Patch was burning, and Ruby Rose was running. Smoke clouded her vision and infested her lungs, screams and roars tore through her ears. Gunfire bounced off the stone walls of the alleyways, some shots punctuated by the howls of Grimm in pain as they met their mark. A roar behind her reminded her of the death she was currently escaping. She was on the west side of town, somewhere by the market based on the smoldering husks of what once appeared to be shops. Only three or four blocks from the outskirts and then...then she was a mile from home.

No. Can't think about that now, have to get to the outskirts then I'll find a way back home, I've got to.

She poured every ounce of her energy into her short, seven-year-old legs, and was rewarded by a small acceleration as the tiny limbs pumped her minutely faster towards her goal. The dim silver of the stars in the night sky was blocked here and there by gray clouds that flew briskly through the air; black smoke from the fires that raged throughout Patch aided the consuming darkness.

A glaring orange light scorched her vision to the right, followed by a roar that she could feel in her bones. She was somewhat aware that her feet were no longer touching the ground, and then her back smacked against something immovable, sending waves of pain across her body. Her thoughts were disjointed as her eyes blinked in bleary unison.

"Owwww.."

She was on her back, the stars and scars above dancing in and out of focus with the twins that swam beside them. She could hear no sound from her right, and all her left ear heard was a ringing that blared through her mind.

She tilted her head to the right as slow as she could, and her breakfast threatened to force its way up out of her gullet. She managed to push it back down. Barely. The blazing skeleton of a building to her right danced upon her memories, but the ringing in her head destroyed any coherent thoughts she had.

The stench of burning sugar singed her nose, the acrid smell crushing the ringing in her head. Sweet Watch, she realized. It is - a blink - was her favorite sweets store in the market. The Town Watch soldiers ran it when they were off duty, though the baker was always the same. He always gave her a smile, a tussle of hair, and a secret bag of new flavors for her to taste test.

She hoped he was okay.

A cold corner dug into her left bicep, the pain there nagging at her consciousness. With monumental effort she managed to tear her sight away from the roaring orange of the sweets shop and towards her left. Her nose abruptly met something cold, rough, and gray as she did so. Concrete. But how…?

Her eyes flicked back to Sweet Watch. Ah. The force of the blast had thrown her directly against the foundation of the house opposite the store. A squat building made of tan colored brick, and criss-crossed with dark wooden frames.

She'd never realized how pretty the look was before, it was no red and black obviously, but still, it was acceptable.

A confused growl from behind her caused her head to snap backwards. Something she instantly regretted as her breakfast reappeared on the street with a stinky vengeance. She retched and hacked, her throat on fire as her eyes watered. The last of the vomit dangled in strands of chunky spittle from her mouth.

Another growl, and this time, seeing as her breakfast was on the sidewalk, the only consequence of her head snapping to the source was the wave of dizziness.

An ivory mask coated in red trim and bright white claws were the most visible parts of the Beowulf that kneeled in the flickering shadows of the inferno. Its black form shifted indecisively between visible and obscure, the latter solely allowed by the orange inferno of the sweets shop next to it. But there was something wrong. Where there should be two burning red eyes there was only darkness and the dribbling of smoky pitch down the mask. The beast hadn't heard her vomit either. She blinked.

It's blind and deaf, she realized with a sigh. The pressure of the blast wave must've popped the beowulf's eyes and eardrums, leaving it only its senses of touch and smell to navigate. Explains why it hasn't charged me yet. She smirked, and the world around her tilted and swirled.

In a way, Yang had saved her. If it hadn't been for that trip into the woods where they'd both almost died, her father would've waited another year to unlock her aura. As it stood, her aura, while at a child's level, still saved her life. But not my ear, she thought with a frown, right hand moving shakily to touch the trickle of warm liquid that ran down her right cheek. It came away stained red.

Ruby's head was pounding, but her vision had stopped swimming. With a groan she managed to bring her arms below her and push herself to her knees, the ground swimming beneath her before she clenched her eyes shut. One leg at a time straightened out, and soon she found herself standing straight up. But not without help.

