Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to VIZ. I own nothing.

Episode V: "Houdini;
A Name For You"

SpacerBoy Pit Stop #03689, Bar

The bar next door to the Eighteenth Office was no place of great import. Cheap furniture, cheap alcohol, cheap fares, the bulk of its business came from the comings and goings of bounty hunters; they'd stop by to trade stories, meet clients, or—and this was by the far the most popular activity—get drunk.

Blake, Jaune, and the girl who gave her name as May Zedong have taken a table for themselves near the back, one now strewn with empty plates of snack the latter had ordered and which the Honey Starbright pair promptly devoured. May can put away a fair amount of her own, Blake noticed, yet she did not seem to enjoy it much. There was an impatience to her demeanor, her knees bouncing with nervous energy and one hand tapping a beat on the metal case resting by her side.

Uncomfortable, Blake searched for a topic of conversation, deciding at last to broach the issue burning at the forefront of her mind.

"Why do you want to kill Tyrian Callow?" Her tablemates looked at her oddly, and Blake went on to clarify, a touch of pink to her cheeks. "I mean, I get that he needs to be stopped, but why you? Actual bounty hunters avoided the bounty posted on him like the plague, and even Jaune…" The boy shrugged to show he would not argue the point. Normally unflappable, his strong—and negative—reaction to news of Tyrian signified nothing good.

What little emotions shown by May drained away, leaving a blank face as she answered the question.

"When I was nine years old, he murdered my parents."

Blake blanched, realizing she had well and truly stepped in it on the first go. Before she could think of how to reply, Jaune interrupted.

"Zedong…The doctors Zedong?"

A flicker of surprise flashed past May's face. "Yes, that was them."

"My condolences. They were good people." He noticed Blake's growing confusion, and addressed her. "They spearheaded the Healing Convoy project, which you might be familiar with."

She was. The roaming hospital visited her planet soon after the conflict with the empire ended, and had been responsible for many of her fellow Faunus surviving the afflictions that came part and parcel with life on Faunhom. She, herself, would live a full life thanks to their ministrations despite a set of lungs previously corroded by toxic fumes. This was the first time Blake ever heard about the people who created the organization, but she already knew that they must be the closest thing to stardamned saints in this stardamned galaxy!

Incensed, she exclaimed, "What kind of monster—"

"Tyrian Callow." May spat out the name like it explained everything. Jaune chimed in to elaborate further.

"The pattern to his victims isn't hard to deduce. Callow is a serial killer who targeted people at the center of significant events. Dignitaries and rulers at a peace summit. Scientists poised to introduce new inventions. Philanthropists whose initiatives are making waves." May flinched at the last one.

"...They just wanted to do more," she said, gaze downcast. "To get there in time when the sick and hurt needed their help."

Jaune sighed. "And we are forever thankful to your parents for what they've done. The galaxy would be a brighter place without Callow in it. Wars have resulted from his actions, and we were deprived of critical breakthroughs that could have launched entire new branches of research. The Healing Convoy almost never took its first flight."

Blake sat back, numb. The Convoy alone has saved uncountable lives. To hear that they were a rare success, that events of comparable impact had failed due to a killer…what Jaune described sounded unbelievable, one person inflicting harm on a galactic scale.

"How is he not dead yet?" she muttered, unwilling to accept that such crimes were allowed to repeat for even a second time. Neither May nor Jaune disagreed with the notion; the first seethed, her fists clenched in anger, while the latter spread his hands as if to say 'what can you do'.

"They call him Tyrian the Immortal," Jaune said, "for though we've killed him, he has yet to die. Seems like everybody tried their hand at one point or another. Too many failed, becoming victims themselves. Some succeed, or so they thought. I don't quite recall the number of times they've marked him officially deceased—"

"Fifty-five," May provided.

"...Then that's fifty-five times in two zodiac cycles he's gone on to resurface again, making his pursuers bleed for every victory. The face never changes, and it's said he has not aged a day." Jaune directed his attention to May. "Which is why I'm advising you against this course, even if I agree with the goal. The chance of success is small at best, and victory a temporary thing."

