Hey all,

So an FFFF of mine (Fetching Fan Fiction Friend)

Wrote this beautiful piece for me:

Sumer has come and passed, the Shield of vale will come at last

Wake me up, when the hiatus ends...

Like my boredom's come to pass

Seven months aint gone so fast

Wake me up, when your hiatus ends...

I'm a sucker for poetry so I had to belt out the longest chapter of this fic yet.

So, I watched season 6.

VEEEERRRRYYYY Light spoilers ahead (not in the story. In the Authors note.)

As those who consistently read these meandering notes know, I'm not the biggest fan of where the show's gone since season 3, I've made no secret of this fact in my past ANs.

All that said, I thought season 6 was vastly superior to 4 and 5.

The storytelling was tighter…

And the Salem Ozpin backstory was well displayed and orchestrated.

I'm still a little lost by two narrative decisions: the main cast's reaction to Ozpin's backstory, and the handling of Adam Taurus (although that's more of a multi-season issue).

But compared to volume 4, where I disagreed with just about every choice the writers' made, i.e. the short time skip, the ignoring of Ruby's eyes, Blake running away again—undoing the progress of her past arc—and then redoing the same thing, Yang's PTSD light-edition, moving the story away from the sandbox of Beacon, splitting up the cast of what was—up until that point—an ensemble story…

Yeah, I could keep going, but the point is, I did not like season 4.

This season was far better.

The Ozpin thing just confused me because I felt hella bad for the man, and thought his backstory provided pretty good explanation for a lot for his actions, deception, and general lack of faith in humanity.

But the rest of the cast was a lottttt less empathetic towards him. Which…I mean…I can see Qrow not being super understanding. But Ruby? Jaune?

I don't know…

Then Adam, I just felt like my man got done wrong. I was one of the people who watched the Black trailer way back when and had my whole head-cannon for the man long before they introduced him to the story, so I know I'm biased…

But I mean…they could have given him a redemptive arc OR made him a truly terrifying foe that had to be put down OR made him the kind of enemy that you know is evil and you can't stand his actions, but you agree with his motives and the war against him becomes less ethical and more ideological…

Those all would have been great ways to handle him.

RT decided to turn him into this sort of trashy abusive obsessive pathetic ex-boyfriend.

Admittedly, I'm probably biased, Adam looked like a BAMF in the trailer. So, I assumed he would be. I set myself up for disappointment when his small-minded, petty, abusive nature was revealed.

But does anyone else think Adam would've been a much more interesting character if he legitimately cared about his cause, and was willing to do anything for the Faunus, and he was more than willing to put down Yang—but would never hurt Blake because despite being twisted and rageful he's ideologically pure? If he was a twisted anti-hero that eventually either saw the error of his ways or had to be put down because he was too dangerous for the world at large?

Or—at the very least, he held genuine affection for Blake?

I mean Adam didn't go down enacting some grand scheme to destroy humanity. Nor did he go down trying to win back Blake—but hating humanity. Nor did he go down in an act of sacrifice…

He went down being a creepy stalker.

In the end, his whole purpose in the narrative of volume 5 and 6 was to be an obstacle for Yang and Blake to overcome. Kind of like Pyrrha became little more than motivation for Jaune to become a better huntsman.

He could have been… sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

much more.

Whether it was just making him a real challenge for the main characters…

Or making him a cool relatable character.

Oh yeah, that's the other thing that derailed future seasons for me.

I think Jaune should have died to Cinder instead of Pyrrha.

*Ducks shoe.

Hey, think about it! It's narratively sound! Everyone says killing Pyrrha showed that there was no plot armor.

I disagree. Pyrrha was, essentially, the best-friend of the second-best-friend of the main character. (Assuming Ruby is the main character.)

You want to show that there's no plot armor? Kill someone who looked like he/she would be essential to the plot and was close to the primary protagonist.

Killing Jaune…that would've really blown peoples' mind. I would've had Cinder shoot that arrow, Jaune takes it for Pyrrha, dies, and then Ruby unleashes the silver-eye laser. Ruby would've fallen into depression. Yang would have pulled herself out of her own rut out of a desire to help her sister who's practically despondent...

I know a lot of people like what happened in those seasons. Which is totally fine. And maybe I'm wrong.

I know I'm always disappointed in anime storylines when they don't give me that perfect blend of Beserk, One Piece, and Gintama I love, so maybe that's a "me" problem.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter.

No real grammar editing or anything so forgive my mistakes

Pa tr e on . com (forward slash) vronsurd

Chapter 11

Ignorance Ignites Irony

Ten minutes had passed since Jaune heard her approach. He hadn't turned to greet her. He hadn't said a word.

Neither had she.

From the sound of it, she hadn't even moved. She just stood behind him. A few feet back.

The silence wasn't daunting or awkward. It never was—not between them. They'd been together too long. They'd seen too much.

How long had he been out here?

Four? Maybe five hours?

Too long.

Not because he didn't want to be here. Hell, if he could, he'd spend every minute of every day in front of this damn monument.

But there was work to be done.

A monster to kill.

A race to save.

He could only spend so much time mourning. So much time regretting. If he dwelled too long, if he grew too somber…

Well, eventually it was like he was spitting on the memory of the very individuals for which he was grieving.

Still.

He studied the names of his precious people on the granite slab—for just a minute more.

Pyrrha Nikos.

Lie Ren.

Nora Valkyrie.

Blake Belladonna.

Yang Xiao-Long.

There were others engraved in the polished stone. Many others. Some he did not know. Some of which he had only heard. Some who he met in passing. Some who he would call an acquaintance. And some who he would even call friend.

But these five were acid.

These five pierced the shell he'd constructed since Beacon fell.

These five melted his insides into unrecognizable paste.

These five were his greatest failures.

After a deep breath, Jaune reached for the plate that he had set before the great rock. He shooed away the fly that landed on the stack of pancakes drenched in syrup.

"I have never had the chance to tell you this," began the woman behind him, no doubt recognizing that he was ready to talk. "But I think the pancakes are an excellent tradition. The oddness suits Nora's eccentric disposition."

Jaune turned toward Weiss with a small smile. "Yeah, well. Nora once told me that flowers are nice and all—but do they taste good in syrup? So, I figured a bouquet wasn't quite right." He swatted away another fly. "I could do without all the bugs though."

"Yes," replied Weiss. Two small glyphs sprung to life to her immediate left, a bug trapped between them. It was flattened an instant later. "The sheer quantity of bugs that that satanically sweet syrup attracts is most distressing—almost as distressing as how much Ruby adores that diabetic delight."

Jaune chuckled as he withdrew a fork from his pocket. Weiss's war against sugary condiments began the day she caught Ruby dipping a cookie into a mug of syrup. From that day forward the fight was on.

Weiss's sapphire eyes latched onto his fork with a burning intensity. "Surely, you don't still intend to eat them…do you?" Her voice dripped with unveiled disgust.

Jaune smile transformed into a bit of a smirk.

He cocked an eyebrow.

Weiss huffed.

She didn't need words to understand what he was saying.

With Grimm incursions on farmland and farming villages getting worse and worse no one could afford be picky when it came to food. Getting the necessary ingredients to make these pancakes had cost him an arm and a leg. And a lesser huntsman would have been risking their very life to retrieve the sap to make the syrup.

Plus, how could he claim to do this in remembrance of his together but not together together teammates if he didn't eat every morsel? Nora didn't do leftovers. Why would he?

Weiss knew all this.

And on a mission, she'd have eaten those pancakes in a heartbeat—bugs and lukewarm temperature and lack of skilled preparation and everything.

After all, she knew just as well as Jaune that food was just fuel.

He knew all this, but it was still funny to see Weiss occasionally slip into the prissy princess she used to be. It was also funny how he could give her so much grief with a single condescending eyebrow and a few exaggerated chomps.

Weiss blew past her embarrassment.

"We have a mission."

"All three of us?" asked Jaune.

Weiss nodded.

"Must be a pretty big deal." He stabbed a generous amount of pancake and offered it to her.

Weiss rolled her eyes but accepted the offering, biting the sticky mess off his fork. "Not as big a deal as you would think. We were stretched thin covering the evacuations in the northern villages. That was the reason we were solo the last couple of weeks. Ozpin had to make use of the huntsman who can functionally replace a whole team to complete assignments that would usually require more manpower. Obviously, he would prefer for us be together, watching each other's backs. After all, who is going to kill Salem if not us?"

"How about the wizard?" replied Jaune, rolling his eyes.

"The wizard," replied Weiss. "Has been failing to kill Salem for god-knows-how-long."

"Because she can't be killed," said Jaune.

Weiss shrugged. "Can't," she spoke the contraction with something akin to disgust. "Is such an imprisoning word."

"Ozpin said that her body reforms—no matter the injury. He said that there was nothing we could do to stop her. To end her. That it's all about survival from here on out. That a draw is a pipedream. That winning is an actual impossibility."

"Need I remind you what you said in response?"

Jaune studied the grass at his feet.

"Let me see if I recall," continued Weiss. "If her body can't be destroyed, then we'll build a prison that she can't escape. If nothing can hold her then we'll build walls that can't be penetrated. If nothing can stop her and nothing can hold her and nothing can destroy her body then we'll get strong enough to annihilate her soul."

Jaune winced as he listened to his own words. Sure, they had sounded great back then. They had been inspiring at the time. But from a levelheaded perspective in the present, they certainly lacked a lot of the how did they not? Ozpin had probably been thinking the same thing back when Jaune made those ridiculous claims.

"Surely, you have not forgotten the plan?" prompted Weiss.

Jaune chuckled at the question. "No, I haven't forgotten the plan. Just realized that annihilating a soul might have a bit more to it than getting jacked at the gym. Unless you've figured something out?"

"Actually," said Weiss, a hint of smugness in her expression. "I have."

Jaune's eyes widened. "Are you serious?" His eyes narrowed. "Or is this a leadup to another one of those if-only-Salem-would-drop-a-toaster-into-the-bathtub-jokes?"

Weiss rolled her eyes so hard the motion was almost audible.

Probably because she had never once found Jaune and Ruby's on-again off-again line of joking funny—or at least she had given no signs of finding it funny. Her participation had always been limited to muttering about how childish her teammates were.

"No. I am not jesting. Aura is a manifestation of soul and—as you know—Glynda, Oobleck, and I have been spending a considerable amount of our time studying aura and the relationship between our spiritual and physical manifestations. The research has mostly been for the sake of pushing semblances beyond what we perceived to be their original capacity, spurred in large part by the evolution of your own semblance. But methods for unlocking new stages in semblance development are not the only fruits of our labors…"

She trailed off.

"And…?" asked Jaune.

"And…" replied Weiss, turning and heading back towards the memorial's entrance. "…I think Salem will be in serious trouble the next time we face her."

Jaune jogged to catch up with the Schnee.

"How?"

"How, what?"

"How are we going to delete Salem from existence?"

"That is for me to know and you to find out when Oobleck and I write up a more rigorous theorem."

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Jaune. "You can't imply you know how to kill the unkillable queen and then not give me a hint!"

Weiss hummed but did not reply. Apparently, she was very willing to imply she knew how to kill the unkillable queen and then not give him a hint.

Why were the short so vengeful? Was it because they'd been dealt a—snrk—shorthand at birth?

Jaune stepped in front of the heiress, turned towards her, and began walking backwards. Then he tried his best to imitate Ruby's begging face.

The fact that his eyes weren't an adorable shade of silver, he had a bit of a beard coming in, he had a puckered pink scar stretched across his face, and he towered a foot-and-a-half over Weiss's petite frame did him no favors.

Weiss's expression was a stone wall until an idea lit up her eyes. "Alright. I'll give you a hint about how we're going to kill Salem—if you tell me something."

"Deal," said Jaune, mentally cataloging what knowledge he had that Weiss didn't—and what of that knowledge would be valuable enough to exchange for the secret to ending the greatest threat on earth.

He got stuck on the first part of the task.

"Why didn't you show up for your date with Bice?"

Jaune blanched. This was…

This was not a question he wanted to answer.

He knew how much hard work Weiss and Ruby had poured into setting him up with a girl that they claimed was just perfect for him. And, after all their insistence, he had agreed to go on a date.

Just one. Just enough to get him out there.

And he'd had every intention to go!

Really!

But, somehow, on his way to the restaurant where he was supposed to meet this mysterious perfect woman, he'd been waylaid.

Copious amounts of alcohol had attacked him like bandits. He wound up singing at the moon in front of the monument while Qrow laughed like a madman.

It was the sort of thing Weiss really wouldn't understand.

Not even a little bit.

"I ran into Qrow."

"And you decided an evening getting drunk with that miserable miscreant was worth more than an evening with a beautiful woman?"

"Hey! Qrow is good company!"

"I suppose what they say about misery is true."

Jaune groaned. "Was she upset?"

Weiss shrugged. "How would I know?"

"Aren't you and Ruby friends with her?"

Weiss shook her head. "Not particularly. I and Ruby had seen her in passing and thought the two of you would get on well. And as to whether she was upset—I am certain a woman of her caliber was more than capable of finding someone else to entertain her for the night."

Jaune wasn't sure where to start with that statement. First there was Weiss admitting that the girl she and Ruby had been talking up so much was some random stranger they knew next to nothing about. Then there was Weiss referring to the woman's caliber, implying that she herself was attracted to her. And then there was that last bit.

He decided to start with the last bit.

"Weiss…" he began, as the two approached the park exit.

"Yes?" Weiss responded.

"What is Bice's main appeal?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Is she the type of woman looking to… settle down?"