You're a good wall. A few pats with the left arm that pressed against it for support. A very good wall.

She turned her head towards the Grimm that scrabbled uselessly at its now empty eye sockets. And you are a very bad Grimm, Mr. Beowulf.

She had just turned around, her body facing down the street that led out of town when a thought stopped her. It was an afterthought really, a passing mourning for Sweet Watch, but it made her stop dead in her tracks from realization.

Sweet Watch, her favorite sweets store, was run by the town watch. Therefore it was immediately beside, even linked to, the Patch Third Armory.

Where every gram of military-grade dust in Patch was kept.

Ruby began to panic. She staggered forward, glancing over her shoulder every third step to check on the progress of Sweet Watch's inferno. It licked at the steel reinforced walls of the armory angrily, growling for the fuel locked within.

She wasn't sure how much was left, but considering the fact that Patch had fallen in only a few hours she bet it was a lot.

"Drat, drat, drat," she cursed under her breath as she made her way shakily down the next block. Progress was painfully slow, especially compared to how fast she was used to going with her semblance, but, with how her muscles and legs groaned and how the world still seemed to tilt just a little, that was no surprise.

The fire of Sweet Watch was about five-hundred feet behind her, but she still didn't think that was enough. The flames had begun to superheat the outside of the steel walls, turning the inside of the building into an absolute furnace.

She wasn't going to make it to the tree line in time.

Red-tipped hair bounced on her head as it snapped left and right scanning for something, anything that would get her out of this situation alive. Need to see Yang and Dad again, need to see Yang and Dad again.

Her eyes locked on a house painted an alabaster white. The perfect coat of ivory would glow orange and purple as it reflected the light of the setting and rising sun, and during the day it would blossom into a soft yellow as the midday sun bounced off it. During festivals, when the denizens of Patch strung up lights and lanterns through the streets, the house would be like a rainbow; the borders of the colors indistinct and blurred as they reflected off, but beautiful all the same. It was the Welkins' house. An old man and an old woman, Ruby made sure to always stop by whenever she could on her trips to and from the market square, ask them about their day, and compliment them on their impeccably painted house. They'd always smile, and if she really laid it on thick, or they were feeling particularly generous, they'd give her a cookie.

This time the sinister, orange glow of the Welkins' house was anything but comforting. The front door of the house was shattered, bits of oak clinging to broken hinges while chunks lay embedded in the wall.

The bunker.

The thought was at the forefront of her mind as her scanning ceased. The Welkins were a particularly paranoid couple, even for people who lived outside the Cities. When they weren't fawning over her, they were ranting about Doomsday scenarios: when the Grimm would finally raze Vale, when Atlas and Vacuo would finally get fed up and duke it out, sucking the rest of Remnant into their conflict in the process. Endless pessimistic rants, but Ruby never called them crazy or made fun of them, unlike some other denizens of Patch. Mrs. Welkin also made really really good cookies; those jerks didn't know what they were missing.

It was because of this, maaaaaybe incentivized kindness, that Mr. Welkin had pulled her aside one day and told her that her family was welcome in their bunker when 'the Grimm came and killed us all.' He'd even told her the location of the key in case 'the worst happened,': in the cookie jar in the kitchen.

Ruby didn't have the heart to tell him that her family, save for herself and Yang, were all veteran huntsman and huntresses, and that, if a doomsday event like that ever occurred, they'd probably be fighting until everyone was safe or they themselves were dead. Like heroes do.

But, well, it looks like the Welkins had been right.

Ruby pushed herself as hard as she could, her short legs alight with protest and pain that howled with each step. She had just crested the last step and stumbled through the open doorway when she saw them.

Mister and Missus Welkin were very much dead. Mr. Welkin had a gaping hole in the middle of his chest where a claw must've pierced it; he lay face down in his own blood, his arm outstretched towards the corpse of his wife that lay spread in three minced strips towards the door to their room.

