The clock read half-past three when Junior finally entered his office. Jaune flinched as the Xiong boss pushed in with authority. The thick door passed through Roman's incorporeal form two times as it opened and slammed shut.

Zeroing in on his visitor, the older man stalked forward. He got up in the juvenile's face to look him up and down. Whatever the mafioso saw had him sneer before stalking over to his davenport desk.

Lifting the demijohn that sat there, he poured a finger of liquor. Pointedly, the glass was for him and him alone. Then he lounged back in his chair and spoke to the still standing Jaune.

"Take a seat, kid." Sensing hesitation, Junior repeated the order more forcefully. "Take a damned seat!"

The teen scrambled for the available chair. Roman groaned at the display. When push came to shove, Jaune always defaulted to being a doormat.

Not all was lost. Junior did have a small smirk. Recognizing that he was not dealing with a hardened criminal had put him at ease.

"So, you're the messenger boy?" He took a drink.

A very long drink. The glass was soon empty. Jaune waited politely for Junior to finish. Of course, the head of the Xiong clan was not in the mood for manners.

"Does Torchwick exclusively hire morons and mutes? Speak!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Alright, then. Not the latter but you could still be the former." He poured another finger. "Jay, was it? What does Roman want? Must be important to bother me so often."

"He, uh, he wants information on the W-White Fang. Who their leaders are, where they meet, stuff like that. Anything you can get your hands on, really."

Junior leaned forward. His hand groped around under the desk as though he were searching for a weapon. Roman tilted his head, trying to discern the play. After a moment, he concluded that it was an intimidation tactic.

It was working. Jaune was sweating bullets. Then Junior fell back and laughed rapturously.

"Seriously? That's what this is about?" He chortled. "And here I thought I could hold a grudge."

This turn in the conversation puzzled Roman. Also confused, Jaune looked at him briefly. All the gentleman thief could offer was a shrug.

"I'm… not sure what you mean."

"Don't BS a BSer." Junior kept on chuckling. "I heard all about that kerfuffle Torchwick had with the Fang. It's a rivalry. They successfully knocked over the Dust store that gave him such trouble and now he wants to bloody their nose. Am I close?"

"Not even!" Roman spat, though the ignoramus could not hear him. "Is this the kind of hard-hitting analysis that people pay you for?"

Sometimes it was easy to forget that, despite all the trappings of a gangster, Junior was no different than the gossipy babas down at the hair salon. He was a purveyor of rumors. Any little whisper could be sold along as wisdom. That made him really gullible.

As was Jaune, apparently. "Yeah, that's pretty spot on, actually."

"Heh, thought so." Roman glared at his protégé as Junior continued. "I can respect a man in search of satisfaction after a grave insult. I can even procure this information that he desires. What I cannot do is provide it for free."

"We are ready to pay." Jaune said, gaining some confidence.

With good reason. They were flush in money. Obviously, they would not let themselves get bled dry, but they were in a good position to barter.

Junior took a slow sip. "How long have you been in the game, son?"

"The game?"

"This thing of ours." He whistled a high note before going low.

Jaune, to his credit, caught on. "Not very. But I'm a fast learner."

"No doubt. Well, here's a free lesson for you in both life and business. You shouldn't go jumping into bed right away with new people. You never know who might be a LEO disguised as a lamb." Junior set his drink aside. "You're not, are you?"

The teen's brow scrunched. Roman, helpfully, translated.

"He's asking if you're a cop."

Sitting fully up in alarm, Jaune blurted out. "No! I'm-"

"FYI: Even if my family is not as embedded with the boys in blue as we used to be, there are still levers I can pull to smoke out a rat." Junior finished the second finger. "Regardless, even I know Roman is not dumb enough to hire a VPD informant."

"Then why…?"

"Because he is yanking your chain."

Junior, of course, had a different take. "Because, even if I know you're not a rat, I still need to do my due diligence. In lieu of money, I will need you to perform a favor for me."

At that moment, Roman was reconsidering the idea of killing Junior and taking over the Xiong. There truly was no desire by the master thief to run a criminal empire. However, doing so would prevent them from ever having to do 'favors' for the faux-Mistrialian again.

Resigned to his fate, the spirit reentered the blond. Jaune had done well enough without the training wheels. Now a more experienced hand was needed.

