A/N: Ah, here it is once again. You know, I'm starting to think that Volume 3 holds some interesting implications for this fic's plot. As you are all well aware, the Festival of Vytal is upon us! And with it, comes all the bullshit of Volume 3. And with it, comes all the bullshit that comes with this fic! Which means that...! I am scared of what I'll release upon this world but also excited.
I know that I said we'd be done with Rubica this chapter, but... How about we be done with it next chapter? I thought the chapter would be too big to fit everything in it, so I decided to split it two. Sorry for those of you who wanted more. I'll see you all next month.
VGBlackwing: UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH... Y'KNOW... PLACES? NAMELY... Archive of our Own (My account there has the same name as this one.) Now that I think about it, I should probably post that here on Fanfiction, no? There's nothing stopping me... And about Canto 7? What can I say? Peak Fiction, as always. To be fair, Don was my least favorite Sinner by far, but after her Canto... I don't really know who should be down there, I like all of them now.
Enjoy the chapter, you beautiful people who like to read my insane ramblings.
The scroll's persistent ringing felt heavier with each tone. Francisco's gaze remained fixed on the device, his sinewy, reconstructed arm now held steady at his side. Qrow's stance was rigid, but his face betrayed a mix of exhaustion and resolve as he waited for the call to connect.
Finally, a faint click cut through the silence. Raven's voice filtered through, low and curt.
"Qrow," she greeted, her tone as sharp as the edge of her sword.
"Raven. I need a favor," Qrow replied, keeping his voice steady. He glanced around the dimly lit warehouse, ensuring no one was close enough to eavesdrop.
The silence that followed was as cold as the night outside. When she finally spoke, Raven's words were laced with scorn.
"A favor? Since when does my 'honorable little brother' call in favors?"
Qrow took a breath, forcing himself to remain calm. "It's Yang."
There was the slightest pause, a momentary hitch in Raven's breathing, though her tone remained flat. "And what makes you think her well-being concerns me?"
Qrow's fingers tightened around the scroll. "Because she's in danger, and you're the one who said you'd save her life once-only once-as the tribe's custom goes. This is that time, Raven."
Another pause. Then, a bitter chuckle. "Isn't it just like you to twist our customs for convenience? So, Yang's in trouble, and suddenly, you think that you can demand my help?"
"I'm not demanding anything. I'm telling you she needs you now," Qrow said, his voice rough. "One time, Raven. Isn't that what you promised?"
The silence on the line thickened, weighted with a history neither of them would ever put into words. Francisco watched, his eyes narrowing as he studied Qrow's clenched jaw, the set of his shoulders, every muscle tensed as he awaited her response.
"Fine," Raven said finally, her voice a soft, deadly whisper. "But after this, she's no longer my responsibility."
"I didn't ask for your responsibility. Just your word," Qrow replied, his tone as hard as hers.
Without another word, the line went dead.
As the call came to an end, a realization struck Francisco like a freight train. "Wait." He spoke, gathering his thoughts. "Where is your sister, exactly? 'Cause... I'm not waiting for her to come from bum-fuck nowhere."
Qrow pocketed his scroll, did not answer, and began to massage his temples to halt the incoming migraine.
A sudden gust of wind swept through them, carrying a sharp sting of sea sand that whipped at Qrow and Francisco. The librarian squinted, shielding his eyes with his malformed, grotesque arm.
When the wind finally stilled and he uncovered his face, she was there, as though she'd simply coalesced from the shadows and grit.
Raven stood, her form half in the light and half in shadow, her crimson eyes narrowing as she took them both in. Her gaze lingered, first on Qrow, cold and unimpressed, then on Francisco, and immediately recoiled, her lips curling in visceral disgust as she stared at his exposed twisted arm.
"That... is foul," she muttered, a mixture of contempt and genuine revulsion coloring her voice. "You expect me to work with that attached to you?"
Francisco watched Raven with a narrowed gaze, taking her in from head to toe. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who had long since left behind the need for validation, considering her long yet messy hair.
But it was her crimson eyes that caught his attention, gleaming cold and unfeeling under the dim warehouse lights. The shade of red wasn't simply natural, it held an intensity, a hunger that made him pause.
'A bloodfiend?' he thought, eyeing her skeptically. Her stare wasn't just cold; it was the kind that measured worth in terms of survival as if assessing if he was more useful dead than alive. 'Couldn't be... Can't she just have been born with red eyes? Unheard of in the City, but here? I just don't know.' His head turned to Qrow for but a moment, two red orbs glanced back at him. 'Oh. It's common.'
He raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to step back as her gaze met his. No warmth, no empathy, just pure, assessing calculation. This wasn't someone who bothered with pleasantries or second chances.
Francisco's twisted arm twitched and flexed, the odd protrusions of bone and muscle rippling as it registered her attention, multiple lidless eyes blinking in her direction. Unfazed by the comment, Francisco shot her a sidelong smirk.
"Is it that bad? Can't be... Ruby said it was 'cool' back in Mount Glemm, so it ain't foul." he replied, ignoring the tightening sensation from his arm as it strained toward her, the bones pressing against the muscle like hungry teeth.
