Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a squat, ostentatious nightclub known only as ‘Junior’s’, career criminal Roman Torchwick was making a bargain, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he really was. "C'mon, Junior. You're really flaking on me? After all these years?"

Junior, who owned the club but liked to personally tend the bar, scoffed. "All these years? Long enough for me to know better, more like. Roman, people who go out with you on jobs don't come back. Hell, the only person I know of to actually make it out the other side with you is that tiny psycho you hang around with, who I'm sure is lurking around here somewhere ready to slip a knife between my ribs if the mood strikes her."

Roman chuckled. An accurate enough description of Neo if ever he'd heard one. "Oh, don’t give me that," he waved Junior off, "we both know they'll be back on the street the next day."

"Bail costs money, Roman." Junior didn't back off, "And I haven't seen a hint of Lien from you ever since you started your little crime spree."

Under an easy smile, Roman bristled. Normally a streak of robbery like the one he’d torn across Vale would have him flush with cash. Not this one, thanks to his new ‘benefactor’. All his misbegotten spoils went straight to her, to use for whatever vague, grandiose scheme she was cooking up. He and Neo had to make due with an ‘allowance’, she’d called it, and if that wasn’t enough to make ends meet then that was his problem. "Junior, I promise this one will be simple,” he reassured the larger man, “No grandiose heists, barely any risk of cops. Just a quick smash-and-grab. You want cash? You'll get some after tonight."

Another scoff. "My ass. You don't do petty jobs, Roman. More like you need some patsy for a distraction while you do the real work."

That rankled for several reasons - mostly because Junior was right; he didn't do petty jobs. But he was doing them now, and would keep doing them until further notice, or he'd be grilled alive by a bitch too powerful and too crazy to say ‘no’ to. "Junior, you've got me over a barrel, here." He didn't beg, no matter what Neo would say later, "I just need someone who can watch my back and doesn't mind grunt work. You really mean to say you don't have anyone who fits that description?"

Junior sighed, clearly realizing that Roman wasn’t going to leave him alone until he gave the burglar what he wanted. He rubbed his forehead, frustrated, and then his eyes lit up with epiphany. "…Now that I think about it..." he nodded, "I might have someone. Over there," he gestured with his chin, "Across the dance floor. Blonde, doohickey on his left arm."

Roman looked, and it was just as Junior said. Blonde hair and reflective sunglasses, lightly-tanned skin. A dark brown sleeveless coat over a black armored vest over a blue collared shirt, with dark blue pants and steel-toed boots. Crude… wrist armor - Roman couldn't remember the right name - on his right arm, doohickey on his left. It looked bulky but not unwieldy; Like what people a hundred years ago thought the future would look like.

"Sunglasses indoors?" Roman asked, with only a bit of derision. After all, who was he to judge for committing to an aesthetic?

"That's him." Junior nodded, "He's got a condition." Roman raised an eyebrow but let him continue. "Introduced himself as 'Sam'. Probably an alias. New in town. Reliable."

"Reliable?" Roman parroted. "High praise coming from you."

Junior shrugged. "He did all the gofer work I gave him quickly and with no complaints. Fixed my sound system, too."

Roman hummed. "Anything else? I can find a warm body anywhere."

Junior thought about it, "He got a drug delivery past a VPD stop-and-frisk once."

"Since when is running drugs gofer work?"

Junior shrugged, "He didn't know it was drugs. Anyways, he got it through without a problem. Didn't sneak it past either; they found the goods, and he talked his way out of it."

"With the drugs? You sure he didn't just bribe them?"

"Positive. I checked; both the cops were off the take."

Roman hummed. "Well, 'smooth-talking twink' wasn't what I had in mind, but I'll take him." He shot Junior a winning smile, "Hows two hundred Lien sound for a finders fee?"

Junior frowned. "Five hundred Lien."

"What do you think, I'm made of money? Three hundred."

"Four."

"Let's compromise and say three fifty." Roman held out his hand, "C'mon. For old times sake?"

Junior glared at Roman's outstretched hand, then eventually shook it. "Fine. Three fifty."

"Always a pleasure, Junior." Roman withdrew his hand, but Junior kept a grip on it.

"Half upfront," he demanded.

Roman didn't let it show, but he winced. There goes dinner tonight. "Half upfront," Roman acquiesced. "If the man himself is amenable."

"Naturally."

"Right!" Roman clapped his hands and rubbed them together, mostly for his own sake. "Now let's call him over, I've got a pitch for him."

Now, bear in mind, Roman had lived with Neopolitan for years. That sort of company had inured him to being snuck up on. So it was no small thing when Roman actually jumped when the aforementioned smooth-talking twink, suddenly right next to him, said, "No need."

Roman whirled around and there he was. Blonde hair, doohickey on his arm, holding an empty cocktail glass. Up close, Roman pegged him as a Vacuoan (Vacuan? Vacuoish? Vacuous?) city boy; well-maintained hair and skin, but with a natural tan. A mess of scar tissue – two low-caliber bullets forming an eclipse pattern – hid behind glossy bangs on his forehead.

"Sam," said Junior, who had also jumped when Sam announced himself, but this was less remarkable. "Didn't see you there."

Sam cocked his head. "Didn't you? Odd. I wasn't sneaking," he said, which was absolute bullshit, but Roman let it go. Sam raised his glass. "Another one of these, if you please," he said to Junior, then turned to Roman. "And who are you?"

Roman stapled on a smile, "You don't know? Damn, you really are new in town." He took a small bow, "Roman Torchwick, at your service."

Sam snorted, "Torchwick? That your real name?"

Roman rankled, but kept his smile, "Same as the day my momma gave it to me."

Sam laughed, softly. Somehow, behind the sunglasses, Roman knew Sam was looking at his hair. "Well, it certainly fits." He took a new drink from Junior with a soft "Thank you"; a pink umbrella cocktail made with - Roman glanced over the bar - tequila. "So, what's the job?"

"Straight to business? I like that. Job's simple; we go in, we grab the Dust, we get out and get lost before the cops show up."

"Oh," Sam cocked an eyebrow, "you're the guy running around robbing Dust stores. Or are you just hopping onto the bandwagon?"

Roman gritted his teeth. "Nope!" He said a little too brightly, "All me. And while I could, of course, run a job like this solo in my sleep," Roman ignored Junior's scoff, "I'm in the market for an extra pair of eyes. In case I run into any... unforeseen complications, you see?"

"I assume you've already cased the target."

Roman rolled his eyes. "Naturally. Do I look like an amateur to you?"

Sam looked him up and down. Slowly. "No." He eventually replied. "You don't look like an amateur." Roman was tempted to ask what he did look like, but he had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer. "When's the job?"

"Ideally? As soon as we finish this conversation."

"And what's the pay?"

Roman smiled, "Since this is our first time working together, and we haven't got the chance to get to know each other, you'll be walking away with a twenty percent share of the spoils."

"Forty percent," Sam countered, "I'll take a lower share, but I won't let you rob me, either."

Roman laughed. "I like your moxie, kid! Alright then, forty percent." He held out a hand, and Sam took it. The kid had a firm grip; strong enough to indicate at least some degree of Aura training. Quiet, tough, and eager to get to business; the ideal qualities for hired muscle. Roman had a good feeling about tonight. “If that’s all, let’s head out. Night’s not getting any younger!”

Sam drained his drink in one go, stood up, and gestured for Roman to lead the way.

“Ahem,” Junior cleared his throat, holding his hand out meaningfully.

Roman sighed, muttered, “Twist my arm, why dontcha,” and fished out his wallet.

“So, Sam, where you from?” Roman twirled his cane as the two of them strolled down the street. It was late enough that the streets were mostly empty, and the types of people still out at this hour weren’t usually the type to call the cops if they recognized him.

“The desert,” Sam replied.

“Well, I kinda figured that much,” Roman rolled his eyes. “Where specifically?”

“Small town. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“I’ve ran in Vacuo before. Try me.”

Sam glanced over and met his eyes – again, despite the sunglasses, Roman could tell. “Anza-Borrego.”

Roman clicked his tongue. “Alright, fair enough. You got me.” They walked for another half-block, and Roman said, “Funny, I had you pegged for a city boy.”

Sam shrugged, “I left home when I was young. Wandered for a while. I did settle down in the big city for a few years, before I came here.”

“I see, I see,” Roman chewed on that, “So why’d you come on down to my neck of the woods?”

“Vacation,” Sam said, with a completely straight face.

“Ha! Vacation!” Roman slapped his knee, “This is your idea of a vacation?”

“Sure it is. Excitement, intrigue, petty crime. What’s not to love? That’s why you do it, isn’t it?”

Roman’s laughter tapered out with a sigh. “True, true. It can be pretty fun,” he admitted. Less so lately, he didn’t admit. “So, what are you vacationing from, anyways?”

