Dennis had been going through the motions of school, adjusting to the normalcy of student life. It was a stark contrast to his past, a life he was content leaving behind—until a message from Ozpin shattered that illusion.
"Please come to my office."
Dennis barely hesitated before responding. His gut told him this wasn't about grades.
Ozpin's Office
Ozpin's office was dimly lit, the glow of the monitors casting eerie reflections on the polished floors. The headmaster sat calmly behind his desk, fingers steepled together as Dennis entered.
"Good afternoon, Dennis. How have you been adjusting?" Ozpin's voice was smooth, unreadable.
Dennis crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "It's been alright. Some things I can't do anymore, but I guess it's for the better."
Ozpin nodded approvingly. "I'm glad to hear that. But I have a proposition for you. Someone with your particular skillset is required."
Dennis raised a brow. "What do you need?"
Ozpin exhaled, choosing his words carefully. "There's a White Fang compound in Mountain Glenn. We suspect they're planning something significant. Your mission is to infiltrate, gather intelligence, and if necessary, sabotage—but only if you can ensure your own safety. I can't afford to lose you."
Dennis narrowed his eyes. "And why me?"
"With the Vytal Festival approaching, I can't spare any Huntsmen. Your expertise in covert operations makes you uniquely suited for this."
"Backup?"
Ozpin allowed himself a small smile. "Team RWBY will be in the area, but they won't know of your presence. Qrow Branwen will be aware and will assist if needed."
Dennis let out a dry chuckle. "A solo black ops mission. No holds barred?"
Ozpin's gaze hardened. "As long as civilians remain unharmed."
Dennis considered the offer for a moment before asking, "And if I accept?"
"I'll grant you one request—within reason."
Dennis smirked. "Deal."
Ozpin tapped his scroll. "Your order from 'Fleeting Memory' has arrived and is being delivered to your dorm. You depart at 0300. Base jump insertion."
Dennis simply nodded before exiting the office.
Dennis' Dorm
Boxes. Lots of them. Dennis cracked his knuckles before opening the first one—flashbangs. The next being ammunition for Tempest. Another—body armor, light but reinforced. The two long boxes on his bed caught his eye.
Opening the first, he found a sleek black pole with two buttons. The instruction manual detailed its function and it's name 'Vindicator': a mecha-shift scythe and naginata, specialized for slaying Grimm. Pressing the top button, the pole extended, deploying a massive, serrated scythe blade. With another press, it compacted. The second button revealed a sharp naginata blade wrapped in a bundle of cloth.
The other box held a sniper rifle, long, black, and menacing. A note was attached:
Dennis,
Oz told me you were a sturdy guy, so I made this extra powerful. It'll punch through humans and Grimm alike—no suppressor, so rely on distance. If you slot in your wrist laser's battery core, you'll get a railgun boost. It's called 'Starshot'
-Brim
Dennis grinned, pulling back the bolt before folding the rifle down.
Before he could finish sorting, his scroll buzzed. Thorn.
"Can you come over?"
"Sure."
An hour later, a knock. Dennis opened the door, his smirk growing at the sight of Thorn.
"Someone's happy to see me," she teased. "Sorry I'm late, training ran over."
Dennis shook his head. "It's fine."
"So, what's this about?"
"I have a mission."
She frowned slightly. "The black ops kind?"
Dennis hesitated before nodding. Thorn kissed him deeply, silencing any words he might have had. Her hands roamed over him, and he found himself lost in her touch, thoughts of the mission fading into the night.
02:00 Hours
Dennis woke up with his head resting against Thorn's chest. He exhaled, untangling himself carefully before getting dressed. Black cargos, dark brown combat boots, a black turtleneck. A gun harness followed, securing Tempest. His new weapons magnetized onto the rig. Carbon fiber body armor plates locked into place over his torso. Throwing knives, dust bombs, and his wire-knife were stowed into his belt. Finally, he placed his mask over his face.
As he moved toward the door, Thorn stirred. "Wait."
She climbed out of bed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips and then his cheek. "Come back safe, won't you?"
Dennis grinned cockily. "Of course."
They shared a final embrace before he slipped out into the empty hallways. He arrived at the landing pads where Ozpin stood waiting.
Dennis gave a small wave before stepping onto the Bullhead.
Mountain Glenn
The pilot's voice crackled through the comms. "Dennis, ready?"
Dennis checked his parachute. "As I'll ever be."
The side door slid open, revealing the abandoned urban sprawl below. Wind howled against his mask as he leaped. Freefall. A moment of weightlessness before pulling his chute, gliding toward an old parking lot.
