Chapter 24: Camaraderie

AN: Holy hiatus Batman.

...Yeah. That's what I've got after more than half a year.

Sorry for taking so long, this is just ridiculous. There were just so many bumps in the road between high school ending, getting more shifts at work, all of my friends leaving for college and all that, but I think I'm doing alright now. There was a lot of positive things in the reviews over the course of the sort of hiatus, and I appreciate all of it so much, thank you. Sorry if there's problems, my G, J and K keys like to not work sometimes. It took me three tries to type that last sentence, it's really bad.

Questions/Comments:

Le MAO XXIII: As always, I love hearing both theories and songs from readers, and I liked both here (though I haven't seen Fight Club so something might be lost on me. Whoops.)

quentin3655: Excuse me, I've seen Doom gameplay. I experienced it at 2 in the morning once. These two don't need help. These two should never cross paths. No one should be subjected to that level of rip 'n' tear.

Rman916: At some point I thought it might be interesting if the Courier was already past his prime, although it can be kind of tricky trying to pull it off without it seeming like there's arbitrary limits being put on him for the sake of plot. And apparently a "has-been" protagonist doesn't appeal to the kids these days. I knew I should have gone with the sexy young woman, that's what gets peoples' attention now.

mr I hate znt nobles kill em: Definitely a chance of people thinking he's Faunus, he's got like six wings I think? Yeah, things have been fucked for a while, though things certainly started to really get out of hand once the Think Tank got involved. As for the second part, I don't recall any courier bringing up the bar meeting with anyone, and there was a lot of words and a lot of time between there and here so checking would take a while, and I don't feel like doing that at 2 AM. Can someone check that for me? I'm kind of curious now.

theplqa: Yo. Don't. I don't talk about politics or serious topics much, but if you support Trump just back the fuck off. Even if you don't, that's still in poor taste. I might not be affected by the results of this election as much as a lot of others (which isn't to say I'm not affected,) but there's a lot of good people who have already suffered because of him and his supporters and this fucker hasn't even been inaugurated yet. There's people very close to me, I care about them more than anything else and I'm afraid for them because of this stupid fucking election. So I can't help but take that "make X great again" tag line very personally.

Command8: pl

Guests:

Guest (Flanderization): Don't worry about it, we all suck cocks every now and then, and I'll be the first to admit the earlier chapters certainly weren't perfect. I'm just glad you decided to keep reading and ended up liking it, it means a lot!

Guest (Courier "" Six): Oh my god. I'm pretty sure this is supposed to be like the Kaz Miller thing, but...holy shit.

...

Courier "Nobody wanted to bother getting FO3's engine fixed" Six

Courier "If I see Todd Howard I'm gutting that coward" Six

Courier "95% of Fallout 4 is filler" Six

He's really concerned about Bethesda and ZeniMax. And probably killing aliens too sometimes.

Guest (Burned Man): Sure, the Courier might be able to survive headshots and fire and long drops followed sudden meetings with the ground, but he'd just chalk that up to being a robotic abomination, and the Grand Canyon fall would probably still kill him. Graham's a human. There's no scientific explanation for him being the way he is. And while the Courier occasionally makes reference to the highly mysterious Wall #4, he still experiences things believing them to be real life, because to him, the story is real life. Would you not be afraid of this righteous crispy mummy in real life?

When last we saw the merry mess of haggard hunters, a distant detonation managed to spark the apathetic android's concern once again. Though a short trip back in time is a bit tricky even for those with the strangest of abilities, for the sake of clarity, it sometimes can't be helped.

Ivan, halfway through a puff of Ultrajet, looked to the side and stopped momentarily, almost causing a collision with the hunters behind him. "...What?" Words failed him. Even rampant cursing failed him. And a clusterfuck of obscenities never failed. "Back in ti—what? That hurt just to listen to..."

"—and the Courier told us a brain in a jar made Cazadores on 'definitely Tuesday,' which is another reason it's objectively the worst day of the week," the oldest Wastelander rambled as he scooped handfuls of what the hunters hoped was candy into his mouth. They knew it wasn't. But it was nice to imagine. "...What were we talking about again?"

"Your theory that the Courier's been collecting every corpse in the Wasteland and moving them to a big hole in the middle of nowhere," Ren answered dully as they started to advance again. Just the name Cazador made Pyrrha shudder, and the movement almost caused the blond boy over her shoulder to upchuck again. They had a lot to say about their fourth member.

"Oh yeah, because he's a necro-something," Rurik said casually. "I'm pretty sure that's where we were going with this."

"A necro-what?" Pyrrha asked fearfully, dreading what that 'something' could possibly be substituting. Quite a lot could be used in the place of that 'something,' and would do a whole lot to how she saw her 'necro-something' neighbor who was already rumored to do 'things' involving bodies and his mouth.

"You do mean—"

"He's a goddamn wizard. Somehow. Raising the dead, an army of immortal corpses at his command, the absolute madman."

"Oh Dust don't scare me like that," she whispered to herself.

"Oh yeah, he's definitely magic or somethin'," Petya said matter-of-factly. "People don't just walk thousands of miles and decimate one of the largest empires that side of the planet in a month. Mostly with a sword if the bodies are anything to go by. There's a way to it, there's gotta be. Some way to cover so much distance. Some way to annihilate tens of thousands on his own." As the conversation ventured back into territory the hunters wanted to leave alone, the group as a whole slowed again, and the oldest brother appeared...furious. "You might want to think he's really a good guy at the heart. I know he manages somehow. Getting pity he doesn't deserve. 'He just had a rough past, but he'll do the right thing in the end,' kinda thing? I guess I can't really blame you, the thought that something as cruel as him exists still gives me nightmares some nights."

The twitching, stuttering mess next to the armored man made some kind of clicking sound as he attempted to speak. The genuine fear that overcame someone who, for the last couple hours, had been quite nonchalant when faced with the seemingly immortal beast that attempted to wipe out both his families, only put the hunters that much more on edge. "Th-the mother fucker burned them all," Ivan whimpered. "S...saw...kids...slaves...everywhere he went. In-in the tents, and...o-on the...the walls...p-pieceses..." JNPR flinched together as the nearly sobbing man let out a bark of laughter. "Crazy doesn't do that!" he screamed. "That's not sick! There's nothing wrong with him, I've seen sick people and they don't do that! He's different, he's pure fucking evil, that's hate and and it's...the fucking devil in a man! That fucker doesn't feel, people feel, and people get traumatized and we have to cope with our fucking brain's fucking shit, but we don't shoot slaves and homeless kids, that Scorcher isn't one of us! And if you treat him like a personifyoulethim think he's one of us—"

Petya finally got a grip on his brother and put a hand over his mouth. The silence, the tension that remained was thick as sludge. The only noises were the madman's echoing yelps and distant sirens. "...And no, he probably lied about that, too," the machine gunner said simply. "If he ever told you he was forced to go on his little expedition. The brigadier was planning on sending him east to die. Eventually. With other problems like us. But he went AWOL, all on his own. And when we finally find him, he tells us he has an urge. Like he wants to take on impossible odds just to see if he can. He'll hunt swarms of monsters or entire gangs or whatever's left of the Legion just to tear through 'em like paper. Every job he complains about, he either pisses his pants or just goes waist deep in guts. More eager than any ass-kisser ever could. And you know what he says? He says he's in it 'for the experience.' It's just a delightful old time to him, going out, finding new hobbies, making new memories.

"And I still don't know what's more fucked up...the fact that he can keep going on like this...or the fact that the Republic, the only thing resembling order in the Wasteland anymore, started relying on him being this way. It's not like they wanted him to secure someplace for a tactical advantage, or defend a settlement. The Legion was already crumbling, they weren't the most urgent thing to deal with. He was just supposed to go out there and...kill. Kill whatever he could until it killed him. And they expected him to go so far and be so disgusted that he would choose forget it, and...right now...remembering what he was like, the moment we found him, before he had the chance to put on an act for us..." It was almost like the Courier was laid bare, only for a moment. No dreaded apocalyptic menace to hide behind, just sadness and a longing for something he claimed to have 'just lost,' somewhere deep in the heart of the hell he carved in the East. "...right now, I wonder if he's a liar, or...if he really did. That sick monster was actually too horrified to remember what he did."

It was hard trusting him or taking anything at face value when he couldn't decide which was the worst between the man, the mission, and the republic. Though it was certain all three were trouble either way.

"I was sure it was Hell. And when I saw him here...I was sure of it. The rumor that he was the vengeful spirit of the desert or whatever. Whether he regretted it or not, he did it. He showed us what he was. I've never met anyone with so little in him. Past his blood and his guts, there can't be more than a bit of sand and dust, now."

The youngest brother, who had previously gone mostly unnoticed, tapped the older brother's shoulder and held up what looked like the Courier's scroll. "I think it's almost here, now. Go time?"

"...Go time," Petya confirmed with a nod. As the students started to gather to look at the screen, Rurik tapped the screen and pocketed the phone while the oldest brother stood between him and the rest of the group. "Sorry to put this pressure on you, but...I think we can all agree the Red Death is a disease that needs curing." No one responded, but there was a silent consensus. "I know he's sly. He tricked all of you into taking pity on him. And from what I've heard, I can assume some people not present might not be a hundred percent convinced. Even a little doubt is too much when he's involved." He reached into the fannypack-like container at his lower back and unfolded a large, crudely drawn map of Vale and the area around it. "There," he hissed, pointing to a spot east of Beacon that had...a kindergarten-level illustration of an ocean...with a cluster of clams...judging by the looks. "There's a cave there," he added.

"...Ooh, I think I see it," Nora said after a moment. "...No I don't, what's all those lines, is that hair? Or—"

"They're paintings of battles made by tribes," the soldier grunted.

"Not that place again," Jaune moaned. He still had nightmares of that Stalker, and the Courier's monstrosity of a pet did no favors.

"There's a stash I left there, full of stuff I couldn't keep carrying around," Petya went on. "Including a lot of tapes. Recordings about the Courier from people who met him. Some were even logs from the bastard himself. And some of those were picked up in the East. I don't think even he knows what's on them, and if it's incriminating enough, we're gonna make sure it stays that way."

"But why is it so important that he doesn't know the Legion's not a threat?" Pyrrha asked. "He still thinks they're the biggest problem, he should be focusing on real enemies—"

"Absolutely not," Petya insisted. "We chased him halfway across the country, and all he left was a legion of dead and a few tapes, neither of which he remembers. But if he does remember, he might get...confident in himself. And decide if the Legion couldn't stop him, nothing could. And when he remembers things, he seems to forget what restraint means. If you saw him in the forest when we met the others...look, do not let him catch on, alright? I'm pretty sure the only reason he hasn't killed anyone here is because no one knows what we just told you, and he hasn't killed us because that would make him look guilty as all hell. If he knows that you know what he's done, if he knows what he's done, I can't guarantee what he'll do. Just...figure something out, take those tapes to someone and prove that they need to stop Six. Get him or everyone else out of this city, and for god's sake, talk some sense into the red girl." He ripped the inhaler from Ivan's trembling hand and took a hit. "That's all I'm asking. Now let's...uh...what were we doing before this, again?"

"...Talking about your 'Six is a necromancer' theory?" Nora guessed.

"Nooo," Jaune groaned from his partner's shoulder. "He means—"

"Oh right, so when we were at the big corpse hole we found some things that weren't corpses or hole, so—"

"Actually, we were going this way," Pyrrha interrupted as she marched through the group. "So I think we should continue going this way, hopefully in complete silence, before we get distracted from the—"

"Still not urgent yet," Rurik interrupted as he rooted in his bag for Psycho. "Based on how clear the streets still are. Because eastern city looks somewhat deserted, I assume?"

"—the imminent infestation. That should probably be attacking soon?"

"Then suit up," Petya said in what he would describe as his best ass-kicking voice as he took the lead once again and pulled back the slide on his gun. It truly was a sight to see, he would guess. Quite badass. He looked back and saw Ren, who shrugged, Nora, who looked impatient, maybe even agitated as the less-distant horn blared, and Pyrrha, who was just...waiting. "...You're going out in that."

"We always do," the redhead answered.

"You barely have a set of armor between the four of you, how have you—fuck, god, never mind, just...keep going," he groaned as he dragged Ivan behind him. "No armor, where's all the armor? Does anyone at this school wear real armor? Where the hell are they now of all times?"

"Blake?"

"In my room," a mellow voice called, and the young girl followed it. A pair of White Fang guards were chatting in the hallway; despite their masks, she could see the animosity in their eyes as she walked past to her friend's room. Though when she got there, it was more like walking into military barracks than a living space. The room was hardly decorated beyond the small half-filled bookshelf and nightstand. She wasn't sure if this was just how Blake preferred to live, or if she just preferred to keep her belongings wherever she really lived. Gold peaked over an open book, and saw the troubled serpent Faunus standing in the door. "Is something wrong?" Blake asked, as if it weren't obvious.

"...Yeah," Portiago murmured as she morosely dropped onto the bed. "It's my parents..." Already, Blake had an idea of where this was going. She had only heard a few short rants about the family, and she didn't mind keeping it that way; all she really knew was they were wealthy, strict, and indifferent to the way most Faunus were treated, so long as it didn't affect them. The fact that the passionate rebel in front of her came from such people was still a shock. "They...were talking about sending me to Atlas," Portiago sighed. "I don't know when, but..."

"Atlas? Why?" Blake asked quietly. She didn't expect this.

"Lots of reasons," Portiago hissed. "To study law. Become 'more disciplined.' And...to meet suitors," she spat.

"Oh." Blake wasn't really sure what to say. She never thought of herself as the go-to person for uplifting spirits. Just about anyone else was a better bet, actually. But her friend's upbringing didn't make her many friends in the White Fang. "...I don't want to sound cliched, but...well...I think you can do this. You're brave and I...hope you find someone you like when the time comes." Actually saying that was...more painful than she thought it would be.

"Thanks. It actually does help a little to hear that," the serpent mumbled. Though she sounded more annoyed than dismayed, for some reason. "Hope things start looking up for you, too." Portiago subconsciously, gently placed a hand on the bed-ridden girl's sprained ankle. Day-long protests were grueling enough without having to avoid the stone-throwing; it was just her luck, getting away mostly unscathed, only to hurt herself trying to avoid the rocks. Though thrown objects did remind her... "You don't really talk about your family," she said suddenly. "You've only mentioned your dad once or twice."

"I...suppose not," Blake said uncertainly.

"Why not?"

"No particular reason. Why are you asking?"

"No particular reason," Portiago responded in a teasing tone.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, what about your parents? Your dad? He's the one who I—" She quickly shut her mouth, and though it was obvious Blake was curious, she thankfully let it slide.

"Well...Tukson isn't...really my dad, if you meant him," the cat responded with a shrug as she shut her book and gently set it on the nightstand. Immediately, Portiago regretted her nosiness, even though Blake didn't seem to be affected much by the change in topic. "He's just sort of been there for me whenever he could. But he's been having a really hard time. Between supporting the White Fang and paying for damages, he doesn't have a much time or money to run his business...that's actually how I met Adam." Portiago rolled her eyes as soon as she heard the name. Every time the poor girl saw him, or even thought about him, her eyes just lit up in admiration, and for the life of her, the snake had no idea why. This wasn't even the first time she heard the story, though Blake probably forgot that. Again. "Some kids were throwing bricks at the windows and Adam came and he—"

"Blake!"

She thought she heard him, she was sure it was his voice. But she looked up, and all she saw was the blank concrete walls filled with bullets. It was just her, bellowing from somewhere in the fire, overcome with rage. Coming to her senses, Blake quickly stepped back into the safety of one of the concrete pillars as a glass bottle flew past. She choked on her breath as she saw the fiery wrath inside explode and spread across the slick floor. "Oil," the huntress growled to herself as her fists rapped the sides of her head. "Oil!" It was just what she deserved for blanking out at a time like this. Her grip on her ribbon slipped as she realized the shattered glass and oil covered the ground all around the only exit.

Die in a fire, or cross twenty feet of open space and get trapped in a narrow stairway. Not much of a choice. Delaying the inevitable by a few seconds, more likely.

The moment she saw her prey start to move, Portiago launched the blade of her sword. The shadowy double disappeared as the steel passed through; a black blade sliced through the cable, and the blade clattered on the floor somewhere in the darkness as Blake ran for the exit. With a snarl, she pursued.

The huntress leapt over the oil slick and through the doorway. Quick, light footsteps ascended, skipping stairs two or three at a time. One footstep ended up going through a stair. "...Wood?" Blake howled as she scowled down at the rotting step. "Since when were these wood?" Yuri really did give her his luck. She'd definitely be making one more stop at Beacon to return that 'favor', if she survived. As she spun and raised her gun, she was kicked onto her back. Through the rush of adrenaline, she could barely make out the blade pointed at her chest. A bloody hand held the metal in a white-knuckled grip, dripping crimson onto her breastplate. A gunshot startled both, and Portiago held her bleeding hand as the rapier blade fell through the boards. She pinned Blake's arm with a foot and raised her sword hilt to the huntress' throat; a small, straight blade flicked out the bottom, nearly piercing the flesh.