She shot him a glare. "Excuse me if I do not trust the claims of his immortality. Everything dies, and I am going to test that by putting a few dozen bullets in his brain."

"And if he gets up afterward?" Blake inquired.

"Then I will see if fire can do the job where a gun cannot."

Jaune shook his head. "It won't. The Honey Starbright saw our most recent run in with Callow eight years ago. The forty-seventh 'death'." Blake caught the involuntary shudder that passed through Jaune as he recalled the memory.

The hard set of May's expression faltered. "A-And he came back. I know." She sighed. "That time, I thought the nightmare was finally over. A lot of people did."

Blake understood the sentiment. It was the Honey Starbright. How could they not pull off the feat once they were involved?

"A grenade at the right moment blasted his body into a fine mist. We stuffed the residue in a canister and launched it into a star. Half a year later, he announced his return by assassinating the head of the Gentleman Adventurers Club."

"Something must have gone wrong," May protested. "A detail you have overlooked, or…or maybe everybody just lied about how they were careful in confirming his death when they actually were not!" The weak excuses persuaded May's own self better than it did them, but Blake supposed that was the point. The girl could not accept a reality where her parents' killer escapes his comeuppance. Regaining her conviction, she declared, "I have to kill him by my own hands if I am to be sure one way or the other."

May had vengeance on her mind, and from what was said in the Guild she had dedicated a significant part of her life honing her abilities towards that goal. Could either of them say anything to dissuade the girl? Blake rather doubted it, and Jaune arrived at the same conclusion.

"Just to be clear, we can provide you with a means of transport, but not much more. Tyrian is beyond us," he warned.

"Yet you have faced him before, and survived."

"That's not quite true. The previous captain and the older crewmembers confronted him. My part in the whole affair was minimal."

"What you know is still valuable. I am willing to pay for that expertise, however small you claim it to be."

A shadow fell over the table, and a new voice interrupted their conversation.

"Oooooh. I surely hope you ain't paid him yet, ma'am, 'cause he's going nowhere but the brig of my ship."

Blake looked up at the group of four arrayed in a line. The cowboy outfits jogged her memory; she saw the men hanging around at the Guild prior, which made them bounty hunters…who were facing Jaune and her, two people with prices on their heads. Oh, dear.

"Really? After I covered your tab on Sirellon?" drawled Jaune. He slipped lower on the chair, getting comfortable.

The leader of the cowboys matched his lazy tone. "That there bought you a headstart. Yer own fault for stayin' planetside, pardner. Truce only lasts if you skedaddle posthaste." He twirled his finger to indicate their surroundings. "Sitting 'round here, seems like you were askin' to get caught."

May bristled. "I cannot allow you to take them."

The man looked to his left, then his right, sharing chuckles with his team. He turned back to the table.

"I reckon we can make do without the lady's permission."

To emphasize the point, he reached for his gun. His partners mirrored the gesture.

They were far too late, of course. Not because of the fact that Jaune had halfway drawn his laser pistol already, the action hidden by his position in the chair, but due to a sniper rifle now leveled at the leader's face.

Well, it was a sniper rifle in a technical sense. For accuracy's sake, Blake would call it a big old 'fuck you' cannon, one that smoothly unfolded out of the trunk carried by their new acquaintance. She had suspected the thing to store a gun, but not for it to be a gun in and of itself.

Props to the cowboy, he retained control of his bladder even as he stared down the barrel of a gun whose mouth covered both his eyes.

The bartender came to his rescue, shouting as he hunkered down behind the bar, "Guns stay holstered on the premises!"

"H-Heh. You heard him." Nobody missed the note of desperate fear in the quip.

May mulled it over. To the relief of many, she nodded.

"Fine."

A click, and the barrel retracted, replaced by a massive blade that was further bolstered by a sharp edge forming along the length of the case. At the same time, a long handle shot out of the opposite end that May grabbed a hold of. The result was a massive slab of lethality that one could generously describe as a sword. A big old 'fuck you' sword.

Blake gaped. "Can you even lift thaaaaat…"

Okay. She can. Holy hell, she can. The tip of the blade scraped the ceiling in passing as May swung the sword, the attack halting an inch from the bounty hunter's nose. Her veins glowed blue through the fabric of her clothes.

