He wakes to the taste of iron on his tongue.
The confusion it brings lasts only a brief moment. A cough rips its way out of his ruined throat, bloody spittle coating his lips, and with it comes a wave of burning pain in his chest. Pulsing agony spreads through his body, broken ribs and torn muscles throbbing in sync with every shuddering beat of his heart. His lungs seize at the intensity, stealing his breath, and he is left gasping at the fire running through his veins. It churns his stomach, acid and bile rising up his esophagus, forcing him to swallow it back down and fight the urge to vomit.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he digs his teeth into his bottom lip and takes in slow, deliberate breaths through his nose, drawing in air until he feels his chest twinge and then breathing out. Each one hurts and makes it all the harder to struggle against his body's need to empty his stomach. Just as he feels he may give in, it begins to ebb, fading to the point of being bearable. He slumps, body going limp. There is a distant awareness in the recesses of his mind, one warning him of danger lurking nearby, but all he can do is lie there, breath rattling in his lungs.
It takes time for his energy to return, but he is unable to do anything more than move his head, not without causing himself more pain. Opening his eyes, he stares upwards, giving himself time to adjust to the darkness.
Walls of flesh greet him. The sight threatens to reignite the nausea, a sharp pang in his stomach making him close his eyes again.
A disgusting squelch reaches his ears, followed by footsteps, heels clicking against the hardened floor.
"Qrow Branwen," a silky voice murmurs. "How wonderful it is to finally meet you in person."
Biting back a groan, Qrow blinks. The hazy visage of Salem comes into focus, snow-white skin standing in stark contrast with the murk around them. His memories begin to piece themselves together; another one of his plans failed, and now he is a prisoner to the Queen of Grimm herself.
Sharp talons circle his wrists and wrench him upwards. A scream echoes in the room around him, and the pain clouding his thoughts makes it a struggle to recognize the voice as being his own. Another cough splatters blood onto his chin, dripping from the edges of his mouth. Darkness creeps into his vision, made worse when a third hand twists into his hair and forces his head back. A nail ghosts along his cheek, and he shudders in revulsion, wishing to pull away but unable to do anything more than squirm thanks to the monstrous limbs restraining him.
"I heard from Tyrian that you were being rather obstinate. To be expected from one of Ozpin's lapdogs."
Her nail trails down his face, then hooks under his chin, raking against damaged skin.
"Are you in need of further persuasion? Or will you be a good pup and tell me what I wish to know?"
The mere act of trying to speak hurts, his throat burning from the effort of pushing out the words.
"Nothin'...to say," he mumbles, words slurred.
"A shame," she whispers. "I have my suspicions as to how you came about your information. I only need confirmation."
Eyes going wide, he tries to move, to put some distance between them, but the hands tighten their hold on him, claws digging further into his flesh.
Pale lips curl into a cruel smile. "You have been cursed," she says, pleased by the revelation. "What gift did they bestow upon you?"
Qrow responds by baring his blood-stained teeth. "Fuck you."
Cold fingers grab hold of his face. "I would watch your tongue, little bird, lest I rip it from your mouth."
Blood splatters on her face, red speckled against white, and satisfaction surges through him. Releasing him, she raises a hand and swipes her thumb across the blood. With an expression bordering between disinterest and annoyance, she smears it between her fingers. Her gaze shifts back to him, her fiery eyes narrowing with ill intent.
"So be it."
Wakefulness slams into him, forcibly dragging him from sleep with a gasp. Puffs of white swirl in the air above him before dissipating with each of his heaving breaths. Once his racing heart settles itself, he takes a glance at his surroundings. A collection of torn blankets atop a ruined mattress serves as a rather pitiful bed. The sight of rotting wallpaper curling off broken walls and twisted blinds over shattered windows is familiar to him, and his tense muscles unwind. Mantle. Right.
How long has it been since he thought about that particular go-around?
No time to linger here, though, not with the work that needs to be done. Propping himself up on his good arm, he pushes himself into a sitting position and rubs his burning eyes. Reaching down, he grabs hold of the watch he took and checks it. Nightfall, which means it is almost time for him to get going. He takes a glance at his shoulder, noting the handful of red dots staining the fabric covering it. Transforming into a bird to slip out of Robyn's house must have done more damage than he first thought.
Changing the bandages before he leaves would be the smart thing to do, but doing so on his own is too much of a hassle, and it would take too long. He grasps the handle of Harbinger and drags himself to his feet, wincing when his injured shoulder throbs. What did he expect when he chose to crash in an abandoned building? Getting a decent amount of rest would be impossible in such a rundown room, even if he weren't prone to nightmares.
Tilting his head to the side, he pops his neck and sighs. He should have gotten himself some coffee yesterday.
