Author's note at the end of the chapter.
Words in italics: thoughts, dialogue in a foreign language, radio communications, and flashbacks.
PARADIS CITY
PART 3
"Reaper 6, this is Reaper 2, there is an increase in activity at the warehouse. Two vans accompanied with a large truck, break. Between ten and fifteen hostiles nearby. Over."
"Reaper 6, this is Reaper 4, confirming visual on hostiles in the harbor at warehouse 14, over."
"Reaper 2, Reaper 4, take as many pictures as possible, then fall back to the Hideout. Reaper 6, out."
Two weeks have passed since 1 Troop began investigating the links between the Roman Torchwick's Dust robberies and the White Fang's deadly train heist. During this time, surveillance efforts on Warehouse 14 at Vale's port were significantly intensified. Patterns began to emerge—suspicious late-night deliveries by unmarked vans, frequently escorted by armed individuals. As the days went by, these activities only increased, painting a clearer picture of a coordinated smuggling operation.
Cross-referencing these movements with intel provided by Tukson's informants, 1 Troop confirmed a direct connection between these deliveries and recent robberies. Each shipment arriving at Warehouse 14 coincided with a Dust theft—either immediately after or within 24 hours, depending on the location of the robbery.
Despite the mounting evidence, initial efforts to alert the authorities met resistance. Following 1 Troop's first day of investigation, SANCOM contacted Professor Ozpin, Beacon Academy's headmaster and a sitting member of Vale's Council, to inform him of the situation. However, their concerns were met with silence. It took several follow-ups before Ozpin finally acknowledged the intel, promising to bring it up at the next Council meeting.
Following 1 Troop's first day of investigation, SANCOM contacted Professor Ozpin, Beacon Academy's headmaster and member of Vale's Council, to inform him of the situation. However, this fell on deaf ears. After a few follow ups, the Professor acknowledged the intel and promised he would bring this up at the next Council meeting.
During a hearing in front of the "Commission of Inquiry on the Fall of Beacon" in Vale, eight months after the Fall, an informant from within the Office of the Council of Vale testified before commissioners that "the matter was never brought up during the meeting."
With no action from the Council, the Vale Police Department grew increasingly frustrated. For months, concerns over Vale's national security had been ignored, despite information shared by an Atlesian agent who had infiltrated the White Fang's Vale branch, and the Council's complacency in the face of escalating threats from both within and without had left law enforcement powerless to act. The lack of urgency, political red tape, and deliberate inaction were, to the VPD, a breaking point.
Shortly after the Council's failure to address the situation, Police Commissioner Azur Pourpre personally contacted CENTCOM, requesting assistance with the investigation. Although 1 Troop had not been formally authorized by the Council—not that it mattered de facto or de jure—they now had the full backing of the VPD.
With law enforcement on their side, the investigation accelerated significantly. Access to local intelligence, police resources, and unrestricted operational freedom allowed 1 Troop to gather overwhelming evidence—enough to prepare for a large-scale raid on the smuggling operation.
The final pieces were falling into place.
Commercial District, City of Vale, 12:01:06
"You're listening to Radio Free Sanus's Morning Jam. Next in our playlist is a song that was requested by men and women of the 22nd Air Combat Squadron based near Arrowfell: 'Paradis City' by John the Wolf, Jean Leloup."
The soft crackle of the radio faded as music filled the car, blending with the distant murmurs of a gathered crowd. Captain Lloyd and 1 Patrol observed the scene in front of them—another Dust robbery, another crime scene swarming with reporters.
"Tous les chemins mènent en enfer, et quand tu vois la porte en fer / Il est trop tard pour te refaire, retour au concessionnaire / Toutes les routes meurent sur terre / Les morts ont appris à se taire."
A mass of journalists and onlookers had gathered outside the storefront, their cameras flashing as they peppered detectives with questions. The sheer size of the crowd made it difficult to get a clear view of the crime scene. That's where 4 Patrol came in.
"Et je cry, je cry, baby wou / À Paradis City, à Paradis City."
4 Patrol was positioned parallel to the Dust shop. They had a good view of the crowd and, more importantly, of the detectives who tried to answer as many questions as they could. Eventually, police officers motioned to the gathered crowd to disperse.
Lloyd's earpiece crackled. "Reaper 1, this is Reaper 4. The cops have started dispersing the crowd. Over."
Lloyd's eyes flicked to the movement ahead. As the crowd thinned, the detectives and uniformed officers came into view as they were waving off reporters, clearing out the last of the bystanders. The press, realizing they'd get nothing more, packed up their gear and left.
"Solid copy. Wait for my signal," Lloyd responded.
The street gradually emptied, the noise dissipating into a tense silence, save for the sound of the radio.
A moment later, he keyed his mic. "Reaper 1 to Reaper 4, let's move out."
Lloyd and 1 Patrol exited their vehicle, moving with purposeful strides, their postures exuding quiet professionalism. Across the street, 4 Patrol split off, strategically positioning themselves around the area to cover all angles.
As they approached the cordoned-off storefront, they were quickly met by two detectives.
"Lloyd. Good to see you," one of them said, extending a hand.
Lloyd shook it firmly. "Agent Umber." He nodded at the other detective. "Jade." The agents greeted the rest of 1 Patrol before getting down to business.
"You got our report?" Lloyd asked.
