Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth. I own nothing.

Warning: This is Fiction. Do Not Imitate. Cannot stress it enough. Also, some scenes of blood ahead.

Chapter 16. Beacon Days 08

Rooftop Café

Going on the fourth hour, Jaune rubbed his forehead, dearly wishing he could order a frappe and lounge in the cool night air. The sun has given way to the moon, and Blake Belladonna was still missing.

This was the third tip he acted on, the previous two being cases of mistaken identity. With a good dozen of the Red Axes pitching in and numerous favors called, this little search has cost Uncle Hei a lot more than Jaune was comfortable with. It just goes to show the difficulty of finding a runaway in a city.

The sound of the rooftop door opening drew his notice. His partner for the operation, Nash, walked out with a frothy cup of coffee in hand.

"We got a hold of that shift's waiter. It's definitely your missing girl." Jaune perked up.

"Did he hear her say where she's staying? Or where she's headed?"

"No, but get this." Nash leaned in. "He heard her talking to a Faunus about the White Fang." Jaune winced.

"Oooooh that's not good. Let me call my uncle."

He didn't know what Blake Belladonna wanted with them, but if the White Fang has taken her then it'd be a long night yet. They might as well be their own gang, carving out their own pieces of the city among the areas with high Faunus population. The civilians there tended to keep quiet on where the actual hideouts were located, but Uncle Hei might have an idea.

"Never fear, Jaune. I've already let him know. He's got a hunch on where some White Fangs are, and the twins are checking it out."

"Great! Let's meet up with them." Nash crossed his arms in an 'X'.

"Boss said he wants us to check out another possible spot. C'mon, those girls will be fine." He glared at Jaune. "And I'd rather not spend the next hour watching you three flirt."

Jaune's protestations of innocence fell on deaf ears, as the two suited men strolled along the cobblestone streets of the riverside. Their destination, a bar catering mostly to Faunus, was within walking distance. He knew the general location, a mile or two from the river in a seedy neighborhood.

Normally, two humans would meet an unfortunate fate there, gangster or no gangster, but a burst of Aura should serve as a warning and garner a level of grudging cooperation. Or, it would be seen as a challenge and start a fight for their lives. A coin flip, really.

The street they turned onto showed signs of neglect. Boarded windows and graffiti walls dotted its length. A pothole stretched wide and deep enough to break a car's axle. A few teens in front of a convenience store took a look at Jaune's and Nash's suits, and dashed for the bar further down the street. Well, at least he won't have difficulty catching the patrons' attention. Jaune limbered up as they approached the doors, while the other man ducked behind the Red Axes' resident meat-shield. It's likely that he would be outnumbered, although it's not guaranteed to end in a fight. However, the art of posturing had strange rules, and presenting himself as a fighter was the key to avoiding actual violence. So, Jaune squared his shoulders and checked his knife. Just as he kicked open the door,-

~Don't stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up~

-an energetic dancebeat of a ringtone played from his pocket. The silent room full of Faunus listened to the lyrics of a song extolling the lifestyle of party girls. They moved not a muscle as the human's cheeks glowed a fiery-red.

"Hold on a moment, please."

Jaune closed the door, which did nothing to muffle a rising tide of laughter. He tried his best to shrug it off while fishing out his scroll, and resolved never to come within three blocks of this place again. The snickering behind him didn't help.

"Is that, hihi, is that your anthem, dude?"

"Screw off, it's Melanie."

"..."

He ignored the other man, and swiped the green icon.

"M-"

"Jaune! We need backup nownownow!"

The sound of gunfire punctuated her words, a cacophony that spoke of dozens of enemies. Any thoughts of Blake disappeared. Jaune's mind blanked for a second before he shouted.

"Where are you!?"

"The warehouses at the docks. They're chasing us." Jaune turned east and sprinted, Aura flaring to boost his speed. He quickly left Nash behind, calling after him to slow down.

"Shit. I'm 10 minutes out. Who's after you?"

"White Fang! Blue Zee!" More gunfire. Then, an unfamiliar staccato. Melanie wailed. "The fucking Mistralians just showed up, why the fuck are you so far away!?"

He should have met up with them. He should have insisted, no matter what Uncle Hei said.

"Melanie, I'll get there soon. It'd be okay, I promise. I'll get reinforcements. Just focus on staying alive."