Sam seemed to turn the question over in his head. “… Let’s say I deal in messages.”

“Messages.” Roman repeated, “What, are you a mailman?”

“Do I seem like a government employee to you?” Sam shook his head, “No, I’m strictly freelance.”

“So what do they call you, then? A Page? Courier? Errand Boy?”

“I’ve been called a lot of things,” Sam deflected. “I try not to get bogged down on titles.”

“I get that,” Roman nodded.

“You know,” Sam side-eyed the older man, “I’m not sure I believe you. You seem the type to collect titles like trading cards.”

“Ha!” Roman barked a laugh. “You’ve got me there, kid. Sure, I’ve collected a good deal of titles in my days. Most of them are trash, though.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, the newspapers come up with most of them, so they’re usually tacky at best. Still, there have been a few decent ones. Broken clocks and all that.”

“… Well, don’t leave me hanging!” Sam prompted, “Let’s hear it!”

“Alright, if you insist.” Roman rested his cane on his shoulder as he sorted through the memories. “There’s ‘The White Bandit’, that’s a good one. ‘The Matchstick of Mistral’, that was one of the earliest. And, of course, ‘Vale’s Sexiest Bachelor’.”

Sam snorted, “No way you won one of those contests.”

“It’s true! I did! Of course,” Roman leaned in and whispered, “I wasn’t exactly on the ballot originally. Nothing a few write-in votes couldn't fix, though.”

Sam laughed, “Man, I sure picked a character to work with tonight, didn’t I?”

Roman shrugged, “You call it vanity, I call it pride. And a realistic assessment of my best qualities.”

“Naturally.” The conversation settled. They walked in silence for a few blocks. Then, Sam spoke up, “Seems a bit odd, a man like you doing simple smash-and-grabs like this.”

Roman shrugged, deflecting, “I felt like coming back to my roots a little, you know? We all started somewhere; it’s good to keep yourself humble.”

“Really? Returning to your roots? A thief of your…” Sam waved a hand, “caliber, knocking over outlet stores out of, what, a sense of nostalgia? That can’t be it. You said it yourself, you’re in this business for the excitement. You honestly wouldn’t rather be doing something a bit more dramatic?”

Roman frowned a little. Something was off. Hired muscle usually didn’t ask this many questions; didn’t dig this deep. Still, he was good enough to not incriminate himself, and it’d been a while since he had an audience who could actually talk back. “Alright,” he decided, “I’ll let you in on the secret. But only because I like you so much.”

“I’m honored,” Sam drawled.

“Y’see,” Roman explained, “I’ve actually got a partner already. Lovely lady, you’d like her. But she’s better suited to more… subtle jobs, y’know? Behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“The crew chief to your prima donna.”

“Yes! Exactly! So while we’re here, driving the cops in a tizzy with the sight of my glorious visage, she’s out there robbing the warehouses where they’ve got pallets of this stuff ripe for the taking.”

“So, she’s the one doing the actual job.”

“We’re still doing a job,” Roman defended, a bit wounded. “An essential job, I might add. We dangle the keys in front of the babies in blue, while Neo snatches the candy.”

“Ah, I see. That makes sense.” Roman nodded, satisfied, and they kept walking for a while. Then, Sam said, “Y'know, normally the man in charge would send disposable assets to run this kind of distraction op."

Roman shrugged, putting on a disaffected air. "I prefer a personal touch in these sorts of affairs. It might be 'unprofessional', but I think it has more style."

"Maybe. Maybe." Sam nodded, "Or maybe-" his voice crept into Roman's ear, uncomfortably close. Roman did not startle. "-you aren't the man in charge. And if so,” Sam’s voice turned conspiratorial, “what does that make you in this situation?"

Roman grit his teeth, hidden behind his lips. "Let's just do the job, Sandy."

"Oo, are we giving each other pet names now? Can I call you 'Candlestick'?"

“You can call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Mr. Torchwick’.” Roman decided he no longer liked this guy.

“Too late!" Sam cackled, "You’re ‘Candlestick’ now!”

“You know,” Roman whirled, “I’m suddenly having second thoughts about our partnership.”

“Alright, go ahead.” Sam shrugged, “Send me on my way. I’m sure Junior would be happy to give you your money back.”

Roman ground his teeth, deliberating. “… Alright, kid. You can stick around for tonight, but let’s make one thing crystal clear: No running that smart mouth of yours once we’re inside. I’m the boss once the job starts, got it?”

Sam cocked an eyebrow, “Are you, though? Are your really?”

Roman plastered a smile onto his face. “Kid, look at yourself.” Sam did. “Now look at me.” He did. “Now back at yourself. Now back at me. Which one of us looks like they’re in charge of this operation?”

“… Do you want the honest answer, or do you want me to stroke your ego?”

Roman glared. “I’ll take the ego stroking, if it’s all the same to you.”

Sam showed his teeth. “You look stylish and sophisticated. You look like you’ve got it all figured out. You look like a man in the prime of his life. You look like-”

“Alright, alright! Enough.” Roman huffed, striding ahead. “Careful you don’t stroke too hard, it’ll chafe.”

“I’ve never heard any complaints about my stroking before.” And before Roman could process that little comment, Sam said, “This us?”

He pointed, and Roman looked. There, in front of them, was their target. ‘From Dust Till Dawn’ was proudly displayed in bright yellow lights above two floor-to-ceiling windows, showing off a bounty of Dust crystals, Dust powder, and all the Dust accessories you could name.

Roman nodded, “This is the place.” As the two came to a stop, he held up a hand, “Wait up. One more question before we get started.”

“Shoot.”

“Are the sunglasses strictly necessary? I appreciate committing to the bit, but it’s past midnight.”

Sam paused. Not hesitating- Roman could tell. Deliberating, more like. Then, he smiled, unfriendly-like, and reached up to his face. “Alright,” Sam chuckled, “If you insist.”

Sam lifted up his sunglasses, and Roman flinched. He turned away, screwed his eyes shut and held up a hand to shield his face. Glowing eyes weren’t particularly uncommon among people with activated Auras. Roman had personally witnessed dozens of Semblances that did something to that effect. But Sam’s eyes didn’t glow: they shone. Like two heavy-duty flashlights in his skull, pointed directly at Roman’s face. “Alright, alright! Good gods, objection retracted! Put those things away, for Pete's sake!”

Sam simpered, but promptly replaced the lenses. “Thank you kindly.”

Roman blinked spots out of his eyes. “I take it that’s the ‘condition’ Junior mentioned?”

“Yep.” Sam popped the word, “Can’t turn it off. Does wonders for night vision, though.”

“I’m sure,” Roman grumbled.

“Anyways, back to business.” Sam scanned the storefront. “No customers,” he commented, then zeroed in on one of the shelves, “Scratch that- one customer.” He pointed them out: a bright red cloak standing by a magazine rack in the rear of the store. “Looks like they’re armed. I’ll get them out before we start looting the joint. If things go wrong, I’ll give the signal. I say ‘Out the front’, then you go out the back door.”

“What if you say to go out the back?” Roman drawled, a bit miffed.

“… Well, then you go out through the skylight.”

Roman rolled his eyes, “Alright, smartass. I thought I made it clear that I was the one in charge.”

“If you have a better exit strategy, I’d love to hear it.”

The two men stood opposite, not quite glaring at each other. Roman must have been losing his touch, because he gave first. “Fine. We do it your way.”

“Thank you.” Sam gave a jaunty little bow, then took one last look at the store. “Odd that it’s still open at this hour,” he noted.

“Most Dust shops are open 24/7,” Roman explained. “The big spenders in these kinds of shops are Hunters, and those guys never have healthy sleep schedules.” Roman took a deep breath, and let it out. He spun his cane in his hand, adjusted his hat, and fixed Sam with a vulpine grin. “Shall we?”

Sam matched Roman’s grin with his own, “After you.”

Chapter Text

The first stage of a weapon’s transformation should combine both offensive and defensive capabilities. Despite the temptation to design your weapon to commit entirely to overwhelming power or unassailable defense, the Hunter must always remember that he or she cannot afford to compromise one for the other. A weapon that overspecializes in destructive ability may leave you vulnerable to unexpected attack, while a weapon that does the opposite – overspecializing in personal protection – may allow an otherwise trivial quarry to escape harms way. 

Someone tapped Ruby on the shoulder. “Excuse me, miss?”

Ruby put down the magazine she’d been reading, pulled off her headphones and looked over her shoulder. A young man was behind her, wearing reflective sunglasses and an easygoing smile. Between the sandy blonde hair, the long brown duster and the lightly tanned skin, he could’ve walked straight off a poster from a Vacuoan travel agency. 

"Hi there,” he said, “so sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm afraid the store is closing right now and I'm going to have to ask you to leave." 

Ruby frowned, "I thought this place was open 24/7." 

