushed the five test words to the back, hovering next to the in-progress translation. The orange glow from all the symbols grew brighter and began shooting back and forth like bullets. The action was brought about by Alana tapping her temple in a slow rhythm.
'*** T***ET ** THE ****ET E**TH'
Alana tilted her head, almost like she was listening to someone. "This word is 'earth'… 'A' and 'R'… which means..."
'**R TARGET ** THE **A*ET EARTH'
The young professor nodded and asked, "That's the name? Fascinating. And with that…"
'OUR TARGET IS THE PLANET EARTH'
The glow from the letters became almost blinding now. Once Alana translated this sentence, more unintelligible characters started morphing into Vytalian letters. Faster and faster, the text was rapidly appearing legible to Winter. Within 45 seconds, the entire file was translated, and with one last grand swipe of Alana's hands, the keys on the keyboard itself changed. Instead of the unknown symbols, common-tongue lettering imprinted the device, along with a period and question mark. Oddly, no exclamation point appeared. With this final act, Alana slumped back in her chair and allowed the glow of her Semblance to disappear. Blood trailed down her nose, prompting Winter to the woman's side in a flash.
"Call a medic!" the Specialist yelled to techs around her. A heavy pit grew within her stomach like a bad case of food poisoning. This feeling of dread stopped in its tracks when Alana grabbed her arm.
"It's fine… it's," the professor paused to pull a handkerchief from her blazer. She wiped away the blood from her upper lip, waving off Winter's concern with a small smile. "The less information about a language I have, the harder my Semblance has to work. When my starting point is shakier, it does the work I can't. But, I suffer from varying side-effects when I strain it."
"Your file said as much. But it never mentioned anything about nose bleeds. This isn't normal, is it?" Winter asked softly, keeping a steady hand on the other woman's shoulder.
"A migraine worse than any hangover is the most severe I've ever experienced. Nothing has given me this extreme of a response before," Alana affirmed. To illustrate her point, she involuntarily closed her eyes to lessen the pain.
"What caused such a reaction this time?" the Specialist wondered, hoping she didn't seem too intrusive.
Lovingly running her hand over the translated keyboard, Alana happily explained the situation by saying, "An entirely new language, Miss Schnee! With all languages, characters and certain phrases overlap in some portion with other languages belonging to nearby cultures and civilizations. When traced back far enough, you can find the seed of the tree that is all written and spoken word on this planet, with all known dialects acting as the limbs and branches."
"And this language isn't a part of that tree," Winter concluded, eyes widening by the second.
Alana's eyes were glassy as she managed to look up at Winter, smiling like an awestruck child. "No, this is a different tree! That's why my nose bled; my Semblance had to ask the letters to help us understand them."
That confusing statement made Winter blink. "Ask them?"
"I believe a language is a form of life, Miss Schnee. Everything about it, from how we label moods, how certain words are gendered, and even how they're used as a substitute for combat. Words -in their own way -are like people, right down to how good and evil are within them, too," Alana wistfully explained.
"And that's what your Semblance does; give life to the words," Winter realized, looking back at the translated letters. It was the esoteric and the philosophical blended into the power of a Semblance. "So they told you how to understand them."
Alana slowly pulled herself to her feet, gesturing to everything in the room. "Oh, by the Gods, they did! Miss Schnee, this is one of the greatest discoveries in modern history. We have one of two scenarios in this situation. The first is that this language was created by a culture that somehow remained completely isolated and undiscovered by the rest of the world until now, who were able to create words with zero similarities to anything else. On top of that, they also had the time and ability to build this place and everything in it."
"Extremely unlikely, given how advanced the technology is and how difficult maintaining that level of isolation would be," Winter said. Logically speaking, there was only one other possibility she could think of that fit all the evidence they'd gathered. "The other scenario would be -"
"Aliens!" Alana loudly whispered in glee. The rest of the room turned to look at her, but she didn't seem bothered by the attention. If anything, her excitement grew exponentially. "Aliens built all of this! That's why the letters and words were so different. Whoever they are - or were - everything here came from another planet. This is beyond anything I could have hoped for when the RDF contracted me. Ever since I was a kid, I've wondered if we were alone. When your dad lets you watch all kinds of Atlas sci-fi movies, it drives your imagination. In fact… do you think they could be walking among us?"
