Chapter 31: Raging Robberies

Undisclosed Location, New Rushland.

Dozens of criminals had gathered in the empty warehouse, seeking new employment under the mysterious new criminal mastermind. They had all been promised big money if they were willing to work long hours. As they patiently waited, they finally saw a figure cloaked by the shadows step onto a makeshift stage in front of them. They couldn't see her face, but a few of them could swear she was muttering something to herself.

"It's not that I don't want Whitley to pay for what he did to us… it's just that in order to trust these guys, I need to know we have their respect."

"Fear. That's how we get their respect. Kill Whitley Schnee, string him up by his own intestine, and they'll fear us. Respect will follow shortly after."

"Still, we shouldn't rush things. We don't want to call any unwanted attention to ourselves. And this is our friend's city after all."

"Screw Svetlana! She knew something was wrong with us and tossed us aside! Why should we show her any more compassion?"

"No, you're wrong and besides, that isn't something that Ruby would want!"

"I won't deny having a soft spot for our sister figure, but do you really think she'd want that vile man to go unpunished?"

"That's not… I just…"

"Can't think…"

"Can't decide…"

"I… we… need to roll the dice."

The figure reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of purple dice. Blowing into her fist for luck, she rattled the dice in her fist before tossing them onto the stage floor. Once they stopped rolling, she stepped into the light, revealing the disfigured face of Jean Purple, alias Rage. The crowd gasped in surprise at her appearance, but wisely kept their opinions to themselves. Rage glanced down at the dice and smiled once she saw that they totaled up to an odd number.

"Welcome, gentlemen. And thank you for reaching out to me." Rage greeted the crowd as she knelt down to pick up the dice and fiddle with them in her hands. "Now, to match your collective IQ's the plan is simple; we're going to take a shot at Whitley Schnee. New Rushland's Serpent. If any of you wish to leave, go now. This'll be your only chance to back out. But those of you who stay will be handsomely rewarded."

A long, heavy silence lingered over the crowd. Once no one left, one criminal spoke up. "So, uh… what's the plan, boss?"

Rage fiddled with the purple dice in her palm. "Let's just say I'm gonna do to him what he did to me."

Maroon Apartment, New Rushland.

Boris had decided to take advantage of the fact that his mother was working a late shift and invited Cyan over to watch a movie. Instead, they ended up making out on the couch, forgetting about the movie entirely.

"I had a great time at that magic show." Cyan giggled.

"Me too. Sorry it turned out the way it did. I would've walked you home, but I wanted to make sure my mom wouldn't go overboard with Mr. Zircon." Boris lied, trying to cover up what he actually did after the show.

"That's okay. Svetlana decided to take me home, too." Cyan replied, also lying. She leaned in for another kiss, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Aw, crap." Boris muttered. "I'm sorry, babe. I forgot Valor was coming over tonight."

"Valor?" Cyan smiled. "That's great! I wanted to thank him for giving us those tickets!"

"Well… alright, just… whatever you do, don't stare at him." Boris warned.

"Why would I stare-?"

Cyan got her answer once Boris opened the door. Standing outside the apartment, was a young man around Boris' age wearing tan cargo pants and a black hoodie. But what really stood out about his appearance was the chrome mask that covered his entire face. A faint hissing noise and the red medical cross on the upper-left corner indicated that the mask was equipped with some sort of life-support device.

"Hey, Valor. This is my girlfriend." Boris introduced his friend to Cyan. "Sorry, I forgot you were coming over tonight."

"How do you do?" Valor greeted, extending his hand towards Cyan.

"Um, good," Cyan declared as she nervously accepted the hand shake. "So, uh…"

"You can go ahead and ask about the mask," Valor suddenly called out with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes that made it clear that he was torn between amusement and annoyance. "You wouldn't be the first to want to know and I doubt you'll be the last either."