The man winced, "Ordinarily, yes, that's the case. However, the owner has a very important deal going on tonight - confidential stuff, very hush-hush, you understand - and my employer wants me to clear out all the customers before it goes down. Sorry, again, I know it's inconvenient, but,” he shrugged helplessly, “What are you gonna do?”

Ruby frowned. Something was off. She wasn’t the best judge of character out there; Yang had pulled off enough April Fool’s pranks to prove that. But there was something about this man that seemed… strange in a way she couldn’t identify. At the very least, she couldn’t see him as a hapless lackey. 

So she took a shot in the dark.

“… Are you robbing me?”

The young man’s jaw slipped open. Then, he burst out laughing. Hard, belly laughing. He doubled over, hands on his legs to steady himself. “What?!?” He eventually burst out, and laughed some more. Ruby shrunk in on herself, feeling foolish.

The man noticed Ruby turn sheepish, and held up a hand, “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, just-” he laughed a little more, then smothered it. “Oh, man, I was not expecting you to say that.” He reached under his sunglasses to wipe his eyes. “What,” he asked, “do I look so thuggish that that’s the first thing you think of?”

Ruby blushed. Now she felt foolish and insensitive. “No. I’m sorry. It’s just- I- it didn’t make sense, what you said. I thought… never mind, it’s stupid.”

“No, no,” He reassured her, “I get it. To be honest, it doesn’t make much sense to me, either. I’m just going with the flow and hoping I figure it all out by the end.”

“But still, I shouldn’t have assumed. I just-” Ruby cut herself off. Making excuses wouldn’t solve anything. “I’m so sorry, I’ll just pay for this and go.” She closed her magazine and fled towards the counter.

“Actually…” he slid over to block her path, “Tell you what: I already felt bad for kicking you out, and now I feel bad again for laughing at you. How about I pay for that magazine so you don’t need to bother with it?”

“Oh, no!” Ruby shook her head, “You don’ t need to do that! I couldn’t ask-”

“Well, then it’s a good think you aren’t asking. Besides, it’s only, what,” he glanced at the price tag stuck to the cover, “five dollars? Barely anything. I insist.”

It took a bit more back and forth, but eventually Ruby acquiesced. After apologizing again, and being told it was unnecessary again, Ruby went to leave. She was halfway out the door when she remembered why she was there in the first place.

“Oh, right!” She turned around, “Hey, I’m so sorry but I actually did come here to buy some… Dust.”

There were two men at the counter. The one standing behind it was the owner, who looked far more uncomfortable than when Ruby had first entered the store. The other one, Ruby almost recognized. 

A bright white tailored suit and pants, a striking, fiery-orange head of hair under a jaunty bowler hat, and a cane that was obviously just for show. It was all so familiar, but for the life of her, Ruby couldn’t place him. Then he turned to glance at Ruby, and she saw his emerald eyes and permanently-affixed smirk.

Recognition flashed through Ruby like lightning. She’d seen that grin under those eyes on every wanted bulletin for weeks. Her eyes widened, and she exclaimed, “Roman Torch-ACK!”

The young man from before had somehow snuck behind her, deftly snagged her cape and pulled it up and over her face. He clamped his other arm around her torso and shouted, “Out the front!” 

Ruby squirmed in the smothering darkness. She heard the clatter of footsteps and someone shouldering through a door. She twisted and writhed with all her Aura-infused might but the man’s grip was like steel. Then, Ruby realized she was being stupid. 

With the tug on a mental lever, she became a flying cloud of blood-red rose petals. She deftly swept out of the man’s grip and between his legs, then reformed behind him on the sidewalk. Ruby slid to a stop, unholstering Crescent Rose and bringing it to bear in one practiced motion. 

“Huh.” Roman’s accomplice was glibly staring at his empty hands, “That’s new.”

Ruby threw her hood back and shouted, “Put your hands up!”

“Well,” the man- the thief- put his hands on his hips. “This is a goddamned bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.” He was standing in the open doorframe, door propped open with his heel. 

“I said put your hands up!” Ruby demanded. “I’ll shoot you!”

“No, you won’t, and I’ll tell you why; If you shoot me and miss, you’ll hit the merchandise, which will send the whole building – and probably the buildings next to us – up in flames. Or ice crystals. Or lightning bolts. Really, it’s a diceroll as to what exactly will happen, but whatever it is, it’ll destroy this whole store.”

Ruby risked a glance into the store behind him, and cursed internally. He was right: Dust was famously volatile. Even a sneeze was enough to set it off, much less a round from Crescent Rose. She couldn’t risk firing at him as long as he was standing in the doorframe. Worst of all, he knew it.

“Honestly, you’d think they’d make customers leave their weapons at the door. Why don’t they?” After a beat of silence, the thief glanced over towards the counter. “That wasn’t rhetorical, by the way. Why don’t you?”

The store’s owner hesitantly poked his head over the counter. “W-well,” he squeaked out, “Most of my customers are Huntsmen, see, and those folks don’t usually like handing over their weapons to strangers.”

“Ah,” the thief nodded, “That makes sense. I guess nights like this are just an occupational hazard in that case.”

“Hey!” Ruby yelled, “Don’t ignore me!”

“Why not?” the thief asked, sounding genuinely curious, “We’ve already established that you won’t shoot me, and that you aren’t strong enough to physically overpower me. As far as this engagement is concerned, you don’t pose any sort of threat to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Ruby’s face twisted, somewhere between a snarl and a smirk. Unlike some of the more advanced Mechashift platforms, her weapon didn’t rely on an internal motor or battery to switch between forms. All Ruby had to do was hit a tiny button on Crescent Rose’s handguard, to release a few tiny latches inside the internal mechanism, sweep out her arm and let centrifugal force do the rest. The stock flipped up and let the spike telescope out at the end of the shaft, and the handguard bloomed out into the hook and blade on the top and bottom, respectively. 

Ruby deftly spun her weapon around her body, buried the blade into the asphalt, and felt like a Huntress.

The thief gawked. “...What the fuck is that?” he demanded.

Ruby deflated a little, “What do you mean?”

Ruby expected the thief to be intimidated at best, or unimpressed at worst. Instead, he stared at Crescent Rose with what Ruby could only describe as a sort of horrified confusion. “I mean what I said, young lady. What. The fuck. Is that?”

“Crescent Rose,” said Ruby. She sensed that wasn’t the answer he was looking for, so she elaborated, “It’s a combination sythe and high-impact sniper rifle.”

“You stuffed a .50 caliber bolt-action rifle into a grass harvester?”

Ruby suddenly didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. “Yes?”

“...Why?”

“Yang.” Someone was yelling and shaking her shoulder. “Yang!”

Yang Xiao Long grumbled and turned over. “Five more minutes,” she murmured. 

“Yang!” Yang’s father, Taiyang, shook her again, “Where’s Ruby?!?”

That sent a bolt of panic through Yang before she remembered the answer and relaxed. “Said she couldn’t sleep. Went out to some Dust store, I think she said.” She went to turn back over and recover some sleep, but Taiyang kept his grip on her shoulder.

“Yang,” her father demanded, still serious, “Did she say which store?”

Yang sat up, blinking the grogginess away, “Um, the uh, the one on Merchant Street, I think. Seven-two-something. Why?” Taiyang held his scroll up to Yang’s face. 

Huntsmen weren’t cops. They didn’t carry a badge or swear an oath to the law or the state. But they did have a place in law enforcement, at least in Vale. The actual legal details were too complicated for Yang to wrap her head around, but the practical reality of it was that, if a Hunter or Huntress intervened during a crime in progress, they would be treated as a cop during and after the fact. Somewhere along the line, someone had had the brilliant idea to make an app for Huntsmen that alerted them of crimes in progress in the area, to respond to should they feel so inclined.

Yang had thought it was a bit silly when her dad installed it. There wasn’t nearly enough violent crime on Patch to justify the space it took up on his scroll. So it took her a moment to process the text he had pushed into her face. It read:

‘SILENT ALARM. Robbery in progress at 725 Merchant Street’

Oh.

Oh.

Yang tripped out of bed, “Oh, shit!”

“Yeah.” Taiyang nodded. “Get your weapons, I’ll lead the way.”

“No, go ahead!” Yang shouted, “I’ll catch up!” Taiyang hesitated for just a second before bolting out the door. As Yang scrambled to get her clothes on and strap Ember Cilica to her wrists, she murmered, “Hang on, Ruby. Help is on the way.”

“It’s a perfectly sound concept!”

“It’s a disaster waiting to happen!”

Ruby Rose found herself locked in mortal combat. Not for life or Lien, but for something far more important. No, this was a fight for her baby’s right to exist. “There is nothing wrong with Crescent Rose!” She shouted. “Everyone I’ve shown it to says it’s brilliant!”