Raven sneered, crossing her arms as she kept her distance. "Keep that thing under control," she spat, her voice cold, clipped.
Her gaze moved over to Qrow, but neither of them bothered with pleasantries. The decades of estrangement buried words, and broken ties were nothing they'd start dissecting here.
With a resigned sigh, Raven unsheathed her sword, raising it in one smooth, almost bored motion.
Francisco's eyes drifted to the weapon, a beautifully crafted, deceptively lethal katana. At first glance, it seemed an ordinary blade, but as he studied it, he noticed the subtle yet intricate detailing along the hilt and guard, indicating it wasn't just for show. Its scabbard bore signs of battle-worn wear and tear, with faint nicks and scratches that whispered of fights won, and likely, bodies left behind.
The blade's length was just short enough for close-quarters combat but undoubtedly long enough to make quick work of a more distant target. Its curve was graceful, designed for swift, fluid strikes rather than brute force, which suggested a precision fighter's weapon, a tool wielded by someone who knew exactly where and how to strike. Its blood-red blade reminded him heavily of the blades from the Shi Association.
But what truly caught his attention was the faint glint of multicolored metal at the edge of the scabbard, a sign of the hidden reservoir of blades inside, each with its own purpose. Francisco blinked, intrigued.
"Fancy sword," he muttered, sizing up both the weapon and its wielder, keenly aware that in the wrong hands, or perhaps the right ones, it could be deadly.
She sliced the air in a precise arc, and a portal crackled open in the warehouse, shimmering with dark energy.
It was like a tear in reality, its edges tinged in red, revealing a world on the other side. Trees swayed gently in the night breeze, and somewhere distant, the soft glow of firelight illuminated the surroundings.
"She's there," Raven said, nodding toward the portal, her voice devoid of any softness. "I'll bring you close, but after this, she's your responsibility alone."
Francisco eyed the portal, then he eyed Raven. "So, you'll leave your daughter... Why?" There wasn't care in his voice, just genuine curiosity.
Raven didn't dignify his comment with a response, instead looking to Qrow with an indifferent expression, her jaw set and her stance resolute.
Qrow held her gaze for a beat, then stepped toward the portal. He moved without a word, his expression somber and unreadable as he prepared himself to face whatever lay on the other side.
"Let's get this over with," he muttered, stepping through, his form swallowed up in the murky, crimson light. Francisco followed without hesitation, his odd arm twitching with a kind of eerie excitement as they crossed into Raven's portal.
As they disappeared from her view, Raven stood alone in the warehouse, her eyes narrowing briefly on the space they'd just vacated. The portal closed behind them with a final, cold snap.
The night was calm. Ruby, Weiss, and Yang had retreated to the safety of their hotel room, exhaustion pulling them under after a long day. Their weapons were propped in the corner of the room, far enough to be out of immediate reach.
The room was a picture of serenity, save for the faint hum of the city outside. Ruby lay sprawled across one of the beds, her arms clutching a pillow, her pajamas slightly askew. Weiss, ever composed even in rest, was curled neatly on the opposite bed, her breathing soft and measured. Yang had claimed the last one, her golden hair draped over her shoulders, one arm thrown over her face.
None of them heard the subtle shift in the air, the almost imperceptible ripple as Morello's semblance took hold.
"Activate," was the single word muttered and echoed through the silent room. The girls didn't even flinch.
The room pulsed for a fraction of a second, the window's view suddenly shifted, and the stars that filled the horizon were replaced by industrial lights. The walls and ceiling had suddenly disappeared as metallic rusted sheets took their place.
Ruby stirred first, her eyes flickering open at the faint hum that seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. "Huh?" she murmured groggily, sitting up. Her silver eyes flickered in the bright light of the strange room.
"Yang, Weiss?" Ruby's voice barely escaped her lips before her eyes caught a glimpse of a barrel's end. "Huh?" The weapon fired, and a small dart lodged itself on her cheek. Before another word could be uttered, she was already back in the bed, out cold.
The others didn't even have a chance to act.
Weiss and Yang found themselves inside a dimly lit warehouse. The air was stale, the smell of rust and damp metal permeating the space. Crates and barrels were stacked haphazardly, the only sound the occasional drip of water echoing in the oppressive silence.
Weiss sat up first, groaning as she clutched her head. "What... happened?" Her voice trembled slightly, her usual composure cracking under the circumstances. Her pale blue pajamas were torn at the hem, her bare feet cold against the concrete floor.
Yang stirred nearby, blinking away the haze. Her vibrant yellow pajama set stood out in the gloom, but her eyes quickly hardened as she took in their surroundings. "Where's Ruby?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous.
Weiss looked around, her heart sinking. "She's... she's not here."
Their weapons were nowhere to be found. Chains bound their wrists and ankles, though they were loose enough to allow limited movement. The two exchanged a glance, silent but unified in their concern for Ruby.
Yang clenched her fists, her chains rattling faintly. "Whoever did this is gonna regret it," she muttered, her voice tight with anger.
Weiss ran a hand through her disheveled hair, her breath shaky but measured. "Focus, Yang. We need to figure out where Ruby is and how to get out of here."