Agent Jade nodded. "Yes, sir. The thieves have brought about half of the stolen goods to that warehouse in the harbor. Any leads on the other half?"
Lloyd shook his head. "No. Our informants couldn't locate the rest, nor find anything about a potential secondary location."
Before he could continue, a sudden commotion caught his attention—two female voices raised in argument. He turned toward the sound and froze.
His earpiece crackled again. "Reaper 1, this is Reaper 4. Got visuals on Blake Belladonna. Over."
Lloyd's gaze locked onto her. Blake Belladonna.
She wasn't alone. Three other girls stood with her—Beacon students. But what truly made his lips press into a thin line was who she was arguing with.
Weiss Schnee.
"Ozpin really has a twisted sense of humor," Lloyd thought.
A few moments later, he responded, his tone neutral. "Copy. Keep eyes on her. Reaper 1, out."
He turned back to the agents. "Let's continue inside."
Agent Umber nodded. "Agreed." He glanced at agent Jade. "Jade, stay here. Make sure no one wanders into the crime scene."
Jade gave a crisp nod, then turned toward the barricades as the rest of the group stepped into the building.
The interior was a disaster zone.
Shattered windows, broken display cases, cash registers ripped open, their screens cracked and missing keys. Dust canisters, once neatly arranged, were now either stolen or lying scattered on the floor, their content gone. Shards of glass and splinters of wood crunched underfoot as Lloyd and his team moved further inside.
"Bloody hell," de Pass muttered, inspecting the damage. "Is the owner alright?"
Agent Umber sighed, pulling out his scroll. "Yes, but he sustained multiple injuries. He and the clerks tried to protect the store and got beaten for it." He tapped his screen, showing Lloyd a few graphic photos—bruised faces, bandaged heads, the unmistakable imprint of boots on ribs. "They'll make a full recovery."
Lloyd exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "Who did this?"
"The security cameras were destroyed, and they wiped the footage from the console. But—" Umber paused. "Local residents came forward. They saw White Fang operatives enter the shop."
De Pass tensed. "Was Torchwick with them?"
Umber shook his head. "None of the witnesses reported seeing him."
Lloyd rubbed his chin. The pieces were aligning, but something was still missing.
"Any word from your superiors about the raid?" he asked.
"With all the intel and evidence we've gathered over the last two weeks?" Umber allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk. "You'll get the green light soon. A day or two, max."
Lloyd glanced at de Pass, who nodded slightly. This was it. The final confirmation.
"Good," Lloyd said, checking his watch. "I suppose the police commissioner will contact us herself?"
Umber smiled knowingly. "Yep."
Lloyd nodded, offering his hand. "Then we'll be ready."
The two men shook hands before 1 Patrol stepped out of the building, passing by forensic teams carefully collecting evidence. As they walked past agent Jade, they exchanged nods in thanks before making their way back to their vehicle.
Lloyd keyed his mic once more. "Reaper 4, this is Reaper 1. We're Oscar-mike. Out."
The operation was almost ready.
They just had to wait for the green light.
Two days later, Commercial District, City of Vale, 09:45:08
"And this is why you don't mess with Mendez's cooking."
Blair laughed as Anderson finished recounting the one and only time he had tried to "help" Mendez by adding extra salt to his sauce, only to ruin the entire dish and get an earful from his brother-in-arms.
The two had gone into town to pick up flu medicine in preparation for the coming winter, despite the season still being three months away. Afterward, rather than heading straight back to the hideout, they decided to take a detour and stop for breakfast at a cozy little café—one Blair had picked out.
Anderson had been reluctant at first, but Blair had somehow convinced him.
"That can't be worse than the time I burned soup," Blair said.
Anderson gave her a flat stare. "You burned… soup? How?"
A faint blush spread across Blair's cheeks as she hid her face behind her napkin. "I was really sick during med school," she admitted. "Got a recipe from my cousin and tried making chicken noodle soup. I set a timer and sat down. I was a little drowsy, so I laid my head down and figured I'd wake up when the timer went off."
She paused for effect, but Anderson was already trying to hold in his laughter.
"When I woke up, my entire kitchen and flat were filled with smoke." She let out a dramatic sigh. "Turns out, I'd left it on the stove way too long. I opened all the windows, turned on the fans, and pulled the pot off the fire… with what was left of my soup."
Anderson was visibly shaking with suppressed laughter.
"And then," Blair continued, eyes gleaming with amusement, "someone started pounding on my door. It was the firemen."
Anderson slapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tried desperately to hold it in.
"I apologized, of course," she said, smirking. "Told them I was sick, tried to make soup, fell asleep—the whole tragic story. But their boss just gave me this look."
She recreated the expression, a mix of shock, bewilderment, and utter disbelief.
That was it.
Anderson doubled over, laughing, and Blair followed suit. They laughed until tears rolled down their faces, the sound drawing amused glances from some café patrons—and annoyed glares from others.
As their laughter died down, Anderson wiped his eyes, still grinning. "You know, this is nice."
Blair raised an eyebrow over the table. "What? Laughing at my misery?"
He smirked. "No. Just… this."
Blair blinked but said nothing, simply tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
At that moment, the waitress arrived, two steaming cups and a pair of freshly baked croissants on her wooden serving platter.
"A double-cream coffee for the gentleman," she said, setting it down in front of Anderson. "And a cappuccino for the lady. Anything else?"