Jaune's eyes hardened at the sight. "That booster formula—"

"Stable," was the curt reply.

The cowboy—again, to his credit—did not immediately piss himself and cry.

"W-w-we're not afraid of you!"

As Blake and Jaune watched on in awe, May Zedong proceeded to rectify that mistake.

-o-

Boarding Date
Day 441, Year of the Rabbit, Twelfth Cycle, Azurite Millennium
Captain in Command
Jaune Arc
Trip Duration
Unknown
Purpose of Travel
Killing Tyrian Callow
Destination
Unknown
Passenger(s)
May Zedong

-o-

"This slot gives access to backup knife Number Four; fold the blade down on that and it turns into a gun. Activate the switch there for the battleax configuration. Over here is the grapple hook launcher—the wire doubles as a garrotte. The launcher fires bullets if needed, and popping open the bottom of the handle lets you draw backup knife Number Five."

"Is backup knife Number Five also a gun?"

"Yes."

The girl responded so matter-of-factly that Blake questioned whether she herself was the weird one for thinking it was overkill. May must have fantasized a thousand ways to exact revenge upon Tyrian Callow and—torn between the many attractive options—incorporated every single idea into one convenient package. Should she get her way, perhaps she'd use them all on him.

Blake almost felt sorry for the bastard.

In contrast to her taciturn attitude up until now, the Honey Starbright's newest passenger was downright eager to talk about her portable armory. May had spared a single glance around the main room of the ship before taking an offered seat on the couch, making no comments as she sat immobile through the entire ascent. Not even one last look back at her home.

A question about the metal case, though, and the girl has yet to pause once in the past half-hour, rattling off in detail each minute feature of the transforming tool. Blake's attempts to exit the conversation met with little luck in the face of such enthusiasm. She got the feeling that May didn't have many friends to talk to.

Still…

Where are you, Jaune!? Get me out of this hell!

A grateful tear fell down her cheek as the cockpit door opened, salvation walking into the room.

"Our course is set, it should take—oh, hey, are you giving a demonstration of your weapon? Nice. I honestly think that sword-gun thing might qualify for artifact status, and I'd love to hear more on it if you're willing."

Blink and they'd miss it, but May glowed with pride. Blake despaired.

"I was almost halfway through the list, but I can start over. This is what I call an omnichanging weapon. The name is a work in progress, I know, but the idea behind it is an all-in-one solution…"

A day later—a day of Jaune and May chatting about what she had in her trunk, the latter taking the thing apart to showcase the internals then modifying some sections as new ideas struck her, and both of them dragging Blake along to test the varied forms of the weapon in a training room—they arrived at their destination. Raring to go, Blake was the first off the ship to set foot on…

Omertina, the Planet of Vices

Poverty! Crimes! Street mimes!

Two steps off the ship and Blake reversed course, ascending the ramp again. Jaune grabbed her shoulder and spun her right back around.

"Come on, you. It's not as bad as it looks."

"A guy just got stabbed over there, Jaune! They stuffed his body in a crate!"

"Mafia disputes do be like that. Don't worry, they should leave us alone for a day or two. Visitors bring money, so the gangs will want us to empty our bank accounts at their casinos first before they consider stealing our organs."

"That…that does not make me feel better. At all. Are you sure there's a chance Tyrian Callow is here?"

Blake eyed the dark alleyways branching off the port exit, and the brief glimpses of movement she could spy within them. Criminals or regular people, who can tell the difference when everybody's got a knife in hand? Even Tyrian, a serial killer, might well become another statistic on Omertina.

"Sightings placed him in the sector, but it's certain that he will stay on the move with so much heat on him. Local conditions mean Omertina is a natural stop for those in his situation." Jaune jerked a thumb at the unmanned customs office. Someone had nailed a sign to the door, and it said 'Closed Indefinitely'. A splatter of blood added color to an otherwise bland message. "Given that the news from nearby worlds haven't reported killings of the sort fitting his usual MO, it's a fair angle for us to start from."