"Jaune!" Weiss's voice was full of mock offense. "Are you asking me if Bice is a slut?"

Jaune nodded.

That was exactly what he was asking.

"After all the vetting Ruby and I performed on your behalf," continued Weiss. "To think that you…"

Jaune's eyes narrowed.

"…would get caught up on such a minor detail."

There it was.

"Her height was perfect for you. She had the softest looking hair. And…her tail…"

Weiss released a noise that wasn't a squeal.

Because Schnee didn't squeal.

Not one of them had ever released such an undignified sound.

So, it wasn't a squeal.

But whatever it was. It sounded a lot like a squeal.

"Her tail is platinum Jaune! And bushy! Snow white! And she has black hair down to her lower back! Can you picture the contrast?"

Jaune averted his eyes from Weiss's. Something about the intensity in her gaze when she was talking about what she found adorable was disconcerting. The sapphire flames that flickered in her irises were both hilarious and terrifying. They reminded him of his closest sister.

Ellie.

Was she still…?

No.

He couldn't afford to let his mind wander toward his family. Only pain lay down that broken path. Ansel was still standing. They were fine. He would reconnect with his family—if they would let him—when the fight was over, when he'd secured humanity's future. And if he died before accomplishing that goal? Well then, that was a terrifying conversation avoided.

Besides, Weiss's eyes might be reminiscent of Ellie's. But the source of that fire was a fetish Ellie wouldn't poke with a ten-foot stick.

At least, Jaune hoped she wouldn't poke it with a ten-foot stick. If one of his sisters was a pervert than it was Crystal. She was flagrantly sexual and raunchy.

Although Weiss was proof that perversion could come in stoic packages.

And Ellie was stoic as hell.

Dammit.

What the hell was he even pondering?

"Ever think you might have overcorrected on the whole faunus thing?" asked Jaune with a teasing, albeit nervous tone.

"Never," said Weiss.

Her voice was resolute.

"Should Ruby be worried?" asked Jaune. Mostly joking. Mostly.

"Are you implying that Ruby should be concerned because I would cheat on her with a beautiful faunus? Or that she should be concerned because I am working tirelessly to figure out a way to give her silver puppy ears and a tail? Because only one of those two will eventually occur."

Jaune opened and closed his mouth a few times. Finally he settled on, "I'm not going to even touch that one."

The corner of Weiss's mouth inched upward. "Returning to the topic at hand, Ruby and I were not attempting to drop you into a relationship. We are both aware that you are not ready for that. We just wanted you to have some fun. Be happy, if only for a moment."

Jaune sighed. "I know I've been dour for a while. I apologize for being such bad company. It's not fair to y—"

"You being sadder than you used to be is not the problem Jaune. We are all sadder than we used to be. You make fine company when we are together. And when we are on missions you seem fine as well. Ruby and I worry about you when you are alone. When you are not with us. When you are without a mission. When the only thing that seems to hold your attention is that slab over there." She motioned back towards the park they were walking away from. "Neither of us think you are miserable to be around Jaune. We are more concerned over how miserable you seem to be when you are without company. Isolating yourself out here only exacerbates the problem."

"Well," began Jaune, not sure what to say. Spending his free time at the monument felt…well, it felt right. It felt like the least he could do for the comrades he had failed, for the friends he had lost. But if he said something like that Weiss and, by proxy, Ruby, would only grow more worried for him. Their concern was appreciated—but he hated watching the two squander what little time they had to indulge in their own happiness on trying to cure his brokenness.

"Maybe I'll spend less time in front of the monument once we've killed Salem once and for all. I think you owe me a hint?"

"I would argue that running into Qrow does not really delve into your actual reason for blowing off your date—but since we do not have time for a full psycho-analysis…"

"Plus, you're not a damn psychiatrist," muttered Jaune.

Weiss continued as if he had not spoken. "…I shall give you your hint."

Weiss proceeded to monologue about the complex relationship between energy, matter, and spirit. Jaune understood none of it. And she did not bother to explain how any of the research would aid in striking down Salem.

All and all, it was a robust yet useless hint.

He should have expected as much.

It was such a Weiss thing to do.

As they made their way to the Vale headquarters of the United Alliance of Kingdoms, Jaune listening to Weiss ramble about a theoretical technique to imbue attacks with pseudo-deity properties—whatever that meant—they came across a group of soldiers.

Two of them were well trained. Jaune could tell from their posture. Atlas, for sure. The other three were likely Vale militia—an organization that was working its ass off to catch up to their Atlesian counterparts.

They were all drunk. Not terribly so. Alcohol was expensive these days. And soldiers weren't paid the same as high class huntsmen.

But they were drunk enough to look a little loose. A little happy.

The sole female in the group was clearly telling some grand story. The others were responding with various "oh's", "ah's" and from one of the guys, "bullshit's." The group went silent when they noticed Jaune and Weiss.

Relations between soldiers and huntsmen were…

Strange.

To say the least.

Huntsmen weren't a part of the militia, but were commanded by those who commanded the militia, and their word was typically accepted as that of a high-ranking officer—and sometimes they were made high ranking officers—but only temporarily.

It was a bit of a mess.

Which was why neither Jaune nor the gathered troops knew how to react to one another.

On the one hand, Jaune held no military rank.

On the other hand, Jaune was an acting general in the last major Grimm incursion.

Thus, the confusion.

Jaune believed he wasn't owed any sort of respect from anyone. He was just a huntsman. Not some overhyped savoir or worshipped hero. He was a man with a job who killed Grimm. And yeah, he saved as many lives along the way as he could. But that was basically the job description wasn't it?

Sure, when he'd first ran away from home he was looking to be viewed as a hero. To be sung about and remembered. That was then and this was now. Now, he just wanted to save the people he cared about, kill Grimm, and end the war. He didn't need a plaque, or a title, or even a hint of respect.

Soldiers, however—especially those who had served directly under him—often disagreed. They thought his presence absolutely demanded respect. But even then, they didn't know how to display that respect. He wasn't their commanding officer, not anymore, and even when he was, he wasn't much for salutes or titles.

The laughter, shoving, and playfulness of the group bled away as they recognized the huntsman and huntress passing by them.

Jaune wasn't sure how to respond to their wide eyes and nudges.

So, he waved.

The motion was awkward when they were so close and maintaining prolonged eye contact. He should have gone with a spoken greeting.

Weiss's nod was, of course, the perfect amount of acknowledgement and distance.

As they passed the group Jaune managed to hear a word muttered twice between them.

"Skydas."

Skydas.

He'd heard that word the other day too. Muttered in a similar way. Skydas. What did it mean?

He'd meant to look it up or ask someone the last time he'd heard it. But he had shortly forgotten. Fortunately, this time, he was walking right next to team WRJ's walking dictionary.

"Weiss," he began.

"Yes?"

"I've heard people say this word a few times now, and I'm not sure what it means. Skydas?"

Weiss stopped midstride. "Skydas?" she repeated, her eyes large. "You have heard people saying Skydas…? But you do not know what it means?"

"No," said Jaune. "Should I?"

"Well," replied Weiss. "It is Old Valesian, so, I guess it is fine that you do not. But you should be aware that people are not just saying the word. They are calling you it. They are calling you Skydas."

"People…are calling me that?"

"Not just that, they're calling you Dangaus Skydas."

Jaune didn't recognize either of those words. But before he could ask for an explanation a "Why!?" burst out of him.

Weiss resumed walking, motioning for Jaune to keep moving as well. "Did you really not notice when it started? I believe it was right after your last mission."

"My last mission…?" said Jaune.

Weiss nodded. "You, Ruby, and I have not had the chance to debrief one another on our last assignments. Did anything out of the ordinary happen on yours?"

Jaune thought back to his last mission.

He was helping a village evacuate while investigating reports of a large subterrestrial Grimm. Things came to a head as the villagers were fleeing, when the massive tentacled creature revealed itself, ridiculously long appendages reaching for the fleeing people.

Jaune had never seen a Grimm quite like it. The fight was made arduous by the creature's regenerative abilities. Every tentacle he cut off grew back in short order. Then there was the Grimm's mouth—a gaping hole twice the height of Jaune's considerable frame, laced with row after row after row of razor-sharp teeth. The massive mouth was how the creature burrowed, copious amounts of dirt would disappear into its massive maw, only to be expelled from an orifice on the opposite end.

The fight had raged on for nearly twenty minutes—when Jaune caught the monster attempting to burrow, its beady eyes fixed on the villagers behind him. Most dumb Grimm would just keep fighting the huntsman in front of them. Elder Grimm, however, tended to be a bit more tactical. The monster no longer wished to waste time fruitlessly fighting one human—when it could be slaughtering dozens.

It was at that moment Jaune accepted what he would have to do. The surest way to defeat the creature before it managed to outmaneuver and massacre the retreating civvies.

He faked a stumble. He faked a stagger. And while being deafened by the Grimm's roar of triumph, Jaune Arc vanished into the beast's ringed mouth, avoiding the shredding teeth as best he could.

He spent the next minute cutting his way out of the monster, and not the shortest route either—all the way through its brain.

When he emerged from the dissipating Grimm, he was surprised to see how close it had gotten to the fleeing villagers. The nearest was a mother clutching her daughter to her chest. Her expression was twisted by shock and, perhaps, happiness.

She had been on the verge of being consumed, after all.

Shortly after that, a team of huntsman arrived to help with the village's evacuation, and Jaune departed to make sure there weren't more of those insane burrowing Grimm.

He returned a few days later thinking little of the assignment—well, that wasn't quite true. He was still pretty upset that there were Grimm that burrowed and possessed tentacles. Why the hell did a tunneling Grimm also possess the absolute worst aspects of underwater Grimm?

It just wasn't fair.

"Not really," Jaune answered. "Basic evacuation stuff. Guess I also ran into a new Grimm breed. So, that's something."

"Hm…" Weiss observed him contemplatively.

Jaune met her probing eyes honestly.

"Well, whatever you did, you must have left quite the impression on someone—or, more likely, several individuals."

"What makes you say that?" asked Jaune.

"They are calling you Dangaus Skydas Jaune," answered Weiss. "It means Heaven's Shield."

I*I*I

"This is insane," complained Qrow, running a greased cloth over his scythe's blade.

Glynda ignored her irritating companion, instead focusing on Jaune and Blake's distant forms. The faunus-human duo was approaching the high-rise. That meant it was time for less talking and more paying attention.

"I mean, don't you think this is insane?"

Of course, expecting as much from Qrow was no more than a fantasy.

It had been a while since she had done something like this, posted up on a roof, waiting for something—anything really—to happen.

Stakeouts were a more common occurrence back when she first joined Ozpin's gang of… heroes. Back when she was just a huntress who had piqued the immortal's interest. Back when she didn't spend every waking hour running Beacon and acting as a sounding board for Ozpin's ridiculous notions.

Sometimes, it was as if the man was incapable of remembering that he was in modern times. That he couldn't just do whatever the hell he wanted. That there were laws and regulations and systems and—

Stop.

As if Qrow distracting her from her mission wasn't bad enough, now Ozpin was doing the same.

And the man wasn't even present.

"I mean, some random guy, that none of us have ever met, shows up out of nowhere, claims he's from the future—and now we're on a roof backing him up, while he does who knows what?"

Glynda resolutely ignored the drunk, instead adjusting the focus on her binoculars as Jaune and Blake entered the expensive apartment complex.

"Plus—"

Glynda could not prevent herself from interrupting when Qrow threatened to continue moaning. "You know just as well as I that Jaune did not ask us here as back up."

"Oh, did I mishear him or something?" There was a hint of elation in Qrow's tone. He was clearly happy to have baited her into speaking.

Glynda considered returning to silence. While the notion was tempting, she knew it would only result in Qrow restarting his relentless attempts to draw her into conversation. No, it was best to let him get it out of his system. Then, maybe, he'd be quiet.

A woman could dream.

"You know this is a token gesture."

"Sure, sure. Clearly Jaune doesn't need the backup. We're just here because he told Ozpin he'd keep him in the loop. But, you know, that wasn't the part of this whole shebang I was talking about when I said this is insane."

"Oh?" replied Glynda.

"Yeah, I was a little more focused on the part where Jaune said he's from the future—and we started acting as if we believe—"

Qrow was interrupted by the squawk of a radio.

"Testing, testing. This thing working?"

Glynda picked up her scroll, texting Jaune a terse "yes."

"Ah great. Looks like the elevator is out of order so we're taking the stairs. Might take us a while."

Glynda glanced at the apartment's top floor, more than thirty stories above the bottom. Yes, that would take a while. And while Qrow would be quiet when the meeting began and there was something of interest for them to listen to—he was a professional, after all—there was no way Branwen would remain silent for however long it took them to reach the thirty-eighth floor.

So, with some reluctance, she tuned out the background noise of whatever Jaune and Blake were discussing and turned back to her companion.

"Acting?" Glynda questioned.

Qrow gave her a look that could only be described as incredulous. "Well...yeah. You don't actually believe him? Not one-hundred percent? I mean, I admit, I've never been closer to believing someone's from the future. I certainly didn't know Rubes preferred spaghetti over meatballs. And I don't think Tai knew either…"

For a moment, Glynda was tempted to consider just what that metaphor meant—what was the spaghetti? And what was the meat ba—but then her reason returned, and she realized the cost in dead braincells for overanalyzing Qrow Branwen's nonsense was far too high.

"I'd hardly call knowledge of your niece's sexual preferences the most compelling of his evidence."

"I was pretty shocked by it," replied Qrow.

