Hello! Am I starting a new fic while I have 3 others still in progress? Yes, I am. I'm sorry, but this idea would not leave my head, so I had to get it out. Unlike previously however, I have already written 10 chapters of this in advance, and I'll be pacing myself more, so we'll see. I'll try to update on a weekly basis for now.
Also, I want to give a fair warning, there will be very little romantic focus in this fic. Canon relationships are still there, but they won't get heavy focus. Personally, I suck at and generally don't really enjoy writing romance. Not to say it will be absent completely, there will be moments, but if you're here expecting full chapters focusing on romantic relationship drama, you won't find it here.
Anywho, if you've read any of my other fics, you know I like military fiction, and this is very much in line with that. This fic will also be crossposted on AO3, and because they allow image embedding on that site, there will be reference pictures at the end of each chapter. So read here then jump over there to see the pictures if you want.
Lastly, if this fic had an opening theme, the song would be Die from the RWBY Volume 2 Soundtrack. If you want to set the tone before starting to read, give it a listen.
Alright, hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1 - Ghosts in the Desert
The rhythmic hum of the Bullhead's engines fill the cabin, blending with the occasional bump of slight turbulence. Inside, twelve armored figures sit in silence, each clad in highly advanced, battle-worn armor.
Some are checking weapons. Others are adjusting their gear. No one speaks unnecessarily. Preparing for an operation is a well established routine for them.
The familiar voice of a young woman breaks over the comms. "Handler-1 to Wraith Squadron, your target is confirmed, recon aircraft obtained a visual on the church. Forwarding the information to you, Ghost. Wraith Squadron, you are to move in and eliminate all hostiles in the AO. Operation Scorchlight is a go."
One of the soldiers, dressed in midnight-black armor with glowing red optics, responds in a clipped tone, "Wraith Actual copies all, Handler-1. Beginning operation."
A snarky voice comes from the cockpit comms.
"Alright, kiddos, we're in the pipe, five-by-five. Try not to get yourselves killed, yeah?"
It's their pilot, Fireball. She's sharp-tongued and reckless, but the best damn flier in the UKR.
The black armored figure, Ghost, stands up. The metal of his boots clanking softly against the floor as he steps forward.
"Final briefing," Ghost says, his voice cold and measured. He rests one hand on the handle of the sword at his side, the other gripping a small display projecting a holo-map of the mission zone.
"We're dropping into a hot zone. A small town in Vacuo has been reporting missing people. Turns out our friends in the Witch Cult have set up shop in an old church outside the settlement. We've got confirmation of at least twenty cultists inside, possibly more. Intel suggests they're armed and using Grimm augmentation. That means we hit fast, we hit hard, and we don't let them dig in."
He turns to two soldiers sitting near the drop doors.
The first is clad in deep gray armor and tinkering with a drone. Next to him sits a short, silent figure wrapped in armor that is matte black with venomous yellow linework. Her massive sniper rifle rests against her leg.
"You two are up first. We'll drop you on an outcropping overlooking the church. Wasp, find your sightline and cover the approach. Cipher, get the drone in the air and jam their comms. If they try calling for reinforcements, make sure the only thing they hear is static."
Cipher nods, adjusting the controls on his forearm-mounted interface, his helmet's visor flickering with data. Wasp simply taps the barrel of her massive rifle, already prepared.
Ghost turns back to the rest of the squad.
"Once they're in position, we hit the ground in two teams. Team A is with me: Sentinel, Overdrive, Mirage, and Crossfire."
Four figures give curt nods.
Sentinel, clad in olive-green armor, casually checks her rifle's magazine, but the medical pack secured to her back is just as important as her weapon.
Overdrive, wearing sleek white and cobalt blue armor, cracks her knuckles. The reinforced gauntlets on her hands glint under the cabin lights.
Mirage, in jade-green armor, idly spins one of her twin pistols in her hand before clicking it back into place.
Crossfire, the one in deep violet armor, rests a hand on one of the pouches affixed to her hips.
"Team B is under Warlock," Ghost continues, nodding toward the white-armored soldier. "You've got Riptide, Shockwave, Lotus, and Snapshot."
Riptide, clad in bright blue and red armor, adjusts his modified mechashift rifle, giving it a final check.
Shockwave, in white and pink armor, grins behind her helmet and gives her grenade launcher's cylinder a twirl.
Lotus, in deep green armor, is silent. His wrist-mounted blades retract with a soft click, and he picks up one of his pistols.
Snapshot, the brown-armored operative makes one final adjustment to her hard-light projector.
Warlock simply crosses his arms, his white armor rigidly pristine, as he absorbs the information.
"We breach fast," Ghost says. "Team A, we take the main entrance. Team B, you flank around back, clear any escape routes. No survivors. No mercy. These bastards have been kidnapping civilians, and we don't leave them breathing long enough to do it again."