"No…" She whispered, her voice seeming to tear through the oppressive silence that managed to pervade the house despite the chaos outside. Tears welled in her eyes, and dripped haphazardly from her face before splashing into the pool of blood surrounding her feet.

Tiny fists quivered violently with pent up emotion, and her arms themselves were rigid with grief. She stayed like that for a whole minute, just staring at the remains of the people she only slightly knew, but still mourned. A shaking howl echoed from down the street, riving through her mind and forcing her from her stupor. Hurried steps through the blood coated her boots in crimson as she moved towards the kitchen, leaving bloody tracks over the usually spotless hardwood floor.

She could hear scrabbling and scratching and growling from closer down the street as the Beowulf neared her. She knew she couldn't afford to panic, knew the Grimm would sense it and, combined with her mourning, would drive it into a frenzy. But she was a child, and she couldn't help it.

Her breath came ever quicker and her whole body was shaking with adrenaline as she barreled into the kitchen, heading for the familiar, bright white cookie jar nestled into the corner of the kitchen counter and fridge. She flipped the thing over in her panic, shaking out every cookie and only having part of her heart break alongside every delicate sweet that shattered on the counter.

"Come on, come on, come oooon."

Tink.

The bright steel key, her salvation, clanked softly against the green countertop and she couldn't help but squee. The teeth of the thing bit into her skin as she scooped it up, her feet stumbling slightly as she did.

The bunker entrance was in the living room hidden under a bright pink rug intricately decorated with adorable renditions of the Creatures of Grimm. 'You and yours are always welcome, ya hear?'

Rubber soles pounded a panicked beat as she sprinted into the living room; on her right was a doorway that led to the main hallway of the house, all the way to the shattered remnants of the front door. On her left was the beautiful wood and paper sliding door that led out to the backyard.

She couldn't stop the grin that spread wildly across her face as she threw the rug off the heavy steel portal that heralded her sanctuary. Clammy hands jittered with the padlock on the two heavy handles of the half-doors. She had it gripped in one hand while the other shook violently as the spear missed the keyhole again and again, cutting into her hand with each attempt.

Finally, the key slid into a padlock with a resounding click, and she snapped her hand to the right to unlock the thing. The top arch popped out of the lock with a clunk and pale hands scrambled to get the hook off the handles so she could just get it open.

The lock had just cleared the handle and her spirits had just begun to soar when a howl and tremendous crash signalled the Beowulf's arrival. The thing came careening through the shattered door frame at top speed, slamming into and through the drywall with a grunt and a crack as it stumbled back in a daze. It took a wild swing at the wall as its foot met Mr. Welkin's skull with a sickening crunch.

The thing didn't hear it, but it felt it. It felt her fear. An ivory mask and empty eye sockets dripping with smoky black liquid turned slowly towards the source. The holes found her eyes, boring through her skull as the emptiness pinned her to the spot. Its mouth clicked, rolling hills of serrated bone dripping with blood and bits of flesh. Muscles coated in black fur and bone rolled like tsunamis as it shifted and stormed down the hallway.

Oh truck.

Ruby's hands gripped the left door handle and her whole body stiffened as she yanked on it with every ounce of strength she had.

"Freakin'...open!" She pleaded as her whole body strained and shook. The metal yielded ever so slightly, and she could see a tiny sliver of shadow that the interior was cloaked in.

The Beowulf was halfway down the hall, its nose and ears twitching madly while its maw spewed spittle as it bounded towards her. The smoking sockets were locked on her, and it seemed to almost smile.

The Beowulf's feet pounded upon the hardwood floor, leaving webs of cracks across the polished surface with each step. The door opened a little more. The Beowulf was ten feet from the living room, but the door was just barely three inches open.

For a fraction of a second Ruby was tempted to give up, to let the door drop and let the Beowulf consume her. Her grip slackened ever so slightly and her eyes slipped closed. The pounding of the Grimm, the roaring of the fire, the cracking of distant gunshots, and the screams of far away deaths all fading to a low pitched droning that she pushed to the back of her mind.

A voice echoed through her thoughts, an impossible voice, a voice that filled her with warmth.

