Sergeant bandito- Please get out of MyHoneyHole You stinky Grot in a BoneBag


The chill in the air wasn't from the fog rolling in off the ocean; it was something far more sinister. Standing alone on the docks, her hair falling back over her shoulders in its luxuriant golden curls that she prided herself so much on, the blonde bombshell could almost taste a salacious malevolence in the air, an undercurrent riding off the eastern winds. The normally so bespoke and open Huntress, Yang, found herself at odds with the unusual silence. It was of course, more than just the silence that unnerved her, the past events that were still so damnable fresh in her minds eye brought her to heel from her normal clamor. She found herself alone, now more than ever, waiting for the arrival of a friend. Yang bit her upper lip and pulled her coat closer. It was cold this morning as if it were winter, despite it being the tail end of the summer months that should have foretold of a lingering heat in the forests of Vale. Yang adjusts her clothing until she's as snug and warm as she can be while standing aside the docks. She was alone for the most part, the normal smash-and-grab hustle and bustle of the dockside markets toned and mellowed, to the point of it being dead and airless in much of the same way an ancient crypt would be, a shadow of its former mercantile prosperity. She should have known to expect such a disparity, given the circumstance of the world at large, she'd heard about the shit that went down not so long ago, but she had ignored it, her mind wasn't in the best of places, and even now she was still recovering.

She pulled out her new hand, the black and gold cybernetic was top-shelf quality, she made a fist and felt the dull sympathetic sensations of artificial nerves feeding back into her stump. It functioned just as well as her old arm, and if anything she would be willing to call it an outright improvement. The strength and durability it brought was unmatched, and its stopping power was remarkable. Alongside the impromptu intervention and practice she had with her father, it was in no way shape or form a drawback. What remained of her upp arm was still tender, the trauma not healed, but in truth, the wounds weren't as apparent as some would think.

Yang took another look around the docks; maybe Blake had already arrived and wasn't calling? Not likely, it wasn't like for Blake to play games. Maybe her mind was just getting to her, maybe Yang was wrong about that black seed of foreboding in the pit of her stomach that had not left her the moment she rolled back into Vale. Yang wasn't ignorant to the shaping of Remnant at the hands of each and every major player in the game. The most current news was that of the recent terrorist attacks that had swept across Vale. Rumor was, that the terrorists were linked to the White Fang, something that had gotten Atlas involved in the proceedings if the increased numbers of white-clad Atlasians were anything to go by. They'd stopped and frisked her a couple of times already. Normally, she might have made a tasteless joke or perverted comment. The fact that didn't was reason enough for some self-reflection. She just didn't feel right. Not after losing her arm, and not after everything else that has happened.

Her scroll pipped in her coat pocket. It was a message; she flicked it open and read it to herself. It was Blake. She was arriving, and would be off the ship in a couple minutes. Yang tried to look up and down the docks, trying to see where her boat had pulled in, but the early morning fog was obscuring everything along the shoreline. Her Scroll pipped again, and a quick glance confirmed her suspicions.


Her timing was impeccable, and as the sitting headmistress of the still occupied Beacon it had only gotten better.


Yang nearly jumps, keeping a cool face she glances over- the black haired Faunus girl with the yellow eyes- Blake, her friend and her teammate. "Sheesh, Blake, you nearly made jump." Yang pockets her scroll, she cracks a grin, it comes off as forced even for her. Smiling had come easy for the blond bombshell, but nowadays… It was clear that she wasn't the only one who was having a rough go of it. Blake looked like shit. It was the early days all over again, freaking out over the white fang, about people looking for her- hunting her. Yang had a feeling that a pep talk and heart-to-heart wasn't going to cut it this time around.

"Long time no see?" Yang tries. Blake looks up at her, she's silent for a half-second.

"Nice to see you." She nods, her voice is raspy, her eyes are pained and tired, bags hand under her eyes like weights, her hair is unkempt and her clothes seem stained and unwashed. She seems sick. There is something eating away inside of Blake, but she can't bring herself to say it, even though she wants to shout it- scream it, take Yang by the shoulders and shake her until everything that has gone to hell just pours out and-

"Are you… feeling ok?" Yang tries to ask, Blake shakes her head at once.

"No. Not ok. Nothing is." She mutters. "Talk about it later." Her words, cut and curt, she walks past Yang, and only then does the blonde notice the long, ugly scar running up and down the back of the Faunus girls right arm. It was a recent wound, barley healed and stapled closed. Yang knew better than anyone that the black-cat Faunus girl was quick on the trigger with her Aura, perhaps faster than anyone else, the fact that someone had apparently gotten the jump on her and caught her with her Aura down, was not something that could simply wait until later.

"Shit, Blake, your arm-"

"Later." Blake snaps.

Yang shuts her mouth, hissing through grit teeth she followed exasperatedly behind Blake. She wondered just exactly what had happened. Her heart sinks a little. If Ruby was here, she'd know what to say, or maybe she'd blurt something stupid out, and take Blake's mind off whatever she was dealing with.

Yang follows after the harried Faunus girl, catching up to her, they walk side by side. "So," Yang tries to make some small talk. " How was Menagerie?" She asks, and bites her tongue as Blake goes ridged, her ears flattening, twitching. She looks away and Yang curses, she berates herself internally, clearly Ruby didn't need to be here when they were cut from the same cloth, the only difference between them being that Ruby was an adorable idiot, and herself being a fucking retard.