Silence. No hesitation. No disagreement. Just readiness.
Fireball's voice cuts in again.
"Dropping in three… two… one…"
The side door of the Bullhead slides open, and Cipher and Wasp are gone in an instant. Disappearing into the night, and dropping onto the rocky outcrop below.
Ghost's voice comes through the comms.
"Wasp, give me a sitrep."
A second of static, then,
"I have the church in sight," comes Wasp's smooth, professional response. "Five guards outside. No patrols. No movement from inside."
"Cipher?"
"Drone is up. Jamming their communications now."
From his perch, Cipher's drone lifts into the air, its optical sensors scanning the area, its interference signal spreading through the enemy's communication channels.
Inside the Bullhead, Ghost turns to the rest of the team.
"Gear up. We hit the ground in sixty."
Soft clicks echo as magazines are locked into weapons, and grenades secured to belts.
The Bullhead banks hard, cutting low over the rocky terrain behind the old, decrepit church. The moment the rear hatch cracks open, the five armored figures of Team B drop into the night without hesitation.
The second their boots hit the sand, Warlock raises a fist, signaling for the team to hold position. The white-armored second-in-command immediately checks their surroundings, his visor flickering with tactical data. The air is thick with dust, swirling in the Bullhead's wake, but the distant howls of the Grimm are unmistakable.
They know Wraith Squadron is here.
Above, the Bullhead veers off, looping around to deposit Team A at the front entrance, leaving Team B in the shadows of the ruins.
"Snapshot, give me eyes inside," Warlock orders, voice crisp through the comms.
"On it," the brown-armored operative replies, raising her hard-light projector. A small drone forms in her palm, glowing faintly before she sends it forward, maneuvering it through the cracks and broken windows of the church.
After a few seconds, her voice returns, cold and professional.
"I count sixteen hostiles inside. Five at the front, armed. The rest are deeper in, preparing something."
"Something?" Riptide asks, gripping his modified mechashift rifle, the blue plating of his armor reflecting the moonlight.
Snapshot pauses for a beat, then adds, "A summoning circle. It's covered in Grimm veins."
"Tch. That can't be good," Shockwave mutters, shifting her grenade launcher over her shoulder. The pink-armored demolitions expert was already itching to blow something up, and that was a damn good excuse.
Warlock processes the new intel, then opens comms.
"Ghost, we have a ritual in progress. Hostiles are aware. Reinforcements may be incoming."
Ghost's response is immediate.
"Copy that. We move now. Secure the back. Team A hitting the front."
The back doors of the church burst open.
Three Beowolves emerge, their red eyes glowing, claws glinting in the dim moonlight.
The Grimm sniff the air, their heads snapping toward the approaching figures in armor, their instincts locked onto their new prey.
One roars, and the fight begins.
Warlock doesn't hesitate.
"Engage. Clean up fast."
Shockwave grins beneath her helmet.
"Finally."
She launches a grenade forward, but before it even hits its target, Lotus speeds past her. The grenade explodes just as Lotus reaches the first Beowolf, using the blast as a distraction.
The creature barely has time to react before Lotus' wrist-mounted blades snap out, slashing across its throat in one fluid motion. The Grimm staggers, choking on its own vanishing essence, before collapsing into black mist.
A second Beowolf lunges toward Shockwave.
She sidesteps the charge, rolling to the side. As she comes out of her roll, she unholsters the pistol on her hip into her off hand. On her knee, she fires a trio of shots into the Beowolf's mask before it can make another move towards her. Its body drops, black ichor oozing from the holes in its head.
The last Beowolf sees what happened and turns to retreat.
Bad idea.
Riptide is already tracking it through his rifle scope, finger on the trigger.
The dull crack of a silenced rifle, and the Beowolf's head snaps back. Its momentum carries it forward another few steps before it collapses into dust.
"Back secured," Warlock reports.
"Copy," Ghost responds over comms. "Team A engaging now."
At the front of the church, the Bullhead roars overhead, kicking up dust and debris as Team A drops from the side hatch in quick succession.
The cultists at the entrance open fire immediately, but Overdrive is already moving.
The brawler blurs forward, closing the distance in an instant. Gunfire sparks off her armor, but she barely slows down. Then her reinforced gauntlet connects with the first cultist's chest.
The robed fanatic goes flying, colliding with the church wall with a sickening crack.
Mirage follows behind her, ducking under stray bullets. She fires her twin pistols, each shot precise and lethal, dropping two more cultists before they can react.
Crossfire steps up next, throwing three steel balls forward, her semblance activating the moment they leave her fingertips.
The projectiles fly forward, the cultists not realizing just how dangerous they are, and punching through obstacles and bodies alike. The last two cultists at the entrance crumple, holes clean through their skulls before they even knew they were dead.