Glynda sighed. "Maybe if you spent a little less time draining your flask…"

"You know I'm worse without it."

An unfortunate truth.

"So," continued Qrow. "If you didn't find my maybe-lesbian niece to be absolute proof of time-travel—what did it for you?"

Glynda considered the question. On the one hand, calling anything John had presented the other day absolute proof was a stretch. Sure, it was all very impressive evidence. But absolute proof?

"I'm not certain John is from the future. But I do think it's possible. And I think that because of Ozpin."

"Ozpin?", repeated Qrow.

"Ozpin's been alive for centuries Qrow. He has seen things we cannot imagine. He knows things we cannot comprehend. He has…magic. True magic."

"And?" replied Qrow.

"And," Glynda drawled. "While he displayed a healthy measure of doubt concerning Jaune's claims—he didn't seem all that dubious about the idea of time travel."

Qrow blinked.

He blinked again.

"Didn't he ask you if it was possible?"

"Yes," admitted Glynda. "But I don't think he was asking if time travel itself was possible—even if I interpreted the question as such at the time. I think he was asking if I believe time travel to be possible with advanced dust and glyph manipulation. I don't think he was asking about largescale manipulation of time in the abstract. I think he already believes that is possible. What he wanted to know was if a glyph master could move from time dilation—a relatively simple cast—to ripping a hole in the continuum."

"So," drawled Qrow. "You're saying you believe him because Ozpin didn't immediately toss the idea of time travel out on its ass?"

"I'm saying" replied Glynda, "that I believe in the possibility of his claims because Ozpin displayed a remarkable openness to the idea of them. After accepting that possibility—his stories of the future. Of us. Those become rather…compelling."

"I guess," replied Qrow. "It's just…the more I think about it, the more absurd this all seems. I mean, the guy came out of nowhere. He knows about Salem. He's making crazy claims left and right. He knows all about us. He knows all about my nieces. He claims Lionheart is a traitor. He's clearly strong as hell…" Qrow stashed his cloth and inspected his handiwork. "Have we ever encountered someone more suspicious than this guy?"

Glynda exhaled roughly. Qrow made some good points. They weren't new thoughts. The same notions had been racing around her and—no doubt—Ozpin's head from the moment their meeting with Jaune concluded.

Yet here they were. Posted on a rooftop. On Jaune's recommendation. Watching a meeting between their supposed time traveler, a soon-to-be student of Beacon, a leader in a terrorist organization, and the most goddam annoying criminal to ever haunt Vale's seedy underworld.

"If it's any comfort," began Glynda. "Regardless of whether he is from the future; I believe we are handling Jaune's presence in a fairly reasonable manner. This isn't far off from how we would deal with any other powerful unknown huntsman."

Qrow nodded, conceding her point.

Unknown huntsmen and huntresses were neither common nor unheard of. Most huntsmen hopefuls went through one of the four academies—or at the very least, possessed the necessary documentation for accepting missions and getting paid.

This documentation allowed each of the four kingdoms to have a general overview of the huntsmen inside and outside their domain.

But huntsmen also liked to take apprentices.

And apprentices rarely required paperwork.

This meant that, occasionally, fully trained huntsmen and huntresses would appear, having never attended an academy and having never accepted a formal mission. The source of their experience was usually tagging along on their masters' missions, many of which may have far outclassed the sorts of assignments even fourth year Beacon students received.

These sorts of cases were always handled with extreme care. After all, an unstable or malicious huntsman posed an immense danger to everyone around him. So, it wouldn't do to trust him without evidence of his intentions and character.

But, on the other hand, Grimm were plentiful and skilled huntsman were hard to come by. Pushing a skilled huntress away because it was difficult to be certain of her intentions could result in a shortage of manpower when it came time to fight. Between a rogue huntsman and a Grimm incursion the latter was far more likely to result in a mass loss of human life—unless the rogue huntsman was an absolute psychopath…

The usual solution to the unknown-huntsman-quandary was that the huntsman was placed under observation for a predetermined period, during which he was interviewed and kept in proximity to other huntsmen—under the guise of a request. Since he was not a prisoner—after all, huntsmen weren't particularly receptive to being held captive, even if only for a temporary period—he was allowed to go about his business however he chose. He was simply asked to inform assignment offices of his intentions and to accept that, for a time, he may be watched and followed.

It was all very boring and time consuming for all parties involved.

In her younger days, Glynda had wasted a full seven weeks babysitting a new huntsman. It had been a mind-numbing change of pace. And the man had turned out to be clean. He performed his job adequately if not a bit sloppily until, two years after he'd been accepted by Vale, he was killed fighting a pack Beowolves.

All of that to say, Glynda had some experience with the process.

Of course, Jaune being aware of Salem changed things.

It had to.

They couldn't treat the man like he was some run-of-the-mill huntsman when he knew secrets of which only ten, maybe twelve, people in the world were aware.

But did it warrant immediately incarcerating him?

Did it warrant fighting the man to a standstill in Ozpin's office?

Would the combined efforts of her, Qrow, and Ozpin have been enough to take him if they did choose to go on the offensive?

That was the problem when dealing with unknown huntsman.

When there were semblances out there that allowed instant retreat, like teleportation…

Or overwhelming offense, such as a human bomb...

It was always better safe than sorry. If you were going to pick a fight, best to do it once you knew who and what you were picking a fight with.

Glynda still had no idea what Jaune's semblance was. And if Jaune's stories of the future had even a hint of truth, he was potentially too much for even her, Qrow, and Ozpin to take on—with or without potent semblances.

It was unlikely. How could anything short of a fully realized Maiden defeat the combined prowess of her small group of conspirators? But then, Jaune claimed to have slain not one, but two fully realized Maidens in his time.

It was a…unique claim. To say the least.

To summarize, waiting, watching, and not antagonizing.

That was their play.

It worked for them. And Jaune had no problem with it—hell, he welcomed their observation.

All and all, they had taken the best possible course of action.

"I guess you're right," began Qrow. "We wouldn't be doing much different if he hadn't told us he's fought Salem and traveled from the future. We'd be keeping an eye on him. Although, I'm not sure we'd be fine with this meeting. I guess it makes sense to assume he's telling the truth for now. I mean, if he is lying, why would he give us such an easy way to disprove everything he's claimed? He told us his younger self is coming to Beacon this year—quick blood test and we'll know if he was lying."

Glynda hummed her agreement.

After a few seconds of silence Qrow laughed.

Glynda didn't bother asking what he was laughing about.

He explained regardless. "Can't wait to see how Jimmy responds when Jaune tells him he's from the future."

"I imagine James won't be particularly receptive."

"Maybe," agreed Qrow. Then he snickered. "But you know, Jaune did talk a lot about eliminating this threat and neutralizing that danger. You know how hot and bothered that sort of talk makes Old Jimbo."

"It always comes back to James' sexuality with you, doesn't it Qrow? Is there something you'd like to share?"

Qrow snorted. "I'd feel bad if there is some poor guy or gal carrying a flame for the Steel Dick. The only partner James is interested, is one with adjustable sights, recoil compensation, and a fire rate of eight shots a second."

"Wouldn't you have said the exact same about your niece a few days ago?"

Qrow whistled as he thought about that.

Glynda made an interesting point.

A really interesting point.

I*I*I

One Day Previous

It was a full-time job, trying to tone down Clint's telling of "John Slays the Bitch Bandits."

The kid refused to just summarize events with, "yeah, John saved us."

He needed to detail the blood and gore and hopelessness of their circumstances. All so he could play up Jaune as some larger-than-life unstoppable badass.

It had started when Vul said she was feeling tired and left the cafeteria in favor of the room Beacon had provided the two recovering Mistralians.

Clint had been tight-lipped about how he and Jaune had met up until that point, despite Blake's curious nudging.

Jaune was grateful for his discretion.

It was soon obvious, however, that Clint's unwillingness to discuss Raven's camp was not born out of a desire to avoid brining up unnecessary baggage. But, rather, to avoid upsetting Vul.

The moment the female faunus left, Clint's voice deepened, boomed, and echoed as he broke into an ear-drum-shattering rendition of the ballad of "Chrom Gets Cremated."

Jaune tried to convey be quiet to Clint with his eyes.

The gesture was not effective.

If Jaune had to guess, Clint thought he was being shy or embarrassed—and that the kid was doing him a favor by singing his praises.

None of which, of course, could be further from the truth.

Jaune was not embarrassed about what happened at Raven's camp. Embarrassment was hardly the appropriate sentiment for what he had done, for the blood he had shed.

What he felt when he thought back to that camp was more in line with…

Rage.

Rage was more accurate.

Pure. Blinding. Consuming. Rage.

When he pictured the smug little grin Raven had given him back at her camp, he wanted nothing more than to acquaint her face with his boot.

So no, Jaune didn't want Clint to quit hyperbolizing events because he didn't like being portrayed as the "bee's knees" as Ruby would have put it.

Rather, it was because he had a sneaking suspicion as to why Clint was talking about the traumatizing circumstances of his captivity with such reckless abandon.

Clint had been catatonic on the trip back to Beacon. His wide bloodshot eyes had been unblinking and his stare unwavering until sleep granted him mercy. He wasn't talking. He wasn't moving. He certainly wasn't telling an embellished version of what happened to his team with such a dramatic flair.

Now, Clint was gabbing about the bandit camp like he was a first year discussing his first kill on an Ursa Major.

The attitude flip was one with which Jaune—unfortunately—was intimately familiar.

It was a sort of dissociation that he had achieved after Ren and Nora's deaths. It allowed him to function socially, to talk, even to laugh. Meanwhile he wasn't bothered by grief or nightmares or loneliness. All that mattered was the mask and the mission.

The mask being a smile, a joke, and some casual banter.

The mission being vengeance, cold, hard, and raw.

No wonder Glynda was worried about the kid. Clint was only capable of talking about what happened, of playing up Jaune's accomplishments and bravery, because memories of the past, tears, grief, trauma—none of it was inside him.

He'd flushed his system of all those human sensations.

All that was left was pure hatred for Raven and Lionheart, a seething ball of dark matter with the pleasant side-effect of an overpowering sense of purpose and a unique kind of clarity.

It wasn't a healthy place to be. It was better to experience grief, process, and move on.

Jaune wanted to help him. But it wasn't an endeavor to undertake lightly. Ruby and Weiss were already his close friends when they dragged him out of his revenge coma—and they had to work tirelessly for weeks on end to do it.

Jaune didn't know Clint nearly as well, nor did he have the option of spending every minute of the next four weeks trying to draw the kid out.

So, for the moment he could offer Clint little help in dealing with the emotions he was discarding.

That still didn't stop him from attempting to shut Clint up about the bandits.

Why?

Because there were two others at the table.

He feared the details might… unsettle Blake.

And—more importantly—horrify Pip.

Jaune had managed to blow right past most of Blake's inherent skittishness by injecting himself into her life in the most obnoxious way possible—he didn't need all that effort going to waste.

And Pip…

Well, she was important too…

A place to stay at Beacon had always been part of the plan.

A Beacon salary and a room for his new assistant were last minute additions.

He couldn't afford to let Clint scare off the only reason he had requested either of those amenities.

The problem was his reluctance to just tell Clint to shut it.

At least the kid was talking. He could just have easily cut out all human interaction, locked himself in a training area, and lost himself in plans for a violent future.

Jaune's thoughts drifted to Vul as Clint's story ramped up.

The girl, despite clearly suffering from severe PTSD, was in slightly better shape than Clint. Not functionally, she would likely choose to end her huntress career—but she was at least on the long road to normalcy.

She had seemed ready to curl up somewhere safe and warm, get drunk, and get teary—for who knows how long, perhaps years.

Clint, on the other hand, looked ready to curl iron, get ripped, and get even.

Both were ways to deal with severe pain.

Both could lead nowhere.

One was just a little healthier. A little more human.

Though of course, the other had purpose.

That was the main benefit of Clint's coping mechanism over Vul's.

Purpose.

No matter how sad he got... No matter how badly it hurt... Or how much he missed his friends…

Clint had a reason to live. To keep moving.

To fight.

That was another reason Jaune needed to consider how he would help Clint carefully. Bringing him back to land of the living was great and all. But it could do more harm than good if the kid's sense of purpose didn't come back with him.

He would need to be careful and conscientious in his handling of the boy's mental state.

Damn.

He just kept heaping more and more onto his own plate, didn't he? Was his workload never enough?

Jaune tuned back into Clint's dramatic retelling.

"—and then…they came out. Not one. Not two. Not three or four or five."

Clint paused, letting the silence hang for just a moment longer than necessary.

"There were fifty of them."

"Fifty!?" choked Blake.

"Fifty," confirmed Clint.

"And Chrom too?" asked Pip.

Clint nodded. "Though I guess properly counting Chrom it was more like sixty guys."

"Was he that big?" questioned Pip.

"Bigger," replied Clint, without a shred of hesitation. "He was like if one guy ate twenty other guys."

"Wouldn't that be seventy guys then?" questioned Blake.

"Numbers are for the weak," replied Clint, resuming his narration.

Pip listened to the tale with wide eyes, glancing at Jaune occasionally with some indecipherable emotion. He wouldn't be surprised if it was fear—but he couldn't be sure.

Jaune was distracted from his lame attempts at damage control by the sound of heels clacking across the cafeteria floor.

Jaune looked up and, quickly meeting Glynda's eyes, excused himself from the table. When he reached his fellow blonde, she motioned for him to follow her out the room.

"So," began Jaune, once they were—hopefully—outside the three faunus' hearing range. They had stopped by a large window, overlooking the school's pristine courtyard. "You guys figure out what to do with me yet?"

