Battlefield: 2042: The Soldiers of Remnant

by Corpsman Halo

When three soldiers with no connected backstory with each other are transported to the world of Remnant, they are forced to work together to survive what this strange world has to offer. Armed only with the weapons they were transported with, the smarts (Not really, they're dumb), and a whole bunch of vodka, they brave through the world as they try to find a way back home.

5. Chapter 5: Guns and Roses

To enhance your experience for this hardly worked-on intro (Not really), I highly suggest you play Mokusei, made by RichaadEB (All credit is to him, I do not own the music. Please have mercy), to ensure you reach maximum satisfaction from these words painting a picture in your mind. Now, enjoy.

Note: The timestamp is corresponding with the paragraph below it. For example, The first one has no music, but the second one is the start of the intro music. Just thought it had to be known.

A serene morning unfolds as sunlight glistens and flowers sway, wildlife thriving in the tranquility. Yet, amidst this peace, a lone Beowolf prowls, eyeing a fawn and its mother. Its predatory gaze sharpens, preparing to strike.

00:00-00:10

The Beowolf's ears twitch as a low rumble breaks the silence. It turns around as its eyes widen in surprise before letting out a loud yelp as it attempts to flee. Only for an armored buggy to suddenly burst through the foliage, screams of excitement and terror coming from it as it crushes the Beowolf under its wheels and speeds onward. Leaving the crushed corpse behind like roadkill on a lone highway

00:10-00:21

"Battlefield 2042: The Soldiers of Remnant!"

00:21-00:36

Semyon "Seeker" Zaytsev- Played by Author #3

Alan "Gremlin" Borowski- Played by Author #2

David "Halo" Simmons- Played by Author #1

Professor Ozpin, played by Shannon McCormick

Professor Goodwitch, played by Kathleen Zueluch

00:31-00:47

Next, the scene cuts to Team RWBY and JNPR standing atop a pile of rubble. Battling against an endless swarm of Grimm valiantly as they fight on. But just as they are about to be overwhelmed, our heroes' vehicle soars through the air, crashing into the fray while both parties watch them crash into the horde. With David clinging to the side of the vehicle, Semyon gripping the wheel tightly with steely resolve, and Alan laughing maniacally as he unleashes a torrent of bullets from the mounted MG. Causing chaos to erupt and providing just the distraction for Team RWBY and JNPR to regroup and join the fight.

00:47-00:57

The scene shifts to a grand conference room where leaders of Remnant debate fervently over a video that shows a group of mysterious aircraft decimating a fleet of airships. As they start to shout amongst each other, an agitated Atlas councilmen demand immediate military action against these unknown attackers as one half the table echoes his call while the other half urges for diplomacy.

All while a general with graying hair watches silently, his eyes piercing through the chaos of the room as he sighs and shakes his head.

00:58-01:07

Next, we see Vale, once a jewel of Remnant, being overrun by Grimm of various types, ranging from beowolves to ursai. Huntsmen and huntresses valiantly fight everywhere from the streets to the rooftops, but are gradually pushed to the brink of defeat as they find themselves cornered, ready to make a final last stand.

Suddenly, as all hope seems lost, a sudden burst tracer fire rains from above. Mowing down the Grimm like they were blades of grass against a scythe as they fall in the dozens. Looking up, the hunters and huntresses watch as various Condors descend with soldiers from them and rappelling down into the fray.

One however, holding a large flag with red and white stripes with a blue box in the top left-hand corner with white stars, extends a hand to a fallen huntress. Offering to help her up while she stares back at him,

01:07-01-19

Suddenly, all eyes turn to a colossal Grimm, part man, part horse, roaring as more of those creatures begin to charge forth toward them. The newly arrived soldiers, noticing the new threat, quickly take positions as various vehicles on land and in the sky follow suit. Ready to provide support when needed.

The huntsmen and huntresses, recovering from the shock of what just happened, reorganize themselves as they stand alongside their new allies. Ready to once more fight this once seemingly invincible enemy.

In the midst of the formation, our three protagonists appear in the middle of the action as they are flanked by Team RWBY and JNPR. Weapons locked and loaded as they brace for the creatures. Watching as they get closer and closer before letting loose everything that they got. Causing the screen to fade into black amid smoke and gunfire, revealing the title.

"Battlefield 2042: The Soldiers of Remnant"

Chapter 5: Guns and Roses

(Premonition's Arc)

---

Index

"Text" - Normal Talking

"Text"- Radio transmissions or straining on a specific word/words

"Text"- Very loud screaming, yelling, or an assortment of the two.

'Text' - Thoughts, or quotations of a certain thing/subject/person/etc

"Text (Text)" - Translated words/sentences. (Note: Some sentences will not be translated for the funni.

"Text / Text" - Multiple people saying multiple things.

---

"At approximately 10:14 P.M. Central Vale Time last night, an attempted armed robbery at the Dust shop 'From Dust Till Dawn' was thwarted by a group of civilians. Authorities report that the robbery, allegedly led by the known criminal Roman Torchwick, was interrupted by three unidentified individuals and a student from Signal Academy, preventing the suspects from making a clean escape.

Vale Police confirm that ten suspects were apprehended, all sustaining light to moderate injuries in the struggle. However, half a dozen of the robbers remain in critical condition after receiving severe injuries to the chest. With medical personnel uncertain if they will fully recover.

In addition, authorities responded to reports of two large explosions in downtown Vale. Investigators have confirmed that one of these explosions was linked to Torchwick himself, though the cause of the second explosion remains unknown at this time. Efforts are ongoing to determine whether these incidents were coordinated.

Regarding the attempted robbery, the student involved has been identified as Ruby Rose of Signal Academy, has been cleared of any wrongdoing. Meanwhile, the other three individuals who intervened in the attack have yet to come forward and are now the subject of a public search by Vale law enforcement.

Detectives urge anyone with information about these individuals to contact authorities, as one of the three is suspected of involvement in the severe injury of the critically wounded assailant. Vale officials are offering a reward of 100 lien for any information that could assist in identifying or locating these individuals. The authorities stress that these individuals are not facing any criminal charges and are only being sought to provide testimony about the incident.

Vale Central News Network (VCNN) October 6th, 2048

---

Beacon Academy, Sanus 2048-10-5 (US Military Calendar)

7:03 A.M, C.V.T. (Central Vale Time)

---

It was a serene early morning in Vale, the sky just beginning to blush with the gentle hues of dawn. The sun hovered shyly beneath the horizon, casting a soft pink glow over the ocean as its golden rays stretched across the water. Slowly, they began to creep over the shore, spilling light onto the quiet town, still wrapped in a slumberous calm. The first notes of birdsong echoed through the air, delicate and pure, as flocks of small birds began to stir from their nests in a harmonious awakening. Here and there, animals emerged from their hiding spots—rabbits hopping through dewy grass, squirrels skittering along branches, foxes padding silently back to their dens after a night of foraging.

As the sun climbed higher, its warm light poured over Beacon Academy, nestled gracefully atop it's hill. The stone walls and tall, elegant towers gleamed in the morning light, casting sparkling reflections from dew-kissed windows and the glistening foliage surrounding the grounds. Rays of sunlight filtered through the Academy's iconic spires, creating a warm, inviting glow that seemed to welcome the day ahead.

Within Beacon's dorms, a few early risers were already beginning to stir, rubbing the last traces of sleep from their eyes. Some pulled on athletic attire and quietly slipped outside, beginning their morning runs along the Academy's paths. For some, the morning jog was a welcome ritual; for others, a reluctant necessity, urged on by teammates or the promise of breakfast. Their footfalls joined the gentle hum of nature around them, weaving the quiet sounds of morning into a soft, comforting rhythm.

It seemed, for now, that today would be like any other—a peaceful, unassuming morning at Beacon Academy, as the sun rose and students greeted the dawn.

(Reveille)

The morning calm, however, was shattered in an instant as the blare of a bugle pierced through the serene air, as loud as it was unexpected. The joyful chirping of birds gave way to startled squawks as flocks took off en masse, local wildlife darting back into their burrows as if their very lives depended on it. Around Beacon's dorms, the effect was immediate and universal: students jerked awake, leaping out of bed with a mix of shock and confusion. In seconds, hallways filled with dazed figures blinking and yawning in a variety of mismatched pajamas and bedheads—a half-awake parade of bewilderment.

Our protagonists were some of those unfortunate many.

At the very first note of the bugle, David's instincts kicked in. He sprang out of bed, grabbing his fatigues from the wall with practiced speed, yanking them down from their hangers in one swift motion. As he hurriedly began pulling on his pants, he moved on autopilot, his mind racing through the routine he'd repeated a thousand times before. In moments, his boots and jacket would be on, and he'd be out the door—whether or not he knew exactly where he was headed.

Across the room, however, Semyon's reaction was one of unfiltered alarm. The sudden blare of the bugle and David's immediate scramble to get dressed set his mind racing in a different direction entirely. Heart pounding, Semyon's hand shot out from under his pillow, fingers wrapping around the cold steel of his trusty Makarov. Pulling it free with intense focus, he gave it a quick, almost ritualistic once-over to check the magazine. Satisfied by the sight of a full load, he slammed it back in, pulling back the slide with a swift, metallicclick,preparing himself for whatever crisis might be coming their way.

But the urgency was interrupted in an instant as he tried to spring from the bed, only to trip over an empty bottle of drinking alcohol rolling on the floor from the night before. Arms flailing, he fell forward in a graceless heap, landing face-first on the unforgiving wooden floor with a loud, echoingthudthat filled the room.

Hearing the commotion, David froze mid-dress, one leg in his pants, the other still out as he whipped around to see Semyon sprawled on the ground, his gun clattering beside him. For a moment, David just blinked, taking in the sight of them tangled on the floor, looking very much like he'd just been ambushed by the furniture.

"Jes— are you okay!?" David asked, hurrying over to help Semyon up, hands hovering as he tried to check for injuries. But Semyon immediately swatted him away with an irritated grunt.

"Чертово дерьмо!" Semyon cursed, rubbing his forehead as he picked up the empty bottle that had tripped him. He gave it a scrutinizing look, as if blaming it for his fall, before David cautiously approached him again, only to get another push away.

"I said I am fine, American," Semyon muttered, eyes narrowing as he brushed himself off. "I do not need your help."

"Y-You sure?" David stammered, taking another tentative glance at him. "You took a pretty nasty fall. I just... wanted to make sure you're not, uh, concussed or anything."

Semyon shook his head, muttering darkly. "Are you deaf, or just this annoying all the time?"

David took a step back, muttering, "I was just trying to help." As he looked down, his eyes caught sight of Semyon's Makarov lying near his boots. He reached down and picked it up, carefully inspecting it before gently nudging Semyon on the arm.

"Hey, uh... you dropped this," he said, holding out the pistol.

But Semyon snatched it back with a quickness that made David flinch slightly. "I do not need you to hand me my own gun," Semyon huffed, checking it over before sliding it back into its holster.

"...You're welcome, by the way," David replied, rolling his eyes with a sigh. His gaze shifted to the clock on the wall—it read a little past seven in the morning.

"I thought they said classes don't start for another week," he muttered, scratching his head.

"They did," Semyon replied gruffly as he pulled on his own worn-out fatigues, still muttering under his breath.

"Then why the hell did they blast Reve... ille?" David asked, cutting himself off mid-sentence as he and Semyon both turned to look toward the other side of the room.

Their room at Beacon Academy was about as close to "home" as they could get in this strange new world, though "home" was a generous term for what had once been a storage closet hastily repurposed for three soldiers from another reality. Beacon's recent expansion had freed up this space, and in a pinch, it was fixed up just enough to hold three beds and the few belongings they had—a couple sets of school-issued clothes and the gear they'd had on them when they crossed over.

Two days in, they'd drawn straws for who would get which bed, and David, as usual, had pulled the short one.

That meant while Semyon and Alan claimed the two beds against the walls, David got the unfortunate center spot, making him the unintentional buffer between their territories. It wasn't much, but each had taken to organizing their small space with the care of soldiers used to cramped quarters. They'd split the room three ways, respecting the "no man's land" between their bunks to avoid mixing up gear or supplies, even if their sparse belongings barely filled a drawer each.

Alan, never one to blend in, had even started decorating his corner, plastering the bed frame and wall with quotes from games and movies he'd scribbled out on paper scraps. His favorite read, "If it moves, salute it. If it doesn't, paint it." But Semyon, every inch the no-nonsense Russian, insisted Alan tear them down for "security reasons," mumbling something about the dangers of "standing out too much." After a bit of back-and-forth, though, Semyon did allow one exception—a Sabaton poster tacked above Alan's bed.

Thank the Lord that was safe.

But this morning, Alan's bed was empty. The blanket lay strewn over the side, and a boot sat sideways as though kicked off in haste. David noticed the clear head imprint left on the pillow, while a stray piece of gear dangled precariously off the edge, looking about as confused as they were.

The bed looked...abandoned.

Both teens shook their heads, snapping out of the moment as they finished pulling on their fatigues and grabbed their sidearms. Without further delay, they bolted out the door, gear clinking softly as they moved. The hallways of the dormitory were filled with groggy students, rubbing their eyes and looking around in sleepy confusion, clearly bewildered by the bugle's unexpected wake-up call. As David and Semyon ran past, a few students started, whispering questions and wondering who these two stern-faced strangers were and why they seemed ready to storm the frontlines of the Great War.

...

Alan was in his element, loose and grinning ear-to-ear as he watched the Beacon students spill out of their rooms with sleep still heavy in their eyes, looking irritable and completely blindsided. This prank was his latest masterpiece, and he'd savor it like a mission gone spectacularly right. He'd been a troublemaker back on Earth, too, pulling stunts on base, in transport, even during downtime in the mess. But now? Now, he was off-leash, in an entirely new world without a chain of command breathing down his neck.

In his old unit, he'd been infamous enough to earn himself a "special ops" treatment. The higher-ups slapped a dozen restrictions on him, all thanks to one too many escapades with shaving cream, stink bombs, and his "accidental" training simulations gone wrong.

At one point, he'd almost single-handedly gotten all non-essential personal items banned after a particularly ambitious prank left his bunk mates covered in sticky, fluorescent goo. The orders? Keep Alan at least 50 feet away from anything he could MacGyver into trouble.

But that didn't stop him.

He considered every prank a tactical operation and treated every restriction as just another hurdle. And as far as he was concerned, 50/50 odds meant "mission likely."

Now, with no one here at Beacon to hold him back, Alan felt liberated. It was like he'd been given the green light to launch a one-man campaign of chaotic ingenuity. New targets, no restrictions, and all the innocent supplies he could dream of.

He was practically invinci-

SHOOSH*

The door burst open as David and Semyon both tried to rush inside, each determined to charge in first. But their timing couldn't have been worse. Each wedged themselves perfectly into the doorframe, their shoulders jammed tight as they ground to a halt with a loudthunk. An awkward silence settled as they tried to comprehend their predicament, eyes darting back and forth in a mix of exasperation and embarrassment.

"U-uh, okay," David stammered, face turning red as he tried to maneuver himself loose. "M-maybe if I pull back and you—"

"Заткнись, блядь, American!" Semyon snapped, pressing himself forward in stubborn determination. "I don't need your help!" His accent thickened, as if sheer Russian tenacity alone could force his way through.

They jostled again, grumbling and gritting teeth, but the doorframe wasn't about to let go. They were completely and hopelessly stuck. This embarrassing stalemate was finally interrupted when a random passerby, either a Beacon student or perhaps a faculty member amused by their predicament, gave them both a solid push from behind. With a loudpop, they broke free and stumbled forward, tumbling to the floor with all the grace of a brick dropped from a rooftop.

"Ow, that...hurt," David groaned, pressing a hand to his back as he tried to stretch it out. "B-but hey, I think my back's actually fixed!"

"О мой– Shut up!" Semyon snapped, getting up and brushing himself off. "No one cares about your damn back! Кто, блядь, толкнул меня..." His muttering trailed off as he caught sight of who stood in the doorway.

Professor Goodwitch was watching them, arms crossed, her ever-present riding crop resting sternly in her hands. The stern look on her face spoke volumes. David and Semyon both froze, while Alan had the good sense to look sheepish, scratching the back of his head with a half-hearted grin.

Professor Goodwitch's expression was a mix of both irritation and disappointment, the kind that made even hardened soldiers break out in a nervous sweat. And yet, at least she was in her work attire—meaning they hadn't accidentally wokenherup along with the rest of the school.

"What is going on here?" Glynda asked sharply, her tone as crisp as her glare, tapping her finger impatiently against her arm.

"I-I swear, I had no part in this!" David blurted, scrambling to his feet and pointing directly at Alan. "It was all him!"

"Ty pieprzony donosicielu!" Alan spat, his voice dripping with outrage. With a sudden burst of energy, he lunged at David, ready to tackle him to the ground in one reckless dive. He soared forward, a look of determination mixed with fury on his face—

Only for Glynda to intervene, stepping swiftly in front of David and pulling him out of harm's way in a seamless motion. Alan's war cry died in his throat as he registered the empty space before him, his eyes widening in confusion mid-air. And then, gravity did the rest as he smacked into the wall face-first with a resoundingthud,the impact echoing in the hall.

Semyon winced. "He is... Probably fine," he deadpanned, though David gave him a skeptical look.