“Then everyone you’ve shown it to is an idiot with no idea how firearms work!” The thief didn’t seem to be winding her up or trying to make her angry; he looked genuinely affronted. “How many moving parts are involved in the transformation process alone? Twenty-five? Fifty? More?” It was actually sixty-three, but he didn’t need to know that. “If even one of those pieces gets damaged or misaligned – which they will, since you’re hitting people with it – it’ll get stuck in one of its forms. Or stuck between the two forms. Or be unable to fire, or fall apart, or explode in your hands! And that’s not even addressing the inherent stupidity of using a scythe as a weapon in the first place!”

Ruby gasped. “There’s nothing wrong with scythes! Scythes are great!”

“Name me one person who regularly uses a scythe – an actual farming scythe – to fight with.”

Ruby puffed up and proudly declared, “My uncle Qrow uses a scythe! And he’s the best huntsman I know!”

“If your uncle actually uses a scythe to fight with then he’s either a drunk or a cretin.”

“My uncle is not a cretin!”

The thief smiled, “Well, that narrows it down, doesn’t it?”

“I-” Ruby blushed, embarrassed. She shook her head to clear it. “T-this isn’t about my uncle!”

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s about you carrying around a ticking time bomb of catastrophic mechanical failure!”

“You’re a catastrophic mechanical failure!!”

“RUBY!” 

Both Ruby and the thief turned towards the new voice. It was her father, sprinting towards them. He looked ragged, like he’d gotten dressed in a hurry, and was holding his weapon, Destiny’s Edge, by the barrel/sheathe as he pushed his Aura to propel himself down the road.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” The thief said, all the frustration and disdain gone from his voice. “Been fun, kid. See you around.” And then he vanished.

“Wha?!? Whu- how- where did???” Ruby cast around, looking for any trace of the thief.

“Ruby.” Taiyang came to a stop at her side. He wasn’t even winded from the sprint. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Where’d he go?!? He was right here, dad!”

Taiyang peered into the store, frowning.

“Dad-”

“Shhh!” Taiyang hissed.

Ruby obeyed. 

At this time of night, in this part of the city, Vale was sound asleep. The only sound was the soft rustle of the trees and the faintest rumble of cars several blocks away.

And, so faint Ruby almost missed it, the sound of a door opening.

Taiyang burst into action. “He went through the backdoor!” he said as she shouldered the front door open.

“Wait, dad!” Ruby shouted, “He’s working with Roman Torchwick! I heard him go out the front earlier; I’ll go after him!”

“No!” Taiyang commanded, “Stay here, wait for Yang, she’s on her way!”

“Wha-” Ruby stammered, incredulous. “Dad, I can help!”

“I said stay there!” Taiyang ran to the back of the store.

“DAD!!” Ruby protested.

“STAY!!!” Taiyang screamed over his shoulder as he stormed into the alleys, with what he probably thought was finality.

Ruby stood alone in the store. Correction: not alone, as the store’s owner gingerly poked his head up over the counter and whispered, “Are they gone yet?” Ruby assured him that they were.

After a few more seconds, she grumbled, “To heck with this,” and was off like a shot.

Roman grunted as the loose bricks coiled around him and slammed him into the wall. “Nice to see you too, GG. You’re as spirited as ever.”

“Be silent, Torchwick.” Glynda Goodwitch twisted her riding crop, and the bricks wrapped in her telekinetic grip curled tighter around Roman’s body. “This petty nonsense you call a career ends tonight.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t write me off just yet. I’ve gotten out of – hngk – tighter spots than this.”

“I said shut your mouth.” The bricks squeezed harder.

“But that’s my best asset-” Roman choked as Glynda levitated a loose newspaper into his mouth, gagging him.

“Enough. The police will be here any second, so don’t even think about-”

Several things proceeded to happen in very quick succession. First, Roman’s partner, who had managed to sneak behind Glynda without her or Roman noticing, deftly reached around the Huntress’ head and plucked her glasses off her nose. Then, his other hand came down and shoved a black felt bag around her head. Then, as Glynda reached up to her face, Sam tucked Glynda’s glasses into his coat, and retrieved a sawed-off, double barrel shotgun. Finally, he placed the shotgun against the small of Glynda’s back and pulled both triggers.

The force of the buckshot sent Glynda flying headfirst into the wall, next to Roman. She was a seasoned Huntress, and her Aura tanked both impacts easily, but her concentration was broken long enough for Roman to shake himself out of her telekinetic grip and pull himself to his feet.

“No time for love, Candlestick,” Sam said as he hopped off a short wooden box. “We’ve gotta go.”

They went. Roman heard Glynda stumble to her feet with an inarticulate scream of rage. Sam, without looking back, put his hand on Roman’s head and mumbled, “Duck.” They ducked, and just barely dodged the dumpster Glynda had hurled down the alley. 

As they rounded a corner, Roman said, “You know we can’t lose her on foot, right?”

“Sure we can.”

Roman shook his head, “No, I know her. She’ll find us, especially now that you’ve pissed her off.”

Sam shot Roman a vulpine grin, and held up a pair of oblong brown boxes. “Not without these, she won’t.”

Ruby burst onto the scene in a cloud of rose petals. “What’s going on I heard a gunshot oh my gosh are you alright?!?”

The blonde woman pushed herself to her feet with a grunt, a riding crop in one hand and a black bag in the other. “Little bastards,” she muttered, then glanced over her shoulder and added, “I’m fine.”

Ruby looked down and saw the scorch marks on her otherwise unmarred back, put two and two together, and gasped. “Oh my gosh, you’re a Huntress!” Ruby beamed, “Can I have your autograph??”

The look the Huntress gave her could have melted steel.

“Um…” Ruby cradled her scythe protectively, “… maybe later?”

Ruby was thankfully saved from the Awkward by her father’s arrival. “RUBY!” he shouted as he ran up the alley, “I thought I told you to stay put!” He glanced

“I can help, dad!” Ruby protested, “Huntresses aren’t supposed to stand by and do nothing when they can help people!”

“You’re not a Huntress yet, Ruby! I-” Taiyang groaned inarticulately, “You’re not ready for this. Not yet.” He held up a hand as Ruby started to protest, “We’ll talk about this later, Ruby. Not now.” Only then did he notice they weren’t alone in the alley, and say, “Oh hey, Glynda. Good to see you again.”

The Huntress, Glynda, squinted, “Taiyang, is that you? It’s good to see you as well. Well-” she gestured at her eyes, “in a manner of speaking.”

“Are you alright?” Taiyang asked.

“I’m perfectly fine. That little wretch grabbed my glasses.” Glynda pawed at her belt, and froze. “… And my backup.” She reached between her breasts – Taiyang dutifully averted his eyes – and froze again. “… Both of my backups,” she hissed through gritted teeth. 

Taiyang whistled, “Damn. Torchwick?”

Glynda shook her head, “No, I had him well under control. He appears to have acquired a new partner; the little mute he normally runs around with never used guns.” 

“Oh, that’s great!” Ruby chirped, “Now that they’re together again, we can catch them both! I’ll scout ahead and-”

The Huntress’ hand darted out to block Ruby’s path before she could build up momentum. “Young lady, you will do no such thing.”

Ruby wilted a little, “But I-”

“I know your father, young lady, and I know the sort of education you’ve been given at Signal academy at your age. I am certain you are both a well trained combatant and a skilled weaponsmith. And I can say with absolute certainty that you can not defeat a man like Roman Torchwick. He is a hardened criminal with years of experience fighting and evading the law. He has killed to escape justice before, he will do so again, and your age will not be an obstacle to that.”

Ruby dithered, “I have to do something!”

Taiyang stepped in, “Ruby, you got a good look at Roman’s accomplice, didn’t you?”

Ruby nodded, and Glynda said, “Well, that settles it. You will accompany us to the police station and give your account of tonight's events. A description of Roman’s new partner would make the VPD’s job much easier in apprehending them.” 

That did sound like a good idea to Ruby, but- “Torchwick’s still getting away, though.”

“The police are already setting up a cordon,” said Taiyang. “And even if he does get away, that’s not worth risking your life over.”

The reproachful gaze of one disapproving adult was one thing, but against the might of two, even Ruby could not endure. “Fine,” she relented.

“Splendid,” Glynda nodded, “Taiyang, you will need to lead me out; I am almost completely blind, and I don’t relish the thought of feeling my way through these alleys.” 

Roman gauged the distance. They’d been running for about a minute now; more than enough time to get far enough away. He prepped the hook in Melodic Cudgel and took aim at one of the gutters above them. “We’ve gotta head for the rooftops!” he shouted.

“Okay, enjoy prison!” Sam waved goodbye and kept running.

Roman stared at Sam’s shrinking back, incredulous. “Wha- hey!” he rushed to catch up. “The heck does that mean?”