"Depends on the favor." Roman said as Jaune let him take the lead. "My boss won't want me handling anything too dangerous, like what he had to do for you to take care of the High Fly Flows."

"Told you about that, did he? Torchwick must trust you quite a bit then." The Xiong leader combed his beard. "But no. Nothing like that. I need you to pick up an associate of mine from the Bullhead ports."

They waited a moment for Junior to continue. He did not.

"That's all?" Jaune asked before Roman added on. "What's the catch?"

"None. He'll be landing this evening after having spent a few days in Mistral. Wait for the arrival and then bring him back here."

There had to be more. "Why send me?"

"Convenience. You are here and I would rather not expend the manpower."

"C'mon." Roman pressed. "I may have been born at night, but I wasn't born last night."

"Starting to understand why Torchwick hired you. Sound just like him." Junior muttered, nearly pouring another drink before nixing the idea. "My associate, Bahri, will be carrying an important package. Sending my regulars as an escort might draw unwanted attention."

"So I'm a beard for your mule?"

"Something like that."

"What kind of trouble might there be?" Roman wanted to know what to expect.

"None. And I'm serious this time." The Xiong leader pounded the desk. "All the angles are squared away. The Customs Officials have been paid off, my guy has no record, and the contraband is well hidden in his luggage. You are extra insurance. I need what he is carrying."

In other words, this was another stupid test. A fetch quest to feel out Jay's loyalties. Annoying, but Roman could deal with that.

"What does your man look like and what flight is he on?"

"Miltia can get you those details." The Xiong pressed a buzzer on his desk, likely to summon her. "She'll also provide you with a clean car from the motor pool. I take it, you know how to drive?"

"Of course." Roman lied on Jaune's behalf.

"Then we have an agreement?" Junior stood, prompting them to do the same.

"Deal."

They shook hands. The door behind them opened for the Malachite girl to enter. As Jaune tried to let go, Junior held on. He pulled hard so that they were nose to nose over the desk. A warning was issued.

"Muck this up for us and Roman and the rest of your outfit are dead to me. Understand?"

"Y-yessir." Jaune choked.

"Good lad." Junior lightly clapped the boy's face with his ringed hand.

On unsteady legs, Jaune made for the exit. Miltia quickly led the shaken teen away. Roman was not nearly as affected by the threat. Afterall, he was already dead.


XV. Ironclad


"Wow!" Marrow Amin gasped as his transport approached an enormous airship.

The craft floated near the Solitas coast above a tundra outpost. Silvery-white metal gleamed under the bright sun. Its sail-like wings kept the arrow-shaped hull aloft.

His canine tail wagged while he leaned further into the port window. When he had been told that morning to report in for reassignment, he had no idea what was happening. The mystery only grew as he was rushed onto an auto-piloted drop ship set to an unknown terminus.

They had flown for an hour before the destination had become clear. This was an ironclad-class command ship. His excitement was palpable.

"Arrival imminent. Please take your seat." A pleasant, if artificial, female voice rang out.

The dog faunus forced himself back into a chair. A hanger door opened to allow the smaller craft to enter the keel of the ship. There was a slight bump as the docking procedure began.

After a ding indicating completion rang out, Marrow was up again. He grabbed his pack from the overhead and rushed down the aisle. Hopping from foot to foot, he eagerly waited for the hatch to open. Once it did, he leapt out of the transport.

Directly into another person.

"Oof." He let out upon collision.

His landing was not as soft as he would have expected. It felt like he had hit a smooth wall. Pushing back, he found that was precisely what he had run into. A large, glowing snowflake barrier was blocking the way.

The glyph then faded away into nothing. On the other side was a white-haired woman of a similar height to himself. She was prim and proper, in a Special Operative uniform. Her hands were folded behind her body and a single eyebrow was raised.

Recognizing a superior, he gave a hasty salute. "Huntsman Amin. Reporting for duty."

"Operative Schnee. Welcome aboard the ACS Donnerkind, huntsman."

Schnee. Marrow did everything in his power not to react to the name. His excitement reached greater heights.

Standing before him was Winter Schnee, the youngest person to ever become an Operative. She had graduated from Atlas Academy two years early to deploy directly under Ace Operative Leader Clover Ebi. Scuttlebutt was that General Ironwood had placed her in direct command of a major operation.