May, who had grown dour once again ever since they stopped talking about weaponry, said after a moment's rumination, "Good enough for me. How do we proceed?"

"That rather depends. Are you willing to do anything for the sake of this mission?"

May nodded, adamant. To witness such bravery, Blake could only do the same, even if she did falter a bit when Jaune fixed her with a hard gaze.

"Anything?"

Blake gulped. "Yes."

…

"You know, this isn't what I expected when you said 'anything', but I'm kinda okay with it."

Deep in the seedy underbelly of Omertina, where the neon lights do not shine, a catgirl in a waitress outfit pinned another order slip to the counter of a makeshift kitchen. On the other side, a spaceship captain-turned-chef tossed fried rice in a huge wok, sweat pouring down his face due to the multiple open flames surrounding him. He glanced at the order, let the wok rest, and began doling out bowls of soup from a pot in the next stove over. The bowls were passed to the waitress one by one, before he switched to portioning out the fried rice. A second waitress, sour face and wearing a beanie, hurried to help. Albeit, with some grumblings.

"You are a liar. A conman." May filled a serving tray with food, then started on a second one. " I paid a fortune for your assistance, and you exploited me for free labor."

Jaune had already returned to cooking, facing the other way. He jabbed a ladle behind him in her direction.

"You asked to go bounty hunting. This is it."

Blake choked on her spit, awed by the sheer audacity of the captain to spout such lies. He ignored her, pressing on.

"Does the essence of bounty hunting lay in the fight? The blood and violence? No. The chase is the thing."

Hang on…

"We study our quarry, then capitalize on their established patterns. Callow likes to aim at good people—a very rare commodity here. So, instead of hoping to find one such specimen in a sea of evil, we will create our own opportunities." He turned, and swept the ladle across the courtyard they have commandeered, where an ever-growing crowd of the city's denizens have congregated upon hearing news of cheap, filling meals on offer.

Was she gullible, or did that actually make sense?

Grasping the picture, Blake summarized, "It doesn't get much more 'good' than somebody opening a soup kitchen."

"Yup! The scrumptious meal being advertised isn't my cooking, but us!"

"Crap."

"Perfect."

Blake and May looked at each other. A shrug, and the latter returned to her work with a new pep in her steps, two heavy trays balanced with ease. The prospect of encountering Tyrian has wiped away her dissatisfaction. Left behind, Blake—who still harbored concerns—addressed the captain.

"Are we putting these people in danger?"

"Nah, I'd be the biggest target if an attack happens. Not that I expect one."

She blinked, before sputtering, "What? But— You said—"

"Heh. You should see your face right now."

Jaune leaned on the counter, crossing his arms as he watched over the impromptu restaurant and the customers who gushed at what was, in truth, nothing special. The fried rice had the lightest coating of eggs on the grains to flavor the meal. The vegetable in the soup was fresh…ish, and spam replaced actual cuts of meat. They had stretched the budget, opting for quantity at Blake's suggestion. Nutrients mattered, sure, but she knew what she would value between vitamins and a full belly when 'both' was not a choice.

"It's nice, this. Heartwarming." The ladle did another sweep. "Will it draw in Tyrian? Doubtful. We're too small-time."

"The stories I'm hearing suggest he'd happily gut you and me if he was here."

"Oh, he absolutely would, don't get me wrong—he's just that kind of psycho. Still, chances are, he will always be more focused on the movers and shakers of a planet than strays like us."

"Then, why all the effort?"

Jaune pointed across the courtyard, past the tables full of diners, at their client handing out food left and right to anyone who asked. An old man, back stooped with age, received a bowl of soup; he thanked her for her kindness. With a slight flush of embarrassment, she waved away the gratitude and continued on to the next person, happy in her work.

"I had to give Amber's request of keeping her safe a shot. This girl spent all those years tunnel-visioned on one goal. I figure, let's show her a taste of a different life that doesn't involve running after the galaxy's worst serial killer."

Blake got it after a second. "A life her parents might have led her down? Charity work?"

"Appropriate, don't you think? She forgoes the desire for vengeance and discovers joy in dedicating herself to a new cause that they would have been proud of. And thus, our job would be complete. May might even pay us for that outcome."