Yang glanced at Weiss, her lilac eyes darkening. "You think Ruby's okay?"
Weiss hesitated, her gaze sweeping the room again, as though searching for clues. "She's strong, but... no weapons..."
A faint metallic creak echoed from somewhere in the warehouse, and both girls tensed, straining to hear.
"...She's somewhere," Weiss said firmly, more to herself than Yang. "We'll find her."
Heavy sounds of boots echoed against the cold concrete, steady and deliberate.
Weiss and Yang froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the sound. From the shadows of the dimly lit warehouse emerged a figure who carried himself with a calm but undeniable authority.
Morello stepped into view.
He was unremarkable in the way that was, paradoxically, the most unsettling. His sleeked-back hair, receding at the temples, framed a face hardened by years of resolve and ruthlessness. The tailored, dark suit clung to his lean frame, pristine despite the grime of the warehouse. His collar was sharp and simple, devoid of flair, much like the man himself.
Behind him trailed another figure, taller but less imposing, their features obscured in the dim lighting.
A shadow in Morello's orbit, following with quiet, calculated steps.
This wasn't someone seeking attention; this was backup, plain and simple. A presence that amplified Morello's authority without uttering a word.
"Well," Morello began, his voice smooth but edged like a honed blade. "Look at you two."
Weiss and Yang exchanged wary glances, their chains clinking softly as they adjusted themselves. Weiss's mind raced, and without hesitation, she summoned her Aura, intending to manifest a glyph beneath her feet to break free. But nothing happened.
The effort was met with nothing but silence from her semblance.
"What...?" Weiss muttered under her breath, her brow furrowing in confusion as she tried again. The warehouse floor remained unremarkable, with no shimmering glyphs, and no radiant energy. It was as though her connection to her semblance had been severed entirely.
Morello's lips curled into a faint smirk as if he could sense her frustration. He made no comment, merely watching with dispassionate eyes. Behind him, the silent figure stepped closer, their looming presence almost imperceptibly unsettling.
They didn't move to attack, nor did they speak. They simply stood there, close enough to be a threat, their purpose felt even without words.
Yang's fiery gaze locked onto Morello. "Where's Ruby?" she demanded, her voice a low growl. Her fists clenched, and she tugged at the chains binding her, but it was no use. Her strength alone wasn't enough to snap them.
Morello tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Her safety is assured," he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. "Just don't expect to see her intact." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, a cruel smirk creeping across his face. "Or at all."
"You bastard!" Yang roared, the chains rattling as she lunged forward, only to be yanked back by their unforgiving restraint. Her Aura flickered, frustration mounting as she realized her semblance wouldn't activate either.
Weiss shot Morello a glare sharp enough to cut steel. "What do you want from us?"
"From you?" Morello repeated, stepping closer. His polished shoes made soft, deliberate sounds against the concrete floor. "Plenty."
His gaze flicked to Weiss, appraising her like a valuable object rather than a person. "The White Fang has quite the bounty on your head, Miss Schnee. They'll pay handsomely for the privilege of taking you off my hands. In fact," he continued, crouching slightly to meet her eye, "they're already on their way. It's funny, really. I told them I had you earlier today, right after you left my restaurant. I'd say you're the centerpiece of this little arrangement, if not for the silver eyes..."
Weiss's face paled, but her glare didn't falter. "You won't get away with this. Ruby and Yang won't let you."
Morello chuckled, low and devoid of humor. "Your optimism's almost charming."
He straightened, turning his attention to Yang. "And you," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand toward Yang, "you're just here by association. A consequence of being part of... your team."
Yang's teeth ground together, her temper simmering dangerously close to boiling over. "If I'm not important, why keep me here?"
"Because you'd make a mess of things otherwise," he replied, his tone clipped.
"Besides, we wouldn't want your sister trying anything rash, would we?" His smirk widened slightly. "She's why we're here, after all."
Yang's breath hitched, her body tensing as the words sank in. "What do you want with Ruby?"
Morello didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned on his heel, walking a few paces toward the crates stacked against the wall. When he spoke again, his voice carried an eerie calm. "That's for me to know and you to find out, isn't it?"
His eyes glinted under the dim light, but once again said nothing.
Yang lunged again, the chains biting into her wrists as she strained against them. "You sick-!"
"Careful," Morello interrupted, his voice cold enough to freeze the room. "Throwing a tantrum won't change anything. Your sister has her place in this arrangement, and you Yang..."
Morello took a deep breath, choosing his words very carefully. "Did you know huntsmen-in-training goes missing all the time? Especially those who don't comply." He sighed. "Afterall... What's another twenty-year-old floating down the river..."
The weight of his words hung heavily in the air.
Morello turned to his silent companion, exchanging a glance that conveyed more than words ever could.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," Morello said, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. "I have arrangements to finalize. Try not to get too comfortable. Feel free to knock them out if they try something funny." He smirked once more, casting one last glance at the two girls before disappearing into the shadows of the warehouse, his silent companion staying behind, eyeing the two.
Weiss and Yang were left in the dim, oppressive quiet, the weight of his threats pressing down on them. Yang's fists tightened, her frustration boiling over into barely contained rage.