As the last one hits the ground, Ghost steps forward, his midnight-black armor still and composed, his red optics glowing in the dim light.
He didn't need to say it.
They have the entrance. Now it was time to go inside.
The church interior is a rotting husk, its once-sacred walls now defiled with twisting black Grimm veins, pulsing like something alive. At the far end of the hall, the cultists continue their unholy chant, forming a ring around the seething mass of dark energy at the altar. Their voices rise in a fevered crescendo, an eerie, distorted harmony that sends a cold chill through the air.
But the moment the heavy wooden doors were breached, that harmony was shattered.
Two armored fireteams storm the building simultaneously. One from the front entrance, the other from the rear passage, each squad moving with lethal precision.
Ghost gives the order.
"Wraith Squadron, weapons free. Clean house."
His midnight-black armor moves like a shadow in the dim candlelight, his red visor flashing as he raises his trusty M7S and puts a burst of rounds into the skull of the nearest cultist before they even have time to scream.
Behind him, Overdrive is already closing the gap on another group, her gauntlets crackling with kinetic energy. A robed figure turns toward her, raising a rifle, but he never gets the chance to pull the trigger.
Overdrive's fist drives into his chest with the force of a freight train, splintering bone and sending him flying across the room. He crashes against a rotting wooden pew, his body going limp.
Mirage flanks left, her twin pistols flashing in the flickering torchlight. Every shot finds its mark, clean and efficient. Then a cultist steps into the hallway in front of her, leveling a rifle, she glances to the side to see another emerging from a side room. She smirks to herself, and, with a thought, activates her semblance. The cultist with the rifle turns towards his ally and fires a barrage of bullets, tearing the other cultist to shreds. Before he even realizes what he did, Mirage is right next to him, pistol leveled at his head. He tries to turn, but a muzzle flash cuts him off.
Crossfire stays beside Ghost, tossing four steel balls in the direction of some cultists taking cover behind some pews. The moment they leave her hands, they fly forward, punching through wood, torso, skull, and spine with surgical precision. Bodies fall like dominos, then she turns, loading a sphere into her hand crossbow, and firing it towards another cultist taking cover behind a thick reinforced wall. It doesn't help him, and he falls forward, hole punched clean through his head.
Sentinel holds position near the door, sweeping the outer edges of the church. A wounded cultist reaches for a weapon, but before he can grab it, Sentinel fires a precise shot from her M7S through his hand, knocking the pistol away.
She doesn't waste a second.
One more shot through the skull, and the fight moves on.
The back entrance of the church shatters as Warlock's team breaches, splitting off into flanking positions.
Warlock moves with ruthless efficiency, drawing the longsword from his hip in one hand and holding an M6S pistol in the other. A glyph appears at his feet and he flies forward at incredible speed, brandishing his sword in a practiced motion, impaling the first robed figure in his path. With his sword still through the first cultist's body, he raises his other hand, silenced pistol snapping twice, and two more cultists collapse, lifeless. He slides his sword from the corpse, getting rid of the blood with a flick of the wrist.
Riptide immediately pushes forward, his blue armor reflecting the dim light as he unleashes suppressing fire down the right aisle, forcing the cultists to scatter behind cover, or die.
Shockwave doesn't hesitate.
She fires a grenade, and it impacts right behind their cover, the fire dust igniting on impact. The resulting explosion shreds their bodies with shrapnel and sends burning bodies crumpling against the walls.
Lotus moves smoothly through the chaos like water, the blades on his twin pistols flashing. A cultist raises a dagger, but Lotus is already behind him. A single, clean slice across the throat, and the robed man drops with a gurgle.
Snapshot is last through the door, but the moment she enters, she brings her hard-light weapon to life, constructing a massive greatsword in her hands. She swings through two enemies in one clean arc, the hard-light blade dissipating as she transitions into gunfire, her weapon seamlessly shifting into a perfect copy of Riptide's rifle to finish the job.
Within seconds, the cult's outer defenses had been decimated.
But the real threat still stands at the altar.
Despite the slaughter around him, the remaining high-ranking cultist doesn't break.
He stands in a perfect ring, chanting louder, faster, his body convulsing as dark veins stretched across his skin. A Priest, his pale, half-Grimm face twisting into a hideous grin.
"You are too late," he whispers, though his voice echoes unnaturally across the room.
A violent pulse of dark energy explodes outward, knocking back both teams.
The air inside the ruined church becomes suffocating as the seething black ichor twists and churns, taking on a monstrous shape. The grotesque mass solidifies, its hulking body wrapped in ashen bone plating and crimson-tinted Grimm corruption. Its eyes flare a deep, malevolent red, locking onto Wraith Squadron with pure, murderous intent.
The stone beneath it cracks as it pushes itself up with massive clawed limbs, its warped, lion-like face splitting into a jagged, unnatural grin. A deep, guttural growl rumbles from its throat.