"Hurry, Jaune!"


The Vale Docks

"Please leave a message after-"

"Please leave a mess-"

"Please-"

Uncle Hei never picked up. Most minions were similarly silent. Of the few that answered, none were nearby. With a scream of frustration, Jaune ran alone into the warehouse district.

He followed the signs of battle. As the sound of gunfire rose louder, he came across the bodies, white and blue clothing soaked in red. Those alive screamed and moaned as they bled. The stench brought bile to his throat, as he locked his eyes straight ahead to avoid seeing the dead and dying. Cars of various makes lay abandoned along the path, riddled with bullets from skirmishes.

The trail led to a warehouse for some big name company, now the site of a war raging between three sides.

The first group, The Blue Zee, fared the worst. The last dozen or so hid behind wooden crates, halfway between the other two factions. From time to time, they popped out of cover to be shot down from both sides. They were the ones who spied on the Red Axes. They chose to attack his teachers. Jaune did not feel pity for them. He did not.

He threw up as one man choked to death on his own blood.

The remnants of White Fang soldiers hunkered down in the side alleys. They showed better discipline, laying down suppressing fire at the enemies between their positions. Their weaponry were a step above the Blue Zee, favoring military rifles and submachine guns.

A barricade of cars surrounded the main entrance, manned by suited gangsters gunning down these last pockets of resistance. A portion turned their weapons to the dark interior of the building, firing off at unseen targets. Their clothing resembled Jaune's, but they weren't Red Axes. The Mistralians.

Chances were almost certain that the twins can be found inside the warehouse. Unfortunately. Wiping away bile, Jaune placed a call. His heart almost stopped when Melanie's scroll went to voicemail, and raced again when Miltia answered hers.

"Ja…tay…sile…"

"Mil? Can you hear me!? I'm outside a warehouse-"

"JaunebequietthankOumyoucame!" Jaune lowered his voice to match the whisper.

"Are you and Mel hurt?"

"We're inside and still alive. Bruises, cuts. Our Aura's in the red." She sniffled. "They blocked off the exits. It's a madhouse in here and we're trying to stay hidden."

Red Aura. Amidst that hell, they had slivers of protection. Any stray shot could be the one that…

"I'm busting you girls out. Where exactly are you?"

"Um. Somewhere near the center? It's like a maze in here."

"Damn."

"…sorry…"

"Don't- I'm just trying to figure out a plan. You'll be okay, I promise." Please be okay.

An Arc never goes back on his word, but his word cannot change reality. Jaune stood outside, his targets were inside, and in between were… a lot. To even get in the building, he needed to get past the first set of warring gangs. The White Fang held the south and north side. The Mistralians controlled the main doors. How long would it take him to circle to the back? Was there a way in from there? The twins can't wait for the careful approach.

Jaune's Aura could withstand gunfire, as proven by his fights against thugs and Beacon students. But that was when he faced one or two gunmen at a time. A frontal assault here involved charging through dozens of foes and hundreds of rounds. As impressive as his Aura reserves might be, the hail of bullets that awaited him would chew apart his soul.

He needed a shield. He has a knife.

A scan of the surroundings showed a lot of guns. Promising, but not much better than his knife. Near the guns were the scattered bodies of gangsters and terrorists. A macabre option, and there's no guarantee it can block much. But distasteful as it may be, poor cover as they may be, they could serve as shields. Needs must when the devil drives.

Or…

"I have a plan. Hang tight, Mil-Mil."

-o-

Jaune charged the barricades, shield in his hand.

And under his feet. And on his back. And above his head. A two-ton, two-hundred-fifty-horsepower, ninety-miles-per-hour shield of aluminum and steel.

He had planned to use a nearby forklift, and rely on the lumber it carried as cover, but he didn't have a clue on how to drive one. Vale required a specific certification to operate those vehicles, so he doubted it would be as simple as a car. Instead of fiddling with something so complex on so little time, he hijacked one of the gangsters' car left further back on the road. The seat may be staining his pants red, the smell may have brought back his nausea, and movies told him that cars can be explosive when shot. But the key left in the ignition triumphed over all other concerns.

The car burst into the clearing, and came under fire from all three factions in the seconds before reaching the Mistralians. Jaune kept the steering wheel on course, ducked low, and flared his Aura to survive the bullets that punctured the window.

