Early the next morning, Jaune woke to the vision of a beautiful woman perched beside his cot. This would have been a welcome sight for most teenage boys. Considering it was Neo, and how she was doing so, dispelled any wayward notions.

She just stood there. A hair's breadth from his face. Teeth bared ominously.

His surprised gasp was only outdone by Roman's vocal amusement. The thief grew louder as Jaune fell out of the bed and onto his face. Properly humiliated, the teenager pulled on his borrowed clothes before descending the staircase. Neo remained upstairs.

Under the dawn's light, he moved machinery around. Several times he had to stop and tidy up. Wrappings and discarded tools littered the floor. Lacking garbage bags, he piled the refuse in the sinks.

Roman had oh-so helpfully taken to drawing attention to missed cleaning opportunities. At one point, he gave a belated warning about an errant fish barb. There was an innocent whistle when Jaune stepped on it and cut up his sneakers.

Despite these headaches, the Arc was giddy. This was to be his first proper combat lesson. Honest to goodness training. No more watching online videos or trying to make sense of book diagrams.

After pushing the freezer against the wall, Roman spoke through him loudly. "Good enough. We're ready!"

Thus summoned, Neo marched down to the center of the room. She gave a satisfied nod to the amount of space they had to work with. A curling finger brought Jaune over. Neither had weapons, which he asked Roman about.

"One step at a time. We need to drill some of the basics into you."

"Hand-to-hand stuff?"

"Even more basic. You need to learn how to reliably harness your Aura. Bringing the stuff out instinctually does not seem to be a problem. However, you aren't able to do so on purpose."

"Like back at the elevator shaft."

No matter how hard Jaune had tried, he could not get the warm lights to appear around his hands. Meanwhile, he had been able to do so when Mercury Black bashed his head against the wall. Given the strength of the assassin, instinct alone saved his life.

"Got it in one."

"So, she's going to show me some… Aura techniques?"

"In a manner of speaking." He let out a low rumble that had Neo beaming. "How to trigger Aura varies from person to person, so I can't just tell you how to do it. We are going to place you in situations where Aura comes out naturally. From there, you will need to come up with your own method."

That sounded complicated. "How-"

Almost faster than he could perceive, the smaller woman was upon him. A foot was flying at his face. Again. His brain, having caught up to the fact that he was in danger, went on high alert. Unlike before, he was able to get his forearms up.

A split second before a heeled toe clonked him, his forearm skin rippled with a protective sheen. The blunt pressure from the hit was significantly lighter than expected. It was as though a cushion had materialized between her foot and his body.

Teetering back, Jaune played back the chain of events. There was a strange, lingering warmth more evident now than ever before. Maybe he could pinpoint the feeling if they focused there. He opened his mouth to ask.

A fist struck his unprotected face.

VIII. A Matter of Respect

The training had, evidently, not ended after the first sign of Aura. He fell to the ground in a heap, hands reaching up to his forehead. Tears rolled uncontrollably.

"Stop. Timeout." Roman said to Neo while a sob slipped out. "Gimme a sec here."

There was a huff. Her foot tapped impatiently. Jaune would have been sympathetic if he were not content to find a hole to crawl in and die.

"Sorry." He whispered while continuing to cry.

"Meh. Everyone blubbers the first time they take a jab to the mush. Better here than in front of an audience."

Neo and Roman were audience enough for his failures. Jaune hated how pathetic he felt. It was like being with his family all over again.

"I'll pull it together."

"Good. Just to let you know, we aren't taking any pleasure in beating you around." A bleary look at Neo's grin showed that was not entirely accurate. "This is for your own good. You are zoning in on the great truth about fighting."

"What's that?" Jaune sniffled.

"At its most fundamental level, a fight is a game all about pain. Whoever pushes their opponent far enough to give up, wins."

No one had ever put it in those terms to Jaune before. Part of him understood Roman perfectly. With one punch, Neo had floored the blond boy. If she were an enemy, he would be completely at her mercy.

Another part of him wanted to argue. There had to be more to a fight than that. More loftier ideals and pursuits.

What about honor? Glory? Mercy? Was there no room for those things?