"Yeah, and I'm the President of the United States," David muttered, sighing as he approached Alan, who was slowly peeling himself off the wall with a groggy groan. "You good ma-"

"Dupek!" Alan snapped, batting David's hand away, although the hint of embarrassment was hard to miss. "I'm fine!" He huffed, trying to regain some dignity before he turned to Glynda. "And you!" He cried out as he shot a finger at the professor. "How the hell did you do that!?"

Glynda regarded him with a piercing, unimpressed look. Her eyes flicked from Alan to the small console near the doorway, the source of the infernal bugle call. "So, I take ityouare responsible forthat?" she asked, her voice cutting, making it clear she had absolutely no intention of answering his question.

Alan opened his mouth to respond but quickly clamped it shut, shrinking slightly under her unyielding stare.

Alan stammered, his gaze darting around as he searched for the right words. "I-I..." he cleared his throat awkwardly, quickly adjusting his tone. "No. Never seen that in my life."

Glynda raised an eyebrow, hands sliding to her hips in that unmistakable way that spelled trouble. "Then why, exactly, were you in here when I walked in?"

"W-Well..." Alan mumbled, eyes flickering as he fidgeted with his fingers, clearly stalling for time. "When that bugle went off, me, the American, and the Russian, rushed in here to, uh, try and turn it off! Then they got themselves wedged in the door, so I made it alone and—honestly, I'd like some credit for saving everyone's hearing. I was acting fast! So a 'you're welcome' would be nice" He shrugged, trying for a nonchalant grin that was undercut by his obviously nervous glance at her expression.

Glynda's eyes narrowed as she shifted her gaze from Alan to David and Semyon. Both soldiers shook their heads vigorously, clearly not interested in backing up Alan's cover story. She let out a long, exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking back at Alan.

"Right now, I should be reprimanding you harder than any student I've dealt with before," she said with a tone of weary authority, "However, this...wake-up callis not the reason I'm here. The Headmaster has requested a meeting with you three to discuss certain arrangements for your foreseeable future here at Beacon."

"This early?" David asked, looking a little baffled. "Why?"

Glynda's lips tightened with mild irritation. "You'll find out soon enough. But I suggest you get moving. Before some students decide to give you three a little... 'Good morning' greeting."

The trio exchanged wary glances before looking back at Glynda, who remained stone-faced, tapping her finger on her crop impatiently. In a split second, the three bolted, dashing down the hallway at full speed and leaving her behind.

Glynda shook her head, muttering to herself as they disappeared around the corner. "They didn't even ask for directions," she noted, sighing as she turned and strode off in the opposite direction, already resigned to the chaotic search that awaited them.

...

Ozpin sat behind his desk, savoring another sip of his coffee, still recovering from the rude awakening he'd received earlier. One of the three newcomers—young soldiers, all of them—had somehow managed to slip into a security room and broadcast a loud, triumphant song over the intercom. It had woken up the entire school, himself included, before his first cup of coffee.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the chaos that followed, watching the trio dart through the halls, trying to dodge the angry looks of drowsy students.

"I told you they should've been under stricter supervision, Ozpin," Glynda said, shaking her head as she stood beside him. Her expression was a mix of concern and exasperation. "I mean serious Ozpin. One of them broke into a secured area and did whatever he pleased. Imagine if he'd tried something even more serious."

Ozpin put down his mug with a sigh, the faintest hint of a smile lingering. "They're teenagers, Glynda. In a place like this, they're bound to be... A bit troublesome if I do say so myself."

He took another sip from his cup before settling it down. Revealing a faint but teasing smile. "In fact, I recall someone who had a knack for trouble her first year here, too."

A faint blush crept up Glynda's cheeks, but she quickly cleared her throat, regaining her composure. "T-That's beside the point, Headmaster. This isn't a case of teenage pranks; one of them managed to bypass security measures, and all three of them have been trained for combat that's comparable to the best trained soldiers that Atlas has. They've seen a war like none of us could imagine—who's to say they won't turn that experience against us?"

Ozpin's expression softened as he opened his scroll and tapped the screen, pulling up a video. He extended it to Glynda, who watched with a slight frown. The footage showed Alan jogging along the halls in the early morning. Passing by the security room, he'd hesitated, curiosity flickering across his face before he noticed the door was unlocked. The rest of the morning's escapades unfolded from there.

"You knew," she stated, handing the scroll back, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I did," Ozpin admitted, a note of amusement in his voice. "And I've been watching all three of them closely since they arrived. Alan's curiosity got the better of him—he's been taking morning jogs daily for a week now."

Glynda crossed her arms, tapping her foot. "You know you're too trusting for you own good Oz."

"So you say," Ozpin said, folding his hands together thoughtfully, "David and Alan have served on the side dedicated to protecting lives. They know what's at stake here. I trust them to make the right choices."

"And the other one?" Glynda's eyes darkened. "Semyon was part of a terrorist group that could make the White Fang look harmless. By all accounts, he's the one we should be more cautious about here."

Ozpin met her gaze steadily. "If Semyon were a threat, we would know by now. He's shown no signs of loyalty to that group ever since he arrived. In fact, he's been... Somewhat respectful and compliant. If he wanted to escape or cause harm, he's had more than enough opportunity."

"And who's to say that? For all we know, he could be biding his time, waiting for the perfect mo–"

"He's scared, Glynda."

She hesitated, momentarily thrown off guard by the headmaster's tone. Her mouth opened, but she paused, waiting for him to explain further.

"I understand your concerns, Glynda. Yes, Semyon is a soldier from a nation that sparked war that'll make ours look like child's play. Yes, he served in an organization that would make the White Fang's tactics seem tame. But he's still just a boy—a boy who's had to survive in a world far harsher than ours, and he's already lost much of himself to it." Ozpin took a breath, as if weighing his words carefully. "The others have shared that experience, they've been to the frontlines, I know,I can see it in their eyes. But Semyon was on the wrong side, and that side lost. Can you imagine being uprooted, left to fend for yourself in a foreign land, clinging to survival while your past haunts you at every turn?"

Ozpin stood, walking to the window, coffee cup in hand, his expression unreadable. "I believe these boys deserve a chance—not only at a new life but at something that was stolen from them: their youth."

Glynda's brow furrowed as she took in his words. "And you think enrolling them here, at Beacon—one of Remnant's most prestigious Huntsman Academies"

"It's better than sending them off to Atlas, wouldn't you agree?" Ozpin replied, his tone sharpening just slightly. "We both know what would happen there. They'd be turned into weapons, molded into tools for the Council's own ends, and cast aside once they were deemed no longer useful. Is that really what you want for them, Glynda?"

Glynda's eyes narrowed, her tone softening a bit, though her unease remained. "That's not what I meant, Ozpin. Without James, Remnant would already be under—"

She cut herself off, choosing her words carefully as she moved on. "They're not Huntsmen, Ozpin, they'resoldiers.Yes, they know how to fight but they've been through a war that not even you and I could even possibly begin to imagine. They have seen and done things that no one shouldn't possibly even think about. And what makes you think they won't go back to that when push comes to shove?"

Ozpin turned back to her, his expression calm but resolute. "Because I trust them, Glynda. They may be different, but they've seen the worst of humanity and chosen to stand against it. Give them time. Let them prove to us and themselves that we can trust them."

"... By the brother's, I hope you know what you're doing." She said, holding the bridge of her nose once more as she shook her head.

"So do I Glynda, so do I-"

The lift doors behind them both suddenly let out adingas the two brought their attention to that instead. Watching as the doors opened–

"-isn't my fault that your ass was too slow to run! Maybe if you Americans stopped eating burgers and started going out more, you wouldn't have been domemed on the head by a baseball!"

Only to find the three teens arguing amongst themselves. Quarreling like children once more while the professor and headmaster watched. Unimpressed.

Glynda let out a quiet, knowing chuckle as Ozpin shot her a sidelong, exasperated look.

"Well, they certainly act the part as soldiers" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

She shrugged, crossing her arms as her gaze quickly returned to the three teens with a look of stern expectation.

Ozpin, taking a deep breath, cleared his throat and gave the trio a calm but direct look. Causing the teens to fall silent, their attention snapping back to the headmaster as he put on his familiar, measured smile. "Now that I've got your attention, please," he said, gesturing toward the seats across from his desk, "take a seat."

They exchanged quick glances, hesitant for a moment, before each slowly approached and sat down. Alan leaned back with a faint grin, David sat with a respectful posture though a hint of tension showed in his shoulders, and Semyon crossed his arms, eyes flicking between Ozpin and Glynda.

"Now that I got yo-"

"It was Alan's fault." David suddenly said, making the Pole gawk at them for a second. His hands doing a "What did I do" motion as he looked back and forth at Ozpin and David.

"He doesn't have any pro– I want my lawyer!"

"We don't even know if this world has lawyers asshat. You can't just ask for one like they can pull it out of their ass."

"Well good thing I don't need it!" He proudly claimed as he crossed his arms, "Because I'm not guilty of anything!"

"Then why did you ask for a lawyer?" David asked, causing Alan to open his mouth as he was about to beret the poor medic once more.

"Enough," Ozpin interjected with a raised hand before Alan could start another tirade. "As entertaining as this is, we're getting off-topic. And don't worry—this meeting isn't about this morning's... incident."

Alan visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh and sinking into his seat, only to perk up again at Ozpin's next words.

"Because," Ozpin continued smoothly, "Ms. Goodwitch will be handling the disciplinary consequences for today's little disruption. Isn't that right, Professor?" He glanced at her, amusement flickering in his gaze.

Glynda gave a thin, slightly wicked smile as she crossed her arms, eyeing Alan in particular. "Correct, Headmaster. I have some... ideas that might help put some sense into you three."

Welp, they're fucked.

"Now, as for why I actually brought you here," Ozpin continued, rising from his seat with a small smile. "As you know, the school term is starting very soon. You've made admirable progress with the crash course we've given you, but there's still the matter of... well, looking the part."

"Now, while you're getting up to speed, your current attire is... let's say, a little conspicuous. At first glance, you'd look like you walked straight out of an Atlas military camp."

"Atlas? You mean the people up north?" David asked, frowning.

Ozpin nodded. "Precisely. And the last thing Beacon needs is Atlas breathing down our necks, demanding answers about where you came from and how you're armed with high-grade equipment."

The trio exchanged glances, each recalling the mixed reaction they'd had to the concept of Atlas. They'd heard stories—some good, some... less so. But what really took the cake was their... Reactions, to say the least."

"What do you mean they're the only military on the planet?"

"Linefiring!? Why is 'superpower' using such tactics?"

"And battleships? Really? Sure, they look intimidating, but nothing says 'shoot me' like a lumbering floating fortress in an age of air superiority."

"Tell me you are joking; are their soldiers actually that bad? I've seen conscripts with better aim!"

"Hey! Ruski! Looks like you've got competition—just with a few fewer brain cells!"

Brothers, that was an interesting day.

"Which is why I've asked Ms. Goodwitch to accompany you three to the nearest city," Ozpin explained as he pulled open a drawer beneath his desk. From it, he drew three thick stacks of lien, placing them on the table with a soft thud. Each stack was bundled neatly and had a faint, minty shimmer. He slid one stack toward each of the teens, who stared at them, both intrigued and a little bewildered.

"Each of these has enough lien to cover your needs and then some," he continued. "It's more than enough for you to buy new clothes fit for Beacon's setting, and there's a little extra for anything that catches your interest—books, souvenirs, perhaps a few local snacks."

"So... we're going on a shopping spree?" David asked, picking up his bundle and flipping through it. "Wait a sec. What's the catch?

"Hmmm?"

"Are we supposed to pay this back with interest or something? O-Or pay you back ano-"

"If you'd prefer, but no, it's yours to use as needed," Ozpin replied with a faint smile, watching the young medic's tense shoulders visibly relax.

"No limits?" Alan cut in, raising an eyebrow as he considered his options. When Ozpin nodded, a grin broke out across the Pole's face, and he pumped his fist in an "Oh yeah!" motion. "In that case, I am going to have the time of my life!"

"You can't use it to buy alcohol," Glynda interjected sharply as she gave Alan a look that could bore a hole through concrete. Just the thought of another person stumbling around Beacon's halls like Qrow was enough to make her shudder. "The last thing we need is more chaos on campus. Especially not from someone who already has a tendency for it while sober."

Alan slumped dramatically, clutching his lien stack to his chest as if it were a mortal wound. He groaned, sinking down to his knees with a woeful, "Why must the world be so cruel to me?"

Semyon, however, seemed noticeably less thrilled about the sudden gift. He held his bundle of lien at arm's length, examining it with a skeptical look that Ozpin quickly noticed. Semyon rubbed the edge of one note with his thumb, then unfolded several others, inspecting them in silence.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Semyon?" Ozpin asked, his tone neutral yet attentive. "Perhaps the amount isn't sufficient for what you may need?"

Semyon continued rifling through the stack before he finally looked up, mildly satisfied but clearly contemplative. "No, it's enough," he replied, pocketing the lien into his uniform. "I'm just wondering... why not get these clothes and supplies for us yourself? I thought the idea was to keep us under the radar. Going into the city seems like we're risking exposure to the public."

"I mean, he does have a point." David said as he placed the lien in his pocket, "I thought we were supposed to stay hidden? Won't us going out risk revealing ourselves?"

Ozpin remained composed, reassuring them with a slight smile. "I understand your concerns, but I've already put precautionary measures in place. My... 'associates' have crafted suitable identification profiles for each of you. If anyone does require identification, these profiles will ensure you don't raise any alarms or trigger unusual responses."

To emphasize his point, Ozpin pulled out three sleek, silver scrolls from his desk drawer, each device smooth and compact with a faintly glowing screen. The teens' eyes lit up with interest as he handed each one over. They reached out, practically snatching them from the headmaster's hands.

"These scrolls," Ozpin explained, "are similar to the ones you've been practicing with. However, I've added a unique feature just for you three." He motioned for them to open their scrolls. "To the left, you'll see a small, red button. If pressed, it sends a distress signal directly to my office, along with your current location. I should mention that as long as you have your scroll with you, I'll be able to track where you are."

Semyon narrowed his gaze at Ozpin, one brow raised. "So... tracking collars, basically?"

Ozpin chuckled softly. "Not quite. The tracking is only active if the scroll is on your person. Leave it behind, and you're on your own. But I'd advise you keep it close—it may come in handy should any... unforeseen issues arise."

Semyon gave a small grunt in acknowledgment and inspected his scroll with mild resignation, then stuffed it into his pocket. David and Alan followed suit, albeit with a bit more enthusiasm.

Satisfied, Ozpin clasped his hands in front of him. "Now, any questions?"

David's hand shot up, resembling a kid in class for a split second. "Uhhhmm... Where are we going exactly?

Ozpin's response was only a knowing smile.

---

Skies over Sanus 2048-10-5 (US Military Calendar)

8:27 A.M, C.V.T. (Central Vale Time)

---

They never thought they'd see the same pilot again.

David thought they would've quit after what happened.

Alan thought it was a bit too early to see them again as they would've been getting drunk due to the "high" costs of getting their aircraft fixed

Semyon thought they died on the way.

But no, he was still alive and kicking.

Over the intercom, the pilot's voice crackled to life, clearly amused. "You know, if I'd known it was you three I was hauling around again, I'd have pushed this baby to the max—maybe even flown us right to the moon!" he joked, leaning into his mic with a grin.

Semyon, not one to miss a beat, shrugged. "Feel free to try. Just as long as we don't die on the way." He glanced around the cabin, nonchalant, before looking back at his scroll.

The pilot turned in his seat to give them a mock-hurt look. "Well, it's nice to know you care about me, guys." His expression wavered somewhere between confused and touched as he caught Semyon's level gaze.

"Mutual feeling," Semyon replied simply, his attention drifting back to his scroll. Causing the pilot to smirk as he looked back up ahead. Pressing the mic near his mouth once more

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his tone smooth and playful. Instantly, heads turned up to listen, with David glancing up at the ceiling and the others casting looks toward the cockpit. "We'll be arriving at our destination in just a few moments. Please ensure that all your luggage is secure... or I'll be forced to claim anything left behind as a souvenir."

This prompted a sudden flurry of movement from the three teens, each of them double-checking to make sure their bags and gear were securely in place. The thought of misplacing a sidearm in Remnant wasn't exactly comforting.

God forbid they lose it to some pickpocket.

"Now, if you take a look to your left, right, or if any of you are one of those strange magicians with eyes in the back of your head," he continued with a chuckle, "you'll see that we're enjoying a fine, crisp autumn morning. Skies are clear, no pesky birds, and—most importantly—no Grimm in sight. Sun's shining bright, and my paycheck just went up by ten percent—thanks to you guys for keeping things interesting."

A few laughs from the teens filled the cabin, the atmosphere lightened by his joke.

"Now, we'll be making our descent in just a moment," he added, his tone becoming mockingly official. "So, please sit tight, fasten any metaphorical seatbelts you have, and thank you for flying with Beacon Airlines. Buh-bye now!" The intercom clicked off, his voice fading out with a smile you could practically hear.

David chuckled as the "buh-bye" reminded him of an Old World youtuber he watched before clearing his throat, adjusting his holster with a hint of nervous anticipation while the others continued to grab their things. "So... what do you guys think this city will look like?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Alan shrugged, though his curiosity was apparent. "From what we've heard, it's supposed to be some kind of safe haven from Grimm and all the other crazy stuff out here. So, I'm guessing guards everywhere, checkpoints, maybe walls that look like they've seen hell and back."