Blair glanced at Anderson, as if checking whether he wanted to stay longer.
"No, we're good," she finally replied.
"Enjoy."
They thanked her and took their first sips.
Anderson set his cup down with a frown. "Six bucks, and this is what I get?"
Blair sighed, sipping hers. "Best cappuccino I've had, but for eight bucks?" She shook her head. "Yeah… not worth it."
Despite the underwhelming drinks, the mood remained light—until Blair suddenly froze mid-sentence.
Anderson noticed immediately. "Hey, what's—"
Before he could finish, Blake Belladonna walked past them with an unknown man in tow.
Worse, the former terrorist took a seat at the table directly behind Blair.
Anderson's relaxed posture stiffened, his expression turning serious as he reached into his pocket, pulling out his scroll. He typed a message quickly to Captain Lloyd.
"Blair and I have a visual on Blake Belladonna. She's close enough for us to overhear. Orders?"
A response came seconds later.
"Deploy the SIRD. Transmit the conversation live."
Blair, already anticipating the order, looked at him expectantly.
"SIRD, now," Anderson murmured.
She nodded, reaching into her purse, and discreetly pulling out a Stealthy Intelligence Recording Device (SIRD)—a small, inconspicuous device equipped with high-sensitivity microphones for covert audio capture.
Alongside it, she retrieved a secondary console, adjusting the audio input and transmission settings. She activated both live recording and remote feed, ensuring Captain Lloyd could listen in real-time.
All that remained was deploying the device—without tipping off the Faunus sitting behind her.
A few moments later, the distant rumble of a garbage truck echoed through the street. As it turned onto their block, Blair prepared.
The closer it got, the louder the noise grew—a perfect cover.
As the truck passed by, she subtly dropped the device, letting it roll beneath the table without a sound.
Anderson quickly sent another text to Lloyd.
"SIRD deployed."
Blair's scroll buzzed. A new message.
"Good job, Blair. Act natural. I'll alert you if there are sound issues."
She responded with a thumbs-up emoji, and the two resumed their coffee—though their conversation had gone silent.
For a moment, Anderson considered picking up their earlier conversation, but he thought better of it. Instead, he let his eyes drift across the café, watching Blair out of the corner of his eye as she absentmindedly traced a finger along the rim of her cup.
He wasn't sure why, but suddenly, their little outing felt different.
Blair glanced at him, a soft smile on her face.
Behind them, Blake and her companion remained quiet for a long while. Then, as the waitress set their drinks down, Blake finally spoke.
"So, you want to know more about me."
Back at the Hideout, Captain Lloyd, Sergeant de Pass, and the rest of 1 Troop listened intently as Blake Belladonna began recounting her past.
She spoke of her time as a White Fang operative, detailing how the organization radicalized after her father stepped down. She described how humans began treating Faunus as equals—but out of fear, not respect. And how that fear fueled escalating violence.
That's why she left.
Lloyd scoffed loudly, drawing glances from the room.
"She says this," he thought bitterly, "yet she stayed in the organization for five years, knowing and abetting the very things she condemns now."
Then, her companion spoke.
"So, what's the plan now?"
Blake hesitated. "I still don't believe the White Fang is behind these robberies. They've never needed that much Dust before."
"What if they did?" The man's voice was thoughtful. "I mean, the only way to prove that they didn't do it, is to go to the place where they would most likely go to if they were to do it, and not find them there! Right?"
Blake paused. "The only thing is… I've no idea where that would be."
Her companion lowered his voice slightly. "Well, while I was on the ship, I heard some guys talking about offloading a huge shipment of Dust coming in from Atlas."
Lloyd's blood ran cold.
Across the room, Mendez sucked in a sharp breath.
"Fuck," de Pass muttered.
Blake's voice came again. "How huge?"
"Huge. Big Schnee Company freighter."
Just then, Lloyd's scroll buzzed. Tukson's name flashed on the screen.
He answered immediately. "Alfred. I got word from my informants. Huge hit tonight. A large Dust shipment arrived yesterday, but due to logistical delays, it wasn't yet picked up for delivery. It's just sitting there. Perfect target for a heist."
Lloyd's grip on his scroll tightened. "Thank you, Tukson."
The call cut off. He typed quickly.
"Anderson, you and Blair get back to the hideout. Now."
The reply came instantly. "Yes, boss. We're Oscar-mike."
Lloyd turned to his men. "Everyone, gear up. Briefing in three hours. Dismissed."
The room erupted into motion as each team rushed out to prepare.
Lloyd's scroll buzzed again.
Commissioner Pourpre.
"Captain Lloyd," she said. "How soon can you launch the raid?"
"In four hours, ma'am. But we just received intel that the White Fang is targeting an SDC Dust shipment in the harbor tonight."
Pourpre nodded. "I'll have units on standby. I assume you'll time the raid to coincide with the heist?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. I'll have comms officers set up an encrypted channel for coordination. Anything else?"
"Yes. Blake Belladonna and an accomplice may attempt to intervene."
Pourpre's gaze sharpened. "We'll keep an eye out. However, we'll let you handle Belladonna."
Lloyd nodded. "Understood."
The call ended.
The time had finally come.
The Hideout, [REDACTED], City of Vale, 19:32:09
"Alright everyone, settle down and open your ears. Time is of the essence."