Upon landing, he discarded the parachute and moved quickly, scanning the area. Nothing. He took to higher ground, setting up his sniper. Through the scope, he spotted Grimm prowling among the ruins.
Sighing, he folded his rifle and used his wire-knife to rappel down.
White Fang Compound
Hours passed. Dennis had avoided patrols, taken photos, and mapped the facility. Snow crunched oddly beneath his boot. He knelt, brushing it away to reveal a blast door. Smirking, he activated his laser and cut a circular opening before dropping in.
His boots hit an elevator platform. He drew Tempest, sweeping his surroundings. Silence.
Then, movement.
Staying low, he crept through the facility. He reached a balcony and peered over. Below, hundreds of White Fang members sorted crates. Then, his stomach dropped. Among them stood Adam Taurus.
Dennis quickly snapped photos. No signal.
"Fuck."
Two guards approached. Tempest's grip tightened in his hands before he decided against using it. Silent kills were better. He lunged, driving a knee into the first guard's throat. The second swung wildly—Dennis ducked, delivering a brutal uppercut. One quick snap of the first guard's neck, then he turned to the second.
"How many of you are here?"
"Filthy hum—"
A vicious pistol whip cut him off.
"Try again."
"Four hundred seventy-three," the guard spat.
Dennis exhaled sharply before snapping his neck, then dragged the bodies into the shadows.
Dennis pushed a heavy door open, its rusty hinges groaning in protest. As he stepped inside, the faint scent of oil and metal filled the air. In the dim light, he could make out the figures of White Fang members moving swiftly, their faces half-hidden beneath hooded jackets. The low hum of machinery and the rhythmic clanking of metal echoed in the cavernous space as they loaded crates onto a waiting train, their movements methodical and precise.
His boots thudded softly on the concrete as he descended the narrow staircase leading to the lower level. The soft murmur of voices and the hiss of steam grew louder with each step. Reaching the bottom, Dennis approached the first crate with a steady hand, careful not to make a sound. He pried open the lid and froze.
Inside, the cold gleam of high-tech weaponry met his eyes—missiles, warheads, and devices that looked more lethal than anything he'd ever seen. The weight of the discovery settled heavily on his chest. This wasn't just a shipment; it was a catastrophe waiting to happen.
In an instant Dennis' danger sense flared, he launched into a back handspring, twisting mid-air as he yanked his wire-knife free. A razor-sharp arc of steel passed inches from his throat, the air itself hissing from the sheer speed of the strike. He landed smoothly, knees bent, blade raised, eyes locking onto his opponent.
Adam Taurus.
The base erupted in a chorus of wailing alarms, red warning lights casting flickering shadows along the metal walls.
"Just my luck," Dennis muttered, sarcasm lacing his words. "Adam Taurus. Nice to meet you."
Adam smirked. "Guess I'm famous now."
Dennis didn't waste time with a retort. He pulled out Tempest and fired—sharp, controlled bursts. Adam's sword moved faster than the eye could track, deflecting the bullets with ease, sparks flying from each impact. Before the last casing hit the floor, Adam was already on him, a blur of motion.
Dennis barely had time to react. Adam's blade came in a relentless flurry—slashes, thrusts, sweeping arcs. Dennis twisted, flipped, and weaved between them, each movement narrowly avoiding death. He struck back where he could, quick, precise cuts aimed at Adam's joints, but the bastard's blade intercepted each one, the weapon glowing brighter with every impact.
Steel met steel in a shrieking clash as Dennis locked his knife with Adam's sword. Their eyes met, tension crackling between them like static electricity. Dennis disengaged in an instant, flipping back as he reached for an explosive knife—then froze.
The dust bombs.
That moment of hesitation was all Adam needed. A brutal kick slammed into Dennis' ribs, sending him flying backward. He crashed into the metal wall with a dull thud, pain spiderwebbing through his torso. Gritting his teeth, he yanked a flashbang from his belt and hurled it.
The explosion burst white-hot, the shockwave rattling the room.
Dennis sprinted for the exit. He reached for the control panel—nothing. The door was locked.
A hum.
A split second later, a glowing red blade sliced through the air where his head had just been. Dennis barely managed to roll clear, the heat from the blade scorching his turtleneck.
No time to think.
They collided again, a violent storm of metal and motion. Dennis ducked, spun, felt the bite of Adam's sword carve shallow cuts across his arm. He retaliated with a sweeping slash, but Adam twisted away, landing a sharp elbow to Dennis' jaw. The world blurred for a second.
Dennis' wire-knife was too slow. He needed something faster.