"Oh thank the gods," Cyan remarked with a sigh of relief both at how Valor wasn't offended and that she would be able to satisfy her curiosity. "So what happened? Some sort of accident?"

"Something like that, yeah," Valor replied with a nod. "But don't worry: aside from some minor discomfort on occasion and a bit of necessary maintenance every now and then, I'm perfectly alright."

"That's good to hear." Cyan said with another sigh of relief before clearing her throat. "Anyways, like Boris was saying, I'm…"

"You're Cyan Robin of the world-famous Flying Robins." Valor interrupted. "Your picture was in the news on the night of the accident involving the loss of your parents. My condolences, by the way. You were also adopted by the city's benefactor, Svetlana Crimsonoff of Team CPPR. You are a robin faunus, obviously, recently turned fifteen years old based on the color and spread of the feathers on your head. Hm, you've also kept yourself in prime physical shape even though you are no longer actively living as an acrobat. Perhaps you have found a new calling?"

"Uuuuh… you might say that." Cyan was awestruck. "That's amazing. You can tell all that just by looking at me?"

"It comes with his territory." Boris explained with a chuckle. "Valor's really into all those conspiracies and detective work."

"Not 'conspiracies,' Maroon…" Valor corrected. "'Conspiracy.' Singular. Everything in the world - the people who run it, the people who lead it, the people who live in it - it's all connected."

"Yeah yeah: I've heard it all before," Boris remarked with an amused roll of his eyes.

"Anyways, not to seem rude, but what are you doing here, Valor?" Cyan couldn't help but ask.

Valor tilted his head back towards his classmate. "Is she… privy to your research?"

Boris sighed. "Yes."

With a nod, Valor reached into his hoodie and pulled out a flash drive and handed it towards Boris. "The password is 00111111."

"Thanks, man." Boris smiled as he pocketed the drive.

"As for my compensation?"

Boris made his way towards a corner of the living room and pulled up a loose floorboard. Inside a hidden compartment was a roll of old newspaper held together with a rubber band. He handed it to the masked conspiracy theorist who graciously tucked it into the same hoodie pocket.

"Wait, you're still buying snuff movies?" Cyan frowned.

Boris frowned back at her. "Until I can find out who killed my dad, yes."

Valor watched as the couple glared at each other before clearing his throat. "You know, I've never really shown any interest in romantic relationships or the complex emotions that such relationships require. In fact, many of the relationships I interact with often make me uncomfortable to the point that when they start fighting I'm unable to provide any useful advice to defuse the situation… so I'm going to leave."

Once Valor was gone, Boris fumed in frustration. "Oh, great, you made him leave!"

"Me?!" Cyan spluttered, indignantly. "It's bad enough that you keep watching that stuff without being an actual cop, but now you're dragging your friends into it?!"

"Valor and I have an arrangement! He gets me anything that might show me what happened to my dad, and I give him newspapers for his conspiracies! It's a fair trade!"

"It is not! You're not gonna go to jail for collecting old newspapers!"

"Y'know, what? I'm not dealing with this right now-"

"Oh, yeah?! Well, fine!" Cyan grabbed her coat and stormed out of the apartment just as Jane arrived. "Hi, Commissioner Maroon!"

Jane watched in confusion as the faunus girl hailed a cab to head home. She closed the door, hung up her coat, and joined her angry son on the couch. "What was that about?"

Boris sighed, tiredly. "Sorry, mom. We just… had an argument. I don't know. She just… she doesn't understand what I'm trying to do."

Jane smiled, softly, and patted Boris' shoulder. "Honesty." She remarked, reaching for her smoking pipe. "That's what got me and your father through the rough patches."

Boris arched an eyebrow at his mother's words. "You guys had rough patches?"

"Of course." Jane chuckled as she sprinkled her favorite tobacco into the pipe and lit it, taking a few puffs. "You think he was always thrilled at the late hours I was working when I started out with the Atlas police? And I wasn't exactly fond of all those pretty little women he worked with at his law firm. But by being honest with each other, we made it work."

