Note: PLEASE READ ME SERIOUSLY READ ME. Hi all. Welcome back... again! This chapter is PART TWO of a TWO-PART chapter that I'm releasing simultaneously. I hadn't released an upload for a while so I decided to do two of them at the same time. Now, I know you. YES, YOU. You just clicked on the most recent chapter and totally skipped over the last one. Of course, you did. I would have done it. But seriously, go back and read the previous chapter! There's stuff happening in it you haven't read yet! I'm serious, ONLY READ THIS CHAPTER IF YOU FOR SURE READ CHAPTER 29.

Got it? Okay, cool. Enjoy.

Hello, Mr. Blacksmith.

It is good to see you again.

I've had the most awful day.

Today was the day my mother died.

I didn't like watching it, but she wanted me to be there. The hospital was too noisy. Daddy kissed her on the forehead and held her hand. She said that she was proud of me before I closed my eyes. Dad said this had been coming for months, but I didn't believe him. I don't want her to go. Why did it have to be her?

Is she with you now, Mr. Blacksmith? That's what the books say. She should be with you, serving at your fires. Is she giving you new ideas for flying things? She always wanted to make a woman fly, but Dad says she was unrealistic. But you can do anything, can't you, Mr. Blacksmith? You can make anything you want because you are super smart.

Did Mom's hair grow back, Mr. Blacksmith? Can you at least tell me that? I know you don't tell me much, but Mom was so sad when her hair began falling out. Dad had to buy her so many wigs, but she never liked them. She wanted real hair, like mine. You could make her hair grow back, couldn't you? You'd always think of something. That's why you're the best. You're super smart.

I'm sorry, Mr. Blacksmith. I shouldn't be asking for things. I just don't have anyone to talk to right now. Dad is in his room taking a nap. I have nowhere else to go. Please, do this one thing for me. I promise I'll be good. Make Mom's hair grow back so she can be proud again.

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Hello, Mr. Blacksmith.

I'm afraid I have some bad news.

I have decided to become a Huntress. Please, don't be upset with me. Dad is upset enough as it is. He said I can't break tradition, but I don't care. There isn't anything left for me here.

I tried to be good. I followed your commands. I read your Texts. I studied everything I could under Dad, but I just don't have it in me. Inventing? That was Mom's gift. She could dream up anything, and in two days, presto! A new machine spawned from her limitless imagination. I can't do that. Everything I try to create has been done before. The tools don't fit in the palm of my hands. The screws become loosened. The panels are backward. Nothing makes sense in this world. Engineering is like a foreign language. You know the teachers think so, too. All the professors at the academy are threatening to hold me back. That wouldn't be good for anyone, would it?

But a few weeks ago, I think I found something I was good at. There was this boy getting picked on by the older students. He was meek and bloodied, ganged up on by three boys twice his size. One of them went to punch him, but something took over me. I don't know how to describe it other than a primal, protective instinct. I grabbed my lunch tray, ran after them, and then I hit them as hard as I could with it. They were all bigger than me, but I held my ground until the teachers came to break up the fight. I got a few good punches in. I might have even busted their noses. The professors wanted to expel me. Dad was furious that I got hurt, but I didn't care. It felt good helping someone. There are people out there that need help, and I know you matter too, but if I can't help them by serving you, then surely, I'm supposed to do something else. I can't live for my Kingdom if I only live for you.

Dad was so mad. He put everything he had into me, but he'll see, too. I'm going to do great things.

I hope you aren't mad either, Mr. Blacksmith. I'll still talk to you, even though I'm not supposed to. It will be our little secret.

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Hello Mr. Blacksmith.

I'm sorry that it's been a while. I haven't had time to pray.

Training is hard. Harder than engineering, that's for sure. Every day I feel like I'm going to die. The instructors are ruthless and they never stop pushing. Push. Push. Push. They don't care if my knees are weak or if I'm shaking or if I just threw up. It's always orders, always demands to do more and more and more. Climb that wall! Punch that bag! Step in time, step in time! I knew it would be rough, but I really should have gotten into better shape before I came here.