"Anyway, uh," Yang coughs pointedly. "Did Glynda tell you anything aside from where and when to meet? She's waiting in the lot, just ahead, by the way."

"Nothing. Just said to meet up." Blake shrugs. "Any ideas?" She asks, at least she was talking, Yang put that up to a positive.

"I'm in the dark just like you."

Blake looks around. They were just exiting the docks, and so began the fish markets, normally stocked and full even early in the morning, this time they were shuttered and locked. The boardwalk desolate of any meaningful activity save for the few hunched over lonely fishermen trundling to their boats or back from them.

"What happened here?" Blake asks. "This place is dead."

Yang looks at her. "You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

"There was another attack not long ago, it was pretty bad."

"What? Was it the white fang? Are they back here too? Did it come from Beacon?" Blake seems to snap, her eyes go wide, her hands rest on the handles of her weapons. Yang grabs her by the shoulders- stills her. "No- No, shut up and hold on!" Blake hesitates and relents. Yang can only imagine what had happened on Menagerie to make Blake snap like this- likely something to do with the white fang. Something bad.

"We don't know what exactly was their intentions, but something tells me, that Glynda has it all sorted out. So lets just go see her, and then we can talk more about it." Yang shakes Blake lightly. "Ok?"

"Yeah, fine, I- Sorry." The Faunus girl relents, her shoulders slumping. "Thing's have been…" She looks for a word. "Super-shitty…" her voice cracks a bit, she looks away. "Lets just go."

"After you," Yang huffs. "But you better tell me more later. I wanna help, you know?" Blake doesn't say anything back, but she does nod, her hands shoved deep into her pockets, her face downturned.

Glynda was waiting for them, standing outside of a car, and smoking of all things. Yang raised a brow and stopped short.

The woman wasn't doing so well. She mirrored Blake, but even then Blake probably was better off than the poor headmistress. The council had been merciless on her. Constant demands that Beacon be reclaimed and Hunters be sent out, Glynda was unable to do either, Atlas had her by the throat, and the Council was refusing to see it.

"Good morning, you two. Blake, Yang." Glynda welcomed them. She straightened out her cardigan and snuffed out her cigarette. She coughed a bit. Her nose wrinkling. "Hate those things." She sighed. "Don't know why I got them." She opened the car door and got in. Yang looked to Blake and shrugged, and stepped into the car as well.

It smelled of more smoke, and yang cracked her window slightly. "So," Yang began, Glynda quickly cut her off, picking up her scroll and dialing a number.

"There here, I'll be with you shortly." She said and hung up. "Excuse me." She apologized. "Just arranging our meeting."

"Meeting?" Yang asked. "With who?"

Glynda pulled the car out of the lot and onto the street, dodging around several potholes. " There's something I want you two to see. It's why I called you here. I'd rather have had all of team RWBY, but I can't get through to Ruby or Weiss. Communication is still spotty."

"What is it?" Yang asked.

"You'll have to see for yourself."

The Vale City Maximum Security Prison was a foreboding prospect that not many of the more liberal minded citizens enjoyed, but it was tolerated because of its unfortunate necessity. It was meant to house some of the most hardened criminals in Vale Kingdom. Those locked behind its walls were always there for a life sentence or awaiting execution. Those detained within were of such deplorable nature, that the sun itself was denied to them as the majority of the facility was built beneath the ground.

There were activist groups that petitioned against he construction and design of such a facility, there were even protests every now and then, but the Prison was built regardless, and now Atlasian soldiers saw to its smooth operations. It was a trend that was extending further and further every day.

Glynda waved them through screening with a flash of her ID once more, Yang was glad that they were allowed to keep their weapons- knowing the headmistress had its perks. They came to an elevator, a bulky one, meant for hauling entire squads of riot police down into the depths should there ever be an outbreak, it was comfortably roomy with just the three of them plus two further soldiers as escort.

They descended for a solid minute, the doors sliding open to a brightly lit hallway, narrow but tall, with alcoves by the elevator built in such a manner as to permit fire going out but not coming in. There was a tripod set by the elevator, two of them, mounts for machine guns. The hallway was a funnel, and the only point of entry or exit. They came to the first cell blocks before long, and Yang rolled her eyes as the catcalls and leers began, Glynda was as unfazed as ever, Blake let her ears dart back and forth, she felt cramped in the close confines of the prison. Two more cell blocks went by, each one self-contained with its own sparse rec center and cafeteria.

Catwalks overlooked everything, soldiers in the stark white armor of Atlas positioned at intervals with automatic riflery. Yang idly sniffed- she could smell a faint trace of teargas, a riot had happened not long ago. She wondered over why? Four cellblocks passed before the fifth and final. Heavy steel security door guarded by a quartet of Atlasian Mechs, Yang eyed the robots ruefully. She couldn't stand the damn things- they had been in part responsible for what happened to Vale in the past. There had been plenty of upgrades and firewalling along with software and hardware revamps, it wasn't likely for them to be hacked like they had been before, but the stigma still remained. It would take time before anything else before people ever trusted the sight of those sleek white metal machines ever again.

