"Where is she!" A fist was buried into Bahri's stomach. "Talk!"

He fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. Then he was forced back on his feet. Next, after a firm push, he toppled back into a pillar.

Catching himself, Bahri had a quick chance to glance around the unfamiliar locale. It was a space under deep renovation. Having worked such jobs to support himself, the tattoo parlor owner was intimately familiar with the tools.

Large scaffolds abounded with planks and other materials strapped atop them. Blocks of drywall needed to be carved up for a fitting. Extra-large crates packed with pipes and machines sat around ready to install.

What was missing was the crew. There were no witnesses. No cameras. Nor any place to slip away to. He was trapped.

Officer Laurel Fiddle leaned on his captive harder. "This isn't a game! Where!?"

"Please! Stop!" Bahri pleaded. "I don't know who-"

This was the wrong answer. He was pushed again. The officer paced about, raving.

"The girl! Janus! Neopolitan! Or whatever she calls herself now! You have to know!"

"I really don't!"

"Don't lie to me!" Laurel kicked Bahri hard. "Kingsnake clued me in. You thought you were so clever. Setting us up for a fall and then running off to Mistral to avoid the blowback. But you messed up! You returned too soon!"

Bahri wanted to refute him. To say he had only gone to Mistral as a favor and for some financial assistance. Fixing up his business was not going to be cheap. But he was too busy coughing up his lungs. So Laurel kept going.

"Her and Torchwick might have gotten Piper, but they won't get me!"

"I don't-" Bahri pulled himself up.

When he turned around, he came face to barrel with a pistol. The officer was crazed with anger. His pointer-finger tapped the trigger.

As Bahri hyperventilated, his vision darkened. He thought he saw something moving in the back of the room. It had happened so briefly that he passed it off as a stressful illusion. In addition, he had other things to worry about.

"I'll give you to the count of five. One!"

"I don't know!"

"Two!"

"Stop it!"

"Three!" Laurel sneered before adding. "Last chance to come clean, Barry."

"Screw you!"

This last insult got to Bahri. The stupid prick could, for once, get the name of the person he was about to murder right. This did not sway the officer. It only ticked him off further. He stepped back to avoid any blood spray.

There was movement again. Bahri's eyes widened upon seeing another man in a bandanna making a beeline for them. Laurel was too busy counting to notice.

"Four!" He never got to five.

The bandana man, moving much faster than what seemed humanly possible, swung at the officer. Impossibly, Bahri's luggage case was in his hands. It impacted the side of Laurel's head with great force.

XVII. Take Off

The stranger moved swiftly toward the tattooist as the officer took a tumble. Bahri shook at the sudden display of intense violence. A hand latched onto his wrist and tugged him away from the scene.

"W-who are you?" He asked.

"Your guardian angel."

"Wha-"

"Junior sent me. Name's Jay."

There was a loud boom. Bahri, recognizing a gunshot, ducked. Jay put an arm over his shoulder and dragged them behind a pair of crates. More booms followed, each seemingly louder than the last.

The boxes vibrated as more slugs impacted them. Bahri could smell the burning wood. Splinters flew through the air as Jay muttered.

"Should've finished him off."

Bahri gasped while looking at their barrier. "Are you okay!?"

Large chunks of the crates were missing. The blasts were making short work of their cover. Jay, having placed himself between the box and Bahri, was bound to catch a stray if he had not already.

"It's fine. I-"

"Come out here, Barry. You and your dead friend." Laurel screamed. "Right now!"

Through a hole, they could see the officer approach. He held a hand over the right side of his face. Bahri could discern a deep red mark there along with some swelling. Unfortunately, these injuries did not affect Laurel's aim.

Another pair of shots went through the crate. Jay grunted as his skin took on a peachy sheen. There was a ping as metal fragments hit the flooring around them.

Bahri had seen the Malachite twins perform similar feats as a party trick. Militia, after much goading, broke a beer bottle over her sister's head. Melanie experienced no harm from this act. She just grinned and flexed her biceps.

Jay seemed eager to prove he was just as tough. "I'll take care of this."

"What should I do?"

"Hunker down." He passed the briefcase over. "If you get hurt, Junior will-"

He did not get to finish his thought. There was another noise. This was not from gunfire, however. It was the creak of something straining under an immense weight. This was soon followed by a strangled scream and a crash.