The Priest at the altar stands and spreads his arms, a manic grin splitting his face, taking a few steps forward towards the creature. Steps that happen to end with him standing in line with a stained glass window.
"Behold!" he cries. "A blessing of our Goddess! You cannot-"
A sniper round shatters the glass and tears through his skull.
The Priest collapses instantly, his body crumpling like a discarded puppet.
"Tango down."
From her perch outside, Wasp chambers another round, adjusting her scope.
Ghost's voice cuts through the comms.
"Engage! Keep moving! Don't let it pin you down!"
The creature lurches forward, its massive clawed hand swiping across the ruined pews, sending splintered wood and shattered stone flying. Team A scatters, narrowly avoiding the devastating impact as the monster's strike caves in the church floor.
Warlock strikes first, his sword glowing as he unleashes a wave of icicles into the beast's forearm. The ice cuts deep, but the wounds seal almost instantly, black ichor stitching itself together and pushing the ice out.
"It's regenerating!" Warlock snaps.
"Then we hit it harder!" Riptide calls back, shouldering his modified rifle and unleashing a burst of high-caliber rounds into its torso.
The bullets punch through its hide, but the beast barely flinches. Instead, it lunges at Warlock, quicker than anything that size should be able to.
Before he can react, the monster backhands him and he goes flying across the church, crashing into Snapshot. Then it turns and charges at Riptide.
"MOVE!"
Riptide barely dodges as Overdrive intercepts the charge, her gauntlets crackling with energy as she slammed both fists into the beast's shoulder. The impact sends a blast wave through the air, but the monster plants its feet, resisting the force before smacking her into the ground with enough power to crack the stone floor.
The crack of a sniper round echoes from outside the church and the beast roars as ichor pours out of where its right eye was. Again though, this does little to slow it as the eye regenerates in seconds.
Shockwave returns fire, her grenade launcher barking as explosive rounds tear into the beast's flank. The explosions rip chunks of Grimm flesh away, but again, the wounds begin closing almost instantly.
The creature snarls, then rears up on its hind legs. Its massive lion-like head twists, Grimm ichor bubbling from its mouth. Then, it vomits a wave of corrosive black bile toward them.
"Scatter!"
Mirage and Crossfire dive left, Lotus and Sentinel go right, and Shockwave just turns on her heel sprinting back to the entrance of the church before spinning back to face it. The corrosive bile splashes across the stone floor, eating through the remains of the church like acid.
"What the hell is this thing?!" Crossfire shouts.
"Wasp, any weak points?!" Ghost demands.
"One second," Wasp's voice came through. Her scope adjusted, scanning the monster for structural weaknesses.
"I hit its eye and it just stunned it. It's tough. But-"
The creature roars, its voice reverberating through the ruined walls, shaking the very air.
Then, it starts to glow.
The black ichor pulsing through its body turns a deep crimson, its regeneration accelerating.
Cipher's voice cuts in over comms, urgent.
"It's reacting to Grimm essence in the area! I think it's pulling strength from something!"
"Tell me where, Cipher." Ghost impatiently growls back.
"I've got it! The energy is being pulled up from beneath the church."
Ghost's head snaps to the woman in pink.
"Shockwave! Blow the floor!"
Shockwave grins viciously, already priming a cluster charge.
"With pleasure!"
She throws the explosive right at the beast's feet, and detonates it with the click of a remote.
The blast ruptures the already weakened stone, and suddenly the entire section of the church collapses beneath the monster.
It lets out a guttural roar as it plummets, vanishing into the depths below, swallowed by the darkness.
A moment of silence.
Then…
The ruins tremble, but the creature doesn't re-emerge.
Cipher's voice crackled over the comms.
"I'm reading massive Grimm energy below. Whatever was feeding it is definitely down there."
Ghost exhales, his hand falling to the weapon on his hip.
"Then we're not done yet."
He turns to the squad.
"We're going after it."
The church still trembles, dust and debris trickling from the ruined ceiling as Wraith Squadron stands at the jagged edge of the collapsed floor, peering into the black abyss below.
Ghost taps his comms, his red visor pulsing dimly in the darkness.
"Cipher, what's the status of their reinforcements?"
A second later, Cipher's voice crackles through.
"Jamming is still in place. No signals in or out."
His drone hovers nearby, scanning for disturbances.
"If they had backup, they're in the dark. We're clear for now."
Ghost nods.
"Good. Then we finish this."
Without another word, he drops down into the abyss.
The squad follows, one by one plunging into the cavernous void.
The air grows colder, thicker. Grimm energy pulses through the underground chamber like the heartbeat of something ancient and unnatural. The stone walls are veined with corrupted red light, twisting in impossible patterns. The smell of rot manages to somehow seep through the filters of their helmets.