Smoke entered her vision. The serpent could smell it, it seemed, or feel it. They both looked down at her foot on the long black ribbon, now ablaze, that trailed downstairs. Portiago yelped as the fire spread to her leg, and dropped everything to start swatting at it. With all her strength, the feline sat up and planted her free foot into her foe's stomach. Time seemed stuck for a moment as Portiago's eyes widened; she reached forward. Blake took a sluggish swing, and found Gambol wrenched from her grasp before the snake fell backward into the smoke and fire, screaming.

After catching her breath, the huntress pulled her foot out of the stairs and stared down into the basement. There was no sound, barring the crackling inferno. If Portiago hurt something from the fall, it was more than likely she was trapped down there. 'But that's not a guarantee,' another part of her thought. If they both walked out of here alive, there was no doubt Portiago would try to find her again.

'She'll die down there!' Both parts of herself urged her to run back through the flames, for one reason or another, while her common sense screamed to leave it be, or better yet, toss down a grenade or four and make her escape. Those flames seemed to grow redder and redder, more furious. Unforgiving.

Red.

Vicious.

"Why aren't you outside?"

Portiago let out a quiet involuntary grunt as Blake started to shy away from the tall man in the door. "...I...hurt my ankle yesterday," the quieter girl murmured. "It needs to heal—"

Wood struck concrete, and the sharp snap bounced between the walls. It was just a stick from an old sign, but the way he held it made it seem more menacing, more authoritative. He sure liked to carry it around everywhere, recently. "Shouldn't you be thinking about all the other Faunus? A sprained ankle is nothing compared to what they're going through! I want you upstairs, five minutes."

"...I understand," Blake whimpered. "I'm sorry."

Upon hearing her compliance, his tone softened somewhat. "I need you to stay with me, Blake. The burden of liberation falls on us, there's no room for failure."

"...I know. You're right. I'll be right there."

Portiago had just about bitten her tongue off by the time she and Blake were left alone. "Why? Why are you letting him treat you this way?"

"There's a lot on his mind," the feline answered. "He's been working around the clock to keep everything together ever since—since the old leader stepped down." She almost forgot. The new leader didn't take too kindly to her father even being mentioned. Which did seem a bit strange...

"But it's always you! He always takes it out on you more than anyone!"

"It's just because he trusts me, I—"

"Stop, stop," Portiago grunted as she buried her face in her hands and stood up. "I can't listen to this again." Halfway to the door, she stoppped and looked over her shoulder again. "...Speaking of leaders, have you heard what people have been saying?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've heard that some Faunus are getting...restless. Fighting back at protests." Blake seemed puzzled, and it was hard to blame her; Portiago still had some trouble with letting her emotions get the better of her. "...Killing."

Immediately, she could see sadness in the other girl's eyes. And fear. "No, I...I've never heard anything about this."

"Of course not, he tries to keep you away from everyone else."

"Stop saying that about him!" Stunned, Portiago could only stare back into that golden glare. As furious as it made her...she was more disappointed. Blake surely had more sense than that.

But more than anything, her friend's anger made her afraid. She almost apologized. "...I should return home. Goodbye," the girl said stiffly. She took another step, but stopped once again. "Blake, when I go...can we still be friends? No matter what?"

With a defeated sigh, the huntress pulled a waterskin out of her coat, poured some onto her scarf, and wrapped her face. She stopped mid-step to take a number of hand grenades before running into the fire.

"—so if he's got energy weapons you should definitely stay away if you don't want an empty casket funeral," Petya summarized. "Which is why you can't drop your guard on Mondays, either." The plastic bottle rattled as he swallowed a mouthful of pills. Nobody could even bother to be impressed or dismayed, and instead, they wondered when the drugs would start to take effect, or if they ever would. It seemed one of the trio took the brunt more than anyone else, though that may have been because his inhaler smelled like death from concentrate.

"I ssssswear something's looking at us," Ivan shivered from under Petya's arm.

"This again," the gunner groaned.

"It's been following. I can...feel it's eyes. Looking right in me. Telling me to kill."

"Shut up, yer just—" The hunters snapped to attention as a long, raspy gasp resounded. Petya locked eyes. With what, no one could say. There was only empty road ahead and drugs in his system. "God, you're right! Jesus, what is that thing?" he screamed as he dropped his brother and charged at the air ahead fist-first. The soldier slammed back the rest of the Buffout as he delivered punch after brutal punch at the open space and delivered several barbarous stomps into the pavement. Seemingly satisfied, he looked to the group and pointed at the cracked ground. "Shit, did you see that thing?"

The Veteran's impact with the floor seemed to knock the fear out of him, though some of the confusion still remained. "What?" he yelled.

"I said did you—here, look at it," the older brother responded just as loudly, for some reason. "That thing, look what I just did, that's—"

"No more," Pyrrha whispered, close to tears as she tried to block the screaming out. It felt like hours just trying to cross to the break in the wall, they just didn't.

Stop.

Talking.

"...Pyrrha..." Ren gestured to the sign above that read Yellow Brick Rd. The huntress looked further down the old street, and saw Beacon just past the treeline. "I think they got us." She fell to her knees.

"...No, this is good," she mumbled. She couldn't hear herself, or the sound of metal cracking through asphalt behind her. Just the screaming. They may well have been faking it, it sure served a good distraction. "...This is perfect," Pyrrha realized. "We'll go on without them! This part of town is nearly abandoned, no one is around, and they're close to Beacon...they won't hurt anyone—"

"Except themselves," Ren pointed out.

"I'll bash 'em all! And I'll bash you too!" Petya screamed as he lifted Ivan over his head. "Case in point."

"Hey. Locker's here," the youngest brother reminded, tapping the metal box next to him. The armored man almost immediately dropped the Veteran and the three gathered around to inspect the contents.

"Even if they're used to functioning like this," Nora said in an uncharacteristically sullen tone. "...we can't just leave them alone."

"You're right, you're right," Pyrrha sighed. "But is it really a good idea to bring them along in this condition?"

"Shit yes!" Ivan bellowed as he lifted a mini-nuke triumphantly in the air. "The granddaddy of all mobile ordnance, some number of megatons I don't even know! I don't think I've ever felt such raw power or joy as I do right now as I hold this three pound benefaction from the heavens themselves. Who's ready to get toasty?"

"Don't you dare," the oldest warned.

"Well what are we supposed to do?" Jaune wondered. "They've already wasted enough time, Grimm could be getting into the city right now—"

"We gotta do something, and I don't really care what right now. We're under siege this very second, apparently," the Veteran defended as the hunters finally noticed the argument and turned to listen. "It's like setting off a fuggin' car, and look at all these!" There must have been half a dozen stowed in the locker, along with various other explosives. "Throw this at the hole while the beastie-whatchamacallits are coming, bada bing bada boom, buys us time to run over there and finish the job—"

Petya, just as drugged and twice as feral, wrenched the warhead from Ivan's hands. "Then the forest will be irradiated! That would be bad!" he roared while the suffocating scent of Jet and testosterone filled the air. "The planet is the most precious thing we humans have ever experienced! The most irresponsible thing you or anyone else could do is carelessly dispose of this waste that has such long-lasting consequences, especially after the damage we've already done! The government should be regulating this sort of thing more strictly! For future generations!"

"...Um..." Pyrrha warily stepped back from the three, all of whom were growing more antsy by the second as the chems started to really work their magic. "I...I..."

"But I got the next best thing." Petya reached into the case on his lower back and dropped a couple handfuls of missiles in the locker, where even more were stashed. "Hundreds of square yards of explosive hive goodness."

"Hell yeah, you got it!" Ivan jumped in the locker and tossed the nukes out. Then his own assault rifle.

"Shouldn't someone more sober be doing this?" the youngest brother asked.

"Nuh nuh nuh, my sword's broke, remember?" Ivan reminded.

"...Oh yeah. You stabbed me." The two shrugged, then embraced each other for a short moment. "Godspeed, you fucking creep," Rurik said with a smile as he handed Yuri's scroll to the Veteran.

Pyrrha's eyes furrowed. "What are you..."

"With pleasure, you rotten imperialist bastard," Ivan laughed as he slammed the door shut on himself. Petya gave the side a few knocks; after a long pause, the locker rocketed upward as the remaining two brothers flashed a brief salute skyward to their brothers.

The moment the door shut, he felt tears rolling down his face inside the helmet. He didn't even know why. He'd never felt afraid before, not quite like this. Well, not in a long, long time. In another life. And maybe that was it, maybe he was afraid of losing something again. Now that he knew some of his family was still alive, now that he had found the kind of city they always hoped for as children.

Metal collided with metal, ripping him from his thoughts. They were waiting. They were expecting. His trembling hands, shakier than they'd ever been, fumbled with the device they cradled. It was advanced enough to map out the region, to guide and send him where he needed to go with the touch of a screen. He just had to keep his finger steady long enough to mark the general zone he wanted. There was time for adjustments when he had visuals on the breach.

The sudden jerk of the rocket's ascension worsened the sinking feeling in his gut. It all felt so hot, he couldn't bear the Courier's visage anymore. The helmet, the coat, the armor, all were quickly pried off. Then he reconsidered. Could he survive, maybe, if he was armored? He decided against it, not because he thought the protection wouldn't matter, but because he wouldn't spend another second, alive or dead, dressed like that.

In the moments the locker spent near the pinnacle of its flight, he'd never felt so...proud. Ivan looked down on the school. He felt disgust for a moment, as if something terrible had been staring back, but at the same time, it felt like everyone was watching him. Just for a moment, he'd be someone's light, someone's inspiration. Beacon's own shining beacon. The lone star they would see from a thousand miles away, speak about a thousand years from now. He liked to believe so, anyway.

He kicked the locker door off, and could see the amassing darkness. Right where he targeted. Right on the mark all along, no adjustments necessary. Who would have thought?

As it started to descend, he'd never felt so relieved. He started to hum. Backing out was never an option, not in his mind, at least. But knowing it was completely, utterly out of his hands now, knowing there was nothing he could do but sit back and wait, it put his mind at ease. It wouldn't be tomorrow, or next week, like he'd always thought. It would be today, here and now, that they could all be together again.

The earth was all he could see. Or...whatever this place was. He just assumed everything, no matter what planet or species, went to Heaven, or Nirvana, or wherever souls went after the end. Even if that was wrong, he didn't have time to start worrying about it now. "...I know that all the ones I love would welcome me once more," he murmured, a bright smile on his face as he accelerated down. He heard the monsters' screeches for the briefest moment before impact, and felt his grin grow. It no longer felt hot, it no longer felt sick. There was no earth, no darkness, only a growing white. It was all he saw as he burned away.

Pyrrha's jaw dropped. "Did you just—"

"Yep," Petya said proudly, hands on his hips as he watched the locker soar. There was only silence as it rose, and without stopping, plummeted right back to earth before going off. Just the sort of tenacity they expected from him, not a moment of hesitation. "Wonder what that son of a bitch has to say about that." Six was probably ecstatic at the thought of having one of them out of the picture.

The Courier saw something flying out on the horizon. He watched it rise, then shoot straight down into the forest before exploding. '...Shiiiit,' he thought. 'They're getting killed already, aren't they, fuck fuck fuck.' It sounded like he was saying something to Ruby, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. 'Oh god oh god, then that came from...' He touched his pocket and found his scroll...absent. "...uh...someone wants me to take care of something...I'll go check it out now." It was a very brisk, very urgent walk back down to the ground floor. 'Oh shit oh shit oh—'

"Shit, guess we better get a move on," Petya decided. "Doubt that'll give too much leeway."

Aside from the two Wastelanders, all eyes lingered on the fading trail of smoke that arced into the horizon. Pyrrha was the only one who managed to speak, though she barely managed more than a horrified whisper. "Did you just—" In the blink of an eye, the metal man had spun and grabbed hold of the scrawny boy beside her and suplexed him from her side, instantly knocking Jaune unconscious the moment the two slammed into the sidewalk. By the time the huntress' shield and sword were ready, Rurik was in a chokehold and Magnhild had sent Petya flying into the dark alley. Not a moment later, half a dumpster emerged from the trash-scented abyss and knocked both Ren and the Ranger off their feet. A steely gray blur sprung from the alley, swept his comrade off the ground, and made for the city perimeter while Nora pulled her partner back onto his feet. Pyrrha unstrapped Akoúo̱ from her arm as the shorter huntress stepped up to bat.

Rurik, who was only still awake because of his savior's jagged shoulder armor and jostling sprint, opened his eyes again. "Uh...oh, fuck."

"What?" Petya screamed.

He saw the glowing, burning, watering green eyes first. The red mane whipping through the wind as she flew toward them, sailing through the air on a brass plate. "Uh—" The shield's face collided with the escapee's back, knocking him off his feet and bringing both men to the ground.

"Duck, it's duck, idiot," Petya choked out. He sat up, only to be tackled back down and given a stunning blow to the cheek.

"Why would you do that?" Nora cried, her face inches above his. "How could you...let him..." Her partner gently pulled her off of the soldier, though Ren's normally serene expression was just as furious. Petya didn't see it. His gaze was firmly on the clear skies and fleeing birds.

"...I just want to go home," he murmured. "We can't do that anymore. This place isn't really home. The Boneyard isn't home anymore. The Divide doesn't mean anything. He just...wanted to see everyone a little more than we did." Slowly, he sat up. "So...I'd really appreciate it if you'd let us go make sure that killed him. The dude's like a roach, he won't die." He stood and helped his brother to his feet. There were no complaints this time. He looked back and saw Nora and Ren, and turned. It was embarrassing, but...he lost his chance once. This was all he was going to get. "...Uh...hey...there's this thing we do in the Wasteland...when you want someone to come back from something really dangerous. It's like...a good luck charm...you put your arms out like this, and..." He held his arms out, and the three conscious hunters copied. He walked past Pyrrha and embraced the other two.

"Are you...sure about this?" Ren asked hesitantly.

"Y-yeah, we...all the time. Yeah."

"I mean...do you really want to go—"

"Are you proud of us?" Petya sniveled. "We're-we're gonna be tough, I promise. I..." His words turned to sobs as the two held him. Rurik softly tapped his shoulder and gestured to the forest. "...Goodbye."

As the older brother reluctantly pulled himself away and started to march, the Ranger rubbed his eyes. "Sorry...I guess you are sort of like them...but I don't remember it so much...anyway...thanks. For helping us deal with Six. I think maybe...that's all we were waiting for." He turned and followed his brother, and gave one last wave to the hunters. "If something goes wrong, I guess we'll try to keep in touch."

They watched for a few seconds, as the two walked in silence, not a sign of life in their strut. "We just...let them go?" Nora whimpered.

"...We patrol the district," Ren decided. "And we make sure nothing got in. And..." For a moment, he had to compose himself, and as he breathed, he realized Nora's hand nearly crushing his as she tried to hold back tears. "...and we have to tell someone."

The hatch flew open, and light and the Courier rushed into the dark bunker. He bolted to the far end of the room next to the bed and pulled the false wall away. A row of rocket lockers lined the wall, crudely made, but functioning imitations of the ones inside Beacon. Six liked to keep his junk organized. Upon seeing one locker missing, a short, simple "Fuck!" left his lips. Sixth from the right meaning... He recalled the contents of each locker in his head. Pistols, rifles, melee, unarmed, energy weapons...

Ozpin confiscated most of the deadlier weapons after that one wild night nobody seemed to recall or speak much about. That didn't stop the Courier from smuggling in what he could. There may not have been launchers in that locker, but those three drug-crazed fiends having access to his missiles and warheads probably wouldn't end with him looking too good. Not to mention, they could very well have scavenged larger armaments before arriving. "Fuck!"

He ran back to the compact metal horse near the entrance and hopped on as he pulled his keyring from his belt loop. He turned the ignition, and was oh so pleased to hear the most unsatisfying sound of an engine that refused to start. "Oh, super! My fucking horse won't start! You piece! Of! Shit!" he cried as he stood and stomped on the machine. "Where the hell did you come from? And why are you such garbage? Where's my fucking screwdriver, I—" The Courier turned and almost felt his metal heart stop as a blue light dug into his soul from the darkness of the room's corner. "...Fuck, I don't have time for this! I'm sorry, alright? You're scary, alright? I wasn't trying to start shit, leave me alone!"

He took a deep breath, then another, and one more for good measure. It wasn't like it helped calm him; the lungs and tubes cycled air through him whether he breathed or not. But he was admittedly more comfortable pretending deep breathing would help and manual breathing was necessary.