The doors ground open, pulling apart at a snails pace, Yang half wanted a klaxon to blare like it did in the movies. She quirked a small wry grin at that. Glynda lead them in, the heavy steel doors shutting behind them with a sonorous thud. This was the solitary zone. Automated Atlas mechs patrolled the hallways relentlessly, armed with inline arm mounted weapons- no chance for a prisoner to get their hands on a loose rifle. There were cell doors along the walls, small slit windows to look into, along with a registry number and name. Glynda led them down the hallway, lined with eight-by-eights and screaming convicts. Yang didn't like this, she didn't like this at all. She wondered exactly how many people were here. How many of them were innocent?

"This way." Glynda motioned them into a room at the end of the long line of cells and machine-men. Yang recognized a viewing room, a reinforced Plexiglas window into a small, dimly lit room with a steel chair, a steel table, manacle clamps, and a teargas dispenser.

Glynda suggested that they take a seat. "We're bringing in one of the terrorists from the recent attack." She explained. "I know you'll have questions but I have to ask for you to be patient and not say anything, just let me run through with the questions. I promise, I can explain everything later, but I need for you to just follow me, and remain quiet." Blake and Yang shared a look; they didn't have any reason to go against Glynda, so they nodded.

They didn't have to wait long. In the room beyond, the side door opened, four Atlas soldiers entered, without word, thy parted and spread to the four corners of the room. They had weapons slung across their chests and held at the ready. One of them, perhaps the sergeant, singled to the doorway, and only then did the terrorist enter, escorted by one of the new-type Atlas mechs. Yang thought for a moment, that this might be a bit much before she got a clear look at the terrorist, and any doubts about the level of security they were taking were washed away.

The man was big, that much was certain. The orange uniform he wore was straining to contain the sheer immensity of the Hunk it was covering. They sat him in a chair that was bolted to the floor, and clamped heavy steel manacles on his arms and legs, and finally a heavy restraining belt around his waist and torso, securing him to the chair. As the soldiers did this, the man simply relaxed, his features calm and at peace. Yang had to admit, as she leaned closer to get a better look, that he was undeniably handsome in a stone-cold rugged sort of way. Close cropped hair, a sledgehammer jawline, and eyes with a harsh greyness to them, reminiscent of an overcast sky right before a thunderstorm. If she could place his age, it would have been in at around his early forties, but it was difficult to tell based on his appearances alone, he was well scarred across his face, most of them appeared to be old wounds but there were enough pinkish gashes that foretold of recent conflict of a visceral sort. Over all, the man was obviously a trained killer. Calmly taking in the details of his situation, the room he was in, the soldiers going to the corners, the mech standing behind him. That wasn't what troubled Yang, what had unsettled her, were the several steel objects lodged just above his right brow, she didn't' know what to make of them and was apt on asking just what they were when Glynda stepped forwards to the intercom, but it was the man who spoke first, his voice, deep, controlled, and resonating in the close confines of his prison.

"Headmistress Goodwitch. You have come again." He said. Yang and Blake paid close attention, he had an accent, they couldn't place it from anywhere they knew locally or foreign. They glanced at each other, Yang shrugged.

"Captain," Glynda said in reply, she wasn't cordial nor was she penalizing. It was as if she was trying to sound as neutral as possible. Glynda was not keen on taking him lightly. "I have some questions that I would like you to answer."

"Who have you brought today?" The gaze of the man passes over Blake and Yang. Yang casually waves. "What are their names?"

"You don't need to know that." Glynda replies. "Let's remain focused on my questions."

"For now." The 'Captain' acquiesces.

"What is your name?"

"I have already answered this."

"This is just for cooperation, please restate for the records."

"I am Scout Master Yenald. Captain of the Sixth Company."

"What is your full name, without the rank?"


"Is that your first or last name?"

"I do not understand. Please explain."

"People have a first and last name, the first is their more casual name, and the last name ties them to their family. Did I explain that?"

"I understand now. My answer is unchanged. My name is simply Yenald."

"What organization do you represent?"

"I do not understand."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you wish to know who I serve? Or do you wish to know who or what my brothers and I serve?" The man asks patiently. "I require clarification. Your language is unclear."

"What group are you- the individual in front of us- a part of?"

"I am of the Sixth Company Sun Descendants Chapter."

"Which is part of?"

"The Adeptus Astartes of the Imperium of Mankind."

"There is no such organization, or individual on Remnant. These things do not exist."

"No. On this world- Remnant as you call it- they do not exist."

"You acknowledge this, yet you persist in saying they do, every time you are asked for clarification."

"As I said. On Remnant, the Imperium of mankind does not currently exist. This will change in the future."

"What do you mean?"

"The Imperium of Mankind stretches across the known Galaxy. There are worlds that have been lost. This world may well be one of them. It is awaiting rediscovery."

"You are saying, that in space, there are other worlds, colonized by humans, and that humans have colonized other planets, and that somehow, a galaxy spanning empire has 'lost' a whole planet?"

"I have told you this many times. Will telling you it again, change your opinion on what is true and what you believe?"

"What I believe is hard science and facts. You are telling my neither." Blake's ears twitched, Glynda didn't sound sure of herself, even though the tale before them was blatantly impossible. "This entire story you keep telling is impossible."

"It is possible." The ma's inflection, his tone and expression, they don't change in the slightest as he calmly answers Glynda's questions, At times, he will shift his focus to Blake or Yang, and stare for a minute or more before returning his attention to Glynda. At times he would interrupt, and as her to rephrase something, or expand further on her question, in return his responses were analytical and blunt. He was neither angry nor was he happy, he was merely pleasant.

