Last chapter of Gacha RWBY. Think I've shown enough for this one. It was fun, but onto other works!

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In the world of Remnant, the Grimm were universally considered the most evil, powerful source in all of Remnant. No other group could claim to have garnered such universal revulsion and fear from those who lived in their world. Even the various criminals and villains of Remnant understood the necessity of destroying them. Truly, nothing else on Remnant could unite every group in Remnant like the Grimm.

Until now.

Gacha had consumed Remnant like an unstoppable wave and no one was safe. Sure, there were a few who managed to avoid opening their wallets or didn't see the appeal of spending money in the game, but they were helpless before the tide. No one was safe. The most dangerous criminals, the heroes of Remnant, the morally fluid who only cared to keep their heads down. Didn't matter. The Gacha got them all, and they were nothing before its pull.

Not even the Grimm were safe.

Of course, that didn't mean random beowolves were out there trying their luck with wishes. Don't be silly.

...

There was just an immortal Queen of the Grimm out in the deadlands who was doing the same. Much more sensible.

Salem was her name, and she was the vilest being in all of Remnant. Her body count was in the thousands, if not millions, and she'd left a legacy of death and destruction that lasted thousands of years. Her crimes were innumerable and unjustifiable, and so long as she existed, the possibility of Remnant being under threat would always remain. To every single living thing on Remnant, Salem was the greatest threat the world had ever known.

And what was she doing right now?

"Give me the wish!"

Playing Gacha, of course.

Salem watched as the shooting stars turned from blue to gold and cheered like a child on Nondescript Winter Holiday as she got yet another 5-star, "Yes, yes, yes!" She whooped and hollered, dancing without a care. The character she'd gotten was an utterly adorable childling with silver eyes who used a scythe for a weapon. It reminded her of that young mother she'd horrifically turned into an abomination against nature some odd years ago. She didn't know the exact date. Decades tended to blur together.

Watts watched, face utterly dead, as his dark mistress continued to mindlessly play the game. He was sorely regretting setting up Dustnet access in the Evernight. He'd done it for the sake of convenience because using his mistress' Seers was rather...slow. Salem's view of time was distorted given her immortality. Living with all the time in the world made it so that she didn't particularly care if she had to wait decades for a single step of her plan to succeed.

Watts was far less...patient, if one wanted to use that word. He was mortal, and while he had contingencies such as uploading himself to a server in the event of his death, some part of him was aware that it wouldn't truly be him. He was a man of science, but the soul was a documented part of Remnant's history. Even if he was relieved knowing that an Arthur Watts would continue his plans should he perish, he was also aware that it wouldn't be truly him.

Still, as worried as he was about time being wasted, he wasn't suicidal enough to question Salem. He'd done so before when she'd first fallen into her addiction and she'd made it clear she didn't appreciate being disturbed or questioned.

"Yes, I won!" Salem cheered again, which looked absurd considering she was a six-foot-tall Grimm woman. She had functionally unlimited rolls because of his hacked credit card, and yet she still treated each 'wish' as a roll of the dice rather than a minor setback at worst. When she won she cheered and when she lost she cursed and promised eternal revenge (before forgetting about it on her next roll). He'd heard dozens of vows to make this mysterious creator pay dozens of times now.

And judging by her detailed screams about boiling them alive in Grimm tar, she'd lost her roll. Again.

"My lady-"

"Not now, Watts!" Salem didn't look up from her scroll. Oh, how he rued the day he gave it to her. He assumed it would allow more expedient communication between her and the rest of their cabal. Instead, he'd doomed himself to throwing away everything he had for nothing.

Salem had changed tracks ever since she'd gotten hooked on the glorified gambling. All her plans, her schemes (or rather, their schemes which she supported) had fallen to the wayside. The plans to destroy Vale and devastate Atlas? Gone, put off as something far less important compared to her Gacha rolls. They couldn't afford for a kingdom to fall, she said. That might hurt the company and thus disrupt her daily wishes. And they couldn't have that, could they?

She'd become utterly enamored by the game. He knew vaguely that she was a mother in eons past, and her maternal instinct had transferred to the bits of code. Day in and day out she was obsessed with rolling the Gacha to gather more characters, ensuring they had the best items, houses, and whatever else counted as luxury in that digital world. Watts personally didn't see the point of it. Some scientists, like that fat idiot Polendina, found themselves attached to the artificial. He considered machines and data to be just that.

Salem boldly announced that her new children would want for nothing and grow up to be the happiest children on Remnant. Attempting to tell her that her 'children' were lines of code that would never actually grow up had been initially met with utter confusion. It took him over four hours of explaining for her to understand that these data constructs were not actual human beings with thoughts and feelings but rather ones and zeroes meant to encourage gambling.