Then silence.

Jay and Bahri remained as they were for a moment longer. Laurel did not issue any new demands. Slowly peeking around their cover, they soon learned why.

A scaffold had tipped over. There was now a huge heap of wood and other building materials piled where the officer had been standing. Where he was now laying.

All they could see of Officer Fiddle was a mangled, bloody arm sticking out of the wreckage. No other sounds or movements came from inside the pile. Bahri looked upon the debris with disbelief. Jay was also shocked, but in a more dispassionate way.

"That was odd." He scratched his chin. "How did it happen? Maybe one of his rounds went wide? Hit a support structure?"

"W-we should call an a-ambulance." Bahri stuttered out.

Jay shook his head. "Too late for that. We need to go before we get caught with the cop pancake under there."

It was alarming, the way this 'guardian angel' discussed what had happened. He was so flippant. Death must have been an everyday occurrence for the likes of him.

Still, he had a point. "O-okay."

With a turn, Jay ushered them away. They did not head back out into the lobby, as Bahri would have thought. Instead, they walked deeper into the unfinished terminal.

Soon they were surrounded by drywall and dark tinted windows. The walkway narrowed to where they could only proceed in a single-file line. Bahri asked if they should bust the glass open to escape.

"Good instincts but we don't want to draw any more attention."

Eventually, they reached a blue stairwell. It was part of a temporary structure that the builders had attached to the unfinished building. Workers could use it to bring tools into the work zone without having to go through the main entrance.

They descended the steps quickly. At the bottom was a simple chain link fence enclosing a small staging area. Barring them from freedom was a thick padlock on the latch swing lever.

To solve this issue, Jay flicked out a red handled switchblade and lifted the lock. He placed the tip of the blade at the keyhole. Bahri watched with interest.

"Can you pick the lock?"

"In a manner of speaking." Jay said, before hitting the handle with the underside of his fist.

There was an orange flash and a screech. Metal carved through metal as the blade pushed inward. Twisting the handle caused the casing to break apart.

Pulling out the ruined blade, Jay frowned. The brutal method worked, though. The once impassable door swung open. Bahri was then pushed through the entryway and into a backlot.

"Shouldn't we-?"

The area was deserted. He had anticipated a security team to be waiting for them. The gunshots should have been heard. Yet, it was completely empty.

As he finished breathing out in relief, Jay grabbed his arm again. The tattooist tripped up as he was pulled once again. This time, they were heading back toward the sounds of other airfare users going about their business.

"Wait! Where are we going!?"

"Anywhere but here. Act natural."

No one paid any attention to them as they joined a large group on the sidewalk. The mass of people was walking back towards the city. As they blended in, a cart carrying armed guards sped by in the opposite direction. While others gawked, Jay kept them both moving.

/ / /

"But I'm a huntress."

"I'm sorry ma'am. Unless you surrender the weapon, you will not be allowed to stay."

Robyn Hill bit back a cutting remark before placing her crossbow on the held-out tray. The flight attendant, sensing her displeasure, hastily retreated. Her eyes narrowed as they passed another passenger openly carrying a scimitar on their belt without saying a word.

Even when leaving Atlas, the powers-that-be felt the need to place Robyn under restrictions. It wasn't fair. But what did she expect?

Free from hassle, she took in her environment. She stood on the top deck of a slow-moving, four-story airliner. It was a luxury vessel for fun and relaxation. For a person such as herself, the only activity of interest was to scout the area.

So she took a walk.

There were a few stares as Robyn wandered the passageways. Her travel clothes were made for blending into the wilderness, not warmly lit cabins. She did her best to ignore them, clutching her shoulder pack close.

Not everyone was judgmental. Some were just having a good time. Those were the better people to focus on.

Older gentlemen, dressed up for a trip to the dining room, passed on her left. Excited children ran by on the right. She gave a wide berth to the married couple making out in a darkened corner. A belabored custodian stood off to the side, deciding who to follow first.

Each person encountered was filed away in her memory. She cataloged their distinguishing features, such as height, weight, and age. Mostly in case of emergency, as she was taught to do in the academy, but also for fun.

Because Robyn was unlikely to learn their names, she had to think up ways of distinguishing them. She used her favorite shorthand: Nicknames.