Boris smiled; it always made him happy to hear his mother fondly remember his father. "Thanks, mom. But it might take a little more than that to help me out with Cyan."

"Are you sure?" Jane asked, slyly taking another puff from her pipe. "Are you honest with her? Does she know about you…? The real you?"

Boris uncomfortably frowned as he considered Jane's advice. He had never considered telling Cyan about his work as Magenta before, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have to if they were ever going to have a future together.

Meanwhile, in the cave, Mikhail had just carried down a tray of food for his wife while she typed away at her computer. Krasnaya had been trying to find her friend Jean ever since she'd heard about her escape from Ironwood Asylum. Mikhail understood her guilt, but he wished that she wouldn't blame herself for what happened to her friend.

"We'll find her, love." He promised, giving her a kiss on top of her head.

Krasnaya sighed, tiredly. "For Jean's sake, I hope you're right."

"Out of curiosity, will you be calling in the aid of the Grimm Reaper once you've located your old teammate? She does have an interest in helping out her sister figure, after all."

"As tempting as it is, I don't think I will, at least not right away. After all, I was Jean's teammate before Ruby had a reason to see her as a sister figure, so I have to at least try and reach her on my own at least once if for no other reason then to see how 'Rage' will react to me, or rather Krasnaya, without the Grimm Reaper's presence in my city."

Suddenly, the red wave went off on the computer, alerting the couple of a crime in progress. Krasnaya rapidly typed away at her console to get more details. Apparently, in the past six hours, Grape Loans, Lupin Bank, and Bellflower Bonds had all been robbed.

"Has anyone thought to warn the First National Bank of New Rushland?" Mikhail asked.

"I don't think that'll be necessary." Krasnaya continued to type on the keyboard, pulling up more information on the banks. "Every one of these banks are fronts for Whitley Schnee's criminal enterprises. And each of their names derives from the color purple."

Putting on her cowl, Krasnaya boarded her warthog and took off into the night. As she drove, an onboard computer screen alerted her of a newsflash; another bank had just been hit by a group surrounding a woman with half her face dyed purple, lifting a gun over her head in triumph.

"Mikhail, Rage has been spotted downtown with a bunch of goons." Krasnaya explained.

"That doesn't sound good." Mikhail remarked.

"Well it might be worse than you think, as Rage is leading those goons." Krasnaya added before flooring the accelerator.

A few minutes later, she spotted a few goons breaking into a bank and parked the warthog outside. Using her Huntress Eyes, she could see that there were three hostages trapped inside the bank with the armed thugs; she would have to take a stealthy approach to this mission. She found a vent outside the bank, and snuck inside until she found herself inside the main lobby.

After observing the room, Krasnaya quickly realized that she could use the loud sound of the siren to cover up the sound of her attacks. With that in mind, she converted her scythe into a remote computer and hacked into the building's security system, triggering the alarm's sirens as a result. Afterwards, she quickly strung up one of the goons without any worry for how loud he was screaming.

"What did you do?!" One goon shouted, covering his ears.

"What?!" Another shouted back, also covering his ears.

"I said, what did you do?!" The goon repeated. "The alarm didn't just choose to go off!"

"I don't kno-!" The second goon was cut off by Krasnaya dragging him up into the rafters, but his associates were too busy shielding their ears from the siren to notice.

Krasnaya repeated the process until all of the goons were restrained. She turned off the siren and knelt down to untie the hostages. "Are you alright?"

"Now that you're here? Yeah." The teller nodded, rubbing his wrists to alleviate the rope burn.

"Did any of you see a woman with a purple face in here?" Krasnaya asked.

"I think so." Another teller spoke up. "But she left a while ago. Said something about a bigger score."

"Thank you. Call the police and tell them to collect these gunmen." Krasnaya ordered before making her way back outside and driving off to the next bank.