Oh, and he laughed like a maniac.

He laughed for there was nothing that can stop him now. His getting into the warehouse was an inevitability. At this speed, with this weight, the momentum will carry Jaune forward even if the engine died or the car caught on fire. Which it did.

Faced with the cackling demon driving a car out of hell bearing down on them, the Mistralian gangsters abandoned their post, braving the crossfire to dodge the oncoming mass. The flaming wreck slammed the side of a dark sedan. The steel and aluminum folded, crushing both cars together in a screeching roar. Shrapnel tore into the flesh of the unfortunate men and women caught in the open. The White Fang stared as the fire spread, while the surviving Blue Zee praised their lucky star and made a run for it.

Amidst the chaos, those outside the building did not even see the projectile hurling at fatal velocity out of the weakened windshield and into the depths of the warehouse.

-o-

The second set of warring factions inside the building, who halted their battle at the sound of the crash, did see the projectile flying in. Those behind boxes and tables, those in the open, all gaped as they recognized the object as it danced through the air to be a person. A few heads poked out from among the aisles, attracted by the noise. They winced as the body impacted the ground in a meaty squelch, bounced, kissed the ground, and repeated all along the floor until it smashed into a shelf, setting off a cloud of splinters and dust.

"Well, they're dead."

"Should've worn a seatbelt."

"Pffft hahahaha-"

The moment of camaraderie soon passed, and the criminals took up their guns. Their jaws dropped again when a figure stumbled out as the cloud cleared.

"Oooooh, dizzy...did I stick the landing?"

The man sported a black suit, with ripped-up sleeves and torn-off buttons. His face was stained with dirt and soot, but strangely free of bloodstains. In fact, the man looked a lot better than they expected. He was alive, for one, and intact, for another. On his hips was a short blade, the sheath decorated with some kind of motif. His tie, set straight with a quick pull, was impeccable once more. A pair of blue sunglasses hid his eyes, and seemed to glow as he showed a toothy smile. A haze radiated from the man. Most thought it a trick of the light, until it became roiling wisps of bluish-white.

Aura.

A Huntsman.

Their fingers touched the trigger of their weapons, and sweat poured down their necks as the criminals watch the man swung his gaze from one group to another. He raised his hands, and spoke.

"Brothers and sisters of the underworld-"

In unison, all three groups let loose with all they had. They held no delusions that they could survive against an attacking Huntsman. No, the moment to strike was now, with everything they have, before the monster can unsheathe his short sword.

As the man disappeared under the storm of lead, the fastest of the gangsters took aim at their distracted enemies.

-o-

Damn.

Jaune had a whole speech ready. He was pretty confident that his words could have gotten the three gangs to stand down. Unfortunately, with so many trigger-happy factions, he had no time for even the opening line.

The first dozen or so bullets slamming into his body toppled Jaune to the ground. They saved his life as the rest flew overhead and ripped apart the boxes and pallets. Under the rain of debris, he scrambled on all fours down the aisle, heading further into the depths of the warehouse.

Miltia was not exaggerating when she said it was a maze in here. Jaune doubted that the management of this place would approve of the workers' performance. Boxes were stacked haphazardly on the floor and clogged the aisles, or teetered precariously on the upper nooks. Some containers were clearly knocked over from on high, laying broken on the ground and spilling their contents. The pool of red under a pallet of lead weights told Jaune that part of this mess might be a recent development. He looked at the pianos and anvils jutting out of the highest levels, and quickened his steps past the area. A flickering orange hue spoke of a fire somewhere in the building, and he could only hope the crates along the far wall carrying snowflake symbols did not mean what he think they meant. Another worry on top of everything else, the fact that they might all go sky-high at any moment.

As he jumped over a refrigerator blocking the passage, Jaune had a moment to notice a face looking up from below, before the ambush was upon him.

The first gunman aimed for his head, missing completely has Jaune fell from his jump. The second ate a sheath, shattering his jaw. The third man raised a shotgun. Jaune unsheathed his knife, and swung with blind panic.

And he parted the arm from the man's body.

Jaune froze at the sight of the stump spraying blood onto his suit, as the man screeched in horror and shock. He gulped air, smelling a metallic tang that triggered a fresh wave of nausea. The first gunman woke him from the stupor with a pistol shot that impacted against Aura, and Jaune shoved the man against the fridge. He sprinted past the screaming gangster, clearing the path through the remaining enemies with a wild slash. He heard a wet gurgle as he ducked around a different aisle.