Sam side-eyed him, “Are you familiar with the phrase ‘sitting duck’, Roman?” 

“I wasn’t exactly thinking of pitching a tent up there!” Roman protested. “I have a bullhead ready to extract us!” 

Sam seemed to consider this, falling silent for a moment. Then, he said, “You want to extract in a flying vehicle during an active police chase?? How are you planning to lose air traffic control? Or get past the literal wall of guns surrounding the city?”

Roman was getting seriously tired of the constant questions. “Well, we can’t get out of here on foot, and I don’t see you coming up with any other options!”

“That’s because you didn’t ask. And now that you have asked, I’m happy to inform you that I have a car already on the way to pick us up.”

Roman opened his mouth. Closed it again. “…I thought you were new in town; how do you already know a guy?”

Sam grinned in a way Roman was quickly finding irritating, “I said I was new in town. I never said I came alone.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. This guy you’ve got a ride with, is he reliable?”

“I’ve known him for years, he’s never let me down. Well,” Sam put a hand to his chin, “there was that one time in the Divide, but those were extenuating circumstances. Totally not his fault.”

“I feel so reassured,” Roman drawled. “How far away is he?”

“We’re here already.” Sam pointed at the mouth of the alley they were running down. As if on cue, a black car with tinted windows pulled up and threw open its rear door.

Roman faltered a little. He’d seen – and stolen – a lot of cars over the years, but this one was definitely the strangest. It was, at least, recognizably a car. Windows, doors, four wheels, and the general shape of body that said ‘yes, this is indeed a car’. But Roman had never seen any make and model that even slightly resembled this one. The hood was longer and thinner than any cars he’d seen in Vale, and the trunk had two… wings? Fins? Triangles. Two triangles jutting up on either side. 

The closest comparison Roman could make was to overpriced muscle cars; the type driven by insecure young men or people in the midst of a mid-life crisis. But those kinds of cars were loud. Obnoxiously so. And as this car had peeled around the corner and come to an abrupt halt before the two thieves, it hadn’t made a sound.

Sam hopped into the back without breaking stride. After the slightest hesitation, Roman followed. The door shut behind them automatically, and, with the slightest jolt of motion, the car soundlessly sped away.

After a few minutes, Sam broke the silence. “Hey.”

Roman turned. “Yeah?”

“You’ve got beautiful eyes.”

Roman rolled them. “Screw you.”

“… I mean, if you’re down, then-”

Roman groaned, “Oh, shut up.”

Chapter Text

After a long, winding journey through the streets of Vale, both to shake the cops and to give Neo enough time to finish her part of the job, the car silently slid into the address Roman had recited; a squat, rundown office building in the worst slums of Vale. Some people liked to call this part of town ‘The Barnyard’, on account of it’s near-exclusively faunus population, but Roman felt that was a bit much even for him. The building, much like the rest of the neighborhood, wasn’t much to look at. But it had consistently running water, four walls, and a roof, which was more than some of the people actually living here had.

Roman exited the car with as much grace as he could muster and dusted himself off, grimacing. The bricks that Goodwitch had snaked around his body had chalked his formerly spotless white suit with stripes of lightish-red (not pink, thank you very much). That was going to be a right bitch to get out, and no mistake.

“Nice place,” Sam said as he clambered out of the car behind Roman, and he actually didn’t sound sarcastic.

“It’s not exactly the Ritz, but you could do a lot worse. Especially in this neighborhood.”

“Honestly, I’m mostly curious about how you do your laundry. That outfit can’t be easy to keep pristine out here.”

The car’s drivers side door opened, and a shrill noise like a dying printer came out.

“Sure, but that’s not exactly the same,” Sam responded, “I imagine it’s easier to keep checkerboard pristine than pure white.”

Roman turned around to ask what the hell Sam was talking about, and flinched as an honest-to-god robot floated out of the drivers seat. It was about the size of a beach ball, hovering just above eye level, with half a dozen antennae poking out of its back. It had a ‘face’ like a car grille, with a weird dish-like doodad above and a thick cylinder below, the function of which Roman didn’t even try to decipher.

He was tempted to call it Atlas tech, but that felt wrong. The aesthetics were completely different. Atlas built their hardware to look sleek, smooth and streamlined. Always painted stark white, with a hint of blue if the designers were feeling frisky. This thing couldn’t be a starker contrast. Unpainted metal with orangeish-yellow highlights. Dozens of random bits and bulbs that were at once haphazard and professional. 

Something clicked in Roman’s mind, and he realized that the robot matched the aesthetics of Sam’s wrist doohickey. Bulky, yet efficient. Outmoded, yet advanced. Like what the past thought the future would look like.

As the robot body-checked (chassis-checked?) the car door, knocking it shut, Sam grinned, held up a hand and said, “Roman, meed Eddie. My valet.” 

The robot hovered closer to Sam, and a small bolt of lightning arced from the cylinder on the underside of its chassis, hitting Sam on the shoulder. 

“Ow!” he clutched the new scorch mark on his duster, “You fucker, the hell was that for?”

The robot, Eddie, made another noise like a drowning computer, different from the last one.

“Oh, really?” Sam sneered, “What would you rather I call you? My chauffer? My batman? My aggro draw?” 

The robot hovered closer, emitting a low, electronic hiss, like static. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.” Sam flicked the robot’s ‘face’, and it reared back as if struck. He glanced at Roman, thumbed at Eddie and said, “Puberty,” as if that explained anything. “Anyways! Let’s head inside, shall we?”

Roman weighed his options. His knee-jerk reaction was to tell the smug twink to piss off; he was annoying, asked too many uncomfortable questions, and had no respect for personal space. More pertinently, Cinder had been very clear that no-one else was to be let into the fold, at least not by him. It had been an ordeal and a half just getting that bitch to accept having Neo around, and he suspected Cinder only tolerated his partner because Neo physically couldn’t tattle on her.

On the other hand, Sam was undeniably useful in the field. Glynda Goodwitch was an experienced Huntress with one of the most powerful Semblances he’d ever seen; anyone who could get the drop on her and get away with it was worth keeping around, if for no other reason than to keep him pointed away from you. 

Roman shrugged. He supposed Neo could always ventilate Sam’s throat if things didn’t work out. That is, assuming Cinder didn’t just immolate him outright. “Sure,” he smiled, “Make yourself at home.”

“Why, thank you kindly.” Sam threw open the door and skipped inside without so much as glancing at the tripwire he stepped over.

Roman did a double take. The tripwire was indeed intact. He glanced over to its connection point: a stack of empty tin cans sitting in the corner, still upright and undisturbed (booby traps were loud and bodies were messy, so Roman had vetoed Neo’s proposal for more lethal deterrents). Roman shrugged, and chalked it up to luck.

Inside the building and up a flight of stairs was the safehouse: What once was a prefab office space had been cleared out (i.e. looted) ages ago, leaving Roman and Neo plenty of room to redecorate. A large table dominated the former cubicle room, for hosting clients and, more recently, his ‘benefactor’. The kitchen amounted to a small hotplate sitting atop a waist-high minifridge tucked into the corner of the room. The water hookups in the former employee lounge were connected to a ramshackle toilet and shower. He and Neo both got an office to themselves, and the remaining rooms were used for storage or left to rot.

Sam had scurried to the minifridge in the time it took Roman to catch up. His robot buddy had stayed outside, which suited Roman just fine. Sam pulled his head out of the fridge, held up a carton of eggs and asked, “Hey, these are chicken eggs, right?”

Roman raised an eyebrow, “… Is there supposed to be another option?”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He ducked back in and continued rummaging. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything resembling a pantry, do you?”

“We’ve got coffee,” Roman answered. It was the only thing they ever used the hotplate for, honestly, and even that was rare. More often Neo would hop into the (relatively) nicer part of town and grab something to go.

“Shame.” Sam extracted himself from the fridge with a sigh. “Oh, well. I’ve done more with less.” 

Roman was about to respond when he spotted motion in the corner past his new employee. Two disembodied eyes were floating at just below Roman’s chest height, one eye pink and the other brown. The eyes blinked rapidly, individually cycling between pink, brown, and white, winked, then disappeared. 

Roman suppressed a grin. An opportunity to reassert his authority was just what he needed after the night he’d had. “And what exactly is it that you’re doing?” he asked, covering for his lapse in attention.

“Considering what you’ve got on hand… I’m thinking omelettes. Y’all are in for a treat, lemme tell you.” Without further ado, Sam started pulling a frankly obscene amount of kitchenware out of his jacket. A wide pan, a mixing bowl, wooden spoons, silverware, the works. Quickly and casually enough that it couldn’t be anything but a Semblance. “I got this recipe in a little mining town a few years back; never met anyone who didn’t love it.”