Weiss's mind raced, trying to formulate a plan, though her semblance's absence left her feeling powerless. The gaze of Morello's partner remained constant.
"Don't worry," Yang muttered, her voice low but firm. "We'll find a way out of this. And when we do, Morello's going to wish he never laid eyes on us."
The portal spat them out into an oppressive expanse of dim light and cold air, the sudden shift in atmosphere striking both Qrow and Francisco like a punch to the gut.
The warehouse, or whatever it was meant to be, stretched seemingly endlessly in all directions, a cavernous, industrial labyrinth that seemed deliberately built to swallow sound and hope alike.
The first thing they noticed was the absence of windows. No cracks of moonlight, no hints of the world outside, only the faint hum of fluorescent lights that cast everything in a sickly yellow-gray pallor. The ceiling was a tangled mess of exposed pipes and ventilation ducts, some dripping moisture that pooled in shallow, uneven puddles across the concrete floor.
The walls were lined with towering shelves and crates, stacked high in chaotic disarray, their contents obscured behind unlabeled creations and bags. The faint tang of rust and machine oil mingled with the stale air.
Qrow's sharp eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, noting the uneven spread of light. Some areas were fully illuminated, while others seemed intentionally shrouded in darkness. His instincts screamed that they were being watched, though the silence and stillness gave no clue as to where.
Francisco's gaze was harder, colder, as it swept across the room. He didn't linger on the distant machinery or the faintly glowing control panels scattered throughout the space. His attention was drawn instead to the corner of the room, where two familiar figures sat slumped against thick metal support beams, bound and motionless.
Weiss and Yang.
Their pajama-clad forms were pitifully out of place in the grim surroundings.
Weiss's delicate figure was pale and still, though her eyes burned with a faint defiance even in their weakened state. Yang, by contrast, seemed a coil of tension barely held in check, her fiery hair a stark contrast against the cold, oppressive grayness of their prison.
"It's quiet," Francisco muttered, his voice low but cutting through the silence. His grotesque arm twitched slightly. "Too quiet."
Qrow didn't respond immediately. His hand hovered near Harbinger, his grip tightening instinctively as his sharp eyes scanned the corners of the space.
The floor was littered with scraps of metal, broken tools, and faintly scorched markings that hinted at recent scuffles. Farther into the shadows, a faint flicker of green light caught his attention, something electronic, pulsing like a heartbeat, though it was too far away to discern its purpose. The room wasn't abandoned, not by a long shot.
"Who builds a place like this?" Francisco asked, his tone disdainful as his monstrous arm flexed again, the sharp bones scraping faintly against the air. "Feels like a tomb." He felt oddly nostalgic.
Qrow finally spoke, his voice a low growl. "Not just a warehouse. This place was made to keep things hidden. And people." His eyes darted toward the rows of crates and barrels, some of them marked with symbols he couldn't recognize, others with faded logos that felt unnervingly out of place.
He stepped toward Weiss and Yang, his shoes splashing through one of the many puddles scattered across the floor. The sound echoed unnaturally in the space, each step reverberating just a bit too long, as though the room itself was amplifying the noise.
"They're breathing," Qrow muttered, relief barely touching his words. His hand moved to shake Yang awake, but a sudden sound, a faint creak of metal from above, froze him in place.
Francisco's eyes darted upward, following the sound of a series of narrow catwalks suspended high above the ground. They were just visible in the faint glow of the overhead lights, their railings lined with grime and rust.
"You feel that?" Francisco asked, his left arm twitching again, the tendrils flexing and coiling like restless snakes. Qrow didn't answer.
Weiss stirred faintly, her eyes fluttering open, and Qrow crouched beside her, his voice low and urgent. "Weiss, can you hear me? It's Qrow."
She blinked sluggishly, her eyes struggling to focus. "Ruby...?" she murmured, her voice thin and weak.
"How do you mistake me with her?" Qrow said quickly, his eyes darting toward Yang, who remained unmoving. "We'll find her. Just hang tight."
Weiss blinked again, her focus sharpening slightly as she processed Qrow's presence. Her pale blue eyes flickered toward Yang, and then to Francisco standing behind him, his twisted, grotesque arm pulsing faintly at his side. A flicker of fear crossed her face, but she bit back a reaction, her composure cracking only slightly.
"We... we were knocked out," Weiss said weakly, her voice trembling with lingering exhaustion. "Yang... she broke free for a moment... tried to fight them off." She paused, her gaze shifting to Yang's still form. "But they overpowered her. Knocked her out again."
Qrow's sharp eyes darted to Yang's wrists, his jaw tightening as he noted the raw, red marks circling them. The chains binding her now were slightly different, heavier, with reinforced joints that hadn't been present in Weiss's restraints. It was clear they had adapted quickly to the threat Yang posed.
The bruising along Yang's temple told its own grim story, a dark, angry mark marring her otherwise golden features. The faint swell of a lump suggested a hard blow, likely the butt of a weapon, given the sharp edges of the injury.
Qrow reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Damn it, kid..." he muttered under his breath.