So here was Winter Schnee. On an Atlas Command Ship. And Marrow was also on the ship.

Ergo…?

"Glad to be here. Not to be rude, but could you clarify my purpose? My orders were unclear."

"Follow me."

She turned on a dime and headed down the hallway. He was fast on her heels, heart racing. The long corridor stretched on for days.

"I do apologize for the secrecy." She continued. "But this is a fast-developing situation. Faster than even I originally anticipated. I am putting together a rapid response squad. Your skill set comes highly recommended. Are you on board with assisting in this endeavor?"

"You already welcomed me aboard."

"Was that a joke, Amin?"

"It was an attempt at one, yes."

They stopped before a double door. "I need a 'yes' or 'no,' Amin. You do not have to accept this deployment. It is entirely voluntary. Refusal will not be held against you. Say the word and we will have you on the next transport back to your Huntsman Lodge."

That raised his eyebrows. Because Marrow was a part of the huntsman reserve corps, he assumed this was part of an official mobilization. He measured his words carefully.

"What's the SITREP?"

"You do not have collateral clearance to know the specifics. What I can say is that the deployment will be of an indeterminate length, highly dangerous, and will begin immediately."

That was not a lot to go on. But at the same time, this was why he wanted to become an Operative. To say no would be counterproductive to his career goals.

Marrow had been trying to join the Special Operatives Unit since graduating from Atlas Academy. It was notoriously difficult to become a member. Without dispensation from the Council, applicants had to navigate a labyrinth of background checks and proficiency tests.

But Marrow had kept at it. For years he had grinded away. Now his moment was upon him.

"I serve at the pleasure of the Kingdom of Atlas."

There was an almost imperceptible upturn in her lips. "This way."

The doors slid open. On the other side was the ship's wheelhouse. Contrasting with the ivory hallways, the room sported ebony and chrome paneling on every surface. Ambient turquoise lighting matched a calm and collected mood.

Various workstations dotted the room. The personnel that kept the flying fortress afloat were engrossed with their readings. At the sound of Winter entering, however, everything changed.

"CO on the bridge." The captain called.

Every person present snapped to attention. With so many people in uniform, Marrow felt underdressed in his custom huntsman attire. Winter did not seem out of place. She acted as though she had always belonged.

"At ease." The room relaxed upon the Special Operative's decree. "I've been impressed with everyone's professionalism in the face of the unknown. You all must be wondering why we are here and where we are going."

If they were, no one would give voice to any doubts. As the enlisted, it was not their place to question placements. Unlike huntsmen, they did not have that freedom.

"Those answers will come soon. For now, as you were."

The crew loitered until the captain spoke again. "You heard her. Carry on!"

"Sir!" Was their response.

This time, they did return to their previous tasks. Even then, they were rather slow to move. Their Skipper clicked his tongue before walking to Winter and Marrow before addressing them.

"You complimented their professionalism too soon."

"Apologies, captain, for causing a distraction."

"With all due respect, do not excuse them. They act like they have never seen a Specialist before." He deftly side-stepped the mega-corporation sized elephant in the room. "Is this the Huntsman Reservist you were waiting on?"

"He is." A moment passed before Marrow clocked that they were talking about him. "Has the rest of the Sabyr Squad arrived?"

"They are gathered in the SCIF. I shall take you to them."

The captain led them out of the bridge and back out into the corridors. It was not a long walk, however. Their destination was just a few doors down.

It was a rather nondescript, low-tech door. The only distinguishing feature was a plaque engraved with the words 'Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility.' There was not even a key card reader. Their escort had to turn a handle and push.

Keeping with the theme, the inside decor was like a boardroom. There was an elongated metal table with five people seated around it. Specialist Schnee received a similar reception as she did on the bridge, with everyone standing at attention.

Mostly.

There were two exceptions. A bearded man in a red coat rose to nod before sitting down again at one end of the table. The other was a short, older woman in a Spec-Op jacket to his right. She did not even bother with the formality.

"Good afternoon, everyone."

Cheery and polite greetings were tossed her way. Again, there was an outlier. The older woman looked rather peeved.

"Will our meeting be starting anytime soon?" She groused.

The Schnee took this disrespect on the chin. "We shall, now that our last member has arrived."

