So yeah, its been a while.

I'm not gonna lie, I hit a major burnout, and struggled with a lot of things back home mentally. Don't worry, I've gotten much better now, but I finally did something worth while, and plan to make a schedule for myself, as it would help a lot. Please, PLEASE comment what you think, it really helps me out, and thanks for your time.

Enjoy!

Damn the cold and everything about it. Jaune would have screamed that into the loud, whistling, frigid wind if his jaw would stop chattering. It was as though it had turned into a novelty wide-up toy. The snow wasn't much help either, crunching with every little step, putting a strain on his footing. The ice underfoot was just icing on the proverbial cake. At least Jaune was prepared for the Atlas tundra, wearing a thick coat over his usual armor. It was a tad heavier, but easy to deal with. At least it didn't stop him from doing his job. Even if it involved killing Grimm in the middle of nowhere, where you couldn't see anything but snow.

A beowolf charged out of the frozen mist, claws slashing gashes in the gas, streaking for Jaune's exposed neck. Jaune ducked, taking a jab for the joint under its armpit while its arm was extended. The beast roared as its arm went limp, and Jaune spun, cutting its head off while it dispersed into haze. Another crept under his side, with another approaching at the back, attacking in a random pattern like the unpredictable and hungry animals they were. He could see another one as well, racing through the snow on all fours.

With a deep breath, Jaune held his ground, drifting slightly to the side, swinging in a diagonal arc, dragging the sword through the first beowolf as it flew towards him, momentum doing him in, before stabbing down on another, impaling it to the ground. Jaune quickly spun, bashing his shield against the final one to knock it away before turning back around and jamming the point of the shield through the neck of the downed beowolf, decapitating and finishing it. He yanked his sword out of the ground and flung it, striking the other fallen beowolf through the chest and making it disappear as well.

A heavy impact at his back knocked the wind out of him as a boarbatusk rolled out of the icy, wind-thrown sheets of snow. Jaune grunted, hitting the ground. He gritted his teeth in frustration. The damn things merged so easily with the snow that it was getting hard to see them. The boarbatusk wheeled around, still curled up and rearing for another strike. Jaune raised his shield just in time, blocked the beast in place as it kept its spinning up, grinding against the metal, creating a shower of sparks. He growled from the strain, feeling himself getting pushed back. He looked back and saw another boarbatusk spiraling in place, gearing up for an attack.

"Aw, c'mon, just my luck!" Jaune complained, racking his brain for some sort of plan. He rolled to the side quickly, letting the boarbatusk roll ahead, careening right into the second one, making it disperse completely into haze. It reared back for another shot, but Jaune was ready this time, digging his shield into the ground and angling it upwards. The Grimm sailed over his head as it rolled off the shield, launching up like a firecracker, and crashing back down on its back, stunned, belly exposed. He stabbed it quickly before collapsing onto the snow, panting.

"Alright, they're all dead." He mumbled to himself. "Good going, me. Nearly made it through without a scratch." He rolled over, peering at the particularly large balls of snow, one with a carrot sticking out. He chuckled. "The coast is clear, everybody. The village is just ahead."

Out of the snowballs came a collection of people, mostly women, and children, who all thanked him in turn before rushing ahead. One of the children beamed up at him, pitting a white lily in his boot before running off to meet his parents.

Jaune couldn't help but smile. No matter how brief those moments were, seeing people that he saved happy and healthy just made the jobs worth it. Just thinking about it, if he were a hunter full time, this probably would be his life. A hero to the people. Thinking about it, and how impossible it was made his heart ache. He shook his head, ruffling the snow out of his hair, and walked into the village ahead.

It had been nearly three weeks since Beacon suffered a major attack at the sidewinder's hands. Since then, training had doubled down, forcing the hapless knight on treks through some of the most dangerous environments an appropriated airship could take him. From the harshest seas to the open plains, to the sheer depths of mountain ranges, to the life-enriched forests, nothing seemed out of the range for Jaune to travel. It was all met with some impatience and trepidation however, as the threats of the sidewinders just grew larger with every day that passed.