"Don't you worry, Little Rose, you'll be a hero someday. You were born to be one"

Silver eyes shot open, glinting like pools of molten steel in the flickering orange glow.

No. No, I won't die like this.

Ruby Rose roared a tiny, squeaky roar and pulled with every fiber of her being, her dwindling aura augmenting her small arms and shoulders unconsciously as she pulled.

With a cry of rusted hinges the steel gave, its inertia finally overcome. It seemed to open in slow motion, the dull silver of the moon sparkling on the corners. Her eyes shot back to the source of the house's personal earthquake.

The Beowulf's clawed feet had just torn into the strips of Mrs. Welkin, her blood flying across the air in glistening droplets. Ruby dove into the darkness below.

Her right shoulder smashed against a hard surface she could not see. She could hear the door slam against its hinges as its momentum did a one-eighty and smashed it back down to its original resting place, severing the menial moonlight and shrouding her in total blackness.

The triumphant howl of the Beowulf was followed not ten seconds later by the grating of claws across steel.

Silence.

A beastial howl of pure frustration and rage was muffled by the thick steel of the door. Grinding swipe after grinding swipe raked uselessly across the reinforced metal, and yielded no results. Luckily, the Beowulf couldn't see that.

Ruby's hands moved to her skirt pocket and grasped her scroll. Her arms and legs shook with leftover adrenaline that still coursed through her system, shaking the tiny device like a breeze shook a leaf in Fall. She pulled the scroll open and browsed through her contacts as fast as she could with her shivering fingers before they rested on a single name: Dad.

Her finger pressed glass.

The gentle ringing tone bounced off the unseen concrete walls of the bunker, contested only by the still unsteady sounds of her breath and the sharp scraping of claws on steel.

A blond man with piercing blue eyes and stubble clinging to his chin filled her screen. His face was a study in how to mask almost all consuming panic, but the second the call connected and he saw her face lit by the light of her scroll a relieved smile erupted from his mouth.

"Ruby! Oh thank Dust you're alive. Where are you? Are you hurt? Are there Grimm nearby? What types are they? What's your Aura level? Wha-"

"Dad, is that Ruby?! Is she okay?!" A familiar female voice screamed from off screen.

Ruby couldn't stop her smile, "I'm okay, Yang, maybe deaf in my right ear, but okay."

"What?!" Two blondes shouted in unison, accompanied by another mess of golden hair that barged into the screen, the lilac eyes that accompanied them flashing crimson.

Her smile turned sheepish and she began to mutter. "I, uh, well I-I may have been too close to Sweet Watch when it sort of kinda maybe went boom." One hand scratched the back of her head, digging through the red-black cover of hair and down to her scalp.

Crimson eyes switched back to lilac while sapphire ones filled with concern.

"Ruby," Taiyang spoke, his voice stern and calm, "where are you?"

"The Welkin's bunker," an immense sigh of relief came from her family, a flicker of pride flashing across her face as she listened to the Grimm scrape uselessly against the steel. "There's a Beowulf clawing at the door, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything. It's blind and deaf from Sweet Watch too, I think." A pause as she remembered those smoking sockets. Shivers crept up her spine. "Where are you guys? That doesn't look like home."

The very little of the backdrop that wasn't covered by the wall of blond hair was a steel color; wires encased in thick black rubber crossed the ceiling in organized lines, matched by pipes that she could barely see.

"We're on The Axe, an air-carrier that came to help with evacuation, but that's not important. Ruby, you need to stay there." Taiyang's voice was soft but stern, and allowed for no argument, "I'll come and get you, I just need a bullhead to drop me off and I'll be there, but I need you to wait. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, her short hair bouncing to cover her eyes for a second as it moved with the sudden motion. "Yeah, yeah I can."

"Don't worry, sweetie, I'll be there before you know it, promise. Okay, Yang can you-"

The screen went half black as a hand covered the camera; a moment later her sister's broad smile filled the screen. "Don't worry, Dad, I'll keep Ruby company."