And in the center-
The beast stirs.
The moment Ghost's boots hit the cavern floor, the creature lurches forward with terrifying speed. Ghost barely manages to dodge the incoming claw.
Shockwave fires a grenade round straight into its side and an explosion of concussive force rocks the cavern, sending shrapnel scattering. The beast staggers, but even as black ichor oozes from its wounds, its flesh stitches itself back together instantly.
"Damn thing just won't die!" Riptide shouts, firing a burst from his rifle. The rounds rip into the creature's hide, but it charges through the gunfire unphased.
Mirage ducks and rolls beneath a sweeping claw, her twin pistols firing as she lands precise shots at the exposed joints. The bullets spark against hardened bone, but the creature doesn't even slow down.
It's getting stronger.
Ghost narrows his eyes. He swings his SMG onto his back and tightens his grip on the hilt of the sword on his hip, pulling both it and its sheathe into his grasp. He partially unsheathes it and holds it horizontal to his body. The deep red of the blade seems to invite the creature to attack.
He braces himself, and lets the monster come to him.
It swings, its massive, devastating claws cutting through the air. Ghost stands tall and takes the hit head-on.
The impact sends a gust of wind through the cavern, but instead of crushing him, the blow disperses into his blade. The red glow along the steel flares, absorbing the force, the energy, the sheer power of the attack itself.
For the first time, the creature hesitates.
It senses something.
Something it should fear.
Ghost's voice cuts through the chaos, calm and absolute.
"Warlock. Pin it down."
Warlock doesn't question it.
He raises his sword, and a massive purple glyph springs into existence below the creature, radiating intense gravitational energy.
The monster lets out a roar as it's crushed into the earth, thrashing and struggling, but it's futile.
Ghost moves forward, his blade clicking fully back into its sheath.
He steps forward, a red glow emanates from his body, as if space itself is warping around him.
The squad instinctively backs away.
The beast, trapped by Warlock's glyph, starts struggling harder, staring up at the approaching warrior in something almost resembling fear.
Ghost lowers into a stance.
A slow breath.
He moves, ripping his blade from its sheath.
A single, blinding slash.
For an instant, the world stops.
Everything turns red and black.
Then, as if the universe exhales, the creature wilts, its massive body dissolving into a cascade of blood-red petals, the corrupt energy unraveling at the seams.
Silence.
The red glow fades, and color returns to the world.
The only sound is the soft metallic click as Ghost sheaths his sword.
The cavern is still, though the oppressive aura of Grimm didn't quite vanish completely. Loose chunks of Grimm flesh that had been blown off earlier in the battle were not dissolving.
Warlock exhales, his aura dimming.
"Well," Shockwave huffs, tossing a spent grenade canister to the ground. "Dramatic as usual, Ghost."
Cipher's voice crackles in over comms.
"All Grimm readings in the area have disappeared. I think… I think it's actually dead."
"Confirmed," Wasp adds. "Church perimeter is still clear. Looks like we just wiped out this entire sect."
There is a long pause, before Overdrive lets out a sharp exhale, flexing her fingers.
"Next time, let's not drop into a pit with a demon, yeah?"
Ghost remains silent for a long moment, then reaches up to his ear and clicks the comm,
"Handler-1, this is Wraith Actual. Enemies neutralized."
The young woman's voice comes back, "Status confirmed. All hostiles eliminated and the area is secure. Mission accomplished Wraiths, well done."
Ghost doesn't respond, and simply says, "Fireball, prepare for extraction."
Another voice comes over the comms, filled with mocking amusement.
"Took your time, huh. Coming in now."
As the squad begins to regroup and prepare for evac, Ghost lingers for just a second longer, staring at the spot where the monster had fallen.
Then he turns away.
Without another word, he leads Wraith Squadron out of the darkness.
The dull roar of the Bullhead's engines vibrates beneath their feet, a steady hum that has become as familiar as the rhythm of their own breathing. The mission is over, the enemy eliminated, and Wraith Squadron is on their way home.
The moment the side hatch seals shut and the aircraft lifts off from the ruins of the church, the tension bleeds out of the squad like air escaping a pressurized chamber.
Helmets are removed, weapons are holstered, and the transition from lethal black ops soldiers to exhausted but victorious comrades begins.
Shockwave is the first to break the silence.
She pulls off her helmet, shaking out her wild orange hair, then stretches out her arms with a groan. "Ugh. My shoulders are killing me. Next time, let's try to get a routine patrol mission or something."
Riptide scoffs as he leans back in his seat, his blue helmet resting on his knee. "Oh, please, Shockwave. One, We're Spectres. Two, You couldn't handle a slow job without blowing up something you shouldn't."
"Yeah, but that thing was such a pain," She shoots back, cracking her neck. "We had to drop it into a giant pit just to kill it, and that pit smelled bad."