Meanwhile, at his lounge, Whitley slammed his fist on his desk as he heard the news, venting his frustrations to his bodyguard.

"Damn it! That bitch is taking me for everything! Alright, round up every street thug we've got and cut them loose! Offer them one million… no… make it three million! A million lien per head for the man who brings me the heads of Jean, Paulette, and Rage!"

Back on the streets, Krasnaya turned a corner and found herself in the middle of a street riot between Rage's men and the police. Acting quickly, she added a gas mask attachment to her cowl, flipped a switch on her console, and fired several canisters of non-lethal knock-out gas into the riot. Once everyone was safely incapacitated and the gas had dispersed, Krasnaya stepped out of her vehicle and made her way into the next bank.

"Well if it isn't the Crimson Crusader," Rage's voice called out over the intercom as the sound of the alarms was suddenly cut off, showing that she had managed to hack into the bank's systems to make things easier for her minions as well as how she was already aware of the vigilante's presence. "Why don't you give her a proper welcome, boys?"

As soon as Rage had said this, a fresh wave of goons entered the bank, determined to locate Krasnaya as well as potentially double their profits. Upon seeing this, Krasnaya quickly grappled to a nearby vantage point hoping to plan out how to take out the goons quietly due to how the alarms were no longer present to cover the sound of her attacks. But then, she remembered that she still had access to the ventilation system. Converting her sickle back into a remote, she used the vents to create a smokescreen, blurring her enemies' vision.

With that out of the way, she continued the process of stealthily taking out the gunmen one by one until they were all incapacitated. Then she worked on freeing the hostages, and hacking back into the intercom system to send out a message.

"Jean… if you can hear me, this has to stop." She said, apologetically. "I know I failed you. I know you're hurting. But stealing money from innocent people won't fix anything."

"Krasnaya you got this all wrong," Rage's voice called out over the intercom, momentarily sounding more like the version of Jean that Svetlana had known. "The Bank of New Rushland, it launders money for Whitley."

"You remember Whitley, don't you? The man you let ruin our lives because he couldn't get to you?!" Paulette's voice rang out.

"Now sure, there's plenty of clean money mixed in with the dirty, but could you honestly look us in the eye and tell me Whitley would care about that little distinction? So stay away from the banks or we'll make you regret it!" Rage couldn't help but declare…and the worst part was that Krasnaya couldn't say that her old friend didn't have a point in a twisted sort of way. With that said, that didn't change that her old friend was still inconveniencing innocent people with her stunt here, so with that in mind, she left the establishment ready to head to the next location.

"Jean, just stop: you know that sending more goons after me won't stop me," Krasnaya called out into the intercom after she finished taking care of the gunmen, once more trying to appeal to her former friend's better nature.

"You must feel so proud of yourself distributing your own form of justice on all of my men: where was that just sort of drive when Whitley held us hostage?!" Rage yelled out over the intercom. "This is your last chance to leave us alone, or we'll deal with you ourselves!"

Krasnaya merely sighed as she put her weapon away before she headed out to what she hoped would be the last location Rage's men would be hitting tonight. At the same time, Rage reached into her pocket for a special sheet she'd drawn up just for the Crimson Crusader. If the dice landed on an even number, she'd shoot the vigilante in the head. If it landed on an odd number, she'd cut her to ribbons. But if it landed on snake eyes, she'd leave her to the mercy of her men.

Meanwhile, Krasnaya had arrived early at the last bank and snuck into the ventilation system in anticipation of Rage's arrival. However, Whitley and his men were also waiting for Rage and happened to spot Krasnaya as she snuck in. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Whitley decided to change his orders.

"Alright boys, time to clean house," Whitley called out to his men. "Everyone who kills one of the intruders gets a bonus tonight, and the one who brings me Krasnaya gets a promotion."