His task is a simple one, at least on the surface. Mantle is by no means an easy place to navigate, but he has had years of experience in the city at this point, learning the ins and outs of its layout. Whether or not Watts still uses the same routes as before is uncertain, since so much has changed, but he should be able to use his knowledge to find the man. Hiding from prying eyes is as easy as using his bird form, even if it does hurt his shoulder.
The cameras are the biggest issue. He knows their general range and blind spots, which makes it easier to avoid them, but between the number of them patrolling the city and their somewhat unpredictable routes, they can be a bit troublesome. It will no longer be a problem once he finds his target, but until then, he will need to be careful. The last thing he needs is to be caught on video, not with the possibility of Ironwood sending someone out to find him hanging over his head. Hearing that Clover had been searching for him was bad enough.
He does need to thank Robyn for covering for him—and to apologize for the way he snuck out. He will later, if all this goes the way he wants.
Time to find Watts.
Slipping out of the room, he makes his way through the dilapidated hallway and up to the roof. Flying while injured is one of the more idiotic things he has done, but the sooner he can find Watts, the better. He had been reluctant to wait even a day to go search and had only done so because of his shoulder. The people of Mantle and Atlas will only suffer if that bastard is left to roam these streets. If that means experiencing more pain, then he will gladly put himself through it. The moment he squeezes through the broken doorway, he shifts and takes off.
Each beat of his wings causes a sharp burn, the movement pulling at his injuries. When it becomes too much to bear, he swoops down to the nearest building to perch, listening to passersby as he lets his body rest. Hearing nothing of interest, he waits until the pain dulls to take flight again. Gliding between the buildings and stopping to perch on them slows him down a significant amount, but it is the best he can manage with his current condition, so he falls into a rhythm, repeating the pattern at steady intervals to keep an ear out.
To cover his bases, he first decides to check the spots he remembers Watts holding up in during past cycles, just to be certain that the man is walking about and not hiding away. There is always the chance that Watts has new rat holes to nest in, but better safe than sorry. It comes as no surprise to find all of them empty, lacking any remnants of occupants. Not a single crumb remains at any of the locations to use as a hint.
Unfortunately for Watts, Qrow has had plenty of time to learn his habits. Though there have been changes to the cycle, the hacking of Mantle's systems falls in line with what Qrow has experienced. The timing may be off, but the details are similar enough. While he may not be able to pinpoint the exact location, he can use what he knows to narrow down the area he needs to search.
The area he chooses to start his search proper is the one where the last reports of strange activity took place.
There are various whispers from citizens, most of which are simple conversations of mundane daily activities, but it is the hushed words of rumors that catch his attention. Some are outrageous, of course, and he ignores those in favor of the ones more grounded in reality. Those are the ones that help steer him in the right direction. Any sign he can grasp will help, even the most unassuming ones.
That is when he hears it, a discussion of malfunctioning systems. He cocks his head to the side, listening intently.
The western side of the city, then. Now having a destination, he shoots off into the sky and pushes his body harder, trying to fly faster so he can find Watts.
That decision proves to be a mistake.
Pain akin to a hot knife lances through his wing. With a loud squawk, he drops, only just avoiding crashing into the ground, and lands in a heap on the sidewalk. Though the street is empty, a drone rounds the corner, and Qrow hops into the nearest alley to shift back. Cradling his shoulder, he backs into a shadowed alcove and crouches down, watching through narrowed eyes as the drone hovers past. It begins to turn to him, and he presses his back against the wall, holding his breath.
When it spins around and floats away, he sighs, letting his head fall back.
Fucking drones and their cameras.
He shuffles into the scant light of a flickering street lamp, tugging at the hem of his shirt until he can see the bandages. Spots of fresh blood stain the fabric, slowly spreading outward. It is only a small bit, but it is a sign he pushed his luck again and reopened a few of his wounds in the process. With how slow his Aura is, it isn't a surprise. Flying at a steady pace like this is going to be even more difficult, given the pain it caused when he tried.
Biting the inside of his cheek, he glances around until his gaze falls on a fire escape.
Seems that he will have to make do.
He climbs the steps two at a time, checking to ensure that there are no security cameras pointed towards him. Though his shoulder caused him to lose a good bit of time, he at least knows the area. Running and jumping between rooftops would be faster than just gliding, but it runs more of a risk of being seen, so he resumes drifting between buildings.
Frantic voices draw him toward an intersection. Considering the locations of the other hacks, Watts is heading further west.
In the end, he is proven right. As he follows the road, his eyes fall on a familiar three-tone lavender coat ducking into an alley.
There you are.
Part of him is tempted to caw at the man, just to make his presence known before he whisks Watts away to meet his end. Rather than blowing his cover, Qrow fights down the urge. He checks the street first, then the alley. There are no potential witnesses, nor any sign of Watts's murderous partner. Satisfied that there will be no eyes on them, he swoops down into the alley and shifts.