She gives a pout at Ghost, then looks over to Sentinel. "Don't you still have some of those seismic charges in your pocket that we used on that column of Goliaths by Obsidian Ridge?"
Sentinel sighs, and gives Shockwave a vexed look, "Yes, we have two of them. No, we couldn't use one, the town was right there."
Lotus, sitting next to her, lightly hits her on the head with a soft smile. "Dropping the Grimm under the church was a sound tactical decision."
Shockwave huffs, folding her arms. "Yeah, yeah. Not as fun, though."
From her spot near the back of the cabin, Mirage smirks as she inspects one of her twin pistols. "I don't know, I thought watching you run from that acid spit was extremely fun."
"I wasn't running! I was tactically repositioning," Shockwave argues.
"Uh-huh," Mirage says, unconvinced.
"Guys, can we please talk about how Warlock got bitch-slapped across the church by that thing?" Crossfire cuts in, pulling her violet helmet off and shaking out her dark purple hair. She grins, her fangs showing as she points at Warlock. "You got serious air time."
A ripple of laughter moves through the squad.
Warlock, seated near the front, rolls his ice blue eyes as he wipes a streak of dried blood from his lip. "Yes, very amusing. Warlock got thrown. Ha ha. You know, perhaps if someone had actually covered me-"
Snapshot, sitting next to him, leans in. "I did cover you. You landed on me."
Another burst of laughter.
Warlock sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Unbelievable."
Wasp, still adjusting her hair after removing her helmet, lets out an amused exhale. "It was kind of funny."
Cipher, sitting next to her, chuckles as he adjusted his wrist-mounted interface. "Yeah. Almost as funny as you missing your first shot of the op."
The laughter dies instantly.
Everyone turns toward Wasp.
The sniper's expression doesn't change. She just finished adjusting her black hair, then slowly turns her head toward Cipher. "What did you just say?"
Cipher, for all his tech expertise, is apparently not good at knowing when to stop. "I mean, I was watching through the drone's feed. Your first shot? You barely missed."
A long silence follows.
Then, Wasp unholsters her sidearm and casually points it at Cipher's forehead.
Cipher swallows hard. "H-Hey, I'm just saying—"
"I never miss," Wasp says evenly.
A beat.
Overdrive leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and smirks. "It's fine Wasp, everyone gets performance anxiety now and then."
"Not helping," Cipher mutters.
Riptide is dying in the corner, barely able to contain his laughter. "I-I mean, she's still the best shot we've got, right?"
Warlock, still wiping his bruised face, mutters, "Not her first shot, apparently."
More laughter.
Even Ghost, who's been silent near the front, gives a quiet chuckle.
Sentinel shakes her head with a grin. "Well, if Wasp shoots Cipher, I'm not treating his wounds."
"See?" Wasp says, holstering her pistol. "Sentinel understands teamwork."
Cipher exhales in relief. "Right. Uh. Lesson learned."
Ghost sits near the front of the cabin, his hood still up, but midnight-black mask resting on his lap. His red hair is damp with sweat, and the remnants of the old scar over his eye pulled slightly as he smirks at the banter around him. The scar had faded greatly after he had the scar revision procedure done. When he finally accepted that the scar no longer defined him as a person.
He doesn't join in much, but he never stops watching.
Five years ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of being here. Leading a squad of humans and Faunus alike, not for revenge, not for the White Fang, but for something bigger. Honestly his old self would be downright disgusted by it. But the world has changed. He has changed. He's built connections the likes of which he'd never had. His connection to Blake when they were in the White Fang was the closest he'd ever gotten to someone. And he'd burned that relationship to the ground. Only in hindsight does he see how foolish he was to throw that away. But it's been years and things have changed, and he's built friendships that are closer than any he thought possible.
He glances at Warlock.
With people he never imagined he could, or would. A little smile appears on his lips, too small for anyone to notice.
This is Wraith Squadron.
This is his team.
As much as they tease, as much as they laugh, they'd face down any threat, side by side.
He lets the moment linger, lets the team enjoy their victory.
Then, Ghost's comm crackles, and the voice of a young woman comes through, "Handler-1 to Wraith Squadron, you read me, Ghost?"
Ghost lifts his hand to his ear, pressing the receiver, "I read you Handler-1, what do you need?"
Handler-1 responds, "We just got a new assignment. Mid-op is irregular, I know, but this comes from the top. You don't need to hear it from me though. Forwarding you the mission brief."
A familiar, authoritative voice fills the space.
"This is General Schnee. We have detected a strange energy anomaly in the middle of the Vacuo desert. It matches the interdimensional distortion readings recorded in Atlas five years ago. The same as the Staff of Creation. You are the closest unit in the area. Wraith Squadron, you are being re-tasked. Priority One. I need eyes on this now."