The entire 1 Troop was assembled in the communal area, the air charged with anticipation. Every soldier had changed into their combat uniforms—a standard black kit designed for night operations, complete with matching plate carriers, helmets, and pouches. Most had opted to leave their helmets and vests off for now, preferring to gear up fully before deployment.
The low murmur of conversation died down as Captain Lloyd stepped forward. Behind him, a holo-map flickered to life, displaying the Vale harbor and its surrounding district.
Lloyd's gaze swept across his men, his voice steady and authoritative.
"Yesterday, an SDC freighter docked in the harbor, unloading its cargo. As you all know, the White Fang—and possibly Torchwick—are planning to hit it tonight."
He clicked a remote, shifting the display to highlight Warehouse 14.
"Our primary objective is to apprehend Roman Torchwick and any high-ranking White Fang operatives in the AO." His laser pointer flicked between the ship, the unloaded containers, and the warehouse, emphasizing their close proximity.
"Once the ship is secure, we move to Warehouse 14. It's right next door, so we won't have far to go. We need to confirm what's inside."
His expression darkened slightly.
"Finally… Blake Belladonna."
A quiet ripple of tension moved through the room.
"There's a high probability she'll try something tonight. If she shows up, our orders are clear—we capture her. Alive."
A chorus of firm acknowledgments followed.
Lloyd pressed another button, zooming the map out, revealing the entire AO. His eyes found Mendez and 2 Patrol.
"2 Patrol, you'll be the first boots on the ground."
He clicked the remote again, highlighting a building overlooking the harbor—the same one 2 Patrol had been using for surveillance over the past two weeks.
"As soon as it gets dark, you're setting up position here. You'll keep watch for any activity. We'll be joining you at 2200 hours, but if you spot anything suspicious before then, you call it in immediately. If necessary, we initiate the raid early. Clear?"
"Yes, boss." Mendez gave a sharp nod.
"Good."
Lloyd's gaze swept across the room again.
"As I said, the rest of us will arrive at the harbor at 2200, provided there are no early signs of enemy movement."
A hand shot up. Mendez.
"Sir, what if we spot Belladonna outside the AO?"
Lloyd's tone remained firm. "If she doesn't enter the harbor, we do nothing. Outside the AO, she's not committing a crime. Only if she crosses into the harbor do we act."
A beat of silence. Then another hand went up. Cameron.
"Sir, how much time will we have to deal with Torchwick and the White Fang—and to check the warehouse?"
Lloyd exhaled slightly. "Not much. The VPD is running interference—stalling their own response, as well as any incoming Huntsmen—but they can't hold them off indefinitely."
His eyes hardened.
"We have thirty minutes. That's all. From the moment we initiate the raid, the clock starts. Make every second count."
The weight of that statement settled over the room. Thirty minutes to secure the ship, neutralize or capture multiple targets, and sweep the warehouse. No room for error.
Lloyd let the silence stretch.
"Any other questions?"
No one spoke.
"Good." He clipped the remote to his belt. "Gear up. Wheels up in two hours. Dismissed."
The room erupted into motion as soldiers moved to gather their weapons and gear.
The time had come.
Harbor District, City of Vale, 21:15:18
"Reaper 1, this is Reaper 2. We are in position. No signs of activity yet. Over."
Mendez's voice crackled through the comms, his tone low and professional.
"Solid copy, Reaper 2. Keep us posted. Reaper 1, out."
From their rooftop vantage point, 2 Patrol scanned the harbor. Almog and Brown lay prone, sniper rifles trained on the warehouse and dockyard below, watching for the first signs of movement. Mendez and Dube moved along the rooftop, sweeping adjacent buildings for any sign of Belladonna.
Even through their thicker jackets, the cold sea breeze bit at their skin, cutting through the fabric with ease. Below, the last remnants of daylight had vanished—only streetlights and harbor lamps remained, casting pale yellow glows over shipping containers and industrial buildings.
Mendez raised his rifle, peering through his optic. He did another slow, methodical scan—nothing.
He sighed, lowering his rifle, ready to return to Almog and Brown. But then—something flickered at the edge of his vision.
He turned.
The harbor lights went dark.
The entire area, from the docks to the surrounding streets, was plunged into darkness.
Mendez's stomach tightened. No way that was an accident.
He yanked his night vision goggles down, flipping them on as he rushed back to his team. Dube was already there, and the two snipers were already powering up their NVGs.
Mendez grabbed his radio.
"Reaper 1, this is Reaper 2. We have a situation. Power has been cut off. We need you here. Now. Over."
A few seconds of silence, then Lloyd's voice.
"Copy. We are en route. ETA: 20 minutes. Keep us posted and keep your eyes peeled. Reaper 1, out."
Mendez exhaled, steadying himself before turning to his men.
"Alright, cavalry's coming in 20 minutes. Let's keep our eyes peeled. Anything moves in there, we tell each other, okay?"
"Yes, boss."
They continued observing.
Five minutes later, Dube's voice cut through the silence.
"Mendez, I got enemy vics moving in—2 o'clock."
Mendez turned his scope toward Warehouse 14.
A convoy of four to six unmarked vans and trucks sped toward the warehouse, their headlights slicing through the darkness.
Then—
"Boss, I got two birds inbound! 11 o'clock!"
Brown's voice was sharp, controlled.