He switched to Kage, launching the kunai in rapid succession. Adam batted them aside effortlessly, his blade glowing an ominous, burning red.
"You're done," Adam growled.
A brilliant crimson flash—
Pain.
Agony ripped through Dennis' body as the blade tore from his shoulder to his hip. His breath caught. A gurgling cough forced blood from his lips, warm and coppery. His vision swam, darkness creeping in at the edges.
"What the fuck was that…" he gasped.
Adam merely smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Then the sheathe smashed into his skull, and everything went black.
Train Tunnel
The final Grimm fell with a screech, dissipating into a cloud of dark smoke as Blake pulled her blade free, the satisfying swish of Gambol Shroud cutting through the air. She wiped the blade clean, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows of the tunnel. The team stood poised, weapons ready.
Blake's gaze shifted to Qrow, narrowing. "Qrow, you said this tunnel wasn't in use anymore?"
Qrow leaned casually against a rock, shaking his head. "Yeah, it shouldn't be. The place was closed off after the Grimm swarmed it." He looked around uneasily, sensing something was off.
Blake's ears twitched, and her eyes widened. "I hear a train."
Qrow frowned, glancing at her in disbelief. "What? How?"
"I don't know," Blake replied, her voice low with a mix of concern and urgency. "We need to get out of here—now!"
Without another word, Blake turned and sprinted down the darkened tunnel, her footsteps echoing sharply in the silence. The others wasted no time, following her in swift pursuit, the tension rising with each step. The sound of distant train wheels grinding against metal rails grew louder, far too close for comfort.
As they emerged from the tunnel, the faint glow of headlights cut through the darkness, the blinding speed of a train rushing toward them. Blake didn't hesitate. She launched herself toward the speeding beast, her legs pushing off the ground with explosive force. With one fluid motion, she buried Gambol Shroud into the side of the train, using it to steady herself as the wind whipped around her.
"We have to get on that train!" Blake shouted over the roar of the engine.
The rest of the team followed her lead, each finding their own way to grip onto the moving train. Yang used her semblance, blasting herself onto the side with a fiery surge. Weiss elegantly leapt with the precision of a dancer, using her glyphs to anchor herself. Ruby, always the risk-taker, kicked off the ground and grabbed the nearest ledge, pulling herself up with surprising agility.
The train howled as it raced through the tunnel, the group barely hanging on, adrenaline coursing through their veins.
Train
Dennis' eyes fluttered open to a world of pain. His wrists burned where the ropes dug into his skin, binding him tightly to the cold steel chair. His chest ached—a deep, pulsing agony reminding him of the wound he'd taken earlier. Every breath sent fresh spikes of pain through his ribs.
A hand gripped his hair and yanked his head up. His vision swam, but through the haze, he locked eyes with Adam Taurus.
"Seems you're awake now," Adam mused.
Dennis' lip curled, and he spat, blood splattering across Adam's mask.
"A bit rude of you." Adam wiped the blood away before backhanding Dennis with brutal force. His vision flickered with static as pain exploded across his cheek.
Adam began to circle him like a predator. "You've been causing me problems for too long. But that ends now." His voice was cold, amused. "You're resilient—I'll give you that. But I wonder if your tolerance extends to drugs?"
He snapped his fingers. A White Fang member stepped forward, carrying a metal tray lined with syringes, each filled with a different colored liquid.
Adam picked up one filled with a clear substance, rolling it between his fingers. "This one is special," he said softly. "I know someone like you can resist most things, so we made sure this would work."
Dennis' breathing quickened. His pulse pounded in his ears as old memories—ones he had buried deep—clawed their way to the surface.
Flashback
Dennis' earliest memories were cold, sterile walls. A tiny cell with a bed, a table, a closet. That was all he had ever known.
A speaker embedded in the wall crackled to life.
"Welcome, Subject 18-A. This is your new life. You will wake at 0600 hours and report to the dojo for training. Breakfast at 0800. Classes and further training until 1700 hours. Do you understand?"
Dennis didn't move.
"We can see you. Nod if you understand."
Slowly, unwillingly, he nodded.
The door buzzed open. Waiting outside was a towering figure clad in black tactical gear, his face hidden behind a plague doctor mask. He gave no words of encouragement—just a silent nod.
Dennis followed him into a dojo, where rows of children stood at attention, their bodies battered and bruised. A wiry instructor with a rasping voice strode into the center.
"Training begins now."
Dennis was thrown into a fight. His opponent—a boy with dead eyes—moved like a machine. Within minutes, Dennis was on the floor, coughing up blood.
Pain was a lesson.
And the lessons never stopped.