Whitley watched with glee as thirty men rushed into his bank. He patched into one of their radios to hear what was happening inside. But instead of a quick and painful death for the vigilante, he heard several screams and pleas for mercy as someone ruthlessly beat them into unconsciousness. Curious, Whitley grabbed a gun and made his way into the bank. Much to his frustration, all of his men were down and Krasnaya was nowhere to be seen.

"Great, Krasnaya took out all of my guards and my money is being stolen from right under me all across the city: how could this get any worse?" Whitley couldn't help but ask.

As if to answer his question, the doors of the bank were kicked open by a familiar face that was being tailed by a small army of armed men.

"Good news, Krasnaya: the dice came up snake eyes, so we personally won't kill you if we can help it, but that doesn't mean we'll stop our men from taking your eyes as compensation for all the trouble you've caused us tonight," Rage's voice called out as she stepped into the third bank alongside a fresh wave of minions, determined to deal with the Crimson Crusader herself.

However, once inside, she found that the vigilante had vanished. Instead, she saw the owner of the bank and the object of her scorn.

"Wait, you?!" Whitley called out in shock. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"You know, we were going to just drain you of all your hard earned money, but seeing how you're here, we'll just kill you instead," Rage remarked with a wicked grin on her face.

"You're bluffing: I know for a fact from the records I've gathered that you were an associate with Team RWBY," Whitley declared. "That means you'll show mercy if given the option, right?"

"Did you already forget?" Rage mockingly declared. "Part of our new psyche comes from the Summer Maiden fragment known as Paulette. Check your records again."

"...mercy?"

"Say that again?"

"Mercy?!"

"One…more…time."

"MERCY!?"

Just as Rage lifted her gun towards her prey, a smoke bomb smashed through the window and blinded everyone in the room. Someone grabbed Whitley from behind and tossed him away from the crowd. One by one, a red figure was disarming and incapacitating them until all that remained was Rage.

"Where are you, you son of a…?!" …and that was as far Rage got before she found herself being pulled into a sleeper hold from behind.

"That's it: just calm down," she heard Krasnaya call out just before she slipped into an unconscious state.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Whitley scrambled back to his feet and bolted towards his car. Krasnaya strapped Rage into the backseat of her warthog just as her prey sped off and jumped into the driver's seat to follow after the gangster. Despite the speed advantage Whitley's car provided him, the warthog was more than capable of catching up.

As for Whitley, himself, he was cursing at the top of his lungs as he stuffed his handkerchief against his bleeding shoulder. All he had to do was make it back to his nightclub and lock himself in his bunker away from the freaks. But just as he was about to enter the downtown district, a red streak showed up out of nowhere and rammed him away from the exit. Looking over his shoulder, he once again cursed as he saw the Red Woman chasing after him.

Krasnaya kept ramming into the back of Whitley's car, never giving him an inch no matter how hard he tried. After a few more minutes of cat and mouse, Whitley swerved in front of a fuel truck, causing it to jack-knife and flip over. A massive explosion left Whitley rattled, but he was relieved to see a wall of fire blocking his pursuer.

"Ha! Ha ha ha!" Whitley laughed, mockingly. "I got you, you freak! Ha ha ha ha! I got you! Yeah! Ha ha! I got you!"

His victory was short-lived, however, as the warthog quickly sped out of the inferno and continued the pursuit. Just as he was wondering if nothing could stop the Red Woman, her warthog once again rammed into him, sending him spiraling out of control. The gangster screamed in fear before crashing into a lamppost. He struggled to climb out and crawl away before a large, red boot stamped on his hand. Krasnaya hoisted him up and pinned him against the wreck.

"You think you're untouchable, but you're not." The vigilante growled in his face. "I know what you really are… the people you've hurt… you can't hide forever… wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be watching! This is my city…and I don't take kindly to serpents trying to infest it."

With that, Krasnaya dropped Whitley to the ground and marched back to her warthog to drive off.

"Th-this isn't over!" Whitley half-screamed/half-sobbed as his attacker drove off. "Do you hear me?!"

