Prologue Part 1: Old faces
The holographic screen in Yang's apartment flickered to life, casting a soft glow across the room. Yang sat slumped on her couch, her eyes fixed on the newscaster's image. The Battle of Vale was still fresh in everyone's minds, and today's news segment was no different.
The only other thing that was also fresh was the barebones apartment given to her as a now 'Disabled Huntress,' which helped her stay close to the hospital for her weekly checkups.
"Good evening, Vale. In today's headlines, we bring you an exclusive report on Beacon Academy, which opens its doors to the media for the first time since the Battle of Vale. Headmaster Ozpin spoke earlier today, expressing a message of hope and resilience. 'Beacon Academy stands as a symbol of our strength and unity. Despite the adversities we have faced, we continue to move forward, stronger and more determined than ever,' he said."
The camera panned to a reporter standing outside Beacon Academy.
"The Academy has seen significant repairs, and its students continue their training undeterred. However, the emotional scars within the city runs deep. In a bid to foster unity and ease tensions, Beacon academy's own huntresses in training with support from the headmaster, Weiss Schnee and Blake Belladonna have taken on roles as ambassadors to Atlas and Menagerie, respectively. They aim to denounce the White Fang and mend relations between Atlas and Vale after the tragic incident involving Atlesian robots that claimed hundreds of civilian lives."
Yang's grip tightened on the remote at the mention of her teammates, her knuckles turning white.
Blake's voice followed, calm and resolute. "Adam Taurus was an extremist who twisted the ideals of the White Fang for his own violent ends. The Red Fang, his faction, does not represent Menagerie or the Faunus as a whole. We stand for peace and equality," she declared, her passion evident and a voice that is louder than anything Yang remembered from her partner.
Weiss chimed in as the camera focused on her, her tone polished and corporate. "The Schnee Dust Company is committed to aiding in Vale's recovery. We are pledging significant resources to support the rebuilding efforts. Our focus is on moving forward together, ensuring a safer and brighter future for all." She skillfully declared just like always.
Yang switched off the TV, unable to bear any more and went to the bedroom. The world saw her teammates, voices of reason and hope. She saw herself as the crippled one, sidelined and forgotten. She looked at the empty, tied-up sleeve where her arm used to be, the silence of the room amplifying the hollow ache inside her. The battle was over, but why did it feel like her own war had just begun?
Blake's mention of Adam brought a surge of anger. The searing pain, the sound of metal slicing through flesh, the moment her world had changed forever.
Her teammates were in the spotlight, while she was left in the shadows.
She took a good look at her scroll and the name 'Ruby' and her sister's face above it.
Her scroll rang for a bit and a message popped up: 'Scroll unavailable.'
She made a frustrated huff and tossed the scroll on the bed. She tried to calm down by closing her eyes, but haunted flashes of red memories came, and an overwhelming sense of uselessness. The world moved on, but for Yang, the wounds were still fresh, and the fight was far from over.
Yang lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was a distant dream, chased away by the constant, throbbing pain in her missing arm.
Phantom pains, the doctors called it—a cruel trick of the nervous system. She could feel every inch of the arm that wasn't there, the fingers that couldn't move, the wrist that couldn't bend.
She turned onto her side, trying to find a position that might bring relief, but the pain followed her. It was a relentless tormentor, reminding her of her loss every waking moment. Yang clenched her teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. She hated feeling weak, hated the helplessness that had become her constant companion.
The nights were the worst. During the day, she could distract herself, but at night, there was no escape. Every throb, every stab of pain was a reminder of what she'd lost, not to mention the nightmares. Always painted red and a Grimm mask chasing her.
She missed the weight of Ember Celica on her wrists, the rush of adrenaline in battle, the camaraderie of her team. She missed feeling whole.
Yang threw off the covers, unable to stand the stillness any longer. She moved to the window, looking out at the city below. Vale was slowly healing, but the scars of battle were still visible. Much like her own. She placed her remaining hand on the glass, feeling the cool surface against her palm.