Mendez pivoted, locking onto the two incoming Bullheads, their silhouettes barely visible against the night sky.
They were moving fast.
He grabbed his radio.
"Reaper 1, this is Reaper 2. We have multiple enemy vehicles, including two Bullheads, entering the AO. Over."
Lloyd's reply came quickly.
"Roger, Reaper 2. How many hostiles? Is Torchwick among them? Over."
"Reaper 1, standby," Mendez replied as he put the radio in its pouch. "Almog, Brown, how many hostiles?"
The two snipers began counting the number of hostiles.
"I got 40," Almog called out, still looking through his scope.
Before Mendez could respond, Dube tapped his shoulder.
"I got eyes on Torchwick."
Mendez turned his rifle toward the newly landed Bullhead.
There he was. Roman Torchwick.
The bastard had just disembarked, barking orders at the White Fang operatives unloading equipment.
Mendez keyed his radio.
"Reaper 1, we have visuals on around 40 hostiles in the AO. Torchwick is confirmed on-site. Over."
Meanwhile…
Corporal Baird swore as he weaved through traffic, trying to push their convoy forward.
Lloyd clenched his jaw as Mendez's update came through.
"Copy, Reaper 2. Be advised, we are currently encountering unusual traffic. Expect a delay in our arrival. Reaper 1, out."
Mendez cursed under his breath.
Dube glanced at him. "What's wrong?"
"They're delayed. Fucking traffic."
Dube frowned. "At this time?"
Before Mendez could answer, movement below caught his eye.
Two dark figures darted across the street, scaling the fence in a few quick motions before moving toward a small rooftop near the perimeter.
"I got visuals—2 o'clock, small building next to the fence."
Brown adjusted his position, his scope locking onto them.
A tense beat of silence.
"Eyes on target. That's Belladonna, boss."
Mendez and Dube checked.
There she was. Blake Belladonna. She had entered the AO.
Grave mistake.
Mendez keyed his radio.
"Reaper 1, this is Reaper 2. Blake Belladonna and an unknown individual have entered the AO. Over."
"Boss, they're on the move!" Almog called out.
Mendez narrowed his eyes as he watched the two figures move toward the White Fang and Torchwick.
"Reaper 1, they are moving in. I think they gonna try to fight them. Over."
They had finally broken through traffic.
Lloyd's response came firm.
"Solid copy. If they engage the White Fang, provide covering fire. Do not kill Torchwick. Out."
The Captain keyed his radio once again.
"Copper actual, this is Reaper 1. The White Fang and Torchwick are at the harbor, and Blake Belladonna is moving in. Over."
A moment later, commissioner Pourpre responded.
"Roger, Reaper 1. We are trying to stall, but we are receiving too many calls—we may have to report it soon. Do what you can with the time you have. Copper 1, out."
Lloyd gritted his teeth, his fist clenching.
"Fucking Belladonna."
"Holy shit, Henry! She took Torchwick hostage!"
Dube's voice was a mix of shock and amusement.
Mendez adjusted his scope.
She actually had.
Torchwick, ever the showman, seemed half-annoyed, half-amused as Blake held her blade to his neck.
Dube snapped back to focus. "What's the plan, Boss?"
Mendez remained calm, despite the sheer absurdity of the situation.
"If any of these Whiskey-Foxtrot fucks start shooting, waste 'em."
His team nodded, flipping their rifle safeties off.
Then, two more Bullheads roared into the AO and began circling around Belladonna and Torchwick.
An explosion erupted where Belladonna and Torchwick stood, sending her flying backward.
Mendez didn't hesitate.
"Waste the motherfuckers."
Their suppressed rifles barked, dropping White Fang operatives one by one.
Torchwick and Blake engaged in one-on-one combat, the criminal effortlessly dodging her strikes, his cane flicking through the air. Then, her companion joined the fight.
Unfortunately for them, more White Fang reinforcements were pouring in from the circling Bullheads overhead, while others opened fire on 2 Patrol's position, though their shots were wild and ineffective.
Despite their numerical inferiority, Blake and her partner fought with remarkable skill. A group of White Fang operatives attempted to flank them from behind.
They never got the chance.
Almog and Brown picked them off one by one, their suppressed shots punching through their skulls, sending the goons crashing lifelessly onto the pavement.
Blake and her partner whipped around, eyes widening at the sight of several dead White Fang operatives—but they quickly refocused.
Fighting through the remaining guards, they reached Torchwick, now fighting him two-on-one.
"Reaper 2, this is Reaper 1, what's your status? Over."
Mendez reloaded his rifle before answering.
"Reaper 1, this is Reaper 2. We have engaged a number of hostiles. Belladonna and her companion are currently fighting Torchwick. Over."
"Solid copy. We're almost there."
Then—new movement on their 2 o'clock.
Mendez's rifle snapped to a new target.
Two unidentified individuals had just arrived on top of nearby warehouse. One of them wielded a massive scythe.
"Who the hell are those kids?" Mendez muttered before grabbing his radio.
"Reaper 1, this is Reaper 2. We have unidentified individuals in the AO. Potential Beacon students. Over."
Before Lloyd's answer came in, Torchwick fired, hitting one of the newcomers and sending her flying backward.
The other girl launched herself forward into the air, flinging spinning blades toward Torchwick and the White Fang operatives. Torchwick dodged—but his men weren't so lucky.