A thought occurred to him, a thought that gradually overtook his mind, made him think clearly. Deliberately. Mechanically. "...Nothing I've done has killed them yet...why should this?" Of course—they were stubborn, and he was still relatively alive and kicking. As if they would ever get themselves killed without somehow settling their ridiculous vendetta. "They should be able to handle things until I get there. I only need one of them alive, anyway." He would need to take advantage of the distraction while he was handling other matters, anyway. Really, there couldn't be a more perfect solution. "With luck, there'll only be the one to take care of when I get there," the Courier drawled with a wry smile as he looked through his Unarmed locker. The Paladin Toaster looked fun...

"You what?"

"I...want to run away," Portiago said a second time, with less confidence. "I've...I never told my family I was in the White Fang. They'd hate me if they found out, their reputation would be ruined. But I don't want to stay with them or move to Atlas...I want to stay with you and your family. Here."

"But...but Tukson isn't even my father, I just help him at the store. I mean..." It was hard not to see him as as a sort of second father figure, in a way. Even when he was scraping to get by, he always offered to let her stay the night if she couldn't make it back to her home outside Vale. But... "Is this a good idea? They'll be looking for you, you can't hide forever." Without a word, Portiago reached into her jacket and pulled a white and red mask out.

"Easy, just dress up like the rest of them!" Blake looked away. The snake frowned for a second, then put the mask over her face. "Look! Like Adam's! I even painted it some. Who wears it better?"

It made Blake feel nauseous. It didn't feel right, covering up who you were. All it did was make her think about those awful rumors. And that weapon Adam had been making her train with.

Gambol was nowhere to be found. Which left her with the Courier's handgun, regrettably. It was so much heavier than her own weapon, despite its smaller size. The flames danced around her, and the shadows behind them flickered and wavered with excitement. With so much movement, she could be waiting anywhere. Watching. With only a pistol's worth of bullets each and a burning room, neither could afford to let this drag out much longer.

Blake tossed a grenade between the columns furthest from her. The moment it detonated, she heard a scream of pain, and a low hiss circle around the room to her right. She turned to take aim. As she brought the gun up, the other Faunus lunged out of the shadows, thrusting Gambol downward. Li'l Devil went off as Gambol knocked it out of Blake's hand. It landed in the fire and discharged a second time, grazing the huntress' leg and causing her to stumble back as Portiago took another swipe. The blade caught the corner of her lip and cut upward, almost reaching her eye before she fell on her back.

The serpent stepped forward, a harsh sound resonating from her that sounded somewhere between a guttural growl and a painful wail. Blake looked up in horror at the freshly burned visage as Portiago limped forward, her right side bleeding and riddled with shrapnel. The huntress rolled out of the way as her katana was thrust into the ground, and she retrieved Li'l Devil, stifling a scream as the grip burned her hand. She quickly spun, but didn't quite manage to pull the trigger; it was all she could manage before dropping the searing hot gun. She shredded some of the cloth from the end of her coat and wrapped it around the gun before taking aim a second time, trying desperately to ignore the pain and focus on her target.

She shot.

She found it hard to keep track of just how many times. Did she shoot two shots? Or three? Five? The number before that? No, it was definitely three. Most likely. She was almost sure of it.

Portiago did the same. She fired recklessly, not bothering to aim. Blake wasn't sure if she got hit or not, her world had become dizzy and numb. The only thing stopping the rogue Fang from completely emptying her gun was the 12.7 round that hit her shoulder with enough weight to knock her off her feet and send Gambol flying into a column. The recoil almost pushed Blake back into the fire. It was a beast that befit its owner.

She slowly stumbled forward. The snake didn't move an inch, but she had to be careful with what precious ammunition she still had; she never did check to see how many bullets this gun had. There was no room for error anymore. Neither of the rogues were in any condition to outrun any grenades here. Though, it didn't seem her old friend considered making it out. Blake felt...afraid. She wasn't sure she could go through with it, if it came to that. As important as stopping Portiago was...she just didn't know if she could face death as readily as her enemy did.

The snake laid still. Blake stood over her, one hand holding her wounded leg while the other wiped the blood from her cheek. As soon as the gun was pointing away from her, the prone Faunus reached under her back and brandished Gambol's bladed sheath, something Blake had forgotten about in the midst of the fight. Portiago shot upright and charged forward, bearing the cleaver-like blade with her own hands over her head. It came down fast, cutting through one eyebrow and dragging along flesh, down to the opposite cheek. She tackled Blake to the ground, and sat on her chest, pinning the huntress' arms with her feet.

"Blake!"

This was...old. A long time ago. Almost the beginning.

The feline girl frowned as her head poked out from under the covers to glare at the girl sitting on her. "What," she grumbled, not sounding as if she really cared for an answer.

"Stop reading, I don't have anyone else here to talk to!"

"Then go to sleep, it's—" One look at the clock, and her eyebrows shot up. "...It's one in the morning, Portiago."

"Yeah, well...I can't sleep."

"No wonder, I'm not a very comfortable bed," Blake deadpanned.

"No, I mean...I...I'm scared of..."

The book snapped shut softly, though it sounded more harsh in the silence of the Fang's temporary 'outpost.' "You're a Faunus. And you're eleven. How could you be afraid of the dark?"

"No...I'm scared of being..." She slid off of Blake and laid down on the foot of the bed, burying her face in the covers for a few moments. Blake waited patiently. Portiago eventually turned her head from the tear-stained blanket. "I'm sorry if this is weird," she whispered. "I never got a lot of chances to make friends so...even though I've only known you for a week...I think you're...my..."

"Ssh." Blake lifted the cover, and Portiago awkwardly moved to lay down next to her. After a moment, Blake smiled and opened her arms to offer a hug.

The heels of Portiago's boots dug further into the wrists of Blake's outstretched arms as the former leaned forward. The huntress kicked her feet wildly, desperately trying to escape as the serpentine grin drew closer, and held the cleaver over her eye.

Petya waited with crossed arms in the empty space where a heavily fortified chain-link fence once stood. All he could do was look forward, past the hellish embers, into the darkness of the forest that waited to swallow them whole. The end looked a whole lot worse when you were face to face with it, no matter how many times it seemed like it would truly be the end. This feeling of helplessness was...completely new. It chilled his body. Like he had a reason to fear death again. And death was certainly here for him, no matter what came through that darkness.

A flock of black birds exploded out of the foliage, one hitting his face as Rurik stumbled out into the light with armfuls of guns. "...Jesus, I'm gonna have a heart attack before those things make it here!" the older brother barked.

"With the way you suck down Jet, I wouldn't be surprised." He stopped and looked down at the Heavy's legs, which were half stone and fused to the ground once again.

"Shut up," Petya grumbled preemptively.

"How long have you been stuck like that?"

"...Since you left."

The Ranger shrugged and put a machine gun in each of his brother's hands. "Happens to the best of us." He backed away from the spreading rock layer before he, too, became one with the ground, and climbed the fence to sit at the top. Not much left to do but wait, now. "...So..." Rurik looked down at Petya. His brother kept his eyes on the forest, so he decided to do the same. What were they supposed to say, after all that's happened? After the years they had been apart, after the months they had despised each other, and the hours they were united again? After what happened only minutes ago? What were they supposed to say, now that it was all coming to an end? "...Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

A muffled boom echoed from the forest. "That's good." One after another, landmines signaled the stampede coming for them. Petya raised his weapons with unexpected ease. Closer, ever closer they came. Rurik unholstered his submachine gun and prepared a grenade. Louder, ever louder.

And then.

Silence.

That sense of dread peaked. That fear of whatever monsters they were warned about. The terror of a lonely, painful, senseless death.

He barely got a chance to see what was coming before he squeezed the triggers. Rivers of smoking bullets flooded the dark; the soldier didn't think. He didn't notice the booms of grenades, or the stone creeping up his body. He didn't get paid to think, just to shoot. He didn't really mind it so much, this time. No Republic, no squatters in the crossfire, nothing wrong with what he was doing here. It was rare to not feel that burden.

It took nearly two minutes of sustained fire before the human turret ran out of bullets, and it took Rurik one to realize the machine guns didn't start shooting again. He glanced down in between bursts of gunfire, and there Petya was, frozen in place. Guns still up, fingers still holding the triggers. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the younger soldier hopped down and ran to his brother's side to reload the guns. He pried Petya's index fingers away, removed one drum, dug through his ammo pack—

It came, not running, but spinning, shredding greenery as it tore into the earth with every rotation. Rurik ducked behind his brother, and winced when he heard something collide with solid rock. The first of many seemed to have gotten through their hastily-made defenses.

Petya looked down at the boar, scraping at the dirt as it tried to remove the tusks buried in his chest. He considered saying something about how none of them would hurt his brother, or how that was his job... "...I was afraid of this?" he finally spoke. The pig's hooves scraped at the ground as it tried to free its tusks from the cracked stone encasing Petya. "This?" He laughed, and brought down the guns' stocks on its face. The bone-like plate cracked. Another strike shattered it entirely, and a third followed, mostly for kicks. Petya propped the machine guns on his shoulders until Rurik finished loading. And the damn boar started twitching. He thought three would have been more than enough. "Hurry up back there, not much I can—" Rurik's knife carved through the screeching beast's unprotected abdomen. He could easily recognize death squeals, those were most certainly death squeals.

"I have 'back here' handled, your job is shooting," the Ranger said as he pulled the bolts back. "Ready."

Petya continued, this time controlling his fire a bit more while Rurik prepared for whatever would follow.

"...You didn't kill her?" Ozpin asked, one eyebrow raised as he watched the wind carry the leaves away from the Forever Fall. It was always quite a sight, this time of year. He couldn't forgive himself if he ever missed the display. So instead of looking away, he pressed on. "Avoiding a fight isn't like you. If you have proof she's with the White Fang, what else do you need?"

"You told me just to watch, y'senile geezer, or did you already forget?" Qrow mumbled, kicking his feet onto the desk between them.

"I didn't realize you had a history of following orders all of a sudden."

"You saying you want her dead?"

The headmaster sighed, and shook his head. Perhaps he was just too accustomed to Qrow's usual, hostile behavior to remember how much his softer side really played into things. "What did you see, exactly?" Again, there was no answer, and he had no choice but to look over his shoulder. The old hunter had a finger up, and was draining his flask with haste. "Take your time." Qrow finished his gulp. There was more of an edge to his voice, a harshness to his words, which one did not hear often from Oz.

"Sure looks like a spy," Qrow confirmed. "She was out and about all day before the mountain got lit up. Went to an old kitchen that's had ties with the Fang in the past. Started goin' somewhere in a hurry right when the fire started. Kitty Cat's armor looked a lot like theirs, too." The caped huntsman shrugged, and he, too, looked to the Forever Fall. "Don't know why we bothered, we all saw the recording."

"A corrupted recording you retrieved from a damaged robot." The headmaster wanted to remain skeptical; it wasn't easy to make much out from what they saw of the Dust robbery. "It looked like it could have been anyone on that train. We can't afford to start turning on our own students based on assumptions alone, they trust us—"

"Looks like we don't have a choice this time. It's her. End of story."

There was something she was obviously hiding, even before she enrolled. It seems a more thorough background check wasn't such a bad idea, after all. But how was he supposed to know? "Qrow, did you know she was a member of the White Fang?"

"I had my suspicions she was a Faunus. Didn't quite expect the Fang bit, though."

"And that's why you suggested she be on the same team as Weiss?"

"I figured they could learn from each other. Or, the heiress could learn something, at least."

So much for that idea. Those two probably wouldn't be seeing each other much now, anyway. Maybe once Mister Schnee gets involved, but that wouldn't be for some time; a secure delivery service was hard to come by in these trying times. "...Well, it might be better this way. If she doesn't know we're on to her. There's still a chance she might return." And then they could handle things from there.

"I know," Qrow grumbled after a drawn out swig. How that flask never emptied, Ozpin would never understand. "'ats why I didn't do anything about it."

"Yes, I'm sure that's it."

"Uh oh!"

Petya took his fingers off the triggers, with some effort. The lone cry from inside the darkness he was just shooting at actually sounded a bit worried about something. Maybe Rurik didn't have enough landmines to cover the whole area again? Or he stepped on one. Or he wandered into the hailstorm of bullets. There was a lot of room for error in this partnership.

The Ranger hauled ass back to their setup, a few new holes in his armor, though they didn't look like they were gunshots. A feather the size of a bumper sword followed him, grazing his side as he made a beeline for the stone wall of a man. "Birds," he wheezed as he crouched behind the Heavy. Being this close already made him feel stronger. Was there a religion based on this magical spreading rock? Not likely, at least not so early, but he decided there really should be.

"Birds?"

"Birds!"

A bird flew out.

"Oh god, it's more ravens," Petya hissed. He relived the remnants of Six's Eastern Expedition every night, the last thing he needed was to see it come to life again. No, no, never again. "I don't think I've recovered from last time." There was no recovering from that hellish hike. A small pack of Beowolves gathered, which Rurik quickly got to work gunning down as the Nevermore flung another cluster of feathers. Most flew past; one deflected off of the machine gunner's stone chest, putting a few cracks into it and bringing Petya back to the present, while another pierced his unprotected shoulder. The light machine gun slipped from his fingers, and the younger soldier retrieved it to make use of the last few bullets as Petya emptied his into the fleeing bird. "...Dry. And didn't put a scratch in it."

"...Uh...we only had the six drums for the MGs," Rurik murmured as he tossed his 10mm away. "I'm out too. Sucks."

"Sure does, now what?" The Ranger dropped a satchel of grenades at the stone man's feet. "Can't bend down, fuckhead." Hehung the bag around Petya's neck. "Thanks, you're a doll."

"Yep, yep," the younger mumbled as he hesitantly took a dose of Slasher. "That I am, I aim to please."

"Uh huh," Petya murmured as the other man took some Turbo. "You sound a little rattled, need a brea—" Another Borbatusk rolled out of the bushes. With more fury than the Heavy had ever seen out of him, Rurik stabbed straight through the pig's skull mid-spin. "Oh boy," he hummed with a concerned frown. A pair of Deathstalkers emerged; the Ranger responded by pitching a piece of rubble into one of the bugs' eyes, then running over and gouging out the rest, outright ignoring the other scorpion's stinger stabbing into his shoulder. Petya assisted with gentle plasma grenade toss, which rolled under the bug turned the beast to goo.

The Nevermore showed itself again. The younger brother trembled for a brief moment as he locked eyes with the Grimm. 'Not another raven not another raven notnotaraven—' Rurik's fingers curled around a molotov cocktail. He shuddered. Memories of those birds, picking away at burnt, shredded bodies. Corpses upon corpses. Fires as far as the eye could see.

It was horrifying.

It was nauseating.

It could smell his fear, he knew it.

It dove down, talons first. He lit the rag. His arm shook violently as he waited for what felt like seconds, even seconds were taking too long, as the bird closed in. It was getting closer, he needed it closer, he needed it dead—

He brought his fist, bottle and all, down on the Nevermore's head. Both the man and the Grimm roared as fire engulfed them both. As the bird crashed into the stone man, nearly shattering his shell on impact, Rurik continued forward to the forest, punching his way through several lesser Grimm as his arm burned. He kept going, bringing the flame further and further into the dark.

Petya's eyes widened as a behemoth climbed out of the forest, and over several lesser creatures. It was massive. It almost brought him to his knees.

Because it had to be a bear.

The rock finally crumbled and fell away from his body. He barely saw the Ranger get lost in the mass of bodies underneath. He barely felt his legs underneath him start to march.

After a minute, it didn't feel like much anymore. There was anger there, to be sure. Wrath and dread. But it just...stopped, eventually. It didn't feel like he was beating beasts to death with his fists; for every one of them that fell, he felt less hate, and less fear. It didn't feel like a fight, just a blur as he kept going forward. Some empty, nondescript space in time while he waited.

But that didn't mean that bear would get the last hurrah.

He fell to his knees in front of the Ursa. He reached into the grenade pouch. There was still plenty. He pulled a pin.

Rurik sat up. It was...warm, he noticed. A warmth that seemed at first to be overbearing and, he almost sensed, unending, but at the same time, it could almost be pleasant, maybe. When he looked behind him, he saw no wall: that is, even less wall than there was before. A piece of fence was still present, but it was apparent it was no longer needed. It was silent and peaceful, aside from the heat that never stopped, and the dull headache.

He must have been hallucinating, he decided. He did not have the same built-up resistance to such strong chems, not to the degree the other three managed with all the toxins they put in themselves. But he honestly didn't care whether he was hallucinating or not. Right now, he saw a city that needed no walls. There were no monsters defend against. Did they do it, then? Did they hold the line?

"Tell me quick!" He glanced up, and shielded his eyes from the sun. There was one silhouette, sitting at the top of the fence, kicking his legs merrily. "Ain't that a kick! In the heeeaaaad!" Rurik's brother bellowed.

Slowly, the younger brother smiled as it dawned on him. He blinked once, twice, as he teared up, and raised a thumbs-up. The headache worsened. His hand glowed, and finally crumbled to ash. The rest of his arm slowly followed, and the wind carried bright embers up into the clouds.