Ice seemed to fill Winter's chest at that question. The concept of aliens was not an unknown one. It was actually taken seriously by numerous scientists and scholars within the scientific community. With the vastness of the universe, it was highly improbable Remnant was the only place life existed. That life, however, would likely be bacterial, according to their consensus. Sure, some full-on proposed that sapient and intelligent beings were out there eager to make contact with Remnant, but those individuals were outliers among the community.
With this new development...?
Her military mind could think of a dozen outcomes, several of them less than stellar. Why would aliens come to Remnant and build a facility to house Grimm? Their lab had not finished carbon dating any of the metal removed from the walls, which begged the question of how long this place had been here. And where did the aliens go? Did they leave? Had they all died, perhaps buried in the surrounding landscape, or would the Remnant Defense Force find their long-dead bodies hidden throughout the rest of the structure? What if they lived among the population, hidden in plain sight with no way for anyone to detect them? If that were the case, could they be planning an invasion? Was that the purpose of the giant Grimm that escaped captivity? Did they plan to obliterate Remnant's defenses with it, then force humans and faunus under their thumbs?
A childish part of her wondered if it might instead be tentacles holding them down, which could still use laser pistols and operate machinery the same as any creature with fingers and thumbs. And perhaps they would wear shiny outfits similar in appearance to tinfoil.
Before her inner science-fiction fangirl could take over, her focus returned to the text file awaiting them. It now displayed nine fully translated sentences divided into two paragraphs. Winter would need to take a picture and write it into her scroll. Double, triple, and sometimes even quadruple documentation was standard operating procedure within the RDF. Overkill, some might say. But, better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, as the saying goes.
As for the file…
Winter sat next to Alana and began reading. "The cattle have started to die at an ever-increasing rate, despite our best efforts. We can expect the illness to kill the entire herd by next month. But, the Engineers have intercepted radio signals indicating intelligent life. Monster Zero has blessed us with such a gift.. Our target is the planet Earth; reaching them will take four months.
Should any Strange Beasts call the world home, we will likely have to put them under our control for the time being. While I wish to use Monster X, it has been misbehaving more than usual recently, necessitating discipline and reeducation sessions. The crew of the Gorath is to remain on standby unless called for, at which point you will set the beast loose. May the King of Terror bless you and yours."
Once Winter was finished, she leaned back in her chair and blankly stared at the screen. So many thoughts ran through her mind, each seeking to be the one she entertained first. Turning towards Alana, who looked equally dumbfounded, Winter could only think of one thing to say.
"What?"
Remnant Defense Force Military Base, Argus, Anima
78 AGW, May 8th, 11:00 am
"Are you certain this is an accurate translation?" James Ironwood questioned the eldest Schnee child. "There's a sentence that ends in two periods. Perhaps there has been a mistake of some kind?"
General James Ironwood, Director of the planetwide Remnant Defense Force, was sitting in an office reserved for his visits. Specialist Winter Schnee had called him ten minutes ago, with the call flagged as Red: the designation for messages of extreme importance. As the woman briefed him about their newest finding, the man couldn't help but hope it was incorrect.
"Professor Touring has assured me of its authenticity, sir. According to her Semblance, two periods are equivalent to an exclamation point in this language. Their punctuation isn't an exact match, which makes sense if it's an alien dialect," Winter swiftly reported. "Putting aside her history with different universities, the translation cipher matches everything we've come across since. The doors and storage compartments with writing on them are all labeled correctly. We found a container labeled ion cells that stored some devices our analysts believe are batteries, for example. It's accurate, general."
James' concern over the matter grew upon hearing that. "Have you managed to access more files or videos?"