The news wouldn't stop glorifying the threat, spreading false rumors, adding fuel to the public fire. To them, this national threat coverage was an extra paycheck just waiting in their mailbox. All it seemed to do was rile people up, right down to announcing the deaths of several missing students, one of them being Ruby Rose. Jaune outright punched a hole in his TV, listening to that. Security had been raised to nearly martial law levels, with soldiers patrolling the streets regularly and people asked to remain in their homes without special reasons to leave. At the very least, there was a sense of order, and stability was still being maintained for the most part. All that was left was to find a solution.

That hope brought him to Atlas, where rumors of mysterious trucks where they didn't belong, along with sightings of men in green body armor were heard in a small town. He would be given information for a price, being a mercenary of course. Simply protect the people for the time that he was here and the information could be verified. Plain and easy.

The town didn't seem like much of a town in the normal sense. It was more like a collection of houses made of blocks of ice. Igglus, was it? Whatever they were, how they stood standing was a mystery that Jaune had yet to figure out. Everyone wore fur coats and clothes made from leather and crowded around a fire pit in the middle of it all. All in all, a simple, quiet place that was easy on the eyes and easy to miss. How a village can be so affected by the sidewinders was beyond him.

The elder marched closer to Jaune, welcoming him with a brief bow of his head. "We cannot thank you enough. That attack could have ended in catastrophe."

Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears going red. "It was nothing. Just a routine job."

"That routine has saved many of my people, and for that, I am grateful." The old man pressed. "It is odd though. I assumed you would be shorter. More grizzled."

"Ah. That would be Michael." Jaune said. "He's, well… my teacher so to speak. He's in Atlas right now, training with the military over there."

That loss to Jason was quite a shocking one. He'd never seen Michael look so defeated and quiet before. Hopefully, this was something that he could easily bounce back from.

"Grand. If you may follow me, I want to give you the information that you seek." He said, gesturing for Jaune to walk with him. He followed the kind-looking main into the largest tent where he was greeted with warmth thanks to a controlled little fire dust heater in the center. Jaune practically pounced on it. "Warmth! Oh gods, how I've missed you! I'll never hate a summer day again!"

"I take it the cold doesn't suit you?" The elder asked.

Jaune shook his head. "Try living in the hot countryside most of your life. In the winters, we would barely see snow. I don't even know how people cope here, no offense." He quickly added.

"Our people have adapted to the harsh environments. It suits our needs one way or the other. The cold gives us fortitude, grit, willpower, notions needed to survive." The elder explained. "Now you didn't come here to exchange pleasantries, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm really running short on time."

"Duly noted. Please, take this." He said, handing over a file full of outdated style of photographs, documents, and layouts that boggled Jaune's mind. Understanding all this jargon wasn't really his forte. The pictures at least showed a clearer picture, with trucks clearly outlined with the Sidewinders logo. Strange thing was that it felt too easy. Why would they leave their logo out in the open like that when they're on the wanted lists? "Will that suffice?"

"Maybe," Jaune answered honestly. "Do you know where these were last taken?"

The Elder nodded, rolling out a map. "Around the northern section here. The trucks patrol at least twice a day around this area. My people are too afraid to go anywhere near that area, and Atlas has not answered our requests, calling it a collection of merchant trucks. Perhaps you could help one last time?"

Jaune smiled. "Count on it." He took a deep breath, whipping his hood back up. "I'll be taking this map with me. Thanks." He said, walking out into the cold winds again.

The elder only laughed. "That boy is a mercenary? What sort of mercenary forgets his payment?"

/

Who turned on the sun? That was Michael's first thoughts upon opening his eyes to that cursed blinding ball of fire in space. Just the sight of it brought a thousand hammers to his noggin. Hangovers killed more mercenaries in a year than combat could ever hope to dream. Or at the very least, turned the tortured souls into shells of what they used to be. This raven-haired mercenary was no different. The soft bed was a nice little touch, however. It was like laying on a cloud scented with fresh linen, like his body was just floating aimlessly in comfort. Something did feel off though.