Sadly, it had only emboldened her more. Immortal children that would never leave her? Why, that was positively grand (he was being sarcastic, if one couldn't tell). She'd gone from enamored to downright zealous in ensuring her 'immortal children' wanted for nothing. All her plans, all her schemes to take over Remnant? Gone. Now she spent her day doing 'daily commissions' or some other such nonsense. He knew of the randomly generated garbage these game companies used to keep their customers hooked. Most people would eventually grow tired of it, but Salem? She was an immortal with a disrtorted view of time. She saw no issues doing the same tasks day after day for decades if not centuries.

Watts sighed and questioned his choices in life once again. He always considered himself the only sane one of their little group. Yes, he'd given up a distinguished position in Atlas out of spite against Ironwood for daring to snub him once, but he was still focused and goal-oriented. Everyone else was too...disjointed. Focused on their own dysfunctions and emotions to the detriment of actually accomplishing their goals. Cinder was the worst of the lot, but everyone else was hardly any better.

Case in point.

Watts' deadened eyes shifted from his dark mistress to Hazel. When he was still new, he respected the other man. He thought that he was a sensible, pragmatic type who didn't let petty emotions get in the way of doing what needed to be done. He found his desire to limit casualties baffling considering who they worked for, but he would take a misguided bleeding heart over crazed psychopaths like Cinder and Tyrian. They were the type to cut off their nose to spite their face.

Now the hulking man was curled up in the corner with and glued to his scroll. He'd taken a particular liking to a spear-wielder in the game by the name of Gretel and was obsessed with her being safe from harm. Which meant ensuring she was at the maximum level, had the best equipment, and was thus the strongest being in that virtual world. Any attempts to dissuade him by pointing out the futility of such a thing were met with a glare and a declaration that he wouldn't lose her 'again'.

He'd even gone to Tyrian - Tyrian - in the hope for some sort of sanity, but the man had been utterly broken. Seeing his goddess go from a NEET with plans for world domination to just a regular NEET had shattered his mind. He rocked himself and cried like an abandoned infant, which Salem didn't care for since she had to do her daily questing.

Watts sighed and considered hurling himself off the top of the castle. He'd also considered using his skills to somehow hack the game and perhaps force it to crash permanently, but he relented. Not only were the servers' locations not present anywhere on the Dustnet - he checked - but even if he could find it, it would be no use. No one else on Remnant was brilliant enough to destroy such a goliath and thus his culpability would be immediately made obvious.

No, he was forced to live in this insane world now. He wondered if it was too late to defect back to Atlas?

General James Ironwood was a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will. One didn't become the General of Atlas otherwise. He'd faced hordes of Grimm, lived with the knowledge of an eternal Grimm Queen that sought their demise, and had to deal with Winter Schnee's daddy issues.

One of those things was more devastating than the others.

And yet despite all that, he found himself utterly helpless as the new threat consumed all of Atlas. Gacha. Even thinking of the name made him shiver in disgust. He thought Jacques Schnee was the epitome of subversive corruption. Oh, how foolish he was. He was nothing compared to the monolith that was Allogene Clash. It cared not for who you were. Men, women, children. Poor or rich. Human or Faunus. It didn't matter. All were consumed by the pull of the Gacha.

It started with the teenagers, of course. Always the teenagers. If he could find some way to skip those selfish hormonal years for everyone in Remnant he'd do it in a heartbeat. But alas, he was no god. He should've banned it the second he heard that some of his students were playing the game, but hindsight was always 20-20. He assumed it was nothing more than a harmless distraction and knew that soldiers needed to let off steam. It was healthier than alcohol or casual sex, he thought.

Oh, what a fool he'd been.

It had started with teenagers but quickly spread like cancer. Both Atlas and Mantle found themselves enthralled by the game and soon the citizens were throwing their money away. Miners from Mantle had shifted from booze and whores to rolling the Gacha. Many would say it was an improvement, but he knew better. Gacha was a slower, more insidious killer than any other vice he'd seen. Taking and taking till you had nothing left to give. Then asking even more.

His soldiers fell prey to it as well. It started off subtle at first, just a few privates playing it in their off-time. As the days passed and his army was subverted from within, James realized that it was too late. He might've been able to stem the tide had he stopped it sooner, but now his entire army was addicted to the Gacha. Attempting to ban the game now would lead to refusal at best. At worst, they could launch a coup and have him executed for tyranny.

All for the Gacha.

James walked with heavy footsteps to the barracks belonging to the Ace-Ops. For a short time, he'd held out hope that perhaps his very best soldiers would be immune to the madness.