"Alright," her father's voice came from somewhere off screen, "I love you both, and I'll be right there, Ruby; just hold tight."

The metallic and static-y footfalls of her dad as he made his way down a hallway that she couldn't see reverberated through through the speaker and around the bunker. Yang was talking non-stop, but Ruby wasn't really listening. Her heels bounced her form up and down in excitement as a grin of monstrous proportions split her face. Her dad was coming for her, and he'd kill any Grimm in his way, no sweat. All she had to do was sit here and wait; thank Dust she didn't have to sit still. She was going to be okay.

"Don't worry, Rubes, dad's gonna be there before you know it, and he's gonna kick so much Grimm butt that we can move back home tonight and then have some awesome stew," a pause as the blond gasped for air. "I promise."

It was then that things started to go wrong.

Yang's voice, which she hadn't been paying much attention to, began to break up. The video on her screen froze, going from still photo to still photo, each one showing a blond girl with ever growing concern.

"Yang? Yang, what's happening? You're freez-"

A thundering vibration shook the bunker and every bone in her body. The whole room seemed to turn to liquid beneath her feet, throwing her to the ground as it did.

The scroll slipped from her hands, forgotten in her body's instinctual move to protect her head as it pitched towards the floor way way too fast. Skin made contact with the quaking ground just as the scroll did. It landed screen down and skidded across the floor to a corner on her left.

She scrabbled across the shaking floor; she had to get back to her scroll. The dim yellow light provided by Yang's hair illuminated a shelf that went all the way to the roof of the bunker, stocked high with can after can of food. One in particular, a can of dried Pumpkin Pete's Oatmeal, teetered ominously before falling off the shelf.

The can's fall seemed to last for a whole minute, the smiling bunny mocking her as it plunged towards the one and only lifeline she had to her family. She tried as hard as she could, tried to dig deep down into some unknown reserve of energy to power up her semblance, but she couldn't. She could only lay there and watch as the smiling and jolly face of Pete smashed into the screen of her scroll and plunged the room back into darkness.

Her hands scraped desperately against the concrete as she crawled closer to where her scroll had fallen. The ground seemed to solidify as she did, and soon she found herself on her feet and running, though with how tired she was it was more of a slow jog.

Her foot clanged against something hard as she ran in the pitch black. For the second time in thirty seconds she found herself falling forward, but her hands only met more cans when they needed ground.

She brought her forearm to bear in front of her face at the last second; it slammed into the concrete, and her head slammed into her arm.

"Ow," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the sleeve enveloping her mouth. She pushed herself up to her feet once more. Okay, walk slowly. Every footfall was delicate from here as she fought to exercise restraint with every step. Whenever she felt something hard that rolled beneath her foot she would kick it softly aside and out of her path. It continued like this for way way too long, and frustration began to boil beneath every thought. When her hand finally felt along the wall and found the corner she'd been searching for she nearly squeaked in relief, her mind and body jittery and impatient as they were.

She bent down and slid her hand across the floor, feeling for any sign of her scroll. The concrete was coarse and dry against her skin, but not painfully so. After thirty seconds of nothing she found her objective.

Well, half, of her objective.

She gripped the bottom piece of the scroll in her hand, her thumb absentmindedly pressing the golden button at the base over and over again.

Truck.

She pouted in frustration and kicked the nearest can, hoping that it was the evil Pumpkin Pete's Oatmeal that shattered her connection with her family. Faster than last time, she made her way back to what she thought would be the center of the bunker and dropped to her knees before collapsing backwards onto her back with a soft thud. She sighed.

This isn't the end of the world. Dad knows where I am and he promised he would be here soon, all I have to do is stay here. Another sigh. Okay, could definitely be better there. But at least the scratching's stopped. Wait.

Ruby sat up, her good ear cocked upwards at where she thought the doors would be. Nothing. Huh. She made her way around the blackness, hand trailing along behind her body as she felt for a ladder or sudden emptiness that indicated a staircase. It didn't take long given that her memory still functioned soundly. Her hand wrapped around the thick metal rung as the other searched for the one above it, and her feet kicked and felt for the ones below.