"I have to find a way to live with this," she whispered to herself. "I have to find a way to move forward."
Without her team, and probably away from her dad. She didn't need more cuddling; what she needed was a purpose. Besides, they already had more important things to worry about than cuddling a crippled huntress who was safe in Vale.
But how and what? That was the question that haunted her. How could she move forward when everything feels like a reminder of what she could no longer be?
Go to the gym?
Bad idea. Last time she did that, all she got was nagging from the doctor about proper therapy, and she couldn't exactly hide from prying eyes for an excuse.
Work on Bumblebee down in the garage?
Also a bad idea. Doing grease work with just one arm might be next to impossible right now, not with the pain affecting her focus.
Have a drink?
Not a bad idea. Maybe a stroll down the city first, and drinks if that didn't work, not to mention meeting some familiar faces to dump her problems on.
But first...
She looks at her scroll and sees her calendar.
'Doc - 9Am - Tomorrow"
The sterile smell of the Hospital was nauseating.
Yang sat in the waiting room, her foot tapping impatiently on the tile floor. She hated these kinds of places, hated the pitying looks from the staff and the other families that were visiting, the endless questions about her pain levels and emotional state. She just wanted to be left alone.
"Yang Xiao Long?" called a nurse from the doorway. Yang stood, her movements stiff and deliberate, and followed the nurse to the examination room. She was greeted by Dr. Sprout, a kind-faced man in his forties who had been overseeing her recovery.
"How are we feeling today, Yang?" he asked, his tone gentle.
"Like crap," Yang replied bluntly. "Same as every other day."
Dr. Sprout nodded, used to her bluntness by now. "The phantom pains are still persistent?"
"Yeah, and they're not getting any better," she said, rubbing the shoulder of her missing arm absentmindedly. "The meds don't do much except make me groggy, then back to feeling like crap again."
He made a few notes on his tablet. "We could try adjusting your prescription, see if a different combination works better. And how's your mobility with the prosthetic?"
Yang glanced at the metallic arm socket where her missing arm had been, recently installed in a small but complex surgery, then her eyes rested on the table beside her. There, rested a high-tech piece of civilian equipment, state-of-the-art, but it felt foreign and fragile, like an intruder rather than a part of her. "It's okay, I guess. Still feels weird. Not like...mine."
Dr. Sprout looked at her sympathetically. "It's a process, Yang. It takes time to adjust. Your brain is still wired to feel your real arm. The more you use the prosthetic, the more natural it will feel."
Yang shook her head, frustration bubbling up inside her. "I need something better. This...thing is just an overpriced accessory. I need a combat prosthesis, something that can actually handle the kind of stress I put on it."
Dr. Sprout sighed, looking regretful. "Yang, you know we can't provide that. The Association for Crippled Huntsmen and Huntresses has strict regulations. We're obligated to provide civilian prosthetics and ensure patients don't endanger themselves by jumping back into combat before they're ready."
"I am ready," Yang insisted, her voice rising. "I'm not going to sit around and be useless. I need to get back out there."
"I understand your frustration," Dr. Sprout said calmly. "But it's not just about physical readiness. There's a psychological component as well. You need to complete your psychiatric evaluation and therapy sessions before we can even consider other options."
Yang clenched her jaw, feeling the weight of her helplessness. "So, what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Just sit around and wait?"
"Focus on your recovery," Dr. Sprout advised. "Use the time to get used to the prosthetic. Work on your mental health. It's all part of the process."
Yang nodded, though she wasn't convinced. She wanted to believe him, wanted to feel normal again, but every day was a struggle. "Can I just get my new meds and go?"
"Of course. I'll have the nurse bring them in. But remember, Yang, it's okay to ask for help. You're not alone in this."
Yang forced a smile. "Yeah, thanks, Doc."
Despite the reassurance, the reality of her new normal was hard to accept.