Weiss followed his gaze, guilt flickering across her features. "She... she tried to protect me," she said softly. "But there were too many of them... And our semblances couldn't work somehow..."
As Qrow turned his attention back to Yang, Weiss's gaze drifted upward, locking onto Francisco. Her lips parted, her breath hitching as her eyes were drawn unwillingly to the malformed arm at his side.
"What... is that?" she asked, her voice a mix of apprehension and disbelief. The slight tremor in her tone betrayed the unease she was trying to suppress. Her gaze flitted from the sharp, exposed bones to the myriad of lidless, darting eyes embedded in the sinewy muscle.
Francisco shifted slightly, the arm flexing in response, its tendrils coiling and uncoiling like the legs of some weird insect. "It's not polite to stare, Princess," he said with a half-smirk, though his tone carried no malice.
Weiss swallowed hard, quickly averting her gaze. "I-I wasn't... I just..." she trailed off, her words faltering.
"It's fine," Francisco said with a shrug, though the motion made the arm ripple unnervingly. "I get it. Not exactly something you see every day. Or ever."
Qrow glanced back at Francisco, his expression unreadable, before returning his attention to Weiss. "Don't focus on him," he said gruffly. "We need to focus on getting you two out of here."
Weiss nodded hesitantly, though her eyes darted one last time toward Francisco's arm before returning to Yang. "Is she... okay?"
"She'll live," Qrow muttered, his voice clipped as he inspected the bruising on Yang's wrists and head. His fingers hovered over her injury for a moment before he let out a frustrated sigh. "They didn't hold back. Damn bastards."
"Should we wake her?" Francisco asked, his gaze moving between the two girls.
Qrow shook his head. "Not yet. Let her rest as long as we can afford. She's gonna need it." He turned back to Weiss, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Anything else you remember? Anything about where they took Ruby?"
Weiss closed her eyes briefly, her face tightening in concentration. "I don't... they knocked us out before we saw anything. But they kept talking about Ruby. About... something they wanted from her." Her voice faltered, her fear for her missing teammate evident.
Francisco exchanged a brief look with Qrow, his arm twitching. "They're keeping her somewhere else," he said flatly. "Away from you two."
Qrow's hand instinctively moved to Harbinger, his jaw tightening. "We'll find her," he said, his voice low but resolute. "But first, we're getting you both out of these chains." He glanced toward Francisco. "Keep watch. If anyone shows up, I want to know about it before they get close."
Francisco's grotesque arm flexed involuntarily. He cast a glance around the dim warehouse, then turned his gaze back to Qrow, his expression unwavering.
"Keep watch?" Francisco repeated, his tone laced with derision. "Not happening."
Qrow stiffened, his crimson eyes narrowing as he straightened to his full height. "Excuse me?" he growled, his grip tightening on Harbinger.
"I'm not sitting here doing nothing," Francisco said firmly, the words clipped as his arm twitched. "You can handle these two. You've got a weapon, the experience, and you're not gonna leave Yang behind anyway." His gaze flicked to the unconscious blonde, then back to Qrow. "I'm going to find Ruby."
Weiss shifted slightly, her face tightening with worry. "You can't just wander off alone," she protested weakly, her voice trembling. "You don't even know where they've taken her."
"Neither do you," Francisco shot back, his tone blunt but not cruel. "But I know she's not here. And I know sitting around waiting for answers isn't going to help her." He turned his gaze back to Qrow, his expression hardening. "You agree, don't you?"
Qrow's jaw tightened as he regarded Francisco with a calculating look. He didn't like it, but he couldn't argue with the logic. Ruby wasn't here, and the clock was ticking.
"I don't need your permission, Qrow," Francisco added, stepping closer, his voice lowering but losing none of its intensity. "You'll stay with them. You won't leave Yang, and Weiss needs someone to watch her back because I'm pretty sure she's useless without her weapon, according to Bemaia at least. Besides, I move faster alone."
Qrow studied him for a long moment, his crimson eyes searching Francisco's face for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty. He found none.
With a resigned sigh, Qrow relaxed his stance slightly, though his grip on Harbinger remained firm.
"You're right about one thing," Qrow muttered. "I'm not leaving Yang. But if you think you're gonna charge in and solve this solo, you're even more reckless than I thought."
Francisco smirked faintly, his arm flexing again, the lidless eyes embedded in the flesh darting and blinking restlessly. "People keep saying that about me, maybe you're unto something. But Ruby's out there, and something tells me time isn't on our side." He turned away from Qrow, his shoes splashing lightly in a shallow puddle as he moved toward the shadows.
"Francisco!" Weiss called after him, her voice trembling but insistent. "Be careful."
He didn't look back, his grotesque arm twitching and flexing as if eager to move. "No promises,"
Qrow watched him go, his expression hard but conflicted. "Damn fool," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He knelt back down beside Yang, brushing her hair from her face again. "Guess it's just us, Princess."
Weiss glanced at Qrow, her pale features drawn with worry. "Do you think he'll find her?"
Qrow exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on the direction Francisco had gone. "He better," he said quietly. "Because if he doesn't, I'll break his good arm."