Mendez gritted his teeth.
The whole damn operation was spiraling out of control.
Then Lloyd's voice cut through the chaos.
"Reaper 2, this is Reaper 1. Raid aborted. I repeat, raid aborted. Get the hell out of there! Over."
Mendez didn't need to be told twice.
"Wilco, Reaper 1. Reaper 2, out." He turned to his team.
"Guys, we're pulling out!"
Almog and Brown nodded as they grabbed their sniper rifles and moved.
But as they ran, a sharp whine cut through the air.
Dube turned, eyes widening.
Half of a Bullhead was tumbling straight toward them.
"GET DOWN!"
The impact was deafening. The shockwave sent them sprawling, debris raining down.
Mendez staggered to his feet, shaking off the daze before rushing to Dube.
"Paul! You okay?" He extended a hand.
Dube grunted, grabbing it. "Yeah, I'm good."
Almog and Brown were nearby. Almog clung to a railing, knuckles white, while Brown shakily pulled himself up.
"Still alive!" Brown called out.
"What the fuck was that?!" Almog shouted.
Mendez grabbed his arm, pulling him forward.
"A fucking Bullhead crashed into the building."
"What shot it down?" Brown asked.
Mendez didn't look back.
"I don't know, and I don't wanna find out. Vamos!"
Mendez pressed his team on. They rushed down the stairwell, reaching the bottom where, on the street, 1 Troop's vehicles were waiting.
Lloyd spotted them first.
"Reaper 2, you guys alright?"
"Affirmative, boss. What the fuck was that?"
Lloyd shook his head. "I don't know, and I don't wanna know. Let's get the hell out before any Huntsmen show up."
Another Bullhead was blown out of the sky, crashing into the harbor.
Mendez and his team sprinted for their car.
"Reaper 1 to all Reaper elements, we're oscar-mike!"
As they sped away, passing by a number of police cars rushing to the harbor, de Pass chuckled darkly.
"I can't believe a bunch of fucking kids just ruined our whole operation."
Lloyd exhaled, frustrated.
"Let's hope it's the last time."
Or next time, he'd throw them in jail himself.
A Day Later, Headmaster Ozpin's Office, Beacon Academy, 09:10:45
Ozpin took a slow sip from his steaming cup of hot chocolate, letting the warmth spread through his fingers as he gazed over the early morning view from his window. Mornings like these were usually spent in quiet reflection—paperwork, observing the campus, or preparing for his usual walk across Beacon's grounds.
But not today.
This morning, his office was far from peaceful.
Seated before him, team RWBY sat stiffly in their chairs, their expressions a mixture of guilt, apprehension, and fear. And standing beside Ozpin, her arms crossed and radiating fury, was Professor Glynda Goodwitch—the true source of their distress.
CRACK!
The sharp snap of Glynda's riding crop struck the air, making all four students flinch in their seats.
"Your team has been on my radar for a while now, for both good and bad," Glynda began, stepping forward. "But now… you've truly outdone yourselves."
Her voice was icy, each word delivered with precision and barely concealed anger.
"Not only has one of your teammates run away from the Academy," she continued, her eyes narrowing at Blake, "but the rest of you decided to take on Roman Torchwick without authorization, without backup, and without a single ounce of proper planning."
Blake shifted uncomfortably, opening her mouth. "Miss Goodwi—"
The glare she received made her snap her mouth shut.
"You put your own lives at risk—needlessly," Glynda pressed on. "And let's not even begin to discuss the collateral damage your little stunt caused."
Ruby fidgeted in her seat. She wanted to argue, to say that they had done the right thing, but…
What could she say?
They all knew how bad this could have gone.
As Glynda continued, her tone firm but now tinged with concern, Ozpin observed quietly. He could see it—the worry in her voice, the exasperation masking something deeper. And despite their poor decisions, he could also see that team RWBY knew they had messed up.
With a small gesture of his hand, Ozpin finally spoke.
"Thank you, Glynda."
His words, though calm, were enough to halt her lecture.
Ozpin set his mug down gently and leaned forward, steepling his fingers as his piercing gaze settled on the four students.
"Now," he said, voice even, "I would like to hear, in your own words, what led to… last night's events."
The team glanced at each other before all eyes settled on Ruby.
She sighed.
"Weiss and Blake got into a huge fight about Blake's… 'past,'" Ruby started, hesitating slightly. "It got heated, and Blake ran off."
Ozpin nodded slightly, urging her to continue.
"Yesterday, we went out into town to look for her. By the time it got late, we heard explosions at the harbor. We went to check it out, and that's when we found Blake."
She took a breath. "We stepped in—not because of Torchwick—but because we wanted to help our friend."
Blake lowered her head slightly, clearly touched by her leader's words.
Ozpin picked up his mug and took a small sip, considering her explanation.
"So… fighting Torchwick wasn't your intent?"
Ruby shook her head. "No, sir. It wasn't planned. At first, I just wanted to create a distraction—give Blake an opening to escape."
She rubbed her arm awkwardly. "But then Torchwick shot me, and Penny… well, Penny kinda went nuts on him and his guys."
Ozpin studied her carefully.
The girl was lying—at least, in part. He could tell.
But she lied with conviction, not out of deception, but to protect her team. There was a fire in her eyes—a determination to take responsibility for her actions, even if it meant bending the truth.