A few minutes later, Paulette woke up in the back of the warthog as it drove down the streets of New Rushland. "So that's how it is, eh?" She muttered, bitterly. "Back to the asylum… back. To. The freakshow."

"While I understand why you took the actions you did, that doesn't justify how many innocent people would be hurt if you had succeeded. But if you can be assured of anything tonight, it's that I promise you: I won't let Whitley go unpunished for what he did to you," Krasnaya declared as she prepared to take her old friend to the proper authorities.

"I know you won't…Svetlana," Paulette declared before giving a low chuckle as the Crimson Crusader looked at her in shock. "Don't act so surprised: I was on Menagerie with the others back when Krasnaya made her debut, remember? Just because I'm endlessly angry doesn't mean that I'm stupid enough to forget about something like that."

"Right, forgot about that," the vigilante remarked with a light frown, once more cursing Weiss for outing her identity to everyone who was present that day. "But listen, I…"

"No need: I know you were just doing what you felt needed to be done," her fallen teammate replied before giving a glare. "But make no mistake: while I won't be spilling your identity in honor of our past, old friend or not, if fate demands it, you won't stop me from doing what I feel needs to be done the next time we meet."

"I don't believe in fate: I believe in choice, and I choose to believe that there's still a chance for you to come back from this," Krasnaya called out with a supportive grin.

"...thank you. Oh, and make sure to say hi to Ruby for me the next time you see her."

"Will do."

As they turned a corner, Paulette's voice and eyes softened somewhat. "...so I wasn't misremembering things, Svetlana? Is it really true?" Jean asked, having resurfaced as the main personality once more. "Is it really you under that mask?"

"Yes, Jean." Krasnaya nodded, turning another corner towards Ironwood. "It's me. I'm Krasnaya."

Jean looked down at her lap as she processed the information. At last, a bitter chuckle slipped through her lips. "No… you're not Krasnaya… and Krasnaya's not you… see, me, Ciel, and Penny didn't train with Krasnaya. And it sure as hell ain't Svetlana Crimsonoff running across rooftops every night. Hell, even 'Rachael Red' was all a lie. Trickster was right. You're just as crazy as we are… but you get it. It's not the face you're given…"

"... it's the face you choose." Rage sneered just as the Warthog skidded to a halt outside of the asylum.

Krasnaya jumped out of the driver seat and escorted her prisoner into the building. "Let's hope you choose to get better this time." She remarked.

To Be Continued!

Bonus: Goldilocks, Heart of Gold

The Cauldron, New Rushland.

Nicky Soot had set up a lawn chair on the roof of his hotel, reading a comic book published about the recent exploits of the Hunting League of Justice while occasionally looking through binoculars to spy on an apartment across the street. His handler had sent him to New Rushland to find the man who lived in that apartment, and all he had to do was wait to earn the easiest fifty-thousand lien of his life. Suddenly, he heard something land on the roof behind him. His curiosity piqued, he got up from his seat and turned to get a good look. The cigarette fell out of his mouth as his jaw went slack.

Standing on the edge of the roof, looking out over the city with a melancholy expression, was the huntress known as Goldilocks; Yang Xiao Long.

"Whoa…" Nicky breathed in awe, earning Yang's attention.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She brushed a strand of hair out of her face as she stepped away from the edge. "Is this your building? I hope I didn't disturb anybody with that landing."

"Huh? Oh, uh, no. No. It ain't my place." Nicky shook his head. "I just… came up here to clear my head. Wow… you're Yang Xiao Long, ain'tcha? Ah, sorry. Stupid question. 'Course you are."

"Heh, yep. That's me." Yang gave a small smile. "What's your name?"

"Nicky Soot. Nice ta meetcha." He nodded with a toothy grin. "Man, this is nuts. What're the chances, right? I mean, I can't fuckin' believe I'm talking to Yang Xiao Long. I tell ya, if the guys I drink with could see-" Nicky cupped a hand over his mouth in shock. "Oh! Oh, geez! Look, I'm really sorry."