He nudged Semyon with a smirk. "Hey, Ruski, sound like anything you've seen before?"

Semyon's eyes narrowed as he reached for his knife, flipping it through his fingers with a few precise, practiced spins before holstering it again just as smoothly. "Keep talking, and I'll give you a firsthand lesson in 1939 history," he nonchalantly threatened before giving a shrug. "But, yeah... if this place really is a fortress, we're bound to get some extra attention. Probably questions, too."

Alan snorted. "And here I thought you were the expert."

"Please," Semyon replied with a smirk, "the American here is probably the one with the most practice at getting on people's radar."

David gawked at them both. "W-Wait, hold up! W-What are you guys talking about!?"

Alan gave a thoughtful nod. "Eh, sounds about right."

Semyon chuckled, tapping the hilt of his knife. "See, you're proving our point already."

David didn't get the chance to respond before the bullhead suddenly pitched downward, beginning its rapid descent. All three teens instantly grabbed the overhead handles, knuckles white as they braced themselves. Glynda, leaning casually against the wall, couldn't help but smirk in amusement as she watched their fleeting panic—this was clearly a routine maneuver for her, though they seemed to feel otherwise.

The bullhead's engines roared, and then, with a gentle shudder, they touched down. A loud hiss echoed through the cabin as the doors began to open, bathing the cabin in a flood of brilliant morning light. The sudden brightness stung their eyes, and they instinctively threw up their hands, squinting against the overwhelming glare.

But as their eyes adjusted, their arms lowered, and they took in the sight before them. Each of them froze, struck silent as they gazed out at the city sprawling before them.

"W-Wow..." David murmured, his gaze sweeping over the city before them. The skyline stretched out like something from an Old World European city, reminiscent of Germany or France, with cobblestone streets, quaint stone buildings, and tall, narrow windows. Yet there was an undeniable otherworldly quality to it. Above, bullheads whizzed past, and larger aircraft—airbuses, by the looks of them—soared gracefully through the sky, their wings glinting in the sunlight. The gentle hum of engines and distant chatter of the city below created a strange sense of familiarity yet mystery.

"This place is–" David began, still awestruck.

"Fucking boring!" Alan cut in, his voice carrying a hint of frustration as his eyes darted from building to building, searching for something that wasn't there. "Where are the giant skyscrapers? Where's the hover cars? Where the hell are the android hook—"

"И оставьте это полюсу, чтобы придумать такое дерьмо." Semyon cut in with a sigh, shaking his head. "Honestly, I had some expectations for you, Alan. Well, at least more than the American."

"I am right here, you know!" David shot back

Semyon only shrugged, ignoring David's protest as he turned to him with a mocking smile. "Huh. That is funny," he said casually. "Thought I heard bug buzzing around."

David opened his mouth to complain, but all that came out was a sigh of defeat and acceptance as he just shook his head and grabbed his bag that Ozpin had given to each and everyone of them. Supposingly big enough to carry whatever they were going to buy with their budget.

Hopefully it was big enough.

"Just remember what we talked about," Glynda said firmly as the three of them began stepping off the bullhead. "Avoid any attention, stay clear of the authorities, and—most importantly—steer clear of any trouble along the wa—"

"We got it,Mom," Alan interrupted with a wide grin, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to make her eyes narrow. "Don't get in trouble, call you if we see trouble, and say no to drugs."

Glynda's eyes widened, her cheeks flushed a shade of red she rarely showed. "I-I-I'm not—! I just mean to make sure you three are...safe," she stammered, fighting to regain her usual composed expression. "And for the record, I'm not your mother. Just... get back here by nine, alright?"

"We'll be fine, ma'am," David said, but with a slight smile he added, "We'll be back by nine. I swear on my mama's grave."

"Yeah, don't worry. We will even check in every now and then to let you know how it's going. Just in case you getworried," Semyon added, his voice dripping with mock seriousness as he made a show of nodding respectfully to her.

Glynda's face softened in exasperation, but the concern in her eyes remained. She crossed her arms, lifting a brow as if daring them to keep up the teasing. "It's for your safety, not mine. Remember, if anything—anything—looks suspicious or dangerous, you know where that distress button is. Don't wait to call if you need to."

Alan grinned as he started walking backward off the bullhead, flashing a wink her way. "Catch you later,Mom.Just keep the bullhead warmed up for when we're back."

Glynda opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she just shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as she muttered what might've been a few forbidden curses under her breath. She took a slow, steadying breath, forcing a sliver of composure back before glancing up, her gaze following the trio as they walked away from the bullhead, their laughter trailing faintly behind them. They were almost out of sight, disappearing down the steps and into the bustling streets below.

Just before they vanished entirely, David suddenly stopped, turning back. He caught Glynda's eye and offered a small, genuine smile, raising a hand in a friendly wave. For a moment, she simply stood there, caught off-guard by the gesture, her own lips twitching into a faint, reluctant smile. Then he turned, hurrying to catch up with his friends, leaving Glynda standing at the bullhead with an odd feeling tugging at her.

Maybe not all of them were so bad after all.

---

Vale, Sanus, Remnant 2048-10-5 (US Military Calendar)

8:49 P.M. C.V.T

12 hours after their arrival

---

None of them really planned on buying much here, but before long, each was carrying bags that had somehow filled up on their journey through the city.

David and Alan had joked about picking up souvenirs or trying local snacks, but their curiosity got the better of them. The city had a charm that, while underwhelming compared to the futuristic gleam of Atlas or Beacon's grandeur, still held a few surprises, and David's sudden, open enthusiasm kept pulling them to new places. His energy was like a kid dragging reluctant parents through an amusement park, lighting up at every quirky shop and bustling street corner. Much to the other teen's dismay as they just begrudgingly followed along until Alan soon went along with it.

Their first stop was an unassuming bookstore called "Tukson's Book Trade," where David suggested they pick up books on Remnant's history and Dust. Tukson, a faunus with a quiet but friendly reserved demeanor, helped them find a selection of titles. Semyon, ever the skeptic, kept one wary eye on Tukson the whole time, mumbling about something "off" about him, though his suspicion was met with jokes from both David and Alan, who brushed it off as "paranoid." Alan, naturally, eyed the books on Dust with a scheming grin, while Semyon focused on weapon technology, taking mental notes as he flipped through the pages.

By mid-morning, they strolled past storefronts and food stalls, drawing curious looks from locals as they navigated a city that was both familiar and strange.

Eventually, they found themselves in a cozy café that David had insisted on trying. Surprisingly, the breakfast spread was classic: eggs, bacon, and toast—something you'd see in a diner in the Midwest.

Semyon, glancing down at the plate, muttered that it "couldn't be real" and shoveled his food in a mix of confusion and frustration. Meanwhile, Alan tried to charm a waiter into bringing something "a little stronger," only to be shot down when he found out that the "identities" that Ozpin had given them had them listed as underage.

He wouldn't stop cursing Ozpin's name after that.

Afterward, they continued exploring, getting into minor explorations and antics here and there until the late afternoon without a hitch.

Well, until they noticed Alan was missing. Causing the two to have a brief freaking out moment before running off in different directions with the intention to find them and giving them one hell of a talk that'll make Asian and Hispanic moms jealous.

Hours passed, with David and Semyon scouring the city. Before finally, David got a call from a bouncer from a small, local club. He quickly ran to the scene, already finding the Russian waiting for him at the door before going inside. Finding the Pole slumped on the ground with a visible bruise.

Apparently, there'd been a brawl inside between the bar's staff and manager against a girl with yellow hair. For some reason, the Pole joined the girls side, but was injured in the process.

Deciding not to question any further, David helped haul Alan up, his friend groaning but quickly pretending as if nothing had happened as they walked out while the Russian followed behind them.

After resting at a nearby park and letting Alan "recover," they resumed exploring, now laden with books, snacks, and other trinkets, walking down the streets with a sense of camaraderie and shared exasperation.

Bringing us to where they are now, walking down a street with the Russian carrying their bags while the American and Pole walked behind them.

"Remind me never to bring you guys anywhere without a leash and collar," Semyon muttered, adjusting the weight of the bags as the straps dug into his fingers. "I swear, dogs with rabies are less problematic than you two combined!"

"Y-Y'know we can carry our own bags, right?" David offered hesitantly, glancing down at the loaded straps. "You don't have to carry everything—"

Semyon shot him an exasperated look. "And risk you two slowing us down? Я скорее трахну одного из своих товарищей, чем буду рисковать!" he muttered the last part under his breath, letting out a sigh, though David caught enough to piece it together.

Luckily, it seemed that Alan was already trying to distract them.

"Hey, look at that," Alan said, gesturing toward a shop a few meters away, his voice already filled with excitement.

"What? What am I supposed to be seeing here?" David squinted, not quite following.

Alan shook his head. "A Dust shop, comrade! And it's open this late!" He gave the two of them an exasperated look when they just stared back. "Come on! Dust!? Fire, ice, electricity—the good stuff. Sometimes, they even have Dust weapons, if you're lucky."

David tilted his head. "So, like... a gun shop but with magic ammo?"

Semyon gave a tired sigh. "Of course the American could think of it like that." He turned to Alan, his expression flat. "And no, we're not going in. I amnotcarrying any more of your junk."

"Oh, come on, Semyon," Alan whined, his Polish accent thickening as he argued.

"Look, we're practically begging to bring something back! Right now, we've got enough books to build a fortress, snacks that'll last a week, and somehow—" he narrowed his eyes at Alan—"a bottle of alcohol. Which I'm still trying to figure out how you managed to sneak in."

Alan shrugged with a sly grin. "A man's gotta have his talents, right?"

Semyon pinched the bridge of his nose. "The point is, what else could youpossiblyneed?"

Alan's grin turned devilish. "Well, we could always experiment with a little... fire dust, you know? Big explosions—BOOM!" He threw his hands out dramatically. "You know I've got a talent for it. The Polish way."

Semyon shook his head, looking done. "I amnotlugging around twenty pounds of Dust just so you can make IEDs. You are already smuggling alcohol. You don't need asecondvice."

"First of all," Alan said, grinning, "alcohol and explosions are beautiful things, alright? Have some respect, Russian."

David chimed in, looking between them. "Uh, don't they use some different ingredients for booze here? What if we're, I don't know, allergic or something?"

Alan opened his mouth to respond, paused, then shrugged. "Well, if that's true, I'm willing to risk it in the name of discovery," he said with a grin, adding, "Plus, gotta be better than vodka."

Semyon's eye twitched. "Alright, that is it. You arebothgetting leashes next time."

"Why am I not surprised?" David mumbled as he face-palmed.

"Why shouldn't we?" Alan said with a grin, then turned to Semyon. "And hey, if we grab some fire dust, I might be able to make incendiary-tipped rounds. You know, the ones that goboomon impact? They're usually for high-caliber sniper rifles and mounted MGs, but we could get creative."

Semyon paused, eyebrows raising at the idea of powerful rounds without the need for massive firepower. "...Can you actually make them?"

"Can I make them?" Alan repeated, sounding as though he were deeply insulted. "Comrade, please. Back in my old unit, I was practically the king of makeshift ammo. I'd rig up explosive rounds all the time before they shipped me to that dusty hellhole."

David stared. "Uh, isn't it kind of illegal and... super dangerous to make DIY incendiary ammo? And where'd you even learn to make that stuff?"

Alan shrugged, clearly unfazed. "Trial and error, American. Lots of trial and error. That, and...well, a couple of burned-out barracks. Why do you think they sent me off to Afghanistan?"

David stood there, visibly disturbed, wondering if Alan was somehow bluffing or if he'd actually caused his former barracks to go up in flames.

"So...that's a yes?" Semyon asked, brushing past David's concern.

Alan slapped him on the back with a mischievous grin. "Da,comrade! I'll set you up with incendiaries," he said with a mock-serious tone. "Buuut it's gonna cost ya."

Semyon crossed his arms, unmoved. "I'm not smuggling any more booze into the dorms. Professor Ozpin's already got his eye on me, and I'm not risking my own stash just to fuel your vodka obsession."

"Oh, come on, just one bottle! One little bottle, and I'll leave you alone," Alan wheedled, dropping dramatically to his knees, grabbing onto Semyon's hands and leg in a shameless display of pleading.

Passersby started to stare, some of them even slowing down to watch the spectacle as Alan clung to Semyon, making a scene.

"Ебаный Христос! Get off me, you lunatic!" Semyon demanded, trying to shake Alan loose as he latched on even tighter.

"Please! Just one chance to get some fire dust!" Alan whimpered, putting on a sad face as he theatrically clawed at Semyon's fatigues. "I'll pay you back, man—just meet me out back in the alley and I swear I'll—"

"Alright! Alright! Go buy your damn Dust!" Semyon snapped, finally kicking him off and yanking out his last few lien. He shoved it at Alan with a glare. "There! Take it and leave me alone, would you?"

Alan shot into the air like an oversized kid, whooping in victory, before spinning back around to David. Before David could even blink, Alan's hand darted into his pocket, snatching his stash of spare lien.

"H-Hey! I need th—" David stammered, but he was too late; Alan was already bolting down the street, weaving through pedestrians and narrowly dodging a car or two, looking like a lunatic on a mission. He finally reached the shop, practically yanking the door off its hinges as he barreled inside.

"D-Did he just rob me?" David muttered, wide-eyed.

Semyon crossed his arms, pretending to consider it thoughtfully. "Well..." he shrugged, "you reacted too slow, so it is your fault."

"How isthatmy fault?" David exclaimed, jabbing a thumb at himself. "He just dove into my pocket like some crazy magician and poof—my lien's gone! P-Plus, I'm tired as fuck man, and I wasn't expecting to-"

"Let me tell you how toavoidshit like that.," Semyon said, like he was explaining a math problem to a toddler. "Tell him to stop. Or I don't know, maybe don't keep that wad of lien loosely in your pocket like a free buffet?"

David let out a sigh of pure exasperation. "Can we just...sit down somewhere and wait while he's in there causing mayhem?"

"That's the best idea you've had since I met you," Semyon flattly said, heading toward a nearby bench and sinking into it with relieved sighs.

"God, you'd think all that training would prepare us for these shopping marathons," David groaned, propping one foot up on his knee. "I swear, my legs are about to fall off."

Semyon rolled his eyes, still rummaging through the pile of bags. "Oh,yourlegs are tired? Try lugging around all this crap for two lazy idiots." He shook his head and muttered, "Not exactly something I look forward to when I find a partner."

"Amen to that," David mumbled, fishing two drinks out from under his shirt. He popped the cap off one, took a swig, then offered the other to Semyon. "Want one?"

Semyon looked at him, a bit surprised, then shrugged, taking the bottle and popping the cap. He sniffed it warily, took a small sip, and then nodded approvingly. "... Not bad. Where you find these?"

"Oh, grabbed them at some random shop while we were trying to track down Alan," David said, taking another sip. "Place reminded me of a QT near my old house. Cozy little spot."

Semyon raised an eyebrow. "And you just...kept them in your shirt this whole time?"

David paused, looking a little sheepish. "Uh, yeah?"

Semyon kept his stare locked on David, creating an uncomfortable silence between them as the two just sat there, unmoving, caught in the awkward moment. David was about to try for a nervous chuckle when Semyon's gaze suddenly flicked past him. David exhaled in relief—until he felt a hand clamp down firmly on his shoulder.

He stiffened, glancing up to see a tall man looming over him, dressed sharply in a crisp white tuxedo and a black bowler hat. The man's expression was calm, almost too calm, his sly grin curling around the cigar that rested between his teeth. Behind him, at least a dozen more men in black suits and dark glasses fanned out, standing in silent formation.

"Evening, gentlemen," the man said smoothly, the hint of menace behind his casual tone unmistakable. He took a slow puff of his cigar, eyes cold yet polite. "Fine night we're having, isn't it?"

David swallowed hard, feeling his pulse quicken, while Semyon's jaw tensed beside him.

"Tell me," the man continued, tapping ash from his cigar without breaking eye contact. "Would you boys happen to know the nearest dust shop that's open? Finding one at this hour is proving... inconvenient."

Semyon's eyes narrowed, his hand subtly shifting to rest closer to his sidearm. He tried to mask the movement, but the man in the white tuxedo caught it immediately, a glint of amusement flashing in his gaze as he tutted softly.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he chided, his tone silky yet dripping with condescension. "Now, is that any way to greet new friends?" He snapped his fingers, and one of the men in black suits stepped forward with chilling obedience. Without a word, the suited man reached into his jacket, drawing a sleek pistol which he pressed against Semyon's chest in a mockery of intimidation, holding Semyon's gaze with an unblinking stare.

"There we go. Now everyone's playing nice," the man in the hat drawled, turning his attention to David, his expression almost patronizingly friendly. "Now, you and your pal here are going to sit tight and be good little civilians while we take care of some... business. Sound simple enough?"

David's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond, merely holding the man's gaze in tense silence. The man in the hat responded by ruffling David's hair with a gloved hand, his mock sympathy barely hiding the underlying threat. David winced, a surge of frustration rising, but he stayed still.

"Good kid," the man said with a low chuckle, patting David on the cheek before straightening and glancing back to two of his men. "You two," he ordered smoothly, "stay with our young friends here. Keep an eye out—and if they get any funny ideas..."