There was something satisfying about giving a proper nickname. Especially whenever they fit the subject like a glove. At the moment, her favorite so far was the Barnacle Couple. She had passed them thrice and had yet to see them detach from each other.

Other top contenders were 'Patches,' a retiree who stalked around with a frayed vinyl jacket, and a little girl Robyn had taken to calling 'Drippy.' The child was constantly spilling her grape drink. 'Upchuck,' the custodian, had found a walking debris field to monitor.

Eventually, even this activity wore thin. After seeing the sights, the huntress returned to the front of the ship. She considered turning in early, but even sleep seemed dull.

Bored, Robyn saddled up to the railing. Night was rapidly approaching, yet the outer window shields were still down. Gazing over the frostbit land, she could see a still lake.

The vessel would soon pass the village of Essen. That would be their first stop on a two-month tour of Remnant. Then they would hug the coast toward Argus, anchor in Mistral, head east over the Vacuo Wastelands, and finally reach Vale.

Somehow, this was still the cheapest, non-military way of getting to Vale. Happy House could only afford to send one huntress, so Robyn had elected to go it alone. It was up to her to get answers.

How she was going to do that, she was unsure. All of her contacts were in Mantle. Building new ones took time. Like her namesake, Robyn was going to have to wing it.

Turning back around, she needed somewhere to relax. She recalled one place that might fit the bill. A collection of beach chairs, presumably for when they reached warmer weather, lay on the far side of the ship.

Traveling that way again, she noticed that Mr. and Mrs. Barnacle were no longer in their corner. Far off, she could see the lady pulling her fella towards the guest quarters. All Robyn could think was 'good for them,' along with a small flair of jealousy.

She had not gotten any in years. A fact that was unlikely to change anytime soon. Everyone on the ship appeared either attached or were not in an acceptable age range.

Putting aside her floundering love life, she reached the chairs. The Happy House Leader was glad that her short-term memory was correct. And she had the place all to herself.

With one exception.

Reclining in the middle of the suite was an older woman. She had silver braided hair that fell to the side of her darkly toned face. Advanced age had shrunk her stature.

A dark blue blanket was spread over her small form. She was fast asleep, with obnoxiously large and round goggles on to block out ambient light. Robyn took a chair a few spaces away.

Laying down, she stared into space trying to force herself to rest. Instead, her mind wandered, looking for mental stimulation. On the ceiling above was an oddly shaped yellow stain.

It looked kind of like a quacking duck.

This method was not working. Robyn gave in and sat up. She dug through her pack and retrieved the 'Operation Hammer Stone' file.

No matter how many times she read the text, she could not help but feel gobsmacked. Having been a member of the Atlas military, she could not believe that they would attempt such an audacious covert action on ally soil. The implications were staggering.

At the very least, it violated the Treaty of Vytal. At the most, well, Robyn preferred not to think about what this signaled about her homeland. The Council must have known that this was happening and were either looking the other way or did not care.

Ever since General Ironwood had snagged two seats on the governing body, there had been a shift in tone and policy. Atlas always talked as though they could do nothing wrong. Now they were acting like it.

Hammer Stone had deep pockets. The amount of Dust, personnel, and hardware being deployed were staggering for what they were calling a 'limited intervention.' Robyn had checked and double-checked the numbers to be sure they were accurate.

The huntress was unsure what to do. Leaking the information to the press would end with her in front of a tribunal. Likewise, disrupting the operation on the ground was impractical. Even if the rest of Happy House were involved, the Machine Empire outnumbered them.

Robyn was betting everything on Vale. Hoping beyond hope to find something, anything, to prevent the inevitable. Even though she was not sure what that would be.

And that scared her more than she cared to admit.

"You're going to tear that, y'know." A soft voice spoke.

Pulled from her thoughts, Robyn saw that the file was pulled taut between her white knuckled hands. A sudden movement would rip it in half. Taking a calming breath, she forced herself to relax her grip.

Goggles was no longer asleep. She was up in her seat, peering at Robyn. Her headgear was lit up in a bright blue. This banded coloration grew and contracted like artificial irises.

Suddenly, Robyn felt bad about assigning the lady 'Goggles' as a nickname. "Thanks."

"Must be quite the interesting read, young lady."

"That's one way of putting it." Robyn put the file away. "Although I'm not exactly 'young,' old timer."

"To me, everyone is a youngster." She tittered before standing.