"Uh, why?"

"I... I said 'fuck.' I-I didn't mean to, I swear, I just…" Nicky facepalmed in embarrassment. "Aw, man, I can't believe I swore in front of Goldilocks!"

Yang snorted. "It's okay, Nicky. There aren't any kids or old ladies around. You should express yourself however you see fit."

"Oh, well, thanks for being cool about it." Nicky smiled again and reached into his coat for another cigarette. "Hey, uh, does it bother you if I smoke? I won't if it does."

"It doesn't bother me." Yang frowned. "But I wish you could see what it's doing to you. My mom has a pacemaker in her chest because of those things. If you saw it, it might make you think about quitting."

Nicky rolled his eyes as he lit the cigarette. "Yeah, I know. But, hey, the way I see it, I could get hit by a truck tomorrow, y'know? So, what brings you to New Rushland? Looking for Krasnaya? Some sort of Hunting League of Justice conference?"

Yang sadly looked down at the street. "Something like that…." She sighed.

"Hey, you can tell me to piss off if you want." Nicky offered. "It ain't none of my business if you don't wanna-"

"No, actually… I could use a sounding board before I tell my wife about this. Because once I tell her, it'll be in the papers… and the bad thing about that… is that I know she'll leave out the part that matters… the part where I failed…" Yang wiped her eyes and sat down on the edge of the building, inviting Nicky to sit with her. "I don't know if you've been following this, but Masha Brunhilde led a raid on the union depository this morning."

"Yeah, I saw something about that on the news this morning." Nicky nodded. "So?"

"They got away by setting the entire building on fire. By the time the fire rescue team went in, it was a hundred and eighty degrees inside… but once they got inside, they found out that none of their fire extinguishing equipment worked. It turned out that the chief of the fire department defrauded the city funds to pay off his gambling debts. That's actually what I came to see Krasnaya about. She gathered enough evidence to put him behind bars for the rest of his life for that. Anyway… my semblance makes me highly resistant to heat, so I went in to get them out. But by the time I got there, they were on the second floor and the building was seconds away from collapsing. The captain had gone back outside to try and get the ladder up to the window to help them escape, but he never made it down. The rest of the crew thought he'd died in the flames, so I came up with the idea to hold up the room's central pillar while they escaped out the way they came. As I held up that pillar, I told myself that I wouldn't let go until every last fireman got out. But just when I thought the last one had gotten to safety, I saw it; the captain… stuck under rubble… she hadn't died yet… and just as my arms gave out and the building collapsed, I saw that look in her eyes… I'll take it to my grave… she didn't say a word, but I knew what she was thinking… 'you're Yang Xiao Long… and you're not going to save me…' then the gods decided time was up."

Nicky took a long puff of his cigarette as he drank in the words. "It wasn't your fault." He said, sympathetically. "I mean, yeah, you've got a rep, but you ain't a god. You never claimed to be perfect."

"I know." Yang sighed. "Deep down, I know there was nothing I could have done to help her. But at the same time, I see all these smiling faces, and hearing all this praise. Everyone looks at me and sees Goldilocks; the hero of the Menagerie War who took down Salem. They look at me and think, 'she can't be everywhere at once, but if I'm in trouble and she's there, I'll be okay.'"

"And you're really gonna beat yourself up over this? This idea which you, yourself, know is garbage?" Nicky breathed out a chuckle. "Geez… you're everything that's great about this kingdom and you don't even know it."

Yang arched an eyebrow at this. "Pardon?"