Glynda nodded. "Ozpin has agreed to your request. You will be given a staff position here. A sort floating advisor with very few formal responsibilities."

"I don't need much," said Jaune. He thought quickly. "Just enough to make sure my assistant is comfortable." Sure, he hadn't asked his assistant if she would be his assistant, but he figured Beacon professors made good money, if he was willing to give her practically all of it—what reason would she have to say no?

Aside from the fact that he had practically kidnapped her and dragged her around with little to no consent and forced himself into her life and home with a casual disregard for her privacy.

Yeah.

Aside from all that, why wouldn't she want to work with him?

It was impulsive, he knew that. An assistant wasn't part of the plan. But honestly, him being by himself wasn't part of the plan either.

Ruby and Weiss should have been here with him.

Mostly Ruby, probably.

Still.

He wasn't supposed to be alone.

But when Pip had started describing the various ways she might assist him in his day-to-day life—as well as further huntsman responsibilities…

Well, could he be blamed for getting a little excited?

He wasn't going to find other huntresses of Weiss and Ruby's caliber. His workload was doubled there no matter what.

But if he could enlist someone with some of the same organizational and logistics and general living-life and paying bills and doing paperwork skills that Weiss had…?

"I can live just about anywhere, doing anything," continued Jaune. "But I have certain expectations about Pip's living conditions."

The more he convinced Glynda to sweeten the deal, the more likely he could lure Pip into partnering with him. Sure, he didn't particularly like having a partner on the battlefield these days—too much risk of losing him or her again, just like Pyrrha. But Pip could partner with him from behind a desk—a desk located a safe distance from wherever the action was located. That was palatable. Besides—

Jaune's fast paced thoughts hit a speed bump shaped suspiciously like a brick wall when Glynda spoke up.

"Will the two of you share a room or require separate?"

Why would he and Pip share a room?

Unless…

"Are you short on rooms?"

A flash of confusion passed through Glynda's eyes. "No."

"Oh?" Now Jaune felt confused.

Glynda must have picked up on his confusion. "I apologize, normally I am quite confident in my ability to intuit relationships but honestly I couldn't tell if you and she were involved."

"Oh," said Jaune. He chuckled. Then his brain caught up.

There was the slightest rush of blood to his cheeks, nothing incriminating—not like it would have been when he was a teen or if he was across from his family at the dinner table. Pip huh? Weiss would like her. She had cute ears after all. If Ruby were here she would, no doubt, tell him to "go for it!"

His smile turned wistful.

His Ruby wasn't here.

His Weiss would never "like" someone for him ever again.

He thought of his hands. Covered in so much blood. He thought about one of his few reasons for existing: to cover them in so much more.

He thought about how he already wanted to indirectly involve Pip in that bloody process. How, for the sake of all his dead friends and family, he was willing to dirty her hands by proxy.

"She deserves better."

Glynda's eyes narrowed at the response.

"So, separate rooms then."

"Yes."

Glynda nodded. "One more logistical question."

Jaune motioned for her to continue.

"We were hoping you would address what your companions know of you and of Salem."

Jaune carefully considered his answer. This was important. Ozpin, Glynda, and Qrow needed to know that his name was John around everyone but themselves.

But he also did not feel particularly inclined to tell them when he had arrived in this time. He'd avoided it in his original explanation of his origins, and he planned to continue doing so now. It suited him just fine for them to think he had been around, in their time for years.

Neither Ozpin nor Glynda nor Qrow needed to know that he'd only met Pip a day ago and was only now plotting to make her his assistant. Or that Blake couldn't possibly be his long-time apprentice since he had arrived little more than a week earlier.

Knowing those details would only reduce their faith in his judgement.

He needed to hurry up and build as much of that faith as he could. He didn't need setbacks.

He would have to make sure Blake and Pip stuck to their backstories—longtime apprentice and longtime assistant—but if they were willing, this could all work out surprisingly well for him.

"They know the same things. Neither have heard of Salem and both know me as John. They're both heavily involved in the White Fang stuff."

"So, they have the same information you gave us concerning the White Fang movements in the city?"

"More, probably. Since Blake is ex-White Fang and Pip is…" Should he admit to Pip being a White Fang member as well? Normally he wouldn't think twice of it since Ozpin really didn't give a crap. If a person was willing to dedicate themselves to the fight against Salem he'd acknowledge their repentance, hand them a pardon, and ship their ass to the front lines. Glynda and Qrow were a little more cautious. And Pip wasn't really "ex" White Fang.

She'd just been forcibly removed from the hideout one time.

Probably best to play this one close to his chest.

"Pip is just better at keeping track of that kind of stuff."

Glynda didn't seem remotely surprised about Blake's former affiliations. Which made sense. The first time around neither Glynda nor Ozpin had much to say to or about Blake when she ran off to single-handedly take down the White Fang.

Apparently, it wasn't outside of their expectations for the girl.

"So, it would be for the best if we referred to you as John."

Jaune nodded. "Especially since younger me will be here soon. Might get confusing if we don't keep our names separate."

"Do you have a last name prepared?"

Jaune paused.

Last name.

He needed a last name.

If only Weiss had thought to create an alias for him. Alas, the original plan didn't much care what he went by. His role was supposed to be dealing with the criminal underbelly. Ruby was supposed to interface with Ozpin and company. He wasn't supposed to be juggling so much—not originally. Of course, who was he to hope things would proceed according to his plans—for even a second.

He had made up his first name under pressure from his father.

He had come up with John.

Needless to say, he was not hopeful for the next burst of patented Jaune Arc creativity.

"I'll have to think about that. I'll let you know shortly. Is that everything?"

Glynda nodded. "Yes, now I have to make some…adjustments to the budget."

The woman did not look particularly enthused.

Jaune watched her walk away. She was as attractive as he remembered. It was strange how much closer he was to her age these days.

Sure, she was still older.

But not by much.

Jaune turned back in the direction of the cafeteria.

What went well with John?

Tho…

Se…

Sh…

Shaun?

John Shaun?

Ugh.

He was the worst.

Jaune soon arrived back in the cafeteria.

Blake, Pip, and Clint were still at their table. But now Blake was talking while the other two listened and commented. Was it racist to wonder if he was welcome to approach, if they might be discussing some important faunus only matter?

Then Pip laughed and Clint choked. Whatever Blake had shared—it was pretty damn funny.

Jaune's new-ish scroll vibrated in his pocket. He reached for it, wondering if he might meet one of Neo's…

Somehow the word "friends" didn't seem quite right.

It was Roman.

Jaune answered the call with a swipe of his fingers.

"Hello?"

"Hi John?"

"Roman," Jaune acknowledged. "You're calling me. Unscheduled. Why?"

"Well…ha. Funny story, that. There's someone who wants to meet you."

Had Roman betrayed him?

Or, perhaps, had Cinder caught on to his presence by some other way? So soon?

"Who?"

"Hold on, let me reverse the camera."

Jaune waited for the master thief to switch to his rear facing camera. He waited. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually the screen whirled.

Jaune breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the very un-Cinder like outline of the new interloper. There was a window behind the faunus, so he was almost a silhouette. But there was no question that this was Adam. His lanky form and horns gave him away.

"Oh my god! It's the devil!"

Jaune had to keep himself from laughing as Adam growled, "what!?" and stomped toward the camera.

Jaune continued once he had a clear view of Adam. "Oh, you're not the devil. My bad. The sun was behind you and it kind of cloaked you in shadow. All I could make out were your horns."

"You're John?"

"That's me."

"My name is Adam Taurus. I am a lieutenant of the White Fang. And I demand a meeting—with you and Blake Belladonna."

A meeting with him and Blake, huh? It was unexpected. And it went against the plan's entire concept of small, manageable changes that allow for mass manipulation of outcomes…

Contacting Roman early on, rather than letting him do his thing and killing him at a very specific moment in the future was already a risk that Weiss hadn't been certain they should take.

Now he was considering contacting another major player in an even more reckless manner.

Meeting with Adam wasn't part of the plan.

But leverage on Roman and Adam? Cinder's two most important lackies at this point in the timeline?

It could make things easier. Much easier.

And the plan needed to get more…flexy the moment he arrived here in the past by himself.

"Blake!" he called out, looking away from his scroll momentarily. "Sounds like the horny faunus called for you!"

Blake stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Then her eyes widened. A second later she was beside Jaune. "Horny faunus? Are you talking about Adam!? He called you?"

The moment she had visual confirmation that he was, indeed, talking about Adam, she practically snatched the device out of his hands.

There was no hello. No pause. Blake went in swinging with an angry shout.

"Adam! What the hell are you doing!? Why are the White Fang robbing dust shops!? At least targeting the Schnee made sense! But working with Roman Torchwick—submitting to some psycho fire-bitch? What the hell are you doing to the Fang!?"

Adam started to say…something. But Blake's righteous fury was just getting started. "Ooh! I am so freakin' angry at you! Where do you want to get your ass kicked!?"

"Where do I want to get my…what?"

"On second thought," continued Blake. "You don't get to pick the spot. I will."

Jaune watched Blake stare at the scroll in contemplative silence for a few seconds. "You don't know any good spots to meet him, do you?"

She glared at him. "Whatever!" She turned back to the scroll. "Arrange it with John! I'll be there!"

Blake offered the scroll to back to Jaune—what was he, her assistant?—and started to turn away.

Then Adam's voice came through. "Your anger is entirely unwarranted. You betray us. You betrayed your k—"

Blake snatched the scroll back with unusual speed for a for a first year. ""I left Adam! I fucking left! I didn't betray you. I didn't betray the White Fang. I didn't betray faunus everywhere. I left because the Fang changed. I left because you changed, you asshole! Don't you dare act like I don't care about the plight of the faunus! I care more than you ever have! You never cared about helping faunus! You never cared about the greater good! You never cared about me! If you did, you'd stop trying to drag me into your psychotic revenge which is going to ruin the life of innocent people—human and faunus—everywhere!"

Blake was breathing heavily by the end of her rant, chest heaving and eyes wide.

The scroll remained quiet for a few seconds. Then it remained quite for a few more seconds. Then a few more.

"Blake—"

She cut him off. "Save it for our meeting Adam. I hope you're ready to kill me. Because when I see you…I don't know what I'll do."

Blake offered the Scroll back to Jaune but released it before he had the device in hand. She apologized as it clattered to the ground.

Jaune picked it up as he watched Blake walk—or, more accurately, stomp—out of the cafeteria. "Wow, I didn't see that coming." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "I mean, she was just over their joking around with…and then she just…" He pursed his lips and made an explosive noise. Adam, mask firmly in place, said nothing. He did nothing. He made several more explosions. When he still hadn't received a response from Adam, he said, "well, okay then. Blake wants to meet. Have your people call mine. Buh-bye."

Jaune ended the call.

Interesting.

This was…

Interesting.

It was an opportunity to influence the White Fang. A chance to earn some trust from Ozpin and company—by inviting them along for the ride. And perhaps he could help Blake nip her White Fang oriented martyr complex in the bud.

This could be good. This could be great.

He glanced back at the table with Pip and Clint. Clint's eyes were unfocused, locked onto some invisible thing in the distance. Pip was looking at him. Or she was, until he made eye contact with her, then she flicked her eyes away.

Right, Pip.

He had already asked Glynda—maybe it was time to ask the faunus herself if she would be his assistant.

But how? Come straight out and say it? Or was this the kind of thing you wooed someone into?

How the hell had Ozpin convinced Glynda to pick up the slack of his madness?

Jaune scratched the fair bit of stubble that was gathering on his cheeks.

How would he go about this?

I*I*I

"You sure about this?" asked John.

Blake nodded.

She was sure.

In fact, she'd never been surer about anything in her entire life.

She and Adam had gone through a lot. And they had gone through it together.

Together.

Always together.

Their relationship had been easy at first. Because they were alike. In so many ways.

She was angry. He was angrier.

And their fury was derived from the same place. The same source.

The never-ending cycle of injustice to which the Faunus were subjected.

Every time a beating went ignored by the police... Every time a store was razed… Every time a faunus found themselves cold and hungry, living on the streets, because no one would give them a job and the shelters wouldn't take them in…

Her blood had boiled.

Her blood had boiled violently.

So had his.

But his blood…

Well…

It had always boiled hotter than hers.

It boiled differently too.

Sure, he wanted the injustice to end, just like her.

Sure, he wanted those causing all the suffering to pay, just like her.

And he loved helping their oppressed people, just like her.

They should have been two peas in a pod, kittens in a litter.

But there was a difference between them. A stark one.

A difference that Blake had taken far too long to recognize.

Adam hated the world.

The. Whole. Entire. World.

He was smart, so he could wrap up his immense hatred in reasonable treatises and philosophical jargon. But that didn't change the fact that his heart had become a seething black ball of carnivorous ink.

It had started gradually, as if he was trying to ease Blake into his way of thinking.

First there was no difference between Schnee Company management and the Schnee family... Then there was no difference between Atlas officials and government workers… Then there was no difference between soldiers and emergency responders…

She could still recall his voice. His words. Laced with pain, anger, but…also, reason.