Roman continued. "That being said, you have to be prepared to take pain as well as make it. Got to know how to take your licks. As you have learned twice over from Neo, Aura is not always automatic. You get surprised or distracted out there and you are in for a world of hurt."

On some level, Jaune always knew that. Before he had even heard of Aura, he had gathered that the difference between life and death for a huntsman was razor thin. It felt terrifyingly real now.

Mercury. Neo. This Cinder lady, if what had been done to Roman while he was alive was any indication. They were hilariously beyond him. How could he possibly catch up?

"There is no cheat for this. You will need a thick skin. Experience is the best teacher in that regard. That is, if you still want this."

The spirit dangled the possibility of giving up. No doubt to steer Jaune into other pursuits. This was a test of character. One he could not fail.

"I do."

There was a harrumph before Roman spoke aloud once more. "Are you good to keep going?"

Jaune was unsure. It was easy to say so but infinitely tougher to commit.

Neopolitan came to stand over his defeated form. Mismatched eyes analyzed him. A small frown made clear she expected very little. For whatever reason, that casual dismissal fired him up. He pushed up in rebellion.

"I'm ready."

Neo punched him again.

/ / /

Performances never truly ended at La Maison Ta-Ta. Only extended intermissions between sets. After the customers had gone home in the small hours, entertainers would stay behind to prepare for the next showing.

Nyctophilia and insomnia were well worn traditions of cabaret culture. The bordering-on-burlesque club owner was not immune. After a particularly scintillating evening, Madam Amour would routinely be too amped on life to return home. The previous night had been one such occasion.

Sat in her office, she dreamed up new performances instead of actually dreaming. Her steady pace was broken by a nap on the couch. A short one to rejuvenate, she told herself.

This nap sank to a full-blown rest. While under, outside concerns slipped away. Eventually, the outside world reasserted itself with a cough.

"Ma'am?" She sat up as a copy of the latest playbill slid off her face. "Mister Browne is asking for you. Are you fit to receive guests?"

She blinked in astonishment. Glancing at the clock indicated they were now deep into the day. Roughly five hours had passed.

"Show him in. Take the long way."

Ever loyal, the bouncer bowed before withdrawing from the room and closing the door. It would take a few minutes for her guest to walk the long corridor. In that time, she reapplied lipstick, adjusted her green sequence dress, and performed a short breathing exercise.

The stage was set.

She was a priestess. This was her temple. At the knock, she leaned back on the throne and gave permission to enter. Thus, the scene began.

A stocky apostle tread unto her domain. Unlike the worshiper that had announced him, he passed the threshold with only the slightest deference. All he offered was a nod of thanks before approaching the palanquin.

That would not do at all. He required a reminder of the oracle's prowess. A dazzling display of knowledge that would leave him in awe.

"Brother Leroy! I knew you would come!"

This pronouncement stopped the lost soul in his tracks. "You did?"

"'twas inevitable. All who seek absolution appear before me. Though I am unsure if I can provide for you. Both luminance and abyss have judged your supplicant tithe lacking. The Brothers do not gaze kindly upon such disobedience." A flash of teeth interspersed her pronouncement. "Neither do I."

Her words affected him deeply. He searched his soul for the best path out of his spiritual turpitude. Finally, truth spoke through him.

"…Are you doing a bit?"

Or not. He clung to the old worldview. Love hath yet guided him in discernment.

"My kind sir. This is no japery!"

A low whistle escaped from his mouth. "I don't have the patience for whatever drama kid gibberish you have going on right now, Csenge."

"And I have none for your manners or lack thereof. Prostrate and repent!"

Rather than accept her guidance, he drew closer. Blasphemous hands rolled up her blonde locks and tugged. The wig and underlying mesh shifted, allowing some of her naturally honeyed curls to tumble out.

"Hey!" She slapped his mitts away.

"Like I said. Patience. All-time low."

"Meanie." She pouted. "Would it kill you to play along?"

"In this case, it might."

With a grunt, he sat in the love seat next to her. His large frame took up three-fourths of the couch. He straddled where the cushion split, putting them knee to knee. Her tinier form scootched over to accommodate.