Yang's steps were heavy as she made her way to the veterans' centre. It was a nondescript building, tucked away in a quiet part of the city, far from the bustling markets and lively streets. The city of Vale had set up these meetings as a way to support injured Huntsmen and Huntresses, but to Yang, they felt like forced charity, a constant reminder of being on the sidelines and being wrapped in thick blankets.
Very suffocating to say at least...
She entered the hall and saw familiar faces. Men and women who had fought bravely, now reduced to shadows of their former selves. Some had lost limbs, others their sight or hearing. They were all united by a common thread of loss and a message they have done enough.
The coordinator, a cheerful woman named Linda, greeted her with a warm smile. "Yang! So good to see you. We're just about to start."
Yang forced a smile in return. "Great, Glad to be here" she said, her voice respectful albeit lacking enthusiasm.
The meeting began with introductions, each person sharing their name and their injury.
"Brady ink" introduces a woman past her prime on a wheelchair " I have served in the Vale militia and was discharged when an ursa crushed one of my legs.
Next stood a man in dark skin with an age around Yang's uncle or her father.
"Hey all, Robert Rust. I recently retired but was called into action by the battle and I lost an eye and now I am here."
Yang listened, her mind drifting. As the others started to introduce themselves. When it was her turn, she simply said, "Yang Xiao Long. Lost my arm in the Battle of Vale."
Linda nodded sympathetically towards each member. "Thank you, Remember, we're all here to support each other. Now lets do some breathing exercises to relax for a moment."
The session moved on to discussions about coping strategies, therapy options, and personal stories of how others have led great lives despite their loss. Yang tried to engage, but the words felt hollow. She didn't want to share her struggles with strangers, didn't want their pity or the embarrassment of being one of the younger members to get her disability fund. She wanted her life back, the one where she was strong and unstoppable.
As the meeting drew to a close, Linda approached her. "Yang, I noticed you have not been open as of late which is understandable but have you considered speaking to a counsellor? It might help to talk about what you're going through and they are private which might be to your liking."
Yang shook her head. "I'm fine. I just...need time."
"Well, if you ever change your mind, we're here for you," Linda said kindly.
Yang nodded and left the center, the weight of her injury and the pity of others pressing down on her. She needed to clear her mind, needed to feel like herself again, even if just for a moment.
Yang found herself wandering the streets of Vale, the vibrant city alive with activity. She moved through the crowd, feeling both a part of it and entirely separate. The people around her were busy with their lives, unaware of the battles she fought within.
Passing by a weapons shop, she paused, the sight of the various weapons reminding her of her teammates. Her sister's scythe, Weiss's rapier, and Blake's katana—they all flashed in her mind. She felt a pang of longing for the times they trained and fought together, united as a team.
Her steps carried her to a fancy café, one Weiss would have loved. The elegant décor and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee made her think of the times they would sit together, Weiss educating them on proper tea etiquette while Ruby made silly faces with her cup. Yang smiled sadly at the memory.
Next, she passed a bookstore, the scent of old paper and leather bindings inviting her in. She remembered Blake, always with her nose buried in a book, even during their downtime. Yang wandered the aisles, running her fingers along the spines, feeling a connection to her friend. She picked up a book at random and flipped through the pages, not really seeing the words. It was just a distraction, a way to escape her thoughts for a while.
As she walked, people occasionally stopped to thank her for her service, treating her like a retired soldier. "Thank you for what you did at Vale," one elderly woman said, her eyes filled with gratitude.
Yang nodded, forcing a smile. "Just doing my part."
The words felt hollow. She appreciated their gratitude, but it also made her feel more disconnected, as if her past was a museum exhibit for others to admire while she remained stuck in limbo.
She wandered further and found herself at a motorcycle shop. The sleek, powerful machines on display made her heart ache. She thought of Bumblebee, her own motorcycle, now collecting dust because she couldn't ride it. The thought of her beloved bike sitting idle was another painful reminder of her limitations.
Yang sighed, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and despair. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be okay. That she would find her way, somehow. But the moment passed, and reality set back in. She was still lost, still searching for a path that felt right.