"Was your group responsible for the destruction of North Tarquin?"

"I am not familiar with that name. Why do you ask?"

"North Tarquin is a city to the direct North of Vale City. It was recently destroyed by unusual means, and only a single survivor was found. Everyone else was dead by decapitation."

The man stands up.

The steel manacles around his arms and legs bend and break, the belt around his waist and chest snap. The soldiers raise their rifles in an instant and train them on the man, Yang only realizing now that he was far larger than what she originally thought- inhumanly large. She would only come up to his chest.

"Repeat what you just said." His voice seemed to vibrate the double pane window, Yang and Blake looked to Glynda, who was somehow unfazed through all of this. "Immediately." He snaps.

"I said, that North Tarquin, is a city just north of here, and recently, within the last week, it has been destroyed. There was a single survivor, a young Faunus girl who is a Hunter. Is there something you know about this?"

"The corpses, you said they were desecrated. How?"

"They were decapitated, almost all of them. Their skulls were found separate from their bodies in piles. They were marked."

It isn't fear or panic that plays across his face, it wasn't dread or despair, it is anxiety, and it is somehow worse. "How many other settlements were found like this?"

"How do you know-"

"Answer me, Mortal!" Blake jumps, yang flinches, the guards in the room press themselves back against the walls as his voice thunders, unnaturally loud even through the glass window. "Six, or seven others? How many?"

Glynda fixes her glasses and purses her lips; Yang is incredulous, the bitch was an ice-cube. "Seven others were found in a similar state. How do you know this?"

The man curses something vile- it is in a cutting language that sounds like a rasp against bark, the man- Yenald- Is angry, clearly so. His chest heaves with a deep breath- and then he punches the steel table, his fist smashing a hole clean through, and buckling the thing down the middle like a bent can. Glynda says nothing for a moment. She lightly depresses the intercom button, and speaks, slow, and deliberately, as if she were trying to calm a caged beast. "Is there something that I should know?

Yenald paces around the ruined table with folded arms and a deep scowl, he was either oblivious or uncaring of the several weapons tracking him but unwilling to fire. "There is much you should know. But you are unwilling to accept it as truth. The cities and settlements that have fallen, the number holds significance." He pauses, and spits out a single word with bile and dread. "Eight…" He seethes, staring a hole in the far wall. "The endless number, endless as war, a mark of continuation." He looks to Glynda. "You must release us at once. This can no longer wait. They will strike again when the stars are right. You cannot fight them as you are now."

"What are you talking about. Who will attack?" Glynda demands.

"The Arch Enemy, Mortal!" Yenald shouts,

"Who is that? What is that? Why would they slaughter eight cities and only eight? Are they a cult? I need answers, Yenald!"

Yenald drags a hand down his face, a motion that is decidedly human but for some reason appears foreign when done by this man. He is silent for a spell, ignoring everything and focusing on his own breathing it would appear, he rolls his shoulders, once more placid and composed. "You must first release me and agree to my prior offer. Then I can tell you all that I know."

Glynda shakes her head, Yang wonders for a moment, just what deal that this man had offered in prior interrogations.

"I see," The man nods in thought, "I ask you to reconsider." He says. "I have read your history. And in the coming days, the relative peace you have enjoyed will be sundered. I could have killed these men and broke their machine, but I haven't. I could kill all the soldiers you are requesting right now, but I wont." Blake looks, she see's Glyndas hand holding down the silent alarm under the intercom.

"We could leave this facility at any time. We do not do this, because the threat that is amassing cannot be fought alone. So I answer your questions." His tone turns from calm amicability and idle bemusement, to that dour timbre that sends a trill of excitement racing up Yang's spine. "My patience is wearing thin. My mood grows sour. This interrogation is over. I give you a week to make your decision."

Yang turns to Glynda, with a heavy breath she ratchets he weapon, her gauntlet cycles in a shell. "Just give the word, and I'll go in there and ventilate him." She intones. She looks to Blake, who nods. "Us two and you should be more than enough."

Glynda shakes her head, resting a palm on the window. "You couldn't even touch him if you tried." She says. "She depresses the intercom stud. "We'll talk again soon."

"I hope you make the correct decision."

The interrogation room door opens, a full squad of heavily armed soldiers sweeps in with weapons trained- they don't so much as earn the giants attention, his stare fixated on the three figures behind the glass window.

Yang spits, kicking over a stool, she storms about a well furnished room, seething. They were alone now, in the personal office of Glynda's home. It is a wide room, centered around a long desk laden with an innumerable number of papers and reports, a candelabra hangs from the ceiling, casting a dim red glow about the pine and Oakwood floor and up the spring colors of the walls. Yang paces irksomely, Blake sits at the desk across from Glynda, head slouched, tracing patterns on the tablecloth. She is pensive about some thing. "I mean; fucking shit- what game is that fucker playing? Trying to be some 'mysterious cool-dude' or some shtick?" She scratches the back of her head.

"Is he really a terrorist?" Blake finally asks, ignoring yang's continuing tirade. Glynda glances over at Blake, idly wondering just what was wrong with the poor girl, before nodding. "It would appear so, yes."
"Did they say that had any particular agenda?" She asks again. Glynda shifts uncomfortably. "Not anything concrete, they said that they were the 'enemies of mankinds foes'."