Everyone looked at Marrow. Most with curiosity. His tail went ramrod straight. Thankfully, the attention did not stay on him.

"Then that is my cue to leave." The captain declared. "The room is yours. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to page the yeoman."

He rendered a crisp salute before leaving. Winter nodded before sitting down at the unoccupied end of the table. She fiddled with a console, the only obvious computer in the entire room.

Not wanting to come across as a teacher's pet, Marrow sat between a mousy man in a lab coat and a young-looking woman with orange, curly hair. Opposite the huntsman, beside the old lady, was another female. She was around his age with a pixie-cut.

After a few screen presses by Winter, the lighting took on an orange tint. There was also a hiss. The only exit had been sealed shut.

"Penny, can you verify that the room is secure?"

"All outgoing transmissions are being blocked." The younger woman replied cheerfully.

Not just young. Possibly a teenager. Her green and cream dirndl dress was not standard issue attire. She was most likely a huntress. Marrow wondered if she was some kind of prodigy.

He also questioned how she knew that transmissions were blocked without using a Scroll.

"Then we may speak freely. To prevent security leaks, I will ask that all tactical conversations occur in this room. Clear?"

Sounds of agreement came from everyone. Even the less than courteous group members affirmed that they would follow the rule. Winter flashed an easy smile but for a moment.

"Excellent. Welcome, everyone, to Operation Hammer Stone. This task force was designed to take the fight to the White Fang troubling our Valean allies. Each person here has been selected to contribute to the preparation and execution of this mission."

Marrow shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had an inkling about why he was chosen. A few eyes drifted to him, clearly thinking along similar lines.

"May I?" The man in red asked, to which Specialist Schnee gave him the go ahead. "If we are expected to work together, why don't we break the ice by introducing ourselves as well as our role in this operation?"

"A fine suggestion. Since I met with all of you one-on-one, I trust I need no introduction." There were a few laughs and some smirks. "How about we proceed clockwise around the table, starting with Harper."

"Right." The pixie-cut woman rose. "Lieutenant Colonel Olive Harper! Head of troop readiness!"

As quickly as she stood, she sat again. Everyone at the table merely looked at her. The expressions ranged from amusement to bewilderment at the sudden shouting.

"We were hoping for a little more detail." Winter coughed. "And with a little less… vigor."

"Oh, right." The Atlesian regular blinked. "I will be preparing our soldiers for combat in a variety of environments. The Sanus continent alone is home to various biomes that present challenges not found on Solitas. For instance, humidity can-"

"Give us a rundown of these challenges later, Harper." Winter replied, with a tint of humor in her voice.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Cordovan?"

The older woman grunted, before placing both hands flat on the desk and lifting herself. She flicked her gray hair ostentatiously. This grand gesture was undermined by her exceedingly short stature.

"Special Operative Caroline Cordovin. Head of mechanized and autonomous readiness. What the Lieutenant Colonel does for our soldiers, I shall be doing with our Atlesian Knights. Before this assignment, I led the Argus Military Base for close to a decade. How I was roped into this operation is beyond me, but I shall, as always, serve as commanded."

The Argus Military Base had a notoriously terrible reputation. None of the enlisted that Marrow knew wanted to serve there. He never fully understood that sentiment until listening to Cordovin in person.

"We will all benefit from your vast experience, Operative Cordovan." Winter dipped her head.

Cordovan, surprisingly, dipped back. "Naturally."

"I suppose that means I am next." The man opposite Winter said with a genial smile. "Bram Thornmane. Former Huntsman Reservist. Our Council asked me to serve as Military Attaché to the Valean Council to smooth over any ruffled feathers that this mission might incur."

That made him the politician of the group. Marrow was unsure of the man. He seemed nice enough, and like him, had been part of the reserves. But something was off with his demeanor.

Winter must have felt similarly given her stiff response. "I aim to avoid upsetting our allies, but it is comforting to know we are prepared for such a possibility."

"As you say." Thornmane then nodded to his left. "Your turn."

"Hmm? Yes." The lab coated man cleared his throat. "Will Scarlatina. Principal Technologist and, for the purposes of Operation Hammerstone, Chief Science Officer. I'll keep everything from our comms to the ship's propulsion system humming along. Think of me as all-around tech support."