"Look Blake. I know you wish this could all go down peacefully somehow. So do I. But we must face the facts. We won a war Blake. We won. They came to us, asking for peace. And we gave it to them. And what have they given us in return? Ridicule, spite, violence, hatred, abuse… The kingdoms weren't this strong back during the war Blake. We could've annihilated the humans had we chosen to. Maybe not all the kingdoms—but at least one—probably Atlas, given where our troops were stationed when we agreed to peace. Every man, woman, and child in that god-forsaken kingdom lives because of the mercy we showed. All of them. So, is it just the Schnee CEO and the Atlas council who should be blamed for the Faunus mistreatment? Are we not owed a debt by every single one of them? A debt that they, and by 'they' I mean each individual citizen, have reneged upon time and time again? I understand your desire for a peaceful solution Blake. I really do. But we aren't the ones who broke faith and brought us to this moment. They did that. All we can do at this point is…make them pay for it. Make them pay dearly."

Before long, he was convincing her that the people who bought Schnee Company products were just as guilty as Jacques himself—and that the citizens of Atlas were just as deserving of punishment as the corrupt politicians constantly pushing anti-faunus sentiment.

At that point, he wasn't actively pushing an agenda of attacking human civilians.

Not yet.

He was just…explaining why civilian casualties weren't a…huge concern.

That had been enough for Blake. He had already gone too far.

She didn't want to imagine what reality his next passionate argument would attempt to convince her of.

Were children going to be the next great threat to the faunus?

She could hear it now, "Children are just murdering, raping, thieving adults in hiding Blake… If they're human, they're a threat."

She gritted her teeth.

The thought sent a pulse of anger through her so strong that she had to remind herself several times that the statement had been conjured from some dark depths of her imagination.

Adam hadn't actually said it.

Yet.

There was no doubt that he had gotten sicker since she left him on that train.

His current plans were proof enough of that. Working with some crazy human terrorist who was looking to take down Beacon? A school that trained human and faunus alike? Trained them to protect the entire kingdom from Grimm and other insidious threats?

That was several steps beyond not caring about human casualties.

That was an active attempt to kill as many people as possible. To cause as much chaos and anarchy as he could.

He didn't even care if his fellow faunus got caught up in his lust for revenge.

Was there even a word for how far gone her former-friend was?

Broken.

That seemed appropriate.

"I have to do this John. I have to…I have to face him."

John released a non-comital hum.

"Why?"

"Why?" repeated Blake.

"Sure. You're ex-White-Fang, right? You must have left for a reason. Probably because you didn't want anything to do with the organization anymore, correct? Because if you wanted to change the movement—you'd have never left. You would have just…fought against the leadership."

Blake considered John's words.

He had a point.

She had left the White Fang because she couldn't tolerate what they were becoming—what they were trying to turn her into.

At least…that's what she told herself.

Part of her knew, from the moment she cut the link between those two train-cars, that she was running because she was scared.

Not liking what the White Fang was becoming? Hating what they were trying to make her do? Those weren't reasons to run. Those were reasons to stand—the same way she had stood against Faunus oppressors a thousand times before.

No, it wasn't her conscience that had led her to abandon the White Fang.

Her conscience urged her to fix problems. To fight injustice.

It always had.

No.

Her reason for abandoning the White Fang was fear.

Pure and simple.

She feared what the group had become. She feared that she would be unable to change anything.

She feared…

She feared Adam.

Goddammit.

She was scared of him. She was terrified.

And she hated it. She hated how she could simultaneously experience a raging sun of anger in her stomach—and yet it was tempered with a lead ball of terror.

Despite her furious threat when they spoke a day earlier, some small part of her quaked at the thought that Adam would see her the same way he saw the Schnees—one more obstacle in his journey to find a good vantage point to watch the world he set on fire burn.

She was a traitor after all. He'd said as much on their call.

What was stopping him from cutting her down like he had done to so many others?

Blake was afraid to fight him.

She wasn't afraid because he was stronger than her. Although he was. No, Blake was fine with the idea of taking on stronger, deadlier opponents.

The reason she was afraid to fight Adam was…

Well…

Because despite seeing his actions and beliefs as heinous and irredeemable…

Despite hating what he was becoming. What he was doing. What he was.

She couldn't bring herself to hate him. They had been through too much, stood together too often. If he hated her now…if he decided he would personally end her life—could she hope to respond in kind?

A few days ago, her honest answer would have been simple.

No.

She couldn't face up to Adam's hate and rage—not if it turned against her. She had nothing as potent and overwhelming inside of her. She was certain he'd rip her apart as she begged him to remember her friendship.

After all, what was a friend in comparison to his passion for humanity's destruction?

That was why she chose to run in the first place, why she'd given up trying to convince him that there was a better way…

But all this was before.

Before she had realized that Adam wasn't even paying attention to faunus welfare anymore. An attack on Vale? Unleashing Grimm into the streets?

Learning of Adam's new breed of madness set off a supernova inside her.

She was angry.

Really angry.

Pissed to the upper-limits of her temper.

The fury drowned out the fear. Drowned out her regrets. Drowned out whatever lingering affection still existed for one of her oldest friends.

Blake followed John to the stairwell after glaring at the "Out of Order" sign taped to the elevator. Her voice, though low, echoed as they traveled upward.

"Adam's already crossed a lot of lines I don't agree with. But this one…this one is too much for me to ignore and wait for someone else to handle."

"I hear you," said John.

Blake continued. "He's going after Beacon! Beacon! He's not dumb John. He knows how important huntsman and huntresses are. To faunus and humans alike! He just doesn't care. If he doesn't care about civilian faunus anymore—then who—or what—the hell does he care about?"

"I get you," replied John.

"I used to think there was no way I could make myself fight him—not for real, not with our lives on the line. But now I just—are you listening to me?"

"Uh-huh, yep. You're absolutely right. Hold on a second."

Blake considered how likely it was that she would succeed at pushing John down one of these flights of steps. On the one hand, he didn't seem to be paying much attention. On the other, it wasn't a great idea to mess around with a warrior who wasn't paying attention. His snap-reflex upon noticing her hand going for his shoulder might be to cut off the offending appendage.

Losing a hand.

Wouldn't that be a terrible start to, what promised to be, a terrible evening?

John withdrew a small transmitting device from his pocket. A thin wire ran from the device down under John's hoody's hem. John flicked a small switch at the top of the device and shoved it back in his pocket.

"Testing, testing. This thing working?" said Jaune, withdrawing his scroll.

He waited a few seconds. Then his scroll buzzed.

He seemed satisfied with whatever answer he received as he continued speaking.

"Ah great. Looks like the elevator is out of order so we're taking the stairs. Might take us a while."

After making that announcement he turned back to Blake with a grin. "So," began John—as if he hadn't been ignoring her for the last couple of minutes. "Are we on the same page here?"

Blake swallowed her annoyance in favor of determining what John was talking about. "What page?"

"You know, our game plan? For when we meet Adam?"

Blake paused. That was a good question.

What was her plan? What would she do when she was face-to-face with Adam?

She was angry. And she was going to express that fury. There was no doubt about that.

But…

How?

How was she going to show Adam all her resentment and outrage?

Words didn't seem like they'd quite do justice to her absolute rage.

Taking Adam's other eye…

That seemed more appropriate.

She realized John was talking and she had missed most of what he was saying.

"…at's why we're going to talk things out, right?"

Who was going to talk things out? When?

Blake decided to emulate the blonde. "Yeah, sure. You're absolutely right."

John's eyes narrowed. "I'm serious Blake. This is important."

"I hear you."

"Do you?"

"I get you."

"I feel like you don't."

"You want me to say things at Adam. No worries. I have lots to say."

"No, I don't want you to say things at Adam. I don't even know what that means."

"I get you."

"Do you though?"

Blake nodded. Of course, she understood. She had so much to say. She was going to tear Adam a new one.

No.

Two new ones.

"Roman and Adam are both underlings of the woman I'm after. Getting them both to work with me would make my life several times easier."

"Okay."

"So, you're going to help convince Adam to work with me?"

"I'll convince Adam of something."

"I'm serious here Blake. There are a lot of lives on the line. This meeting isn't necessarily the event on which all those lives hinge or anything—but it's important, nonetheless. I need to know what to expect from you when we get to the top of this never-ending series of stairs."

Blake groaned internally as she realized this was a question she had to answer.

And, to be honest, she wasn't sure there was an answer. Not yet at least.

"I don't know John. I'm angry. I'm scared. I'm sad. I'm nervous. I'm furious." Blake clenched her fists and stomped a little heavier on the next couple of steps. "I have no idea what I'm going to do when we get up there John. I don't have a clue."

After a few seconds without a response, John's silence prompted her to peek at her companion.

His expression could only be described as understanding. He didn't look the least bit upset that he was going into this meeting with a loose cannon.

It was a small thing, but Blake was grateful.

Of course, that gratitude melted away into irritated soup when Jaune spoke up again.

"So, no idea what you're going to say huh? Not even a clue?"

"Who says I'm going to say anything?"

The more Blake considered her response, the more she realized that, perhaps, she had the right idea already. Why should she waste time trying to figure out what she was going to say to the asshole? Why should she waste brainpower trying to anticipate him?

Let him talk. She would respond however she responded.

Adam would get what was coming to him—she'd figure out just what that looked like once he was before her.

They continued up the stairs in relative silence after that.

Nearly three minutes had passed before they finally arrived on the second to last flight. Any higher and they would reach the roof access.

Jaune's knock echoed through the stairwell.

A few seconds later, the door was answered by a flamboyant thief.

"At least someone around here knows how to use a goddamn door."

I*I*I

Well…

Shit.

Trill glanced between Blake and Adam nervously.

Neither spoke.

Neither moved.

Neither flinched—not even a twitch.

Adam stared at Blake from behind his mask. His lips were pressed flat, his hands fisted at his side.

Blake's eyes didn't slip from the thin slits in Adam's facial covering. She was scowling, one hand rested on the hilt of Gambol Shroud.

It made sense that she'd be in a bit more defensive of a stance. Adam had easier access to his weapon since it rested on his hip and not his back. Plus, the bull faunus was fast. Ridiculously fast.

And then there was John—a question tucked inside a mystery wrapped around an enigma.

Unlike the other two, who were keeping their hands relatively close to their weapons, he was relaxed. There was a broken sword at his waist, but his fingers were laced together and resting behind his head. He looked as if her was parked comfortably on a poolside chair—only he was standing.

The huntsman's eyes, however, belied his casual posture. His azure pupils flicked over every occupant in the room in rapid succession, lingering on Adam the most by a large margin.

The silence stretched on.

And on.

And on.

Nearly two minutes of wordless observation passed before someone spoke.

"I really don't see why I have to be here. Or why I'm the host."

Trill's attention snapped backward, towards where Roman sat on a couch, Neo beside him. The usually capricious duo was visibly tense. At least Roman was. His back was ramrod straight and his toe tapped the ground silently.

Neo wasn't tense per say, more like she was…invested in what was happening around her. She leaned forward, mismatched irises flickering between Blake and Adam.

"Hm…" began John. "Where to start? You're the host, Roman, because, holy shit, this is a nice apartment." John glanced around. "Or, rather, it was a nice apartment. Seems like you really let the place go."

Roman's jaw clenched so hard Trill could hear it.

"As for why you're here," continued John. "Because I'm after Cinder. Both you and Adam are her minions, so I figured this was as good a time as any to meet the two of you together."

Trill glanced at his boss and semi-friend nervously. Adam wasn't going to take kindly to that label.

"I'm no one's minion," said Adam. There was surprisingly little heat in his tone—well, for him at least.

Trill surmised that the mildness of the response had something to do with how the bull faunus had yet to take his eyes off Blake.

The faunus was too distracted to take mortal offense over the condescending words of a human. In other words, the man was on another planet.

"Ah," replied John. "Not a fan of the 'm' word I see. How about lackey? Or flunky? Oh! Toady. I've always liked calling the bad guy's bootlicking sycophants' toadies..."

Whereas calling him a "minion" had not pulled Adam's attention away from Blake…

That series of comments was more than enough to yank him back to Remnant.

"Shut your mouth you dirty fu—"

Adam was interrupted.

Trill's eyes widened. He stumbled back as Blake chucked her weapon at Adam's masked face.

The White-Fang lieutenant barely dodged the dangerous attack.

Adam turned back towards Blake, almost incredulously—or at least Trill imagined he was incredulous beneath his sterile mask—only to eat an enraged kick to the side of his face.

Blake was a blur of dark shadow and clothing as she snapped her blade back toward her and exchanged a flurry of blows with Adam.

Trill's eyes could hardly follow what was happening.

But his hearing was substantially more developed than his sight.

He could hear every slash of Blake's weapon through the air, the shifting steps as each combatant moved forward or back, and the near feline growl building in Blake's body as she failed to land the hits she so desperately wanted on her former ally.

Adam didn't sound as frustrated as Blake. But his movements were still enunciated with grunts of effort as he struggled to fend off Gambol Shroud without his own weapon.

It was a relief to see that Adam wasn't drawing.

Trill wasn't sure he'd ever seen Adam draw Wilt and not maim his opponent. Well there was Neo, but even then, she was only alive because she was an insanely strong fighter herself.

Even when sparring opponents with aura Adam used a practice sword.

He was just too deadly with the real thing.

"Holy shit. She really did just attack without saying a word."

Trill glanced at John. The huntsman still had his hands behind his head, fingers interlocked, posture relaxed. The man met his gaze, explaining, "I asked her what she was going to say when she was facing him. She told me, 'who says I'm going to say anything'? I didn't really know if that meant she was just going to stare at him for a really long time… or give him a disappointed look and then leave… or just go full ca-razy on his ass. Guess it was option number three, huh?"

Trill was less taken aback by the words John spoke than he was by the tone with which he spoke them. The huntsman sounded as if he was discussing the weather. As if there wasn't a single drop of tension in the room. As if Blake wasn't trying to behead her once-friend and Adam wasn't dodging for his life and smacking away tempered steel with his gloved hands.