The mood shifts. Gone are the teasing remarks, the playful jabs, the banter that usually follows a successful operation.
Now, they were on the clock again.
Ghost sits near the front, his midnight-black mask back in place, red optics glowing faintly as he processes the words that had just come through the comms.
Handler-1 comes back over, "I forwarded the coordinates to Fireball, good luck Wraiths."
"Well… that's new," Riptide mutters, adjusting the strap on his rifle. "Don't think we've ever gotten a direct order from the General mid-op like that before."
"We haven't," Warlock confirms, his expression unreadable as he leans back in his seat. "She gives orders through command channels. For her to reach out personally…" His voice trails off, but the implication is clear.
Whatever this is, it isn't just a simple flyby.
"It means she's worried," Sentinel says. "And if she's worried, we should be too."
Cipher is already pulling up a digital display on his wrist-mounted interface. "I'm running an overlay of the coordinates against previous satellite imaging… but I'm coming up blank. There was nothing out there before."
"Guess there's something now," Mirage grumbles.
Ghost remains silent, his mind working through the information.
Interdimensional energy. The same as Atlas. He'd been in Vale during the destruction of Atlas, having gone there after recovering from his "death", but he'd heard the first hand accounts from his squad members that had been there. He's fully aware of the implications here.
Fireball's voice crackles over the intercom from the cockpit.
"Alright, we're ten minutes out. Whatever this is, we'll have eyes on it soon enough."
Lotus, seated near the side of the cabin, has his eyes closed. His breathing is calm, measured.
Ghost notices. "Talk to me."
Lotus exhales slowly. "Something's there."
The team shifts.
"Define something," Overdrive says, rolling her shoulders.
Lotus opens his eyes, his gaze sharp. "Aura signatures."
That got everyone's attention.
"How many?" Ghost asks immediately.
Lotus focuses, the pink energy of his aura pulsing outward in waves, sensing the life forces within range.
"…Five."
Another moment of silence.
"Five people?" Snapshot repeats. "Just out alone in the middle of the desert?"
Lotus continues. "Grouped together. Still at the coordinates General Schnee sent us."
"Refugees?" Sentinel asks.
"Unlikely," Wasp mutters, her sniper rifle resting against her leg. "No settlements anywhere near here. No way they'd make it this far without a vehicle or a much larger caravan."
Cipher frowns at his interface. "If they were just random refugees, why would their appearance trigger an energy reading like this?"
No one has an answer.
Ghost turns toward the cockpit. "Fireball, Can you get within visual range without spooking them?"
A snort comes over the intercom. "Please. Who do you think you're talking to?"
The Bullhead banks slightly, adjusting its trajectory.
As they near the coordinates, the first golden rays of sunrise begin to crest over the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert.
The Bullhead drops lower.
Then, Fireball comes back over the comms,
"I've got visual."
Ghost's grip tightens. "Report."
There is a brief pause. Then Fireball speaks again, and this time, there's some confused hesitation in her voice.
"It looks like a bunch of kids."
Cipher taps into the bullhead's camera feed, routing the live camera footage to a screen in the troop bay.
One by one, each member of Wraith Squadron sees what is waiting for them in the desert below.
A flowing red cloak.
A braid of snow white hair.
A pair of black cat ears.
A long mane of yellow hair.
And a boy in white and gold armor.
Five figures.
Four girls. One boy.
The moment the camera feed stabilizes, Ghost rises from his seat with fluid precision. The red glow of his visor reflects the image captured on the screen: five silhouettes standing in the middle of the desert, their outlines sharp against the rising sun. He briefly focuses on the black-haired girl, before closing his eyes. Somewhere beneath the steel exterior, under layers of armor and instinct, something flickers.
He presses two fingers onto the comm by his ear.
"Wraith Actual to Handler-1. Priority one. I need a direct line to General Schnee. Now."
The response is instant. "Understood, Wraith Actual. Routing transmission."
Seconds later, General Schnee's face materializes on his HUD, projected through the private comm channel. Her features are composed as always, sharp as a blade, but the slight furrow in her brow tells him she was already anticipating something serious.
Ghost doesn't speak. He doesn't need to.
With a single tap on his wrist, he routes the live feed straight to Amity Command.
Winter's single eye narrows as the image takes shape. She leans forward slightly, lips parting as she takes in the figures.
"…That's impossible."
There is silence on the line for a few seconds.
Then her voice returns, tight and controlled, but with a rare undertone of disbelief.
"They're dead," she says flatly. "Those five died in Atlas. Not a single trace in five years. We buried everything but their bodies."
Ghost remains silent, but the subtle tilt of his head speaks volumes.
Winter's expression darkens.
"…This has to be a ploy," she continues. "Either Salem's trying to get into our heads, or the Witch Cult is pulling some psychological operation. If they somehow reconstructed their appearances…"
Her eye meets Ghost's.