"Will is too humble." Cordovan said out of turn. "He is also the best combat engineer I have ever had the pleasure of working with. His group protected the Argus Limited Railway as it expanded from coast to coast."

This information had nearly everyone looking at Scarlatina differently. And for a good reason. Combat engineering was one of the most dangerous occupations in all of the Atlas military. It was a job that required excellence in both fighting and technological know-how.

These engineers were a vanguard, deployed to the edge of civilization to install and repair essential infrastructure. Doing so put them at great risk. Even the Ace-Ops respected them. Yet this wimpy-looking guy was among their number.

Scarlatina went scarlet under the praise. "That was a lifetime ago. I would prefer to avoid filling such a role, if at all possible."

"We need your mind, doctor, not your body." Winter assured him. "I have no issue with keeping you away from the frontlines."

"Thank you."

At last, the round-table discussion had reached Marrow. He was as nervous as Dr. Scarlatina, although for a different reason. Yet he attempted to muddle his way through.

"Marrow Amin. Huntsman. I'm unsure of the part I will play. This is my first briefing on Operation Hammer Stone."

There were mixed reactions to his confession. Harper had raised eyebrows. Cordovan's own were crossed. Scarlatina shrank away in his chair. Thornmane's face hid behind steepled hands. Winter opened her mouth.

"Salutations!" The girl to Marrow's left, not reading the room, and thinking it was her turn, spoke up. "I am Penny Polendina. Second year huntress-in-training from Atlas Academy. My role is also undefined, but I am prepared to render aid!"

If there were any positives to Penny's declaration, it was that it took all the focus off of Marrow. No one was paying him any attention. Even he was dumbfounded by a student being a part of this purportedly hazardous operation.

Everyone spoke at once.

"Ma'am, I don't mean to judge-"

"What is the meaning of-"

"Highly irregular-"

"Are you related to-?"

"Allow me to explain." CO Schnee demanded, quieting everyone. "Huntsman Amin and Ms. Polendina were selected for the unique properties that they possess. They shall be part of a tracking and capture team led by myself."

That made sense to Marrow. His experience in the field would help with the former while his Semblance would make the second a formality. However, that did not resolve the question of Penny's participation.

Not that the teenager had any doubts. "I am combat ready!"

The doctor articulated what they were all thinking. "While I am sure she is more than capable, I do not like the idea of sending someone my daughter's age after terrorists."

"I understand your reservations. However, there are certain facts surrounding Penny that will, once revealed, make the reason behind her selection clear." Winter looked at the girl in question. "Are you okay with me sharing those details now?"

The huntress-in-training, while not losing her cheery demeanor, did sound more serious. "Given enough time, they will come to suspect that I am more than what I appear to be. For squad cohesion purposes, you must tell them."

At this point, everyone was thoroughly confused.

Winter pressed her console again. This time, a panel slid open on the table to reveal a projector. A three-dimensional wireframe hologram of Penny materialized above them.

It was a strange image, showing a cross section of her body like what might be seen in a medical textbook. Inside was not a representation of a skeletal system or organs. Instead, there was a mess of cables and gears running throughout her person.

This raised more questions than it answered. At least, it did for Marrow. In contrast, Dr. Scarlatina's mouth went agape.

"This is-"

"Before we go further, let me explain Project P.E.N.N.Y."

/ / /

There was a black bird on the table.

"Shoo!" Sergeant Blassie waved her hands. "Away from here!"

The crow cocked its head. Then it hopped off to perch on the cherry tops of a nearby police car. There the little thing remained, as if taunting her.

It was fitting, in a way. Not even a birdie would listen to her. She sighed before sitting at her temporary desk. Several papers were strewn about, likely by the wind.

Being outdoors was for the birds. Literally.

After advancing in the VPD career ladder, her time working in the field had been reduced significantly. And she did not miss it. Yet she had to be here today, outside the walls of Vale.

In the distance, she could see the last vestiges of the contained fire. Most were waiting for the flames to die out. Others were busy with their inquiries and spin doctoring. Blassie was there for a bit of both.

Nadder had sent her to organize the response and keep outsiders away. They had been inundated with questions from VNN, incredulity from the Gendarmerie, and offers of assistance from Beacon. Each had to be handled fitting to their station.