Technically, -she grabbed a rung- I'm not leaving the bunker -another grab and another step upwards- just investigating the doors -she was only a foot away from the hatch now- no way that dad'll mind.

One tiny hand shot forth from her body and met the cold steel of the hatch. With all that she had left she pushed.

Nothing.

Well, it was really heavy.

She pressed her back against the wall for support, and placed her other hand on the same door. Again she pushed, and again nothing happened.

"Stupid," a grunt, "dumb," a shove, "butthead door!"

She gave the tiniest of growls at the door. It wasn't afraid of her.

Sighing, she climbed back down the ladder before plopping her butt down on the rough concrete floor. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness but it was still just so thick. There wasn't even the tiniest of lights slipping through the bunker doors anymore. There was only the dark.

Power. I need to find the power. Power leads to light and light means no more dark.

She nodded, a contented smile spreading across her pale face.

"Alright, Mr. Generator, wheeeree are you?"

Ruby Rose woke with a start. Above her, chipping red paint revealed rusted steel in a starburst pattern while a tiny yawn bounced through the cold air of her favorite cargo container. The soft pitter patter of light raindrops on thin, corrugated, and rusted metal played softly overhead. A grimace stretched out across her soft features.

Stupid dream. Stupid dumb useless dream. She shook her head, red tips playing into her peripherals as her hair bounced around. She didn't need that dream today of all days, but that's how her luck had always seemed to be.

Nothing was ever easy for Ruby Rose.

But that's fine, she thought, throwing off her ratty and ragtag excuse for a blanket. That's how I like it.

Her joints popped and groaned in relief as she moved her body once again. She always did hate staying still for long. Sleep's a good exception though. She tore off the threadbare hoodie that formed her pajama top and threw it to her left where it landed with a soft plop on the container floor. It sat in blissful solitude for one glorious second before the hole-filled sweatpants that were two feet too long piled on top with equal disregard.

Ruby scanned the three hooks and corner pile that held her wardrobe. She picked her favorite, and only, sports bra and slipped it on, followed in short order by underwear.

Need something that blends in. Something unsuspicious. Innocent. Until I get to the overlook, of course. Silver eyes glistened over the clothes like spotlights. Thoooooouuuugh, she hummed, the street rat look always gets ignored. A smile tugged at the edges of her lips. Also the most honest look for me. Street rat it is.

She hummed her favorite song, the only one she could remember from while Patch was still standing. It was fast and intense, with electric chords and crashing drums, filling her mind with energy as she let it overwhelm her thoughts. Her hum may not have been able to replicate the whole song, but it served as a good base to get lost in.

She grabbed her threadbare hoodie and slipped it on, small hands reaching halfway down the forearm area before coming to an abrupt stop. A series of intermittent thuds on the steel floor and her determined grunting signalled her literal hopping into her torn and mangled jeans.

Ruby looked down. The once gray hoodie was now dyed more with stains than it ever had been with true color. Holes spotted the chest and a tear ran the length of the right side of the hood. Her jeans, which were two sizes too big and four inches too long, were ragged in every meaning of the word. Holes, tears, worn down threads, and a hundred different stains littered the denim that hung loosely around her lower body. On her feet was her favorite pair of black boots; their laces were frayed and cut, the holes for the laces had turned more into ruptures, and the soles were so worn down that they may as well have been smooth. She loved them.

Her humming, though now through a smile, continued as she walked with a pep in her step towards her favorite corner in her whole house, apartment, container, thing. Nestled gingerly behind her only curtain was her combat gear. She'd seen it a thousand times, but she still couldn't help but squeal: comfortably loose black pants with pockets and pouches lining the thighs, a black long-sleeved workout shirt with a high neck, and a thick red leather jacket with black trim complete with over ten pockets, padded elbows and shoulders, and it actually fit her! There were other accessories that she'd picked up in her travels too that managed to fit her style: a black winter hat-and-mask combination that she'd picked up off a bandit that appeared to be Atlesian, an old pair of ski goggles with a reflective red visor she'd found in the ruins of Patch, some black combat gloves with "super-grip" palms and armored knuckles, and, of course, her torn and fraying red cloak and hood combo.