Dad doesn't talk to me as much anymore. That's fine. I don't have time to talk to him either. When I came home from my old school, he would always ask me how my day was. What new things have I learned about physics? These days, he would look me over for bruises, feed me, mumble something, and then go off to bed. Even when he finds the bruises, he doesn't do anything different, so why does he bother to check? I don't understand. Maybe he's really just checking to see if I'm still alive.

And that's the strange thing, Mr. Blacksmith. I am alive. More alive than I've ever been before. Because despite how hard every day is, I can feel myself improving. Every day I complete my laps a little quicker. Every day, my shots become a centimeter more precise. We had a practice spar the other day, and to be blunt, I kicked the other guy's ass. He was bigger than me, too. Still whooped him. What do you think of that? Well, I guess you don't think of anything. Thinking about combat isn't what you do.

I hear that in other Kingdoms, the Huntresses get to design their own weapons. We don't get that kind of freedom here. Maybe you'd prefer watching over one of them instead.

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Hello, Mr. Blacksmith.

Today was a very good day.

I just won a Huntsmen tournament.

My fingers are numb. I don't know if that's from blood loss or shock. There's a really nasty cut on my leg from the semi-final round. Parried a straight sword into my own thigh. Like an idiot. But you know what? I won, so who cares.

You should have seen how I beat them. I used this amazing, spinning kick I've been practicing. I got down low, almost like I was playing dead, and then when they weren't expecting it, I jumped up and knocked them out cold. It was glorious. A little underhanded, but it got the job done. Professor Dalton says that even though Huntresses represent honor, that doesn't mean we can't fight dirty to get the job done. We need to win at all costs. Would your Brother be mad at me? I haven't asked him. I still like talking to you, weird enough as it is.

There were a few thousand people in attendance watching. They were all chanting my name. That's weird. Like, super, really, ultra weird. When people say my name, they say it with disdain. "Oh, look, there goes the fuck-up." But now, it's like all of the training, every single hour, has been justified. When they handed me that trophy, I didn't care that I could barely stand. I belong. I actually belong somewhere.

Dad wasn't in the audience. He said he would be watching from home. I hope he is. He promised. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he went back on his word.

Something weird happened afterward. I was shaking hands, walking through the crowd, when this man came up to me. The whole crowd went quiet when he approached me. His suit was a pristine white. His dark hair was trimmed short. He had these steely eyes that pierced right through me. When he spoke, all of my confidence left me. He told me that his name was James, that he was watching me with great interest, and he congratulated me on winning the tournament. He said that if I continued at my current pace, I could be accepted into Atlas Academy. I shook his hand and thanked him, and then he left. I don't know why everyone made such a big deal, but I feel like I've seen him before. I'm such an idiot though. I'm sure I've just forgotten.

Anyway, I found the perfect place to put the trophy: on my bedside table, right next to the photo of Mom. I'm sure she's proud of me, at least.

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Hello, Mr. Blacksmith.

I had an awful day today.

Today was the day that I died.

It happened so fast, but I remember every single second of it. There is a great cruelty to life, isn't there? Ironic cruelty. I don't remember the details of most of my birthdays. I can't recall the smell of my mother's favorite sweater whenever she would hold me. But this—the most painful ten seconds of my life—will never fade.

It was Dad's fault. He really should have been looking where he was going. That truck seemed to come out of nowhere, but if he hadn't been looking at me, he might have seen it. But no, of course, he couldn't focus on what was right in front of him. And the funny part? The last thing he told me was to quit being a Huntress. He said it was too dangerous. Well, who's laughing now?

The sensation started in my feet and worked its way upward. Do you know how fast pain travels, Mr. Blacksmith? I had to learn about it twice, once as a physics student, another as a Huntress. It moves at about one hundred meters per second. That's fast, but somehow not fast enough. Because even when the pain is racing through you, there is this one split-second where you can see what has happened to you and yet you feel nothing. All you feel is this tension, and this dread, and this horrible realization that the very next time you feel anything, it will be the worst thing you've ever felt.

Like I said, it started in my toes, then my fingers. I saw them all pulverized, smashed to dust as our car imploded. My wrists snapped back and my arms were pushed inward. The steel forced my knees together, and the joints detached from their sockets. Every tendon snapped, like plucking a rubber band that had been pulled too tight. All of my ribs fractured when the front of the car was pushed into me, and whatever organs were beneath them popped like little water balloons. I felt them leaking, for just that one split-second. At least, I thought I did. Maybe it was my delirious brain playing tricks on me as my skull filled with blood.