Vaulting over another pile of boxes, Jaune saw a corpse slumped against a shelf, and lost his nerves. Tears in his eyes, Jaune doubled over and puked for the second time that day.

They might live, his mind said. He didn't see them die, after all. But Jaune knew what he did. That gunman won't live long, bleeding out as he was. Neither would the man whose throat he cut. With nothing left in his stomach, Jaune dry-heaved. The sound of guns, breaking glass, screams, and smashed objects faded to the background.

He stared blankly at the nearby body. He wondered how many more were dead or dying in this hell. The gray suit denoted him as part of the Mistralian gang. In his hand, a bulky submachinegun of an unknown make. An import from Mistral, perhaps.

Why was the man here? Yes, every gang contended for the docks, the lucrative gem a target for criminals domestic and foreign. But to lose their lives in a run-down warehouse like this, it certainly couldn't be worth it. The three factions died in droves. They died in ignoble ways, in a place of no real significance, in a battle the city will never remember.

This person did not pass peacefully, his face a rictus of fear. Was it the wound on his throat, or his heart, or his eye that ended his life?

Jaune blinked. Those weren't gunshot wounds. He focused on the body, his attention taken by the odd sight in this battle that very much favored Dust-propelled lead pellets. It must have been a knife or sword. With a jolt, he thought of two girls who used blades. But no, the weapon must be slimmer to leave marks so thin, and its wielder had the cruelty to aim three killing blows and numerous small cuts on the body. An idea sprung to his mind, that most of the wounds might have been put there after the body expired. Jaune shuddered. Whoever did this might still be in the room.

Turning away, he forced a deep breath. Then another, and another. He crushed down the wave of guilt and fear, clinging to the thread that was his promise.

There's more at stakes than just him, Melanie and Miltia were in danger. More than ever, if the Blue Zee or White Fang had a psychopath running around. All of his pain, all of the blood he spilled, they meant nothing if he could not save them. He made a promise, and the night can only end when it was fulfilled.

Gripping his knife tightly, Jaune marched on.

The second ambush came from the White Fang, and Jaune met them while screaming out the names of his teachers. Barely slowing, he grabbed one man and threw him into the others. The White Fang's body blocked the bullets fired by his fellow Faunus. The blond set upon his enemies, cutting at their hands to remove their ability to fight. An errant strike bit deep into a White Fang's shoulder, but he forced himself to keep advancing without another look. The man might survive. Who can say different?

As he ran, Jaune called out for Melanie and Miltia again in the hopes that they were near. The lack of stealth hardly mattered. His voice was lost among the chaos of the warehouse.

He came across a skirmish between the Blue Zee and the Mistralians, and moved on unseen. Let them remove each other. A fire blocked the path of the adjacent aisle, near which was a person flopping to the ground. Jaune swore he saw another figure, but a blink and it had vanished. The prone body wore blue. Not one of the twins, thank Oum. Jaune kept his head on a swivel as he crept away.

Taking a corner, he spotted a squad of four suited men further down the aisle. Three were poking around the shelf, attempting to shift the packages. A fourth acted as lookout, currently facing the opposite direction from Jaune, and he seized the opportunity to close the distance. An arm's length away, Jaune lost the element of surprise as the lookout turned. The man stood stunned for a second before screaming a warning. The other Mistralians whipped their heads around, bringing arms to bear.

From within a gap in the shelf, claws lunged out. They ripped the leg of a gunman to shreds, as a girl in red emerged from between the boxes that concealed her. Before anyone could react, a second girl dropped from a higher alcove to drive her bladed boots into the shoulders of another gangster. The lookout received a blow on the head from the thrown sheath of Jaune's knife, as the boy tackled the last man. An Aura-clad fist knocked him unconscious.

"Jau-"

Melanie found herself cut off as Jaune pulled her and Miltia into his arms. Losing all composure, he sobbed and blubbered into their hair. Two pairs of hands wrapped him in their embrace, and his worst fears faded away. They stroked his head and back, whispering in his ears.