The air thickened with the faint metallic tang of rust and dampness as Francisco stalked deeper into the maze of the hideout. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting irregular, pale yellow shadows that danced along the cracked walls.
Every echo of his steps seemed louder than it had any right to be, reverberating off the steel walls and floors, exposing the warehouse's oppressive silence.
Francisco's eyes darted across his surroundings, sharp and calculating. The layout, consisting of narrow corridors, branching pathways, and ominously locked doors, triggered memories he would have preferred to keep buried. It bore a haunting resemblance to the storage floors of Lobotomy Corporation. He could almost smell the sterile tang of containment fields, the antiseptic overtones masking horrors that were anything but clean.
"This place..." he muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper against the still air. His arm twitched involuntarily for the millionth, its tendrils coiling and uncoiling. "Even got the grid-like layout... I can do this." A dark grin pulled at his lips as he turned sharply down a corridor that veered left, where the dim lighting flickered, threatening to plunge him into darkness.
His instincts screamed at him, the fragmented memories of L-Corp's horrors guiding his movements. Storage was always deeper. Always farther from where the rest of the staff worked. It made hiding atrocities easier.
The soft creak of metal in the distance yanked his attention to the present. He froze, his grotesque arm snapping upward in a way no natural limb ever could, its lidless eyes swiveling independently. He remained still as voices carried faintly from the far side of the corridor.
"Boss said we're on lockdown. Nobody's supposed to move until he's finished with the girl," one gruff voice barked.
Another chimed in, softer but with an edge of irritation. "Yeah, well, someone tripped the motion sensor on Level 3. Could be rats, but he doesn't want any chances. Check everything."
Francisco's grin widened, his teeth glinting faintly under the weak light. "Rats, huh?" he whispered to himself.
The grotesque arm twitched eagerly. He flexed it once, testing its strength, the bones scraping audibly against the exposed muscle. It craved violence; he could feel it in the way it tightened, ready to lash out.
He moved, silent as a ghost, slipping into a narrow passage where the ceiling dipped low. His leather shoes barely made a sound as he navigated the corridors, trusting the crude resemblance of L-Corp's layout to guide him.
The groan of heavy footsteps drew closer, accompanied by faint beams of flashlight cutting through the gloom. Francisco ducked behind a stack of crates.
"I saw something!" one of the guards hissed, his flashlight sweeping the corridor. The light caught the glint of Francisco's blade, barely exposed at his side. The guard froze.
"What the hell was that?" the other asked sharply.
"I don't see anything," the second guard muttered, his flashlight sweeping the area. The beam moved dangerously close to Francisco's position.
"You saw that flash, right?" the first guard hissed, stepping closer. His grip on his rifle tightened, his knuckles white. "I'm not imagining things. Stay sharp."
Francisco exhaled quietly through his nose. He couldn't kill them, not if he wanted information. That promise wasn't for their benefit; it was for Ruby's. Dead men couldn't answer questions.
The arm twitched again, its tendrils flexing toward the approaching guard. Francisco winced, mentally reeling it in. "Not now," he muttered under his breath, a harsh whisper directed at his unruly limb.
The first guard stepped forward, his flashlight beam sweeping over the crates. The light fell just short of Francisco's position. "Come out, you bastard," he muttered, his voice low and tense.
Francisco moved. Fast.
He darted from the shadows, his speed startling the guard, who barely had time to react before Francisco's arm snapped out, not to maim but to disarm. The tendrils coiled around the barrel of the rifle like serpents, wrenching it out of the guard's grasp with an audible snap. The man stumbled back, cursing.
"Stay quiet," Francisco growled, his voice low but commanding. He moved with fluid precision, sweeping the guard's legs out from under him with a swift kick. The man hit the ground hard, the air rushing from his lungs in a wheezing gasp.
The second guard turned, his flashlight swinging wildly, but Francisco was already on him. His arm lashed out again, this time gripping the guard's wrist with an iron strength that stopped him from raising his weapon. Francisco twisted, forcing the rifle from his grasp and tossing it aside.
"Talk," Francisco demanded, his voice cold and sharp. He shoved the second guard against the wall, pinning him there with his grotesque arm, the tendrils coiling threateningly but not tightening.
"W-What the hell are you?!" the man stammered, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief as he stared at the writhing appendage.
Francisco leaned in, his expression unflinching. "Where's the girl? Silver eyes. Where are they keeping her?"
"I-I don't know!" the guard sputtered, his voice cracking. "I swear, I don't know! I'm just following orders!"
The first guard groaned from the ground, clutching his side as he tried to crawl away. Francisco shot him a glance. "Stay put, or you'll regret it."
The pinned guard's eyes darted toward his fallen partner, desperation creeping into his voice. "Look, I don't know where she is, but-but the boss, Morello, he'd know! He's in the lower levels, near the secured vaults!"
Francisco narrowed his eyes. "How do I get there?"
The guard hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Francisco's grotesque arm tightened its hold slightly, the tendrils brushing against the man's neck.
"Okay, okay!" the guard relented. "There's an elevator at the end of this hall. It's got a keycard lock. Morello's got the master, but some of the senior guys carry spares. I swear, that's all I know!"