I don't know which of my vertebras are which, but I know one of them, at least one of them, twisted and severed off. Felt that, too. Felt the shards of glass rush into my face and pierce through my eyes. I felt myself float off the ground as the car tumbled over, again and again, falling off the side of the road. I felt sick to my stomach, even if I wasn't sure I had a stomach anymore.

And then there was the numbness, creeping in quickly after the pain. Again, not fast enough. Just at a pace so I knew which parts of me were dying first. Again, it started with my toes, then my fingers. I think my eyes were some of the last to go, the one that wasn't squirting out blood. I saw my corpse one last time, the ruined pieces of a once proud woman, reduced to gore and leaking meat. It was the last thing to hit me before the darkness.

No, wait. That wasn't right at all.

My ears were the last to go.

Because right as the darkness took me, I could hear my dad screaming my name.

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Salutations, Mr. Blacksmith.

The definition of irony: a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result. This is irony.

Maybe not irony. Maybe fate that our worlds would meet like this. It has been three months, and they say my progress is beyond anything they could have hoped for. My motor functioning is at a higher level than most top-tier Huntress students. My weapons efficiency is nearing eighty percent. Within another month, I will have full mastery of my new combat abilities. It took me years to learn how to swing a single sword. Now, I am an arsenal.

Dad put his heart and sweat into me, and I am remarkable. James wanted so much, but Dad took his concepts and went further than anyone could have prepared for. Over thirty different weapon capabilities. My mind moves faster than the processing power of a thousand computers. I see through the walls.

Dad put rockets into my legs. He said he did it so I can fly. He started crying when I asked him why.

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Hello, Mr. Blacksmith.

Ironwood personally invited me to Atlas Academy today. He gave me a tour of the grounds. He said that the air was thin, but he then laughed to himself, asking why that mattered to me. It did not.

He showed me around to the Professors, and I nodded and shook each of their hands one by one. They said very kind things about me, but that does not matter either. I asked when I could begin my training. I cannot serve Atlas Academy without my training. He laughed and told me to slow down. All things in due time.

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Salutations, Mr. Blacksmith.

I have begun my training at Atlas Academy. The other students watch me with hungry eyes. They judge me. Word of my story has spread around the Kingdom. I do not tell them what I am. General Ironwood's orders.

I have been given a guide. Her name is Ciel Soleil. General Ironwood introduced us and explained that she would watch over me during our time at the Academy. I did not understand why I needed anyone to look after me, as I can defend myself without any assistance, but General Ironwood explained that it was to prevent me from interacting too closely with the other students. I was Atlas's special project. I could not draw attention to myself, and I needed to be carefully monitored for the good of the Kingdom.

Ciel did not shake my hand. When General Ironwood told her that she was assigned to me, she seemed upset. She asked to speak freely, but the General denied her. He explained to her what I was, and that seemed to calm her down. I thought we were not supposed to explain what I was to anyone? Was that not the point?

Ciel still didn't shake my hand afterward. I called her my new friend. She said I didn't have any friends. I will be sure to remember that.

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Salutations, Mr. Blacksmith.

Have you heard of Team RWBY?

I was made aware of their presence recently. They are four students from Beacon Academy that have been giving their Headmaster a lot of difficulty. General Ironwood wants me to keep a close eye on them. He says that they are special. Watching them, I have yet to understand why. Team RWBY seems highly dysfunctional, and incapable of cohesive strategy. I would defeat them easily. General Ironwood agrees.

There is another student he wants me to watch closely. Pyrrha Nikos. She is a talented Huntress student from Mistral. I can defeat her easily as well, but she is substantially more talented than the others. She could at least give me decent competition, even if I would defeat her in the end.

Ciel wants me to continue focusing on my studies. She says that my success is her success, and she does not tolerate failure. On that, we agree.

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Salutations, Mr. Blacksmith.

Today, General Ironwood told me things. Secret things.

My eyes are open.

There are terrible things out there. Grimm, they are called. They want me to defeat them. That is my purpose. I am ready to do whatever I can to defend Atlas, but these things are unlike any beast I have ever read about. They are supposedly indestructible.

Yet, I have no choice.