He made a quiet clicking noise with his tongue, a subtle but unmistakable message that the men acknowledged with a nod.

"Splendid." With a final look at Semyon and David, the man in the bowler hat flashed them a sly smile, his expression unsettlingly cheerful. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got errands to run. And do get comfortable," he added, his voice lowering to a near-whisper. "You're going to be here for... quite some time."

As the man in the bowler hat disappeared into the store, the remaining three thugs closed in, flanking David and Semyon with cold, unblinking stares. They held their weapons with that same unsettling calm, barrels angled just enough to remind the two soldiers how little room they had to move.

One of the goons, a tall figure with a scar slicing across his cheek, stepped forward, extending a hand. "Weapons. Now," he ordered, his tone low and threatening. David and Semyon exchanged a brief, tense glance before reluctantly drawing their pistols and holding them out. Followed by the man yanking the guns from their hands, eyeing them with greedy satisfaction.

"Nice pieces you got here," he sneered, inspecting the pistols before stuffing them into his coat. "Guess they're in better hands now."

Another thug moved in, his eyes already set on the bags Semyon had been carrying. He started rifling through them with little care, yanking out whatever looked valuable. The third thug loomed over David, who hesitantly offered up his drink. With a mocking smirk, the thug took it, swigging casually while his other hand stretched toward Semyon.

"And the rest," The same man ordered with a twisted grin, gesturing at anything left on them. "Don't think we're leaving you with anything worth keeping."

Semyon and David gave each other another subtle glance before fishing out whatever was in their pockets. With the medic pulling out a small necklace with a cross on it while the Russian pulled out a few pieces of pocket lien. Which the crook gladly took, looking like a greedy little trouble as he silently mocked them before turning around and counting the goods

Giving Semyon the chance as he began to reach for his knife.

A few minutes prior

As the door swung open with a jingle, with Alan practically flying into the shop, eyes wide with excitement as he scanned the walls. Racks upon racks of dust glitter under the bright shop lights in every color he could imagine: fiery reds, crackling blues, vibrant greens, and bright yellows, each one almost daring him to unleash the chaos it held inside. He grinned like a kid in a candy store, barely able to contain himself at the explosive possibilities stacked around him.

In a flash, he closed the distance to the counter and slammed down the trio's collected lien, the bills fanning out dramatically. The old man behind the counter jumped, hand flying to his chest as if Alan's entrance alone had nearly sent him to his grave.

Which wouldn't really surprise me.

Alan grinned, leaning onto the counter with a confidence that was half-playful, half-serious. "Alright, I'll make this simple: I need as much fire dust as this can buy me." He slapped the stack of lien down, eyeing the vibrant reds and oranges behind the counter with an intensity that made the shopkeeper blink.

The old man, still clutching his chest, shook his head and let out a wheezy laugh. "By Oum, do you always charge in like a Dust-fueled cannonball? You nearly knocked ten years off my life with that entrance!" He chuckled in between breaths, finally steadying himself. "I don't know if my heart can handle that kind of excitement twice."

"Would I get a free stash if you do?" Alan replied instantly, not missing a beat. His deadpan response left the shopkeeper frozen for a second, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Wha—you can't just...!" the man stammered, but Alan only raised an eyebrow expectantly, as if daring him to answer.

The shopkeeper sighed in surrender, muttering, "Young folks these days..." as he began counting the pile of lien, flipping through the bills one by one. Alan tapped his foot impatiently, even checking his watch as he waited for the clerk to finish.

After what felt like an eternity to him, the shopkeeper placed the final bill down with a nod. "Alright, that'll get you a solid case of fire dust. I'll start packing it up for you" He tucked the money away in the register, casting Alan a curious glance. "Now, tell me—what's a young guy like you doing with so much fire dust? Trying to set a mountain ablaze or something?"

"Well..." He mumbling, not really knowing how to tell him that he was going to make explosive-tipped ammunition with it, but he just shrugged and decided to go along with it. "Sure, why not?"

"Well, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're up to some trouble," the shopkeeper teased as he hefted an empty case onto the counter, preparing to fill it with canisters. "But if you've got the lien for it, then it's probably nothing to to worry about.." He paused, pulling out a few extra bills and handing them back to Alan. "There was a little more than needed here. Feel free to browse around and see if there's anything else you'd like to add while I get you settled."

Alan pocketed the extra lien with a smug grin before slipping over to the nearest shelf, his eyes scanning the array of items like a kid in a candy store. Magazines, manuals, and odd trinkets lined the shelves—things he recognized from similar shops he'd seen while clearing cities with his unit. It felt oddly familiar, though the selection here was certainly more... explosive.

After a bit of browsing, he stumbled upon a shelf labeled"Dust Weaponry."Intrigued, Alan strolled down the aisle, his attention snagging on a particular book with the bold title:"How to Make Dust-Infused Weapons for Dummies."He grinned, slipping it under his arm with the eager look of someone who'd just stumbled upon a gold mine. This was followed by other titles that drew him in:"The History of Dust Weaponry,""Atlas Specialist Weapons of Choice,"and"The Art of Dust Warfare."Each title had him imagining the explosive potential, and he stacked a few more books under his arm.

Just as he was mentally adding up the damage he'd do with his new stash, the store bell jingled behind him. Alan didn't bother turning; he figured it was just David, Semyon, or some local Dust fanatic looking for their own fix.

Lord, was he very, very wrong.

"My, my, do you know how hard it is to find a Dust shop open at this hour?" a smooth, mocking voice echoed through the quiet store, each word dripping with feigned charm. "It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack... surrounded by Grimm."

The elderly clerk froze, clutching the counter with trembling hands, trying to steady himself. "Y-Yes, I... I suppose that's one way to put it," he stammered, eyes wide. From the edge of an aisle, Alan peeked around cautiously, his heart racing as he took in the sight—a man in a pristine white suit and bowler hat, exuding an aura of confidence and danger, now calmly speaking with the clerk. Behind him, several men in black suits and dark sunglasses prowled around the store, glancing hungrily at the sparkling Dust crystals displayed on every shelf.

Then, without warning, one of the suited men pulled out a sleek, unfamiliar pistol and pointed it directly at the clerk. The poor man's hands shot up, his frail body trembling as his face turned ghostly white. "P-Please!" he begged, his voice cracking. "I don't need another heart attack! Just—take whatever you want and go!"

The man in the white suit raised a hand, almost soothingly, though his smile was anything but reassuring. "Now, now, no need for theatrics," he said with a smug undertone. "We're not here for your money." He threw a glance back at his henchmen, his smile vanishing in a flash, replaced with cold indifference. "Gentlemen, help yourselves. Take as much Dust as you can carry." He nodded toward two more suited men lurking by the door. "And make sure there's no one else here who might cause... complications." His voice dropped to a chilling murmur as he dragged the tip of his cigar across his neck in a silent but deadly gesture.

The suited men moved swiftly. Some retrieved sleek, black suitcases and began filling them with Dust crystals in every color imaginable—scarlet, cobalt, emerald, and amber—while others approached the giant pipes along the walls, filling large glass vials with raw Dust crystals, letting them glimmer and cascade down like tiny jewels.

Meanwhile, two of the henchmen unsheathed their weapons—one holding a sleek, menacing pistol and the other brandishing a katana—as they began a systematic sweep of the store, scanning each aisle, shelf, and shadow for any unwanted visitors. Alan's pulse thundered as he ducked back behind the shelves, pressing himself against them, hoping he wouldn't be spotted

"Oh kurwa. This is not good." He mumbled under his breath, his voice barely a whisper, thick with tension. With a swift, practiced motion, he unholstered his sidearm, its cold metal a familiar comfort. He flicked his gaze down, double-checking that the magazine was loaded before slamming it back into place with a satisfying click. The sound was louder than he wanted, and he grimaced as he pulled the slide back, cocking the pistol with silent precision. Hoping that the sound didn't reveal his position.

Sadly, it revealed someone else.

"Hey! You!" The thug's voice was loud and aggressive, echoing down the quiet aisles of the Dust shop. Alan froze behind the row of shelves, holding his breath as he crouched low, peering through a gap just enough to see the robber glaring in his direction.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" the thug shouted again, his footsteps growing heavier as he stomped closer. His grip tightened around the bat in his hand, his knuckles white. "What are you, deaf or something!?"

Alan ducked lower, realizing the thug might have actually spotted him. But then the man's gaze shifted. Not at him—at someone else near the counter, a girl with headphones on, casually examining a magazine.

"Do you not hear me, lady?" the man growled as he closed in, slapping a hand onto her shoulder and spinning her around. "I said, give me all your shit!"

The girl blinked up at him, eyes wide with genuine confusion, and pointed at herself as if asking,Me?The thug huffed impatiently, nodding as he motioned to her earphones.

"Yes? she said, slowly taking off her headphones before noticing the bat in his hands, "Are... Are you robbing me?"

The thug scoffed, rolling his eyes. "No, lady, I'm asking for spare change." Then his expression darkened, and he lunged at her, snatching the collar of her cloak and pulling her in close, his sneer twisted with menace. "Of course I'm robbing you! And if you keep wasting my time, I'll just take whatever you got off your dead bo—"

A loudcrackcut him off mid-sentence, his head snapping forward as he staggered, his grip going slack. The thug let out a grunt as he slumped, falling into the arms of a man behind him as they gently laid them against the shelf

"Well, that's one way to take care of him," he quipped with a smirk, sliding his sidearm back into its holster. The girl just stared, eyes wide, as if processing what had just happened, her expression shifting from shock to a mix of confusion and horror.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, waving a hand in front of her face, but she was still staring at him, her cheeks a little pink.

He raised an eyebrow, cracking a grin. "Look, if you're that impressed, there's a nice little café down the street we could, you know,talkat. But if you're just starstruck, let's skip the staring contest, alright?"

Her face flushed bright red, and she stammered, "I—I wasn't—"

"Hey!" Another harsh voice cut through the quiet, jolting the girl's attention away from her would-be rescuer. She turned to see another thug striding toward her, sword in hand, its point leveled directly at her throat. "Where the hell is the guy you were just with?"

Her eyes darted nervously—from the thug to Alan crouched behind the shelf, then to the unconscious body lying on the floor. The thug's eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing across his face as he took a step closer, his sword tip barely inches from her.

"Just what the hell are you look—"

Before he could finish, a sharpcrackrang out as Alan struck him across the face with the butt of his pistol, the impact shattering his nose. The thug stumbled backward with a strangled yell, his sword clattering to the floor as he clutched his face, blood streaming between his fingers.

Seizing the opportunity, Alan pressed forward, emerging from the cover of the shelves and firing two quick shots at the thug. The sharp cracks echoed through the shop, and the 9x19mm rounds found their mark, striking the thug square in the chest.

But the man's aura flared to life, a faint shimmer flickering across his torso as it absorbed the brunt of the impact. The rounds left visible dents in his aura's barrier, and while it prevented the bullets from penetrating, the sheer force sent him sprawling onto the floor. He gasped, wind knocked out of him, before collapsing unconscious, his aura flickering and dimming as it faded.

The shop fell into a tense silence, the scattered thugs and workers around the room freezing in whatever they were doing—some paused mid-motion, clutching vials of Dust, while others stood guard with weapons drawn. Every eye was now locked on Alan, who held his pistol steady, and the girl by his side, still wide-eyed but now resolute.

Slowly, the man in the bowler hat took a long, unhurried drag from his cigar, letting the silence drag on as he exhaled a plume of smoke, watching the two with cold, calculating eyes. Finally, he removed the cigar from his mouth, pointing it at them with a casual but unmistakable threat.

"Get them," he commanded in a low, menacing voice.

Immediately as he said that, three of his men who were initially armed with melee weapons transformed them into rifles and SMGs as they took aim. Alan too took aim, but before he could pull the trigger, what he could only describe as a red blur whizzed past him. Closing the distance between it and the three gunmen in the blink of an eye and throwing them out of the store through the window!

The moment the man in the white suit issued the order, three of his henchmen armed with melee weapons shifted their stances. With a mechanical whir and a cascade of sparks, their weapons transformed—blades unfolding into sleek rifles and batons extending into compact SMGs. Without hesitation, they raised their firearms, leveling them with deadly precision.

Alan gritted his teeth and raised his own weapon, finger tightening on the trigger. But before he could fire, a flash of crimson streaked past him, so fast it felt as though the air itself had split apart. In the blink of an eye, the red blur reached the three gunmen. A storm of motion erupted—blades slashing, limbs moving, and sparks flying as weapons clashed.

The next moment was chaos. One henchman was sent flying into a nearby shelf, while the other two were launched clean through the front window with a thunderous crash. Glass shards rained down outside like glittering rain, catching the neon glow of the shop's lights.

Outside, the guards standing watch around the store barely had time to react. The shattering of the giant display window caught them off guard, and they instinctively ducked, their heads snapping toward the commotion. They raised their weapons, scanning the scene—but their moment of calm shattered alongside the window as two of their comrades hit the pavement with groans of pain.

And a lone girl standing in between them. Looking up at them all with a smile on her face.

Semyon didn't waste a second. With lightning speed, his knife flashed from its sheath and drove straight into the henchman's hand. Causing them to let out a piercing scream, his voice echoing through the store as he instinctively tried to wrench his hand free as blood began to drip onto the stone road.

But Semyon wasn't done. With calculated brutality, he swung a devastating right hook, his knuckles connecting with a sickening crack against the man's jaw. The impact sent the thug sprawling to the ground like a sack of bricks. Before the man could even groan in pain, Semyon yanked the knife free with a wet, tearing sound, spraying crimson across the stone floor, his own boots, and even onto David and the two remaining henchmen.

Not pausing for breath, Semyon turned his steely gaze on the next thug. Like a predator closing in on its prey, he lunged forward, his powerful frame slamming the man to the ground. The force knocked the wind out of the henchman, who struggled desperately beneath him, his arms flailing in a futile attempt to block the descending blade. Semyon's knife hovered inches from the crook's throat, a testament to the Russian soldier's raw strength and unyielding focus.

Meanwhile, David and the third henchman stood frozen for a split second, watching the chaos unfold. Then, almost comically, their eyes met, both silently acknowledging the absurdity of their predicament. David, shaking off his hesitation, clenched his fists and steeled himself.

"Eat this, asshat!" he shouted, taking a single step forward before delivering a ferocious punch directly into the thug's groin. The man's face twisted into an expression of pure agony as he let out a high-pitched wail, doubling over and clutching his wounded pride.

David wasn't done. Taking full advantage of his opponent's vulnerable position, he reared back and unleashed a savage haymaker. His knuckles smashed into the thug's nose with a crunch, sending blood spraying in an arc as the man's body crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. His face a mess of bruises and blood while his groans were barely audible as consciousness slipped away.

Meanwhile, the three crooks surged forward, their katanas and baseball bats raised high as they charged at the girl. Their faces twisted in rage and desperation as they swung down at her in unison, determined to bring her down. But just as their weapons were about to connect, the girl smirked—a sly, confident expression that sent a chill down their spines.

In a blur of motion, she pulled a massive red-and-black scythe seemingly from nowhere, the weapon unfolding with a metallicclank-clank-clankas it extended to its full, intimidating size. With a single, fluid swing, the blade arced through the air, slicing cleanly through their weapons and sending all three attackers flying backward. They tumbled across the ground like discarded ragdolls, their weapons clattering uselessly beside them.

The remaining henchmen hesitated for a fraction of a second, fear flickering in their eyes, but they quickly recovered. Those armed with guns raised them and opened fire, bullets ripping through the air toward the girl. The rapid bursts of gunfire filled the air with deafening noise and flashes of light, but the girl moved like a shadow—graceful and untouchable.

She darted sideways, leaping onto a nearby wall springing off it with catlike agility. Her movements were a mesmerizing blur, each flip and twist perfectly timed to avoid the hail of bullets. It was as though she was dancing through the chaos, her red cloak trailing behind her like a streak of flame.

From her elevated position, she twisted mid-air, swinging the scythe with both hands. The blade sliced through a nearby street lamp, crashing down onto the shooter and pinning him to the floor.

Another thug attempted to take aim, but she was already moving, dashing toward them and descending upon him with a devastating spinning slash that sent his weapon flying and knocked him out cold.

The last of the gunmen frantically switched to a melee weapon, a crowbar, and charged at her with a desperate yell. She sidestepped his wild swing effortlessly, using the shaft of her scythe to trip him. As he fell, she twirled her weapon, letting the blunt end crash down on his back with enough force to knock him unconscious.

Back inside the store, the man in the bowler hat observed the unfolding chaos with growing irritation. His men were being taken down one by one, their efforts to subdue the girl futile. His scowl deepened as another of his henchmen was sent sprawling across the floor by the girl's scythe.

Grinding his teeth, he turned sharply to the remaining crooks who were frantically stuffing dust crystals into cases. He jabbed a gloved finger at them, barking, "Grab as much dust as you can! We're getting ou—"

BANG!

The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed through the store, silencing him mid-sentence. His hat flew off his head, spinning in the air before landing on the floor with a softthud.A clean hole, perfectly symmetrical, was punched through both sides of it.

The bowler hat man froze, his eyes narrowing as he slowly turned toward the source of the shot. There, emerging from the shadows of an aisle, stood another figure wearing the same clothes as the ones outside. Holding a pistol leveled at him with unwavering precision, the barrel still smoking.

