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The doors shut behind her as she strutted down the steps to the front of the lecture hall, her heels making loud clacking noises that silenced the idle gossip of her students. She set her scroll down on the desk and picked up the white chalk that always rested beside her nameplate. She scratched large white letters in perfect handwriting across the blackboard, and turned to face her students.

"Good morning class. Today, as I mentioned last week, we will be discussing 'Pyromania', a recently discovered affliction caused by the absorption of red Dust residue over long periods of time. First observed two years ago by the Schnee Dust Company, Pyromania manifests as... what?"

A faunus freshman in the first row raised her hand.

"Miss Blackhawk?"

The student stood, arms hanging neatly by her side. "Pyromania manifests as increased aggression and explosive tendencies. Subjects also reported that they could hear voices in their head, urging them to murderous acts." She sat, smoothing her dress so it rested comfortably.

"Very good. After years of experiments with red dust, the SDC noticed that several dozen workers had all spontaneously taken up the habit of smoking. Or at least, that was the excuse they gave when confronted about why they were all carrying lighters. Placing the workers under observation, secretly, of course, the subjects became increasingly agitated and easier to anger, and eventually had to be restrained. These were the first cases of Pyromania. Since then, very few cases have appeared in the public.

"However, there is one very high-profile case that is occasionally brought up in the news, and is the source of the label 'Pyromania'. Can anyone tell me what it is?"

One of her laziest students, who sat in the far back of the classroom, raised his hand. "Ms. Schnee? I know it."

"Yes, mister Crown?" She kept her body perfectly still while inside she sighed.

"Yang Xiao Long." He neglected to stand, preferring instead to lounge backward with a smirk.

She sighed audibly, not bothering to hide her irritation with this student. "Correct, mister Crown. Moving on, the reason this case was not quickly resolved was beca-"

"Ms. Schnee?

She cracked the chalk in half. She hated being interrupted. Now she also needed new chalk. "Yes, mister Crown?" Students had a right to ask questions, she reasoned with herself, trying to calm down.

"Xiao Long was on your team right?"

"That is correct. Back to the task at ha-"

"She and Blake Belladonna were partners right?" She hated how he ended every sentence as a question. And he obviously knew he was right.

"That is correct, mister Crown. May I continue with the lesson, or would you prefer to lecture in my place?" Hopefully he would catch the hint. She turned back to the blackboard.

"So you would know if they were... more than partners?" Her heel made a high-pitched scraping noise as she turned slowly, silencing several giggles that had surfaced after the question. She'd known this was where he was heading, but hoped that he wasn't so dense as to actually ask. She glared, unblinking, into her student's eyes. After ten seconds of silence, she finally saw him piece it together. He was in big trouble.

"That is correct, mister Crown. Since you seem so interested in the subject, you have the option of writing either a thirty-page essay on Pyromania, or a sixty-page essay on the history and liberties of-"

"Um, may I stay for the remainder of the lesson?" He finally stood up when he spoke.

She smiled wide, revealing perfectly white teeth. "Now that you have interrupted me three times, I shall give you a third option. You have the essays, or you can have an extra credit..." She saw his eyes light up with hope. Dunce. "...sparring match with Professor Nikos. She is a close friend and I doubt she would hesitate to help a student with his studies. You may send me your response by scroll before the end of class. Now, I suggest you leave this classroom immediately before I freeze you to death." The smile never wavered. Crown was out the doors and down the hall before she'd picked out a new piece of chalk. "Any more questions?" She sweetly asked the remaining students, all of whom buried their faces in their notes.

...

"... and extra credit will be available for those who are willing to spend time researching Pyromania and the ongoing Xiao Long case. Please read and review chapters six through eight for next week. Class dismissed." She paused while the class quickly started packing their things. She'd calmed down, she decided. "And someone please share today's notes with mister Crown." Several students laughed as they exited.

Finally alone, she collapsed into the chair she never used. She checked the clock. Exactly five minutes early, as always. That gave her five minutes to tidy her desk and prepare the next lesson, but she was having trouble concentrating on the upcoming class. Yang, Blake, where are you two? She thought while gazing at the ceiling. Her breathing and heart rate were slowly increasing. What if we never find a cure? She forced a deep breath, calming herself and focusing on the task at hand before her mind spiraled into darker depths. She flicked away a lonely tear and organized her chalk. She had a Dust Properties 278 Class in three minutes, forty seven seconds.