"Where are my clothes?" He rasped, throat still stinging from all the alcohol he downed the night prior.

"In the wash. Coated with vomit." A strict voice answered back. Michael turned his head, seeing Winter hanging a bath towel on the rack. His eyes widened. Her bare bum was directly in view, forcing some pink onto his cheeks. Winter sighed, wrapping the towel around her waist, keeping her back turned. Michael could swear he saw her ears go bright red. "You would do well not to stare. I hadn't expected you to wake up anytime soon."

"You're surprisingly calm for being stark naked in a room with another man," Michael said, coughing a little.

"And you are surprisingly less so. Haven't you had spoils of war, so to speak, before?" Winter inquired, almost with a little snark to it, but the military bearing held it back on a leash.

Michael sighed. "Less than people think. I'm not some manwhore. My body's just as much of a holy temple as yours." It was an odd thought to be sure. When was the last time he had really ever been with a woman? He wouldn't deny that he's had his fair share of action. What mercenary hasn't, especially when you work with such oddballs as Neo or the overwhelmingly suggestive Cinder Fall? Nothing really lasted though. He didn't really have the patience to deal with them. "What about you? Anyone meet your eye?"

"One boy, if I remember correctly." Michael's eyes gaped. Winter rolled her eyes, sitting on the bed, arm draped over her surprisingly appealing mounds. "Do not misunderstand. I wasn't always the gloom and doom of every single arrangement. I had quite a rebellious streak as a teenager. Perhaps I just wanted to live a little."

"I'm more just surprised you've been with a boy before." Michael scoffed.

"We were all young once."

"You sound like an old maid."

"I may as well be for all the living I've done over the years." She said, almost sadly, staring out the window. "There was a boy once, in high school I believe. In fact, I believe he was the only boy I've ever really fallen for. His name was Marcus, and he wanted to be an artist. He was very… risque to say the least."

Michael stifled his laughter. "Your first time was with a hippy?"

Winter's cheeks went red. "Laugh while you can, Grey. Perhaps you should explain your first try at love, if you beastly mercenaries could ever feel such a thing."

Michael grinned. "Cinder. Fall."

It was Winter's turn for her eyes to nearly bulge out. "You jest."

"I jest not, fair lady," Michael added with a grin. "Cinder Fall herself. I think it was the only time I was really hustled for information. Cinder seduced me for it, and by the gods, it worked. Though, I'm not gonna lie, I could have done much better." He shivered. "My hips still don't work right after the things she did to me."

Winter giggled, a melodious sound that sent little spikes of joy to Michael's chest. It was so rare that it felt like striking gold in a coal mine. "Perhaps. At the very least, you know you could do better. I cannot stand a man without at least a shred of self-worth or confidence." she sighed. "Far too long have I dealt with drunks and madmen."

Michael flinched. "What happened last night?"

"You were drinking your troubles away at our local bar. One of my men found you attempting to do some sort of drunken pole dance on a stack of bar stools. It kept toppling over, and you just kept stacking it up again for another dance. It was quite funny." Winter said with a little smile. "I think after that, burst into tears, crying about how proud you are of your 'baby boy', before vomiting and passing out on one of the tables."

Michael sighed into his hands. "Oh my gods, I am so sorry."

Winter giggled. "Don't be. It was quite entertaining. No, scratch that, thank you for apologizing at all. Not many drunken warriors would often do that." She redid her towel with her free hand, cheeks growing warmer. "I carried you back here. I couldn't just leave you on the streets of Atlas, alone and cold, so I cleaned you up and put you to bed."

The pair sat there in awkward silence, having an odd staring contest with the sheets. Finally, Michael clapped his hands together. "Right then, you have a kitchen?"

"I would presume so," Winter answered in a matter-of-factual tone. "This is a high rise Atlas apartment after all."

"I'm making you breakfast," Michael said. He raised his hand as she tried to argue back. "Ah bup bup, no you don't. Surviving off energy bars and academy food won't cut it. You think that shit has any taste to it?"

Winter raised a brow. "You cook?"