One arm snakes around the man's neck. As Watts makes a choked noise, Qrow yanks one of his hands behind his back and kicks his leg out from underneath him. The two fall, slamming into the ground. The impact jars Qrow's injured shoulder, and he sucks in a breath before slamming his knee down on Watts's other hand, pinning it underneath him. Though Watts tries to struggle against the hold, Qrow presses more of his weight down, earning a grunt.
"You and me are gonna talk," Qrow hisses. Watts tries to speak, but Qrow squeezes tighter. "Didn't say you could yet, did I?"
He shifts, moving the hand pinned to Watts to the ground, then presses his other knee down on it. One by one he takes the rings off Watts's fingers and pockets them. Getting them off the other hand is a bit of a struggle, since he has to twist into an awkward position to do it, but he manages to get it done. Once he is finished with this, he is going to find a place to melt the rings down, just to avoid the risk of anyone else getting their hands on them.
Next he digs his hand into the coat pockets, searching each one until his fingers brush against the hidden Scroll within. To think this little device can give him full access to Mantle's security system. With a huff, he stuffs it into his own pocket. If Watts gives him the information he wants, he will have no need for it, but knowing Watts, it seems unlikely. Better to try, though. Whether or not Qrow gets an answer, Watts needs to be dealt with.
The last thing he does is strip the man of his weapon. If there is one thing he can't wait to do, it is to melt this ugly, gaudy gun.
He drags Watts upwards, making sure to give another squeeze. A silent warning for Watts not to cross him.
Of the hiding holes scattered across the city, the nearest one is a few blocks away. Having to stalk through the city with a prisoner in tow will make the short distance much longer, and so he ushers Watts along, sticking to the shadowed alleys to hide the two from peering eyes. When Watts starts to squirm, Qrow gives him a not-so-gentle reminder by tightening his grip, forcing him to cooperate. Crossing the first street goes without much fanfare, not a single person in sight, but when they reach the second street, a drone appears, and Qrow drags Watts back into the alley to avoid it. glaring at the hunk of metal.
Once it passes, he pushes onward until they arrive at their destination.
The building is another rundown one, but it is in far better condition compared to the one Qrow crashed in. It isn't until they enter the basement that Qrow releases Watts. With a rough shove, Qrow forces Watts into the room and bolts the door shut.
Coughing, Watts reaches up to rub his neck and glares at Qrow from the corner of his eye.
"Unusual attire for you," he remarks, sounding hoarse thanks to Qrow's rough treatment. His gaze sweeps upwards, coming to a stop on Qrow's face. "My, you look worse for wear."
"Shut up before I put a hole between your eyes."
Rather than being intimidated, Watts merely frowns. "Not the most courteous host, are you?" he quips. Straightening, he adjusts his cuffs and meets Qrow's gaze. "Well then. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You're going to tell me where Tyrian is."
The first crack appears, a subtle twitch of an eye. Still, Watts keeps his expression even. "I see. Out of everyone, I suppose it would be you who would find out. You are a true paragon in the field of reconnaissance."
The sarcasm makes Qrow growl. "I suggest you start talking."
"What makes you think I will?" Watts asks, folding his arms. "At any rate, you've already taken my Scroll and my rings, as well as my gun. Is that not enough for you?"
"Faster to have you tell me, but I'm gonna find that fucker one way or another."
Watts raises an eyebrow, mild annoyance crossing his face. "Then what do you need me for?"
Rather than give a verbal answer, Qrow reaches behind him to curl his fingers around Harbinger.
Uncertain, Watts shifts his gaze down to the sword. "Surely we can make a deal?"
"You really think you can weasel your way out of this, huh?" Qrow asks, voice low. Rage burns through his veins, his hatred twisting his expression. "I know better than to give you a chance."
The confident facade Watts tried to maintain starts to crumble, sheer terror flashing in his eyes as he takes a single step back. In turn, Qrow steps forward, easing the weapon out. Even if Watts had realized the severity of his position sooner, he would not have had a chance to slip away. The moment they entered the room, his fate was sealed.
Watts, to his credit, tries to fight. It does him no good.
The aftermath is a bloody mess that leaves a mangled body lying at Qrow's feet. In the past he may have felt some bit of guilt for killing an unarmed man in such a way, but he has long since stopped caring about such things. Even more so because of who it was. Sneering, Qrow kneels beside the dead man and wipes his blade clean using Watts's pants. Once he puts some distance between him and this building, he can send an anonymous tip on where to find the body, just so no one will stumble upon a rotting corpse later on. It probably won't take long for them to figure out he is the sender, but he is still going to try.
Despite the mess, Qrow managed to avoid bloodying himself, though he does a quick check to be certain. Satisfied, he steps away and pulls the Scroll out.
Unethical is what this is, and the thought makes him snort. He will face whatever consequences come his way if he survives, but he is going to make good use of it right now. It is the only way to find Tyrian, after all.
First things first, though, there is someone he needs to contact.