Winter didn't immediately answer his inquiry. In fact, her cheeks colored with the faintest of blushes from his question. She turned her scroll towards the techs sitting at the computer, furiously typing away at the keys. The screen displayed an image of the previously captive Grimm, waging its finger and smirking at everyone. Beneath it in yellow was the phrase, You didn't say the magic word, flashing endlessly.
"Despite knowing what the letters are now, hacking into the system is proving difficult, General," the young woman explained, shaking her head at the setback. "Passwords and command prompts are required for seemingly everything beyond turning the screen on. And when we replicated Doctor Watts' input, we were brought to the same video entry. So far, entering various ways of saying 'take me to another video-slash-file' has only returned us to the login prompt. And we still can't splice our devices into theirs yet. We're trying our best, sir, but everything is just so… different."
"I see. That's to be expected. You are to make gaining entry into the system your top priority, and I want an immediate update if you learn more about the weaponry taken from the site," James ordered. While he was proud of the arms available to his organization, any advantage against the enemy was welcome.
"And the news about the aliens, sir?" Winter hesitantly questioned, which James could understand.
"Keep as quiet as we can, for now. We know people will panic when they eventually learn about this new Grimm. There is no telling how they may react to learning that aliens exist, and they're also responsible for the creature and may be hiding among us. Neighbors could turn on each other at the slightest provocation, and I do not want to open the door to rampant conspiracy theories and riots." His tone was hard as granite, offering no room for arguments.
"I'll see to it that everyone who's had access is sworn to silence, and if anyone causes trouble, I'll handle them," Winter assured him.
A sudden beep from his scroll drew his attention away from his subordinate. When James saw the sender's name, he moved to close the call. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Specialist Schnee. I have an important matter to attend to sooner than I was expecting. If you need to contact me, send a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir!" Winter saluted before the call ended.
She was a good soldier: always efficient with any tasks assigned to her, excelled at all of her training, and was punctual to a T. Above all else, her best qualification for such upward mobility was her loyalty and the fact she didn't question orders; she merely carried them out. After a few more years in the service, the woman would likely occupy a position similar to himself. If she kept up her performance, that is.
A model example of how one should conduct oneself as a soldier of the Remnant Defense Force.
Powering down his desktop, James left his office and started making his way to the hangar. Two VIPs were waiting for him, arriving thirty minutes earlier than scheduled. A slight inconvenience, but as any military personnel would tell you: better to be early than to be late. True of any position within the world, but especially in the armed forces. Discipline demanded nothing but. It took ten minutes for him to arrive at his destination. And, just outside the entrance, were his guests: Pietro Polendina and his daughter Penny.
Pietro was the dark-skinned older man sitting in a high-tech chair. His short hair and thick beard weren't the same pale white as the Schnee family, but they were close. A pair of small oval glasses sat on Pietro's nose, behind which were kind brown eyes that seemed to twinkle in mischief. Despite working as the RDF's Department of Engineering second-in-command, Pietro didn't wear a standard uniform. Like his direct superior, Arthur Watts, his attire was much more casual. He wore a cream-colored shirt, a red vest, and a bright pink bowtie. His slacks matched the yellow-green of his cap and ended atop a pair of brown boots.
The young woman next to him, Penny Polendina, was the opposite in nearly every way, with freckled light skin and orange hair cut in a bob. The large bow in Penny's hair matched the man's bowtie in style and color. The teenager - in body, if not mind - had innocent green eyes. Eyes that had yet to see the world for what it was beyond one's childhood. She wore a short gray and green dress over a frilled white blouse, with black leggings and boots. James knew Penny was outfitted with a backpack containing the weapon designed for her, but she didn't have it on her.
"Pietro, our meeting wasn't until 1200 hours. Why are you here so early?" he questioned, reaching forward to shake the scientist's hand.
Pietro nodded toward his daughter. "Penny asked if we could come to see it sooner. I told the gate guards that they didn't need to bother you, but they insisted"
James turned his eyes toward the girl. "Hello, Penny. So, you're this eager to see it in person?"
"Salutations, General Ironwood. I've read all the schematics over twenty times and completed the simulation one hundred times," Penny answered softly. "I can't learn anything else without being around it in person. I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you, General."