"Nobody move," the newcomer growled, his voice like steel. "Or I put a bullet in one of your heads. And trust me,I won't miss, dupki."

The last word, snarled in a language none of the crooks understood, added a sharp edge to the threat. The henchmen exchanged confused glances but didn't dare question it. The look in the man's eyes, the steady aim of his gun, and the absolute calm in his demeanor made it clear: he wasn't bluffing.

One of the henchmen clearly didn't get the message. His hand darted to his pistol, intent on taking Alan down. The motion was fast—but not fast enough. Alan's finger tightened on the trigger of his MP-443 Grach, and a single shot rang out.

The bullet struck the thug square in the chest, slamming him backward with a force that made the air erupt from his lungs. While the innate aura of this world might shield its inhabitants from dust ammunition, it was no match for the brute force of a 9x19mm round. The thug crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, his weapon slipping from his fingers as he drifted into unconsciousness.

The sight of their fallen comrade enraged the remaining thugs. Two of them broke ranks, rushing at Alan with fire in their eyes and revenge in their hearts. One carried a sword and closed the distance with a determined swing aimed to split Alan clean in two.

Alan's instincts kicked in. He shifted his weight and leapt backward, the blade missing by a hair as he landed lightly on his feet. The thug roared and slashed again, his blade slicing through the air in a relentless flurry of strikes. But Alan, trained and seasoned, was no ordinary opponent.

The first swing was met with a precise sidestep, Alan pivoting just enough to let the blade whistle past. The second came for his midsection, but he ducked, fluid and composed. A horizontal slash aimed at his legs was countered with an elegant hop, his boots barely grazing the floor as he landed with a mocking grin.

"Juststand still,damn it!" the thug roared, frustration boiling over as he shut his eyes and swung his sword in a wide arc. This time, he felt resistance, the blade halting mid-swing. His lips twisted into a triumphant grin.

"Hah! Not so tough now, are you!?" he sneered, already envisioning his victory as he prepared to wrench the blade free for another strike.

But when he opened his eyes, his grin faltered. Instead of blood or a wounded opponent, he saw Alan standing there, entirely unscathed, one hand gripping the blade just below the guard. His fingers clamped down with a steely strength, preventing the weapon from moving an inch. The thug's arm trembled under the strain, but Alan didn't flinch.

"What the—?" the thug stammered, confusion dawning.

"You talk too much" He said as they yanked him forward, using his grip on the blade to disrupt his balance. In a fluid motion, Alan pivoted, spinning 180 degrees to position himself back-to-back with his attacker. The thug's sword arm was dragged over Alan's shoulder, stretched painfully taut.

There was a momentary pause—a heartbeat of hesitation where the thug realized something was terribly wrong. Then Alan brought his free hand down in a brutal, precise strike against the thug's elbow.

CRACK!

The sound of bone snapping echoed through the store. The thug's scream of pain was raw and guttural, his sword clattering uselessly to the floor as his arm went limp.

But Alan wasn't done. As the thug doubled over in agony, Alan spun back around, snatching the fallen sword in one swift motion. With the hilt firmly in hand, he stepped forward and delivered a punishing blow to the side of the thug's head. The impact was sharp and decisive, and the thug's body went slack, crumpling to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Alan barely had a moment to catch his breath before a burst of gunfire shattered the tense silence. Bullets tore through the air, forcing him to dive for cover behind a nearby shelf. The sharprat-a-tatof an SMG echoed through the shop as the thug unleashed a chaotic spray, shredding shelves and scattering books, Dust vials, and shards of wood. The air filled with flying debris, choking dust, and the thug's obnoxious shouts.

"Yeah! That's right! Get some, you fucking bi—"

BOOM!

The thug's taunt was cut short by a thunderous blast. He was sent hurtling through the shop's other unshattered window, glass exploding outward as he tumbled across the stone street outside. His aura shattered on impact, leaving him motionless, though the slow rise and fall of his chest confirmed he was still alive.

Alan peeked cautiously around the corner of the ruined shelf, sidearm at the ready, only to spot the source of the devastating shot. His eyes widened in shock and admiration. Standing calmly amidst the chaos was the old shopkeeper, his stern face illuminated by the faint glow of Dust fragments still floating in the air. In his hands was a gleaming, well-maintained double-barrel shotgun, smoke curling from its twin barrels.

The shopkeeper didn't say a word, his expression grim as he snapped the shotgun open with practiced ease. Two smoking shells popped out, clinking to the floor as lowered his weapon.

"And that's what you get for ruining my store!" the old man declared, though his voice wavered with the tremor of adrenaline. He let out a shaky sigh, leaning briefly on the counter for support as Alan approached.

"I haven't had to use this old thing since I retired as a Huntsman!" the shopkeeper continued, patting the weapon in his hands as he studied Alan with a worried glance. "But enough about that—are you alright, young man? You didn't get hit, did you?"

"I'm fine. I promise," Alan assured him, brushing dust off his jacket as he surveyed the store. His expression darkened as his gaze swept over the shattered glass, upended shelves, and spilled Dust crystals that littered the floor. "Can't say the same about your shop, though." He grimaced apologetically. "Sorry about the mess."

The shopkeeper waved off the apology with a tired chuckle. "Eh, it's fine, youngin'. I've seen worse, believe it or not." He straightened, his grip on his weapon loosening as he added with a wry smile, "That's what insurance is for, after all."

Alan blinked at the unexpected humor, then let out a soft laugh of his own,. Causing the old storekeeper to do the same as they chuckled together. Lowering their guard after the intense fighting.

Which proved to be a fatal mistake.

On the other side of the counter, the man in the bowler hat, who had somehow managed to stay hidden during the entire fight, suddenly rose with a calculated smirk. His cane was now aimed directly at the store clerk, and the tip of it began to glow with an ominous, fiery-red hue. Catching Alan's attention as he looked past the shopkeeper's shoulder. His eyes widening in realization of what was about to happen.

"Get down!" he roared, instincts kicking in. In one swift motion, he lunged forward, grabbing the clerk by the front of their uniform and yanking them toward him. The two hit the floor hard just as a searing red orb of energy erupted from the tip of the cane.

The projectile tore through the air with a high-pitched whine, missing them by mere inches before slamming into the wall behind the counter. For a brief moment, there was silence—then the orb detonated with a thunderous roar.

The explosion was a symphony of chaos. A blinding flash lit up the room, followed by a shockwave that sent shards of shattered shelving, jagged splinters of wood, and chunks of other building materials flew in every direction. The fiery blast consumed everything in its immediate radius, leaving a scorched crater in the wall and sending cracks spider webbing across the ceiling.

Alan shielded the clerk as best he could, wincing as sharp debris rained down around them. Smoke and dust filled the air, making it hard to see or breathe. Coughing, Alan peered through the haze, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the man in the bowler hat.

The chaos had given the assailant the perfect cover to make his escape. He looked down at the two as Alan looked back up at the damage then back at him. Watching with angry eyes as they tipped his hat mockingly before darting through the debris-strewn wreckage toward the exit. Alan clenched his teeth in frustration, but before he could react, a groan from the store clerk beneath him refocused his attention.

"Ja pierdolę! Czy już—Ahem.Are you alright, sir?" Alan asked, catching himself mid-sentence as he checked over the store clerk, momentarily forgetting to keep his native Polish in check.

"I—I'm fine, youngin'! I'm fine, don't worry about me!" the clerk wheezed, trying to wave away the thick smoke curling around them both.

Alan replied with a relieved grin, patting the old man on the back. Perhaps a bit too hard, as the clerk let out a sharp cough, but he waved it off, far more concerned about the state of his store than his aching ribs.

The clerk's eyes drifted to the gaping hole in the wall, where smoldering debris and scorched wood framed the aftermath of the explosion. "T-That's going to cost a fortune to fix..." he mumbled, his tone a mixture of resignation and disbelief.

Alan glanced at the damage, then back at the old man. "Mind if I go after him?" he asked, already reaching for his sidearm.

The store clerk didn't even hesitate, nodding emphatically. "At this point, son, I don't care if you drag him back here in pieces! Just get him!"

Alan let out a small chuckle at the clerk's unexpected humor. "Got it." With that, he adjusted his grip on his weapon and climbed through the shattered window.

Landing outside, Alan moved quickly, scanning the scene for any sign of the bowler-hatted man. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow. But what he found instead stopped him in his tracks.

Most of the henchmen were already incapacitated—some groaning on the ground, others slumped unconscious against nearby structures. One was hanging awkwardly over a lamppost, his jacket caught on the metal, while another was sprawled across the hood of a car. A few even lay tangled in tree branches like discarded marionettes.

Just what the hell happened out here!?

Alan's answer came almost immediately as a scream pierced the air, followed by the sound of something—or someone—hurtling toward him. Instinctively stepping back, he watched as a hapless henchman tumbled like a human bowling ball, slamming into the wall beside him with a resoundingthud.The poor soul collapsed into an unconscious heap, clearly out cold.

Alan blinked, half in disbelief, before turning toward the source of the commotion. His gaze landed on the girl from earlier, now perched triumphantly atop a pile of bodies. His heart skipped a beat before he realized, with some relief, that the bodies appeared to be unconscious, not lifeless.

Her crimson cape fluttered dramatically in the breeze as she planted her scythe into the ground like a victorious knight claiming a battlefield. Her stance was confident, almost casual, but her eyes scanned the surroundings like a hawk, ready for the next threat.

Alan opened his mouth to ask what in the hell had just happened, but his words caught in his throat as something else caught his eye—a shadow moving swiftly in his peripheral vision. Turning his head, he spotted the man in the bowler hat making a break for it, sprinting down the street as fast as his legs could carry him.

Alan inhaled sharply, about to call out a warning, but before he could make a sound, the girl was already moving.

She took off like a missile, her speed so unreal it left a blur of red and black in her wake. Alan's jaw dropped as she closed the distance with inhuman velocity, making him forget for a moment that they weren't on Earth anymore..

"H-Hey!" a voice called out, pulling Alan's attention to his right. He immediately recognized the familiar voice, though the sight that greeted him made him sigh.

Emerging from the chaos, Semyon and David made their way toward him, both bloodied but standing. Semyon's expression was calm, almost bored, his knuckles smeared with the crimson evidence of his handiwork. His movements were steady and deliberate, as if he had just finished a routine workout rather than a brawl.

In stark contrast, David looked like he'd just survived a round in the ring with a heavyweight champ. His uniform was streaked with blood—some of it clearly his own—and his breathing came in labored gasps. A fresh bruise was forming along his cheek, and his hair was matted with sweat.

Semyon spared a glance at David, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You look like hell," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Thanks," David mumbled, though his gaze lingered on Alan, eyes wide with concern as he took in the Pole's soot-covered state. "Hey, man, y-you good!?" he blurted, ignoring his own battered appearance. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Alan by the shoulders, checking him over frantically for any injuries as he fumbled with the strap of his satchel.

"For fuck's sake, I'm fine, American!" Alan snapped, smacking David's hands away with enough force to make him recoil. "Now can you... justget off me?"

David winced, cradling the hand Alan had swatted. "Jeez, man, I was just trying to help. No need to be so touchy."

Alan glared at him, exasperation etched into every line of his soot-smeared face. "Didn't your parents ever teach you to keep your bloody hands to yourself?"

"Can't really blame him," Semyon casually said, gesturing toward Alan. "You look like you just crawled out of a grave."

Alan shot him a withering glare. "That doesn't— I don't— Ugh, forget it!" He waved his hand dismissively, clearly too irritated to argue. "Just follow me, would you?"

Without waiting for a response, he turned and sprinted down the street, his boots pounding against the pavement before the other two quickly caught on and followed afterward.

"H-Hey! Hey!" The shop-keeper called out, trying to chase after them while carrying a scroll in his hands. "You forgot this! Hey!"

Sadly, it was too late as the four teens were already to far away and focused to hear what he was saying. Accepting defeat, he sighed as looked at the scroll, a bit perplexed by its somewhat strange design compared to the usual scrolls he'd seen before.

Never noticing that he accidentally pressed a small red button on the bottom of the scroll.

...

At the forefront of the chaos, the man in the bowler hat tore down the cobblestone street, his polished shoes slapping against the uneven stones. With every few strides, he twisted around, aiming his cane with precision and firing off crackling bursts of red energy. The glowing orbs screeched as they tore through the air, their impact leaving scorched craters in their wake.

His pursuer, the girl with the scythe, was a blur of motion behind him. She weaved through the barrage effortlessly, each orb narrowly missing as she danced through the air. Her movements were fluid, almost ethereal, as if gravity itself bent to her will. Each leap carried her farther than it should have, her feet skimming the ground for only a heartbeat before she launched again, flipping and twisting with acrobatic precision.

Behind her, the three teens scrambled to keep up, their pace frenetic and far less graceful. Sidearms in hand, they ducked and dodged, their boots pounding against the street as they narrowly avoided the fiery blasts exploding all around them. Each near-miss left a smoking pothole, sending shards of cobblestone clattering across the street.

"Jesu- Holy fuck!" David shouted, diving behind a toppled cart for cover as a fiery orb detonated just feet away, throwing sparks and debris into the air. "Just how much ammo does this guy have!?"

"Stop complaining and keep moving!" Alan barked, vaulting over the same cart and firing a few potshots in the bowler hat man's direction, though the effort seemed futile against his rapid retreat.

Semyon, the calmest of the three, sidestepped another explosion and gave David a sharp shove to keep him moving. "Less talking, more running!" he snapped, his voice cutting through the chaos as he took a few more potshots. But also just barely missing

"I knew your aim was horrendous, but I didn't think it wasthatbad!" Alan quipped, his voice laced with mockery as they continued their frantic pursuit.

"Well I would like to see you try, засранец!" Semyon snapped back, firing another shot that ricocheted harmlessly off the man as a flare of light flashed all around him. Surprising the Russian as he lowered his pistol slightly.

"Что за хрень?" He mumbled, before pushing the thought away as he continued to chase them.

Soon enough, the chase finally led them into a narrow alleyway, and for a moment, David's heart soared as they trapped the bowler hat man against a solid brick wall.

"Don't move! Asshat! You've got nowhere else to g–" David's triumphant shout was abruptly cut short as the man smirked, aimed his cane at the ground, and fired. A concussive blast erupted beneath him, sending him rocketing skyward like a certain rocket-jumping mercenary.

The three teens froze, staring slack-jawed as the man landed smoothly atop a nearby rooftop, dusting off his coat as if he hadn't just performed a literal miracle.

"What the hell?!" Alan exclaimed, throwing his arms up.

Their bewilderment didn't last long. Before any of them could react further, the girl shot past them like a streak of crimson lightning. Using the tight alley walls to her advantage, she bounded back and forth between them, ascending with the same defiance of physics the man had just displayed. Her movements were fluid and precise, each leap perfectly calculated as she reached the rooftop in mere seconds, her scythe gleaming in the dim light.

She didn't pause, didn't hesitate—her chase resumed, the weapon in her hands poised and ready as she closed the gap with deadly determination.

The teens remained on the ground, necks craned upward as they watched the impossibly fast sequence unfold.

"Well..." David finally said, breaking the heavy silence. He placed his hands on his hips and let out an awkward chuckle.

"He did have a place to go... My faults guys..."

"Just shut up and follow me!" Semyon barked, his eyes locking onto a rusty fire escape clinging to the side of the alley wall. Without hesitation, he whipped his pistol up, took aim, and fired a single, precise shot.

CLANG!

The bullet struck its target dead-on, and the ladder jolted loose, crashing to the ground with a metallic screech.

"Move!" he ordered, already grabbing the ladder and hauling himself up with practiced urgency. Followed closely by the other two teens as they trailed behind the sounds of chaos on the rooftops.

...

Ruby was having the time of her life—well, maybe not in the way she expected.

It had all started so normally, too. She'd woken up, gotten dressed, scarfed down breakfast, and decided to spend the day exploring Vale. Nothing fancy, just some casual sightseeing and maybe snagging a few last-minute supplies for her next year at Signal Academy.

At least, thathadbeen the plan.

Things went sideways the moment she stepped into the store. She'd been totally engrossed in a shiny, limited-edition issue ofAtlas Armory Monthly—thespecial one,with exclusive designs and schematics. But before she could properly bask in its glory, her peaceful day was rudely interrupted.

Some guy had spun her around and grabbed her, barking demands like she was some helpless target. She wasn't, of course, and the chance to put her huntress training to good use had her grinning ear to ear. This was going to beawesome!

Or at least, itwouldhave been, if the crook hadn't been immediately clocked by a random stranger who barged in and knocked him out with a single hit.

Before she could even process what just happened, another thug lunged at her, and the stranger—Alan, she thought she heard someone yell—took him down just as quickly.

The rest of the gang wasn't thrilled about this.

What followed was pure chaos. She dove through a window, took out two thugs before they even knew what hit them, and faced off against the rest with a confidence that only comes from years of training and a healthy love of combat. The crooks had numbers, sure, but they went down faster than the Northern To—

Well, no need to get morbid. Let's just say they didn't stand a chance.

To be fair, Ruby wasn't fighting alone. The stranger and two other guys—who clearly had some combat training of their own—helped thin out the crowd. Still, it wasmostlyher taking down the gang.