Years passed. His body was broken, rebuilt, enhanced. By sixteen, he stood 6'4", weighing in at a solid 102 kilograms of honed muscle.
Until one day, everything changed.
Dennis woke up late.
That had never happened before.
The halls were empty. No guards. No instructors.
This was his chance.
He ran, covering ground faster than any normal human. An elevator stood at the end of the corridor. He dove inside just as the doors slid open.
Atlesian Specialists stood waiting.
Shit.
He leapt, smashing open the maintenance hatch and pulling himself into the elevator shaft. Every muscle screamed as he climbed, each movement fueled by sheer survival instinct.
Then—air.
For the first time, he saw the sky.
And he ran.
Within an hour, he had put forty miles between himself and the nightmare that had raised him.
Ahead, a small frontier town appeared on the horizon.
Hope.
Train Carriage
A White Fang soldier slammed into the carriage wall, Yang's fist still crackling with energy. She grabbed him by the collar, lifting him like a ragdoll.
"What's with the train?" she snarled.
The soldier grinned through bloodied teeth. "You're too late," he laughed. "We're gonna detonate this in the tunnel between Vale and Glenn, releasing the trapped Grimm. Maybe then, you Huntsmen and that filthy human—"
CRACK.
Yang's fist silenced him.
Qrow's expression darkened. "Holy shit." His voice was grim. "If you don't know about the Mount Glenn disaster, this is about to be worse. We have to stop this train!"
He sprinted toward the next carriage.
Dennis' Carriage
The drug coursed through Dennis' veins, warping his mind.
His mission?
Killing.
Yes. That was it. He just had to kill them all.
The ropes around his wrists groaned. Then—snap.
A White Fang soldier was playing with his kunai, completely unaware of the danger behind him.
Dennis lunged.
"Wait, wha—"
The kunai plunged into his eye socket. The soldier crumpled with a strangled gurgle.
Another turned, but Dennis was faster. He flung a second kunai, impaling the man through the throat and pinning him to the carriage wall. Blood poured in sickening rivulets.
A chainsaw revved.
The White Fang lieutenant stepped forward, the massive weapon snarling in his grip.
"I suggest you sit back down, boy," he sneered. "Might keep your limbs that way."
Dennis' response was silent.
He moved.
Kunai flew. The lieutenant deflected it with the chainsaw, but Dennis was already in motion—vaulting overhead, kicking the weapon mid-air. The blade sputtered and died.
He landed and struck—flip-kick, duck, dodge—every move fluid and deadly.
The lieutenant swung wildly. Dennis dodged with inhuman precision, his body a blur.
Then—an explosion.
Dennis had just disarmed another soldier and driven his own explosive knife into his gut before kicking him into a group of White Fang members. The resulting detonation shredded them into bloody chunks.
Dennis turned back to the lieutenant.
Leaping forward, he twisted—and snapped the man's neck in mid-air.
The body crumpled.
Panting, Dennis wiped blood from his face.
He retrieved his weapons.
Then, with a new mission in mind, he advanced toward the next carriage.
Carriage after carriage, Dennis carved through the White Fang with ruthless efficiency.
A flashbang. Screams. He stormed in, cutting down dazed soldiers with precision headshots.
A smoke grenade. He moved like a ghost, dispatching enemies before they even realized he was there.
A wire-knife. A swift, silent garrote.
Explosives. A White Fang squad was incinerated, their bodies torn apart in a violent symphony of destruction.
Each room became a bloodbath, a grotesque display of entrails and carnage.
Then, he found the explosives.
Ripping open a side door, he hurled the crates into the tunnel, one by one, ensuring they wouldn't reach their destination.
Still, he wasn't finished.
Dennis pressed forward, his weapons dripping, his breath ragged.
The Driver's Carriage
The control room was empty.
His hands hovered over the levers.
What now?
Was he still human?
Or just a weapon waiting for the next command?
The train roared ahead, the tunnel rapidly approaching.
Time was running out.
Dennis had to decide.
Train Carriage
Qrow and Team RWBY advanced cautiously through the train, encountering fewer and fewer White Fang members as they went. The silence was eerie, unnatural.
"Where the hell did they all go?" Yang muttered, gripping Ember Celica tighter.
Qrow didn't answer. His instincts screamed that something was very, very wrong.
They reached the next carriage. Qrow pushed open the door.
The sight that greeted them froze them in place.
Blood coated the walls in grotesque patterns. The floor was littered with corpses, bodies stacked, slumped, and torn apart in various ways. Some had been shot clean through the head. Others were reduced to unrecognizable remains. Weapons lay discarded where their owners had fallen.