Up close, he was noticeably disheveled. Fine threads, creased. Expensive shoes, muddied. Strong shoulders, hunched and droopy.

"Are you alright?"

"Not even close. Did you hear about a mass killing on a high-rise?"

"The one on the news? Why?"

"That was my high-rise."

He went on to describe that eventful night. How he had ended up on guard duty. Fighting for his life. His defeat and subsequent pursuit of the intruder.

Being long-time acquaintances, he spared her no detail. She wished he had. The madam became quite queasy at the description of the massacre. Several times, she had him skip ahead in the retelling. Once done, Csenge leaned forward onto him.

"Gracious, that is quite the harrowing experience." Her fingers grazed his shoulder. "Need me to take the edge off?"

Words harbored her gift. A mere fraction of her Semblance bled into him to show what she could do for injuries. He pulled away.

"Not right now. I want to keep clear headed. Though, if you are eager to do that for someone, you might give Ms. Burgundy a call. I could see her needing some."

"Very well." She would not force the issue.

Giving a house call to the property manager was a sound idea. Burgundy was a wound-up ball of nerves at normal times. An event of this magnitude might just send her over the edge.

"While you are at it, could you also give her my apologies?" He hung his head. "And my resignation. I was not able to keep her building or tenants safe."

"From the sound of things, no one short of a full huntsman could have."

That was not a knock on his abilities. Csenge knew Leroy could handle himself in a fight. That was why she had recommended him as a guard. No, it was a testament to the insurmountable chasm between huntsmen and the rest of society.

The description of the boy he had provided had the earmarks of a huntsman trained opponent. Flashy clothing. Odd fighting style. Arrogance.

Being outmatched was no shame. He did not see it that way, however.

"It was my responsibility."

Coming out alive should have been victory enough. Roy was of a stubborn sort. Resigning was some pig-headed way of retaining his honor. No amount of arguing would dislodge him from that position.

"I'll pass that along. In the meantime, what will you do for a living?"

"Don't know yet. Haven't gotten that far."

"I could hire you…"

He finished for her. "But Junior would take exception to that."

The Xiong had blacklisted Leroy. He was not allowed to work in the same industries as them, under threat of heavy penalty. It would be disrespectful for La Maison Ta-Ta to hire him at what was essentially a rival nightclub.

"What he doesn't know can't hurt him."

"He'd find out eventually. You've already done too much. No need to stir up trouble over a jailbird like me."

"We could try hiding you among the chorus line." She joked. "I'm sure we have a dress about your size. How's your rond de jambe?"

This earned a slight smirk. "Fuhgeddaboudit."

While Csenge had offered, she did feel a smidge of relief in him turning her down. There was a delicate balance between the two Vale-based outfits. Junior had the strongest standing in the underground. If he pushed his resources, he could make life very unpleasant at the cabaret club.

What caused him to stay his hand were economic realities. It would cost him too much to cause trouble. Their theater was in a part of town where overt attacks would require expensive bribes to cover up. Similarly, frivolous lawsuits would cost about as much in lawyer fees.

Money only served as a deterrent for so long. Csenge thus tried to stick to her lane. Their client bases, both legal and extralegal, were distinct enough to not cause too much friction.

"If you don't want a job, then what can I do for you?"

She doubted this was a venting session. Leroy was not one to complain about being given a raw deal. Even when he had all the rights to do so.

"Help me find the guy who did this."

"And what do you plan on doing once you find them?"

"What do you think?"

It took every iota of her self-control not to let out a loud groan. Of course, he would decide on an action like this. Coming out relatively unscathed twice was not enough. He had to go for the hat trick.

She wanted to refuse. Turn him away from the path he was on. But then he would just go somewhere else to find what he wanted.

"I'll help with conditions."

He shook his head. "No."

"You have not heard them yet."

"I can guess. I'm not giving you veto power over what I do to the punk."

Evidently, he understood his bargaining power. That enabled him to give ultimatums. Luckily, she could make some of her own.

"Not even if I could give you their name, right here, right now?"