Blake turned her head away and squeezed her eyes shut as the cleaver pressed against her head. She could feel it against her eyelashes as Portiago dragged it over the edge of her eye socket, just to the left of her left eye.

"There!" the snake screamed joyously. "Now you look like one of us again! And you always will, everyone's gonna know!" Tears ran down Blake's cheeks, thinning the blood and leaving faint red trails as she recoiled away from the rogue Fang. "There's nothing left for you but us Fang, now, right?"

"I'm sorry," Blake sobbed. "I...I never knew you—"

"Shut up! This isn't about me, or how I felt or the friendship you destroyed, and it's not about Adam either! I always hated him! It's you, you think we're not worth your time anymore! You think we're rabid, wild animals just like everyone else! And I...I..." The cleaver clattered against the concrete. Tears dripped through the Fang's hands and fell onto Blake's face as the former curled almost into a ball. "I thought you were different from them, Blake," Portiago wept. "You're one of us, how could you? I left my family because you cared about us...our cause...you made me care...please..."

The flat end of the blade slammed into the serpent's cheek, knocking her off. Blake backed into a column and climbed to her feet. Her back flattened against the wall and she aimed at Portiago, who could only wipe her tears and stare back in disappointment from her place on the ground.

"Is that what it's come to, Blake? You're gonna put me down? Like a rabid animal?"

"...I'm not a killer," the huntress murmured. Her finger twitched on the trigger. It wasn't an execution. She had to protect her friends.

Portiago saw the doubt on her old friend's face, and smiled lecherously. She had control over the situation. She always had control. "Of course not, you're a saint! Not like the rest of us murderers. 'Adam, we have to spare the passengers!' It was unbelievable. Almost funny. Especially since..." Blake's ear twitched. "...well, Dust have mercy on whatever Schnee workers you got your hands on."

"Wh...what?"

"If you don't remember, they must not have been that important to you." The huntress' breath caught in her throat. Portiago's smug smile widened as she reached feebly for Gambol Shroud. There had to be a few rounds left, at least.

"What are you talking about, I don't remember ever...you're lying," Blake said hastily.

"Although," Portiago continued with a sly hiss. "I suppose what you did really was horrible, now that I recall. Adam made both of us monsters. It's no wonder you wouldn't want to remember, I could barely stand it myself. There was barely anything to find..." The other Faunus shuddered and nearly dropped her gun as Portiago's fingers slithered around Gambol's grip. "But it's not like that was such a crime. After all, they're monsters, with the way they treat us Faunus. It's not really murder, then, is it?"

"Stop it!" Blake pointed the pistol again. Portiago winced as she attempted to raise her arm.

"If you're not a killer...if you've never taken a life, then you wouldn't be able to go through with this, or am I wrong?"

She didn't want to kill.

"Would an innocent girl be able to pull the trigger on her own best friend?"

She didn't want to die.

Both froze, afraid of the huntress.

After a moment of silence, a gunshot sounded, then another.

Well, he was right. It was, as he predicted, a doozy. Weiss might even be grateful for his finding. Especially considering the amount of searching he had to do to find the damn thing.

The Atlesian Knight head slipped from the Courier's fingers. The sight of the battle through the trees stopped the blood-and-Dust covered man dead in his tracks. The skirmish here was a fine enough distraction for him to slip away and recover some property. It didn't count for much now, though. This was stupid. This was really stupid. A huge fuck up on his part, what was he thinking? How could he ever think for a second it was a fair trade?

His heart raced as he stumbled blindly through the brush, not noticing the few stray explosives left. He did notice the red smear that stretched from the woods to the fence, however, and the headless, burnt, almost crushed body that left the blood. A few stray bullets flew his way, though they were way off target, and they stopped just as suddenly as they started. He stepped around the bloody paw print, feet dragging through the scorched earth. He stopped just before entering the city, and looked up at the single, bent, almost melted fence pole that still stood, and the spiderweb of burning brown cloth tangled around it, billowing like a flag. If he didn't wear such a similar article of clothing every day, he probably wouldn't have recognized it.

"Huh...thought it was one of them." The Courier took a step back and his hand went to his pistol as he looked to his right. Petya was leaning against the fence, bloodied and broken, but still breathing somehow. "Looked a like 'em for a sec. Thanks for disappointing," the soldier hacked. The mercenary only just then realized the gunfire that nearly peppered him. Without thinking, he ran to the dying man's side and dropped to his knees.

"...What the hell happened here?" he finally managed with a steady tone.

"What's it look like? We covered your ass, again." Petya attempted a pathetic swing, but was unable to lift his arm.

"Why did they stop coming? They're...supposed to keep attacking..." The remaining brother's head slumped forward, snapping the Courier out of his thoughts. He shook Petya by the shoulders until he was awake again. "Hey, you can't die yet!" he barked. "You still have a duty to the Republic, soldier, and right now, that's telling me how to get back. All three of your asses are on the line if I'm not there when Moore calls roll." No reply. He slapped the helmet across the cheek. "You're supposed to keep me in line, do your damn job—"

"I'm your superior in this squad," the half-conscious soldier murmured. "An' yer gonna get yer hands offa me...don' tell me...whatta do..."

"You came from somewhere else, right? You were never on the ship. You're the only one who can tell me how to get back to the Mojave—"

Cold hands wrapped around the Courier's neck. He was almost frightened for a second before he remembered his windpipe was replaced long ago, rendering him unchokable. "What's wrong with you? When will you stop killing and just be happy with what you got?"

"When will you, soldier? Gunslinging street rat? Why are you here, now, wearing that NCR armor?"

"...I tried. I wanted to live a peaceful life. That, my family, the Divide...it's all gone because of you. You took that from us."

Hearing the anguish in the man's voice reminded the Courier just why it was so quiet all of a sudden. The creatures were bound to be drawn back to this spot now, though, with the way they were acting. He jabbed a needle of Med-X into Petya's arm. "On your feet," he ordered with a voice like metal. "When we get back to Beacon, you're telling me everything."

And now he was all business, Petya thought. That kind of behavior, that specific air he had about him, the way he spoke. Absolutely no emotion, and no mercy. The murder machine that he chased down, the monster he shouldn't have any trouble hating. "Why am I not surprised," the fallen man coughed and laughed. "You got all this and you want to go back. Like there's something waiting for you there. Like there's nothing for you here."

"Whatever's happening isn't just dangerous in the Wasteland, other things have come here. I need to know what the hell is happening—"

"When did you start caring about 'what was happening?' When did you ever care? You ever stop to think for a second about what you do? Is there anything in there that realizes what the fuck it's been doing this whole time?" His blood boiled, the longer the Courier was here by his deathbed, the more Petya wanted to keep living, just to spite him. He couldn't stand looking him in the eye anymore.

But it was the blank mask he hated more than anything, he realized as he let his hands fall to his sides. He wished Six would just take that off again. It was easier to pretend a human face had feelings behind it. A human was capable of evil. And deep down, it might have regrets. But laying here, in his final moments, at peace with nearly everything...it almost felt like hating a gun, or a bomb, or a machine. Something that just did what it was built for. And now, he even had a voice befitting a tool. It didn't feel the same, hating something that couldn't think for itself.

"Get up," the Courier urged a second time. "There'll be more soon. They're drawn to negative emotions."

"Not a problem, then...I feel fine..."

"Get. Up. Now." The mercenary tugged on the bloody man's arm, ripping the armor free. "There's no time, we have to go now before they show up—"

"I'm going, alright," Petya laughed as his eyes filled with tears. "I'm coming home."

"Like hell you are, I need to...get...home." Petya's head fell to the side. Yuri stood. He could only look down and slowly inhale, then exhale. For many times. What was he supposed to do now? They were all gone.

No returning to the Wasteland.

No more comrades.

He knelt again. With some difficulty, he lifted the silent soldier up and draped one of his mangled arms over his shoulders. Even this was exhausting. He felt more like a corpse than the man on his shoulder was. It only ever got worse as time went on and medicine and drugs ran low. He took a heavy step. Petya continued to weigh down on him. Another step. He could barely walk. Petya slipped from his hands. Hands slick with blood and Dust. Yuri dragged him by the arm, throwing all of his weight forward with every heave. He took the time to go around the second body when he reached the breach in the fence, and by that point, he could not continue. Not because of fatigue, but because Petya refused to go any further with him.

Yuri glanced back. The Heavy's armor appeared to have melted and melded with the earth. Or...it was covered in rock. He laid the body down and continued on alone, intent on not turning back.

He managed to make it back to a proper street before glancing over his shoulder at the breach. The remains of the battle were already lost to the stone, which kept spreading and spreading, engulfing the fence, and turning it into a proper wall to defend the city. Dark birds had already taken perched on the wall, just barely missing what seemed to be a spectacular display of heroism. One that might have been avoided, had some noble hero showed up sooner. '...That could be a problem,' the Courier considered as he turned and continued on. but for now, he decided to leave them and their dream be. They earned that wall.

The ravens, though. He couldn't stand those things. They were always around to see his worst.

He heard footsteps, softly tromping through...dirt, it sounded like. And a faint rattling of metal. Petya stood up, and immediately felt better without the fence against his back. He turned around. It was almost a pleasant sight, the thriving, bustling city under the clear blue sky. The only blemish on the otherwise perfect image was, of course, him. The only one left, to torment Petya for the rest of their miserable lives. But for some reason, his surviving teammate just walked away without a word, without turning back as he returned to the city.

Petya heard the rattling again, and stepped back as the fence started to shake. Suddenly, something fell from above and landed on the other side of the fence. Ivan grinned at him from the ground, looking none the worse for wear, despite the drop. The older brother heard Rurik's chuckle before he saw him. "And that makes six," Ivan stated.

"Yep," Petya grunted. "I guess there's no getting...away..." He blinked. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Six was gone, nowhere to be found. But...Gene was there, just down the road, staring back. There was a sort of vacancy in his eyes, as if he weren't all there. But eventually, he did return a small smile. Petya stepped forward. There was...a man and a woman, further on. He froze in place, too overcome with emotion to do anything but stand there and gawk. He only started moving again when his brothers started to push him forward, but that small action was all it took.

She lowered her head as another window shattered. Tukson said he would be right back, and nobody would hurt her. But who was supposed to help him while she was cowering behind the store? It must have been minutes since she fled the building, and she hadn't heard a word from him. She stood up. Another crash, and she huddled on the ground again, more fearful than ever.

A third crash. Why wouldn't they stop?

Again. And a scream followed, then another. Blake's eyes squeezed shut, her hands plugged her ears, but it wouldn't block the violence out. Grunts of pain and furniture smashing assaulted the feline ears atop her head.

And then silence.

She looked up, at the end of the alley. Though it was dark, a little light shone on the boy in the old, ratty, plain suit. His t-shirt was deep red, either by design or as a result of the fight that just occurred on the street. But it was the white roses that caught her eye. Cheap stencils of stems and leaves and petals ran up his left side. He came forward, and immediately, the air chilled. Sweat was practically dripping down her face. Blake inched back, until she saw the horns atop his head. Once he was directly in front of her, he knelt down, and—

Another bucket of frigid water doused the Faunus, who made a feeble attempt to shield herself with her weary arms.

"Hey! You're awake!"

She saw the rose emblem first as her eyes opened slightly. Her heart almost stopped as the black and red shape loomed over her. Then Blake recognized the voice of her partner. The other hunters must have been looking everywhere for her, especially after the breach. And now that they found her bleeding to death in some alley, they were probably more afraid for her than ever.

"Is this what you were up to this whole time?"

This? What happened? Why didn't Yang sound concerned? Blake swayed, her vision blurred with every slight movement, and the light she could see through the tangled hair in her face was nearly blinding. "Where are we?" Blake groaned quietly. "Wh...what happened?"

"Jeez, I didn't even know you drank," Yang said, surprised.

"...I don't..."

"Sure smells like you did," the blonde huntress said, fanning the scent of alcohol away. "...Also, smells like burning." Blake managed to open her eyes again. There were people in the street behind the other two students, she could see the shapes of people walking by. Some of the neon lights were already on, even though it seemed the sun had yet to set. The area was...populated. Almost bustling, even though the eastern parts of the city were unofficially put on lockdown. This was nowhere near where...she and Portiago...

"Oh god..." It rushed back. The raging flames, the burned monstrosity that used to be her friend. And...

"Ugh, I know, you can smell the harbor from here," Yang grouched before looking down at her partner again with slight concern. "You look awful, how'd you get so fucked up and already hungover in half a day? Is this your first time drinking? You shoulda told me, seems like you had a great time, and I could've showed you all the best places. You know, I've woken up a few times in this alley myself, you picked a good neighborhood to get shitfaced in. Everyone here's pretty friendly, make sure no one gets too drunk, keeps 'em safe..." Blake groaned and held her stomach where Gambol shot her as her partner lifted her up. "You know, you don't have to be mysterious and cagey all the time. Just a little 'Hey, I need pick-me-up, let's hit up a club' would suffice. You had Ruby worried sick. She was afraid you were running off for good, for some reason, but I knew you'd never do anything like that!"

"...Yeah...I...wouldn't think of it, you're right," Blake murmured ashamedly. After what Portiago said to her...about her...it was all she could think about doing. If she really was such a monster, how could she trust herself around some of the only people that care about her?

The Faunus winced as she felt the wounds in her gut, and she quickly buttoned her coat to hide the wound.

"Come on, you're filthy, we need to get you a shower ASAP." Yang brushed the hair out of Blake's face, and gasped as she saw the three marks.

Blake barely stopped herself from hissing in pain long enough to speak. "Yang...I know what it looks like, but it's not—"

"Yikes, what lucky lady were you getting down and dirty with? It's been half a day!" She turned around and started walking, half ranting to herself. "Now I'm actually kinda mad, you had all this fun alone without even telling me, talk about selfish! Was Miltia the one who scratched you? I bet you were with the twins, of course you'd be into weird kinky shit like that—" Yang's rambling faded as she walked on, and Blake finally noticed the gently swaying zombie of a girl holding a water bucket in each hand. It seemed Ruby had fallen asleep standing up, until her head rotated to look at Blake with those dull, half-lidded, bloodshot eyes.

"She hasn't been loudmouth-worried in a bit," Ruby grumbled tiredly. "The thought of you leaving really messed her up. Finding you in this dump didn't help at all. She talks a lot and tries to play it off like she's fine when she's this nervous, but...she's a huuuge faker."

"Sorry...I didn't mean to worry you," Blake murmured.

"I've seen hungover. You don't seem hungover. Pretty sure she knows that, too."

"I...ah..."

"Mmmmm..." Ruby blinked. Though it was more the kind of blink that was better described as eyelids slowly shutting, and eventually opening again. The kind of blink one almost had to wait for. "...Kinda looks like you got the White Fang thingy going on," the girl muttered as she mimicked the marks with her fingers. "With the things. You got the wrong way, though. Weird."

"Oh..." Blake never realized it was mirrored. It didn't seem that way from her perspective, but she supposed everyone else saw it differently from her. "You're right, that's...strange, I suppose...that girl I was with...was really...dominant? Uh...kinky?" she guessed. Raunchy romance novels couldn't prepare her to bluff like this. "That sort of thing...really turned her on, I guess?" This was a disaster. Every single one of those books were poorly written and every bit of dialogue was more awkwardly written than she could have possibly imagined, and it was only here and now she truly realized. Nobody says things like that. Why was she saying that? Why was she saying these things to a fifteen year old?

"Uh huh." the faunus waited tensely as her leader's lifeless eyes judged her without mercy, never making a move, looking right through her, reading her like an open book. "It'll probably look fine in a week or two," the shorter huntress yawned. "Maybe not. Actually looks sorta bad. You should get that fixed. Maybe Six can help. he's always doing something weird and stupid and conveniently timed."

"Maybe..." Blake sure wasn't signing up for any of that shady plastic surgery the Courier claimed to be so adept at finding, or touching any of those 'medicines' he carried around. But if he could cure radiation poisoning with peppers, berries, and vodka, he could probably figure out something to limit scarring. And she really just wanted these scars gone.

There was a quiet caution over the campus, almost as if to mimic the paranoia that had been slowly infesting the city that rested below. The fire had been extinguished hours earlier, and students attempted to go about their business, though the low, uneasy murmur had yet to cease. A fair portion of them knew Cardin; with his personality, it was difficult not to. He wasn't one for anonymity. A White Fang symbol wasn't something he would make, either, he would go for the opposite message, if anything, something directed toward the Faunus. Yuri...may as well have been it. He might well have been a disguised Faunus, a terrorist, or completely innocent in the whole matter. Few cared enough about him to keep any rumors going since he arrived, and even the huntsman himself seemed to be withdrawing more from the antics that made him somewhat notorious to begin with.