Ozpin let out a quiet sigh.
"I see."
He leaned back, taking another sip. "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Rose."
Then, with a touch of regret, he set his cup down.
"However, despite your good intentions, what you did was reckless. And while I wish I didn't have to…" he gave them a firm look, "I must assign punishment. Your team will serve detention for the next month."
There was a moment of silence.
Then—surprisingly—the girls smiled.
Detention? That was it?
Ruby nodded quickly, "Thank you, Professor. I promise you won't have to discipline us again."
Ozpin smiled softly.
"I hope so," he gestured towards the elevator. "You are dismissed."
As they got up and moved toward the elevator, Ozpin stood.
"Miss Belladonna."
Blake froze.
"Would you mind staying? I'd like to speak with you privately."
Her blood ran cold.
Her teammates hesitated, looking back at her with worry.
Blake forced a small smile. "Go ahead. I'll meet you back at the dorm."
Ruby nodded as they entered the elevator. The elevator doors closed, leaving Blake alone with Ozpin and Glynda.
Ozpin observed Blake's tense posture as she hesitantly returned to her seat.
He took another sip from his cup, his expression unreadable.
"Miss Belladonna, I've been meaning to tell you how much I admire your father."
Her body stiffened instantly. Ozpin noticed.
He raised a hand. "Relax. Your 'past' is irrelevant to me."
Blake slowly exhaled, but her muscles remained coiled.
"I was concerned at first," Ozpin admitted, "but you have shown remarkable dedication to distancing yourself from the White Fang's recent… ideology. That takes courage and self-reflection—qualities I deeply respect."
Blake nodded. "Thank you, Professor. But… I feel a 'but' coming."
Ozpin gave a small smile. "You are correct."
He leaned forward. "While I commend your determination, your actions last night were not only reckless… they were also illegal."
Blake's stomach tightened.
Then—Ozpin's next words chilled her to the bone.
"It has come to my attention that you have a standing arrest warrant."
Her eyes widened, hands clenching her lap.
"Were they there?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Ozpin remained still.
"I think you already know the answer."
She swallowed hard. Images of her former comrades, laying dead, replayed in her mind.
He stood up, still holding his cup, and made his way toward the window behind his desk. He stood there for a moment, taking another sip from his cup.
"I understand why you acted at the harbor," he began still facing forward.
He then suddenly turned back, facing Blake once more.
Ozpin sighed. "Despite the immunity afforded to you as a Beacon student, I cannot protect you if you break the law."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"And if you are arrested here, Miss Belladonna, your warrant will be 'discovered.' Vale will have no choice but to hand you over to them."
The room felt smaller. Colder.
Blake clenched her fists. "But I… I can't just stand by while the White Fang turns into monsters."
Her voice trembled.
Ozpin approached her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"I know. And I admire that."
He smiled faintly. "But throwing away your future won't help anyone."
Blake met his gaze, and after a long moment, she nodded slowly.
"Will that be all, Professor?"
Ozpin returned to his desk. "Yes. You are dismissed."
Blake stood up and made her way to the elevator, her mind still reeling from Ozpin's words.
"If you are arrested here, Miss Belladonna, your warrant will be 'discovered.' Vale will have no choice but to hand you over to them."
The warning played over in her head as she stepped inside. The moment the doors slid shut, she let out a quiet, shuddering breath.
"Sam's killers… They were here…"
A lone tear fell down her cheek.
Ozpin waited until the elevator descended before exhaling deeply.
His gaze flickered toward Glynda, who still stood beside his desk, arms crossed, brow furrowed. He could feel the disapproval radiating off her.
She opened her mouth, no doubt to question the wisdom of his leniency toward Blake. But before she could speak, Ozpin's scroll buzzed sharply.
He already knew who it would be.
Wordlessly, he retrieved the scroll and placed it into a special port built into his desk, pressing the green "answer" button.
A holographic display flickered to life, and a stern, imposing figure appeared on the screen.
Lieutenant-General Ludwig Brandt, Chief of Staff of the Watchers' Sanus Command.
Ozpin leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable.
"Have you warned Miss Belladonna, Professor?"
The words were clipped, precise. Not a question—a demand for confirmation.
No preamble. No pleasantries.
The Watchers never wasted time.
Ozpin tilted his head slightly, measuring his response.
"Yes, I have."
His tone was even, but then it sharpened.
"However, I must express my displeasure with your interference in the internal affairs of my kingdom."
It was a deliberate choice of words—a mask for what he truly felt.
Brandt's expression did not change. But his eyes—sharp, piercing—flashed with something else."
Frustration. And, to Ozpin's surprise… Contempt.
"Your displeasure is duly noted, Professor," Brandt responded, his tone colder than before. "However, with all due respect, this displeasure of yours is misplaced and, if I may be frank, utterly absurd."
Ozpin's fingers curled slightly around his mug.
He had expected accusations, but not this directness.
Before he could respond, Brandt continued, voice cutting like a blade.
"We have warned you multiple times about the White Fang and Torchwick's alliance, and yet you have done nothing. Your own police force tried to warn you. You did nothing. The Atlesians warned you. Again, you did nothing. Yet, when our favorite dusty old crow informs you of the 'Queen's' new pawns, you suddenly take this matter seriously. Why is that, Herr Professor?"
A pointed pause.