"Lemme tell you the real problem with Vale." Nicky gazed up at the stars as he explained his philosophy. "This could be the greatest kingdom in the world. It really could be. You've got all these different people coming from all over Remnant, trying to escape poverty and oppression, and find new opportunities, new jobs, and generally just a better life. But what do they do? They hold on to all those grudges and prejudices that got them into trouble in the first place. They all wanna be Atlesian, or Vacuan, or Mistralian, or faunus, or humans, or doppelgangers. They wanna go on fighting the same wars and hating the same people that they did in the old world. So they stick to their own, and everyone stays suspicious of everybody. And for what? Culture? Tradition? What the hell even is that stuff? A bunch of stuff our folks told us to believe it? But you, man. You showed us how it's done! You're a salt-of-the-earth gal from Patch who came to the city and joined the melting pot. It's like you're saying, 'okay, I'm from the island Patch. But that's all in the past. I'm a Valian, now. What can I do to help?'"

"I've… never really thought of it like that." Yang admitted, starting to feel a little better.

Nicky pointed towards a window of an apartment across the street. "Y'see that schmuck?"

Yang cupped her hands over her eyes to look where Nicky was pointing. She saw an overweight, middle aged man sitting at a kitchen table, smoking a cigar and eating clams. Her nose wrinkled at the sight of him. "Yes?"

"That's James 'Fatso' Capris." Nicky sneered, taking another puff of his cigarette. "He's a big-shot racketeer from Vacuo. He was supposed to get the chair for human trafficking back home, but paid off the jury and came here for a fresh target set. I look at folks like him, and I think to myself, 'we ain't quite there yet.'"

Nicky turned back to Yang and smiled. "But then, I see what you and your friends do - saving all those people, helping little old ladies cross the street, helping girl scouts sell cookies, finding forever homes for old pets, taking down corrupt huntsmen - and then I think, 'we're getting there. We've got a chance. A chance to start over. A chance to be somebody. And, yeah, even a chance to be saved.' And if a chance is all we can hope for, well… maybe that ain't so bad."

"Damn… that makes a lot of sense." Yang smiled and shook Nicky's hand. "Thanks, Nicky. I appreciate all that. I really do."

"Eh, it ain't nothing but an opinion. Anybody who knows me will tell ya I've got one on just about everything." Nicky shrugged with a grin. Suddenly, he got an excited look on his face as he began digging through his coat pockets. He pulled out a pen and held up the comic book he'd been reading earlier. "Hey, uh, while I got ya here… I-I mean, I feel like a total geek for asking this, but I doubt I'll ever get the chance again, and… uh… aw, geez, it'd mean a lot. It really would, I…"

Yang giggled and accepted the pen and comic book. "It's cool, I get it. 'It's not for me, it's for my little girl,' right?"

"Heh, yeah." Nicky blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, just put 'to all the folks at the Broken Mirror' and then maybe a few 'Xs' and 'Os' and then sign it. Yeah, like that! Hey, thanks, Mrs. Xiao Long! Thanks!"

"My pleasure." Yang handed the comic book back to Nicky and headed towards the edge of the building. "Now, I really have to go. My pretty kitty'll be missing me by now. And Nicky?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." Yang flashed him one more smile before using Ember Silica to launch herself into the air and back down to the street. Nicky watched as she mounted her motorcycle and drove off into the night. With a smirk, the weary traveler could only think of one thing to say about the young woman.

"What an unbelievably cool gal."

Nicky whistled "I Burn" to himself as he made his way back to his lawn chair. He began folding it inward and apart until it transformed into a long-range sniper rifle and aimed it at the man he'd been waiting for all night. "'Night, Fatso."

With the pull of the trigger, the rackateer's brains were splattered all over his kitchen floor.

Nicky collapsed the rifle into a suitcase, put out his cigarette, and pulled out his scroll to contact his handler. "Hey, Slim… yeah, yeah, you too… listen, job's done. Meet me at the plaza and we'll collect the hundred-thou. Then we'll head over to the Broken Mirror. Drinks're on me. What? Yeah, we can stop at Belcher Burger on the way. Wouldn't want you to waste away to nothing, right…? Oh, yeah? 'Least I can still see mine. Oh! And, hey, you're never gonna believe who I ran into tonight!"