"You're the only unit in range. I want a full investigation. Confront them, but do not engage unless provoked. Assume it's a trap until proven otherwise. I'll try and find a method of confirmation."
Ghost gives a single nod.
"One more thing," the General adds, her tone sharpening. "We don't take risks with identity compromise. If it is a trick, whoever orchestrated this, may try to exploit your team's past relationships. We can't allow that. I want all recognizable weapons stored."
Ghost's visor doesn't move, but the tension in his frame is palpable.
"All of them?"
"Yes. Your primary weapons, unique gear, anything that could reveal your identity. Hand it over to Sentinel. She'll store it with her semblance. You'll deploy with standard-issue weapons only."
Behind him, the squad is already listening in, their eyes turning toward him in silent surprise.
"Understood," Ghost says.
"I'm staying on this channel," General Schnee adds. "I want helmet cams active. I'll be watching every second. And Ghost… When you question them, push hard. It may be cruel, but how they react will be telling."
Ghost simply nods again, "Yes, ma'am."
The feed cuts from her face, returning to mission HUD mode.
Ghost turns to the squad. "You heard her. Sentinel, you're up."
Sentinel stands, and steps forward. She summons her semblance with a sweep of her hand, a swirling portal of compressed space opening beside her like a shimmering ripple in the air.
One by one, the squad begins to remove their signature weapons.
Warlock is the first, removing his sword within its sheathe from his belt with a slow, deliberate motion. He looks at the weapon for a moment, an echo of his lost sister in its design, and hands it silently to Sentinel.
Mirage follows, placing her pistols into the void. Crossfire removes the pouches containing her steel spheres and hand crossbow, placing each one in the wavy portal.
Riptide unslings his custom rifle, the sleek mechashift construction glinting as he passes it off.
Shockwave and Lotus look at each other and both handover their weapons, a grenade launcher and twin pistols.
Snapshot pulls the hard light projector off her belt and hands it over.
Even Wasp hesitates for a heartbeat as she hands over her long sniper rifle.
Then all eyes turned to Ghost.
He pulls Wilt from his hip with one hand, the crimson blade reflecting the lights above for a moment. With the other hand, he lifts Blush, his shotgun and scabbard, free of his hip. He stares at them both for a long, quiet moment.
Then he slides Wilt back into Blush and hands them over.
No words.
Just action.
"Standard loadout," Ghost says.
Warlock moves to the weapon rack built into the Bullhead's interior wall. He taps the access panel, and a row of pristine, SMGs slide out. M7S SMGs, the standard weapons issued to elite special operators. Matte black, modular, and efficient. Lethal, but unremarkable.
"Full-auto or semi, up to you. Keep your profiles low." Warlock said, handing them out one by one.
Shockwave grunts. "I feel naked without my hammer."
"We are naked," Riptide mutters. "Emotionally."
"Shut up," Mirage sighs, accepting her SMG with a practiced hand.
Lotus takes his silently, as always. Snapshot gives hers a lookover before checking the magazine.
Fireball's voice comes through again. "Approaching the anomaly site. One klick out. Visuals still clear, targets haven't moved. In the pipe, five-by-five."
The Bullhead sweeps low over the desert, engines roaring as it kicks up waves of sand that spirals outward from its path. Inside the cabin, Wraith Squadron stands in tight formation, helmets on, weapons primed. This is unknown territory, and unknowns get people killed.
Ghost sees the drop zone approaching on his HUD.
"Formation Echo-Delta. Full sweep. No hesitation, Go on my mark. Sync." he barks.
Wraith Squadron responds as one unit, "Sync."
"Mark!"
The Bullhead's side hatch opens with a mechanical hiss, and Wraith Squadron drops into the sands like thunder, twelve soldiers in perfect formation, boots pounding against the earth in calculated unison.
Weapons raised. Targets locked.
Ghost steps forward, his voice amplified and layered with the squad's standard vocal scrambler, deep, cold, and hollow.
"Hands up. Don't move!"
Authors Notes:
See if you can guess the identity of the Wraiths. Some are all but told to you in this chapter, but a couple may be harder. I will go ahead and say Cipher and Wasp are OCs, so no point in guessing them. All the others exist in canon in some role. The images at the end are made in the game XCOM 2's photo mode, and the armor comes from Halo armor mods for the game.
This fic borrows elements from lots of different sci-fi works, but most notably Halo. The armor in this fic is Spartan armor. In my mind Halo and RWBY have always been linked because of the connection between Monty and Red vs Blue. I even went back and watched the Freelancer plot from seasons 9 & 10 that Monty animated to help visualize as I was writing. There will also be some elements from Mass Effect and Eighty-Six sprinkled in.
As I said at the beginning, new chapter probably some time next week.
Thanks for Reading!