"I'm just full of surprises, baby." Michael joked with a wink.

After finding a spare set of military sleepwear, a rough cotton shirt, and shorts, Michael got to work finding whatever was edible in that tiny fridge Winter had. It was quite evident that the Ice Queen had spent quite a few years living off military rations and protein bars, typical for an officer who spent more than a few days at a time away from home. The little apartment on its own felt bare and sterile, bereft of any personality. With the white walls, standard furniture, not a speck of dust in sight, it felt more like a hospital room than a place to call home. It felt a tad unnerving, actually.

Michael did manage to strike gold, finding a full set of eggs and spices, getting to work on cooking an omelet. Winter poked her head in from the doorway, looking a little apprehensive.

"You don't have to do this, you know." She reasoned.

"But I want to."

Winter scowled. "You're being far too stubborn about this."

"As are you trying to convince me your health is not important."

"Michael Grey, I can take care of myself-"

"I know. Just let someone at least try and take care of you for a change." Michael sternly said. He sighed. "Look, what's the point in tackling everything alone? At the end of the day, you're just going to end up hurt and alone. What's even the point in that? Just let me help you for once, like you helped me."

"Why are you so insistent?" Winter asked. She narrowed her eyes on him. "In fact, why are you in Atlas at all? You seem so distracted and off when you arrived and you've spent nights trying to drink something away." She reached out and held his hand. It felt cold to the touch, very refreshing, and sent a shiver down his spine. "Please, just talk to me."

The chill in the stagnant air suddenly became very obvious. It made him shiver. Or was it really the air or just the confrontation? Talking had never been a skill Michael had. Mercenaries didn't have a voice after all. In the eyes of the world, they were scum. Rogues undeserving of the life that they've wasted, and Michael could halfway agree. Nobody would care enough to help, or ask that oh so great question 'are you alright', so when Winter tried to lay all of his cards on the table, he froze, throat locked up. Where did he even start?

Michael took a deep breath, thinking it over for a minute or two, thanking Winter for having the patience of a goddess. "How many times have you really lost a fight?" Winter shrugged. "Yeah, same. I can't really remember the last time. I spent years teaching myself how to kill, survive, get the job done, so on, because when you're what I am, you never really get support. The moment you lose, you die, and no one will miss you when you're gone. Jason sort of reminded me of that when he used me to redecorate the pavement."

"That was a horrific display, no doubt about that." Winter said, grimacing.

"It was pretty damn out of the ordinary too. I haven't had an ass trashing like that since I tried to fight Ozzy years ago." He chuckled, remember that. "I realized something back there. I… really didn't care. I couldn't give half a damn that I was about to die." He chuckled again, this time very dryly. "Can you imagine that? Being so messed up in the head that you don't care you're about to meet the reaper?"

Winter chewed on her lip. "I know a specialist that helped me out-"

"I don't need therapy. I just… need to be different." Michael muttered. "I spent my life as a mercenary, spent years praying at the graves of the people I've murdered, to the families I've torn apart, to every year that I've wasted just running and running and running." He growled, head hanging. "I don't want to be Michael Grey, the Black Reaper anymore."

Michael's eyes shot up as Winter's arms wrapped around his stomach. He could feel her warmth for the first time in a while, from her mounds pressing against his back, to the softness of her arms, almost like an angel's wings slowly curling around him. They were both silent, a pink tint coming to his cheeks. "I didn't take you for the hugging type." He managed. "Thank the gods you found a shirt."

"I wouldn't have dared come out otherwise." She replied. "And… I suppose a change to your life should be in order, Felix."

Michael tensed. "How long have you known?"

"Long enough. If I may be honest, I don't dislike Michael Grey, no matter how much he thinks he doesn't matter. Many people need you, like that wayward hunter out trying to stop an underground crime syndicate, the very boy you've trained and honed like a brother. Or the woman you pulled from an Atlas airship wreckage, half-dead, and spent weeks tending to her needs while she recovered. Why? Because 'she was there'." She smiled. "We are all grateful that you're here, and we do need you." She let go, much to his dismay. "And if you truly believe that Michae Grey is your dark heart, then perhaps Felix DeLeone will be even better."