Beacon was allowed to send huntsmen. They could keep the perimeter safe for first responders with little threat of snooping. The Gendarmerie could be brushed off with little repercussion. Their political power was non-existent. VNN would be the hardest to shake, however.

The mass media would not take the assurances of the VPD Commissioner at face value. They were bound to start digging. Blassie was not sure what they would find but she wanted to keep her job. Something had to be offered up to them.

Something to keep them onsides.

A figure in a neon orange heat suit trudged to the table. As they came to stand before Blassie, she could smell a heady mixture of cider, sweat, and burnt rubber. They removed their headset to reveal a masculine and, if she were so inclined, handsome face.

"Sergeant." The Fire Marshall showed pearly teeth behind a sheen of dark grease.

"Greyson." She neutrally greeted. "Have anything for me?"

"Prelims." He unzipped a flame-resistant pouch to produce a clipboard of handwritten notes.

Her stomach flopped. "Hit me."

"The fire had multiple origin points. Because of the destroyed vehicles, it was hard to determine an exact cause at first, but we were able to isolate at least three impact areas."

Another figure approached. They were dressed in a white heat suit. This one did not have a mask on, so Blassie could identify them as Peregrine, the forensics tech lead.

"Giving her the rundown?" She asked the Fire Marshall.

"Just the top line from our side. I'll leave the odds and ends to you."

She hummed, but did not interrupt. This was a surprising development from the prickly technician. Was it professional courtesy?

Or did she just want to hear what he had to say first?

He continued. "Anyways, three impact areas suggest an improvised explosive. The blast patterns and shrapnel are consistent with a detonated fuel cell."

Blassie was perplexed. "Those can be used as an IED?"

The Sergeant was far from an expert, but from what little she knew, the whole point of fuel cells was their safety. The orb-shaped batteries could take quite the beating. People handled them every day with little risk of the Dust inside activating.

"They can if they are reused improperly."

"Explain." Peregrine ordered.

If Greyson was offended, he did not show it. He actually seemed tickled pink at being bossed around by her. So he complied.

"A fuel cell powers machinery at a steady rate. Over time, the connector points corrode the outer casing. This isn't normally a problem because fuel cells are single use items. However, if you insert a new Dust core, the cell will technically work but will be prone to shattering."

"Could that really cause this kind of damage?" Blassie asked.

"It can if you mix Dust types. Few years ago, we caught a slumlord cutting corners by refilling his fuel cells rather than buying new. He took a former heat cell and filled it with lightning Dust. During installation, a worker dropped it and nearly caused a full structural collapse."

"But you are saying this was intentional?"

"Definitely. Pretty clever, too. It's a relatively inexpensive way of making a bomb."

"Who would do this kind of thing?"

"Can't tell you that." He then scratched his chin. "Though, I know Atlas was having trouble with protesters chucking beer bottles filled with Dust at their robots. Think they called them 'Lagune bombs.' Y'know? After that general during the Faunus Revolution? Might be related."

Faunus. There was a link. It lined up with the story the Commissioner was spreading.

The Lead Technician frowned. "That's speculative."

"Just giving an opinion. Facts are all written here." He placed his clipboard on the table. "I'll have everything typed up and entered by the end of the day."

Greyson pulled his helmet back on. He then began walking towards the charred scenery. Peregrine called out to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Figured I'd pitch in with the fire crew." His muffled voice answered her back. "See you 'round."

They watched him go off. Peregrine was rather intense about it. Blassie coughed.

"Was there something else?"

"I-" The crow from before rudely interrupted her by swooping in for a landing.

"Ah! Damn bird! Go!"

It ignored the Sergeant and waddled around on the table instead. If the winged animal was looking for food, it was out of luck. Rather than lose a fight with the creature, Blassie instead relocated over to Peregrine.

"I want to flag some irregularities." She continued. "Specifically, between what the surviving officers said happened here and what the crime scene is telling me."

"Make note of that in your final report." Blassie said, trying to fall back onto procedure.

Peregrine was not having it. "That will take weeks."

"It's the process."

"You just listened to, and accepted, his first impressions. What about mine?"

A groan escaped from Blassie's mouth. She looked sideways to gather her thoughts. The crow was watching them intently.