"It's okay, Jaune. We're here-"

"You really came! We knew you would-"

"-we'll get them for this-"

"-holy fuck-"

In time, their soothing voices calmed him down until his tears ran dry. Jaune loosened his arms to let the sisters stand on their own feet again, and he took a measure of their bedraggled state. Cuts and bruises, grime and blood, his teachers tottered from exhaustion. Miltia sported a limp from a swollen right ankle. Melanie's torn dress could almost match her sister's, large swathes of cloth soaked in red.

"This blood…"

"Most of it aren't ours!" Melanie assured him. Did they-no, bigger concerns right now. She then winced. "But we're not doing so hot, either."

"Please say you have a way out!"

Miltia's plea stabbed his heart. Jaune wanted to say that he did have one. That the twins were safe and they could all go home. But honestly, he hadn't thought this far. The panic and desperation that brought him to this point have lowered to a simmer, giving Jaune clarity of thought once more. He didn't like it. It made him doubt himself.

What was he thinking, using his body as a crash-test dummy?

"I, ah… is there a side exit?"

"The White Fang has a squad barricaded there." And likely ready to perforate the teens.

Jaune flicked his eyes to the windows set high on the walls. They could climb the shelves to get there, but they'd be sitting ducks along the way, and the twins might not survive the landing in their state. An assault on the front entrance was out of the question, for the same risks as the side entrance. They could hide within the shelves, but the fires might reach them before the gangs ended their war. This place was turning out to be quite the death trap.

And then, inspiration struck. The lessons he learned and the memories he made with his teachers all aligned to form a plan, turning a threat into an opportunity as Jaune grinned like a loon.

"Melanie, you're going to have to eat your words from earlier."

"Huh?"

"Explosions are the best thing for an amateur to mess with."

In tandem, twin faces paled.

-o-

Peeking from behind a forklift, Jaune admired the beautiful array of colors lighting up the world like a rainbow. The crates marked with snowflake symbols did, indeed, carry Dust. Better, they carried Dust of all types. And as Melanie have repeatedly shouted in his ear, a multi-element chain explosion can result in anything. Anything.

No one could deny the synergy as shards of Ice became conduits that launched spears of Lightning to the far corners of the warehouse. Earth and Plant, a type of Dust he didn't even know existed, combined and exploded into its own orchard, the soil stimulating massive tree growth. Fire added with Water made Steam. A disappointing result, until Combustion superheated the mix into a blast that raised the roof. Wind swirled at the center of it all, blending the various Dusts together and spitting out ever-greater effects. Some mixtures created nothing pretty, forming puddles of sludge on the ground. These toxic substances were likely what the fish seller at the Festival referred to as Dust runoff, but all Jaune saw was Poison Dust. No way was he going to put it on his knife, though. The sludge was eating through the floor.

The warehouse wall never stood a chance.

A fortune burned away faster than Weiss going through her bank account in a month. And frankly? It couldn't all be blamed on him. Had he not set off the crates, the fires would have ignited it for him. He just…facilitated. It also effectively ended the battle between the gangs, the nameless mooks having the wherewithal to head away from an explosion, so he succeeded in bringing law and order back to Vale.

A distant boom sounded out, too far to be part of his peacekeeping efforts. It shook the unstable building, knocking down merchandise. Perhaps, somewhere else in the Docks, a kindred spirit had the same idea as he did.

Jaune and the twins poked their heads out of the new opening, keeping alert for any discharges of Dust coming too close. The rear of the warehouse was devoid of criminals. A better chance, there never was. The three limped their way through rows of shipping containers, Jaune propping up Miltia in place of her injured foot. On the girl's other side, Melanie fiddled on her scroll with increasing anger.

"Why isn't anyone answering?" Jaune sighed.

"It's not just me, then? I couldn't get Uncle Hei either. Or most of the gang."

"You don't think..."

...that his uncle was under attack, too? Jaune couldn't dismiss the possibility.

"The Club got raided by the police."

The heads whipped around in the direction of the voice, readying their blades. They relaxed a moment later at the sight of the black suit and red tie. Nash has found them. Reinforcement was here, even if he came with bad news.

"Is my uncle okay?"

"The cops only had an anonymous tip to go on, so I doubt they'd hold everyone for long. He'll probably get released by tomorrow." Nash squinted at the smoking column that marked the warehouse, then at the twins. "You sure did it now, Jaune."

His tone set off alarm bells. Jaune, Melanie, and Miltia were covered in injuries. The Club was in trouble. Yet, the young man spoke in such a matter-of-fact way.