In honesty, though no one wanted to admit it, times were looking worse than they appeared. With the knowledge that Grimm were drawn to fear and anger and sadness itself, there wasn't much else to do in times of crisis than just try to get by. But every day, every attack on the city with no identifiable cause or motive, left only a sense of dreariness over everything. Vale, Beacon, outer territories. Hunters, civilians, criminals. Life was slowly being replaced by fear, and no one could or wanted to acknowledge it. But seeing people like Yang, Yuri, Nora, all of the more outgoing and lively hunters around Beacon, slowly lose their energy and their own personal positivity, bit by bit, was nothing short of disheartening.

Even more disheartening was seeing Ruby, renowned for her speed and spiritedness, dragging her feet through the CCT courtyard, barely keeping her eyes open as an almost-too-relieved Yang practically dragged a more-withdrawn-than-usual Blake behind her. Most watching could feel only sympathy for the three; though the details were unclear, it was no secret the Courier still ended up putting them through some tough, though evidently less entertaining, shit. This must have just been another day for the team. One that even messed up the huntsman, if his activity in the courtyard was anything to go by.

Ruby nearly stumbled over her feet as she passed. She backed up and looked over the hedges at Yuri, who appeared to have been staring intently at the tree's roots in front of him. "Oh...oh Dust," she grumbled almost inaudibly. "Forgot about...your whole deal...how'd your thing go? You alright?" He appeared to have a couple new holes and a bit less blood in him. "Don't look alright."

He threw his hands up. "Surviving, I guess," he sighed in exasperation. "I'm getting along. I guess that's alright by some people's standards." He scowled at the base of the tree again. The path leading to the intersection smelled vaguely of vodka.

"Did you lose something?" Blake asked. There was a bitterness to his voice that almost seemed familiar to her.

"I... Yeah, I, I lost something," he murmured softly.

"It's the bush," Ruby yawned, pointing to her left. "On the other side." The Courier circled the tree, knelt down, and lifted the hatch to his bunker.

"...It is." He stepped down, then came back out. "I guess I was distracted the last few times I came through, why are there flowers here?" he asked, pointing to where he had just been standing. "I assume it's your work."

"...Yeah," Ruby recalled. "I did that a bit after we finished the little base thing."

"What, to pretty it up for me?"

"I thought they'd distract people. So they wouldn't notice the big metal door in the ground. You're welcome."

"Awesome. Get rid of them, please."

"What? No!" the drowsy huntress snapped.

"This is my stolen land, and the rules of the Republic say I can do whatever I want with it as long as I write documents saying it's mine." He reached down into the bunker and pulled out a brass pole with the NCR flag, which he then planted into the grass. "Welcome to imperialism, get the hell off my frontier."

"No way, this plot's team RWBY(Y) property now and I'll garden the sh—" Yang gently slapped the back of her sister's head. "—iz out of it if I want."

"...Fine, Whatever. Leave it," Yuri sighed after a moment of consideration.

"...Wow, that didn't take much," Ruby murmured. That's not the stupid stubborn jerk he was supposed to revert to after hell was done breaking loose. He just sort of sounded defeated. She stepped closer. "If it gets to you that much, I can move it, I just wanted something to—"

He stepped in front of her with a sense of urgency, blocking her from the little patch he had claimed. "Please leave it and...step away."

Yang, who had been trying so very hard not to talk to, look at, or otherwise acknowledge the Wastelander for too long, realized the missing piece of the portrait in front of her. "Where...did the other three go?" she asked slowly.

"...Well...you know..." the Courier said cautiously. "Had to head home, I suppose. They had a real blast here, but it sounded like they had someone to meet. We've had enough of each other, anyway."

"Are you...are those puns?" He only stared with an expression about as blank as his helmet usually was. "You're stressing words. I don't think I like this."

"Guess you just had to be there."

"Yeah, sounds reasonable," the huntress said with biting sarcasm. "They just suddenly found out how to get back—"

"Remember the troop of Brotherhood that got swallowed into the ground by a wormhole?"

"—and you decided not to go with them. Why would that be?"

"'cause who wants to spend eternity with their bitching?" the Courier retorted.

"I think eternity's exaggerating a bit, you've known them...five months?" Ruby said.

"I don't think you know what home is like."

"I think it sounds like a pretty awful place to call home."

"You don't really choose your home," the Courier sighed. "It's where I'm from, it's home no matter what." He gestured in the general direction of the forest. "And this honestly isn't a huge step up, all things considered."

"I guess not," the leader admitted. "But I think you staying here means you honestly think home's more than where you're from. And that's kind of sweet."

"..." The huntsman pulled at his hair, because she wasn't supposed to be saying this, she was supposed to hate him! She was supposed to think he was the devil, she was supposed to be mad about the Divide and the Boneyard! "No," he finally sighed. "There's something there, and I can't leave that behind. Just...there are things here that need doing, I guess."

That was a bit of a relief to hear. Maybe...this was what the Courier needed. To be faced with the consequences of his actions. People who had also had difficult lives, who still had plenty of flaws, but ultimately had good hearts despite their issues. The sudden change of heart over his destiny, this sudden kindness and mercy for the brothers, proved anyone could change, she thought.

"What the hell did you do to them?" Yang growled. Her hostility immediately snapped Ruby out of her optimistic, sleep-deprived thoughts. With the helmet nowhere to be found, it was almost like he wasn't the unabashed murderer, compulsive liar, and occasionally oddly charismatic, manipulative bastard she had come to know. But he always managed to make her forget, somehow, why did he always manage it?

"I've had plenty of opportunities to kill them before today."

"Except now you have something to hide."

"Like what, another child and town I respectively kill and blew up? What's left for me to cover up?" Yuri asked. "What would be the point in shutting them up now?"

"What, all of a sudden now you stop and make rational decisions? Now you don't kill people without a reason?"

"...Look, I have plans. Big plans. I think things through a bit more than you might know. There's a point to what I do."

Yang grabbed the hems of his coat, nearly ripping the worn, torn cloth apart as she almost pulled him over the hedges. "How does that make it right?" she roared. "How could you justify any of that?"

"I didn't kill them!"

"Bullshit!"

"I didn't destroy that town, either—"

"Whoever did sure seems hard at work in that bullshit 'hive mind' excuse you just love to fall back on—"

"Ruby!" The heated argument came to a slight halt as the two turned toward the courtyard's intersection. After a slight delay, Ruby did the same. After yet another short moment to process, she realized Blake had slipped away.

Jaune, hands still cupping his mouth, stopped mid-step as soon as he noticed the Courier. "Maybe now isn't the right time actually," Pyrrha whispered.

"...Never mind," the huntsman called. "I...forgot. Ha ha." Nora and Ren ran to catch up, and likewise froze. The Courier stared. They stared back, and slowly backed away, tightening their grips on the bags of...something over their shoulders. "Maybe you should come ov—" The Courier took a half-step to follow, and Jaune started shaking his head furiously. "Nope, never mind, never mind, I'll...tell you when I remember...see ya!"

Yang scoffed and pushed the Courier away as the other team absconded with the tapes. His shoulders slumped as the huntress turned away and left him behind. He supposed he was just a bunch of liars, with his fake face and fake skin and fake insides. "I really didn't, though," he mumbled. He'd swear on his soul, even.

"But there's no-novalue in that, is there-ere?" the Courier whispered. "Even then, the thing must be long gone."

"I—" The rest of the word devolved into garbled static, and Yuri pounded on his chest. "Fuck, God, no-no-not aggggain!" he hissed.

Ruby circled around the wall of greenery and put a hand on his shoulder. "You look like a mess, let's—"

"Jeezzz why are y-you still here?" the Wastelander hissed as he jumped back.

"Yang left literally ten seconds ago."

"And I thought you went with her—" Ruby looked behind him. Yuri stepped in front of her. "D-don't...worry about i-it," he said dismissively. Ruby thought it sounded more like he was stuttering, rather than malfunctioning. "Let's just...fixxxxx—" Static resounded again, and he finally gave up speaking, instead settling on pushing Ruby to go around the other way to the bunker.

Yang groaned as she threw another handful of pictures on the pile. Months before he even knew about her, he managed to piss her off. All of these photos were meaningless. Just him taking pictures of himself in front of giant soda bottles or dinosaur statues or lit up casinos. Same stupid getup with the same stupid helmet; it was no wonder it still reeked after countless runs through the washer.

Sometimes there would be other people with him, and they would disappear just as suddenly as they appeared. She wanted to believe they went their separate ways, alive and well, but that necklace he held onto told her otherwise. All roads led to him, and most ended there.

She didn't entirely know why she felt the need to snoop through his things. Maybe it just seemed like karma; he must have been looking through their things when no one was watching. He admitted it was in his nature. She just...didn't have any solid proof. Or she just wanted some kind of concrete example of him in the past: not what he said he used to be, and not stories from people who want him dead. It wasn't an opportunity that presented itself often. But it didn't seem there was much more to add to the Courier's own words. Most pictures seemed to be of the man after his surgery. The macho cyborg without a care in the world, slowly, visibly being worn down. The huntress grunted again, and flung a photo of Six posing with his arms in the air in praise, and the sun at his back. Who even took all these pictures for him?

That felt wrong. Not just the inherent wrongness of digging through someone's shit and then throwing it across the room in frustration, but the actual picture didn't feel right at all. It flew different from the rest. She didn't care about either issue at first. Then curiosity got the better of her, and she got up to retrieve the photo. It was different, in a way: another photo was stuck to it. The hidden picture felt thinner, flimsier, like it had been crumpled up and flattened back out numerous times. It certainly looked older than the others. It wasn't easy seeing through the wrinkles, but it seemed to be a large group, more than a dozen men and women, some old, some young. All standing or kneeling shoulder to shoulder, smiling for the camera.

One stood out. A grouchy-looking middle-aged man man, the only one out of uniform, the only one not facing the camera, no matter how much the three merry soldiers around him tried to break his aloof exterior. In faded ink, Yang could make out the words "A happy hello from HELIOS! Wish you were here~!" scrawled across, like some beach resort greeting card. And, of course, a smudged, backwards "6" next to the frowning man.

Well... That was it, then. She saw it. The face where it all started. She saw the person. He didn't seem any different than how he was in the present, still grumpy and brooding and antisocial. But seeing it, what it really was, before everything went off the rails, made things seem...just a little different.

It almost felt like meeting another victim of the Courier.

"—so Glynda said because I was there, I have to clean up all the blood because she thinks it's mine, but I swear it was like that when I got there."

"Mm-hmm, mm-hmm," Ruby mm-hmmed as she finished tying a rag around Yuri's arm. "You know I'm not helping you clean it."

"I know, no one is, and tha-at's the injustice of i-it."

The huntress rolled her eyes and started to lift the back of his shirt. He crossed his arms. Ruby did the same. "Maybe if you let people help!" she snapped suddenly. "I'm here to serve, whenever you ask, apparently, because you get yourself mangled and won't trust someone who actually works with machines, but you won't even let me do that!"

"I don't need anymore help." He shooed her away. "Uh...I'm sorry...I need some time."

The huntress immediately sighed and pushed her hair back out of her face. As calmly as she could, she said, "I know you do, Yuri, and I hope you get it someday."

The hatch was shut relatively gently, but it still sounded harsh to his ears. "She's mad again," he mumbled to himself sadly. It just wasn't easy exposing himself to someone else.

"It's private business," the Courier told himself curtly.

The Wastelander glanced at the unraveling duct tape around his arm. He searched and searched the cluttered floors for more rolls to wrap the limb up again, but every roll had been used up to hold everything else in the bunker together. Half-crawling, half-trudging, he dragged himself to the pantry, because it always took a good few hours for whisky to make a situation any worse. He pulled the door open. There was no whisky, of course, and the situation was immediately made worse.

"...Please," Yuri begged as he fell to his knees. "...No more. Just...stop. I don't get it. What do you want?" He weakly punched one of the black metal shins. "You never had it out for me like this," the mercenary mumbled. "You always left me alone if we weren't on the job. Why are you doing this now? Why are you doing this at all? Just to add to this cold, green hell?"

"..."

"Why won't you go away?"

"..."

"I don't get it." Yuri, desperate and close to frustrated tears, grabbed Lock Heed by the jagged, armored shoulders, which only really lifted him up closer to eye level. "Stop watching me. I don't know what I did to you, just...let it go! I can't fix it now, I can't change the past, so just leave me alone."

For whatever reason, the other Wastelander complied. Either because they were satisfied with the Courier's confession, or because it simply had other business, or perhaps some other reason. They all frustrated the Courier, for one reason or another. And now, with his admission, he could only think about how out of control everything seemed, somehow. Even with his schemes and his manipulation, he was left with nothing, nobody. No companions to see his plans through, no resources at his disposal. And he desperately told himself this still wasn't true.

Ruby took a preparation breath as she gripped the door knob in her hand. It felt like the dorm room could only get worse every time she looked inside it today. Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced herself for whatever disaster was waiting for her. It was Yang. Pretty much only Yang. Most of Blake's belongings had been pushed to the side, actually, and some had even found their way back onto her shelves. Not anywhere near where they belonged, but Yang made a good effort, if it was in fact Yang who tried to fix the room. Something had the other huntress noticeably quieter, though.

"Yang?"

"...Mmm." It seemed less a way of acknowledging Ruby, and more just a sound signaling that whatever had been on her mind was still being thought over.

"...Blake?" No answer, which was honestly one of the less surprising details of this whole ordeal. Blake looked pretty awful when they picker her up. She'd probably be spending a good bit of the evening recuperating in the clinic, if she partied as hard as Yang assumed. Which just struck Ruby as wrong. Blake didn't act like that around strangers. She didn't act like that at all. But it wasn't as if she could come up with a better excuse for her teammate's absence...

"Ruby."

Not the person she was looking for, but it was a familiar voice nonetheless, which was certainly better than nothing. "Oh. Hey, Jau—" The huntress' eyebrows went up involuntarily as she looked over her shoulder at her fellow team leader. He was standing rather stiffly in the middle of the hall, like he didn't know what else to do with himself. Which wasn't too off, considering Jaune, but it seemed less nervous. Just...unnatural. But the real surprise was his hair, which was now a deep blue. "You dyed your hair?" the huntress asked, turning around. "Looks...pretty good, actually. Any reason why?"

"I just...wasn't sure I felt like me," he responded. "I wanted to feel like...I wasn't the same person who enrolled in this school. I wanted to feel like I was getting somewhere."

"Yeah, I guess I can under...stand that..." She leaned closer, for a better look. His irises were no longer blue, but a shining gold, like furious suns in his eyes. "Color contacts, too? When did you even find the time to dye—" He lifted a helmet closer to his chest, like a precious gift. Those green eyes. That desperate plea. FORGIVE ME MAMA. "Uh, Jaune? What're you doing with that?"

"I found this. I thought maybe I should start wearing something to protect my head. And wear some more armor, too."

"Yeah...but I don't know about that one, Jaune," Ruby cautioned. "That's the Courier's. Maybe you should...find something that suits you a bit more." That helmet, that metal face, just rubbed her the wrong way. It was almost worse when it wasn't on a body. "Something that's yours."

"But he's come such a long way. He wasn't much to begin with, but in a year, he managed so much, he became so much stronger. He taught me you can make any number of mistakes, and still not be stopped by anything."

"Hey...Jaune..." She stepped closer, one hand carefully reaching for the helmet. "That's not what he's about, the Courier isn't someone you want to imitate—"

"I just don't want to disappear," the huntsman murmured, staring into the empty emerald eyes. "I don't want to die. I don't want my name to be forgotten. I'd do anything to—" He was suddenly silent. His head snapped up to look her in the eye. "Goodbye."

"Jaune!"

Ruby had to force herself to unclench her jaw and let her body settle. Maybe she was just tense from the excitement of the day. It was her only explanation; there wasn't anything particularly unusual or unsettling about the view in front of her. Just the purple-red clouds of dusk, and the white moon peaking out from behind the trees. It did remind her of something, though.

"Ruby!" Jaune skidded to a stop in the hall, nearly tripping over his feet as he halted. It was calming to watch, for some reason. It felt familiar. Goofy. Not the serious, grim atmosphere hanging over the back of everyone's minds. But hearing him call her name was...unnerving. Like there was something he had to tell her, but never would. Seeing him stand in the hall was also familiar, and not at all a welcome feeling. "You weren't with Yang so we looked all over for you," the huntsman panted quickly. "But we realized you stayed with the Courier and we ran back to the CCT but neither of you were there, which was really scary so—"

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down," the huntress interrupted.

"There's no time, we don't really know everything but I think there's something we really need to talk about before he comes back—"

Thumpthumpthump. "Ring-a-ding-ding, someone call?" Yuri asked with a pair of finger snaps. Jaune winced, and the two students turned to find him in JNPR's room.

"How...when?" the blond boy hissed.

"It's my gift, I'm always popping up where people don't want me, all the time. It's tiring, actually, I used to have tunnels running all over the desert so I could get places faster and it—"

"Please, just..." Yuri shut his mouth, and slowly, his expression fell. Ruby sighed.