His lips pursed as though he were sucking a lemon. He did that whenever he was caught off guard. Right now, he was trying to determine if she was pulling his leg. When she made no motion to indicate she was joking, he scowled.

"How could you possibly have that?"

"The life of a kept woman brings me so many interesting visitors."

Roy snorted. "Kept my rear end."

Csenge ignored the snark. "A gentleman caller was here the other night. No. Not the one you're thinking of. They had a list of individuals they wanted to find. One of this group happens to match the description of your attacker."

This coincidence was not lost on the madam. Torchwick must have been asking for reasons similar to Leroy. Brazen killers were bound to make a lot of enemies.

"Who were they?"

"The caller or the list?"

"Both."

"Nuh-uh. First, the conditions." He slumped before giving her the signal to name them. "My client is paying a small fortune for information on these people. As you discover more, pass it along so I can collect. I will, in turn, tell you any juicy gossip I come across regarding them."

Pooling resources was efficient. Most of her intel was gathered through the dance hall.

Having a legman to run down leads would let her cast a wider net. Leroy was ready to do so with or without her assistance.

Dedication like that was hard to come by.

"Okay…" He said, anticipating more.

"Also, if you find them in the flesh, you have to let me run it up to the client. They get first dibs."

"What if this client is too slow to act?"

"Doubtful. Trust me on this."

His mouth puckered again. This time contemplating if he wanted to find another way. As willful as Leroy was, Csenge knew she had him hooked.

"Fine. Where is this list?"

She winked and reached down between his legs. A battle of wills began. Slitted pupils refused to break contact with her rounds. Trying to ruin her fun, as if that were possible.

Skilled digits went to work. Poking. Prodding. Grasping.

At last, she drew out the letter from the couch cushions. "Right here."

/ / /

It was at ten on the dot when Junior's opened. A smattering of customers trickled in as soon as the electronic doors unlocked, eager for a liquid brunch. They crowded into the available seating nearest the bar and furthest from the cordoned off area.

Tending the taps was Hei 'Junior' Xiong. He was an imposing professional in a dark vest and red tie. His meticulously groomed beard hid a weak chin he held high while taking orders.

Their current clientele were a mix of businesspeople, dockworkers, and randos-off-the-street. Few of them would have been allowed inside during peak night hours. That scene was reserved for affluent or good-looking partygoers.

However, the club could not afford to be picky. They recently expanded their operating hours to increase revenue. Junior had taken on these extra shifts to save money. As the owner, he could refuse to pay himself and avoid kingdom mandated overtime.

None of his mixologists had complained, mostly because they were too scared to want more hours. Some had canceled their contracts, not wanting to take a risk. They would return, given time. Until then, Junior was knee-deep in triple shifts for the foreseeable future.

While not ideal, the situation was not all bad. As a man who made his living on learning and sharing truths, slinging drinks allowed Hei to keep track of Vale's pulse. Loose lips were the most common ailment in the city.

The act also kept him humble. Too many in the Underground thought they were above such activities. Junior was not.

There was also a certain enjoyment to be found in repetitive tasks. The exact measurements. The precise stirring. The application of cleanser onto glazed surfaces.

It was soothing. Peaceful.

"And then, bam! She went all crazy on them. Flips, kicks, all that stuff."

At least, it was usually peaceful. There was a trio huddled at a table beside the exit. The man they were surrounding had been the one to make the loud noise.

Junior set down the last piece of glassware he was cleaning. Normally he did not care if his customers were a little rowdy. However, the guys standing around were dressed in black suits, identical brimmed hats, and red shades. They were his guys and they were neglecting their duties.

"Jeez. What did you do?" He overheard as he neared the slackers.

"Got outta there, is what I did." A chorus of boos followed the pronouncement. "You all weren't there. The chick was like some kind of demented ballerina."

"You're not helping your case."

"Oh, stuff it!"

The ribbing continued as Junior came to a stop behind them. Bazan was the first to see their boss. He poked Tambour in the ribs as she was taking a long drink. Her spit up hit Dag, who leapt away dripping.

"Oi! What's the big idea!?"

"That's what I would like to know." The full table gave their employer their undivided attention. None spoke up. "Well? Where are the twins?"