"Did they have any uniforms, any weapons? Anything like the white fang?" At this, Glynda stands from behind her desk.

"Nothing puts them with the white fang, not even on the same chart, really. But as for equipment..." She nods. "You should see for yourself." She sighs. Glynda stretches for a moment, clearly tired, exhausted even. The council had not been easy on her. Despite everything she had done, they were still some of her most vocal critics. Ozpin had been adept at taming them, and holding them at bay, and Glynda had learned much of that from Ozpin, but with the current crisis' stacking up on top of one another, they had more than enough ammunition to lob in her direction. Worse yet, is that it was sticking.

Glynda led Blake and Yang out of her office quarters, they instead of leaving, to what Blake assumed would be the police station or some sort of militia armory, they found themselves unlocking the door to the buildings basement. Down a long stairwell, the flickering lights barley illuminating the steps, and growing only darker when Glynda closes the door behind them, Yang can't help but feel claustrophobic in the tight confines. "Where are we going?" Yang asks. "Your secret lair? Some sorta hideout?"

Glynda shakes her head. "No. Just my basement. You wouldn't believe how many people overlook things like this." They reach the end of the stairs and a small workshop is before them, various tools and accrual is littered over several hardwood or steel tables, clamps, vices, and a few welding torches sit idly by, illuminated by overhead lamps. There is a pile of boxes, stacked in one corner, they take up most of the space.

Glynda draws her crop; a flick of the wrist sends the stack of boxes sliding across the floor much to the determent of Blake's ears. Yang glances over, and raises a brow with a lecherous grin aimed at Glynda. "Porno mags, Glynda? I never took you for the sort." Several boxes remained, stacked full of old magazines detailing women of the Faunus variety clad in little to nothing, in various compromising situations.

Again, Glynda sighs, and shifts the box away. "A cover, nothing more. And if you start spreading rumors, I'll have your hide." Covered in dust, and obscured by a pallet, a hinge is revealed, Glynda deftly opens this, reaching down, she grunts, and motioned for Blake and yang to assist her, the three women grab ahold of a large leather sack. Yang grits her teeth, taking most of the weight with her cybernetic arm and pulls. They drop it to the floor, and a clanking of metal is heard, Blake glances at Glynda, her question unspoken. "Yes, it's what you think it is." She says. She pulls open the canvas sack; dark gleaming metal shines in the rustic light.

"Have a look." Glynda says. Yang helps herself, reaching down she latches onto a long barreled, block weapon. She grunts as she lifts, switching to her false hand. Its weight was more than what she expected. It was designed for someone of much larger stature, the grip barley fit in her hand and she had to stretch to reach a finger into the guard, and it was only with her cybernetic that she was able to rack the slide.

The weapon- a shotgun in appearance- was old, its edges were worn, and its paint was chipped, revealing dull, silvery grey metal beneath. It was well weathered in places, and small dents and scratches were all too apparent, despite this, it was clearly maintained to a high degree, almost lovingly tended too. She rolled the weapon in her hands, looking it over. The breech worked cleanly, the slide was oiled, the screws and bolts were all in working condition and even had protective caps over them. There was not a facet of the bulky weapon that was out of order or misused. She sniffed, a scent catching her attention, leaning in she sniffed again, and her nose rankled, not out of disgust but confusion. Incense, like smoked lavender, lingered on the gun.

Blake had in her hands, a large, blockish pistol inscribed with a winged skull on the side. Its grip was firm but cold, and the weapon itself was heavy but solid- it felt comforting in a strange sense, it felt powerful. The bore was wide, almost too wide, like whatever it was meant to be firing was made to deal with tanks, or large grimm beasts, but it was a sidearm, and sidearms were normally weapons reserved for anti-personnel situations.

"There's also this." Glynda walks over to a closet, recessed behind several planks of old, moldering wood, was a long silver pole that barley drew any attention. Blake and Yang watch as she removes and holds the pole with something approaching reverence.

"Uh, Mind explaining?" Yang asks, fed up with the show but not tell session.

"This was all that I could squirrel away from the Atlas soldiers, there's more, but I couldn't risk it." She shakes her head. "This thing in particular was a nightmare to smuggle out."

"You stole these?" Blake asks. Questioning. "Why."

"Because of this." Glynda sets a large, copper thing, that it takes a second to identify as an unfired round of some sort- larger, and squat, it looks like something loaded into armored vehicles.

"You're looking at a forty-millimeter, armor piercing, micro-rocket propelled explosive projectile with an on-board nano-computer in charge of keeping this thing stabilized mid flight. This pistol here, fires these things on fully or semi automatic." Gynda points at the shotgun. "That weapon has at least seven different types of munitions ranging from depleted uranium sabot slugs that can punch through tank armor, to a cloud of metallic pellets that burn with white phosphorus but have the range of a nine-millimeter round and twice the stopping power- while being on fire." She looks at Blake and Yang, her expression is one of dire import. "Then, if that wasn't enough, there was a suit of powered armor that could stop an anti tank round at point blank range, a handheld scanning tool that could pick up a signal on the other side of the planet, several knives with a micrometer thin edge, and lastly, this." Glynda taps the pole.

"A portable stripper pole?" Yang cocks her head and grins. Glynda fixates her with a withering glare."