She stumbled into the house, nearly breaking the door off its hinges as she crashed into it. The holes in the roof let bright rays of sun illuminate the dust and bugs that floated in the air, but revealed little else within the cramped four walls. The interior was on the edge of overgrown, full of weeds poking through the wood floor and ivy growing up the legs of rotting furniture. A cat screeched at her before bounding out one of the broken windows. It didn't matter to her, she didn't expect to stay here long. She just needed to conceal the village from herself. Or her other self. She wasn't sure where the boundary lay.

She collapsed onto all fours, feeling as though her stomach was struggling to escape from inside her. She puked, the small amount of water she'd drank mixing with a surprising amount of blood as it splashed onto the wood. She was gasping for air, each breath larger than the last as she tried to settle her stomach by filling her lungs. She sat back on her legs, cradling her arms and sobbing. While she was glad she was in control, she hated this part of consciousness. The part where she could feel the fury returning.

It had been a good day, meaning that she'd spent more than five hours able to move by her own command. But now she could feel them coming back, the burning, aching urges. As she hugged herself, tears falling onto her lap, she whispered the only reason she still tried anymore. "Blake... it hurts. Please help me." She'd left clues along the way, clues Blake would notice. It had taken the remains of her jacket to leave a trail for Blake in Atlas. She was left with only her yellow scarf, a tight-fitting orange tank top, black pants, and her brown boots. And Ember Celica, of course. She'd tried to leave it behind, in Beacon, in Atlas, even at the edge of the forest, but the rage always found it.

As it was finding her once again. The rising heat started in her chest, and she could feel it spread, suddenly vividly aware of the exact location of all arteries and veins in her body because they were burning. She started panting, her mouth watering, washing out the remains of the bloody vomit. Sweat covered her body, and she could feel her hair start to flare up. She dry-heaved, her stomach empty. She hated this part. She felt her body tense up, all muscles stressed, then relax. She hated this part. She bit her lip, hard enough to puncture the skin, as the pain spread from her heart throughout her body. She hated this part. Suddenly everything was red, and she hated everything.

Deep inside her mind, she watched herself smash every piece of furniture in the vacant house. She scared herself; she wanted it to end. But not really. A part of her enjoyed the power, the rush of heat and pleasure that came whenever Ember Celica fired. What she really wanted, most of all, was to be able to go back to how things were. With RWBY. With Blake. No. What she really wanted, most of all, was to burn. Burn everything, everyone. Burn Blake. No! She screamed at herself. She hated this part. The part where her mind turned on itself until it finally just shut down and let the fury burn.

She paid little attention to the cackling and guffaws of the men sitting in the safety harnesses behind her. They were typical men, swapping stories of sex and warfare, trading pin-ups and cigarettes. One, the team leader for the pack of mercenaries she'd hired, was retelling a particularly riveting tale of how he'd subdued a well-endowed redhead in Vacuo and their adventures as they ran from the local police.

The team was an ugly necessity. She decided to play this mission safe, especially after the events in Atlas. They were being air-dropped by Bullhead into an unsecured region of the Emerald Forest. She was confident in her skills, but there was safety in numbers. She examined the landscape, looking for evidence of Grimm, or clues to her prey, but she was interrupted by the mercenaries.

"Oi, Boss, what's the target like?"

She turned one ear, barely acknowledging the question. "What do you mean?"

"Like, how hot is she? We've heard some serious rumors." The group laughed, and the speaker waggled his eyebrows at his employer. "So come on, what is she like... in bed?" He raised a hand to his mouth, spreading his index and middle fingers into a 'V'. He licked the insides of his fingers and winked at her, much to the amusement of his companions.

Elbows and shushes preceded silence as the huntress turned to face them. They had stupid smiles on their faces, expecting explicit details. Cold, golden eyes stared off into the distance, unaffected by their behavior. A small twinkle indicated that those eyes were looking into the past, pulling up old memories. "She's hotter than the sun in the middle of July..." she replied with a small smile. She turned back around, resting a hand on her shoulder as she held tighter to the safety railing.

An uproar of laughter and high-fives rattled around the interior of the ship as the mercenaries made lewd jokes. She ignored them, trying to fight off flashes of the past that plagued her conscience.

She pulled the hood up to keep the wind from rushing down her back as the Bullhead lifted off. She was wearing tall black boots, black pants with two purple stripes near the knees, an indigo shirt with a high collar and mid-length sleeves, all covered by a black cloak with a red stripe running along the length.