“Well, that sounds just delightful,” said Roman, stalling. He and Neo had pulled this little trick too many times to count, and they’d gotten it down to a science. The longer the mark spent ‘alone’ with Roman, blissfully unaware, the more frightened they were when Neo made her smug, razor-sharp introduction. “And speaking of delightful, that’s a pretty nifty Semblance you’ve got there.”

“Hm?” Sam looked up, confused, before alighting. “Oh! Right, yes. Yes, very handy. Good for all sorts of things, I’ve found.”

“I’ll bet. How’s it work, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The stuff has to fit under my clothes,” Sam explained as he set out salt and a small cloth pouch of what Roman assumed were spices. “Other than that, no restrictions. No weight limit beyond how much I can physically carry, but the objects aren’t made lighter or anything so I still have to haul the stuff around on my back.”

Roman hummed, “Very handy indeed,” and he wasn’t lying. Even with those restrictions, Roman could think of a dozen uses to put that Semblance to off the top of his head. Keeping Sam around was feeling like the right call after all. 

Silence filled the gap in conversation. Roman was about to signal Neo to reveal herself when he noticed something. “Hey, I thought you said-!”

“And I wasn’t lying. I can’t turn it off.” Sam tapped his temple. He had removed his sunglasses while Roman wasn’t looking, revealing bright silver eyes that shone with the intensity of a night light, rather than a floodlamp. “Moonlight makes them light up. The fuller the phase, the brighter they shine. Going indoors makes it low enough to leave them uncovered.”

“Then why did you have the shades on inside Junior’s?”

“Glowing eyes attract a lot of attention no matter how bright they are. Believe it or not, I was planning on enjoying my drink in peace last night until you showed up.” Sam set the last item onto the table and put his hands on his hips. “Alright, before I get started-” he turned to the empty patch of air to his left, “-could you put that thing away? It’s rather distracting.”

Roman’s eyes widened. The air next to Sam shattered into pink shards of glass, revealing Neo. Her face was twisted with shock and indignation, and her weapon, Hush, was leveled inches away from Sam’s neck.

“Please?” Sam asked, completely ignoring the blade to his throat.

Neo’s face scrunched up. She glanced at Roman, who subtly nodded, then retracted the blade into her parasol and rested it on her shoulder with a huff.

“Thank you. Now,” Sam surveyed the ingredients and kitchenware assembled before him and eagerly rubbed his hands, “Let’s get to work.”

“Wait, what?!?” Ruby boggled at the bespectacled man sitting across from her, “But- bu- I didn’t even do anything!” 

Headmaster Ozpin chuckled, “I’ve lived long enough to recognize potential when I see it, Miss Rose. Besides, I wouldn’t say you did nothing. You engaged a wanted criminal and prevented a robbery in progress. Failing to apprehend Torchwick and his associate is entirely understandable, especially at your age.”

“Well, sure, but-” Ruby stammered, “Skipping two years?!? That’s not- I’m not-!”

“I’ve been in this business for a long time, Miss Rose.” Ozpin placed his mug on the table and steepled his hands. “In that time, I’ve acquired a knack for identifying talent and potential. Determining who will be the people best suited to charge with the protection of our society. And you, Miss Rose, have the makings of one of the finest Huntresses the world has ever seen.”

Ruby went wide-eyed, awed, “You really think so?”

Ozpin nodded, “I do. You’re going to be someone very important, Miss Rose. Mark my words.”

“Ruby?”Taiyang spoke up for the first time since Ozpin had entered the room. “Could you please let me and Headmaster Ozpin speak in private?”

Ozpin sighed internally. He’d expected something like this from his former student. It was the reason he’d hoped to approach Miss Rose with his proposal without Taiyang present. Still, at least Taiyang was willing to air his discontent without his daughter in the room.

“Um, sure.” Ruby slowly began to get up, “What are you gonna talk about?”

“Just some paperwork stuff. Very boring. Why don’t you go find Glynda? Maybe she’d be willing to give you that autograph now.”

Ruby’s eyes lit up – literally, Ozpin noticed – and she nearly bounced in place. “Ohmygosh, that’s a great idea!” She rushed to the door, threw it open, turned around and said, “ItwasnicemeetingyoumisterOzpinthankyousomuchfortheopportunityokayBYE!!!” Then she sped off, leaving a trail of rose petals in her wake.

Ozpin chuckled, “What a bright soul. You must be very proud of her.” Taiyang glowered, and Ozpin let his face fall. This would have to be handled delicately. He took a sip of cocoa to stall the conversation. In these types of negotiations, it was better to let the other man speak first.

Eventually, Taiyang cracked. “She’s not ready for Beacon yet, Ozpin.”

“I disagree. She’s demonstrated considerable initiative and an eagerness to protect the innocent. Both ideal qualities for a Huntress.”

“She’s not ready, Ozpin,” Taiyang repeated, “Her grades are good, but they aren’t ‘graduate two years early’ good. But I’m sure you already know that.”

Ozpin did know that. He’d known Ruby Rose’s grades, and considerably more about her life, from the moment he learned what color her eyes were. “I do know that. And I also know that’s not because she’s struggling. It’s because she’s bored, Taiyang. She’s languishing at Signal, and keeping her there will only stifle her development.”

“That’s not how that works, Ozpin! And even if it was, we both know that’s not why you want her at Beacon.”

Ozpin sighed, and took another sip. “You’re starting to sound like Raven, Taiyang.”

“Don’t you-!” Taiyang nearly stood up, enraged. He took a deep breath, controlling himself, and said, “Raven was wrong about a lot of things. Is wrong about a lot of things. But maybe she was right about this, at least.”

Ozpin huffed, frustrated. It looked like he would have to play his trump card after all. He peered down his glasses to look Taiyang in the eyes and commanded, “Taiyang, listen to me. Believe what you will about my ambitions, but also remember the reality of the situation. If I don’t take Ruby under my protection, then she will.” Taiyang stiffened. “And believe me,” Ozpin continued, “your daughter’s life would be far less pleasant under her care than under mine.”

Ozpin saw a shudder run down Taiyang’s back, and felt a slight sliver of satisfaction. He’d won. “Obviously, Ruby will need some remedial classes to cover the material she’ll miss out on by skipping her third and fourth years. She’ll get them, and more. She wouldn’t be the youngest student to ever attend Beacon, you know.”

Some of the steel returned to Taiyang’s face, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. “You know, I actually do believe that.” He tapped the table, agitated. “Fine. Fine, she can attend. But you had better take good care of her, Oz.”

Ozpin smiled. “Trust me, I’ll ensure she stays out of any trouble.”

Taiyang rolled his eyes, “I don’t believe even you could do that, Oz. Just keep her safe.”

Ozpin told him that he would. He left the interview room satisfied. Fortune was on his side, having found a Silver-Eyed Warrior so young. He was in a perfect position to guide her development.

And cement her loyalty. She’ll make a fine soldier, won’t she?

The accusation pierced the veil of his mind, hateful and venomous. A stray thought from his host. Ozpin absently smothered it. 

That happened every now and then; one of his former hosts would surface to cast judgment on him, like a drowning man gasping for air. Ozpin didn’t begrudge them their vitriol. None of them could understand the necessity of his methods. The stakes were too great for them to fathom.

Ozpin gently shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. He turned his mind back to tonight’s achievements. Miss Rose’s late admission would require some bureaucratic finagling, but his second in command was more than up to the task. 

As if on cue, he spied Glynda down the hall speaking with the regional head of the VPD, most likely relaying the events of the night yet again. He waited until their conversation wrapped up, approached her and asked, “How are they working for you?”

Glynda adjusted her new pair of glasses, “Not perfect, but better than nothing.” She fixed Ozpin with a dissapointed look. “I’m assuming you were referring to the glasses and not the fine men and women of the VPD. Because they’ve all failed to turn up so much as a trace.”

Ozpin nodded. “Unfortunate, but not unexpected. Between the White Fang and the Xiong crime family, they’ve been run ragged lately. I hear someone managed to steal the entire inventory of the King Ostra Royal Library last week.” 

“That’s no-” Glynda broke off with a double-take. “The entire library?”

“Every scrap of paper,” Ozpin confirmed. “Nothing irreplaceable, but still. They still haven’t figured out how the perpetrators did it. But I digress. Torchwick has always been slippery. Though, I suppose we have his newest associate to thank for this particular vanishing act.” 

Glynda grumbled, “Yes, him. Of all the indignities-” She cut herself off with a grimace. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that one, do you?”

Ozpin shook his head. “Nothing more than what the police do, which is vanishingly little. At least two officers recognized him from a routine stop earlier this week, but nothing tying him to any history with the city’s criminal element.”

“All we have is a description?” 

“That’s worth more than you would expect, Glynda. Especially with as distinct an identifying feature as that scar of his.”

“He could easily cover it,” Glynda argued. “Especially with the help of Roman’s diminutive illusionist.”