"You're doing that thing again," Blake accused, frowning. Jaune shrugged as an answer, unrepentant in demeanor.

Receiving money to not meet Tyrian Callow was a result Blake would heartily support. The duplicity, however, grated on her nerves. There's a manipulative bent to the captain that she found hard to reconcile, despite him orienting that mind of his towards positive ends. He hid it better when she first met him, and she could not decide whether she preferred getting a peek behind the curtain or remaining in blissful ignorance.

"I suppose it's worth it to remove her from harm's way. Is that the end of the trip, then?" she asked. "

"…I can't say for sure." Blake tilted her head, and Jaune rubbed his temple in frustration as he explained. "See, there's a second component to it. If you'd look to your left, here comes the reason why charities don't last long in these parts."

She did so, and cursed as a group of men entered the courtyard, gangsters judging by the color coordination and emblem. A few of the shop's patrons also noticed their presence. The way they beat a hasty retreat out of the men's reach spoke volumes of their usual disposition. The leader of the group scanned the area, gaze stopping on Blake and Jaune. The wide grin of a shark stretched on his face as he sauntered up to the pair, until only a few yards separated them from him.

"Well, well, well, business is booming for you, huh?"

Jaune cocked an eyebrow. "Have you seen our prices? We're making a loss."

"People are paying what they can, and most don't have anything. You do the math," Blake chimed in. It was obvious what the gangsters were playing at. They won't take a single Lien from her!

"Ahhhh, but you're still bringing in money. That's a dangerous thing when thieves are around." his buddies chuckled, anticipatory gleams in their eyes. "Luckily, you have us to keep the neighborhood safe. We don't ask for much in return, just a small tribute for the service. You know how it is."

"And you can shove—" she started.

"Out of curiosity, how much is the tribute?" Jaune asked, and Blake whirled to face him with her mouth agape.

"Depends. You still need to pay rent on this property. Then there's the fee for setting up a business, the fee for not doing so in the first place, the late fee…cooking on open flames, that's a fine, right there…" Struggling to think of another bogus charge to add, the gangster changed tack. "Your best bet is to open up the money box, and we'll calculate our fair share from it for you."

"What do you think, Blake? Yes, no, or hell no?"

"Hell no!"

"What a coincidence, I had the same answer. Sorry guys."

The man sneered. "Funny. That earns you the 'wise guy' tax, and we're going to collect our dues anyway." He signaled for his men to advance.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Jaune's warning drew derisive laughs from the gang.

"What are you gonna do, pretty boy?"

"Me? I'm just standing here. She is the one you should worry about." He nodded his head at something behind the group.

"Nice bluff, but I'm not an idi—oof!"

With a resounding smack, the leader flew above his men, flipping head over heels to crash against the concrete ground. In his place, May Zedong, her weapon recovered and deployed as an oversized club.

Brows creased, lips pursed, May was fuming in her own quiet way. She reset her stance, chose a new target, and rushed at the gangsters with reckless abandon. The air soon grew thick with flying bodies, cries of pain providing the background music while Blake and Jaune sat back to watch the show.

"You don't look happy," said Blake. The rabbit on Jaune's T-shirt bore a regretful mien, ears flopping down.

"Because I think I know what course she will choose. We can still push her towards a life of volunteer work, but I doubt she'd stay there. One day, another injustice will occur before her eyes…" He trailed off. Blake finished the thought.

"And it'd see her picking up arms again. She wouldn't, couldn't, do otherwise."

On Omertina, and countless other worlds, the kindest were often those weakest. Beset on all sides by people that wished them ill, their conviction inevitably faltered. A gentle heart was not enough. Sometimes, it needed a person to right wrongs and kick ass.

Jaune nodded. "A test like this is useful for finding them."

"Them?"

"Heroes."

Having gotten a taste of either path available to her, May Zedong chose one. Steady on.

Author's Notes: Blake and Jaune, relegated to side characters the moment someone with a big sword and a complicated backstory enters the picture. Which is rather the point of it all, but still, poor them.