Her 'blanket' turned out to be a cape. Under it was an olive and dusky dress with rows of frills. Reaching underneath her chair, she retrieved a walking stick. The head of the cane was a palm-sized green skull.

"You don't have to leave."

"You're right. But it is past my bedtime. Good night"

Something about that cane tickled the back of Robyn's brain. But she did not press the issue. Instead, she followed her elder's example and retired to her room. All the better to be restless in private.

/ / /

Patient Shoat woke to a setting sun.

When he returned to his room after his most recent physical therapy session, he was drenched with sweat. Tired of laying up in his bed, he sat up in a recliner. The nurse brought him a sandwich, and, after a few bites, he took what was supposed to be a short nap.

That was in the early afternoon. Checking the wall clock, the convalescent detective muttered angrily under his breath. It was now deep in the evening.

Annoyingly, his sandwich was gone. Someone had taken the food tray. Yet, they had not woken him up. It was all very embarrassing.

Every day had been like this since he had been checked into the rehabilitation center. Exercise. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. In the blink of an eye, a month had passed.

Or had it only been a week? He could not tell anymore. Time kept on slipping away.

He rubbed his temple. The fresh bandages there were itchy. It took great effort to avoid scratching his damaged ear.

His head rolled to the side to look out the nearby window. He had expected to see the nearby green space he walked for exercise. Instead, Earnie was confronted by the sight of another person standing beside him. A startled gasp left him at the sight of the intruder.

"Easy there. Everything's fine." They spoke. "It's me."

A few minutes passed before Earnie could calm himself down. His eyes took even longer to focus. The medication he was on made everything fuzzy.

The unexpected guest was a male of average height. His dark hair and crimson cape were familiar. But it was not until the detective looked into the other man's ruby red eyes that everything clicked into place.

At last, he forced out a mangled word. "Kro?"

"Good to see you, Shoat."

The patient grunted as he tried to straighten himself out. Since checking in, he had not had a visitor outside of his wife and the facility staff. He had also not seen Qrow Branwen in several years.

When they last parted, the huntsman was in bad shape. Qrow had just experienced a personal loss and was pushing people away. After not hearing from him for so long, Earnie had honestly thought he had drunk himself to death.

Thinking on it further, Earnie reached up to grip his arm. Qrow grabbed on to help him come all the way up. Satisfied that he was not a spirit there to usher him to the afterlife, the detective tried to speak.

"Oard."

"Huh?"

"Ight oard." He pointed to a rectangular item on a counter.

Catching on, the huntsman retrieved the white board with a dry erase marker. The detective struggled with the marker cap. Once he got it free, he scribbled a short message in slightly too large font.

'How's it hanging?'

Qrow snorted. "Better than you. What's the damage?"

Below the first message, Earnie wrote. 'Trauma stroke.'

It had occurred shortly after the hospital had sewn up his scalp. The doctors believed the bullet that grazed his head had knocked something loose. Now he was having to relearn how to walk, talk, and use the bathroom unassisted.

All things considered; Earnie got lucky. That was what his wife told him.

A few inches to the left and he would not be alive at all. On the other hand, a few inches to the right and the bullet would not have hit him at all. He kept that analysis to himself.

"What's the recovery time look like?"

'Too long.'

His physical therapist told him to go one day at a time. Being able to scribble with a marker had taken days to get right. Even now, the concentration required to hold this simple conversation tired him easily. Qrow recognized the strain.

"Alright. Well, I just came around to let you know I'm looking into things. When you are feeling up to it, we can talk more about the folks who did this to you."

That would be difficult. Earnie could not remember anything about what had happened. His last memory was kissing his daughter's forehead before her bedtime. Then he was here.

Still, he wrote. 'OK.'

With his last bit of concentration and motor skills, Earnie wiped the board with a tissue. Once it was clean, he sat back with heavy eyelids. Qrow lingered by the windowsill.

"Anyone in VPD worth reaching out to? I could use the help."

The detective did not hesitate in mouthing his answer. "No."

If Earnie were in Qrow's shoes, there was not a single person he would trust. The department was a snake's den. Everyone was either on the take or in no position to assist.

This was a realization that the detective had come to recently. News of Major Nadder's promotion to top cop, which Earnie had heard about through a newspaper, had broken his faith in the organization. It was better that Qrow stayed away entirely.