Ozpin's grip on his mug tightened. He took a slow sip, collecting his thoughts.
The accusation hit him harder than he expected. It wasn't that Brandt was wrong—he wasn't.
It was that the truth was staring Ozpin in the face.
For all his wisdom, for all his experience—his failure to trust had cost him. Again.
It always did.
Still, he countered smoothly. "I don't know what you are insinuating, General, but I fail to see how this is relevant to the situation at hand."
Then, his tone cooled, laced with something dangerously close to warning.
"You may have sought to prevent two dangerous organizations from wreaking havoc in Vale, but you have done so by violating our Kingdom's sovereignty."
That earned him a frustrated sigh from Brandt.
The General's neutral mask didn't falter, but Ozpin could see it now—the simmering fury beneath the surface.
"We have asked—both you and the Council—for permission to operate within Vale multiple times over the past few months. We had probable cause. We had compelling evidence that the White Fang, and later Roman Torchwick, were planning something."
Brandt's voice carried the weight of restrained anger.
"We provided that evidence. And you ignored it. The Council ignored it. Your own police force—frustrated with the complacency of their own leaders—turned to us for help."
Glynda inhaled sharply, shifting uncomfortably.
Brandt pressed on.
"Even the Atlesian agent that had been embedded within the White Fang corroborated what we told you."
That made Ozpin pause.
He had known about the agent, of course. But Brandt's wording… His implication… There was something more there.
Ozpin opened his mouth—but Brandt was quicker.
And now, his voice hardened further.
"Not only do you ignore serious national security threats, but you allow—no, deliberately permit—your own students to interfere in an ongoing investigation."
His tone dropped, cold and measured.
"An investigation that took us more than a year to reach last night's operation. We were this close, Professor, to stopping whatever Taurus and Torchwick were planning."
For the first time, Brandt's mask cracked—his jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides.
"Then, your students put their noses where they didn't belong."
His words were razor-sharp.
"And now, they've fucked everything up."
The last words weren't spoken with anger—but cold, undeniable frustration.
A beat of silence.
Then—Brandt's voice dropped even lower.
"Torchwick's fate is unknown. The most important witness we had is either missing… or dead."
His piercing gaze locked onto Ozpin.
"I sincerely hope for your sake, Professor, that he is dead."
Ozpin inhaled slowly. He wanted to argue. His mind begged him to argue.
But he could not.
Because Brandt was right.
And the worst part?
Ozpin already knew it.
He let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly.
Brandt's next words were calmer, but no less cutting.
"Professor, we have always done everything in our power to establish a relationship of trust with you. We have never acted against your interests, despite our differences of opinion."
Then, his voice took on an edge of frustration.
"Yet, despite our efforts, they seem to have not been enough. And if you trust us so little…"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
"I wonder—how much do you really trust your own inner circle?"
The words landed like a heavy stone in Ozpin's chest.
Glynda's breath hitched slightly, but she said nothing.
Brandt's gaze didn't waver.
"Like the Council's complacency, this lack of trust will be your downfall. Perhaps even that of humanity."
Silence.
The weight of his words hung between them, unshaken, unyielding.
Then, after a beat, his voice turned cold and resolute.
"But whether you trust us or not, we will still do what must be done—because unlike you, we don't have the luxury of doubt. If we win or not, it doesn't matter, because at least we have fought."
Ozpin froze.
For a moment—a fleeting moment—hope flickered in his chest.
Because despite their anger, despite their frustration—the Watchers still wanted to fight. Still wanted to help.
But then, a dark voice, deep inside his mind, spoke—maniacally crushing that hope into dust.
"Ah! The fools! If only they knew…"
And they would abandon him. Like so many before them.
Ozpin's expression hardened as he straightened in his chair.
"Did you have anything else to tell us, General?"
Brandt's mask of neutrality returned, but Ozpin caught the briefest flicker of bitterness in his eyes.
"Maxwell has requested an audience with the Council."
A short pause.
"Generaloberst Beck of the Atlesian General Staff will be there as well."
Another pause.
"Expect to answer for your actions… or rather, your inaction."
The transmission cut off, the holographic display flickering to darkness.
The room was left in heavy silence.
Ozpin exhaled, rubbing his temple. Glynda crossed her arms tightly, her expression unreadable.
For the first time in a long while, Ozpin didn't have an answer.
"Ah! Les cons! S'ils savaient…"
Édouard Daladier, September 30th, 1938.
Author's Notes
Thank you for reading. Leave a comment and any constructive criticism is appreciated.
This concludes the first chapter of this anthology. The AU in which this and future chapters are set in as been stewing in my head for over 4 or 5 years at this point. This started as a retelling of RWBY, from volume 1 up to volume 8, and I've been writing down all my ideas since. However, until now, I haven't committed to writing and publishing anything of this AU. This anthology serves the purpose of publishing something anf getting feedback to better improve my writing in preparation for my very own retelling of RWBY.
As a military nerd, I've always been bothered by the portrayal of the military in RWBY as an intrinsically authoritarian, jingoist, and incompetent organization by the show writers. While I love the show, this is one of the points I disliked the most, especially during volumes 7 and 8. I also thought the world building in the show was lackluster, and I wanted to add more to it.
I'll stop rambling and leave you guys to your occupations.
Again, thank you for reading. I'll see you next time for the next chapter titled "The Legionnaire".