Michael hid his face, playing like he was wiping sweat off with a towel, eyes stinging with fresh tears. "That's… wow. Thanks. Any other piece of advice you're willing to offer?"

Winter mulled it over and sighed. "Your student. You should go find him later tonight. That lead did lead him into some treacherous areas. Oh, and you had better not burn those eggs. Those pans don't come cheap."

/

Waiting was the name of the game when it came to stakeouts. If you weren't patient enough to wait in one place for your target to come, nothing would ever really get done. The waiting was one thing. Waiting in the frozen Atlas tundra was something else entirely. The cold was unbearable. Jaune couldn't stop his teeth from chattering as the chilling winds crept under his coat. Laying belly first in the snow didn't help. Even so, not even a blanket of snowflakes and frostbite could temper his resolve. If only he could feel his toes though.

It had been quite a few hours since the town visit, with the sun setting not too long ago. Everything blended together in the darkness, the snow lighting up the way just a little bit, but coating everything to the point where Jaune couldn't tell where he was. Noting as far as the eye could see but snow blowing sideways, and lumps of white everywhere. After a while, Jaune thought he was going insane, witnessing two beams of light shining in the air. Could that be the gods way of welcoming Jaune into the afterlife? Jaune blinked, squinting his eyes. No, those weren't heavenly rays, they were fog lights.

Jaune breathed a sigh of relief. A few more beams of light joined the pair ahead, growing brighter as they approached. Soon, the rumbling hum of engines could be heard in the distance over the wind. Jaune pressed deeper into the dirt, listening, trying to remember if he even had a plan leading up to this moment. As a few trucks approached, a few rolling by next to him, he rolled over onto his back, hands extended outwards, seizing onto the frame under one of the trucks.

It quickly became obvious why this worked much better on TV than in real life. Jaune was quite big. Bigger than most actually. More often than not, he felt his back skid across the snow, and head smash into small piles of snow that sprang up here or there. Jaune thanked the gods that the trip was brief, and that the snow slowly turned to flat gravelly earth. He could barely see what was going on, but could hear footsteps, and the sound of an electric gate opening and closing. When the truck came to a stop, he dropped off the frame and rolled out from under the truck, finding cover behind a few crates before anyone could spot him.

Sidewidners stepped out of the vehicles, making Jaune tense. Luckily, they paid him no mind, stacking up box after box in separate piles, dropping off various tools and other miscellaneous things around the concrete floor before getting back in the truck and driving away. All was quiet as the gate closed.

"I really hope all that waiting was worth the trouble." He murmured to himself.

The building interior was nearly pitch black, save a single-bulb light hanging above, loosely swinging around. The eerie creaking of the single cord swinging slowly back and forth only made his heart race with fear. The shifting light didn't make it any better, fear making him stay in place for a little longer than he wanted to. With a few deep breaths, he managed to take his first steps further into the dark, dismal warehouse.

There wasn't much to go on, especially in the dark. Just a collection of storage crates, and a random assortment of tools, nuts and bolts strewn here or there. Jaune took another raspy deep breath, drawing Crocea Mors, shaking like a leaf. He proceeded onward to the only room up a small flight of metal stairs, stumbling on something wet and slick, slipping and falling on his ass.

"Ugh, good thing boss didn't see that one." He muttered, looking at his hand. His heart stopped. Was that blood? Against his better judgment, he looked up agonizingly slowly to the source of it, where a broken, limbless body lay in front of him.

He cried out in shock, scrambling back, gasping for air.

It's okay. It's alright. This isn't the first body you've seen in your life. It won't be your last either. Keep calm. Keep calm.

After repeating that mantra a few times, he sat up, hand slipping a little on the ground from the slick blood. He paused. Blood shouldn't stay slick that long. With a little trepidation, he peeked over at the body, the light just barely showing enough to identify it. It was a sidewinder skeleton, covered in oil. Jaune sighed in relief, pushing himself up, feeling his ears getting hot. That was a little more than embarrassing.