Bazan recovered their full faculties the quickest. "Supply shopping."

"Ah. Which was why you felt like you could goof off."

"It's not like that. Bahri here was asking for assistance. A pier-sixer went down at his place and he's too scared to go back."

"I'm not scared and I don't need help." The tattooist withered under the renewed attention. "Just worried about the damage they caused. I heard things breaking on the way out. Not sure I want to see the mess they made."

"So, you came here to drown your troubles."

"Kinda." Bahri shrugged.

The Xiong boss could sympathize. He had his own bad luck with unruly patrons. His gaze lingered over the ruined dance floor. An entire half of the establishment was unusable.

At the same time, the Parlor could not be allowed to miss its next protection payment. If Junior came down hard, other proprietors might rebel and question why they had paid up. But, if he helped get them running again, there would be no such narrative to contend with.

"You two." Tambour and Dag stiffened when Junior addressed them. "Since you have nothing better to do, escort him to the Parlor. If need be, help him clean up."

They both nodded. Bahri looked alarmed. "Like I said, I don't-"

Tambour cut him off. "No point in arguing. Da boss has spoken."

Outnumbered, the artist conceded. Together they drank the last from a pitcher of mimosa they were sharing before departing. All the while the gangsters continued to rag on Bahri for running away.

Junior sighed, glad to have them out of the way. There was a reason he left day-to-day managerial duties up to his enforcers. Still, he had one employee to deal with.

"And me?" Bazan asked.

"Man the bar. I need a short break. Drafts only." He could be trusted to pour correctly. "Anyone asks for a cocktail, write down the order. I'll get to it when I return."

In the length of time they had been speaking, a line had formed at the counter. Bazan jogged over. Hei was already walking in the opposite direction.

Cutting through the damaged portion of the club reminded him of why he was in such dire straits. Cracked wood shifted underneath him as he climbed stairs. Extensive remodeling work would be needed.

In the backroom office he allowed himself to slouch. He poured some emergency whiskey from a demijohn into a crystal cup. He then crossed the room to the sole window. Drawing blinders, he keeked outside. Natural light burned as much as the alcohol sliding down his gullet.

An eyesore was the first thing that grabbed his attention. A double-wide construction dumpster sat near the side entrance. He had rented the receptacle earlier that week. It was already filled to the brim with broken furniture and glass. More money down the drain.

His insurance provider refused to reimburse. Somehow, the source of the damage was not listed under the existing policy. Despite not paying out, the underwriter decided to raise premiums anyway, due to 'new' high-risk factors.

And people called Junior a crook.

Sometimes he wondered if this line of work was more trouble than it was worth. Being in the know should have bought him some goodwill and quiet. In practice it seemed like there was always someone out there trying to make life difficult.

Worse, there was no way of hiding from trouble. Being accessible was part of the job. Recent events, admittedly, had him rethinking that. Maybe there were further vetting measures he could institute to keep the loons at bay.

Either way, that was future Junior's problem. Current Junior wanted to relax.

The shutters rebounded into place. Taking a long draw from his glass, he made motions to return to his desk. He froze when he caught a shadow moving in the darkened portions of his sight.

Someone stepped forward, cutting the room in half. His mouth felt very dry. He refrained from taking another sip. He did not want to lose track of the visitor for a moment.

It was her.

Mirthfully mismatched eyes danced at catching the man by surprise. Sneaking into his office unnoticed should have been impossible, especially for a walking kaleidoscope. Yet here she was.

Why that was, Junior had only conjecture. Recent setbacks had weakened his standing. All it took was one emboldened rival to put a hit out on him.

As far as people to send, Neopolitan was the perfect candidate. She had both the necessary training and motivation. Despite appearances, the girl was incredibly dangerous. Petite cutesiness was camouflage for an apex predator.

Junior weighed his options. Escape was improbable. Yelling for help would not be wise, as his strongest members were not in the building. Throwing his glass would just tick her off. Short of a bazooka, there was not much he could do to force her retreat.

And his bazooka was at the repair shop.

He shuffled rightward. She observed. No actions were taken to stop him. At least, none he could see. There could be no trust in his ocular senses.