She picked up every object with the care of a mother handling their child before gently placing them inside her worn green rucksack, positively beaming as she did. And, gradually, she revealed what lay behind them: her pride and joy. One object, midnight black in color with red stripes, appeared to be nothing more than a rather bulky rectangle. The other looked a bit more dangerous, even in its storage form: an immaculately polished and gleaming steel blade longer than her arm lay folded and sheathed atop a series of compacted, red and grey steel rods of equal length.

Ruby Rose shook with delight as she picked up the weapons with the utmost care and placed them softly atop the rest of her gear. She took a second, or fifteen, to admire her collection before zipping the bag closed, sealing her gear in darkness. With practiced ease she swung the thing over her shoulder and onto her back, looping her left arm through the remaining strap.

She practically skipped outside her container and onto the docks she was so happy.

Early evening light shone onto the docks, the rusted and dull containers eagerly slurping up every single ray, refusing to reflect it back into the world. Dilapidated and abandoned warehouses, rotting wooden posts, shattered streetlights, and broken and rusted safety chains lined the depressing mix of noxious green and emotionless gray that made up the seawall. Her footsteps were a combination of squishes through seaside muck or a soft thud unnoticeable above the endless din of inter-kingdom commerce. The repugnant scent of salt, dead fish, machine lubrication, and the inherent greasiness of the slums attacked her nostrils with renewed fury as the wind picked up.

Vale wasn't her favorite place, that's for sure, but it was where she could do the most good, help the most people. Cookies would help the smell a lot, she thought, blowing a rebellious strand of hair back into line with a targeted breath. Cookies would help everything a lot.

The stench died somewhat as she neared the Old Weyerhauser Bridge that linked the southern industrial district to the northern quarter. A graceless amalgamation of iron and cobblestone mixed with neon dust coils; to most it was hideous, to Ruby though, it just needed a few touch ups, mostly of the red variety.

The Northeastern Industrial District was a lot less...shipping focused than the rest. Here massive smokestacks dominated the skyline, thrusting upwards as they belched interminable plumes of smog into the sky. The coarse static of the sea was replaced, quite abruptly, by the overwhelming tidal wave of sound formed by the endless crashing and clanking of dust powered machines.

The factories here were either almost completely autonomous, or manned almost exclusively by Faunus laborers. With the night shift having just begun the streets were mostly empty with only scattered pockets of stray animals digging through the muck or, probably corrupt, police officers loitering in idling patrol cars.

In general, her trudges through any area of the Industrial District were uneventful. The inhabitants were accustomed to seeing the poverty she embodied, and therefore pretty good at shrugging it off and ignoring her. Though it made it worse that she was a human in a mostly Faunus district; she'd never been attacked before, but she'd definitely never been comfortable. She could feel the baleful gaze of Faunus wherever she roamed here.

"Evening, Ruby." But there are always others. She smiled.

"Hey, Twig, how's the booze tonight?" she said with an easy wave to her right as her body continued forward.

The old man's face was streaked with grease and dirt, his worker's uniform in much the same state, but with a few extra hasty stitches here and there to fix holes and burns. The small of his back rested greedily against the wall, thin legs spread out before him on the crumbling fire escape. A cloudy brown bottle rose shakily to his lips every six seconds, followed by another two of swallowing. A sigh slipped from his lips as soon as the bottle moved away, accompanied with a small twitch of his white dog ears.

"Shit, as always." He glared at the murky brownness before his eyes began roaming over the gray blanket the smog had laid over the vibrant, late evening sky. "So it's just like the rest of this damn district in this damn city."

His blue eyes, blurry and bloodshot from the haze of alcohol combined with smog, inched back to her unwashed form. "Don't go gettin' yourself into trouble tonight. Fang are on the prowl after one of us was killed for 'resisting arrest'; take any excuse they can to get their hands on a human for 'training.' 'Specially a one-off like you."