"Thought so. Get some rest."

Given permission, Earnie began to drift off. Before he succumbed to sleep, the detective experienced a strange hallucination. The huntsman transformed into a black bird and flapped away.

/ / /

"Where are they?" Melanie Malachite muttered.

The Xiong Underboss paced around her unofficial office, the VIP Lounge. Here, she held court during the day while the Club was closed to customers. Checking her Scroll, they were still a few hours out from opening for those starting a bar crawl.

On which, her mouth was dry. She sat at the minibar and mixed a gin and juice. Her shoulders untensed as she took a sip.

Becoming the gang's second-in-command had significantly increased her stress levels. Even more so over the last few weeks with the remodeling work. But now they were doubling down on her anxieties by getting back into the 'Roman Torchwick' business.

This was after Junior had assured her that he would not make any major decisions without her input. And yet, here they were. Involving an unknown entity in clan business.

Sometimes she felt less like the underboss and more like an undersecretary. Her position was for show rather than for her having any actual power. It was only the constant reminders that Junior was terrible at delegating that kept her from resigning.

Now she was waiting on the gamble to pay out. They either picked up a new Torchwick-affiliated contact or they lost an important package. Frankly, it was not a bet Melanie would have taken.

Her disdain for the thief aside, she did not like the idea of adding new elements to a job. Bahri, the guy they had sent to carry out their will in Mistral, was not a smooth operator. There was every reason to think he might react poorly.

But it was already done. Melanie just had to drink and wait. So she did.

An hour later, the hostess for the VIP Lounge, Gigi, approached. Hips, framed by a skinny cocktail dress, rocked back and forth with each step. She leaned over the tabletop to display ample cleavage before speaking in a low, sultry manner.

"Anything I can do for ya?"

Averting her eyes, Melanie groaned. "I'm fine."

Gigi happened to be her on-again, off-again girlfriend. They were currently 'off' because Melanie had become tired of the constant teasing with no payoff. It was only the lady's good looks that kept her coming back.

And the conceited girl knew it.

Fluttering her long lashes, Gigi pressed her luck. "You looked pained."

"It's been a long afternoon of meetings."

"Poor baby." Her fingers walked along the table. "I know how to help."

Those digits traveled far. They crossed an expanse of marble, scaled Melanie's arm, and came to tilt her chin. With lidded eyes, the White Malachite twin was reeled in.

"How…?" She whispered as their faces came close.

Gigi responded just as quietly. "With another meeting."

With a tilt, Melanie was directed to the two figures near the privacy curtain. It was Bahri, holding a suitcase, and a tall man in a bandanna. Just who she had been waiting for.

Pushing back, she dismissed the hostess. "Thanks, Georgianna."

The overly flirty girl patted Melanie on the head before walking away with a light giggle. Her guests, having watched the show, looked very awkward standing there. She coughed before waving them closer.

"C'mon in, boys. Take a load off."

After a bit of hesitation, they came closer. Sliding in the seats opposite of her, she could see more of Torchwick's lad. He had a baby face, but his steely blue eyes could cut diamonds.

Bahri spoke up. "Hey Mel."

Her gaze left the unknown mook to focus on the tattoo parlor owner. He was much like her drink. All stirred up.

"You're late. Was afraid I was going to have to come after you myself."

"That would be my fault." The stranger, who she knew as Jay, spoke. "He wanted to come straight here, but I wanted us to take a slight detour. We had some trouble along the way and had to set up an alibi."

That set off alarms. "Explain."

And so they did.

Melanie could have cursed. In fact, she did several times as they recounted the chain of events. The Clan had thought they were being clever in sending Bahri to Mistral. But it turned out they had just painted a target on his back.

If her errand boys were to be believed, everything had worked out. The threat was neutralized. Junior would have to double check to be sure, though. This led to an obvious question.

"You mentioned an alibi earlier. What is it?"

Jay slid a small piece of paper across the table. She had to squint under the low lighting to read the fine print. It was a receipt for a movie theater.

"We saw the latest Spruce Willis movie."

"How's the story go?"

"Script was fine, but Spruce was clearly phoning it in. And don't get me started on the cinematography-"

"Not that. I mean, what's the alibi? What are we telling whoever asks?"