“True, but I hardly feel it’s worth losing sleep over. The police have this well in hand.”

Glynda frowned, “Are you seriously not more concerned about this? Roman and his little partner in crime were at least known quantities; a new addition to the city’s criminal underbelly of this caliber should not be taken lightly.”

“He only won because he got the drop on you, you know,” Ozpin gently reminded her.

“That’s exactly my point,” Glynda countered. “I can count all the people who can successfully sneak up on me on one hand. And half of them are working for you.”

“… Very well. I’ll look into it,” Ozpin conceded. “In the meantime, I suggest you put this matter out of your mind. I find it unlikely you’ll cross paths with him again.”

The two of them walked down the hall to the exit. Officers and civilians alike parted in his wake. 

“By the way, did you end up giving Miss Rose an autograph after all?”

“She asked, but it seemed a bit silly to give an autograph to an incoming student.”

Ozpin chuckled, “Yes, I suppose that would be a bit silly.”

‘Bound by wild desire,’ Trumpets. ‘I fell into that ring of fire,’

“Not a big fan of country music, personally,” Roman said.

“Fair enough,” Sam replied. He put down the spatula and fiddled with his doohickey. 

‘I’ve got the world on a string, sittin’ on a rainbow,’

“Not a big fan of jazz, either,” said Roman.

Sam shot him a look. It was the type of look usually reserved for things you step in.

“What?” Roman asked, defensively, “I’ve got standards! Sue me!”

Sam grumbled. He fiddled with his doohickey again, a bit more forcefully. Eventually-

‘You’re now listening to 109.3! Real Rock FM!’

“Oh god,” Roman winced, “Not this. Please not this.”

“I’ve given you your options, Candlestick. Take your pick.”

Roman groaned and cradled his head, half for dramatic effect and half to muffle the kitschy pop anthem blaring across the room. Jazz, country, or public radio. Was this how that one faunus felt, choosing which of her kids would be sent to the Atlesian death camps? “Neo,” Roman pleaded. “Neo, help. Save me.”

He craned his neck. Neo had already put on a pair of noise-canceling headphones and buried herself in a dog-eared romance novel. She would be of no help.

Roman groaned again, louder. “… Do you have anything that’s less…” Roman searched for the most hurtful way to put it, “Vapid? Inane? Retarded?”

Sam rolled his eyes, took the pan of chopped meat off the hotplate and pushed the chunks into a bowl, then started scrolling through his doohickey. 

Literally scrolling, Roman noted. Whatever the thing was, it didn’t have a touchscreen; Sam had to manually press buttons and rotate a tiny wheel to navigate its user interface. It boggled the mind. Roman had heard of Atlas giving its troops wrist-mounted scrolls, but those were all cutting-edge. More streamlined than commercial scrolls, not less. 

Was it an old model? That didn’t seem right. The oldest scrolls Roman knew about at least had a full keypad. Why hook one up to a machine with three clunky buttons, a dial, and a radio receiver? Committing to a bit, like he’d thought earlier? No, that wasn’t right either. Sam didn’t strike Roman as the type of guy to inconvenience himself for a bit. 

Now that he thought about it, Sam didn’t seem to be committing to a bit at all. The retro-futuristic gadget and robot buddy clashed with the grizzled desert wanderer look his outfit gave him, which itself clashed with the smug, flirty, smooth-talking persona he presented himself with. None of it fit together.

Maybe that was the bit? Forsaking a coherent style and presentation in order to confuse and unbalance people? The more Roman thought about it, the more it made sense. The sneaking around, the probing questions, even the flirting and innuendo: All of it had kept Roman off-balance, and let Sam take the initiative and steer them both in the direction he wanted. 

That… was clever. And dangerous. Because even though Roman knew what Sam was doing, he wasn’t sure if that would be enough to stop it from working.

Roman was jolted out of his ruminations by the return of music. An instrumental this time, with no caterwauling about love or dames or anything of the sort. Roman listened for a few moments, then conceded, “Alright, I can live with that.”

“Fucking better,” Sam muttered. With that, he poured the eggs into the pan and let them cook for a while, before placing the meat and peppers on top and folding the whole thing in half. He repeated the whole process two more times, placed each omlette on a plate, and set them all out onto the table. “All d-”

He stiffened, shot a glance toward the door, then hastily placed three metal covers over the plates, amending, “Halfway done.”

Roman straightened, “What?”

“There’s three people heading this direction right now. We’re the only ones in this block besides a few squatters in the building they just passed, so I figure they’re here to meet us. Your boss, I presume?”

“How do you-” Roman remembered the floating robot that had stayed outside. The one with over half a dozen antennae sticking out its back. He remembered how Sam had easily seen through Neo’s Semblance. He remembered how Sam had known to duck the dumpster Goodwitch had thrown at them at just the right moment. 

Neo, who had been summoned to attention by the smell of food, glanced at Roman, confused. Roman subtly shook his head. "I’ll tell you later", he didn’t say, but Neo heard it anyways and nodded.

“Call it a hunch,” Sam said, missing (hopefully) their back-and-forth. “And if I’m wrong? Leftovers.”

Sam worked efficiently and with frightening speed; before Roman could blink, there were three more omelettes laid out on the table. The first three were uncovered and all six were laid out on the big table; Three on either side. 

Just as table setting was wrapping up, there was a clatter of empty cans at the entrance to the building. Roman heard three voices: The first was a girl, probably Cinder’s pet street rat, Emerald, yelping in surprise; the second was a boy, likely Cinder’s baby psychopath, Mercury, laughing at Emerald’s expense; the third was unmistakably Cinder, sternly demanding silence and instantly receiving it.

Roman felt his nerves swell up as Cinder and her team ascended the stairs, and quickly stamped them down. This was fine. Even though he had technically violated a direct order, this was still salvageable. Everything was going to go just-

Suddenly, Sam stood and strode to the door, smoothly replacing his sunglasses as he walked. Roman stammered, “Wait, what do you think-”

Sam threw open the door, revealing a suddenly startled Cinder Fall. “Hello!” Sam cried, “Welcome, good evening, and a pleasure to meet you, young lady!” He grabbed Cinder’s hand, still outstretched to grasp the doorknob, and shook it vigorously. “Please, come in! Make yourselves at home, I’ve just finished throwing supper together!”

Sam turned on his heel and sauntered over to the hotplate, towards the pile of dirty dishes generated by the night’s cooking. Cinder stood stock still in the doorframe, utterly poleaxed. Emerald and Mercury peeked over Cinder’s shoulders, just as confused but not as offended. 

Cinder’s expression shifted from flummoxed to literally burning rage when she laid eyes on Roman.

Roman felt a manic grin creep onto his face. He exchanged glances with Neo. She gave him a look that said, “Well, we’re dead.” Roman couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

“Now, I’m sure you all have some very important business to take care of, so I’ll leave you guys alone to sort that out in private.” Sam gathered the dirty dishes into his hands – not using his Semblance in front of Cinder, Roman noticed – and beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom. “Please, help yourself to the food! And, again, such a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Roman watched Sam disappeared behind the curtain. As another song came from the bathroom along with the sound of washing dishes, he stapled a smile onto his face and faced Cinder. 

She was very upset, and Roman couldn’t blame her (much). He had technically violated a direct order. If he didn’t convince her that bringing in Sam was the right call, she’d kill both of them on principle, and then Neo when she tried to defend him. 

He chanced a glance at Neo. She had a placid look on her face and an iron grip on her parasol. If Cinder killed him, Neo would die fighting before she ever worked for her.

“Cinder.” He greeted her as politely as he could manage, doing his best to hide his nerves, “So nice of you to drop by. Please, have a seat.”

Cinder took a seat opposite Roman, in the most impressive-looking chair in the room. It was also the most uncomfortable chair in the room, but Cinder didn’t know that. Roman knew it was petty, but at this point he’d take whatever victories he could get.

“Explain yourself,” Cinder demanded. There was already a slight heat haze surrounding her. Roman swallowed. He would need to be delicate. He was bad at delicate.

“Neo’s part of the job went off without a hitch.” He glanced at his partner and she nodded, confirming, “I ran into a bit more trouble than expected, but I got out alright in the end-”

“Stop.” The haze surrounding Cinder got a bit more intense, “Who was that? Why is he here?”

“Right. Him.” Roman cleared his throat, “I ran into him at Junior’s. Brought him along for the decoy job, and he stuck around. Got us a getaway car while he was at it, too.”

“I don’t care about the circumstances of your meeting, Roman.” She sneered, “I thought I was perfectly clear when I said that you were not to bring outsiders into our little enterprise.”

“And I haven’t!” Roman countered, “He doesn’t know anything about you three or anything else. I just thought he’d be a useful man on the ground, so I brought him here to split the loot and talk future jobs before we parted ways for the night. Neither of us expected you to drop by, honest.”