"...Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be, it's just...today was stressful, alright?"

"Yeah, I know it was." He ambled over to his bed and let himself fall onto the mattress. "...I'm homesick, I think. I miss it. It sucked, but there were things I liked there. I built my life around there, I put so much of myself into it, it's, it's nice talking about it. It wasn't all wasteland and monsters and murderers."

"Most of the important parts were." The Courier sat up and grinned. "Although once, I don't know if I told anyone this, me and this one person, one of the other hired guns in the big secret expedition, we snuck back into New California and we found—"

This story obviously didn't hold the same sentimental or therapeutic value as the last one, Ruby thought.

Yang 's gaze shifted from the picture in her hands to the Courier, and her stomach churned. It was so much worse after she realized. Realized the man with the beret wasn't the courier. She looked back down. It wasn't the bald frowning man. It was the smaller, almost youthful soldier next to him. One arm nowhere to be found, the other, with the Pip-Boy, flashing a peace sign to the camera, almost as bright and optimistic as the smile. The backwards 6 covered some of the courier's face, but she could see some through the center of the circle. She looked at the face in front of her, the Courier's tired, joyless grin as he went on about robberies and getting shot at and whatever misadventures he may or may not have actually experienced. He just had the face of a man who could keep grinning through anything. He probably did, with that stupid face under that stupid helmet, for some reason or another, knowing no one could see him.

It only worsened once she noticed the Courier's helmet had been removed, and this was the first time she'd ever seen his face. She forced herself to look at the photo again. It was the first, and maybe only, time she would see him happy. Maimed, covered in bloody bandages, and happy. Because the Courier could grin and bear it like it was second nature, but he could never bring himself to smile. He only ever wore the helmet in the pictures after HELIOS, December 21st. They were all dated, she realized the second time through. She could see time slowly pull him down with every passing moment. The next was him, the little fearsome ranger, and a woman in rags, January sixteenth. A bit of a gap between pictures. She was gone before the end of the month. He went on making peace signs and drinking like nothing happened. He spent Valentine's Day with Graham and a handful of others, and was back in the desert within two weeks' time. Him giving a little metal ball a noogie, him riding on the shoulders of...some other creature much larger than him. They went on, and every pose looked a bit different the second time through. Often he would be slouching, doubled over, holding his head, or just look otherwise tired, always after another companion disappeared. Then again, he always seemed to look that way. There wasn't really any way of knowing just how much he cared, it seemed.

"—so I guess I've been crashing cars longer than I thought," Yuri concluded.

"That...actually was amazing and I'm glad I heard the whole thing," Jaune mumbled, awestruck at the absurd, the bombastic, the fist-bumping-sunglasses-wearing tale of hot-blooded reluctant partnership. "...I think?"

"...What?" Ruby finally questioned once she accepted there was no figuring out what she just heard. "I zoned out at the part with the octopus...?"

"Then you're sure missing out," the Wastelander chuckled before his tone dropped to a deathly serious one. "Because I'm never telling that part again." He wouldn't remember the Santa Monica Bay if he could help it, and he just so happened to be quite talented at losing track of memories. But a bit of praise was, admittedly, refreshing. It wasn't often that people reacted so positively to his exploits.

'But why would they applaud that?' the Courier pondered. 'That whole story was just one long, elaborate escape. Why should I be commended for running away? It's as if they don't want a brave and powerful hero chosen by destiny. But how can that be, if they all want me to stay and help them?'

People never really liked him for how he really was, Yuri lamented. How could it be his fault, he had to lie about himself all the time. Was it really his fault if it developed into a compulsive habit? He glanced at the peeling duct tape around his hand, and it reminded him of just how big a lie he lived. Every day he lied to himself, forced himself to believe that he, a breaking, cluttered, fake mess of a creature, was still good for something. But if he couldn't be honest with himself, if he couldn't help himself, who could he help? That was something he couldn't forget; his deteriorating body and garbled mechanical voice would not stop reminding him.

12:48 AM, October 28th, 80

Recent events were...troubling. Yang didn't know what to think, which wasn't really a new feeling at all. She didn't know where to go from Beacon, what she wanted to do that didn't amount to 'wander aimlessly for something more exciting,' or search for closure she probably would never find. She didn't know what to do now that she was at Beacon, while things just steadily declined around her. This wasn't exactly new, either, there were always periods of more or less Grimm activity, as if it were any old weather pattern. But there seemed to be a storm brewing, worse than any that had hit Vale in years, maybe decades. So she and everyone else had to just brace for it and let it pass, because that's all there was to do. She didn't know what to think about the Courier. Once again, same shit, as always. He just couldn't help but make things more complicated somehow, it really was amazing and frustrating how long he could keep this going.

"Yang."

She flinched. "Can you stop doing that?" she whispered. It was so easy to forget how little he slept when he just laid in his bed, completely still and silent. That was another thing about him that was amazing and frustrating. It was also easy to assume he wasn't there at all on most nights, ever since he started sleeping in his bunker. He wasn't around much at all, really. At least, she was pretty sure he wasn't, but now he had her doubting. "...Has your bed been in here this whole time? I thought it was in the bunker."

She heard a sigh, which sounded more like static than anything. "C-can I...sleep with you?"

Yang's face twisted with disgust as she sat up to make sure he saw the stern scowl. "I...I can't believe you. I thought you were better than that, at least, I thought you were past that, but I guess you're always just full of surprises. It's really just about booze and money and women, then? Perfect, you really are like my uncle, in every wa—"

"It's cold." In the moonlight, his expression looked almost empty, but far from emotionless.

"Y...yeah," the huntress spoke softly. "It is...getting...late in the year." She sighed and rolled over to make space, and waved him over. Six climbed up and curled into a ball on the covers. She tried to limit breathing through her nose. He smelled like vodka and sadness. "Today was rough, and...a lot of people tend to hit on me, and it gets old, and I've just been really frustrated, and the Courier isn't someone I expect much out of. That was...shitty, I didn't mean to snap."

"I know."

"And it's like...I haven't heard from you in a while, we sorta forgot you a little bit."

"...I know."

"Hey, come on, don't..." Yang hit her forehead against the wall in frustration. It was late, she could barely speak, let alone try to offer him helpful support right now. Why couldn't today just end already? "I didn't mean it like that, the Courier's just...a really distracting...thing. He's more of an attention-getter than you."

"I know," Six said a third time. "And he's been distracted with you, too, I think. He can sleep sometimes. He's asleep right now. It's been...quieter in here, a little. Almost more peaceful, but..." Her heart ached with every small, garbled sob that escaped the man. "I miss them."

"...Them?" she asked. "Your brothers?"

"I want to see them again," Six went on, completely ignoring her. "I just want them back. It's my fault. I should have..." It devolved into muffled blubbering. Tears filled the huntress' eyes as she thought back to the photos hidden in her dresser, and all the people in them.

"I know you do, but...you just got back." She paused for a moment. She said it almost instinctively, but to her knowledge, he didn't actually go anywhere. She shrugged that off for the moment. "Try to stay safe. There's no rush." Silence. "...We should move your bed away from the window tomorrow, it's probably a lot colder there."

He didn't respond, and the sobs had already faded, so she threw a blanket over the slumbering giant and rolled back over to face the wall. She was...somewhat relieved. She'd have preferred having just about anyone else in her bed, but it was getting cold, and extra body heat was definitely welcome.

Ruby stirred some minutes later, after the two had already been taken into their dreams. Her own dreams, troubling things plagued by the voices and ramblings of the Courier on the roof earlier today, refused to let her rest. She found solace at the foot of Yang's bed, where Six left a sizable portion of the bed empty, and she formed a blanket nest to settle into before attempting another, more peaceful rest among friends.

Hours later, the door creaked open. Blake tossed her weapon into the corner, and almost did the same with Li'l Devil before reconsidering, and placing it more gently on the dresser. There was no telling if that thing would go off again; the nurse was skeptical when Blake said her injuries were from an accidental discharge when she dropped her weapon, with good reason. It seemed the same safety precautions hunters believed in weren't taken into consideration when Earth-folk made their guns.

She didn't want to come back here, but a part of her knew it would happen. Now that she was in this condition—probably not well enough to be out of the clinic—she wasn't exactly fit to take her leave. Especially after the damaged or expended resources she now had to cover. Leaving would have to wait a few more days, if she could trust herself around her fellow hunters that long anymore.

At first, it seemed abandoned, as if everyone had gotten out of their beds and taken off like she was planning on doing. As it turned out, there was something alive beneath that mound of blankets on her partner's bed. She tip-toed to her own bed. As she was about to lay down, a hand slithered out from under the blankets and beckoned her. The movement startled her at first. With a sigh, she climbed up and, seeing no open space left, perched herself atop the trio in the most comfortable way possible. They all felt cold, but it still warmed her a little. Her partner's arms wrapped around her and squeezed, and though she never explicitly stated how much she missed Blake, or how worried she was, her embrace said enough.

The Courier, with a bitter grimace, opened his eyes at 6:45:07 A.M. as a heel rammed itself into his gut again. He awoke with his upper half upside down, hanging off the bed; in fact, everyone had scattered to the edges of the mattress to escape the blunt force of their leader's limbs. This was too much for him, and the sun wasn't up yet. "Ruby." The sudden noise only seemed to agitate the huntress, whose foot attacked his chest, which still tender and recovering from many bullets. "Ruby!" he hissed as he squirmed away, further off the bed. This was unfortunately not Ruby's bed; it did not have quite the same structural integrity as her suspended bed frame, which was a sentence he never thought he would think. The tower tipped. His hands met the ground as he attempted to support the leaning bunk bed. The books began to slip out from the space between the legs of Yang's bed and the posts of Blake's. His was always a quest of futility, no matter what that quest was: he was always giving too little too late, and he never learned from past mistakes. Even the bed couldn't be saved, he thought gloomily as it all came down. It was almost like a dream; time slowed, came to an unbearable crawl while he awaited the fateful meeting with the ground.

Across the hall, with wide, bloodshot eyes and weapons held in white-knuckled grips, Pyrrha and Jaune heard a sound like dozens of impacts, and a loud crack! They didn't stay awake all night for nothing, this was really it. The huntress nearly tore JNPR's door open, and the pair rushed into the other team's door shields-first, breaking it off the hinges. "Run!" Jaune squawked. "We'll slow him do—"

The armed and armored hunters looked around the room. At Yang, who was laying at some of the most uncomfortable, awkward angles human body parts could manage atop a mound of books. At Ruby, who had been catapulted onto her bed, and also a little bit through the wall somehow. At Blake, dead-eyed on her bookshelf. And the limbs splayed out underneath the door.

"You got him," Yang groaned. "Good work."

"You got my door," the Courier whined. "I can't keep nailing that back on. You can't just get nails at any old place. Not where I'm from. You kids taking your nails for granted, I—"

"Yeah, we just...uh..." Jaune shrugged, and glanced at his partner out of the corner of his eye, desperately seeking help. "We..."

"...We're sorry?" Pyrrha guessed.

"Just...please get this off, I have somewhere to be," the Wastelander grunted.

"You have somewhere to be at six something in the morning," Ruby restated as Pyrrha cautiously lifted the door and propped it against the wall.

"I think I need to buy some duct tape. Or at least I need to check if the duct tape and the stalker were real, and I might need to get tape depending on what I find."

"Well, I need to go to the store, too," the huntress sighed as she pulled her head out of the wall and hopped down from her bed.

"Same," Yang sighed as she sat up. "What about you, Blake? You were out all day, we missed you, need more Bella in our lives."

"Oh, are you, uh, you sure you need to go?" Jaune asked.

"...Yeah, I'm pretty sure," Ruby confirmed.

"...Completely sure?"

A shadow fell over Jaune, as the Courier stood between him and the disappearing moonlight. "Jaune," he said sternly. It was a cold morning, but boy, it sure was hot all of a sudden. "Is there some reason you don't want Ruby and I to go to the store together?" Sweat started to slide down the back of his neck as those chilling, piercing eyes probed for an answer.

"Oh, no no no no reason, none at all, I just...didn't want her to go if she didn't need to! You know, so she doesn't waste her time, right?" the huntsman laughed apprehensively.

"Then I guess my time isn't valuable at all, because you've wasted enough of that as it is." The Courier slid Jaune out of his way and strut out of the room.

"Oh dang," the sisters whispered.

"I...I..." He thought he was having a heart attack, honestly. "I didn't..."

Ruby patted Jaune's shoulder sympathetically as she passed. "Sorry, that burn was just too sick. But..." Her expression became slightly more solemn. "I think meeting those other three was...it looks like it was a shock for him. I'm not sure, but I think this might—

"Th-the other three are gone," Pyrrha sputtered.

"Yeah. I know. The Courier said they went home. You two look tired, did you get enough sleep—"

"They didn't go home, one of them exploded!" Jaune exclaimed. He felt the presence again, the chill in his spine, and looked over his shoulder. That eye was back, assaulting him from the doorway.

"As if that's anything new?" the Courier muttered. "That's how we met. That's what they do. I have a picture somewhere of one of them covered in landmines. 'You see Ivan,'" the Wastelander spoke in a thick accent. "...because that's sort of a running joke with us Boneyard boys, and also half the city, everyone loves Russian jokes and bad accents. It's why I called him Ivan, he pulls this dumb shit all the time, he's like 'You see, Ivan, you wear armor like this and enemy not shoot for fear of exploding city.' Or 'You see Vladimir, when you are shooting the gun with second gun, you never be out of ammo because of gun always has the bullets.' They're nightmares, impossible to work with. I'm amazed I've lived as long as I have with them around."

"But...but he...we saw him..."

The Courier leaned down until his nose was a hair's breadth from Jaune's. "I have a gauntlet full of bombs. We punch with grenades. We blow up sometimes. It's what we do."

Pyrrha looked at his perforated hand through the unraveling tape binding it. It was hard to argue with him; they were some sturdy, rowdy boys, she would give him that. And until somebody found bodies, there was no hard proof that they were even dead. There probably never would be.

"Why?" he asked. "Was there some reason to be discussing one of them exploding?"

"...No reason," Pyrrha murmured. There was enough damning evidence for his other crimes, and that should be all they needed. All they had to do was be patient, keep an eye on the other team from afar, and wait for the Courier to wander off. He couldn't possibly be with Ruby for the entire trip.

Ren was just about ready to pull his hair out. They didn't separate, they never separated, they just kept talking. How was it they could keep going for so long? He could only stand in the power tools section for so long before someone wondered why a man was staring at buzz saws for...he checked his scroll. "...Twenty-six minutes," he whispered despondently. And still going.

"I'm just saying," the Courier said, and was saying, and continued to say, in that dull lifeless drone that just didn't stop. Ren had stopped paying attention long ago, but there was little doubt this conversation had been going on far too long. "...that relying on an army of robots and lots of technology is begging for mass sabotage. And when your kingdom is thrown back to the dark ages and your siege requires launching projectiles up to a hundred kilograms from three hundred meters away, you need a counterweight."

"And I'm saying good luck moving that behemoth anywhere when you actually need it," Ruby countered.

"Our almighty destroyer Trebuchet does not need speed or stealth. All it needs is stone."

"Then buy it yourself. Or make a counterweight! Put a bunch of guns in a sack, there's your counterweight.

"It's not the same. That'd look dumb." Ren heard a buzz. "I like this drill. What do you think?"

"I think you've stolen enough drills—"

"Taken," the huntsman clarified. "Taken out of junkyards."

"Garages in junkyards. Nobody threw those drills out."

I treat them better," Yuri grumbled.

"Whatever, you're not building a trebuchet. You can have a catapult—"

"A catapult doesn't—"

"'Doesn't besiege castles with ninety kilograms of stone from three hundred meters away,' I get it," the huntress groaned. There was a long sigh. "...Look, I don't know exactly what's got you down, but I don't think a trebuchet is the solution."

"A tre—"

"'—buchet is always the solution,' of course, whatever, you know I can't help but wonder why you feel the need to prepare a siege weapon?"

"I don't know, myself. But it feels like something's up."

"Yeah, yeah, it kind of does," Ruby muttered. "But maybe you should try something else for a change? Just...take your mind off the serious stuff for a little. You don't try new things and you're sick of it, right? You have a bunch of new clothes all over your bunker and you're wearing half of that ranger outfit again—"

"I meant to ask where those clothes came from, actually," Blake spoke up, nearly giving Ren a heart attack. He wasn't boastful, but he liked to believe he was light on his feet. But it was like she didn't even walk sometimes.

"—you keep listening to the same music—"

"I GOT SPUUURS," Yang bellowed from halfway across the store, truly testing the poor gunslinger's heart.

"—and you always say you just go on walks in the woods or the city, and whenever you're not, you're just laying around or working in that awful unlit basement. You need to do something to get out of the cycle you keep complaining about."