"You're not in any trouble, Penny. In fact, I'm glad you're showing this kind of proactive drive," he assured her.
Penny seemed to take that to heart, offering a small smile. "Talking with father has helped me see that I must work hard to protect people. If I fight Kaiju, then others won't have to die."
Pietro grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "You can see she's quite eager."
James waved his hand towards the entryway next to the hangar doors and said, "After you."
The trio made their way through the archway, scanning their ID cards to log their entry. Although this newest weapon would soon be made public, only authorized personnel currently had access. That list included Ironwood, Watts, Pietro, and thirty high-ranking engineers. Penny was also on that list, but for a very different reason. No one else was allowed in the hangar, under penalty of a court martial and time in the brig.
The reason why stood before them in its dock, illuminated by lights larger than a transport vehicle. It took two minutes to cross the room, and once they did, they each had to crane their necks to look up.
A giant silver mech was securely held by a dozen clamps and walkways. A mech that strangely had a distinctly feminine design. It stood at 90 meters and weighed 45,000 tons without a payload of missiles, rounds, and fuel. The arms and legs differed from the old Colossus built 25 years ago. Instead of squared, thick limbs, the mech's appendages were shaped like a human, with plated thighs and calves, elbows and knees that could bend, and armored shoulders and biceps. The feet resembled a horse hoof connected to a shoe-like high heel. Its legs were attached to a plated hourglass torso, with a circular power core between two plates reminiscent of breasts. The right arm had a hand with segmented fingers and a massive curved blade fused to the forearm for parrying or slicing. Its left arm intertwined at the elbow into a drill, the back of which sported a turbine engine.
It was the machine's head that sold the image.
The mech's face looked like a young woman with pure red eyes, a pointed nose, and firm lips. Flexible carbon-tube pseudo-muscle covered the neck, which allowed the machine to turn its head like a person. This same material lay underneath most of the metal plates on the mech, providing a cushion that strengthened how durable the machine would be in a fight, as well as giving it the dexterity to fluidly move like a person.
Instead of having ears, a pair of antennae poked up and through the hair. Well… hair wasn't the right word, but it best described what covered the head. The same material that made the neck parted in the middle and flowed down the mech's back, with the front covering the forehead like short bangs. A shade somewhere between blue and black, this "hair" did serve an actual function. Each thick strand was lined with conductors to channel lightning Dust, giving the machine an extra defense against something attacking from behind.
From the corner of his eye, James saw Penny go wide-eyed. "Impressed, Penny?"
"Yes, sir," the young girl answered, not looking away from the machine she was fated to pilot.
"We should have Jasmine finished within two weeks," her father said. He maneuvered around to face the General. "At this stage, it's just a matter of ensuring the power distribution doesn't fail, which requires more tests, and finishing up a few minor connections in the cockpit."
"Excellent news, Doctor. We're going to hit the ground running with this project," General Ironwood informed her father. The General subtly looked around them, then whispered, "I just learned about a situation we need to discuss regarding the Class IV Grimm."
Penny could hear the concern in her father's voice as he responded, but she was not focused on what he was saying. Knowing they were distracted by their conversation, she made her way to the elevator and ascended to the top. Her steps echoed around her as she approached the silver face of Jasmine. Penny hadn't been allowed to leave her father's home or to see the weapon she was destined to pilot.
Several engineers gave Penny a cursory glance as they passed by, but they chose to leave her alone in favor of completing their work. Penny reached forward and ran her hand over the mech's cheek, feeling the smoothness of the metal under her fingers. Sometimes, when her father talked about the kind of work she was created for, his voice became very sad. That did not seem logical to Penny. How could destroying monsters be a negative topic? And Penny was a good daughter: not once leaving the lab and spending all her time learning about the Kaiju defeated by Queen Salem. Formulating ways in which their weaknesses must be exploited was a good thing.
Penny did not understand how her father could be sad. Being combat-ready was Penny's goal, her purpose. She did everything the Remnant Defense Force told her to do without question or hesitation.
What was sad about that?