When he opened the door to what looked like the main office, he coughed and sneezed as dust filled every orifice inside. Just like the old warehouse just outside that door, the room felt like something out of a museum, with hardwood desks, a dusty couch fit like a deflated balloon, a broken clock that kept ticking but not moving, and computer monitors belonged in an antique store. Jaune gingerly picked up one of the files. It crumbled into a sheet of dust in his hands, to his surprise, bringing another string of sneezes.

"How could anyone live like this?" He wondered. He squinted his eyes. "Has anyone lived here at all?"

The fine sheets of dust were a good indicator to say the last time someone so much as breathed in here could have been years. Even though it seemed pointless to do so, he took the time to check around for anything that stood out, dragging his fingertip along the top of the tables. A row of disks toppled over, catching Jaune's attention.

"Oh hello." Jaune mused, picking up one of the disks. It was foggy and covered in dust bunnies, but it was intact at least, and just needed a little brush down. The title was hastily, Project Sidewinder, was hastily scribbled in permanent marker. He placed it in a computer DVD port, and the monitor of an old PC lit up.

The image came through grainy, but visible enough. The monitor showed the very room Jaune was sitting in, cleaner, with an abundance of light. Too much so. It surprised Jaune enough for him to feel like he was being flash banged for a moment. Someone was adjusting the camera, the blurring swiftly going away to reveal the Old Man, to Jaune's surprise, although he didn't look so old anymore. The room was much cleaner as well, not a speck of dust in sight, the hardwood shining a polished brown. The 'Old Man', now with nearly a full head of red hair, and standing upright, strangely muscular and young, adjusted his hair, grinning impishly.

"Log number 1. Special Agent Sinclair, age 36, station- lead developer in Atlas Research and Development division." He began, looking oddly giddy. Jaune never imagined that he would look so lively before. "I've been asked to keep records on our efforts here on this base. It's a little remote, I haven't talked to my wife in a while, although, I doubt she's too worried."

Jaune narrowed his eyes. He looked a little unfocused, like he had just brought up a bad memory, or something he wanted to forget. "We're probably going to be out here for a few weeks, developing countermeasures for rogue hunters and criminals, and I believe that we've found a solution!"

Excitedly, he flashed a blueprint on the screen. Jaune's blood ran cold. It was a colorless design and blueprint of the Sidewinder androids, missing a few pieces, but the fear they gave still remained. "This is the SD 13441. I'm still having trouble with a name though. Eh, I guess it's not important. Either way, this bodysuit will be developed in say, a few weeks?" He wiped the nervous sweat off his brow. "That should be all for now. This is Special Agent Sinclair, over and out."

Jaune hastily loaded the second disk in, storing the disk cases in his jacket pocket. Who knew what sort of use this intel would have if he were to bring it in.

The same picture loaded again, this time with Sinclair looking oddly tired, head propped on his arm, dark circles around his eyes. "Log number 9, Special agent Sinclair reporting in. These days haven't been great, I'm not gonna lie. The only outside communication I've had over the last week was a radio to a convoy, and half the time, they're either too shitfaced to pick up, or the snow blocks me out."

He shivered. Jaune shivered as well without realizing it. "The part I ordered is here at least. I managed to get the first prototype done, and ready for testing. The subject should be here within the hour. At last, my work will finally bear some fruit." Sinclair sighed in relief, sinking back into his chair. "It's been way too long since I've been out here. Maybe I should stay a bit longer. Home doesn't really sound like what I need at the moment." He narrowed his eyes at something outside the camera's view, the loud squeak of the door opening in the background. "It's about time you got here, brat. Put on the damn suit, we haven't got all day."

A sharp clatter made Jaune shout, instinctively lashing out with a backswing. A desk collapsed in half behind him, a monitor smashing to the ground. Jaune panted, head swiveling around, only to see a rat peek its head from a fallen can, and dash away out the door.

Jaune sighed. He was getting far too jumpy. If anything were about to attack, it would have tried already, be it wild Grimm or Sidewinder. He loaded in another disk, getting the same image, only Sinclair was doubled over the desk, sobbing.