That was...true, Ren thought. It was just a shame the sentiment was directed toward someone of the Courier's caliber. Ruby really was trying her best; the self-fulfilling cycle of dreary repetition and self loathing was easy to fall into, and she knew that. He was familiar, too. Even if his and Nora's old village was home, and very dear to their hearts, it was just a miserable time in their lives. From what little he knew, Ruby wasn't a stranger to that sort of gloom, even if she hid it well. He almost wished he had been on her team. It wasn't that Jaune was a bad leader, exactly; even if he wasn't a skilled warrior by any means, he still cared, and he tried to connect with the people he was leading.

But actually communicating with him wasn't so easy. Jaune could listen, but he couldn't open up the same way. He was hesitant to explain why he came to Beacon, despite his inability to fight, and, to an admittedly reasonable but still frustrating extent, he was less open about his home life than he was with other topics. Everybody has experiences or feelings they don't want to discuss with anyone, of course, but it was just difficult for Ren to work with someone he didn't believe he really knew.

"Yeah, yeah," the Courier muttered. He didn't connect, either.

"I mean, you do have other hobbies," Ruby said. "More normal ones. Right? You, uh...what do you do for fun, again?"

"Unacceptable, unspeakable things."

"I said normal."

"I dig a lot of holes. To hide those things—"

"There's gotta be something," the huntress grunted. "You lug around a caravan's worth of crap, you've got like twenty harmonicas. You...you listen to a lot of music! And you have instruments, why don't you just...try and do something with that?"

"Why should I?"

"Because you won't listen to anything but your music," Blake grumbled. "And I can only hear about spurs so many times."

"Alright..." the Wastelander sighed. Ren heard maybe three notes ring, and had a few thoughts in that brief timespan.

'He brought a guitar. He just...has a guitar with him? At all times? Right now in the store?' He would never understand Nora's past complaints; the excitement team RWBYY always got just wasn't worth it at all.

"You're just playing more western, I'm going to hang myself with those guitar strings if I have to hear any more," Ruby protested. "We'll...work on it later."

"Good, I don't want to be here anymore. Some weirdo's been looking at the hacksaws on the other side of this shelf the whole time we've been here and it's freaking me out," the Courier said.

'The eye compass,' Ren hissed mentally. Curse that metal eye and all its tricks. He looked up into the security camera's reflection. It was no wonder Blake was so silent; she had been on the Courier's back the whole time. Although it looked like she would have an easier time walking than the Courier was, even with her injuries. He was struggling to support anything more than himself right now. It didn't look like the Wastelander was aware of the reflective surface, thankfully.

"I have to see someone, anyway." That caught his attention, as well as that of the rest of the hunters.

"This mysterious 'other person' you 'go on walks with?'" Yang guessed.

"I can hang out with people that aren't you," Yuri defended. "And no, it's not the 'mysterious other person,' it's probably super important, so let's head back to Beacon."

It was at this point Ren decided the Courier had to be on to him, and was retaliating in the most frustrating, time consuming way possible.

He couldn't stand it. The way the humming found its way between his ears without really going through them. How it bounced and echoed in his mind. But...it was a pleasant sound, at least. A nostalgic one. Hearing it, or rather, experiencing it almost made him feel...in a different time. It seemed so much simpler then, even if it wasn't really.

He could hear nothing but howling wind, whistling through the broken windows. It was not a pleasant sound, but it was the only sound, which made it more bearable. He looked down at the raging fires of a kingdom's end. It seemed like it would be simpler now, but now that all was said and done, things sure didn't seem better.

It felt lonesome, here and now, at the top of the world. But he supposed that was his own doing.

It was lonesome standing above the world, but it was what he had worked toward. There was no one to blame but himself.

But he wasn't alone. He saw her there, at the door, still smiling and humming. He couldn't remember anyone who managed to ascend those stairs without feeling winded, but she was an unstoppable, wonderful force. "...Miss Rose...?"

"Headmaster."

Ozpin blinked. "Yes, what is it?" he said quickly. "Why did you come here, Y...Courier?"

"You...asked me to come here. Sir," the Wastelander answered. And it sure was unfortunate he had to be called here, the heights always gave him...unsettling thoughts.

"...I did. You're right." The headmaster wiped his damp forehead. "Forgive me, I..." The white fabric was only visible for a moment before it trailed out of the room, which already seemed darker without it. The Courier turned around.

"Do you see something, Ozzy?"

"Nothing."

"Somebody?" Yuri checked his status. He was, in fact, high as balls. He assumed as much; even if he didn't quite remember ever taking a hit of Jet, he was starting to suspect the disgusting mantis men in the room weren't really there, and he wasn't really alone in the tower as the city burned and the sky broke apart. He turned around, but he sure didn't see anyone, for once. That didn't make him feel any easier, though. It felt like someone was watching him.

"...Some called her one of the greatest huntresses of her time," came an answer after a long, uncomfortable pause.

"Oh...wow...I gue—"

"Others believed she was one of the greatest huntresses."

"Hmm." The Courier flashed a deck of cards. "Poker? I haven't played a good game in a while, I sorta miss it."

"...Not my preference," Ozpin murmured. The other man started dealing hands, anyway. A handful of bottlecaps was tossed on the table, almost out of habit, and they both did their best to ignore it once the Wastelander realized it happened. The Courier picked up his hand, and Ozpin eventually looked at his. The Courier groaned, and tossed the monochrome joker from his hand before drawing another card. Ozpin set the red clown aside, and drew his card. "You're not very thorough."

"Yeah, I suppose I'm pretty bad at everything, come to think of it. I'm not sure I'll be any use to you whatsoever, if you still feel like lopping my head off."

"You say that, but it seems something's...changed. You're not the same man who fell from the sky months ago. You don't even seem like the same man I spoke with yesterday." Yuri gently set the cards down on the headmaster's table. "Those three men...died."

Despite the pause, there was a special kind of certainty in his voice, one that made the hunter think that there was no way he could lie his way out of this. And he didn't feel he needed to, either. There was no accusation, no malice in the headmaster's voice. He knew they were dead, and he didn't believe the Courier was responsible. "You read me like an open book, huh boss? Yep. They got themselves dead," the Courier said simply.

"That...really is a shame."

"I guess. Why do you care? How did you know?"

"I suppose it's just a difference between worlds," Ozpin decided. "I hate to see a life go before it has to. There's a sense of familiarity I feel when you're around, like I've gone through every mistake you have. I've seen many allies fall over the years. Even the ones I could not stomach...were people. There was something admirable about them. Each and every one. Thick skin and a cold heart and a carefree attitude can't hide grief over a comrade."

"Well no shit," came an almost instantaneous reply. "When I do something, I stick with it. If I do something wrong, I'll keep making that mistake, and I sure don't have any shortage of time or lives. Of course we've made the same mistakes, I've done it all."

Maybe. I think I may have been...a bit like you, actually. In more than just experience."

"Constantly wavering between happiness, hate, and misery because of your failures?"

"...Only a bit like you," Ozpin repeated. "After everything, genuine joy seems so far away. It almost makes me wonder how you do it. But it's not real, is it? You only convince yourself you're happy. After so many have died, are you really happy without them?" The courier started to shuffle cards again. "...I did intend on killing you...but I suppose after learning a bit about you, there's always been a shred of pity. Even sympathy. To lose your home, your friends and family, even your memories...I haven't seen such tragedy in a long, long time. But I wouldn't expect you have any interest in that."

"Maybe not. I don't know. Not sure I could deal with getting buddy-buddy with any more people, anyway," the Wastelander said with a shrug.

"I know. I've had the same thoughts, myself. Many times. But I did meet a woman...the one with silver eyes... In a lonely, difficult time, her friendship was one of the only comforts I had. So, to make it up to her, I promised...that I would save lives. Any that I could. And it made me stop and realize that I had lost touch with what I believed in. That I wasn't a hunter, I had become a killer. I was against war, but thought if I had to give lives to save more, it was right."

"Silver eyes?" Yuri asked. "...And you said Miss Rose earlier? You mean—"

"Summer was married, before you ask, she just preferred her maiden name." It was just a knee-jerk reaction, even now. Just about anyone who met the woman ended up thinking they might have fallen in love. Ozpin thought maybe fighting off suitors was a way of paying her back, too.

"Oh...I think I've seen a picture of her somewhere...thought you meant...Ruby, for a second."

Ozpin thought about that, too, for a moment. Maybe it was Ruby that reminded him of his duty, and he was still repeating his own mistakes. "History...truly does repeat itself, it seems," the headmaster said with a defeated sigh. "Courier. The solitary, wild Hunters of the old days died out, and with good reason. See that you don't follow in their footsteps. You've already set yourself down that path long ago."

"Oh?"

"Devouring Grimm and ashes, claiming to consume souls, trying to take a living thing's essence after you've slaughtered it...that's not what hunters do. It hasn't been that way in a long time, and I forbid that sort of behavior."

"I didn't realize it was such a big deal. Are you afraid of what might happen if this continues? Will this lifestyle bear fruit? Hmmmm?"

"It will result in a death that I would consider unavoidable."

The Courier frowned, as if his fun has just been ruined. "Hmm..."

The headmaster shrugged his shoulders. "I was beginning to think I could trust you with more important endeavors. Special privileges, even."

"Really," Yuri deadpanned. "You thought it'd be a good idea to give me privileges. And you're in charge how, again?"

"These are dangerous times, Yuri. I realize the risk that comes with setting you loose, and I know you do, as well. You should also know I wouldn't do this without good reason. You have more sense than you'd like others to believe. I think it would be best...if you kept your full armament with you. And be ready to use it if you must."

"...Really? You mean it?" the Courier asked excitedly. "It's that dangerous?

"Yes, I mean it."

"Can I make the cowboy gatling guns, with the big cranks? And the trebuchets?" Ozpin nodded. "And I can have all the grenades and mines?" Another nod. "...Red Glare?" He wasn't expecting Ozpin to allow it, but he simply nodded a third time. "...Why?"

"You understand what it's like, when a conflict grows larger and larger, until a full-on war breaks out. You've experienced it firsthand. Chaos across the desert. I don't want that to happen. Not here, not now. I just want the peace to last, for once."

"But I'm certainly a risk, as you said."

"The enemy we're facing... I don't believe it would benefit you if you were to aid them, in case there were still doubts in your mind, and Dust forbid you seek them out. Whatever it is they're after, there's no doubt they don't have your best interests in mind."

"And you do?"

"Let's just say whatever money you may have stolen up to now won't have much value when the economy, and possibly any place of business this side of the planet, is in ruins."

"...That it won't, that it won't..."

"They certainly won't be building you any teleporters—"

"Transportalponders, if you would please...convincing arguments, to be sure..."

"...It's possible you...may be rewarded upon success..." One of the Courier's eyebrows rose. "...I may even take parental controls off of your scroll—"

the Courier's hands slammed on the table. He laughed a harsh laugh in the headmaster's face. "That's a lie. You're lying. But...but dammit, I can't keep asking you for the pass code every time I want to buy something. I can't walk up that staircase everyday, and—and you know, everyone thinks it's my fault I listen to the same songs all the time? As if I can just tap a couple things and have a bunch of music at my fingertips without making an appointment with the headmaster to unlock the store? No, I cannot take that chance." And the weapons, good God, his babies! To hell with the souls, these were the things that made up the great sum that is the Courier. He looked down at himself.

His helmet was...around somewhere. His coat had been discarded earlier that day, it was simply too heavy. And why did he ever think wearing armor every hour of the day was a good idea?

"...I've...really let myself go."

Of course, at this very moment, all of that sounded like a load of crap to him.

"But it's coming back," he murmured under his breath. "My guns, my armor, it's—I'm coming back from this."

Because he was the Goddamn Courier.

"Seven foot Courier's coming back. I'm coming back!"

The headmaster's eyes shifted to the mercenary's hands, fruitlessly curled around air, twitching, ready for something to shoot. It found nothing, and the urge quickly gave way to dejected acceptance. The tension eased, Yuri's arms dropped, and, like his previously overjoyed expression, he slowly sank into his chair again as the energy and malice subsided. "I...don't know if I can deal with that right now," he murmured, like a completely different person had sat down. He just couldn't put his heart into it for more than a second or two anymore. "It's been a year of this. And look what I have. If I got to where I am, this rotting, rusting mess, because I wanted to live by the gun...i-if I don't...if I won't live to see the year end, I want my last moments to be my quietest ones. Legacy be damned." His hands tightened uncomfortably in his lap. They suddenly felt so unusually empty.

Ozpin was almost surprised. Almost. Or maybe he just wanted to believe he could have predicted this change. "That may be the most wisdom I've heard from you since we've met. I really do think you've changed. You may not think it's for the better now, I understand that admitting your mistakes isn't an easy thing, but you're on your way. I'm sure of it. The offer stands, obviously. I did say these were dangerous times, and you never know who you might run into. Arm yourself. As long it's to keep yourself, and your friends, safe. And of course, you are welcome back here if you ever need something."

Yuri nodded slightly, though to Ozpin, he didn't seem entirely there anymore. He stood up to leave; he stopped. He could hear...something. Humming. The lonely echo, happy as it sounded, made him feel strangely sad for a moment, and he had no idea why.

"Yuri? Do you see something?" Ozpin wondered.

He saw white, so much of it. The light enveloped him, the smile welcomed him. It seemed like one of the voices constantly pestering him, bouncing around in his head. But it managed to drown out the others, and...admittedly, it sounded nice. So maybe it wasn't quite like the rest of them. "...Nothing now. Nothing." It brought him great discomfort to think someone would be able to look into him. There were things he didn't want himself to see or hear or know, much less others. He certainly didn't feel like he wanted this person to see. He wasn't sure he could handle stand that shame.

"Someone?"

He tried to push the feeling away. The figure faded, perhaps a bit too soon; he already missed it. Maybe to answer the headmaster, or maybe as a show of appreciation and understanding, the Courier gave the hazy woman one last nod, and a wink, before he set off.

With a sigh and a creak, the courier shut his locker. There was definitely things going missing. Laser weapons half-undone, junk disturbed, his junk disturbed! Toy cars missing, dented cans torn apart and harvested, his mutilated arm collection...untouched, at least. But tons of electronics and other parts were straight up gone. He turned to the defunct horse in the corner. A perfect metaphor for himself. "I give up everything and this is what you leave me with?" he hissed. "If I'm going to use all my supplies to fix you, you could at least have the decency to work for a few minutes!" Serves him right for working under the influence, he supposed. It was a wonder he had anything left. He moved on to the next locker. Magazines. Comics. Looked about the same. 'At least those fiends left this one untouched.' He moved on. Nothing. Not even the locker. "...Right," he sighed. There was a ton of weapons and explosives, and one school locker, left unaccounted for. That would have to be looked into. Eventually. Before some little Faunus child in the ghetto found the most powerful equalizer.

"...That might not be too bad, actually," he thought to himself. People listen to a person with a nuclear bomb. "'You want a better wall? Well how do we argue with that atomic might?' No wonder the Great War happened, you can solve anything with nuclear bombs." He glanced to the large, dark gray coffin propped against the wall next to where his bed was. "...Nah. That never works. Stupid." Even 'civilized' folk with their hoity-toity 'law enforcement' weren't any better than Legionnaires sometimes. He climbed up the ladder and out into the light of the courtyard. No one really seemed to notice. Seemed the usual suspects were out today, as usual. Bunny Ears, Sunglasses Girl, gray-haired sunglasses girl, lots of other girls, everyone was just sort of just there in the background. "It's enough to make a man sick," Yuri growled.

"A bit dramatic there," Ruby told him, leaning on the hedges like a counter top. Yang was waiting behind her, hands on hips, obviously not happy the younger huntress stopped to check up on him.

"I know." But as comforting as melodrama was, he couldn't help but mean it. It was like the days were on repeat sometimes, just the same thing over and over. And he was a part of it, Ruby knew the exact moment to stop by and see him. He thought he could take pride in his unpredictability, but he was even losing that part of himself. "So what are you doing here?"

"You...texted me? And told me to meet you here?"

"Did I. Hmm." He blinked. Yes. He supposed he did. Right after he tried his hand at the horse, and failed once again. "What for?"

"You said you needed, quote, 'a lot of potatoes and carrots and food.' And something about a big desert and worms, but...I sort of ignored that part actually." Ruby nudged the almost overflowing burlap sack at her feet. "And, I don't know about you, but I personally have a pretty hard time getting my hands on, I'm quoting again, 'at least thirty-six pounds of calories,' what even are these units? Do you know what calories are?"

"Oh...right, yeah. That." He reached over the bushes and took the bag. "Do you know if there's a kitchen nearby?"

"Yeah, it's in the cafeteria, where did you think I got all this—"

"No, down in the city. Like, like...where people get food."

"Like...a soup kitchen?" Ruby asked.