"Goes a bit like this: Bahri was picked up by a friend after a long trip. They went straight to the movies and then came back here for a 'boys' night out.' That stub is back dated for a film that started very shortly after the airship landed."

"They? Them? You mean it wasn't you?" Bahri asked nervously.

"I was never here." Jay brook no disagreement. "Already wiped down the car. I would appreciate you losing any footage of me on the Club cameras as well."

Melanie did not fight him on the request. "We'll take care of it."

It was not an airtight alibi. A talented investigator could poke holes in the chain of events. However, VPD was lazy. As long as they bought the initial story of the accident, no one would bother looking further.

Either way, Jay covered his bases. The Xiong were on the hook for this, not him or his boss. Melanie would have to make sure everything was clean, whether that meant disappearing some evidence or paying off witnesses.

This was one cool customer.

"Thank you. I'll take my leave then."

He breezily lifted off the stool. His hand gave Bahri's shoulder a squeeze as he sauntered away in a cocky sort of strut, similar to his boss. Though, it was not nearly as grating as Torchwick. Jay was at least passingly polite.

At the stairway, he stopped. His stance changed. A hand went to scratch the back of his head.

"By the way, I wanted to ask…"

Melanie blinked. "Yes?"

"Are you related to Miltiades?"

She could not help but snark. "Gee, what gave you that idea? Our identical appearances?

"Well, yes." He said matter-of-factly before becoming embarrassed. "A-anyway, I was hoping you could pass along a message."

"It was an odd request, but she had no reason to refuse. "Go on."

"Tell her 'Thanks for the advice.' She was very helpful."

He then scurried away, leaving Melanie very confused. She knew Militia had spoken with him. She had not known that they had exchanged anything beyond simple pleasantries.

Her wallflower sister was not known for socializing. It was the reason Melanie had suggested to Junior that they put Militia in charge of managing the Club. They wanted to force her out of her shell.

Mil had done well enough. She was certainly better than Mel would have been. But her hospitality skills had grown very little. Or so they thought.

Bahri let out an explosive breath. "Glad that's over with."

"Sounds like you had quite the adventure." She would need to get the full account without the Torchwick affiliate hovering over them later, but first, they had business. "How was the meeting with Lil' Miss?"

"It was, uh…" He weighed his words.

"Scary beyond all belief?"

"She threatened to skin me alive!"

"Sounds about right." Melanie nodded, swirling her drink. "Any problems?"

"You mean, other than that? No. There were plenty of questions about you and Militia."

This revelation flattened her mood. "What kind of questions?"

"Stuff like 'who are they dating?' and 'are they eating enough?' Typical mom stuff."

If Lil' Miss was a normal mother, Melanie might have believed that. Knowing better though, she knew the Spider boss was after something. What that was, though, was still opaque.

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth. That I didn't know anything."

A hum of approval left her lips. It was another pro argument in the column of 'not fraternizing with the workers.' They could not rat you out. That was something she needed to keep in mind whenever she was feeling weak in the knees around Gigi.

"Let's see the merchandise."

Bahri set his briefcase on the bar top. "Here."

Melanie pulled the luggage over. Pressing down on the latches, the case made a satisfying clicking noise. Rubbing her hands, she lifted the top.

The inside of the case consisted of tightly folded shirts, underwear, socks, and a toiletry kit. This was only the facade, though. And not in the way a searcher would expect.

There were no hidden compartments. No false bottoms. No gimmicks to the case at all. The contraband was hidden in plain sight.

She took a bright red shirt printed with palm tree silhouettes in her hands and unfolded it. Turning the material inside out revealed extra fabric. To anyone else, this would have looked like a cheaply sewn liner.

It was anything but.

Breaking the loose attachments allowed the material to fall out. The fabric was dark and mesh-like. It felt gritty between her thumb and pointer.

With a bit of concentration, Melanie flared her Aura. The resulting flash of light had Bahri yelping in surprise. There was another sound from him, this time of curiosity, as the fabric slowly disappeared. Also fading away was the middle of her hand.

Eventually, everything above her wrist was gone. It would have been more disconcerting if she had lost that tactile sensation in her displaced fingers. Letting go of the fabric, her hand reappeared as it landed on the table.

"How much did she give us?"

"Her exact words were 'enough for two wayward, self-starved girls.'"

"Whatever." Melanie scowled. "At least the cow was willing to part with that much. What was the final cost?"