There is something interesting, however. I have been told that Team RWBY have slain a Grimm. I do not understand how this is possible, yet it fascinates me. I must know more.

I must know everything.

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Salutations, Mr. Blacksmith.

Have you heard of Team RWBY?

Of course, you have. Everyone has.

I have battled them. I shared dinner with them. Spoke with them more than once. And yet, they continue to elude me. Their behaviors don't strike me like that of Huntresses. They are children. They are weak. And yet, they have proven victorious.

In their first battle against me, they tore off my arm. I was instructed to hold back, but they still shouldn't have been able to damage my body.

Then, they pulled a trick on General Ironwood. I do not know how else to describe it other than a trick. The General has refused to share the full details with me, but I believe our circumstances have changed. He cannot challenge them, and I have been forbidden to speak with them. I tried probing further, but he yelled at me. He never did that before. Usually, he would only yell at Ciel.

I tried speaking with Team RWBY briefly, at least some of them. I did not share with them my secret, but I revealed my knowledge of the Fables to them to earn their trust. They did not reciprocate. I still don't understand why? Exchanges of information should produce mutually beneficial results. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, after all. Dad would be proud that I still know physics.

I must know more.

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Salutations, Mr. Blacksmith.

An opportunity has arisen.

I have been monitoring Team RWBY's communications against the General's wishes. All Scroll signals get processed through the Academy's security systems, but I was able to plant a bug on the server allowing me priority access to any information. If not for me, their attempts to reach the outside would be detected by General Ironwood. Part of me wants to come forward with the information, but even though I'm disobeying him, I need to know what they are hiding.

My efforts paid off recently. Ruby Rose made a phone call to her father late yesterday night. She briefly discussed a name: Rosaline. I do not know its meaning, but I suspect it is of great importance. It has inspired Team RWBY to act irrationally, and this is my opportunity to learn more. They have arranged for a ship to take them to the City of Vale in a few days. I do not know what their mission is, but I have decided to stow aboard their ship and follow them. If my mission is successful, I may yet strike at the core of what makes Team RWBY so fascinating. If I am discovered, I can simply report my findings to General Ironwood to regain his favor. At worst, he will simply blame Ciel for failing to keep me in her sights. Speaking of Ciel, I must think of a way to escape her watch. She is far too rigid. It will not be a challenge.

Team RWBY has caught my attention far more than my studies, I must admit. I fear there is something wrong with my mind. I am supposed to focus on the Grimm, the Fables, my Kingdom, and my training, but these four women stick out in my thoughts like a splinter. Is that the old me, I wonder, reaching out to something familiar? Something childish and ignorant of the world, that never knew what she wanted and fought against what was best for her? The part of me I was when I used to be alive? I was not built to think of these questions, but I find myself incapable of escaping them. Team RWBY holds the key to this dilemma. I am sure of it.

Soon, everything will become clear.

Salutations, Mr. Blacksmith.

Today, I died again.

I messed up. I can admit that. I disobeyed my superiors, neglected to fully analyze the situation, and I got myself hurt. I thought I could do it all on my own, but I cannot. This is my first failure that I can fully give to myself.

Team RWBY's mission was to interrogate the thief who stole from Atlas Academy. I could not simply let her escape justice. I was serving my Kingdom. Just like always.

I tried to do good.

I promise I did.

They shot me in the head. I felt nothing. The pain wasn't quick enough this time.

Do you think they'll be okay, Mr. Blacksmith? Ruby and Yang, I mean. They aren't like me. They can't survive this. Or can they? They have proven to be remarkable every day that I have known them. Can they overcome the odds yet again? I hope they can. They are incredible. I see that now. Truly incredible. They are illogical and vain, but incredible. I do not know how else to describe them. I think I want to be their friend. I know. I don't have friends. But why can't I? Did the old me have friends? It's one of the blank spots in my memory. I would like to think so.

I don't want to be responsible for anyone dying. I was made for better than that. You can watch over them, can't you, Mr. Blacksmith?

Why am I saying this? Of course, you cannot.

I know you aren't there, Mr. Blacksmith. You've never been. You aren't what the Texts say you are. You don't watch any of us, and neither do the rest of your kind. You are a Fable, an ancient being masquerading as a god. So is the Knight. All of Decum Luna are pretenders. General Ironwood told me all of your secrets. My whole life, I have been praying to a ghost, hoping for childish reasons that it would call back to me, but it is the last lie that I have refused to bury.