He should've known by now that hope was a lie.

"This is BULLSHIT!" That was the sound that greeted him as soon as he opened the door. Huddled together like a group of teens sneaking drugs, the Ace-Ops - the strongest Huntsmen in Atlas - all kept their eyes glued to their scrolls and didn't so much as look up at his arrival. The one who'd screamed was Harriet. She was always brash and eager to prove herself, but he had to admit he'd never seen her look so murderous as she ranted about 'losing the 50/50'.

"Ha! Got it!" Clover pumped his fist.

"That's 'cause of your bullshit good luck Semblance!" Harriet spat.

"Call it whatever you want, but I've just got my fifth C6." Clover grinned.

"It's unseemly to brag," Vine said. He sounded as calm and controlled as always, but he heard the sounds of the 'wish' from his scroll all the same.

"Yeah. No need to rub it in, boss." Marrow huffed, though James didn't miss the way his tail wagged in excitement.

"You guys need to stop trying to get every character." Elm rolled her eyes, "Look at me, all I need are a few mainstays and I'm good to go! Even got some wishes saved up for that new character coming tonight."

"Eh, I wouldn't bother. You've seen the leaks, right? Trash kit," Marrow said.

"Eh, I don't trust leaks. Most of it's bullshit. Like, am I really supposed to believe that the Corroded Knight James Crescent from the future?"

"Yeah, that sounds like BS, but the kit leaks have been pretty good so far," Marrow replied.

"Either way I'm sure I'll get the new character." Clover laughed.

"Oh, go fuck yourself." Harriet scowled.

James watched his most loyal group with naked grief. The strongest Huntsmen in Atlas, and look at them now? Utterly broken addicts.

But that was nothing compared to the one that caused him the most pain. His gaze turned from his addicted specialists to the one that truly broke his heart. Winter Schnee, the woman he considered like a daughter to him. Gone was the cool professionalism and heart of ice. What was left instead was a woman who looked like she hadn't slept in days, her hair messy and her eyes unfocused as she played the game on her scroll. Her uniform was messy and likely hadn't been changed in days.

It was worse for her. For the others, they treated gaining these digital characters as a point of pride. To Winter, the world was one of escapism and fantasy. She'd taken quite a liking to the character of Osha, a female knight with an ice theme who sought to remove herself from the chains of her family's dark legacy. It was obvious why it resonated with her, though understanding the reason didn't make seeing her wretched state any easier.

Winter's spiral was the most heartbreaking. Of all people, he thought that she would be above such things. He still remembered when he first found her playing the cursed game. Grief, rage, and fear had all mixed together and it took all he had to not utterly break at the realization that no one was safe. If Winter - the strongest of his subordinates - had fallen, then what chance did the rest of Remnant have?

Holding back bitter tears, he closed the door without a word and made his way back to his office. Perhaps if he pretended hard enough he could trick himself into thinking that this was all some delusion and that his kingdom hadn't been crippled by glorified gambling.

"Salutations!" Penny Polendina greeted him cheerfully.

"Oh. Hello, Penny." James nodded. He hadn't seen her since all this madness started, "How are you doing?"

"Very well, thank you for asking! I come with exciting news!"

"Oh?"

"Yes!" She raised her scroll (which she didn't need, but they gave her one just in case) and practically shoved it to his face, "I - or rather my likeness - am officially becoming the newst character of Allogene Clash and will be released tonight!"

Ironwood's face twitched. He wanted to grab the scroll and throw it clear off Atlas' edge, but Penny's bright, innocent smile kept him from losing control, "That's...good."

"Yes! Father was quite proud of me as well." She puffed up her chest like a child who received a gold star, "I received a message that they found my performance in the Vytal tournament intriguing and asked if I was willing to model for them. The money we received should fund Father's research for years to come!"

"I...see." Ironwood smiled stiffly. It was good news, but he couldn't find himself to be happy, "Well...I'm proud of you, Penny."

"Spectacular! Cent Pollyanna will be combat-ready tonight!"

James watched her leave to share the good news with the Ace-Ops and Winter. Without another word, he returned to his office and poured himself some bourbon in a small cup. He always considered alcohol a vice and a weakness, but now he no longer saw the point in holding back.

He took the bottle and swigged.

Down in a small corner of Vale in an out-of-the-way shop, the mastermind that brought Remnant to its knees chuckled to himself.

Spreading the Gacha had been easier than he thought. It started off small at first. Gather some employees and spread it across Vale as a small game. When the first consumers came, hungry to spend their hard-earned lien on more characters, they expanded astronomically. More characters, more lands, and more weapon types. More things to suck people in and have them consume the Gacha. It'd only been a few weeks and they multiplied their initial investment by more than a million.