They had set a limit for how much Bahri could spend. If more was needed, he had been told to contact them for authorization. Considering that the call had never come, they must have come in under budget.

"Oh! That's the best part! This was on the house."

That caused her to flinch. "What?"

"Nice of her, huh?"

Lil' Miss did not do nice. She also did not give away stolen Atlas tech for free. There would be a cost, but they did not know when the bill would come due.

"You did well, Bahri." The idiot had screwed them good and hard, but she could not blame him for not knowing.

"I aim to please." He looked a little nervous. "About my parlor…"

"We'll uphold our end of the bargain." She thought about it for a moment. "In fact, why don't you use the money we sent to Mistral to make the repairs? Whatever you don't spend, feel free to keep as a bonus."

"T-that's very generous!"

"The Xiong rewards its friends." Melanie said, trying not to roll her eyes.

She hated clichés. But this was the image Junior wanted to project. Luckily, Bahri was too enthused to call her out on the cheesy line.

The tattooist stayed for a bit longer in the lounge. Melanie got him to partake in a few whiskey sours to loosen his lips for a more detailed recounting of the events of the day. She then made a mental note to follow up with Junior.

After drinking his fill, Bahri stumbled away toward home. Or attempted to. He only made it as far as the parking lot before the bouncers turned him back. Melanie convinced him to sleep it off in a side room.

This was by design. Keeping him on ice for the night was a good idea. If there was going to be blowback from the Division, it would happen relatively quickly.

When this was all sorted, Melanie heard voices outside her curtain. The Club was beginning to fill up. She closed up the briefcase to stow it away.

She could not restrain her grin when thinking about using the newly acquired tech on a foe. A specific tri-colored girl came to mind. The shock on her face when she learned she was not the only one who could pull a vanishing act would be priceless.

/ / /

Neopolitan sat atop the main airport building. Beneath her was a row of emergency vehicles. Their twirling lights bathed the dusky night in blue and red.

A stretcher was wheeled out of the lobby to the back of an ambulance. There was no rush by the lone medic pushing the gurney. A white sheet was pulled over the beer-bellied body of the deceased police officer underneath it.

Seeing this made Neo unclench her fist. The red strap she had been holding fell on the awning over the doorway with a thump. No one looked up.

She had been following Roman and Jaune closely since they had left that morning. She was not sure why. She had been compelled to do so.

It was a good thing she had, too.

Leaving Bushy alive had been a mistake. They had crossed paths twice before. Each time she let him and his crooked-nosed partner escape. This was a correction.

The piggies were never going to let them be. Neo understood that but had refrained from removing them. Afterall, they had been courting the Division. Messing with their members was fine. Killing them had been off limits.

No more. The entire organization was on her list. They, along with the fire bitch, were dead and they did not even know it yet.

Despite this new resolve, Neo felt at peace. Miss Murder had quieted down. Usually, such a display of brutality would rile her up, demanding more blood. Not this time.

Now those darker impulses had receded. Sated. Taking care of Bushy felt fulfilling. Righteous, even.

Was this what being a huntress felt like? Neo doubted it.

Huntsmen were supposed to be selfless. She knew that what she had done was not out of any altruism. Neo had merely protected what was hers. Yet her body was awash in positivity.

There was a flash. Her Semblance activated. Someone else wanted to play.

A child in a black dress sat beside Neo. Her brown hair fluttered in the upwind as she also looked over the scene. The twerp shuddered as mismatched eyes settled upon her. Yet she refused to fade away.

A show of teeth did little to deter the other personality. Neo's heart was not into it. Trivia scooted closer.

Ignoring the shadow, she stood and stretched her arms. The Scroll in her pocket vibrated. Looking at the screen, it was a message from Jaune.

He was letting her know that he had finished up with Junior. There was a question about if she wanted takeout. She responded with a noodle cup emoticon.

As soon as she put the device away, Neo knew she was smiling. Tilting her head, she found Trivia hanging off her shoulders. The small face was beside her own, mirroring the older girl.

That was the problem with giving a mouse a scoop of ice cream. They always wanted the whole cone. Telling her doppelgänger not to get comfortable, Neo jumped over the side of the building. Trivia clung to her the whole way back to the hideout.

Author Notes: Look at that! One hundred comments! We are like a real story now. xD