The neon sign of Junior's bar flickered in the dim light of the setting sun, casting a colorful glow over the entrance. Yang hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open, stepping into the familiar dimly lit interior. The bar was less crowded than she remembered, the atmosphere subdued. It was clear that the place had seen better days.
She approached the bar, nodding to a few familiar faces. The patrons gave her some quick, curious glances but said nothing. Junior, the burly and bearded owner, looked up as she approached.
"Blondie. It's been a while," he said, wiping a glass with a rag.
"Yeah, figured I'd drop by," Yang replied, taking a seat at the bar.
Junior poured her a drink, sliding the glass across the bar. "Not exactly your usual hangout these days, is it?"
Yang shrugged, taking a sip. The burn of the alcohol was a welcome distraction. "Needed a change of scenery with familiar faces."
Junior nodded, his face stoic but also weary as he grunted in affirmation and pointed with his head towards the other patrons. "Not much scenery when most of our customers are also drinking their problems away. I hope the atmosphere won't turn you off."
Yang glanced around the bar, noticing the tense atmosphere and the exhausted twins. "Yeah... Sensed that too, and the twins look like they've run a marathon."
"Yeah, we're down to just me and the twins for muscle," Junior said, gesturing towards Melanie and Miltia, who were sitting at a nearby table. They looked up and gave Yang nods of acknowledgment. "It's been tough ever since Torchwick fed my boys to the law with those heists of his, then the Grimm came flooding into the neighborhood."
Yang sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy but gave no comment, a bit torn between feeling sympathy for robbing goons behind bars but for those who faced Grimm? She could respect them a little bit.
Junior leaned on the bar, his expression hardened in front of her. "I am not justifying their actions or asking you to pity them, Torchwick came and offered hard cold Lein, and those boys volunteered. You need to understand my gang only sells information and takes the occasional protection money from the neighborhood. We're not in the business of robbery or some black market deals."
Yang looked at him with obvious confusion in her eyes as to why Junior was opening up implicit personal business. "Why are you telling me this? You're admitting to crime in front of huntre–" Catching herself and realizing she isn't a huntress in any official capacity. And by the looks of it, Junior has a bit of an idea if he is admitting this shady stuff to her but chose to ignore it.
"To be honest Blondie, it's been rough, and sorry. People usually come to spill their problems at the bartender, not the other way around. I was also hoping you would kick my ass for being the criminal scum I am from your moral point of view, bring something normal for once."
Yang, a bit embarrassed and flushed from alcohol, took a sheepish expression and rubbed her head. "I can't be that bad Junior, I mean I slap you boys around, they are bound to hate me for it!"
"Quite the opposite. You slapping them around with reality saved them from the Grimm. Some boys couldn't take that lying down and actually got up from their lazy asses and started hitting the gym or the range knowing a blonde firecracker can just waltz in compared to the other thugs on the street they can scare off."
Junior's expression softened a bit as he continued, "You whipped them into shape, Blondie. And that saved them from the Grimm and those murder bots from Atlas. They might not say it, but they owe you their lives."
Yang gave a reluctant smile, feeling a mix of emotions. "Well, I guess that's good to hear. I'm glad they're still kicking because I scared them straight."
Junior raised his glass to her. "Here's to you, Blondie. Thanks for giving my boys a fighting chance."
Yang clinked her glass with his, feeling a sense of satisfaction. "You're welcome, Junior. Here's to hoping things get better."
They both took a sip, the weight of their respective burdens momentarily lifted in the shared acknowledgment of survival and resilience.
"Heh, I hope it does," Junior said as he downed his drink from the bottle. "At least for the neighborhood and folk drinking their problems away."
That brought the good mood down once more as Junior added that bit of info.
"Thanks again. The boys are doing fine. While me and the twins are the real muscle, they can put up a strong face now and hit hard," Junior drawled but continued. "Thing is, the neighborhood got hit hard. You saw it outside—closed shops and damaged property courtesy of Atlas. With property value down and business prospects dwindling, the other gangs are smelling opportunities and are pushing people out to set up shop."