Finally, his back was no longer facing the window. A solid wall was behind him now. There was less of a chance of him getting stabbed or shot in the back. He set the half-drained drink on the sill to free up his fists.

His would-be murderer tread closer. He returned the favor of only watching. Her arms were folded behind her, most likely hiding a weapon. She ceased the encroachment at about a queen-size bed's length from him. Any closer and he would have lost his nerve.

Junior did his best to appear assured of victory. She continued her vigil. Seconds ticked away without any more moves. A maddening game of chicken, where neither of them were willing to go first.

"We doing this thing or what?"

She grinned. He braced for impact.

"Must we be so dramatic?"

There was another in the room. Remembering who Neopolitan was associated with, aided by the bowler hat she wore, there was only one person that could have been.

"Torchwick." Hei growled.

The human gadfly did not reveal himself. Instead, Neopolitan's hands came to rest in front of her torso, holding a Scroll. On the display was the still image of a smirking, orange haired man.

"Is that anyway to greet an old friend?" Audio bars around the picture fluctuated with each word.

"You're no friend of mine."

"Well now. Why not put a dagger through my heart?"

Many had considered doing so. Several had tried. Roman was too slippery for anyone to hold down for too long. The woman in the room ensured that.

"What is this all about? You finally decided to take over?"

"As if! I already have enough huntresses trying to break me in half. No thank you!"

Visions of a blonde girl wrecking the club played in Junior's mind. His face twitched at the reminder. Doubly so at the flippant reasoning for not wanting to be head of the Xiong family.

Despite the momentary anger, he felt his heart rate return to normal. Roman acting all chummy meant he was after something. That gave Junior a bit of his confidence back. He marched over to sit in his executive chair and poured a fresh beverage. Neopolitan followed dutifully.

"If you aren't here to rub me out, then what are you here for?"

"I need a favor."

"Eat me."

Retroactively weighing those words, Junior decided they were correct. Being direct was occasionally the best response. They adequately conveyed his feelings on the request. There was no confusion on meaning.

There should not have been, at any rate. "You know I'm good for it."

"Some of my top guys are in jail now because of you."

"The plan was fine. We got unlucky. It happens."

"Not to the Xiong, it doesn't."

Blood relatives had been thrown out of the clan for similar mishaps. Torchwick's status as an associate would not have normally saved him from repercussions. Only a small amount of pity spared him from full banishment.

"Come on Hei. I want to make this right. Surely there is something that can be done to square us away."

Junior was inclined to tell Roman where he could go and 'square' himself. Then he had a better idea. Business was business. Personal grievances had to be set aside for the good of the family.

"Perhaps." He leaned back, keeping his hands visible so that the killer would not think he was trying anything funny. "Though the task will not be a simple one. Would you accept this request to regain your honor?"

"Promise me you'll stop talking like a Mistralian novella, first."

The syndicate leader cleared his throat. "There's a depot on the corner of Lutwidge and Lime. Used to be a chemical plant. You know the one."

"Sure."

"Well, I bought the place back when the company that used to own it went under. Wanted to flip it into something more attractive; A brewery or a restaurant or the like. City nonsense stopped me from doing so."

The land was not zoned for anything other than industrial work. That narrowed the redevelopment options. Junior also had a hard time finding another buyer. Local companies wanted peanuts for the prime inside-the-wall real estate, so he held on.

"Anyway," He continued. "A bunch of upstarts moved in while I was focused on other things to set up a different kind of brewing operation. Call themselves the 'High Fly Flows,' so there is no mistaking what they are all about."

"If they are trespassing, why not ring up the jackboots on them?"

In other words, why not use the Division. They were the go-to for situations like this. Usually.

"Coppers won't do a thing. They are being cut in on the profit."

Fair enough. But then the Flows had the nerve to dismiss the Xiong as middlemen. As though Junior was a reseller of cheap goods. After a tumultuous week and a half, they probably thought they were forgotten.

Fat chance. They were just low on the priority list.

"So what? You want me to clear out the squatters?"

"In a sense. I want an example made. Do whatever you must to make this a reality."