A little suspicion niggled at Jaune's mind. If they were together at the Faunus bar, and nobody could contact the gang, then where did he find the time…

"Nash. How can you know any of that?" The man gave a wry chuckle.

"I was the one who called in the tip."

A beat, and Jaune closed the distance to drive a kick into the other man's stomach. The punt lifted Nash off the ground, and he impacted a shipping container twenty feet away. He should have been a broken heap on the ground, were it not for a shimmering purple light surrounding him.

"Who unlocked your Aura!?" Melanie shouted, holding Miltia upright. "Why did you betray us? Answer me!"

Nash ignored her and gingerly checked his body for injuries. Seeing none, he turned back towards Jaune and raised his fists. With a roar, the gangster charged at the blond. Jaune responded in kind.

Of all the enemies Jaune had faced, Nash stood out. Not for his strength, the young man barely showed any. He had Aura, but not much of it, and his control was nonexistent. His technique and skill were comparable to the average Red Axe. But something fueled him, to spark this recklessness.

Jaune sent him flying with another kick, the man rushed straight back in.

A haymaker dropped him to the ground, and Nash jumped up to rabbit punch Jaune's nose. His first hit, before a fist smashed into his face.

Both combatants understood the gulf in power. The gangster landed one attack for every three he received. His shield of Aura dimmed with every passing second. Yet even as his injuries piled on, Aura struggling to keep up its healing, Nash continued to dive headlong into the fray. He pulled hair and scratched at eyes, fraying at Jaune's patience rather than inflicting any great damage. Fighting like a man possessed, Nash just kept coming back for more.

"Stay down!" Jaune shouted, landing a strike that made his foe spit blood.

Nash instead grabbed Jaune's arm, and bit down. The blond braced his legs, and swung the other man over his head to slam down into the concrete. Mounting the man's chest, he rained down punches to the gangster's face.

"Did we not pay you enough?" He yelled as he pummeled. "Or was this because of the Tournament?"

"Heh." Jaune stopped his fists. "You're not that big a deal, Jaune. Not yet." He barely caught that whisper at the end.

"Then, why?"

"It was always about those princesses." The wounded man looked past his shoulders. "You girls had to make waves. Had to cause trouble all over town. Adopted a stray, and raising him." A groan, his eyes struggling to focus. "You could have just lived quietly in exile, and it would never have come to this." Miltia and Melanie stiffened.

"Exile? You know about-"

"But the only ones who could-"

"I was never a real Valean." The barest trace of an accent slipped out. "My roots go back to the Shion Clan of the Yomi Alliance, a bastard son of a branch family." He laughed ruefully. "But even a mongrel's got his uses."

Fatigue fell away. Rage took its place.

Nash has been a part of Mistral's underworld all along, inserting himself among the Xiong. All to observe Melanie and Miltia from the sound of it, until the time came to betray them. He led the enemy right to the twins. He had their location tonight, taken from a call with Uncle Hei, and tried to draw Jaune away in the opposite direction. Because of him, the twins almost died. Because of him, they and Jaune had to take lives today.

A subordinate of little note, turned out to be a cunning snake. He won't get another chance.

Blood pounding in his ears, Jaune grasped his knife. Unsheathing the blade, he readied one last blow.

Two red and white blurs tackled him. Blinking, he raised his head to see Melanie clinging to his knife-arm, and Miltia sitting on his chest. The surprise attack jolted Jaune from his blind anger, his moment of vengeance outweighed by one thought.

I can't tell Miltia it's hard to breathe.

"You can stop now, my disciple." At that, Jaune snarled.

"He's a threat! He'll do this again!" Melanie shook her head.

"No, he won't. Look at him. He's done."

"And he's not worth dirtying your hands."

Jaune's eyes followed where Melanie's hand pointed. The sight he found unnerved him. The traitor laid where he fell, his face blank of emotions. As if nothing mattered. Nash huffed.

"Can't even die right." Melanie glared.

"Take a walk in Grimmland, then, but leave Jaune out of it." Her sister flipped him off in solidarity.

"Or hop off the pier."

"Either way, get out of my city, Nash." The traitor quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you serious? After all I've done?"

"You're not that big a deal." Melanie's quip raised a quick grin on Jaune's face. "And we're not catering to some idiot with a death wish."