Finding characters wasn't hard either. There were a few that he offered compensation for their likeness, but most were 'inspired' by the troublemakers that frequented his shop. Making trouble and dragging their problems into his poor, poor shop. And did they care? Of course not. They joked around like it was no big deal or protested that they were trying to do something good so wasn't that worth a little property damage?

Feh.

Oh well, he'd more than gotten his revenge. Those punks and miscreants were as addicted as the rest of Remnant to his creation. There were a few holdouts, of course, those who didn't see the appeal of spending all their money on the virtual, but he paid them no mind. No matter how loud they screamed. they would be drowned out by the mob.

Speaking of which, he had to do something to keep them enticed. He was sure that more characters and story would be enough to keep them going for years to come, but he wasn't one to rest on his laurels. He had more than enough money, after all, so why stop now?

The Shopkeep chuckled to himself. Today was going to be a great day.

The atmosphere in Beacon's dining hall was unbearably heavy. Though the students all came for their customary breakfast, almost no one ate. They sat at the tables, heads down and hand grasping their scrolls like lifelines. The few that didn't stuck out all the more for it. There was Ren and Nora, the former drinking a cup of green tea while the latter shoveled pancakes and bacon into her mouth. She tried to talk (with her mouth full...), but no one paid her any mind. There was also Mercury, who yawned and lazily bit into some toast.

And then there was her. Weiss. A woman denied her Gacha. Ever since her father cut off her allowance, the world had turned dull and gray. She had a few characters, of course, but nothing that would mark her as a true top player. She looked on jealously as Cinder Fall, that odd transfer student from Haven, rolled wish after wish without a care. Where did she get that money, she wondered. Her gut burned with envy and desire.

It didn't help that the rest of her team ignored her horrid predicament. Yes, they had to be conservative due to their own limited funds, but at least they could still roll! Her suggestions for them to stop using the Gacha as a show of Solidarity had gotten her laughed at. Even Ruby - Ruby! - had called her crazy and told her to 'stop being salty'.

Weiss grit her teeth and stabbed her fork into the meatloaf. After all she did for them, this was how they repaid her? Lousy, ungrateful bit-

"Oh, free wish," Arc said. Weiss looked up and stared blankly at the blonde doofus set his scroll down at the table and tapped the screen. Arc was a true dolt who actually did the quests to get his wishes instead of paying for it like a respectable person. What did he think this was, a game? She scoffed. He'd probably just get some four-stars and trash weapons. That was what those freemium players deserved for being such cheapskates.

The wish finished and Weiss' eyes nearly bugged out of her skull at the sight of not one, not two, but six Pythia units showing up on screen. The other four were five-star weapons and one Dull Blade. Weiss' mouth parted in shock but no words came. The rest of their table looked similarly surprised sans Ren and Nora.

"Huh. Nice," Jaune said, as if the roll was only moderately good instead of life-changing.

Pyrrha bit her lip, "Jaune, maybe you should-"

Weiss watched, utterly horrified, as he took the six Pythias and ruthlessly killed, murdered, sacrificed them to empower his other units. Pyrrha didn't say a word, simply looking ahead with empty eyes. The rest of the table was similarly in shock at the casual way he'd committed the gravest of sins. Blake raised a brow, Yang looked like she'd swallowed something sour, and Ruby's fists clenched shakily like she was resisting the urge to grab Jaune's head and smash him clean through the table.

Weiss wasn't so controlled.

She shrieked and jumped across the table, tackling Jaune to the floor. The utter fool screamed in surprise as she grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head on the ground, "Why?! Why, why, why?!" She screamed with tears in her eyes.

"Why what?!" Jaune asked back in a panic.

"WHY?!" She screamed, her face inches from his. She didn't elaborate because she didn't need to. He knew exactly what he did. The fact that even Pyrrha wasn't moving to defend him proved that.

She was about to slam his head again when everyone's scrolls buzzed. Reluctantly letting go of him, Weiss stood up, checked her scroll, and froze. It was an announcement from Mahoya. A...A new game had just come out. No advertisement, no trailers, just a notice that it was up on the store. Her hands trembled. She wanted to play it so badly, but she was still cut off. What was the point of getting it if she couldn't gather 5-stars?

And then she saw it: First Ten Rolls Free.

...

The Dustnet proceeded to crash at the sheer influx of downloads that came after.

Shopkeep is an evil genius, but he also saved Remnant. And of course Salem would be the kind of player to enjoy constant radiant quests. Ozma should've thrown Skyrim at her. Woulda bought him at least a hundred years. Maybe if he's smart he'll change his name to Todd Howard.

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