Francisco released him abruptly, letting him slump to the floor. "Stay down, both of you. And don't follow me." He turned, leaving the guards sprawled in the corridor.
He moved deeper into the hideout, his pace quickening as he followed the guard's directions. His mind was fixed on one thing: Ruby. If Morello was in the lower levels, then that's where he needed to be.
The corridors narrowed as Francisco moved deeper, the faint hum of machinery growing louder with each step.
Finally, he reached the end of the corridor. The elevator loomed before him, an unremarkable set of steel doors embedded in the wall. A faint, flickering light illuminated a small panel beside it, with a rectangular screen displaying a cryptic diagram.
Francisco squinted at the screen, the sharp lines of what might have been a map glaring back at him. He recognized the shapes of floors stacked one atop another, basic enough to guess their purpose.
Two levels below this one, something stood out. A bold mark, different from the rest, seemed to signify something important. Even without understanding the text, instinct told him this was the place he needed to be.
"Good enough," he muttered, more to himself than anything else.
The elevator wasn't coming. He glanced at the control panel, the rows of buttons mocking him in their orderly alignment. With a scoff, he shook his head and stepped back. "No time for this."
His arm twitched eagerly, Francisco rolled his shoulders as he braced himself. His fingers found the faint groove where the two steel doors met, and with a sharp grunt, he began to pull.
The metal groaned, the resistance fierce, but Francisco's strength, and his unnatural arm, proved more than a match. The arm flexed grotesquely, the sharp bones pressing into the steel as the tendrils coiled and uncoiled with a sound like cracking leather. The doors buckled, then gave way with a shrill screech, revealing the blackness of the elevator shaft beyond.
A rush of cold air met him, carrying the sharp scent of oil and aged machinery. He leaned into the void, peering down. The glint of the elevator car's roof caught his eye, resting partway down the shaft between floors. Below that, faint lines of light seeped through the cracks of a lower set of doors.
"Almost too easy," Francisco muttered, a wry grin tugging at his lips. Without hesitation, he swung himself into the shaft.
The steel cables swayed slightly as he grabbed hold, his grotesque arm hung unnaturally. The cold metal bit into his hands, but he paid it no mind, focusing instead on controlling his momentum.
The soft hum of machinery grew louder as he descended, and the faint light from below became sharper, spilling through the cracks of the doors to the second level. His shoes found purchase on the narrow ledge near the door, and he pressed his ear to the cold metal, listening for any sounds on the other side.
Nothing.
With a sharp breath, Francisco planted his fleshy arm against the seam of the elevator door. The tendrils writhed as they found their grip, the muscle flexing powerfully.
With a guttural grunt, he heaved.
The steel bent and screeched in protest, but it was no match for the abhorrent limb. The door folded outward, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond. Francisco stepped through, his shoes hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud.
Flickering fluorescent lights cast erratic shadows on the smooth walls, and the faint hum of printers working was accompanied by a distant, rhythmic thumping. The air was stale, carrying the faint tang of disinfectant and something metallic, blood.
Francisco straightened his posture almost in reflex.
"What's this," Francisco muttered, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. "A hospital?"
He rounded a corner, his focus entirely on the looming intersection of the corridors ahead. His thoughts churned his single-minded determination to find Ruby overriding caution.
And then he stopped dead.
A group of people emerged from a side door, their chatter punctuated by the soft shuffle of feet on the tiled floor. They wore medical gowns and uniforms, their arms laden with trays and clipboards.
A startled silence fell over the group as they noticed him, their eyes widening in horror at the grotesque appendage twitching at his side.
Francisco blinked. "Well, this is awkward."
The moment shattered into chaos.
The group scrambled, their trays and clipboards clattering to the floor. Francisco moved without hesitation, his meaty arm snapping out with terrifying speed. The tentacles coiled around the arm of the nearest uniformed man, pulling him forward as the others stumbled back with cries of alarm.
"Not so fast," Francisco growled, his voice low and sharp. He tightened his grip just enough to keep the man immobilized. "Where is she? Silver eyes. Where are you keeping her?"
The man stammered, his face pale and slick with sweat. "I-I don't-"
Francisco's grotesque arm twitched, the sharp bones scraping audibly against the floor as the tendrils curled tighter. The eyes embedded in the flesh fixed on the man, their unblinking gaze more unsettling than the thin limb's strength.
"Try again," Francisco said, his tone icy.
"She's-she's in the operation wing! Two corridors down, left at the junction!" the man squealed, his voice high with fear. "Room B-13! Please, we're not-"
Francisco released him abruptly, letting the man collapse to the floor in a heap. His gaze flicked to the rest of the group, who stood frozen, their fear palpable.
"What about Morello?" Francisco asked, his tone casual, but his arm twitched again, the motion sharp and menacing.
"He's on this floor!" one of the others blurted out, stepping forward as though hoping their compliance might save them. "He's in the vault near the end of the west corridor! Room W-01!"
Francisco nodded slowly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group. "Thanks for the directions."
Without another word, he turned and strode away, his steps echoing down the corridor. Behind him, the group exhaled collectively, some sagging against the walls, their trembling hands clutching at each other.