Trill turned back towards the fight when he heard a strange noise, like glass breaking but in reverse. He was surprised to see Blake, or rather, a copy of her, made entirely from ice. One of Adam's arms was lodged inside the ice. His other arm was pinned to Blake's side. The cat faunus's free hand held her leveled blade with Adam's right mask slit.

The fight paused, for an instant. And then Blake was moving, driving her weapon through Adam's eye.

Or, at least, she would have, had John not yanked her by her collar.

Trill blinked as Blake stumbled backward. When had John moved?

"Remember what we discussed on our way over?" questioned John. "Talking things out?"

Blake didn't stop glaring at Adam as she replied. "I did talk things out."

"When?" said John.

"Before."

"With who?"

"Me," snipped Blake curtly.

"Oh," began John, voice cheery. "You talked things out—with you. That's good. No, that's great. That's exactly what I meant when I suggested it. Yeah. Talk about your emotional issues with the most emotionally-intelligent and least-biased person you can find—yourself. What kind of advice did you give yourself?" John's voice transitioned into an obnoxious falsetto. "'Self, I'm really angry at the Satan horned goat faunus.'" His voice stayed falsetto but took on an even more obnoxious gravel, like a high-pitched old woman who had smoked a pack-a-day since infancy. "'Huh? Some guy is bothering you Blake? Kill that piece of shit. What, John needs to at least talk to him before you kill him? Fuck John. That bastard can learn necromancy if he wants to talk to the angry heifer so bad. After you kill the horny faunus, take care of the punk-rock emo thief and drop the short kid off at the nearest orphanage. Then that freak John can save Vale by his lonesome. How's that sound?'" John's voice changed back to the plain falsetto. "That…sounds…awesome self! I'm so glad I consulted with such a level-headed and super-intelligent resource!"

Trill could feel his eyes widening involuntarily. Each sentence John completed sent a pulse of dread down his spine. His bulging eyes raced around the room. The huntsman had managed to insult every single murderous, angry, or psychotic person present.

And he had done so gleefully.

Blake and Adam had gotten the brunt of it but—for some reason—the man had decided he'd be remiss to skip over the professional criminals—even the terrifying butchering little one.

Adam was the first to respond.

He did not respond verbally.

Adam lurched forward nearly twice as fast as when he'd been fighting Blake. Trill's eyes weren't quick enough to be certain of the speed change, but double seemed a reasonable assumption, since the fight between Adam and Blake looked like a blurry mess and this new movement looked less like a blur and more like Adam's limbs and body were teleporting to new locations.

In one instant his hands were open, held in a loose guard, in the next they were grasping his weapon's hilt.

In one instant he was several feet away from John, with Blake standing in between them, in the next he was past Blake, well within slashing range of John.

The action froze, like a photograph. Trill struggled to understand what he had just seen.

If Adam's movements were like teleportation, then John's were like…

Like he was already there.

Like Trill had imagined that the huntsman was hanging back, arms cocked lazily behind his head. Like he'd already known the exact location, speed, and style of Adam's attack and had settled into his response before Adam even moved.

John's right hand rested on Adam's. His left hand held his shattered—but plenty sharp—sword against the faunus's throat.

Wilt was still partially sheathed.

John had interrupted Adam's slash before the tip of his weapon came free.

Trill's heart nearly stopped beating. The silence and stillness of the room was like concrete. Blake wasn't moving. Adam wasn't moving. John wasn't moving.

Adam and Neo didn't sound like they were moving.

No one was even breathing, least of all Trill.

Fittingly, John broke the thick silence.

"I'm not the kind of opponent you come at before you've drawn your blade. Not unless you want a foot off the top?"

John stared into Adam's mask unflinchingly.

Adam returned his glare.

After what felt like an hour, but was probably only a few short seconds, Adam stepped backward; his blade retreated into its sheath.

Trill resumed breathing when John allowed the movement.

But he had a feeling it was only a matter of time before his breath was stolen again.

I*I*I

Here went nothing.

Goddamn, he wished he had Ruby and Weiss for this.

Ruby could make friends with anyone even dangerous murderous individuals—it probably helped that her cheerful nature and insane destructiveness on the battlefield left most wannabe baddies quaking. She could have self-centered or vengeful pricks like Adam and Roman eating out of the palm of her hand.

And once Neo realized how much lethality was hiding behind Ruby's girlish charm—well the multi-colored midget would practically be in love.

And Weiss.

Weiss could formulate downright irresistible arguments. She could weave webs of logic that even the irrational had a hard time escaping. Neither Roman's savviness nor Adam's stubbornness would save them from her unwavering persuasive ability.

The woman could convince a fish that it could breathe on dry land—and then figure out some way to make the claim true too.

Then there was him.

Jaune Arc.

Weiss and Ruby claimed he was every bit as good with people as the two of them. But Jaune knew that was bullshit.

Jaune knew how to knock heads. He knew how to inspire confidence in soldiers—by lending them some that he had mastered producing artificially.

But could he show a criminal the error of their ways? Give hope to the hopeless? Convince the obsessed that the consequences of their actions weren't whatever they thought they'd be?

"Alright, enough playing around. let's get down to business, shall we?"

Jaune grabbed a nearby barstool and promptly sat. He kept his senses open but mostly focused on Adam. Of everyone in the room, the bull faunus was most likely to take a shot at him when he least expected it. Sure, Roman and Neo might try the same—but it was less likely. Those two were more rational and more afraid of him.

Who would have thought there would come a day where he would think of Neo as being more rational than someone else?

Neo.

"You and Roman are working for Cinder Fall, correct?"

Adam's response was more hiss than reply. "I don't work for humans."

"My bad," apologized Jaune. "You're working with but in a supporting and subservient role?"

Adam growled.

Was everyone sure this guy was a cow faunus? Did cows growl? Were cows this aggressive?

Was milking as dangerous as hunting?

"I don't care one way or the other if you think you're Cinder's equal. You're not. But I don't care if you think you are."

Jaune ignored Adam's mounting bristling.

"I'm after Cinder's boss—you don't know her—you would if you were actually Cinder's equal, but you don't because you're not."

Adam's shoulders were getting stiffer and stiffer, his hand drifted almost lazily to his sword's hilt.

Maybe that was enough riling him up.

Maybe.

"Cinder's boss presents an unprecedented threat, not just to any one kingdom but to life on Remnant as a whole. This includes but is not limited to Menagerie, Atlas, Vacuo, Vale, Mistral, and every village, hermit, or wanderer between them. This threat does not distinguish between Faunus or human. Man or woman. Child or adult. Huntsman or civilian. To fight under Cinder, to help her, is to fight for Grimm. It is to fight for the end of most, if not all life on this planet."

Jaune watched the lower half of Adam's face. He didn't frown. He didn't flinch. He didn't part his lips.

Perhaps an approaching apocalypse wasn't the sort of thing that could grab his attention.

"Adam Taurus of the White Fang…" Jaune drummed his fingers on Roman's destroyed island counter. "Tell me, what do you fight for?"

"I don't owe you an explanation," growled Adam.

"Then how about me?" inserted Blake testily. "I fought alongside you for years. I trusted you. You were my best friend. Do I get an explanation? Do I get to find out when you became…whatever you are now—or if you were always this way?"

Adam's head turned, ever so slightly. He was keeping Jaune well within his sight while looking at his ex-partner. "Blake…" He trailed off. Eventually he restarted. "What are you talking about?"

Jaune, and Blake apparently, waited for him to say more. It wasn't until a few seconds had passed that they realized that it was not a rhetorical question.

"I'm asking, Adam," said Blake. "When did you become this unbearable monster that I can't stand to even look at?"

"And again," replied Adam. "I'll ask what are you talking about? How have I changed?"

"Are you serious!?" shouted Blake. "You're trying to take down a huntsman academy? Flood the city with Grimm?" Her voice rose an octave and a few decibels, taking on a certain shrillness. "A city of children and shopkeepers and teachers and parents and brothers and sisters and…" She gasped, the beginning of a sob working through her body. "…humans and… faunus… and you…" she trailed off as another sob wracked her frame.

Jaune glanced between Adam and Blake. Oum, he wished Taurus wasn't wearing that mask.

What was he thinking? Did he care about what was being discussed? Did he care about the impact it was having on Blake? Did he care about anything at all?

Jaune certainly cared. He felt his heart break a little for his old friend as he watched her, so torn between grief and rage.

The room was silent, except for Blake's sobs, until Adam finally broke the quiet. "And I ask again. How. Have. I. Changed?"

Blake glared at the redhead with teary eyes.

"I've always been willing," Adam continued. "To sacrifice, Blake. Resources, opportunities, others, myself…" He shook his head. "I've always been willing to do what needs to be done no matter what. I haven't changed Blake. What's changed is what needs to be done."

"Shut up," said Blake, voice weakened. "I've had it with your stupid arguments and fancy explanations."

"You asked Blake. You asked when I became what I've become. The truth is, I've always been this way. I thought you were too."

Adam no longer bothered with keeping Jaune in sight. His attention was lasered on Blake. "I used to think it was the world changing. Making things worse. Calling for more sacrifice. Screaming for more drastic action." He shrugged. "But I was wrong. The world wasn't changing. The world refuses to change. That's the problem, in fact. The world doesn't change. And I wanted it too. And if I recall correctly… So. Did. You."

Blake stepped backward, as if struck.

"It was that gradual understanding that, I suppose you might say, changed me. But I didn't really change. I just became more aware of the truth. Protests and pickets and marches won't do shit. The world is just as unchanging as I am. If you want to make the world give you an inch, make it shift even a microscopic amount—you need to be willing to do the unthinkable. Do things that will shake the foundations upon which everything is built."

Adam lifted his hand to his mask, as if he might take it off, but, after a few seconds of contemplation, he left it in place.

He turned his attention back to Jaune.

"You're not wrong. I don't know anything about Cinder's boss. But perhaps she has the right idea for this miserable planet."

"How can you say that!?" cried Blake.

Jaune remained silent. Thoughtful.

There was a depth to Adam here. Something he'd never seen—or bothered to see—back in his own time. Perhaps at the time when he was dealing with Adam he was still too young, too naïve, too blind. But now, after enduring what he had endure. After seeing what he had seen.

Adam's pain. His rage. His willingness to give up anything to achieve close to nothing.

It was all too familiar.

He didn't have Ruby's ability to befriend anyone. And he didn't have Weiss's innate skill with persuasion.

But this…

This he understood.

He understood all too well.

"I told you Blake. I can say it, because its true."

"But—"

Jaune interrupted her. "He's right Blake."

"What?" Her attention snapped towards him.

"He's right," repeated Jaune, still studying Adam. "The world doesn't change unless it's dragged over broken glass kicking and screaming—or changed gradually while its unaware I suppose but that's relatively rare. The fight for faunus freedom has never proceeded the way it should—because the world refuses to change. A mass Grimm incursion on Vale—the eventual apocalypse. That'll change the world in a way the White Fang never could."

"You mean it'll change the world by ending it?" mocked Blake.

"Any movement is better than stagnation, isn't it, Adam?"

Adam's full attention was back on Jaune as the blonde abandoned his barstool and took the few necessary steps to bring himself into Adam's cutting range.

"I see you, Adam Taurus. I see all of you."

Adam scoffed.

He wouldn't be scoffing by the end of this.

Jaune was certain of that.

Because Jaune understood how he became this way. He understood what brought him both to this place and the even darker one he reached in Jaune's old timeline.

"The man who would sacrifice everything. The man who would give up anything. The man who has been willing to do anything to accomplish his goals since the day he was born. Adam Taurus." Jaune stroked his stubble. "That's how you think of yourself, isn't it, Adam? Hell, it's almost who you are. But only almost. Because you're not being entirely honest with us or yourself, are you Adam? You've always been willing to sacrifice, yes, true, fair. But to claim that you haven't changed at all…well that's not true, is it? After all, why are you here?"

Adam's head twitched towards Roman, before he clamped down on the motion, evidently resolving himself not to give anything away, not to indulge a stranger's intrusive questions.

But Jaune had already received enough. "Don't give me that load of crap. You're not here for Roman. You're here for Blake." Jaune took another step forward. This time, Adam took a step back. "You've changed Adam, just in the opposite direction from what Blake assumes. You, Adam Taurus, the man who's willing to sacrifice anything… who's willing to sacrifice everything… found something he's not willing to sacrifice."

Jaune took another step forward. Adam took another step back.

"You don't know what you're talking about," the bull faunus snarled.

"Oh, but I do Adam. I've been there." Flashes of memory ran through Jaune's head. Pieces of the darkest times of his life floated to the surface of his mind. "I've stood at the precipice both literal and figurative, staring out at the broken twisted world and thought there's nothing I wouldn't do, wouldn't give up, wouldn't sacrifice to change this."

Adam's breath quickened, noticeable because of his jerky chest movements. "And I've also had to deal with the realization that that thought, that feeling, that identity—because that's what it is really, an identity—I've had to deal with the realization that all that simply isn't true. There was always something I wasn't willing to sacrifice—always someone—or a couple of someone's if I'm being honest."

"That's because you're weak," raged Adam.

Jaune laughed. "If I'm weak then what are you? I'm not shaking. Why are you shaking?"

"I'm angry."

"Yeah, probably, but that's not all, is it?"

Adam clenched his teeth and rested his hand on Wilt. "Enough."