Even after the airship left, the wind persisted. There was a chill in the damp air that had already begun to penetrate the multiple layers of her clothing. She was almost there, the wind pushing her closer and closer, like the cold hand of destiny. Soon it would be very, very warm.

They'd landed in a small clearing, the mercenaries deploying quickly and efficiently. She couldn't help but be impressed by the change in their attitude. Now she understood why this group was so highly sought after. She started forward, the mercenaries keeping pace, and the team tracked through the forest in a wide semicircle.

It wasn't long before they came across a small village. Small structures made of stones and logs, held together by poorly made nails. The people were dressed as though from another time, and eyed the heavily armed mercenaries with fear and suspicion. She examined the village, noticing that one house was conspicuously abandoned. It was situated at the end of an infrequently traveled street, weeds dominating the garden and holes decorating the roof. She took one step toward the house, but stopped when she heard two nearly simultaneous clicks.

"Get down!" She screamed at the villagers and her team. Two rockets shattered the doorway of the abandoned house, flying toward the huntress. She flipped over them, drawing her sword and landing in a crouch. She took a moment to quickly check on the mercenaries, flicking her eyes back to the house when she determined that they were unharmed. Shaken up, but maybe now they were taking this job more seriously. The villagers had all quickly taken shelter in the nearest building.

The team leader grumbled as he picked himself up and dusted off his rifle. "Tell your gal pal to chill out, will ya?" He moved to stand next to the black-cloaked huntress.

She responded without taking her eyes off the house. "How would you respond to thirteen armed warriors approaching your home?" She stood, unsheathing the second blade of Gambol Shroud. "Prepare yourselves." she called out to the team. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up.

The house at the end of the street exploded, and a blur of yellow soared out from the doorway, colliding with the leader. His body shot off into the forest, leaving spots of blood along the road. She was now side-by-side with her target, and she turned to face the yellow-haired woman. She was about to speak when she was interrupted by the group of mercenaries opening fire on the blonde. She wanted to scream, to shout at them to stop, to hold their fire and let her talk to her former partner. But she couldn't blame them for panicking either. The blonde was scary. She was cackling maniacally as she leaped from man to man, crushing bones and knocking them into buildings or out toward the forest.

She shook her head to regain her focus, and began to move toward the whirling storm of fists. She broke into a run, dragging her blades along the ground as she dashed forward. She leaped off a shadow and slashed downward, hoping to incapacitate the yellow-haired devil.

When she was inches away, two strong, gauntleted hands caught her blades, freezing her descent. Red eyes of insanity glared into golden orbs. "I love it when you're feisty!" the blonde said, licking her lips. She shadowed away from the brawler, landing and immediately dropping to a knee to avoid a punch, sliding around and preparing herself. The blonde laughed and shivered in pleasure. "I love it when you're feisty!" she repeated. Flurries of yellow fists bombarded her, deflected by black steel or aura-guarded arms. They seemed evenly matched, but she knew it was a losing battle. Whenever an opening presented itself, the image of a young girl with long blonde hair and smiling lilac eyes appeared, and she froze. She couldn't strike the demon as long as her partner was still somewhere within. A minimal amount of motion to the side caught her attention. A small child was watching from the porch of a local business. The distraction was all the devil needed to land a vicious punch straight into her stomach, sending her skipping along the ground.

Her vision was slowly clearing as she tried to sit up. The motion was incredibly painful, the wounds to her torso nearly causing her to vomit. She looked up, the blonde a silhouette as she towered over her. A fist rose and fell, and she prepared for the end. "Blake!" Golden eyes flashed open, locking to the lilac of her partner. "Blake... its me." The blonde was shaking, struggling to control herself.

Blake stood, taking a step away from the blonde. "Y-Yang?" Tears began to roll down her cheeks. It had been so long...

Slowly, Yang managed to lower her fists. "Blake... help me." Blake moved forward, hugging her partner and resting her forehead against the brawler's shoulders, her tears dripping onto Yang's shirt. Yang was frozen, scared that any movement would bring back the demon inside her. "Blake... quickly."

Blake stood back, nodding. She sniffed and wiped her eyes before turning away. She sprinted, jumping over bushes and roots as she made her way back to the clearing. "Yang, please... come back to me." She cried as she ran. She could hear her partner's wailing in the distance, and clenched her teeth as the scream slowly returned to laughter.

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