"This staff, defies all known science, and is made out of a material that shouldn't exist." Blake and yang glance at each other, each one just as confused.

"Could you explain more, please?" Blake asks.

"This staff is for all intents and purposes, could be classified as well and truly indestructible. I had an old boyfriend run it through some tests at the Vale City Micro-avionics and applied engineering labs, what they came back with, was, well… I was told that this staff could be thrown into the sun, and pass out the other side, completely unchanged. It maintains a constant temperature of thirty-six degrees, and its weight seems to change based on whoever is holding it."

"What?" Blake snaps, incredulous. "None of what you said made any sense."

"I know, but it's true." She sighs. "Blake, hold out your hand."

Blake does so, and Glynda lays the staff across her open palm, there is weight there, Blake can feel it, and when Glynda lets go- it changes. Nothing perceptible with her eyes happens, but she can feel the weight lift, becoming lighter, but not light enough to where it becomes untenable, enough weight to swing with but not so much that it would swing her around. She tries this, a few practice movements- fluid and unhurried, it was like the staff was reacting with her movements instead of remaining an inert lump of metal, her grip almost feels natural along the length, snug but loose. She's never held a staff weapon before in her life, but with this she feels like a natural. She runs her eyes over the surface of the staff, it's dull silvery hue is unmarked and unblemished by any sort of damage. She looks up at Glynda. "What is this thing?" She can only ask.

"Frightening in the extreme." Glynda shakes her head. "Whatever it's made of, whatever it is, it's not like anything on Remnant. Neither are those two guns, or that round. Each one of them is constructed out of some sort of super-material, but nothing like that staff. Even so, they are extremely dense and light, and technologically superior to anything on Remnant, what's more, none of them have any trace of Dust on or within them."

"You can't be serious," Yang laughs. "What you're saying is…"

"I wouldn't say it otherwise."

"You didn't answer the question earlier, about 'stealing' these things?" Blake repeats, she finds herself holding onto the staff, rolling it in her hands, it's bigger than her, made for someone quiet larger, but she finds that she'd rather have this staff, this seemingly plain lump of metal, over her own twin weapons, she doesn't even feel guilty about admitting it to herself.

"Atlas has their hands all over them. There was a suit of armor, shot to hell but still functional- it was powered by a backpack generator that didn't use dust, and was armored to all hell. The person who was wearing it had cybernetic implants that allowed him to wear it like a second skin without any loss in agility or movement." Glynda pulls out her scroll, and draws up several pictures of a red and silver humanoid suit, it's surface was scarred with all manner of damages, and its front plate was a mess of wires and meshwork. "The wearer was only lightly wounded, nothing more than some tissue damage despite taking direct hits from anti-tank missiles and hunter weapons."

"The person wearing this went up against Hunters?" Yang asks. "As in, multiple?"

"They did more than that, they won." Glynda closes her scroll. "Two were critically injured, one was maimed with his face melted off with acid, and another was killed from having their entire body broken apart." Glynda explains. Yang is silent. "This wasn't done from range, either, it was in close quarters combat, hand to hand- the wearer of this armor had no weapon, and beat a hunter to death- with his fists." She snaps. "Need I say anything more, Yang, or are you starting to see what this means?"

She fixes her glasses. "It means that what the gentleman in the cell said earlier, wasn't a lie, perhaps not about everything, this whole 'imperium of man' thing is too ridiculous. But, if he wanted to get out, there would be nothing we could do to stop him, and before you ask, no, he wasn't the one who was wearing this armor, there are two others like him, and one of them, is very big, and very, very angry." Glynda takes the staff from Blake, she lets go almost reluctantly. Glynda returns the weapons to there hiding places and leads them up back to her office area. "The captain, as he calls himself, he's given me a week to make a choice."

"What choice is that?" Blake asks. Glynda doesn't say anything for a moment. When she does, Blake and Yang wishes she hadn't.

"You can't really be serious," Yang tries to force a laugh into her voice, but it doesn't come.

"The Council is in deadlock, and Atlas has a stranglehold on Vale, they're arguing for a push against beacon, and if they do it and succeed, what's to stop them from staying? They could just as easily maintain that there is still a clear and present threat and before you know it, Vale is Atlas territory. What's more, the man in the cell with the impossible weapons says that there's a worse threat than Atlas, the White Fang, the Grimm, and Salem, and I have no choice but to believe him. We've been losing cities along the borders of Vale for months now, and white fang activity has ratcheted up by several degrees, and then there's the northern massacre's, which still have no explanation or answer, frankly, I don't see any other option at this point."

"I'm against this." Blake says. "Or, I would be. But…" her shoulders slump, she leans back in her chair "The world doesn't make sense anymore." She shakes her head, that tiredness reasserting itself in her posture. "Is that why you called us?" She asks.

"It is." Glynda admits. "I have several other hunter teams with me that I know I can trust, I also have several police and military officers that are willing to turn a blind eye and clear the streets of any civilians, they don't know the whole extent of everything but it's better that they don't."

"You're expecting this to get messy?" Yang tenses. "You think people are going to get hurt?"

"It's necessary."

"It's bullshit, that's what it is!"