"Whatever you found, I'm sure it can be explained."

"Oh, I'm sure." Peregrine rolled her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There are a plethora of explanations going around without the evidence to back them up. Almost as though the answers have been decided before we know the questions."

"I don't like your tone." The Sergeant scowled.

"You don't have to." The Technician slowly strolled away. "I will go work on my report. You should warn the Commissioner, though. If he's not careful, he's going to end up in front of an Oversight Committee explaining why he misled the public."

Pressure built behind Blaisse's eyes. Just as one mess was cleared up, another brewed. She picked up her Scroll to inform Nadder of the 'warning' and Greyson's findings.

Returning to her desk, she found that the bird had flown away. The pages on the clipboard had been flipped over, but the annoyance was gone. That did bring Blassie a modicum of relief.

/ / /

"So, why does Junior not like you?" Jaune asked quietly.

"Hm…?" Roman sounded out. "What gave you that impression?"

They were standing around at a Bullhead port. Or rather, Jaune was standing while Roman floated casually above the schedule board. This was the same port they used to get to Beacon, although they were in a separate, interkingdom complex.

Apparently, the volume of flights from other kingdoms had risen so dramatically that they were building new landing areas. That may have had something to do with why the flight they were waiting on from Mistral was an hour late. Bored, Jaune sought to make conversation.

"Just felt like there was some bad blood back there."

Both times they had interacted with Junior, he seemed intensely angry at Roman. More so than appeared warranted. It was possible that the crime boss was always like that, but Jaune did not think that was the case.

"Ah, yes. That. I may have accidentally run over his dog a while back."

"You did?" As far as reasons went, it was rather pedestrian.

Sad, of course. No one liked seeing their pet die. But that was not the sort of thing that would ignite a blood feud.

"Well, replace 'run over' with 'blew up' and 'dog' with 'father.'"

The full gravity of those words took a moment to register. Then the teen's jaw went slack. A groan of disbelief left his mouth.

"You killed his father!?" He said, perhaps too loudly.

"Not directly." Roman kicked his legs. "More like I caused a gang war that resulted in his father's untimely demise."

"I… I…" Jaune struggled. "I have so many questions."

"And we don't have time for any of them. Look!"

Despite knowing this was a distraction from a serious topic, Jaune glanced in the direction Roman pointed. The gate for the late-afternoon flight from Mistral had opened. Departing passengers were filing out into the lobby quickly.

Too quickly. There were so many people heading in every direction that it was difficult to track any individual person. Adding to the confusion were others not a part of the flight who were meeting up with their friends and loved ones.

Since the person that Jaune had been sent to pick up did not know about Junior's task, it was up to the boy to find him. He sighed, stepping towards the churn of moving people. Roman floated along as well.

"Ah!" One person bumped into him. "Sorry."

Then there was another. And another. The faces blurred together.

He was getting frustrated. "Where is this guy?"

"Over here!"

The teenager looked for the Aura ghost. He was pushed again. Shoving back with a growl, Jaune scanned the air. There he saw Roman pointing downward.

Trusting that the thief had found the right person, Jaune pressed through. Eventually he caught sight of the target. Their guy was just as Miltiades had described him. He wore a white tank top and blue jeans. Grasped in his right hand was the handle of a silver briefcase.

Before Jaune called out, he noticed that Junior's man was—as his mother would have called it—acting squirrely. He swung about, head flicking to-and-fro. This made sense if he was carrying contraband. Still, a niggling feeling deep in his psyche convinced him to hang back.

He was glad he did.

The smuggler went ramrod straight before changing direction. His feet sped up to a near run. Their reason for fleeing was relayed by Roman.

"A cop is closing in on him."

Sure enough, a mustachioed man in VPD garb was in hot pursuit. Junior's man ducked into a bathroom. The officer soon followed. Jaune and Roman regrouped behind a leafy potted plant near the lavatory door.

"Is there a window or emergency exit he can use in there to slip away?" Jaune asked.

Roman shook his head. "These kinds of buildings don't have unmonitored entrances and exits like that. He's trapped. His only hope is to hide and sneak his way out."

They had no idea if that was the plan. Either way, it did not work. Soon, the door was kicked open. The officer had made an arrest.

"I swear! I didn't mean anything by it, Laurel."