Francisco didn't look back. He didn't care why they had Ruby captive or what role they played in this operation. All that mattered was that she was close, and so was Morello.
The directions from the trembling medical staff replayed in his head. Two corridors down, left at the junction, Room B-13. Simple enough.
Or it would have been if he could read.
Francisco paused at the first junction, his gaze sweeping over the signs posted on the walls. The blocky symbols meant nothing to him, their meanings obscured behind a barrier he hadn't cared to breach. He frowned, clicking his tongue in frustration. "Should've asked for more than directions," he muttered under his breath, his fleshy arm coiling impatiently, the tendrils flexing as if urging him forward.
He turned left, trusting instinct to guide him, but each passing door seemed identical to the last. The stale air pressed heavily around him, and the faint beeps of distant machines only amplified his growing frustration.
"Where the hell is B-13?" Francisco growled, his voice low but sharp. The seconds ticked by like hours as he navigated the labyrinthine corridors, each step punctuated by the leathery scrape of his boots on the tiled floor.
Finally, a noise broke through the silence: the muffled chatter of voices coming from just ahead. Francisco slowed his pace, his fleshy arm twitching slightly as he approached. The door was marked by a glowing red panel, two guards standing stiffly at attention on either side. Their conversation halted as they noticed his approach.
"What the-"
Francisco didn't give them time to finish. He moved quickly, his grotesque arm lashing out with inhuman speed. The tendrils coiled around the first guard's weapon, wrenching it free and tossing it aside with a metallic clang. Before the second guard could react, Francisco drove a sharp knee into his gut, sending him crumpling to the floor.
The first guard stumbled back, fumbling for his sidearm, but Francisco was faster. His arm whipped out, the sharp, sinewy tendrils wrapping around the man's legs and yanking them out from under him. He hit the ground hard, his head bouncing off the tile with a dull thud.
Francisco stood over the unconscious guards, his left arm twitching slightly as if savoring the brief encounter. He turned to the door, his gaze narrowing as he noticed a small, fogged window near the top. Stepping closer, he peered inside. Since it was guarded, maybe this was the room he was looking for.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
Ruby lay unconscious on an operating table in the center of the room, her pale face framed by a halo of dark, matted hair. She was clad in a thin medical gown, her arms strapped down to the table. Monitors beeped softly around her, the dull glow of their screens illuminating the grim scene.
Three doctors moved with mechanical precision, their faces obscured by surgical masks and caps. One of them, a tall man with wire-rimmed glasses, held a strange instrument in his hand. Clutched within its pincers was a small, glistening spherical object.
A disembodied eye, its silver pupil glinting faintly under the harsh overhead light.
Francisco's heart slammed against his ribs as he watched the man carefully place the eye into a strange cylindrical container. The apparatus hissed as it sealed, a faint blue light flickering to life inside.
His gaze snapped back to Ruby, and that's when he saw it.
The empty socket where her left eye should have been.
A guttural growl escaped Francisco's throat, low and feral, as rage surged through him. His arm flexed violently as the embedded eyes darted wildly.
Without hesitation, Francisco barreled through the door.
The doctors turned in alarm, their movements jerky and uncoordinated as the door slammed against the wall with a deafening crash. The man holding the container stumbled back, clutching it protectively to his chest as Francisco stormed into the room.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He roared, his voice reverberating off the sterile walls. His actual arm violently threw itself against the first obstacle between him and the nearest doctor, sending a tray of surgical tools clattering to the floor. Strangely enough, the monstrous arm did not even attempt to move.
"Security!" one of the doctors shouted, their voice trembling with fear.
Francisco ignored the cry, his gaze fixed on Ruby's unconscious form. The sight of her hollowed eye socket only stoked the fire in his chest.
"Put that down," Francisco growled, his voice dangerously low as he advanced on the man holding the container.
The man shook his head frantically, clutching the device tighter. "Y-you don't understand! It's already done! You can't-"
Francisco moved before the man could finish. Never before was Downpour unsheathed this quickly, within the blink of an eye, the doctor's arm was cut cleanly off with a downward slash. The man screamed, the container slipping from his severed arm and clattering to the floor.
"Undo it," Francisco snarled, his face mere inches from the man's. "Fix her."
The man whimpered, his legs giving out as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his bleeding stump. "It's irreversible! The process-"
The man's pleas devolved into choked cries as Francisco grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The other two doctors cowered in the corner, their faces pale as they watched the scene unfold.
Behind him, Ruby remained completely still, like a sleeping beauty. The beeping sounds probably meant she was stable still.
Francisco froze, his gaze snapping back to her. He released the man abruptly, letting him collapse in a heap as he rushed to Ruby's side. Blood slowly trickles down the empty eye socket.
"Ruby," Francisco said softly, "I'm here." He says, wiping the blood with his thumb before it could reach her hairline. Francisco's jaw clenched, his fist tightening by her face as he turned back to the group of doctors.
"Pray you have a way to help her," he growled, his voice cold. "Or none of you people are leaving this building alive."
A/N: Sorry, not sorry. See you on New Year's Eve.