"L-Log ten, Special Agent Sin… Sinclair report…" He trailed off, breaking down once more, barely even able to get words out amidst the crying. Jaune listened carefully, swearing he heard him mutter 'too young' and 'what have I done', among other things. "The test was a complete failure. T-the weight… was too much for the boy. His spine couldn't take the weight and crumpled in on it. I had to put him down. Oh god the blood…"

He wrung his bloody fingers together. Jaune's felt his heart ache, seeing him so broken down. It was so odd, feeling such pity for the man he hated. "The only peace I can offer is that he didn't feel too much pain. It was over in seconds." He took a deep breath. "I cannot stop now- Not when I'm so close to achieving my goal. This is just a setback. A little dot in the course. Those Sidewider's will be finished, one way or the other."

Jaune hesitated before loading the next disk in. It felt like a train inevitably going off course. When the picture showed, stress lines were very evident on his face, although he looked more focused. Colder. "Log 109. Ex-Special agent Sinclair." He took a deep breath. "It has been around three months or so since my dishonorable discharge. The papers have covered up the whole mess, claiming that the soldier I murdered died in battle. It is of no consequence to me. I have no life to go back to anymore. The soldiers think this fort is abandoned, or presumably, they have simply abandoned me as well."

Sinclair scoffed. "Abandoned by family, by a friend, by country alike, what a world for someone like me to live in. This lesson should have been learned a long time ago. At the end of the day, only your life is the one that matters."

"You're dead wrong," Jaune growled to the monitor.

"It appears that my life is now dedicated to this cause." He sighed into his hand. "It's a shame that I can barely recall what this cause is anymore. Even so, this is all I have left, so I must press onward."

The screen went black, with Jaune holding the last CD. He must've just stared blankly at it for several minutes before inserting it into the drive. The first thing that Jaune heard was endless static and rumbling, the everything in the room rattling like a giant had started shaking the room. Sinclair stumbled in front of the camera, looking sweaty and desperate.

"This is Ex-Special Agent Sinclair, and this may very well be my final broadcast." An abrupt dulled boom made him abruptly halt. His breath was hoarse and shaken, with his teeth grit and face paled. "It seems they seek to bury me alive with this place. It was only a matter of time. One doesn't forget trash for long. Even someone forgotten like me. At the very least, my research base stands tall. This is Cornelious Sinclair, si-"

At that moment, the door busted down in the video, smashing into the camera, and cutting the feed off. Jaune sat there, stunned. He had never imagined the Old Man looking so human before. Even so, even back in his younger days, he was just as ruthless and heartless. He looked ahead of the monitor, spotting what looked like to be the remnants of a map, torn to shreds on the wall, with a knife dug into an area around the northeastern part.

"Dammit, now where do I go?" He muttered to himself.

He searched around the room in vain. Anything useful had already been long gone. He slammed his fist on the table in frustration, the old dusty wood snapping in half, spilling its contents on the ground. One of those was a monitor that caught his attention. After tracing the distance with his finger, he noticed it was pointed directly at the map. After thinking about it for a moment, he turned on the projector trying carefully to dust it off, and placed the map he was given on the slide.

To his luck, a full map of Remnant on the board, one with a knife dug in a part of the area around Mistral. Jaune grinned, taking a quick picture. That knife had to be where it was. Or at least if it was a lead, especially since mercenaries treat their weapons with pride and wouldn't use them as a wall ornament. Jaune's heart pounded. It had to be something. Please just let it be something.

He strode towards the warehouse emergency exit, a grin plastered on his face and flung the door open, welcoming the cold wind like an old friend. Another loud clatter. Jaune jumped out of his skin, panting. Just another rat with a can. They were doing this on purpose, he just knew it. He turned his head, eyes suddenly growing wide at the silhouette of a man standing right at the door frame. He couldn't see anywhere past his chin from just how tall the man was.

"You've found one of the facilities," Jason said, looking down at Jaune with a sneer. "Congratulations."