And now here she was, chasing down their leader: a man in a crisp white suit, an oversized bowler hat, and a cane that fired deadly orbs of Dust. Each shot lit up the night sky and sent explosions reverberating behind her, but Ruby barely noticed. Her heart raced with excitement, her scythe in hand, and that determined grin plastered across her face.

The man clutched his bowler hat tightly as he sprinted across the rooftops, each stride effortlessly carrying him over chimneys, across precarious ledges, and past rooftop gardens. He vaulted ventilation shafts, slid under overhangs, and darted past awkwardly mismatched architecture that made Vale look more like a vertical maze than a planned city.

Sliding across the top of a stairwell access, his polished shoes barely made a sound. Ahead of him stretched a yawning gap between buildings, with the cobblestone streets far below. A police cruiser idled in the alley, its occupants oblivious to the high-speed pursuit above.

With a sly grin, he leaned forward and pushed harder, showing no hesitation as he launched himself into the air. The moonlight caught his silhouette as he soared across the gap, landing with a graceful roll on the opposite rooftop. Dusting himself off, he turned, expecting to see his pursuer hesitate at the ledge.

Instead, Ruby burst into view like a streak of red lightning. She vaulted effortlessly onto the roof, her figure framed against the shattered moon in the sky. For a brief moment, their eyes met—his, calculating and predatory; hers, alight with fiery determination.

Ruby didn't slow down. With unrelenting momentum, she charged forward, every movement fluid and precise. Her scythe, Crescent Rose, glinted in the pale light as she shifted it into rifle form mid-run.

When the next rooftop gap loomed ahead, Ruby didn't pause. Instead, she leaped into the air with an exhilarated "Woohoo!" that echoed across the sleeping city. Down below, startled pedestrians and a pair of cops looked up in awe as the young huntress soared above them like a shooting star, disappearing from their view before they could fully process what they'd seen.

Her opponent, caught off guard by her boldness, gritted his teeth and broke into another sprint. He fired another blast from his cane, the Dust-fueled orb streaking toward her. Ruby twisted mid-air, evading the projectile, which slammed into the side of a building with a deafening explosion.

A chunk of the wall disintegrated, revealing an unlucky tenant mid-shower. The man froze, soap in hand, as he stared at the battle raging above, muttering, "What the hell...?"

Ruby landed with practiced ease and fired several precise shots from Crescent Rose, her rifle's report echoing across the city. The man ducked and weaved, dodging with almost unnatural agility. His return fire came swiftly, forcing Ruby to somersault forward, the red petals trailing behind her scattering into the night.

The chase continued, each combatant matching the other's movements in a deadly rooftop ballet. But finally, the man skidded to a stop. Ahead of him was another gap, wider this time and much more treacherous. He glanced at it and growled under his breath, realizing it might be too far to cross without risk.

Desperate, he turned—only to find Ruby already there.

She stood at the other end of the roof, Crescent Rose casually resting on her shoulder, her silver eyes gleaming with confidence.

"Aren't you a persistent one," the man grumbled, his voice tinged with irritation as he steadied his cane. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a volley of Dust-powered orbs, each crackling with energy as they streaked toward the relentless huntress.

Ruby's silver eyes widened as she darted and weaved, each orb detonating mere moments after she vacated the space. The rooftop quaked with the force of the blasts, chunks of brick and shrapnel flying in all directions. She moved like a blur, her red cape trailing behind her in hypnotic arcs, but the relentless onslaught forced her to stay on the defensive.

The man's frustration mounted as his attacks failed to land a single hit. Growling under his breath, he fished into his pocket and retrieved a shimmering red Dust crystal. His fingers curled around it as a wicked idea formed.

"Let's see how you handle this," he muttered, tossing the crystal in a high arc. It landed a few feet ahead of Ruby, glowing faintly as it rolled to a stop.

Ruby barely had a moment to process what it was before the man took aim and fired.

Boom!

The explosion erupted with a deafening roar, a shockwave tearing through the air as fire and debris consumed the rooftop. Ruby was flung backward like a ragdoll, her body colliding hard with a cluster of ventilation pipes. She hit the metal with a resounding crash, her scythe clattering to the ground beside her as she crumpled into a heap.

The man froze for a moment, stunned at his own success. His mouth opened slightly in surprise before he regained his composure, a sly smirk creeping across his face.

"Huh. That... actually worked," he said, almost incredulous. He straightened up, brushing imaginary dust from his coat before cocking his head toward Ruby's prone form. "Looks like your luck just ran out, kid."

Raising his cane, he took aim, his smirk growing as he slowly applied pressure to the trigger. The glowing orb at the tip began to charge, crackling with deadly energy.

"And tha-"

BANG!*

A sudden gunshot echoed through the night, its sharp crack piercing the tense silence. A split second later, an invisible force struck the man's cane, sending it clattering across the rooftop. Startled, the man recoiled, his hands instinctively pulling back as he made a tentative step toward it

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

A voice rang out, firm and unyielding as the man froze mid-step, his gaze shifting to find three figures stepping into view. The teens from earlier, sidearms drawn and leveled at him, advanced with measured precision. Their expressions radiated a disciplined intensity that made his smug grin falter. Realizing the look on their face, showing theywouldshoot him if necessary.

"Now, boys, there's no need for violence," the man began, raising his hands slowly in a placating gesture. He tried to inject humor into his voice, but the tremor betrayed him. "How about we all calm down, put the guns away, and maybe grab a coffee? There's a lovely little shop just—"

"Shut thefuckup, or I'll put a bullet in your balls," Alan interrupted, his accent sharpening the threat. His pistol didn't waver as he stepped closer, his finger hovering near the trigger. "And two more in your head. You understand that?"

The man's smirk vanished, replaced by a resigned frown.

"American!" Alan barked, his eyes flicking to David. "Go check on the girl. We've got this."

David gave a quick nod, already holstering his weapon as he sprinted to Ruby's side. His movements, though swift, carried a certain carefulness with them as he crouched beside her, brushing aside the debris before gently lifting her out of the rubble. Ruby groaned faintly, prompting a relieved smile from David as he laid her flat on the ground and began checking her over.

Meanwhile, Semyon and Alan advanced on the man, flanking him from opposite sides. Their steps were precise, almost mechanical in their synchronicity.

"Boys, boys," the man interjected with a nervous chuckle, raising his hands as if trying to pacify them. "There's really no need for all this drama—"

"Shut up and empty your pockets," Semyon snapped, cutting him off as he gestured sharply with his pistol. "And if you've got more of those fancy crystals, hand them over to the Pole here. Nice and slow. Or I swear I'll put a bullet in you right now."

The man tilted his head, an eyebrow arching as he replied with dry sarcasm, "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Ask the well-dressed man to give up all the explosive dust crystals to some teenage kids with afew screws loose." He grumbled as he looked at Alan.

Semyon, unfazed, simply shrugged, his cold blue eyes narrowing. "I'm willing to take my chances."

"Oh of courseyouare," Alan growled, throwing up his hands in exasperation as he turned to glare at the Russian. "Because it's always someone else taking the risk, right?"

"Motherfucker,we're both in the red!" Semyon shot back, his voice low and cutting.

Alan whipped his head around to face him fully now, the frustration boiling over. "I'm not dying before you!"

"The blast will kill us both at the same time!" Semyon barked, his composure slipping as he gestured wildly. "What the fuck do you even mean by that!?"

"You'll survive a fewmillisecondsafter me!" Alan retorted, his tone laced with defiance, as if those brief moments actually mattered.

The man, caught in the middle of their bickering, blinked slowly and let out a weary sigh. "You two realize I'mstill here, right?"

Both teens immediately snapped their attention back to him, their weapons tightening on target in perfect synchronization.

"Shut up," they growled in unison, momentarily united in their disdain for him.

However, before the argument could escalate further, a distant, high-pitched whine cut through the air. The sound tugged at their attention like an alarm, snapping them out of their bickering. Guns still trained on the man in the bowler hat, the two teens scanned their surroundings, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.

They didn't have to look long.

With a sudden rush of displaced air, a bullhead rose into view from behind the rooftops, its engines roaring to life as the whine reached a deafening crescendo. The downdraft whipped their clothes into a frenzy, forcing them to shield their eyes against the swirling dust while struggling to keep their balance.

"Heh," the man chuckled, casually tipping his hat with a smug grin. "Well, looks like my ride's here, boys! Toodles!"

Without missing a beat, he kicked his cane into the air, catching it mid-flight before turning toward the bullhead. As its doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, two henchmen appeared, ready to assist. The man leapt effortlessly toward the aircraft, his landing perfectly timed as the henchmen grabbed him and hauled him aboard.

He paused at the doorway, casting a mocking glance down at the pinned teens. "Be a good pair and stay out of trouble, yeah? Oh, and—take care of these pests!"

The henchmen nodded silently as the man disappeared into the cockpit. Almost immediately, they pulled out sleek, unfamiliar SMGs. Followed by a rapid barrage of dust-fueled bullets rained down, sparking against the rooftop and forcing Alan and Semyon to dive for cover.

"Hey!" Semyon barked, leaning out briefly from his cover to glare at Alan. "Great job letting him escape чёртов идиот!"

"Oh, shut the hell up!" Alan snapped back, his frustration boiling over as he stood and fired off three shots in rapid succession. The rounds struck the side of the bullhead with audible thunks, leaving a few small dents but causing no real damage.

"Are you kidding me?!" Alan growled, ducking back behind cover just as a fresh volley of bullets ripped through the air, kicking up shards of concrete where he'd been standing. "Kurwa mać! This piece of crap's broken!" He slammed the butt of his pistol against the rooftop floor in frustration, his anger boiling over.

When he looked up, he noticed Semyon staring at him with an unimpressed expression. "What?!" Alan demanded, exasperation clear in his tone.

"You're achild," Semyon replied coolly, shaking his head. "A whiny, overgrown man-child." He straightened up, popping out from cover with a steady hand. "And a lazy shot," he added before raising his pistol and letting off a shot.

Time seemed to slow as the bullet sliced through the air, striking its mark dead center in one of the crook's chest. The impact sent him stumbling backward, his aura flickering violently before nearly depleting entirely. He hit the floor hard, the wind knocked out of him as pain radiated through his body. Gasping for air, he clutched at his chest, momentarily paralyzed by the force of the shot.

"Hans!" his partner shouted, his voice cracking with panic and fury. His gaze darted between his downed comrade and the shooter, Semyon, who was already taking cover. Rage overtook him. "You bastard!" he bellowed, spraying a wild volley of dust rounds in Semyon's direction.

The air was filled with the whine and crackle of bullets ricocheting off the rooftop, forcing Semyon to duck lower as the onslaught bore down on him. The crook continued firing, his voice rising in a frenzied yell. "Get some! Get some, you fu—!"

The sentence was cut short as two sharp cracks rang out. Alan, having taken advantage of the distraction, fired three well-placed shots with his pistol. The rounds slammed into the raging thug's chest with precision, bypassing his erratic aim. His aura shattered instantly under the dual impact, leaving him to crumple onto the bullhead floor, unconscious before he could even process the hit.

"So, am I still a bad shot?" Alan quipped with a smug grin as he glanced at Semyon, who only responded with an unimpressed huff.

But before Semyon could fire back another retort, a slow clap echoed across the rooftop. "Bravo, boys. Really, justchef's kiss," a familiar, sardonic voice drawled. Both of them snapped to attention, their eyes locking onto the man in the bowler hat as he strolled out of the cockpit with his usual smug flair, twirling his cane like it was all part of the show.

"But, alas," Torchwick continued with a dramatic sigh, spreading his arms wide, "as much as I'dloveto stay and trade more barbs, this is where our little tête-à-tête comes to an end." His grin grew wider as he produced another glowing red Dust crystal from his coat. "And what better way to say goodbye than with a bang?"

Great, he's French and has another one of those crystals.

With a swift, fluid motion, Torchwick reeled his arm back and hurled the Dust crystal with practiced precision, aiming to collapse the entire rooftop beneath the two teens.

The crystal arced through the air, a crimson streak glowing ominously against the night. It was just feet away from the bullhead when a sharp crack rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade. A shot zipped past from behind Alan and Semyon, intercepting the Dust crystal mid-flight.

The resulting explosion erupted in a fiery shockwave, sending both teens sprawling backward onto the rooftop with a pained grunt. The bullhead itself rocked violently, its engines whining as Torchwick clung desperately to the doorway to keep from being thrown out.

"What the–?!" he growled, his grip tightening as he steadied himself. Torchwick scanned the area furiously, his sharp eyes darting across the rooftop for the source of the interference. It didn't take long for his gaze to settle on her.

Standing just a dozen feet away, Ruby Rose lowered her scythe—now in rifle form—with a triumphant smirk. Her red cloak billowed in the wind as she tilted her head slightly, the moonlight glinting off her silver eyes.

Torchwick let out an exasperated groan, the sound of sheer irritation. "Oh, for crying out loud," he muttered, slamming his fist against the wall of the bullhead.

"Haha! Nice shot, lady! You're like a little personal CIWS!" David exclaimed with a wide grin, giving Ruby a pat on the back. She smiled softly at the compliment, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush, though she had no idea what he was talking about.

Ruby and David rushed forward to where Alan and Semyon were still catching their breath. David offered a hand, helping Alan to his feet while Ruby extended hers to Semyon.

"Sorry for the wait! Had to make sure she was okay!" David explained, gesturing toward Ruby with a sheepish grin.

"Well, it's about damn time you two showed up!" Semyon snapped, brushing off Ruby's hand and standing on his own. "What the hell took you so long?"

"Hey! Blunt-force trauma is no joke man!" David shot back, his expression twisting into a defensive glare.

Semyon sighed heavily, clearly unimpressed. "If I knew you'd be this slow, I would've stopped thatblessed idiotfrom handing you that book!" He gestured angrily, then turned to Ruby, giving her a quick up-and-down glance. "And who the hell is Little Red Riding Hood?"

"Can wepleasefocus on the guy with the grenade launcher cane and the explosive crystal arsenal?" Alan interjected, his frustration cutting through the banter as the teens fell into formation: Ruby at the front, Crescent Rose gleaming in the moonlight, while Semyon, Alan, and David leveled their sidearms, their expressions hardened.

Inside the bullhead, the man growled under his breath as he peered at the unfolding chaos below. With a frustrated sigh, he turned and stormed into the cockpit, shoving the door open to reveal a woman piloting the aircraft. She was clad in an elaborate orange-and-red dress, her pale complexion glowing faintly under the cockpit lights.

"Hey! We've got company!" He barked, jerking a thumb toward the rear of the bullhead.

The woman shot him a sharp glance but said nothing as she picked herself up from the pilot's seat. Without hesitation, she strode toward the back, her glass-like heels clicking rhythmically against the metal floor. Meanwhile, the man wasted no time sliding into the now-vacant seat, muttering something about "always doing all the work" as he took control of the bullhead.

Meanwhile, the clinking of heels grew louder, then abruptly stopped. Down below, the teens froze as the woman came into view, standing at the edge of the open bullhead door. Her fiery orange eyes locked onto them with a predatory gleam, her expression one of cold disdain.

"Who...?" Ruby muttered, tightening her grip on Crescent Rose.

The woman raised her hands slowly, the faint glow of flames beginning to flicker at her fingertips. The flames danced and coiled like living serpents, growing in intensity with every passing second.

"Uhhh, American!?" Alan shouted, his voice betraying a mix of panic and confusion as he glanced over at David. "Where in the book did it say these people coulduse magic!?"

"Doesn't fucking matter!" Semyon shouted in response, "Light her up!"

The four teens unleashed a coordinated volley of firepower, a mix of Dust rounds and conventional bullets streaking through the air toward the bullhead. Sparks and flashes lit up the rooftop as the projectiles connected—or so it seemed. The woman didn't flinch. Instead, she raised her hand, swiping through the air with casual precision. Flames swirled around her, forming a shimmering shield that deflected most of the incoming fire. The bullets that didn't ricochet off simply disintegrated on contact with her fiery barrier.

"Uh, guys? I don't think that's supposed to happen," Alan muttered, lowering his pistol slightly as the realization dawned.

The woman tilted her head, her fiery orange eyes narrowing slightly. Was it annoyance, amusement, or disdain? Maybe all three. Without a word, she summoned twin fireballs in her palms, the flames roaring to life with an almost predatory hiss.

"Oh fuck– Scatter!" David barked, but it was already too late.

With a flick of her wrists, she hurled the blazing orbs toward the teens. Acting on instinct, Ruby and Semyon dove toward their respective teammates—Ruby grabbing David and Semyon tackling Alan.

The fireballs slammed into the rooftop where they had stood just moments ago, detonating in a deafening roar. A wave of scorching heat surged outward, igniting debris and leaving molten scorch marks across the roof surface. The flames licked dangerously close to where the teens now crouched behind cover, forcing them to shield their faces from the searing heat.

"What kind of bullshit is this? First magic, now personal force fields that stop bullets? What's next, giant robots!?" Alan shouted, his frustration boiling over as he ducked behind cover.

"I-I mean, maybe it's her aura-thingy," David offered hesitantly, fumbling to reload his pistol. "You know, like, strong enough to stop our bullets?"

Alan and Semyon both whipped their heads toward him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and irritation.

"You think you could've told us that sooner!?" Alan snapped, his voice rising with incredulity.