"Where do you think you are, Yang Xao Long?" Glynda snaps, slapping the desk, her frustration exploding out of her. You think you're so entitled because you don't kill people? You think that because you're a hunter that it makes you a hero? That you don't have to get your hands dirty? Let me tell you something, the reason why you lost to that asshole Adam, was because he was willing to kill and you weren't." Any anger in yang was iced, the sheer vitriol rolling from Glynda was never something she thought she ever see. There was real hate in the headmistress. She was always a cold woman, a harsh disciplinarian that did not tolerate fuck-ups, but this was a whole different side of her. "That goes for you too, Blake. You're skittish, you're afraid. But I don't need to tell you that, you seem to have worked that out yourself. I could go on about the rest of your teammates; I could nitpick and tell you all just why I think you are a failure as a Hunter Team. I could say that you think this is a game and that you're only job is to save people and kill 'monsters'. But instead, let me tell you this, and be done with it. Hunter's are mercenaries. They are contract soldiers. They are criminals and worse. Do you think that the academies were made solely just to fight the Grimm? No. They were made to control the Hunters, to put limits on them, to monitor them, and if necessary, prune away the undesirables. Think about this. How long do you think it would take before Hunters started viewing people without their powers as humans used to view Faunus?"

There wasn't any answer, that Blake or Yang was willing to give. The silence in the room was enough.

"You have my contact information, and you know what's planned. You can either help me, or you can go home. See yourselves out. I have business to attend to."

There was nothing to say, between the black haired Faunus and the yellow haired human. Yang was silently fuming, her fists clenched hard enough that the metal in her robotic one creaked. "I can't believe she said that shit." Yang broke the silence first. "She's got some damn nerve."

"She isn't wrong." Blake responds.

"The fuck she is," Yang snorts.

"No, really." Blake says. "About everything, she wasn't wrong. About us, about what we do. We've been naïve." Blake says. "The Grimm aren't the only enemy out there, neither is Salem, nor the White Fang."

"What do you mean?"

"Menagerie is dead." Blake says, her voice almost catches. "Everyone is gone. I don't know how."


"Excuse me," The voice is young, but somber with a childish inflection of delight, like how one would feel when upon finding an old favorite toy long fallen into disrepair, a melancholy reunion of better days gone past. Blake and Yang look down, it is a young Faunus girl, garbed in a black dress that fell past her knees, and embroidered with simple white lace along the hem. She was a Faunus, the ruddy orange fur of her ears, and the tail sprouting from a hole in her dress attested to that as much as her eyes.

The two Huntresses' didn't focus for long on her eyes. They were, wrong… somehow, they couldn't' quite place the color- nor could they remember it after so quickly looking away- as if second-guessing themselves. Despite her cherubic features, her auburn hair tied back in a pony tail with a red bow, her braided bangs, and the childish conductors baton of a marching band she carried, Yang felt herself instinctively on edge, and Blake had stepped back slightly, shifting her weight onto her back foot, ready to react at a moments notice.

"You lost, kid?" Yang asks.

"You, per chance, wouldn't happen to be Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xao Long?" The kid asks, her expression is uncanny, like a mask, unmoving and frozen on an expression of innocence, completely at odds with her speech that came through as relentlessly forced, and artificial.

"…yes." Blake responds, Yang only coining onto that this girl knew them by name and appearance.

"Oh. how wonderful. Truly this is marvelous. Is the Brother Capt-… Ah," She fidgets, her head snapping down, looking at the back of her knuckles, playing over the baton, tapping it against her leg several times, her head snaps back up. "Ah, no- too soon, yes, much too soon. My apologies," She grins, wider than before, "I apologize, I'm," She freezes. "Under the weather… Yes."

"Okay." Blake nods slowly. "I hope you get better…"

"What?" The girl deadpans, cocking her head, her expression unmoving. "Why would I need to-" She flinches, like a spark rolled up her spine, her back arching slightly. "Oh, yes-yes, right, yes, I see- I see, yes, of course- many thanks, I hope I do so as well, yes." She fakes a cough, painfully obvious and all the more unsettling with how her smile does not shift in the slightest. "Yes. Regardless of my corporeal wellness, I assume that you ah," She hesitates again. Freezing in place like a switched off animatronic. "Oh, dear." She fidgets. "I forgot- I have to introduce myself, yes, of course, how could I be so crass, so arrogant, how poor of me- yes, no, wait, no, no…" She freezes again, "Stop it. Not now. Not now. Yes. My name- yes, My name, as in My name… yes, Elyla, Torwell, A huntress, Faunus, Age… is it? Yes, it is, Eight-teen, I am Female, as in I lack a… Ah, I see, yes that does seem…" Her face changes expression, a grimace, something like confusion and anger mixed together to form something truly frightful. Blake is about ready to call it a day, and Yang is not far behind her, she wonders if this is some sort of set up, or a ruse, anything to give reason for the sudden arrival of the maniac little girl before them.

"Be as it may- Fine. Do as you must." She snaps aloud, she goes limp, stumbling back for a second, then righting herself, blinking rapidly, a fearful wide eyed stare and timid frown of embarrassment, her cheeks flush a rosy red. "I-I, I uh, I Have Autismsorrysorry-" She stammers off into some harried half-apology half explanation that trails off into silence when a crowd starts to form. "Sure, whatever, just…" Yang reaches down and takes the girl by the shoulder- she nearly lets go, it was like grabbing ice. "Lets just… Move along." The Faunus girl gets the hint, falling into step behind them, head down, curling a braid around a finger shame faced.