"Eh, this seems a little below my skill set. Are you sure you wouldn't rather me steal something for you?"

Roman misunderstood. That this task was beneath him was the point. He, like so many others, needed a humbling and to show Junior the respect he deserved. This served both purposes.

"That is the price of my forgiveness. Take it or leave."

There was a long pause. "Fine. Be in touch soon."

The screen cut out. Neopolitan hid the Scroll away. She proceeded to stare blankly at Junior. He did not think she would do anything now that an accord had been reached, but he would not underestimate the tiny terror. The Xiong family had made that error before to fatal results.

His heart skipped a beat when she moved suddenly. Her finger pulled down an eyelid as she stuck her tongue out. She held that pose for a few seconds before her image disintegrated into a million pieces.

"Cheeky b-"

/ / /

"Itching to go?"

Neo eagerly bobbed her head on the other side. She had called Roman back with video enabled. Blue sky behind her suggested she was away from Junior's club. They could now communicate freely.

"So are we. Right Jaune?"

"Gwaaa?" The teen responded.

He lay on the cot, only half listening to them. A chilled cloth was held tight to his nose and forehead. Propped up by a pillow was the red Scroll. It was close enough for the spirit to talk into while the host acted like a big baby. Getting him to answer the call had been a chore and a half.

After their training session, Jaune had crawled back to bed. There he slept most of the day away. Their favorite ice cream girl had decided to facilitate contact with Junior rather than wait around for the boy.

Probably for the best. The night club owner was a completely different beast to Madam A. There was no telling if the nightclub owner would have shot the messenger.

"Go on ahead. We'll meet you outside."

There was a longer conversation to be had. For practical reasons, all Neo could do was roll her eyes and agree. The device shut off once more. Roman ejected himself from the Aura sea and into the material world.

"Rise and shine, buckaroo. Adventure awaits! We got a drug den to infiltrate."

"...Five more minutes mom."

A little insulted, Roman tried a different tack. "I know things are tough right now but listen! This is what you wanted. True, honest, huntsman work!"

Except it was none of those things. This was more like self-serving vigilantism. Roman had always been an ends-over-means kind of guy. That they were taking down a bunch of pushers should have been more important than why they were doing so.

Jaune sat up and pulled away the rag. Considering the wringer he had been put through, he did not look too bad. There was little to no bruising.

"What do we do?"

That was what Roman wanted to hear. "Like any good heist, we need a plan."

"Heist?"

"We are essentially breaking into a place to benefit ourselves." Stretching the definition a bit, but Roman would take what he could. "Actually, I'm sure they've got money somewhere. Paying off cops to overlook a large operation has got to be expensive."

"I guess." Jaune said, nervously rubbing the back of his head.

"Speaking of cops, we should check out that car Neo nabbed for us."

"Why?"

"Humor me."

The teenager grabbed a pair of keys connected by a ring from the table. One was bronze and the other silver. They then exited the shack and came upon the hidden sedan once more.

Water had accumulated on the tarp. Jaune managed to avoid splashing himself as he removed the covering. He had just fit the silver key into the door when Roman phased through. Once inside, he searched the vehicle intently.

"What are you looking for?" Jaune's dampened voice traveled through the other side of the locked door.

"Thought there might be something in here that would give us an edge."

They did not know how many goons occupied the former chemical plant. A little bit of crowd control would go a long way. Unfortunately, all Roman found were empty soda cans and a melted candy bar. The sedan was so painfully ordinary.

Where were the cuffs? The tear gas? The other fascist tools of oppression he had heard so much about? There was not even a single baton.

Roman gave his assessment as he stepped out. "No dice."

"We haven't checked the trunk." Jaune offered.

They walked to the rear. Using the bronze key, he opened the hatch. The hinge popped the lid by a minuscule amount. He had to raise it the rest of the way. At first, the boot's insides looked as boringly empty as the rest of the sedan. Then Roman saw something in the back corner.

"Hey, bring that out for me."

The kid did as he was told and pulled out a dark bundle. As he unrolled the mass of fabric, Roman let out a whoop of joy. Jaune looked at him in confusion.

"What is it?"

"Our in with the High Fly Flows."