"Shut up and move." The policeman growled, locking his captive's arm behind him.

They stopped for a moment as the officer used his radio. Everyone else who had been inside the restroom streamed out, not wanting to be part of the criminal apprehension. Jaune was unsure of how to proceed.

"Quick. In here." Roman phased through the wall.

Uneasily, Jaune snuck around the plant. The officer was too preoccupied to notice the boy as he moved into the space they had just vacated. Past the door was a standard locker room-style bathroom. The thief was waiting for him, with a huge grin on his face.

"What?"

"Third toilet on the left. Check it out."

Doing as he was told, Jaune opened the stall door. On the floor was the silver case. It was on its side, leaning against the tank, as though dropped.

"Wha- why was this left behind?" He said while picking the case up.

This turn of events did not make sense. There was no way the officer had not seen this potentially incriminating luggage. The smuggler had made no attempt to hide the evidence.

"Maybe he was not after the contraband." Roman shrugged. "That officer did look familiar. He's probably a part of the Division. This could be an unrelated personal beef."

If that was true, then this was not going to be a standard arrest. Jaune had seen firsthand the Division's idea of settling a score. That had him worried about the arrested man's health.

Roman was not as concerned. "Well, mission accomplished. Let's get back to Junior."

"What about the guy we were supposed to bring back?"

"He got pinched. It happens."

That had become abundantly clear.

"Isn't that what you said about Junior's other men? The ones that helped you the night of the Dust shop robbery?" Jaune argued, fervently, while palming the briefcase. "He did not seem very happy with that explanation."

"Think he'll blame us for this?"

"You know him better than I do."

Roman went silent. Jaune took that as permission. He exited the bathroom to locate the cop and his arrestee.

It was not hard to find them again. They had only just begun to move after the cop finished his radio call. The crowd kept their distance, making it easier to keep an eye on them as they moved through the terminal.

Oddly, they were not heading for the exit. The officer was leading them towards the portion of the facility that was being renovated. They slid under a ladder before disappearing behind a tarped doorway.

As the teen reached the same spot, the spirit flew between him and the entrance. If Jaune had not seen the movement in his periphery, he would have walked straight through Roman. As it was, he stopped as his hand touched the covering.

"Hold up for a moment. I should tell you about Roman's Rule Number One."

Jaune had wondered when this would come up. While not possessing the best memory, he had noticed a missing rule. They had gone through a good number of them, but the first rule had never been touched upon.

Yet this did not feel like a good time for a lesson. "Can this wait?"

"It's important." Roman was as serious as Jaune had ever seen him. "There is a reason it tops the list. Out of all of the rules, one and two should be considered ironclad. Edicts from on high that you break at your own risk."

Rule Two was about trust. Or rather, never to have it. Jaune wondered what Rule One could be.

"I'm listening."

"You are going to hate this, but Rule One is 'don't play the hero.'"

The Arc squinted. "You stopped me just to say that?"

They were wasting time. The huntsman-in-training tried to step forward. The thief asserted himself again.

"Like I said, it's important."

"Of all the- look, by your standards, I have broken that rule multiple times."

Whether it was trying to save that cop from the White Fang, fighting the Lancer Queen, or protecting Yori, Jaune had already been knee deep in heroics. It was in his nature. Roman was not going to stop him from doing what was right.

"And you almost died each time." Roman doused Jaune's righteous anger. "Now, I am willing to overlook those times before because there were exigent circumstances. But now, my malenky apprentice, you are seeking trouble."

"How? We need to-"

"No. We actually don't. The Division killing Junior's man is not your fault. That would've happened whether you were here or not. If the Xiong have a problem with it, they can take it up with their former stogies at the VPD."

Jaune huffed. "But if we save him, then Junior-"

"You're rationalizing. Bargaining. And you may be right. Rescuing that schmuck will put you in Junior's good graces. But know this, kiddo. If you go all in on every bet at the poker table of life, you will eventually go bust."

Before Jaune could retort, Roman merged with him once more. "Believe me. You'll never know when you have played your last hand."

With his piece said, the spirit went quiet. The teen dwelled on those words. Perhaps this was not his issue to sort out.

Then he heard a crash ahead of him. An anguished cry followed. There was no way Jaune could walk away.

His choice was made; he stepped through the tarp.