They were clear a block before Yang looked back at the girl, half expecting her to have vanished- she was still there, Yang didn't know weather to count that as a good thing just yet.

"So, uh." Yang begins, clearing her throat. The girl glances up, not meeting her gaze. Her eyes were a pale amber-brown color Yang notices, and perfectly normal, if a bit watery, she didn't know why she didn't notice that before. "You said you're a huntress?" She asks.

"Yeah, yeah…" The girl mutters. "Not very good but…" She shrugs half-heartedly and her ears twitch and flatten.

"I see…" Yang glance

s at Blake. "You live around here then? With your team?" Yang asks.

"My team?" The girl- she called herself Elyla Torwell, Yang recalls- she hiccups, "My, team. Yeah, they uh, they... I mean. I…" Pain and hurt flash across her expression, "They'd be better off without me…"

"Oh," The conversation was going nowhere, and if she was being honest, even Ruby would have ditched a creep like Elyla, there was being tolerant, then there was this. "Well, did you want to say anything to us?" Yang hesitantly asks. "You seemed kidna…" She stops herself.

"Just wanted to say high and…" She's quiet for a moment, her ears perk up and she swallows, she clasps her hands together. "Er, just, well… Please make the right choice." She mutters something, low enough that they didn't catch it. "-have a good day and I'm sorry about your home miss Belladonna things will get better I promise- bye." Yang and Blake don't try to stop her as she turns and quickly walks away, her ears twitch incessantly like a nervous tic, she vanishes around a corner and is gone.

"The fuck was that." Yang snaps in a half whisper.

Blake says nothing; she takes a closer look at her surroundings, her ears perked, swiveling at every little sound. She takes Yang by the arm. "Lets get some coffee. I've something to tell you."

"I told you not to."

It was important.

"They looked ready to run."

They would not. They must not.

"What if they do? What if you're wrong?"

Then I kill them.
"What? Why!"

The taint must be stopped.

"I don't understand…"

It is best that you do not.

"…You scare Chiki, you know."

It does not matter.

"But Chiki is nice! And you shouldn't stalk Nicole like you do."

It is necessary.

"But why though?"

The taint must be stopped.

"You should at least, well, let me talk, and stuff, you know, you don't really come off as… you aren't a people person, I'm sorry, it's just that…"

It is not important.

"But it is! You keep scaring people and they don't like us, and you make us say stuff out loud that you shouldn't and-"

That is enough.

"Wait! Please, no! I don't want to go back there! I'm sorry!

I am sorry.

"I'm afraid- it's dark, the little things- they hurt me- my skin burns-"

I am sorry. There is no other way.

"It hurts…"

I am sorry.


I am sorry.

"I- just let me di-eee..."

I am sorry. There is no other way.

You are Elyla Torwell again, Huntress of team CENL- Central, you roll your spine, the sensation of flesh overwhelming for a moment, and then you open your eyes. The face you wear again placid and unmoving. It takes a moment to reorient; you try and pay no attention to what has become your punishment, that punishment being the hushed whimpering in the back of your mind of 'Her.' You retread your steps, before long you knock on a fine wooden door. You wait, and then you knock again, louder this time. The door opens.

The Woman is tired. Bags hang under her eyes and her expression is one of muted disappointment and consternation. Her posture stiffens and her lips purse at the sight of you.

"I did what you wanted. Please, leave me alone." She says, her tone curt, strained.

"Let me in." You say.

"We had a deal."

"Let me in." You say.

"Why should I?" False bravado serves no purpose, you look at her, taking your gaze off of the middle distance behind her for a moment.

"I will kill you." You do not jest.

She backs away out of the doorframe and you enter.

You walk upstairs, to the office you are so familiar with. It was here that you met this woman, unannounced and with less cooperation on her part- something that was rectified for future visits.

"I told you, I did what you asked." She repeats as you pull the desks seat out, you barely come up to table height. It doesn't matter. "You said that you wouldn't come here again. You promised."

"I lied." You say simply enough.

"You said you couldn't lie!"

"That was a lie too." You set your weapon on the table. The baton, an ebony black thing with ivory tips, had another name some time ago- Comet. You croon, and the daemon inside whimpers. She fears you. She fears what you will do to it once you are done even more. She thinks that if she cooperates, that you will free her. She is stupid. You had forgotten her name, Videl? Vydel? It did not matter. She let herself fall. Now she serves you.

"…What do you want?" The woman asks, she keeps her distance from you, she wants to tremble, but she manages to keep herself composed well enough.

"I must stop the Taint." You say. "You will help me." You have said this before, you have said this countless times, and yet still she asks-

"What is the taint?"
Like clockwork.

"An infection. A rot. It must be cut out." And like clockwork comes your answer.

Her exasperation and anger overcomes her fear for the moment, and she forgets her place, she steps towards you. "Why wont you tell me what that is?" She insists. "Hell, you wont even tell me what you are!"

"You speak of Hell?" You muse aloud. "No. You do not yet know what Hell is" You stand, climbing onto the desk, and she goes ridged.

You dig your nails into the nubile skin under your jaw until you can curl your fingers and begin to pull. Red meat and skin coming unstuck from your face as you pull upwards- the whimpering in the back of your mind begins to shout at you again. Your skin begins to crack and burn, sulfurous fumes spill out from under your eyeballs as the fluid inside them begins to boil.

"I must show you what Hell really is."