"Go back to your masters with your failure."

"Ugh. You two are as brutal as ever."

So he said, yet the traitor accepted the sisters' mercy and dragged himself upright, stumbling against a container. He cast his eyes one way, then the other, before making up his mind.

"One last thing, Jaune. The families of Mistral. They know of you, ever since the July 8th Incident." Surprise flashed on Jaune's face, and Nash nodded with a knowing look. "The Dog, they call you now. Always following on the heels of your owners. The one to kill, to get to the Twins. They won't forget what happened tonight."

Jaune's heart seethed with a cold fury. His teachers' enemies will come again. They're aiming for him. His life was in danger!

Good. Bring it on.

He can survive an attack or ten, better than Melanie and Miltia can. Let him be the shield, while the sisters break those idiots' legs. "What can you tell me of them?"

"Hehehe. I can tell you their weakness. Ready?" Jaune nodded. "Kick them in the balls, kid." And with a last mirthless laugh, he was gone.

Left behind, Jaune, Melanie, and Miltia staggered to their feet. They kept their guards up, braced for a final nasty shock. It was a good bet, with how the night has gone. When nothing happened after minutes of waiting, the three breathed a sigh of relief and began their journey home.

Despite their current blood-soaked appearances, Miltia insisted on calling for a taxi. Her ankle hasn't healed, and none of them fancied the idea of trekking back so far. So, as the clock struck midnight, they whistled innocently while sharing the backseat of a cab. Their driver gripped the steering wheel like a vice and kept his eyes firmly ahead.

Jaune looked left, Jaune looked right.

"Girls?"

"Yeah?"/"Hm?"

"I have to be honest here. I have no clue what incident Nash was referring to."

"Damned if I know either, gopher."

"Thank Oum someone said it! He must have hit his head."

Reassured that he was not the only person out of the loop, Jaune leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. As exhaustion overtook his consciousness, he had one last thought before drifting off into sleep.

I feel like I'm forgetting something.


Much, much later

"Ruby said you helped look for me last week, even if I never saw you, so I wanted to say thanks…and I'm ready to show your team my secret."

Oh.

Right.

That was a thing.

With great care, the B of RWBY reached above her head, and unwrapped her ever-present black bow. And underneath…

"I, am a Faunus."

As his teammates gushed over the fluffy kitty ears that was Blake Belladonna's dark secret, Jaune buried a new secret of his own, one he could never tell Blake, and voiced only within his mind.

Mel-Mel and Mil-Mil wore it better.


A ship on the sea

A man stood on the balcony of a ship bounded for Mistral. Bruises festooned his body, and he carried little more than the clothes on his back. Reflected in his gaze, was the city of Vale.

He must have seen this sight as a child, held in the arms of his mother, but the memory was lost among the years. And ever since, he had never witnessed this view.

The streets of Vale could be dark at times. The tall walls and winding alleys, the ugly greed and filthy lies, had a way of blinding one's eyes. It was from this distance that he could see Vale for what it was. A city of lights, a beacon that lit up the night sky.

Were one to ask of Vale, he could point to them the flagpole that marked the neighborhood where he grew up. The exact rooftop along the river that held the best café in the city. The edge, just visible, of a building called The Club.

Were one to ask of Vale, he could tell them of a bear that growled like a beast, yet stood like a king. Of another that brought forth music, but never made a sound. Of a girl in red, and a girl in white, twin flowers blooming in the night. And of a loyal dog, never far from both. He could have told a thousand and one stories of The Club and the Red Axes. He could tell not one of Mistral, or of his father.

On a ship bound for a land he knew not, the man could only see the shining past and realized at last what he had lost.

He wept as the sun rose over Vale.

Friend today, foe tomorrow,
A life of lies and sorrow.
To hold onto honor, a foolish notion.
But without such foolishness,
Where can the heart of a Yakuza be found?
-Entry from Miltia Malachite's Diary, after it all.


Author's Note: Behold, the Docks Battle, but not really. Blake never had a chapter segment before, because this is canon Blake. She needs no introduction. And needs no Saviour!Jaune in her story.

What fictional big-name company would stock a warehouse with things like anvils, lead weights, pianos, and explosives?

Ahhh, the Secret Mistralian. Nobody expects the Secret Mistralian. It had to be done. This is a Yakuza story, after all.