Yang could guess that. She glanced at the twins beside her. Dead tired, she could guess, as she hadn't been left alone to talk with Junior without so much as a verbal snobbish retort.
"Guess the twins had their plates full, eh? Hey Melanie, Miltia, hang in there, girls!" Yang chirped as she raised her glass at the twins.
"Go suck a co- '' Melanie tried to snap, while Miltia only raised a silent middle finger.
"Girls! Be nice to the good customer and don't bait them, Blondie. I need them to patrol the neighborhood tonight," Junior said.
"Sheesh, wasn't baiting them," Yang said as she rolled her eyes and took another sip from her glass. She continued, "I thought the council was meant to release the funds for this kind of stuff. Learned all about it in class and the news early on said so?"
"All the focus is on the Red Fang and Atlas's murder bots, all propaganda to funnel funds into shining the halls of Beacon and more toys for the Cops in the name of facing the Red fang, word from the city hall is that the head honchos in the council wanted to show off against Atlas." Junior somewhat declared with a bit of an attitude but continued. "Look at the streets Blondie, Business are far and few when you're not in downtown or in Glenn Heights. The docks are out of work because Atlas and Vale councils wanted to show off who has the bigger cock with their trade embargoes. And many of the homes and buildings on the streets are left broken and used like a billboard to push any narrative they want."
Yang nodded, understanding his frustration. "The propaganda machine in full swing, News are all about the great victory and scary Redfang with atlas murderbots. No one cares about the small fry and the broken homes. Though I am surprised you're passionate about the plea's of the common folk."
Junior's eyes narrowed at the judgement. "Yeah, and while the authorities are busy chasing shadows that scares the council, we're left to pick up the pieces. The gangs might be criminals of the law, but at least we look out for our own."
Yang swirled her drink, the alcohol warming her from the inside. "Feels like we're all being left behind."
Junior sighed, glancing over at the twins. "You're not wrong. It's a new world out there, and not a better one for people like us. The council has been throwing money everywhere but us common folks and towards vanity projects for the attention."
Yang, feeling a bit emboldened by the alcohol, unstrapped her prosthetic arm and flopped it onto the counter with a heavy thud. "Look at this thing. high-tech piece of junk. I guess they cant even compensate the people that literally lost a limb."
Junior raised an eyebrow, inspecting the arm. "Looks pretty fancy to me," he said, trying to be nice.
Yang let out a bitter laugh. "It's useless for what I need. Feels more like an overpriced accessory than a part of me."
Junior nodded sympathetically. "Must be tough. Heard some stories from vets their own prosthetics high-tech and high maintenance they say."
"It is," Yang admitted, her voice softer. "But what can you do?"
Junior leaned in, his voice low. "You know, there are other options. Shady, but effective."
Yang looked up, curiosity piqued. "Shady?"
Junior smirked. "Yeah. Not exactly legal in some circumstance, but better suited for combat. Something that could actually handle the stress you put on it."
Yang's eyes lit up with a spark of hope. "Tell me more."
Authors note:
Hello World! This is my attempt of a story ever since lingering and reading loads of fanfics.
So a bit of spoilers for future content will be inspired by "Coeur Al'Aran's" many fanfics namely:
"Captain Dragon" for the focus on Yang
and
"Self Made Man" for the criminal elements
with also bits of creative lore for the world and character like Ozpin and Salem
and
do tell how the grammar or just dialogue feels like
also
do tell me of inconsistency as I use chat GPT for spelling and grammar checking and as English is not my primary language.
also
Chat GPT has kind of dumb and I tried to have it generate dialogue and it was a hit or miss with some good ones I edited to fit the scene and just to have it sound more natural.
However
when generating in 3rd person the results are great, although you have to be creative in the prompts
While
any scene I manually wrote I passed on through AI for said Grammar and Spelling checks.