"I—well—" David started, but his defense was cut short as Semyon and Alan, clearly fed up with the situation, sprang to their feet and opened fire again.

Rounds flew wildly toward the fiery woman, ricocheting harmlessly off her flaming barrier. The air filled with the sharp cracks of gunfire and the hiss of flames deflecting the onslaught. Even though their bullets were doing little more than making her raise her arms to block, Semyon and Alan kept firing with grim determination.

Ruby, meanwhile, helped David to his feet, brushing some soot off his jacket.

"S-So sorry about that tackle earlier!" she said sheepishly as she continued to dust them off "I-I just didn't want you to get roasted."

"It's fine, r-really," David assured her, still a bit shaken. "I prefer not being roasted too anyways. Really ruins the suit."

Ruby gave them an uncertain chuckle before turning back at the fight. Without another word, Ruby shifted Crescent Rose into rifle form once more and took aim, joining the others in the fray. The combined firepower now forced the woman to use both hands to maintain her fiery defense, the shimmering flames flaring brighter with each impact.

"S-Seems like it has an effect." David mumbled as he reloaded another magazine.

The woman's fiery eyes flared ominously as she raised her hands, unleashing a torrent of flames at the four teens. Each blast of fire roared through the air, forcing them to dive back into cover. The searing heat licked at the edges of their barricades, the rooftop quickly becoming a blazing inferno.

"You know what? I'mreallystarting to hate this world!" Alan shouted, his voice barely audible over the crackling of flames and the deafening roar of fire impacting the rooftop around them.

"Oh, really!?" Semyon shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he slammed a fresh magazine into his sidearm. "And what gave it away, genius?

"Take your pick!" Alan snapped, pressing himself lower against his cover as another burst of flames scorched the air above his head.

But suddenly, she stopped.

Confused by the sudden stillness, all four of them cautiously peeked out from their cover, only for their eyes to catch a faint, ominous orange glow spreading across the rooftop. The light pulsated, growing brighter with each passing second.

Their eyes widened in collective horror as realization hit them like a freight train.

"Oh, son of a bit—" Alan managed to get out, while the others barely had time to form a thought.

Ruby, ever the polite one, simply gasped.

Before any of them could react, the rooftop erupted in a chain of deafening explosions! Fire and debris consumed the area, and the teens disappeared into the inferno as the shockwave blasted outward. The sheer force sent plumes of smoke and shrapnel into the air, obliterating everything in its wake.

For a moment, it looked like it was over. The woman lowered her hands, her smirk widening as she surveyed the charred remains of the rooftop. Dust and flames danced in the air, a testament to her deadly precision. She straightened her posture and began to turn away, satisfied.

But something nagged at her. She paused mid-step, glancing back over her shoulder. Her smirk faltered slightly. Amid the flickering flames and swirling smoke, a faint silhouette began to emerge.

Her eyes narrowed. No way. They couldn't possibly have survived that... right?

As the smoke began to clear, it unveiled an extraordinary sight. The four teens stood completely unharmed, enveloped in a shimmering, translucent purple barrier. The forcefield flickered and pulsed with an ethereal energy, clearly not of their own doing.

None of them had been prepared for survival. Alan and Semyon were huddled together, gripping each other in sheer panic, while David crouched low with his hands over his head. Ruby, in contrast, had her scythe held tightly, poised to shield them even though she'd been just as resigned to the worst.

Slowly, they began to realize they were still breathing. The tension in their shoulders eased, and wide eyes turned toward the strange barrier surrounding them. Then, as if on cue, the forcefield shimmered one last time before dissolving into a cascade of fading light.

A sharp, rhythmic sound echoed through the rooftop—click, click, click.

They all turned toward the sound, their heads snapping in unison. Out of the lingering smoke emerged a familiar figure, her presence commanding and deliberate. Professor Glynda Goodwitch strode forward with her iconic riding crop in hand, the sharp clicks of her heels punctuating the tension in the air. Her piercing gaze locked onto the woman standing in the bullhead, disdain etched into her every feature.

"Are you four hurt?" Glynda asked, her voice steady but firm, her eyes never leaving the fiery-eyed woman above.

The teens exchanged glances, still shaken. Alan raised a shaky thumb, while David let out a weak, "We're good." Ruby nodded quickly, her cheeks a little flushed as she tightened her grip on Crescent Rose.

Sadly, reunions would have to wait as the fiery-eyed woman on the bullhead didn't waste a second. With a swift motion, she raised her hands and hurled another volley of flames toward the group. Glynda, ever composed, flicked her riding crop with precision, summoning a translucent purple barrier around all five of them. The flames struck the shield and ricocheted off in dazzling arcs, harmlessly dissipating into the surrounding rooftop.

But the woman wasn't finished. She lifted one hand high, and the spots where her flames had landed earlier began to glow with an ominous intensity.

"Scatter!" Glynda commanded, her voice sharp as the teens dove in all directions. The rooftop erupted in fire, scorching the air with searing heat. The three teens barely rolled clear of the explosion, while Ruby darted with inhuman speed, her Crescent Rose shifting seamlessly from scythe to rifle as she slid into cover.

Glynda's gaze narrowed. With a single, fluid motion, counterattacked. Her riding crop glowed brilliantly as shards of violet energy materialized in the air, condensing into a raging storm above the bullhead. Razor-sharp crystal shards rained down like hail, hammering the aircraft with relentless precision.

The bullhead lurched under the assault, angling its top to absorb the brunt of the barrage. Shards pierced the cockpit, forcing the man inside to duck as glass and metal exploded around him. The craft wobbled dangerously, rocking the fiery-eyed woman off balance.

Seeing this, the teens responded instantly. Ruby unleashed a flurry of dust rounds from Crescent Rose, precise and rhythmic. Semyon and Alan fired in controlled bursts, their combined gunfire peppering the woman while David fired wildly.

Glynda raised her riding crop once more, summoning an awe-inspiring construct of icy tendrils. They twisted and writhed like a great Kraken, stretching toward the bullhead with chilling intent. The teens paused for a moment, watching in awe as the crystalline appendages wrapped around the aircraft, ice cracking and groaning under the strain as they began to pull it downward.

The woman in the bullhead, however, wasn't done. Regaining her footing, she thrust her hands outward, summoning a circle of fiery glyphs that ignited in a radiant orange glow. And with one swift motion, she unleashed a fiery shockwave that rippled outward, disintegrating the icy tendrils into a cloud of ash.

The bullhead jolted violently as it was finally freed before turning sharply. The woman gave one last defiant glance down at the rooftop, her fiery eyes meeting Glynda's cool, piercing gaze, before the aircraft began to ascend.

"Damn it! They're getting away!" Ruby shouted, firing off more rounds from Crescent Rose. Each shot ricocheted uselessly against the strange woman, who swatted them aside like bothersome flies.

"Oh no, they don't!" Alan growled, reaching into his pocket. His face lit up with a mischievous grin as he pulled out an M67 fragmentation grenade.

The reaction was instant. Semyon and David's eyes widened in abject horror, while Ruby tilted her head in confusion, completely oblivious to what Alan was holding.

"Alan!" David shouted, his voice climbing an octave. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?"

"Oh, relax!" Alan said with a wild glint in his eye, casually pulling the pin with practiced ease. "Ms. Witch over here will put up one of her fancy shields, and everything will be fine!"

"NO!" David and Semyon cried out as they lunged at him. But it was too late. With a manic grin, he yanked off the safety clip and chucked the grenade with impressive force toward the bullhead. Just as the two crashed onto him, dog piling on top of the crazy Pole, the grenade flew through the air and toward the bullhead at impressive speeds for a grenade.

Reacting swiftly, Glynda snapped her riding crop, conjuring a shimmering purple barrier between the teens and the grenade as it sailed through the air. The fiery-eyed woman on the bullhead caught sight of the strange object, her instincts screaming that it was trouble. Deciding not to take any chances, she summoned another series of glowing glyphs, forming a sturdy shield in front of her.

It turned out to be her smartest decision in a while.

The M67 grenade detonated midair with a thunderous crack, a flash of light, and an ear-splitting boom. The explosion unleashed a shockwave that rocked the rooftop and sent a deadly storm of shrapnel flying in all directions. Glynda's barrier absorbed the brunt of the blast near the teens, but the bullhead wasn't so lucky.

The woman's glyph shield held firm initially, but the sheer force of the explosion sent her hurtling backward like a ragdoll. She slammed into the rear wall of the bullhead, her head snapping back against the metal with a painfulclang. Dazed and groaning, she slumped to the floor.

The shrapnel tore through parts of the bullhead's exterior like a buzz saw, leaving a jagged patchwork of holes in its hull. The most critical damage, however, was to the engine. Several shards had punctured vital components, ripping through wiring and fuel lines. The engine sputtered and coughed violently before belching thick black smoke, its whine growing into a high-pitched screech.

"DAMN IT ALL!" the man in the cockpit yelled, his knuckles white as he wrestled with the controls. The bullhead bucked and lurched as he fought to keep it steady, narrowly avoiding a crash into a nearby skyscraper.

The woman, nursing her head as she staggered to her feet, winced at the throbbing pain in her temples. She glanced down at herself, noting with growing irritation that her aura had completely shattered. Bruises mottled her skin where the force of the explosion had struck through her defenses, and her once-pristine dress was scorched and torn in several places.

Her fiery eyes narrowed, flickering like embers struggling against the wind, but she said nothing. Limping slightly, she braced herself against the interior wall as the bullhead began to pull away.

On the rooftop, the teens and Glynda could only watch as the damaged bullhead tilted and climbed shakily into the sky, trailing a thick column of smoke.

"Damn it!" Alan grumbled, squirming under the weight of David and Semyon as they continued to pin him down. "You messed up my throw—"

"Shut it, ты грязная крыса!" Semyon barked, cutting him off with a firm smack to the back of his head. "If it weren't for Глин-стерва over here, we'd all be shredded to bits by now! You're lucky she even bothered to share her shield with us!"

Alan scowled, rubbing the spot where Semyon had struck him. "At least I wastryingto stop them!" he shot back indignantly. "You two were just spraying bullets, even though it was obvious they weren't doing a damn thing!"

"Почему ты, маленький!"

"Ahem!"

The quarreling stopped instantly as Semyon and Alan turned their heads to see Glynda looming over them, her piercing gaze practically burning holes into their souls. Her stern, no-nonsense expression was tempered only slightly by her professionalism, but the frustration radiating off her was impossible to ignore.

Realizing just how deep in trouble they were, all three teens scrambled to their feet, brushing themselves off awkwardly. Glynda folded her arms and let out a long, weary sigh, clearly deciding whether to reprimand them now or save it for later.

"We'll discuss your behavior later," she said, her voice sharp yet measured, as if holding back the full force of her irritation. The sound of approaching sirens punctuated her words. Glynda glanced toward the edge of the roof, her attention briefly drawn to the flashing red and blue lights beginning to reflect off nearby buildings. "For now, Ozpin has arranged for transportation. You three will accompany me to the nearest police station, where you'll stay out of sight, avoid causinganyfurther scenes, and wait patiently while we work on resolving this...situation."

She fixed them with a final warning glare before turning her attention to Ruby, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the exchange. Glynda's expression softened slightly, though there was still a flicker of exasperation as she noticed Ruby's wide-eyed stare.

Ruby, utterly enraptured, gazed at Glynda with an adoring gleam in her eyes, as if the professor were some legendary warrior straight out of a fairytale. The intensity of Ruby's admiration was palpable, drawing confused looks from the other three teens, who exchanged glances but wisely kept quiet.

"...May I help you, young la—?" Glynda began, only to be cut off by Ruby's sudden squeal of excitement.

"Can I get your autograph!?" Ruby blurted out, practically bouncing in place as she produced a piece of paper and a pen out of nowhere.

Tonight was going to be a long one.

---

Vale, Sanus, Remnant. Vale Police Department

2048-10-5 (US Military Calendar)

10:36 P.M. C.V.T

About two hours after the robbery

---

Ruby just wanted an autograph.

No, seriously—she did.

Tonight had been like a dream come true: taking down bad guys, meeting a Huntress, and thenfighting bad guys alongside a Huntress.How many people her age could say that? And to top it off, the store owner even let her keep the magazine for free after the chaos settled.

But the night hadn't gone exactly as she'd hoped.

Instead of heading home, ready to bask in some sort of praise from her dad for helping out, Ruby found herself stuck in a dimly lit interrogation room. The single overhead light cast an unflattering glare, illuminating her and the three teens from earlier, who sat around the small table looking equally uncomfortable.

And then there washer.

Glynda Goodwitch paced in front of them like a predator sizing up its prey, her heels clicking sharply against the cold floor. Her icy glare could have frozen fire, and the weight of her words hit harder than any scolding Ruby had ever received.

"I hope you understand that your actions tonight will not be taken lightly," Glynda said, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she paced back and forth. Her stern voice carried the weight of authority, each word hitting like a cold gust of wind. "You put yourself—and others—ingreatdanger. Danger that could have led to you being seriously injured or worse."

Ruby flinched slightly but quickly sat up straighter. "I-It's not my fault! They started it!"

Glynda paused mid-step and turned to give Ruby a pointed look, her raised brow silencing any further protest. Then, without a word, she shifted her gaze to the three boys, her expression somehow growing even frostier.

Ruby swallowed hard. Maybe Glynda wasn't even talking to her.

"Well," Glynda began, flipping open her scroll as she resumed pacing. "If it were entirely up to me, young lady," she said, glancing at Ruby, "I'd send you home with a pat on the back."

Ruby perked up, a small, hopeful smile crossing her face.

"... And a slap on the wrist," Glynda finished coldly.

Before Ruby could react, Glynda snapped her riding crop onto the desk with a sharpcrack. The sound echoed in the room like a thunderclap, and all four of them instinctively recoiled. Ruby yelped softly, while the boys either flinched or threw up their hands defensively, clearly haunted by memories of belt-related childhood punishments.

"Alright, alright, we get it." Semyon said, jumped off the wall as he took a step forward. "But why amIhere? I followed your instructionsto the letterand tried to keephim—" he jabbed a finger at Alan, who rolled his eyes—"from pulling any stupid shit. Hell, I told him not to go in there in the first place!"

Alan crossed his arms, scowling. "Snitch."

"Enough," Glynda said firmly, silencing the exchange with a single glare. "You'll understand your involvement soon enough," she said, turning her attention back to Ruby. Her tone softened ever so slightly. "For now, there's someone who would like to meet you."

Ruby blinked, confused but intrigued. "M-Meet me? Who?"

Glynda didn't answer immediately. Instead, she walked over to the door, her commanding presence leaving an uneasy silence in her wake. She gestured to someone outside.

As Professor Goodwitch stepped aside, a figure emerged from the shadows, illuminated only as he stepped into the circle of light. Ozpin, carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of cookies, approached the desk with an air of calm authority. His sudden appearance, however, only served to unnerve the three teens, who exchanged wary glances as he set the plate down in front of Ruby.

"Ruby Rose," he began, his voice steady and measured. He leaned slightly over the desk, studying her intently. "You have... silver eyes."

The statement hung in the air, confusing everyone except Glynda, who remained composed.

Alan leaned toward Semyon and whispered just loud enough to be heard, "Great. He's a pedophile. Knew it. No wonder he wanted us to stay."

"Could you, for the love of God,shut up? Just this once?" David hissed, his exasperation clear as he jabbed an elbow into Alan's ribs.

Unfortunately, David's attempt at whispering wasn't as subtle as he thought. Both Glynda and Ozpin turned their attention to the trio, the former giving them a withering glare while the latter offered a faint, bemused smile.

"Ms. Goodwitch," Ozpin said, his tone calm but firm, "would you kindly escort these three gentlemen out for a moment? I'd like to have a private word with Ms. Rose before addressing their... contributions to tonight's events."

"With pleasure," Glynda replied, her eyes narrowing as she set her scroll down on the desk. She motioned for the boys to follow her, and though hesitant, they rose and shuffled out of the room, Alan grumbling under his breath.

Once the door clicked shut, leaving only Ozpin and Ruby in the room, the headmaster turned his attention fully to the young girl. He seated himself across from her, his expression soft but curious as he slid the plate of cookies closer to her.

"Now, Ms. Rose," he began, folding his hands neatly on the desk. "Do you mind telling me how someone your age is capable of wielding one of the most dangerous weapons on Remnant."

...

"Just what in Oum's name were youthreethinking?!" Glynda's voice rang out, sharp and furious, as the three teens stood before her, each reacting differently. Semyon crossed his arms defiantly, David looked away with visible shame, and Alan simply stared at the floor, trying to suppress a smirk.

"Did it even cross your minds what could have happened? Engaging those men could have gotten you hurt, captured, or killed! You put yourselves—and everyone around you—in unimaginable danger!" Glynda's glare swept over them, her voice rising with each accusation.

"And what the hell were we supposed to do?" Semyon shot back, his voice laced with irritation as he locked eyes with her. "Let them rob us blind, steal our gear, and waltz off like it was nothing? Yeah,greatplan. Oh! Maybe we should've also handed them a map and said, 'Hey, here's the rest of our stuff, and oh, by the way—'"

"Are you trying to get us exposed?!" David hissed, lunging forward to slap a hand over Semyon's mouth.