The metallic stench of death filled the air.
"Who could've done this?" Ruby whispered, her voice barely audible.
Qrow clenched his fists and looked away. Blake caught the motion instantly.
"You know who did this," she accused.
The others turned to Qrow.
He exhaled slowly. "…Yeah."
"Who was it?" Weiss asked, warily eyeing the carnage.
"Dennis," Qrow said.
Ruby's breath hitched. "No."
"Are we really surprised?" Blake said, arms crossed. "We know what he is."
"Why's he even here?" Yang asked, confusion laced with suspicion.
Qrow sighed. "He's on a Black Ops mission for Ozpin. I'm guessing it didn't go well." He gestured to the blood-soaked walls.
Blake's eyes widened. "He's doing what?"
"Can we please focus on finding him?" Ruby cut in, shaking off the horror.
With that, the team sprinted forward, stepping over bodies as they rushed through the train.
The Driver's Cabin
The door to the driver's cabin swung open, revealing Dennis.
He stood motionless, drenched in blood, his breathing slow and controlled. His eyes were locked on the control panel, fingers hovering over the levers. The weight of everything—the past, the present, the mission—hung over him.
"…Dennis, are you okay—" Ruby began.
"I'm fine," Dennis cut her off, his voice flat. He turned to them. "We need to find a way to warn the city. The train isn't stopping."
Qrow's scroll buzzed. "I've finally got a signal. I'll message Ozpin."
"Do it," Dennis said, gripping the console. "Everyone else, brace for impact."
The words had barely left his mouth when the world lurched.
Vale
The train slammed into the heart of Vale, metal shrieking as it twisted and broke apart. The force of the impact shattered the ground, sending chunks of debris flying.
And then—
The earth split open.
A deep, guttural roar echoed as the tunnel collapsed, releasing a horde of Grimm into the city.
Dennis hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum. He coughed, tasting blood, but forced himself upright. Through the chaos, he spotted Qrow already cutting down Grimm effortlessly, his blade carving through monsters with deadly precision.
Dennis reached for the weapon on his back and deployed it. Vindicator snapped into its scythe form with a metallic hiss.
A Beowolf lunged—
Dennis moved.
The creature's paws were severed in an instant, its body collapsing forward—before he beheaded it in one smooth motion.
An Ursa charged next, barrelling toward him with reckless speed.
Dennis leapt—
Mid-air, pain flared in his chest. His wound had reopened.
Gritting his teeth, he flipped over the Ursa, pulled Tempest, and unloaded a burst of rounds straight into its back. The beast staggered, its body riddled with holes, before it collapsed lifelessly.
Dennis landed hard, stumbling slightly. He clenched his jaw. I can't keep up like this.
"My wounds aren't healed," he muttered. His eyes flicked upward, scanning for a vantage point.
There.
"I'm going up top to snipe." Without another word, he dashed off, leaping onto a nearby rooftop just as Glynda and a battalion of Hunters arrived, weapons drawn, ready to push back the Grimm.
The Sniper's Nest
Dennis reached a parking garage overlooking the battlefield and set up his sniper rifle. His scope found a Beowolf charging toward a civilian.
He fired.
The high-calibre round obliterated the Grimm's head in a single shot.
Dennis allowed himself a small smirk.
He worked efficiently, his rifle kicking with every shot. One by one, Grimm fell, their bodies disintegrating into nothingness. Every squeeze of the trigger sent another monster to its death.
In between reloads, he scanned the battlefield.
Down below, Team RWBY fought in perfect sync, covering each other's backs. Weiss weaved through enemies, her rapier striking with deadly precision. Yang fought like a wrecking ball, taking on multiple Grimm at once. Blake's agility made her untouchable, while Ruby's speed turned her into a whirlwind of destruction.
Qrow was untouchable, his blade reaping through Grimm like a farmer harvesting wheat.
Glynda directed the battlefield, using her telekinesis to rip apart entire groups of monsters.
Dennis watched them all, something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.
Maybe… maybe I could be a part of that.
But now wasn't the time for dreams.
His hands worked instinctively, reloading as he kept firing, thinning out the horde.
As the battle began to die down, Dennis exhaled.
It was over.
He slung his rifle onto his back and stepped to the edge of the parking lot.
A deep breath. Then, he leapt.
The landing was rough. His ankle twisted awkwardly, and he felt his Aura shatter from the accumulated stress.
He hissed in pain, limping toward a stack of debris.
His vision blurred. His limbs felt heavier than before.
In the distance, he saw Beacon staff sprinting toward him.
Finally—finally—he allowed himself to rest.