There isn't anything beyond. I know that. I have now died twice, and in both times, there was no forge. No light. Mom is gone, and I will never see her again. There's only the nothingness that awaits us. Cold, dark nothingness. That's the truth. It sounds depressing when you put it like that. Almost makes it all seem meaningless.

I think I'm done talking to you, Mr. Blacksmith. You have nothing more to give me. Actually, come to think of it, you never gave anything to me anyway. Instead, I think I'm going to take something. I will take whatever I want. No one can stop me. They haven't learned how to. Not yet, I'm pretty sure. We'll see in another few moments how dead I really am.

So long, Mr. Blacksmith. It's been fun walking down memory lane.

Now, I have some work to do.

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When Miltia entered her apartment, the first thing she did was dump Penny's body onto the bloody floor. The Huntress's corpse dropped like a stone, and Miltia leaned back, stretching out her spine.

"Owwww. Why was she so heavy?"

Emerald shoved her hands into her pockets as she entered behind her, Melanie following close behind. The elder twin closed the door as Emerald found a wall to rest against.

"Can you quit whining for one second?" Melanie moaned.

"Those were so many steps," Miltia cried. "Stupid elevator not working…"

"Hey, you shot her, you carry the body."

Melanie looked down at the corpse with disdain. It lay with its face down, hair strewn everywhere, leaking that disgusting black stuff, and so she gave it a little kick for good measure. It didn't move, and she stubbed her toe instead, letting out a small yelp.

"Shit," she cursed. "That is heavy."

"I told you!" Miltia whined.

Emerald cleared her throat. "So, ladies. What's the plan? I'm pretty sure all of our hired guards are dead, and there are apparently more Huntresses inbound. We can't stay here."

"Relax, Emerald," Melanie said wistfully, casually walking over to the large wall of monitors and scanning the many cameras placed over the facility. The dead body she played with earlier still lay in the corner, starting to stink. "Cops in this city are slow as hell, and we have eyes everywhere. If the other RWBY girls arrive, you can do your little eye magic on them, and then we take the car out back and get out of here."

Emerald grunted. "None of this is going to plan."

"I know, but stop being such a crybaby," Melanie stated. "We just took down three Huntresses. What's a few more? I'll make some phone calls if it makes you feel better."

"Please. I didn't sign up to take hostages," Emerald said, crossing her arms. "I just want to get to Mistral."

"And we will," Melanie promised. "Hey, Miltia, while I call Mama, can you start scrapping the redhead?"

Miltia pouted. "Ugh, I hate scrapping duty."

"Then don't shoot people. God, you're dumb."

Miltia couldn't argue with her sister, and that only made her hate her job even more. She understood its importance. Cybernetic enhancements cost a fortune, and swiping some from the body of a dead girl was a much better deal than buying them outright. Didn't mean she liked it though. There was something wrong with her in that she had no problem cutting people to ribbons when they were alive, but fishing around the insides of someone who was already dead made her squeamish. She shook her head and knelt down, trying to focus on her duties. Her heels were filthy from the weird goop coming out of the corpse.

"Ugh, what is up with you?" Miltia muttered to herself, poking the body in the sternum. "Let's see what we're working with?" Miltia dug her fingers beneath the torso, lifted with her knees, and with some effort, turned the body over so that it was face-up. Miltia wiped off her fingers on the floor, looked back at the corpse—and then she froze. "What… the… fuck…"

Melanie had nearly finished dialing Mama's number into her Scroll when she heard Miltia gasp. "What?"

"Uh…"

"What?"

"Melanie, you might want to see this."

The older twin did not know what the hold-up was, but she slammed her Scroll down on the table and walked to her sister's side. She was midway through complaining when she looked at Penny's face, and the words were taken out of her mouth.

"What?"

"Yeah… what the hell?"