"I'm not quite done yet," replied Jaune. "Let me let you in on a secret." His voice dropped a bit but was still audible to everyone in the room. "Cinder's boss is the worst parts of our world. The worst elements. The worst emotions. The darkest spots. You can't even imagine. You want an example of a being… an existence… a force… that remains unaltered, that does not turn, move, or grow? She's as unchanging as the Grimm. As powerful as a natural disaster. A blackhole of anger, malice, and rage purified and strengthened for centuries, millennia—Oum knows how long."

Jaune took two steps forward this time.

Adam took one step back and found the glass window. Jaune reached out, grabbing his lapel, yanking him forward. "She's immortal. She's indestructible. She's the closest thing this world has known to a god since the originals left. And I…" Jaune paused. "…I'm going to kill her." This close, Jaune could see Adam's one good eye through the mask, welling up with some sort of emotion. "Now, none of that was the secret. That was just the background. The secret is how I got this strong. Strong enough to kill a demi-god. Strong enough to stand when no one else can." Jaune reared back his head. "Strong enough to…" he rocketed his forehead into Adam's mask. The mask cracked but held as their aura flared. "…change the fucking world."

I*I*I

This human.

This human was something else. Something otherworldly. Something…

Just something.

Adam resisted his screaming instincts, telling him to lash out, to do something. How could he have allowed John to close the distance so easily—without any form of reprisal? Now he was too close to even slash properly.

And the human's aura. It was flaring. Lighting up like a beacon, flooding the room with brilliant light.

Adam had never seen anything like it.

The forehead smashing into his mask was painful—but nowhere near as bad as it could have been. With the amount of aura John was casually displaying Adam had a feeling the man could smash his forehead into Adam's over and over until there was nothing left of his head—and Jaune would hardly feel the strain.

"I'm stronger than you Adam," continued John, as if he hadn't just rammed their heads together. "I'm stronger than most goddamn people. There's probably not a single human alive today who could beat me in a fight. I'm strong enough to change things and not just arbitrarily—like you—but actually make them better. I didn't get this strong by being willing to sacrifice anyone and anything—not even by being willing to sacrifice myself, although I am."

Had his mask fallen off his face?

It felt like his mask had fallen. It was supposed to be a barrier between him and the world he hated. But it didn't feel like there was anything between him and John right now. No barrier, no space.

"No, Adam, strength, real strength, the kind of strength that can change everything… That comes from having things you're unwilling to sacrifice. People you won't give up. Codes you won't go back on. Decisions you won't undo. It comes from having those and being willing to do everything in your power to protect them. That's where you get the strength, the skill, the tenacity, the drive, the will, to…Change. The. Fucking. World."

Adam swallowed what felt like sawdust but was probably a mixture of saliva and a bit of blood.

He couldn't look away from the human's eyes. They were barely even a color with his aura flaring like a spotlight, more like head lights with some special sort of radiance that ignored the viewer's eyes and instead pierced their brain. It was all he could see. All he could feel. A tidal wave of aura that threatened to burn him alive, freeze him solid, or set him free.

There was something wet dripping down his palms. It likely wasn't sweat, considering how tightly he clenched his fists.

Was this human…

This huntsman…

This…

John.

Was he right? Was his willingness to sacrifice everything…

Weakness?

Was his acceptance that he couldn't make the world he wanted and his willingness to just make the world something different—even if it was worse…

Was that cowardice? Was it…fear?

Was he…?

Was everything he'd done…?

No.

He refused to accept this. Any of it. It didn't matter how pretty the words that were spoken. It didn't matter how much sense they made. It didn't matter that his body could feel that this man knew of what he spoke—that the strength he so desperately needed was right here in front of him. He refused to accept any of that.

John was right about one thing though. He had come here for one reason. Blake. She was the thing he couldn't give up. The thing he couldn't sacrifice. And she made him weaker for it.

If he was going to embrace his destiny. If he was going to change this ugly, rotten world…

He needed to let her go.

But could he.

Could he bare it?

Could he…

"Get out…" his voice escaped him in a whisper.

"What?" said John.

"I said," began Adam, his voice building into a shout. "Get out!" He shoved John away from him. "Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out!"

His voice built in volume with each repetition.

John and Blake exchanged a look.

Blake stepped forward. "Adam…"

"Leave! Now!"

The two exchanged another look. There seemed to be some silent argument happening between them. Eventually, Blake rescinded with a downward tilt of her shoulders. She walked towards the stairwell entrance. She paused as she opened the door. "Adam…I…I'm sorry that I'm…not who you thought I was."

Then she was gone.

John followed her shortly. He stopped at the door as well. He turned. "You know, I could have hit you a lot harder. Broken that mask in half. But that's not my job. It's not anyone else's. You're making a choice here Adam. One you're going to regret."

"What do you know?" Adam spat with a venom.

"Nothing, you'd be interested in, I guess. Enjoy hiding behind a mask Adam. I hope it keeps your bed warm at night."

Then he was gone.

Adam watched the door close behind them.

He was…

He was alone.

He was finally alone.

"Well…this is awkward."

Adam jerked his attention toward the voice. That's right. This hadn't just been a meeting between him, John, and Blake. Roman, Neo, and Trill were here too.

Shit.

He hoped he was just imagining what felt like a tear working its way down his cheek.

He hoped.

"This is my place," continued Torchwick. "So normally, I wouldn't listen to the random guy—I did not invite, by the way—screaming Get out! Get out! Get out! But…Neo and I do have some errands to run and you look like you could probably use some me-time so…" Roman nodded to Neo. The two disappeared with a sound of breaking glass.

"Adam…" started Trill.

"Trill…just go."

The faunus couldn't have left faster. Adam slid down the glass barrier to his back, shirt riding up and back burning as he did so.

And then there was him. Alone.

This was fine right?

This was the way it was meant to be. This was the path he had chosen. You sacrifice everything and everyone—you wind up alone. He knew that from the start. He chose to carry on, regardless. That was who he was. He reached up, feeling for his mask, reassuring himself that it was still there.

This was who he needed to be.

I*I*I

"I apologize," began Jaune. "I know you all were probably looking for more…confirmation about the White Fang's plans and more information about Cinder. I got…carried away."

Glynda, Qrow, and Ozpin fixed him with a unique mixture of expressions. Glynda was looking at him thoughtfully, as if revaluating him. Qrow was giving him his patented "you're a real piece of work" look. And Ozpin looked bemused.

"I must say Mister Arc, you are capable of conveying quite a bit of passion when you wish too. Although I am not pleased with the amount of information you shared concerning Salem."

Jaune sighed. He had a feeling Ozpin was going to say that. "I know. A lot of that slipped out. I'm from a time where Salem was open-knowledge—among huntsmen at least. Plenty of civvies knew too. And I understand your reasons for keeping her a secret for so many years—I do. But it won't matter for this iteration of your life Ozpin. Part of the reason we lost so badly in my time was because you were still playing the long game when Salem decided it was time to go for all the marbles. Stop thinking about surviving Salem for the next hundred years. Start thinking about killing her in the next two. Otherwise we start losing, badly, in five."

"I see," said Ozpin, thoughtfully.

"What I want to talk about," said Qrow. "Is you lighting up like a mini-star in there, nearly blinded me. What was that about?"

"Did I do that?" asked John, legitimately surprised.

Qrow nodded enthusiastically.

"I didn't realize. I uh…I have a lot of aura." The understatement of the century. "When I flare it a little too much, it tends to go visible. Sorry if I hurt your eyes."

"Just flaring your aura…?" muttered Qrow.

Clearly he was thinking it was some kind of semblance.

Jaune turned to Glynda, raising an eyebrow. Ozpin had something to say, Qrow had something to say. He assumed she would make it three for three.

"I don't have any questions about your performance in the penthouse. I understand why you did what you did rather than extract information. As dangerous and unstable as he may be, Adam Taurus is a child who is hurting himself and the people around him. He was need of a stern talking to. His willingness to sacrifice everything and everyone was a problem. I was pleased to hear you straighten him out."

Unsurprising, really. Glynda was a teacher through and through. When she saw a youth in need of correction, she couldn't help but to correct. Jaune snuck a peek at Ozpin, a man who also had problems with his willingness to make moral, personal, and personnel sacrifices. His face was, as per usual, a mask.

"Regardless," said Ozpin. "You have pointed us in the direction of key factions we will need to keep under surveillance. More intelligence would have been ideal, but these results are still very beneficial.

"Happy to hear that," replied Jaune.

"I would like to speak of the future with you more. You indicated you have a few tasks to take care of tonight will there be a more convenient time for a discussion soon?"

"Over the next couple of days, sure."

"If it's going to be a few days perhaps I we could quickly go over the most pressing concerns now?"

Jaune shrugged. He needed to get Pip to agree to become his assistant and he was thinking a nice dinner to show how great being his assistant would be could do the trick. Which meant he had to figure out where they would eat and find something to wear and find money as well. But another twenty minutes in here wouldn't be a problem.

He hoped.

What if someone tried to poach—no offensive faunus animal-heritage related pun intended—his future assistant while he was stuck in here? What if she was being head-hunted? Again, no offensive pun intended.

"First off, I believe Glynda wanted to finalize your name, for official documentation."

"Ah," said Jaune. "Well…" he stalled. He hadn't really thought about his last name. Not at all. Well if Jaune could become John…?

"Shark…" he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" said Glynda.

Jaune's mind raced.

"Skydas."

"Skydas?" confirmed Glynda.

Jaune nodded.

Did she know what it meant?

"Fascinating choice… Mr. Skydas."

Ozpin definitely knew what it meant.

"Try Bras?"

And Qrow didn't have a clue.

"Do you mind if I ask why Skydas?" said Ozpin.

Jaune shrugged. "In my time, people called me that. Dangaus Skydas."

"People spoke of you in one of the oldest Valesian tongues…in the future?" asked Ozpin.

Jaune offered up another shrug. "It just sort of caught on. I doubt most even knew what it meant. I had a title in the common tongue as well."

Ozpin gave him a questioning look.

Jaune decided not to indulge him.

Just to be a prick.

"The other pressing concern," began Glynda. "As we see it, are your immediate plans. You've spoken in depth about what awaits the kingdoms. The destruction that Salem wrought. But you have spoken surprisingly little about what you intend to do about it."

Ah.

"Well…" began Jaune. "I was supposed to come back here with Ruby. Our plans were supposed to involve two of us. Because I'm by myself I complete my mission the way it was originally designed. What I know for certain is that I have to stay subtle."

"Subtle?" questioned Qrow.

Jaune nodded. "Not to toot my own horn or anything, but if I wanted to, I could have come back to the past with a vengeance. I could be making huge waves, upending everyone and everything. I could. But then we wouldn't know what's coming next. We wouldn't know how the dice are going to land. That's why I've kept my impact minimal. Facilitating a meeting between Adam, Blake, and myself, as well as bringing Roman under my wing are the two biggest thing I've changed. And Roman I've instructed to keep acting as he did in the original timeline—so not much change there. And based off how that meeting went—not too much has changed—on Adam's end at least. Blake's probably a bit more stable since she got it all off her chest though. Which, as far as I'm concerned, is a positive change—"

"You can't know that for certain though," interjected Glynda. "Arguably, any change, even altering the direction of a blade of grass, could diverge our history from the one you know."

"Mmm…" replied Jaune. "Weiss rambled about that a while, when she was working through time travel out loud. A butterfly in Vale causing a blizzard in Atlas, right? But that's all just theory, right? Tiny variable changes causing giant changes in result?"

Glynda nodded.

"It seems a little far-fetched to me," replied Jaune. "How does a tiny thing, like a pebble out of place, change the flow of history?"

Glynda shrugged. "Depends on which pebble's out of place, doesn't it?"

Jaune laughed. "You mean if the pebble I kick out of place is the one Cinder slips on, hits her head, and develops permanent amnesia?"

The corner of Glynda's lips rose. Just a bit. "Precisely."

"Well, I've been kicking many pebbles…" began Jaune.

I*I*I

In the Near Future

"Jaune."

"Dad?"

Mathias stared at his son. He was right. Jaune was too old.

Unfortunately, so was John.

If he didn't get this boy some aura and training soon. He'd jump in front of a Beowolf for someone and that'd be the end of that.

"Come outside."

Jaune set his Xray and Vav comic to the side and rolled off his bed.

"Why?"

"Your sisters and I are going to start training you."

Jaune's eyes widened. "Really!?"

"Yeah. You're going to Beacon."

"Really!?" His voice cracked as he nearly shouted.

"Yes," replied Mathias. "Next year."

"Next year!" exclaimed Jaune. "But I'll be a year older than everyone else…"

"You'll go in as a second year."

"Really? Can you do that?"

"Of course," said Mathias a hard edge coating his voice that even a boy as oblivious as Jaune couldn't miss. "Because, by next year…" he motioned for Jaune to follow him down the stairs. "…that's the level you'll be at."

I*I*I

"…but I'm happy to say I haven't been kicking any of those crazy important ones…"

I*I*I

In the Near Future

Roman and Neo returned to their wrecked apartment nearly six hours after they left—Roman with two duffel bags of Lien.

"Grab whatever you want to keep Neo. If it's something we can just buy when we get there, then don't bother—yes, I'm talking about ice cream. We have more than enough dough for ice cream."

Roman quickly paced over to his bedroom. His door, the wall, and most of his stuff that stood taller than three feet off the ground was destroyed by Adam's energy slash but the important stuff—his bug out stuff—that was kept under the bed.

He pushed open both halves of his split door.

"Shit!" he swore as he jumped back.

A listless looking Adam sat at his desk, in front of his laptop which, fortunately, was closed when the slash traveled through the room. Otherwise, the screen would have been cut in two.