They won't see me, Twig. Promise. "Stay outta trouble tonight, got it." Never said I'd do it, just that I got it. Her body slipped into the dark embrace of a side alley as she rounded the corner, equally black boots carefully avoiding broken glass, needles, and stagnant pools of sludge.

Shadows spun and whirled across the muddied walls of the alleyway, a forest of strings laden with rustling cotton birthing and killing dancers on the whim of the wind. Puny shards and whole bottles alike acted as chandelier crystals in a ballroom, scattering and reflecting the orange rays in a mesmerizing kaleidoscope. Used needles sang with illumination as they too joined in the last and most spectacular celebration of another day. Her eyes locked onto the ledge of the tenement rooftop, and, in a finale fit for the Amity Coliseum, she moved. A forest of wet cotton clapped as it was buffeted aside, birthing a thousand new dancers that frolicked to her scattering tune. The crystals that had been near her bounced and flew, bursting to tell their neighbors of what beauty they had seen as they screamed and splashed in awe. The needles played a brilliant crescendo of red, burning with passion and life for a brief second before her tune reached the candle that illuminated it all. And then the alley was quiet, lambent petals that spiralled gently to the ground the only evidence of her presence.

The puddle ridden roof grunted in surprise as Ruby suddenly appeared kneeling atop it. Silver eyes shot up, scanning the rooftop for any signs of unwelcome inhabitants. Seeing nothing obvious, Ruby rose with a self-satisfied grin before jogging over to the decayed block of steel that must once have been the tenement climate control.

Her body hugged the orange sides as she did one last examination of the rooftop from the perimeter of the steel behemoth.

Her body relaxed. Alone.

With careful precision she lowered her rucksack off her shoulders and onto the grimy embrace of the roof. Tiny hands moved with ease through the cramped bag, unpacking everything as fast as the eye could see. With equal speed she undressed, haphazardly tossing the pants and hoodie into the gaping maw of the rucksack before she turned to her neatly folded combat gear. She donned it all in under thirty seconds, the fastening of her cloak around her neck marking the end of her mental stopwatch.

She frowned. Still not faster than my record. Gloved hands closed the rucksack and nestled it under an old duct linked to the central unit. Oh well, I can practice when I get home. But nooooow, she turned to face the Northern edge of the roof, torn and tattered cloak fluttering softly in the night air. Two hands reached upwards to her masked face, adjusting her goggles slightly as she did.

The city of Vale burned a vicious red in the reflection of her visor.

It's time to help.

A/N: Hello all, and welcome to Sanguine! This story will primarily feature Ruby in a canon-divergent little AU-ish type deal of mine. I'm hesitant to reveal too much at the moment, but I do think that y'all will enjoy this one! I know I certainly enjoy writing it.

As for updates, well, I have four chapters written at the moment, totalling 20,000 or so words. That said, I won't be updating weekly until I run out of pre-written content like I did for The Ivory Champion. Instead, I'll post a chapter whenever I finish writing the most recent one, that way, should I not be able to write for a while, I have a small buffer of pre-written material to post.

A word about chapter length: Sanguine chapters will generally be longer than The Ivory Champion chapters, but to what degree sort of varies. Sometimes a lot, sometimes a little, and sometimes even. Just a little heads up.

The only thing I'm a little iffy about is Ruby's combat clothes design, let me know what you guys think of them, I can change them or improve them/other stuff.

Let me know what you guys think of this chapter/concept, I'll take any and all criticism/feedback you guys give me. It's all useful somehow, so don't be afraid to just write about a phrase or sentence you liked or hated, or maybe a little speck of irony here or there, something like that.

That's all for today, folks! Have a good one, and stay safe out there!

4/20/2017 editing notes: Went through the first part of this chapter (up to when Ruby wakes up) and rewrote/fixed a lot of weirdly worded and incorrect stuff. I think it reads better, but that could be just me.