Semyon didn't flinch. In a fluid motion, he grabbed David's wrist, prying his hand away with almost unnerving ease. He cast a cold, sidelong glance at the medic and shook his head firmly.

David swallowed nervously, pulling his hand back and rubbing his wrist. "I was just saying... freedom of speech exists, right? S-So, uh... yeah," he mumbled, avoiding Glynda's piercing gaze.

Semyon turned his attention back to Glynda. "We didn't have a choice. Those bastards weren't just going to rob us and walk away. They'd have killed us the moment we handed over our gear." His tone was grim, almost matter-of-fact, as he stared Glynda down.

"You didn't know that." Glynda's tone was sharp, cutting through the tension in the room.

"And you do?" Semyon shot back, stepping forward without hesitation, his voice rising. "I know when someone wants to kill you, lady.We all do.And when it's us or them, we have to make a decision right there, right then."

"You could have tried to disarm them," Glynda countered, her arms crossing tightly against her chest. "Not send nearly a quarter of them to the hospital."

Semyon scoffed, shaking his head. "Trust me when I say, that was thebestoption we had in the moment, and we took it."

Glynda arched an eyebrow, her stern expression unwavering. "So, stabbing them within an inch of their lives was thebestoption you could come up with on the spot?"

"It was either that orourlives!" Semyon snapped, his frustration bubbling over. "I wasn't about to risk getting killed just to place nice!"

"That still doesn't excuse–"

"I—If I may, ma'am," David suddenly interjected, his voice a little shaky as he glanced between Glynda and Semyon. "When he was... um... engaging them," he carefully chose his words, visibly uncomfortable, "he did his best to avoid anything critical. Mostly stabbed them in areas where it's, uh... primarily tissue."

Glynda raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "The pools of blood would suggest otherwise."

David scratched the back of his neck, looking flustered but determined. "E-Everyone always says that," he muttered with a hint of exasperation. "But trust me, ma'am, in all my time as a medic, those wounds werefarfrom the worst I've seen. Honestly, they were... manageable."

Alan smirked and leaned in, clearly enjoying himself. "Didn't you say you've only been a medic for, like, a year? Since you got drafted at the tail end of the—" he winked dramatically, "you know."

David's face flushed as he whirled to glare at Alan. "S-So what? Istillhave experience! It still counts!" he snapped defensively before quickly straightening up under Glynda's unrelenting stare.

"Are you sure those stab wounds were non-lethal?" she asked again, her tone skeptical but measured.

David swallowed hard and nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose as he spoke more firmly. "Y-Yes, ma'am. There will be some significant blood loss, sure, but with the right medical supplies and competent care, they should make a full recovery in a few weeks. G-Give or take a few days, depending on their constitution."

Glynda frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. David's nervousness was apparent, but there was a genuine conviction in his tone that suggested he knew what he was talking about. She stayed silent for a moment, weighing his words carefully before finally opening her mouth to speak.

Suddenly, the door to the interrogation room creaked open, drawing everyone's attention. Ruby Rose emerged, practically glowing with excitement, her eyes still fixed on the headmaster as she waved him an enthusiastic goodbye. So lost in her blissful daze, she didn't notice David standing directly in her path until it was far too late. The two collided with an audiblethud,sending pained groans and limbs flying out as they crumpled onto the floor harder than when the Twin Tow–

"Doh!" Ruby yelped as their heads collided, both freezing for a moment before their eyes widened in embarrassment. In an instant, they began hurling apologies at each other in a frantic, overlapping chorus.

"I-I'm so sorry! I didn't see–"

"No! No! It's my fault! I-I should have been more careful–"

"I was standing right in front of the door! I should've expected someone to come ou–"

"But I wasn't looking ahead! I was too busy saying goodbye to the headmaster—N-not that I wasn't grateful for meeting him! J-just to be clear!" Ruby added hastily, glancing nervously at Glynda.

The professor pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out an exasperated sigh as she watched the two stumble over their words in what could only be described as an escalating apology duel.

"How about you both take responsibility and move on with your day," Glynda interjected sharply, her tone leaving no room for debate. She adjusted her glasses, fixing Ruby with a pointed look. "As for you, Miss Rose, your belongings are waiting for you at the front office. Follow the officer's instructions, and you'll be on your way."

Ruby nodded quickly, her head bobbing like an eager puppy. She turned to the three teens, offering a nervous smile and an awkward little wave. "W-Well, see you guys at Beacon! I-I hope we can be friends when school starts!" Her voice was cheery but tinged with uncertainty, her silver eyes darting between them as if gauging their reactions.

Before any of them could reply, Ruby was off, her cape fluttering behind her as she dashed down the hall. Her footsteps echoed briefly before she disappeared around the corner, leaving David, Alan, and Semyon standing in silence, staring after her.

"W-Wait, she's a student?" David stammered, his face turning crimson as the realization hit him. The thought that his first impression on a Beacon student involved a full-speed collision made him cringe. "Oh great, just perfect! T-This is exactly what I wanted to avoid by joining up! Now I've gotta relive this crap in a whole new world!"

Alan snorted, leaning against the wall with a smirk. "So you'd rather get shot at in some far-off warzone than talk face-to-face with a girl?"

"H-Hey! Girls are scary, alright?" David shot back, his voice climbing an octave. "We had this one Korean girl back in training who kept giving this guy these weird, intense looks. Turns out she was collecting his—uh, his—stuff! Like, socks, t-shirts... y'know, personal shit!"

Alan raised an eyebrow, fighting back laughter. "Sounds like someone had a secret admirer."

"Secret psycho, more like!" David groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm telling you, girls are terrifying–"

"Ahem!" Glynda cleared her throat sharply, cutting through their banter. She motioned toward the door with a stern look. "Inside. Now."

The three teens exchanged reluctant glances but grabbed their belongings and trudged forward, stepping into the room. Glynda followed, shutting the door behind them with a decisive click.

"Ah, gentlemen!" Ozpin greeted warmly, his gaze fixed on a recording playing on his scroll as he sipped from his ever-present mug. "Please, come in. Take a seat."

Hesitating for a moment, the three exchanged wary glances before pulling up chairs and sitting down, backs stiff with unease. Their eyes darted between the headmaster and the glowing screen as they waited for whatever this was to begin.

"No need to look so tense, boys. Or perhaps I should say, 'at ease,' if that's a phrase you're familiar with," Ozpin quipped, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

The three teens didn't so much as crack a grin, their expressions remaining as stiff as their posture. The headmaster's smile faltered slightly, and he cleared his throat, internally noting the joke might have missed its mark.

They did get it, they were just cringing on the inside like how a Gen-Z child would cringe when someone over forty would use the term skibidi.

It's so fucking dumb, please stop, the brain rot is turning us back to apes.

"If this is about me using grenade," Alan said quickly, his words tumbling over each other in his haste, "just let you know, I didn't even know I had it, okay?" He waved his hands slightly, as though dismissing the possibility of further blame.

Ozpin raised a calming hand. "Trust me, there'll be time to discuss that later." His tone was patient as he scrolled through his device, clearly searching for something. "But for now, there's a different matter I've been meaning to ask you three about."

"I swear, if this is about me stabbing few of them," Semyon interjected, his words clipped and direct. "Let me say now—."

"It's not about that either, don't worry," Ozpin reassured, stopping his search as he found what he was looking for. He tapped on the screen and handed the scroll to Semyon. Who shared it to the other two, begrudgingly.

On the scroll, they saw various footage of them fighting. From inside and outside of the dust store, to a distant camera from a local pawnshop catching a few glimpses of the fight on the rooftops. However, what caught their eye was the emphasis on things such as Semyon pulling a horror movie move on the crooks, Alan trying to be some sort of Dollar Store John Wick, and David (trying) to take down one of them in a (Not so graceful) 1v1.

"W-What is all of this?" David asked, a little confused as Ozpin sighed.

Ozpin let out a soft sigh before meeting his gaze. "Tell me, Mr. David, what do you already know about Aura?"

"Umm, w-well," David began hesitantly, nervously fidgeting with the frame of his glasses. "It's... uh, it's like the life force of your people, right? At least, that's what I've gathered. Kind of similar to... um, chi or qi from Ancient Chinese traditions, or maybe even mana from mythology? B-But here, it's not just about energy or meditation; it's more practical. Like... a protective field that shields you from harm. S-So, like a biological force field, if that makes sense?"

"Close enough, I suppose," Ozpin replied with a faint smile, glancing at his now-empty coffee cup. "I see you've been doing your research."

David nodded.

"So tell me, what do you see in those videos?"

David glanced at the headmaster, confusion etched across his face, before looking back at the footage. He leaned closer, studying the video with care. At first, he wasn't sure what to focus on, but then one clip caught his attention: Alan efficiently taking down a group of crooks with his sidearm. Each shot was precise, and the targets collapsed quickly, incapacitated.

"O-Our weapons are a little bit... stronger than yours?" David ventured hesitantly, still piecing together the implications.

"That depends on how you define 'a little bit,'" Glynda interjected, her voice sharp as she stepped into the conversation. "Your weapons, while smaller, less refined, and lacking our integration of Dust technology, possess far greater firepower compared to their Remnant counterparts."

The three teens exchanged bewildered glances.

"Y-You're joking, right?" Alan stammered, not entirely surprised by the revelation but thrown off by how they described their weapons.

"I'm afraid not," Ozpin said, his tone measured as he gestured toward the scroll. "If your 'secondary' weapons can output this level of power and drain Aura so quickly, it raises a rather pressing question: just how powerful are your 'primary' weapons?"

"Unless you're using some sort of specialized Dust round," Glynda suggested, folding her arms, "designed to strike with extreme force—"

"We're not," Semyon interrupted curtly, drawing their attention. "The weapons we're using don't rely on Dust. Mine and Alan's pistols fire standard 9x19mm Parabellum rounds. It's not even the most powerful ammunition used by our militaries, let alone on Earth." He let out a resigned sigh before adding, "The only one here with the most powerful sidearm would be... the American."

All eyes turned to David, who raised his hands in mock surrender. "I-I swear, it's just normal .45 ACP, okay? Nothing crazy!" He reached for his Colt M1911, carefully ejecting the magazine before pulling back the slide, causing a chambered round to pop out. With practiced ease, he caught the bullet midair and handed it over to Ozpin.

Ozpin turned the cartridge over in his hand, inspecting it with a faint hum. "Hmm... No markings, no unusual patterns... I don't see any indication of Dust being involved here," he remarked before passing the round to Glynda. "Are you certain—"

"It's anormalround, ты гребаный идиот," Semyon cut in, his tone tinged with exasperation. "We don't use Dust in our weapons. At all."

The blunt declaration seemed to freeze the room. Glynda and Ozpin exchanged wide-eyed looks before turning back to the round in Glynda's hands. She studied it, her disbelief evident as she held it up to the light.

"T-That's impossible," Glynda stammered. "Dust is integral to nearly every facet of combat, engineering, and even daily life. How could you not—"

"Ms. Goodwitch," Ozpin interrupted gently, raising a calming hand. "Steady yourself." He paused to take a deep breath, adjusting his glasses as his mind raced.

Alan leaned forward slightly, smirking. "What, you think everyone in the universe needs magic rocks to get things done? Hate to break it to you, lady, but we've been managing just fine without your fairy dust."

David hesitated before adding, "L-Like Alan said, no magic involved. I mean, Dust is amazing and all—what we've seen of it—but back home, our world doesn't have anything like it. We had to... innovate."

Glynda frowned, still visibly struggling to process the revelation. "You're telling me your entire society functions without the most basic element of survival?"

"Survival's relative," Alan quipped. "Where we come from, you adapt or you die. Simple as that."

Ozpin's gaze lingered on the trio, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. He finally sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Fascinating..." He mumbled as he rubbed his chin for a bit.

After a moment of silence, Ozpin stood, breaking the tension. "In that case, it's been a long day, and I suspect you're all in need of rest. A bullhead is waiting on the roof to take you back to the academy. Follow the hallway, take a left, then a right. You'll see a staircase that leads directly to the roof."

The teens nodded, getting to their feet. Semyon gave a curt nod to Ozpin and Glynda before heading toward the door, with Alan and David following closely. Closing the door behind them, leaving the headmaster and professor alone as Glynda looked at Ozpin with a certain look.

I already know what you're going to say," Ozpin began, his voice calm but edged with weariness. He glanced at Glynda, who had crossed her arms, her expression stern.

"It's not what I'm going to say that you should be worried about, Oz," she retorted, her tone sharp. She let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head. "Weaponry that could surpass even what Atlas has? For Oum's sake, Ozpin, what if they—"

"Glynda, please," Ozpin interrupted, holding up a hand. "We both know they're not going to hurt anyone willingly—"

"And what if they hurt someoneunintentionally?" Glynda cut in, her voice rising. "You saw the recordings! One of them had an explosive device that even they didn't realize they were carrying and detonated it in an open environment! By Oum, we're fortunate it was already the evening. If that had happened during the daytime, we'd be dealing with casualty reports reminiscent of the first White Fang bombings."

Ozpin flinched at the comparison, the weight of her words hitting him hard. The memory of those disastrous reports from months ago surfaced unbidden, and he grimaced. "I understand your concern, Glynda. Truly, I do. But these boys... they're not the same as the threats we've faced before."

"That doesn't make them any less dangerous," Glynda replied, her tone softening but still firm. She placed her hands on her hips, her frown deepening. "You're betting a lot on three individuals who have already demonstrated just how unpredictable they can be. If they make even one mistake, it could cost lives."

Ozpin sighed, leaning back in his chair. "At least we've established a dialogue with them. They've been cooperative so far. We'll monitor them closely. And besides..." He offered a faint, almost sardonic smile. "At least it's nothimwe have to worry about setting off explosives in open areas anymore."

Glynda raised a brow, unimpressed. "Not funny, Ozpin."

"It wasn't meant to be," he replied solemnly. Picking up his scroll, he scrolled back through the footage, his expression pensive.

"Then maybe we should start treating them less like students and more likeunknowns," Glynda said pointedly. "Until we understand the full scope of what they're capable of, both intentionally and not, we need to proceed with... Extreme caution."

Ozpin nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "I'll admit, you have a point. We'll watch them closely for now, but still, we need to give them some space while they... Adjust to their situation. Last thing we need is for them to suspect us of ill intent.

Glynda let out another sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Fine. But I'm holding you responsible if this goes sideways, Oz."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Ozpin replied, his tone laced with the faintest hint of amusement. "How are we handling the fallout?" Ozpin asked, his tone calm but purposeful as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully.

"Surprisingly well," Glynda replied. She adjusted her glasses, her professional demeanor unwavering. "Those recordings on your scroll are the only ones left. We've managed to convince the shopkeeper to keep the identities of those three a secret, and the media narrative currently places all the blame squarely on the criminals for the damage."

"And the criminals themselves?"

"They're either under armed guard at the local hospital or detained right here," she answered briskly. With a flick of her hand, Glynda gestured toward Ozpin's scroll as a news article popped up. "A significant number of them are in the ICU in critical condition. However, it's expected that most will pull through."

"Good," Ozpin said, swiping through the article with an air of cautious relief. "The last thing we need is an overeager investigator digging into this incident and stumbling upon something they shouldn't." He picked up his mug absentmindedly, only to remember with a grimace that it was already empty.

"And if someonedoesdecide to dig deeper?" Glynda pressed, crossing her arms as she studied the headmaster closely.

"Well," Ozpin began, placing the mug down gently on its saucer. He took both items in hand and rose to his feet, his movements deliberate. "If they insist on digging a hole too deep for their own good..." He paused, his lips curling into a faint smile.

"We'll help them climb out."

---

Woohoo! Now that was one hell of a wild ride wasn't it!?

Firstly, we already have our dumbass protags already fighting their first human enemies, as well as meeting some very, very important people that they definitely won't fuck over in the near future.

Then, we got Glynda and Ozpin having to deal with their first mess concerning the three, as well as the surprise revelation that maybe trying to control a few glass cannons might not be a good idea due to how unhinged they are.

Thirdly, there's the problem concerning dust and aura vs gunpowder-based weaponry

You see, I had to do a little bit of research on dust weaponry and aura and how it'd do against what we have in our arsenal and in the 2042 arsenal, and I must say.

Dust guns are shit

Like, unironically, they are shit.

Don't get me wrong my fellow RWBY fans, I think they are cool as fuck, like 21st century guns combined with Star Wars.

However, the fact that their rounds aren't even subsonic makes me realize that maybe tasers would've been a good substitute compared that they have right now.

I mean c'mon, the Grimm are already black, just put some pepper spray in the air an [This joke has been removed due to remarks I can't say without it being considered hate speech]

I did some more research and compared it to another RWBY fanfic that's RWBY x C Generals. And the author of that book made me realize that I may have to buff Remnant's weaponry. Not too much where it's on par with ours, because that'd be way further from the truth. But to where it's a problem for our infantry forces and maybe our armored divisions as well.

Lastly, as much as I hate to say this, but I will be putting this story on a temporary hiatus.

Don't get me wrong, I love this book with all my heart, it was my first story ever. However, I noticed that my RvB fanfic really,reallyneeds some love. So I'll be focusing on that for the time being until I can properly get a schedule up and running for both this and my other stories.

Anyways, this is where I get off, so I thank you all for reading the ramblings of a vagrant behind QT, and I'll see you around.

Corpsmen Halo, out.