On the desk was a half-drank bottle of Brandy—the good stuff too—, Adam's mask, and a pile of papers he had clearly recently printed.

"You're still here, huh?"

Adam barely moved to acknowledge him.

Roman took a moment to observe the faunus's features.

His left eye was closed, perhaps permanently, a brand stretched across his face. A nasty scar. But not a bad looking guy overall.

"You're leaving?" asked Adam, looking at the duffel bags in Roman's hands.

"Our friend John made a good point." Began Roman, keeping an eye on Adam as he maneuvered to the opposite side of his bed and reached underneath. "Best to figure out what you're not willing to sacrifice and protect it. For me, that's me and mine. I'll reconquer this city once my life isn't so threatened in it." Roman pulled out his two garment bags and unopened Zestée Chauder mascara and eyeliner set. "I'm taking a well-earned vacation." He walked briskly to the door. "Tell Cinder I said suck a Grimm dick. And the two of you enjoy unleashing the Grimm apocalypse or whatever you're trying to do…as a matter of fact…" Roman returned to his room, opened his printer tray, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote a quick note. "Neo, come sign this!"

Neo appeared at the doorway at that moment, a duffel bag of who-knows-what on one shoulder and her umbrella resting on the other. She chuckled silently as she read the note and signed her name with a flourish.

"Give this to her, will you?"

Adam hardly reacted as he took the note.

Roman made sure he had his duffel bags of money, his spare outfits, and his makeup kit.

Everything was in order.

"Neo,"

His partner in crime looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Let's go somewhere warm."

Glass shattered. And they were gone.

I*I*I

"…You're right, I can't perfectly predict the impact my actions are going to have on the world around me," continued Jaune. "But I don't think just meeting me is going to radically alter someone's life trajectory..."

I*I*I

In the Near Future

Vernal watched Raven watch the matches. She'd never seen her master look so…bored with violence and bloodshed.

She almost looked depressed.

She returned her attention to the match. Admittedly, since watching John…slaughter a group of fifty warriors, these one-on-one fights between common thugs were a tad…tedious but were they that bad?

"Vernal…I can't do this anymore."

Vernal was snapped out of her musings by Raven's voice.

"Do…what?" asked Vernal.

"Watch this shit." Raven motioned to the two bare chested men slashing at each other below.

"Ah. Well…I know, the combat isn't particularly satisfying—"

"Hm… I bet John's reached Ozpin already, that means he might be near my brother…which means I can open a long-range portal to him…"

"O-Oh. Are you going to challenge him to a fight?"

"Maybe afterward."

"A-after what?"

Raven smirked. "What do you think?"

Oh.

Oh.

"It's been a while. Normally a good fight is good enough. But what I need right now is a good f—"

"I'll do it," the words slipped out of Vernal's mouth before she could think through what she was saying. Horror replaced blood in her veins. She didn't show it though. She couldn't afford to. Raven didn't respect cowardice.

"Oh, will you now?" said Raven, a dangerous glint in her crimson eyes. "I'm complaining about how long it's been since I've found a man who could handle me, and you volunteer?"

Vernal shrugged with a casualness she did not feel.

What the hell was she doing? What the hell was she thinking?

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Please just let it drop.

Please just let it drop.

A portal opened to her immediate right. A hand closed on her jacket and she was yanked through. There was a disconcerting sensation as gravity flipped, up, down, left, and right all shifted orientation and suddenly she was falling.

She only fell about five feet. She landed on a bed.

Raven's bed.

Shit.

I*I*I

"…and some of the events that are going to occur in the future are based on people and organizations with well-orchestrated plans and deep-rooted desires. Those don't change just because some guy decided to have a heart-to-heart with Adam Taurus."

I*I*I

In the Near Future

"What is all this stuff?"

Trill sighed.

How did this become his responsibility?

"Grimm…dust…weapons…stuff we're collecting for the big attack or whatever…?"

"What is everyone doing?"

Trill shrugged. "Preparing, I guess…? Adam wasn't really clear on what we should be doing."

"They look like they're slacking to me. Gather them up."

Trill groaned. How did he go from a high-level intelligence gathering agent to…whatever this was?

It didn't take him too long to gather the forty or fifty White Fang around the camp and present to their newly established leader.

Illia Amitola looked over the gathered Fang with narrowed eyes.

She began with a strength to her voice that Trill did not remember her having. There was a sort-of…leader quality to her—a drive—that Trill had never associated with the chameleon faunus. Perhaps…

Perhaps there was hope.

Perhaps this would work out.

"Brothers and sisters of the Fang! Adam has asked me to lead you in his stead. It is my greatest honor to do just that. I will be commanding our Vale operations until Adam sees fit to come back. Mine will be a command of prioritization. We will be cautious. We will be smart. And we will prioritize."

Illia's gaze swept over the crowd resolutely. "I noticed many of you playing games lazing around and wasting time. That shit ends today." Her eyes smoldered, burning into each faunus she had spotted doing less than stellar work.

Credit where credit was due. Trill was impressed.

"I also noticed some of you preparing for our major operation in Vale."

Trill looked over the crowd. There weren't many here who had been hard at work, but he supposed they existed.

"That shit ends today too."

Hm?

Illia produced a large roll of paper from her pack. She began unfurling

Was it a map? Was it the blueprints for a building?

"Ah."

Trill couldn't stop the noise from slipping from between his lips when he saw the giant headshot of Blake Belladonna.

"The safe retrieval of Blake Belladonna is our new priority."

A hand was raised in the crowd.

Illia pointed toward the faunus.

"What about those of us who are on Grimm duty? We don't really have time for side assignments."

"This isn't a side assignment," corrected Illia. "This is the only assignment. We've found Blake. We're not letting her get away or, worse, hurt. Do you understand? This is what everyone will be focusing on."

"Okay…" said the inquisitive faunus. "So, we aren't catching Grimm. But we still have to watch the ones we ha—"

"Tell me, will those Grimm help us with the safe retrieval of Blake Belladonna?" Illia's glare was scorching.

The badger faunus sunk into his jacket. "N-no?"

"Then get rid of them," interrupted Illia.

A gasp went over the crowd.

Trill pinched his sinuses.

"What about the faunus who are helping with the dust stuff in the city?" asked someone else in the crowd.

"Recall them."

Trill approached Illia and spoke in a low voice. "Surely you don't mean to recall everyone? Adam's been working on this thing for a while. Do we really want to undo everything?"

"And where is Adam now Trill?"

"Well…"

"I'd say Adam's priorities are the same as mine, wouldn't you?"

Welp.

Couldn't argue with that could he?

Trill moved a little ways from the crowd, searching for a nice place to lay down and close his eyes. When he found one, he tried to go to his happy place. He couldn't believe he had bothered being awake during the day for this nonsense. Why were teenagers running so much of the White Fang? He drifted off to the sound of Illia commanding the crowd to "start brainstorming ideas to bring Blake back to her—err—them".

I*I*I

"Yes…the immediate future will change a bit. But, come on, no matter how many pebbles I kick or where they land, it's not going to change that much…"

I*I*I

In the Near Future

Adam studied his mask.

He had lied.

He had stolen.

He had killed.

He had…

He had hurt Blake.

He adjusted his position on Roman's uncomfortable bed, watching his mask stare back at him on the opposite pillow.

He had turned down the air conditioning to its lowest setting, stripped down to his boxers and tried to get comfortable on the master thief's overly soft bed—after tearing off his comforter and sheets of course.

Goosebumps sprouted all over his skin. His body began to shiver.

John was right. This piece of shit mask couldn't keep his bed warm.

Oum.

If it could, would it matter? A warm bed was just one of a thousand things this mask couldn't do.

It couldn't make him stronger.

It couldn't make him better.

It couldn't…

It couldn't love him.

He touched his injury.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

He rolled off the bed. He downed the rest of the brandy. He didn't particularly like the taste but at least it got the job done. He picked up a pen. He started filling out the forms he had printed out.

He couldn't believe he was doing this.

But you know what?

Fuck the world and the White Fang.

What had either ever done for him?

He reread the title at the top of the page—making sure he had printed the right one.

Beacon Student Application Form.

Yep.

That was the one.

I*I*I

"…as long as the big events still happen in similar ways. And people still act the same way they did last time around, my knowledge of the future should still be spot on…"

I*I*I

In the Near Future

"Um…" Emerald swallowed.

Cinder studied her most loyal pawn. The girl looked as if she was about to cry.

"Something wrong Emerald?"

"Just…ah…we received a message from um…Roman and uh…Ad—"

Cinder interrupted her. "A message from Roman, how lovely. Why don't you read it to me?"

Emerald's eyes widened. "I-I'd rather not."

Cinder's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"J-just…probably best if you…uh…read it yourself."

Cinder considered demanding that Emerald read the note to her…but decided the power play wasn't worth the effort. Emerald was almost too submissive at times, there wasn't much point to exerting her control just for the sake of it when Emerald was already her slave.

"Very well, give it here."

Emerald approached as if she were walking to her death.

Cinder's expression tightened.

She took the note. It was simple a simple message, conveyed through a simple drawing. A well-drawn fist with a middle finger raised. And three signatures at the bottom. Roman Torchwick, Neo Politan, and Adam Taurus.

She scarcely had time to consider what she was viewing before the paper was already ashes wafting toward the floor.

"Emerald." She spoke from between gritted teeth. "Get Mercury. Its time for us to take a…trip into town."

Emerald vanished from the room so quickly Cinder wondered if she might not have used her semblance to render herself selectively invisible.

What. The. Hell. Did. That. Note. Mean?

I*I*I

"But, if it makes you worry less, I'll be sure to keep my head, way down from here on out. Make sure I don't set off any crazy…b-b—what did you call them Glynda?"

"Butterfly effects," supplied Glynda.

"Yeah, butterfly effects. Wouldn't want to set off any of those."

Jaune laughed.

Seriously, Glynda was overreacting. He'd barely even started changing things here.

I*I*I

In the Near Future

Poison, high-caliber rifles with aura piercing ammo, traps—there were so many ways to kill a headmaster.

Clint browsed the fourth-year section of the library with a smile and dead eyes.

But…

Which was the most painful?

I*I*I

Jaune whistled as he approached the elevator.

Should he take her to a fancy restaurant?

I*I*I

In the Near Future

"Dad, I need to tell you and Yang something…"

Tai studied his youngest daughter. "What's wrong Ruby Booby?"

"Dad don't call me that!"

"Sorry…sorry."

"I heard you need to talk to us Ruby Booby!?"

"Yang!"

"Oh, come on, it's funny."

"But this is serious!"

"Sorry, sorry," Yang apologized.

"So, what did you want to talk to us about Rubes?" prompted Tai.

With a lot of stuttering and stammering, Ruby conveyed what she needed too.

Tai was at a loss.

Yang responded first, laughing maniacally. "I guess you really are Ruby Booby after all huh?"

"Yang!"

Tai watched his baby girl whale on his eldest ineffectively. He smiled.

I*I*I

Or perhaps something more casual?

What screamed: business?

Perhaps he should ask Blake? She was a bit of a pervert—but she knew her stuff.

I*I*I

In the Near Future

"How does it look?"

Blake grinned. "I bet he can't wait to get you out of it."

Pip flushed. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Could have fooled me," muttered Pip.

"Remember, this isn't a date. He just wants to ask you to be his assistant."

"Right."

"But he doesn't know I told you that," continued Blake. "So, you can totally make him think he's being an asshole who mislead you—then turn it into a date—then make him yours."

Blake pictured that. It was…quite the plot. Yes, she needed to start writing this stuff down. Her readers—her future readers that is—would eat this up.

"That seems kind of deceptive…?" said Pip, uncertain.

"Oh, it is, but consider it this way. If some lying slut tricked him into getting together with her would you be any less out a man?"

"Um…"

Blake continued before Pip could answer.

"You can apologize after you have him wrapped around your finger. Or better yet, never. John's a fighter. He knows all is fair in love and war."

"Okay, but—"

"I'm telling you Pip; you weren't there. When he was talking about finding the things you can't sacrifice and doing anything for them…" Blake could still see it playing out in her mind's eye. His hands-on Adam's jacket, hosting him high, as he shouted all kinds of heroism.

What a perfect protagonist.

Where could she find a notebook?

"You want to be one of those things he can't sacrifice, okay Pip? Trust me on this. You. Want. Him."

"Do, I? I'm still no—"

"Yes. You do. And I want him for you."

"Seems like that's the more important thing," muttered Pip in a low voice that she knew Blake's keen ears would easily pick up.

"Trust me Pip." Blake smiled like the devil. "You'll thank me in the end."

I*I*I

Honestly, since being stuck in this strange old world by himself, Jaune had been worried.

Worried about screwing everything up.

Worried about losing track of important details.

Just…worried.

But things were looking up.

He was about to get an assistant.

He was in position to take out Cinder at any time.

And he was back at Beacon—a building which, in and of itself, was like an old friend.

Honestly, what could go wrong?

Anddddddddddddddd Scene.

So…that's about a third a novel right there.

AHAHAHA.

So tired.

If you all were hoping this is one of those time travel stories where the hero knows everything that's coming and can respond and react perfectly…well…it's not quite that.

Still this ends the third Arc: Welcome to Vale.

Intro Arc

Imprisonment Arc

Welcome to Vale Arc

Beta'd by MysteryBeta

My beloved beta also told me to tell you. The existence of this chapter before I had kids made him cry tears of joy.

Such a drama queen.

Don't stoppppp Believin'

Pa tr e on . com (forward slash) vronsurd

-Vronsurd