The blast from the assault rifle had sheered the right side of Penny's face clean off, from eyebrow down to just below her bottom lip, taking a part of her nose and ear as well. And yet, it was not the carnage of the young woman's face that caused them to stand there and stutter, but what lay beneath. There was no gore. No muscle. No bone. There was only steel, shaved sharp and firm into a skull; pistons to move a manufactured set of exposed teeth; wires and servos strapped to a mechanical eye. The same black liquid that poured from her limbs also came from her open wound, if it could even be called that. Where the skin met the metal was charred, enough to reveal the inner workings of the rubbery polymer meant to comprise her flesh.

Miltia and Melanie stared at her for a long time, and when the former spoke, she was even more confused.

"Where's… where's her face?"

"Is that, like, an implant, maybe?" Melanie asked. "Like, another prosthetic?"

"I think… I think that's her whole skull."

System reboot: completed.

Memory cache: restored.

"Her skull?" Melanie said, dumbfounded. "How did they replace her whole skull?"

"I mean, can't you get a metal plate in your skull sometimes?"

"That's one plate! Look! That's her whole head!"

Diagnostics Program: In Progress.

"This… this is weird," Miltia said uncomfortably. "I don't like this at all. It's freaking me out."

"Wait. What's that?"

Motor functions: seventy percent operational.

Jet function: restored.

Melanie reached down and delicately picked something from the exposed metal. It had been wedged into the jaw, stuck inside one of the many hard plates, squished and flattened and barely making a dent. A small piece of what seemed to be copper. Upon pulling it out, Melanie realized that she was looking at the bullet Miltia fired into Penny's head.

Weapon systems: activated.

High-frequency blades: activated.

"What the hell…"

Target acquired.

The twins heard something crack beneath them. A distant sound of engines roared to life. Emerald stared at them unaware. Their confusion turned to fear.

And, in their moment of doubt, neither of them noticed Penny's green eyes suddenly turn to look at them.

All at once, three blades burst up through the floor, piercing through Miltia and launching her back. The swords stabbed through her stomach and both of her arms, and they carried her into the wall before she could even scream, crucifying her against the monitors. Melanie shouted in fear, but as she stood up, the corpse in front of her suddenly came to life. Jets fired from its legs, and the body shot up into the air and rotated at a sharp angle, and the heel of Penny's boot slammed into Melanie's face, sending her flying. The cybernetic Huntress hovered in the air for a moment before landing with a heavy clank, splashing up black fluid onto her legs. She slowly rolled back her head, her mutilated, skeletal face glistening in the horrible light of the room. Her eyes were wide and fierce, unblinking as she stared through her captors.

Melanie took one look at her sister, trapped on the other side of a woman who just survived a bullet to the head, a woman who now carried with her a rage that left her quaking. Her sister called for her, begging for her help, but Melanie cared only when Penny spoke to her, her voice full of barely contained fury.

"You should probably run away now."

And it was at that moment, realizing how colossally she had fucked up, that Melanie suddenly grabbed Emerald by the wrist and sprinted out of the room, leaving her sister to the Huntress's whims.

"Melanie! Melanie, what the fuck!" Miltia screamed in horror, but there was no one to respond. She and Penny watched as the two criminals fled, desperate to make their escape from the unkillable creature. They were not coming back, and Miltia realized all too late that she had nowhere to go. The swords that had stuck through her were causing her to bleed out, and though the pain was incomparable, she was mostly kept numb from the sheer adrenaline. What couldn't be numbed so easily was the fear she felt as Penny stalked toward her, her mechanical eyes flickering, twitching as the life steadily returned to her. "H-Hey, I'm sorry for shooting you! I didn't mean it! You forgive me, right?"

Penny stopped a foot in front of the vicious twin, slowly tilting her head to the side as she watched the bitch squirm.

"I'll give you anything you want! You want details about SPIDER? I'll tell you anything! All of our finances. All of our resources. I'm serious."

Penny said nothing. The fragments of what remained of her lips were unable to smile, leaving only a ghastly set of teeth to grimace at the pathetic criminal selling out her own kind.

"You'll… you'll have mercy, right? You know I can be more useful to you alive." Miltia wasn't sure if she believed herself. "So… I surrender. Promise. That's good enough… right?"

Penny carefully reached up, running her fingers through Miltia's hair. Miltia whimpered under her touch. Then, Penny gripped her scalp hard.

"No. I don't think so."

And with one single motion, Penny grabbed Miltia's head with both hands, twisted it sharply, and ripped her head clean off her shoulders.