"Yea—" Yuri frowned. He couldn't even finish his answer before the girl's eyebrows shot up. "Don't give me that." That stupid, huge, shit-eating-but-actually-probably-genuine smile didn't falter. "Stop."

"That's so nice of you! That's...generous!"

"No it's not, I'm not making food and I'm not helping, a fr—someone asked me for hel—asked me to get ingredients, and I owe a lot of shit to this particular person."

"And you owe enough that you actually feel like paying them back?" the huntress asked.

"Yea—hey, I'm fair, I hold up my end of bargains," the Wastelander protested.

"But food's enough to pay them back?"

"It's complicated. I doubt I'll ever be able to pay it back in full, but if potatoes are in demand, I'll do everything in my power to get someone else to make it rain fucking taters."

"You sound pretty eager to 'get ingredients' for this 'someone.'" Yuri rolled his eyes, and kept those eyes rolled. Ruby leaned closer, even poked his arm, and he still refused to make eye contact. Even his gray little cheeks were reddening a bit, and he wrinkled his nose. Her's grin was less exaggerated, but couldn't have been happier. "See? For all that bad, there's some good in there to even it out."

"Horseshit," the courier said with another eye roll. "I kill people for money. We're all aware of this. You thought I was evil incarnate yesterday."

"I know, I know, but...if you say there's some monster or monsters in you that did those horrible things, and you're here...helping feed people and escort people through Grimm-infested streets, then there has to be a lot of good in you too, right?" His ears reddened, and his scowl intensified.

"...Ruby, what's going on here?" Yang asked incredulously. With some time to rethink everything, she found herself with some...less than flattering opinions on the Courier of the present. "He told you he didn't do it and you're just gonna believe that?"

"Duh," the huntsman replied. "It's not a hard timeline. The kid got shot years ago, the town blew up years after that, I got shot last year, and about half a year ago I started having trouble with all these other personalities and now I, the hive mind, which couldn't have done anything that far back because I wasn't made of all these souls and therefore didn't exist, am in control and completely free of any and all blame, guilt, uneasiness of the conscience, et cetera."

"When you're not having an existential crisis," the red huntress spoke up. "You don't handle so well when that starts."

The courier pointed to Ruby. "Except when I'm having an existential crisis."

"It's 'not hard' when you're not giving me bits and pieces over the course of two months!" Yang groaned. "I wasn't even with you two yesterday. How's anyone supposed to remember your whole story? You think I have time to map out a flowchart of all this? How do you know if that's all right, anyway?"

"...I guess I don't," he said with a shrug. "But anyone who might know if it's wrong is probably long gone now. And I think I've already stopped caring. Why start again?"

"The past doesn't go away just because you say so," Yang spoke quietly. "It's never that easy."

"I know," Yuri murmured as he gave the tree behind him a short glance. "But it's worth a shot."

"Whatever," the huntress grumbled, turning away with a scowl.

"...Oh! Also!" Ruby said hurriedly. "Ozpin said he had a mission for us and JNPR! Or, you know...anyone who thought they were good to go. I said we could probably take care of it, and Jaune and everyone else volunteered as soon as they heard."

"I don't know if I am 'good,' actually," the huntsman said. "I don't know if I can hold a gun after...everything..."

She glanced down at his mangled hand. It seemed worse than before, what was he working on in that bunker? Or was this his cells decaying again? "Well...he said it probably wouldn't be too dangerous," she added. "Just delivering something to a village a bit north."

"I don't think I can deliver another package, either."

"...Yuri?"

"I didn't personally destroy the Divide... I didn't kill that boy, but..." He was still haunted by it, now and forever. The suffocating gray of the Boneyard. The bright red the boys wore. The toxic green plasma. That was always it. That scene was always on his mind. It could be buried, but never forgotten.

"Who did, then?" Yang questioned bitterly.

"Brotherhood."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Those three were wrong. About a lot. When you're young...you don't always remember things how they happened."

There wasn't much he could make out in the dark of the alley. Other bodies on the ground around him, dirty and beaten and still. In the doorway, a silhouette. His hands were wrapped around someone's throat, shaking them violently as he yelled in their face. It was hard to hear, or even stay conscious through the pain. Filthy water splashed, covering the scattered bodies as the last of them was thrown out into a puddle.

"—upid kids think you're the only one who needs money?" the older man barked. "You just get whatever you want like you're special? You deserve it more than hard-workin' folk?" The boy that would one day, on his last day, come to be known as Petya, opened his eyes further, but decided it was best to wait until the store's owner was gone. "Don't deserve nothin'! You're dead next time I see you!" The door slammed shut, but he sat still anyway. Minutes passed in the dark, wet silence before Ivan, who was always sort of thought as an Ivan sort of guy but never really considered himself Ivan, groaned quietly and gently touched his bruised eye.

The youngest boy jostled Petya awake again. "Maybe robbing a gun store wasn't...the best plan," the leader groaned. "Any more great ideas, Gene?" He glanced to the boy splayed out in the puddle. "Gene?" He crawled over and shook the body. "Gene, get up." He kept shaking. "...Please?" Slowly, Gene opened his eyes and sat up, holding his neck. There was an immediate feeling of relief once they were sure their fourth member was fine. "Bud, don't scare me like that. I was worried—" The younger boy reached into his shirt, and held out an old, rusted plasma pistol with a rare smile and even a thumbs-up.

"You stupid idiot," Ivan laughed as he gave the thief a slap on the back. They both winced, one in pain, and one in embarrassment once he remembered the unfortunate growths on Gene's back. And the poor son of a bitch was just frail in general. "Whoops."

"Well shit, we better get outta here before he knows it's one," Petya decided. Ivan helped Gene to his feet while the other boy helped Petya stand, and the four stumbled out of the back alley into the street. Immediately, they were met with scowls from traders, travelers, homeless, and whoever else was on the street as they passed. Impoverished children didn't just get a plasma gun, after all, and though no one cared enough to rat them out, most were at the very least wary of the armed and desperate.

"So what do we do?" The smallest boy, years younger than Ivan or Gene, wondered as he tried to keep up. "We...fight?"

"We rob some more, I think," Ivan said. "I'm hungry."

"Hang on, we only have the gun, we don't know if it's even loaded—" Petya heard a small buzz and a click. The three looked to Gene, who had a handful of old energy cells in one hand and a faintly glowing gun in the other. "Gene, Bud, you deserved getting strangled, you greedy little rat." Gene shrugged. "But still, we're four guys with one gun, we don't want trouble we can't handle."

"La~ame," Ivan sighed while his hands searched his pockets. "I can't eat more gumdrops, I need food!"

Petya grunted. "Whine, whine, whine, is there anything else you're good for?"

"I think I have some good ideas." Gene nodded in agreement as he twirled the pistol on his finger. "He thinks so too."

"He's also dumb as shit and gets the crap kicked out of him." The silent boy shoved the gun in his coat pocket and punched Petya in the shoulder.

"Well now he's got a gun—" Petya winced as he heard the clang! of Ivan's thick skull collide with metal. "Ugh, who left the trash can he—" He looked up, and the other boys did the same. They kept looking up, higher, higher, at the metal towers in the street, blocking their way home, blocking out the sparse sunlight. Things that looked more like walking weapons, mobile armaments, tools of war than they did people. They both had devices on their arms. Vault Boys, if Petya remembered right. The 'tribal who saved the Republic' was said to have a similar computer, and was allegedly involved with metallic monks for a brief time, many years ago. These two didn't appear quite so noble.

"What's Brotherhood doing all the way up here?" Petya murmured. Although, on second thought, this would be the place: out here on the outskirts, among the decrepit old buildings yet to be touched by NCR or whoever else set up shop in the better parts of the city. The Boneyard, or Angel's Boneyard, or whatever the Republic wanted to call the place was just too big. Overseeing the entire city and maintaining order just wasn't feasible, not when they kept pushing east. Even mutants and Brotherhood could come out of their holes in the ground and cause their trouble.

"We're here to collect," the further soldier said coolly, looking down on Gene as his partner stepped forward.

"We stole it first," Ivan snarled, spitting at the closer soldier's feet. The paladin responded with a sharp slap across the boy's face. Petya quickly pulled the younger boy back before it could escalate further.

"It's because of squabbling wastelanders like you that we have to look after these things," the woman barked. "If children like you can get a hold of weapons, anyone could. Someone has to keep all this safe." She knelt condescendingly to level with Ivan. "Even you rats understand that, right?"

Both the soldier and Gene grabbed for their guns. Petya didn't see which made a move first. Either was just as likely, honestly. "Gene...give her the gun," he urged. Neither drew yet, thankfully. The youngest boy hid behind Petya, who maintained his hold on Ivan. "Gene."

The other soldier pulled his partner back. "They're kids," he reminded sternly. "Just grab the gun and we can go."

"They're rats. No one will miss them."

The man tapped the screen on his arm. "We don't have time for this, let's—"

Seizing the opportunity, Gene fired. It could have been a great shot, or a terrible one, depending on what he was aiming for. The woman grabbed her laser rifle off of her back, only for it to be shot out of her hands. They boy pulled the trigger again, but it refused to budge. The paladin wrenched the pistol from his grasp and struck him on the head with a fist. With a quick slap in the right spot, green lightning coursed through the gun once again.

"Hang on," the other soldier growled. Another green ray streaked through the gray street. A surprised, pained squawk bounced through the decaying buildings as Gene fell back into muddy water that was soon as red as the rags the children wore. The paladin rolled her eyes as one of the boys instantly fell into a sobbing wreck, and the other a snarling, screaming beast. Stunned for a moment, the oldest boy quickly dragged the others away.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Ivan howled. "You're dead, I fucking—you're dead!"

"Pack it up, we're done here," she said with pride, paying no mind to the rabble getting dragged into the alleys. "Go see if he has anything else on him."

'What's the point?' the other soldier thought angrily. The gun looked like it could barely shoot, the old cells corroded in the chamber. It barely would have made a mark on power armor, this sort of reaction was completely unnecessary. Hell, a kid probably could survive a shot from that, if they were really lucky and built to last. But this one didn't seem to have luck on his side at all, and looked ready to snap if the wind blew too hard. ''Seizure of dangerous munitions.' What a joke.'

"Well?" his partner snapped.

"Alright," he grunted, though he wasn't sure if it was directed at him, or the people watching from the windows and alleys. He bent down and retrieved the nearly worthless energy cells from the boy's pocket; his eye caught a gleam, a dog tag around the kid's neck with a crude '6' carved into it. His hand rested on the boy's chest for a moment, then clenched around the tag.

"Are you coming? Or do I have to shoot you, too?" the first soldier joked.

The man's fingers wrapped around his pistol.

Blake sighed as the sun set on the campus, laying a deep, fiery red over the world.

Back on the earth, she saw Ruby and Yang with Yuri, the latter two bickering over something. She could see just fine, even from here; maybe she understood things better, now that she wasn't listening to the words. Yang appeared frustrated and defensive as she argued, lie she was genuinely infuriated by the man, but it looked almost too showy, too in-his-face, as if it was arguing for the sake of arguing, because that's what those two did. She probably just wanted something familiar; some people just couldn't stand the quiet. Yuri was waving his hands around and shrugging; everything suggested nonchalance and lightheartedness, all weighed down by something incredibly distressing. He looked away from Yang, then looked back and held his hand out, which she reluctantly high-fived. Back to normal, it seemed. Blake was glad for that, at the very least.

Yuri looked up, possibly making eye contact with the bedridden Faunus. That fake eye was too good.

For the slightest moment, he looked close to tears.

"I don't want to worry her, she's hurt! She's safe with us, it's Ruby who keeps falling for—" The door creaked open, and Pyrrha gasped. "Oh, Blake, you're awake!" Ren quietly shuffled in holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea and wearing an excessively frilly maid's apron that he seemed both mildly annoyed with and very comfortable in.

"Get that eye candy out there," Nora whispered from the hall.

"...We got you tea," he said simply. "...and Nora got me a new apron 'for you.'"

"I always get better faster when he dresses up," the huntress in question said cheerfully. "You'll be fine in no time."

"Now...it's not that we don't want you here," Pyrrha said quickly as she sat down. "It's always a pleasure whenever you visit, but...would there be any reason why you chose Ren's bed over your own?"

"This room has...a nicer view," Blake mumbled. It sounded silly saying it out loud. "I-I'm sorry...it sounds ridiculous, I can leave, I...just..."

Pyrrha, always understanding, nodded, almost urgently, just to be sure nothing she did or said was mistaken for sarcasm. "Yes, of course, I wouldn't want to watch trees and clouds all day while I was recovering, either. Well...I hope everything is fine, would you like anything else? One of your books?"

Blake looked out the window again. The three were talking again, a bit more courteously overall, and a great deal less comfortable. With a small wave, Yuri went on his way, and the sisters theirs. "Something with a happy ending, please."

What a difference a day made...

"—and where does he get off saying that? 'Go see my girlfriend,' my ass!" Ruby grinned and shrugged as her sister raved and ranted. "It's lies, it's bullshit! No goddamn way he has a girlfriend, I don't have a girlfriend!"

"I'm sure he meant 'friend who is a girl,' he has plenty of those," the younger girl comforted. "Well...not really...but he does hang out with a lot of girls."

"Heck no, why would he word it like that?"

"He words things weird all the time."

"God, whenever he opens his mouth I just want to smash his teeth in, it feels like my fist is burning up I'm so mad at him I'm peeved like hell, I just really wanna beat his ass so much it almost hurts me right now."

"Yeah, I can see that," Ruby muttered as she stepped away, though she kept her gaze on Yang's right arm. "You're practically glowing." Glowing more than usual, it seemed.

"I'll show him glowing, I swear, I...I..."

"He looked kind of..."

"Yeah." Yang visibly deflated. Usually this meant the fire in her arm would have faded as well, but it took a few seconds longer than the rest of her to settle down.

"And he said something about finishing a song? What was that about?" Ruby wondered.

"Nothing, just forget it."

"Yaaaang—"

"Hey, look at that really interesting thing that isn't this conversation!"

"And what 'interesting thing' would that be?"

"Uh...that...thing stuck in your hood."

"Yeah right, you can't get me with—" Yang plucked the card out of Ruby's hood. "...What is that?"

"Knight of Swords," Yang read aloud with an exasperated glance. "Tarot? Really? I didn't know you got this superstitious."

"His idea," the other huntress sighed.

"Of course, who else?"

Twenty-four little hours...

"Well, it could have been any of them," Yuri said to himself. He had a Nine of Swords, which had been buried deep in one of his pockets, clutched in one hand, and Ivan's scorched helmet in the other. "If they ever visited New Adytum, found any B.O.T.A. shit, got into Tarot." He looked into the helmet's eyes. "Did you? Ivan? What did you all do after Gene died? How'd you end up in the Divide?" The wind nearly blew the late Veteran's torn coat off the roof before he managed to grab it and weigh it down with the helmet. He looked at the metal scraps of salvaged power armor around him: a mix of pieces he recovered from his own shattered set, and whatever came off of Petya. "I think," he said to the armor scraps around him as he let his feet dangle over the edge. "I think, against all odds, despite your best efforts, I might have made them start almost liking me again." It was almost back to normal, an admittedly shakier than usual status quo managed once more, somehow. "I'm just the suavest, unluckiest son of a gun, aren't I?"

Everyone below was going about their business, as usual. Getting on better than he, it seemed. His gaze turned upward, to the great gray tower and the shining green beacons of light against the red cloudy sky, and Yuri let loose a shaky breath. A hand brushed his leg. He looked over the edge, felt nauseous once he saw the distant ground, and kept leaning forward. He could just...keep going...and not be bothered by any of this anymore...

He saw Blake's hand, and although it was startling, the touch brought him back down to earth, and not the way he thought he would go. It was comforting, and she probably knew it was, even if she didn't know the cause of his grief. She knew he was having a hard time, and he didn't like that one bit. The hand retracted, and came back with Li'l Devil. He reached down, and on his outstretched arm, he couldn't help but notice the Pip-Boy claimed he was now 'Good.' He figured it was a good deed, respecting the wishes of the dead, allowing them to rest with their wall and making memorials and whatnot. He just wasn't sure why anyone would do good deeds if they ended up feeling miserable or getting hurt because of it.

The Wastelander took hold of the gun, and it was a better reminder than anything she could have given him. He was not any remnant of the past, he was the Courier, here and now. The brothers, the Divide, all was in the past now. He cast one last glance to the courtyard below, to the tree above his temporary underground home, where the sun was setting on a lone rose and four planks of wood wedged in the ground. After a moment of thought, he gave one last nod of acknowledgement to PIRG of the Angel's Boneyard before playing one of his old tapes and resuming maintenance.

Brought the sun and the flowers...

AN: Good to be back. The song is What a Diff'rence a Day Made, written by Maria Grever, adapted to English by Stanley Adams, and performed by Dinah Washington. I sure hope the next chapter doesn't take so long, but there's about 250 emails in that folder and nothing in my life has gotten better. Than god for that.