“He didn’t exactly seem surprised to see us, Roman.”

Roman tried to resist. “… Well, you guys did ring the doorbell on your way in,” he said, failing.

Mercury snickered, “He’s got you there, boss.”

Cinder glared at the boy, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “None of your lackeys are supposed to know I exist, Roman.”

“And he didn’t, until you walked in. All he knew was that I had a boss, and he figured that out himself. I didn’t even so much as imply that I was taking orders, just like you said.”

Cinder’s frown deepened. Roman was really bad at delicate. “Alright, Roman. Say I overlook your blatant disregard for my instructions. Hired muscle isn’t hard to find in this city. Why did you keep him around after the fact?” she asked. She didn’t ask, Why should I keep him around? or Why should I keep you around?, but Roman heard them all the same. 

Distantly, Roman realized that dishwashing was taking a lot longer than it should have, considering how fast he had seen Sam work before. Stalling, probably. Eavesdropping, most likely. That would only hurt his case, if it wasn’t grounds for his immediate execution, so he kept that deduction to himself.

Cinder could always see through his bullshit, so Roman took refuge in the truth. “He’s a decent backup. Observant. Can plan on the fly. Pretty good fighter, too. He took down Glynda Goodwitch long enough for us to get away when she cornered us.”

Emerald spoke up for the first time, “He defeated Beacon’s head combat instructor?”

Cinder shot Emerald a withering glare, making her flinch and crumple into herself. “Glynda Goodwitch,” Cinder spat, “is a glorified secretary. She is of no consequence, and if that grinning idiot can defeat her then she is even less of a threat than I had reckoned. Is that all?”

Roman thought carefully. Delicate, he reminded himself, be delicate. “Well, I mentioned he got us a getaway car, didn’t I? Might be nice to have someone on the crew with something more subtle than a bullhead.”

“You mean the weird-looking car outside?” Mercury asked. Roman confirmed, and Mercury snorted, “You call that thing subtle?”

“Besides,” Cinder cut in, “You have the car now. What do you need him for?”

Roman considered explaining the flying robot, but decided it would only complicate things. “Well, you see…” He floundered. He looked to Neo, who only shrugged. He looked at Cinder, who’s stern impassivity was contrasted with the steadily intensifying heat haze surrounding her.

He decided delicate was overrated.

“You know what? Let’s ask the man himself. Sam!” Roman called.

The smug blonde poked his head out from behind the curtain, “Y’ello?”

“My boss here is skeptical about why she should take you on. C’mon out here and sell yourself.”

“Alrighty!” Sam threw the curtain open, flamboyantly, and all but strutted up to the table. “Hi, everyone! My name is Sam, Roman might have mentioned that. As for my best qualities, hmm…” he put his finger to his chin at an angle that might have been mathematically calculated to be as irritating as possible, “I’m a pretty good fighter, and a pretty good shooter. Good chemist, decent mechanic. I’m told I’m great with people. What else…” 

Roman chanced a look towards Cinder. She hadn’t flambéed the younger man on the spot yet, which he took as a good sign. 

“I’m pretty sneaky,” Sam continued, “Snuck up on Roman when we first met, didn’t I?” he slapped Roman on the shoulder with a chuckle. Roman smiled and bit his tongue. “He probably mentioned the telekinetic I fought earlier tonight, right? Right. Oh!” He snapped his fingers, “I also snagged this from the store we were in earlier.” 

Sam reached into his coat, not deeply enough to raise suspicion, and pulled out a canvas sack. He gently dropped it on the floor and let the gaggle of assorted Dust crystals spill out onto the table.

“When did you grab this??” Roman asked.

“I nabbed some stuff on my way out after I was done stalling the teenager you ran away from.”

“…”

Mercury started snickering.

Roman said, “I’d like to note for the record that running from the teenager was his idea, not mine.”

“Yeah, of course.” Sam waved him off, dismissively. “And on top of all that,” he concluded, “I’m a pretty decent cook, if I do say so myself.” He gestured to the omlettes arrayed on the table, “But I figure you guys can be the judge of that personally.”

Cinder raised an eyebrow, “Is that all?”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, before answering, “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. So, what do you think?”

“I think that doesn’t sound like much of a sales pitch at all, ‘Sam’. I already have a thief,” she gestured at Emerald, “a fighter,” she nodded at Mercury, “an infiltration expert,” a glance at Neo, who preened, “and a… whatever it is you do, Roman.” Roman rolled his eyes and bit his tongue again. “So I don’t see what makes you worth-”

“Mmm! Holy shit!” 

Cinder turned to glare at Mercury. He was wide-eyed, savoring a bite of his omelette. “Cinder, this is fucking amazing. Oh my god,” he took another bite, and moaned some more, “What kind of meat is that in there?”

“Fish,” Sam answered. “The original recipe calls for… turtle meat, but any seafood works, I’ve found.”

Mercury took another bite, oblivious or indifferent to Cinder’s intensifying glare. “Cinder, you can’t kill this guy now.”

“Mercury…” she warned.

“I’m serious, try it! This is the best eggs I’ve ever had in my life, hands down.”

Cinder glowered, “I thought I had properly illustrated the importance of our mission, Mercury. I’m not going to jeopardize this operation just to indulge your-”

Another moan, quieter, came from her right.

Cinder whirled around, “Emerald!”

Cinder’s green-haired lackey flinched and ducked her head. She did not stop chewing. “Sorry,” she squeaked, before murmuring, “It is really good.”

Cinder glared back and forth between her minions, incredulous. She turned to Roman. Roman, in turn, glanced at Neo, who was tearing into her omelette with silent gusto, and shrugged. Cinder snarled, stabbed a chunk of her own omelette and primly shoved it into her mouth.

Roman might have imagined it, but he could have sworn Cinder relaxed a smidge as she slowly chewed.

Mercury nodded, “Right? Right?”

“Shut up.” Cinder chewed two more times, then swallowed. She gently put down her fork. “All right, Roman. You can keep your little boytoy for now.” She stood up, and her lackeys followed. The upholstery on her chair was curled and blackened. “I will return in a week. By then, you will either have put him to good use or let him go. And I decide what constitutes ‘good use’.”

“Copy that,” Roman shot her a mock-salute.

“And Roman?” Cinder leaned in. The air seemed to get a few degrees hotter. “If you aren’t willing to downsize operations, I will.” A faint smirk slid onto her lips. “Am I understood?”

Roman suppressed a shiver. “Clear as crystal.”

“Good.” With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away. The teenagers followed at her heel, Emerald reverently and Mercury lazily. Mercury was carrying a clamshell to-go box that must have come from Sam’s coat.

After enough time had passed that Cinder was surely out of earshot, Sam said, “Well, she seems extraordinarily unpleasant.”

Roman barked a laugh. “Kid, you don’t know the half of it.”

With Queen Bitch and her royal supplicants gone, the three of them were free to tear into their meals with gusto. And goddamned if Roman didn’t hate to admit it, but they really were the best eggs he had ever eaten. That, along with the beer Neo handed him once Cinder left, was almost enough to make him forget how much the night had sucked.

Halfway through the meal, Sam asked, “What was that that Mint Chocolate back there said about Beacon?”

Roman frowned, “Please don’t tell me you haven’t heard of Beacon Academy.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Well obviously I have. Local finishing school for the national monster killers/mercenaries/wandering lawmen. I’m just curious why a bunch of – I assume – hardened criminals know the principal’s secretary by name.”

Roman rolled his eyes, “Yeah, that whole ‘finishing school’ deal is just the public line. Vale may have a big fancy Council, but don’t be fooled; Beacon is the real seat of power in this city. Their headmaster, Ozpin, says ‘jump’, the Council doesn’t say ‘How high?’, they jump as high as they can and ask ‘Is that high enough, your majesty?’”

“Is that so…” Sam put a finger to his chin, thoughtful. 

Neo stopped dabbing her chin and tapped Roman on the arm. She pointed to Sam, then to Roman, then rapped the side of her head.

Roman took her meaning. ‘That’s the kind of look you get when you’re scheming’, she meant.

“I’m not sure I like that look, kid,” Roman said. “What’re you thinking?”

“Well,” Sam said, “I’ve got a week to impress your boss, so I figure I’ll head up there and poke my head around. See if I can turn up anything she’d find useful.”

Roman snorted, “You think you can just waltz in? Kid, I’ve been doing this sort of thing for years, and even I wouldn’t try running a job there.”

“I’ll bet you my share of tonight’s haul it won’t be the most heavily guarded place I’ve snuck into. Speaking of,” Sam deftly swept about 40% of the Dust gems off the table and into his coat. “Alright, I’ll be heading out now.”

“Hold up,” Roman said, “What makes you think Cinder will even care if you do pull it off?”

“Well, the way Cinder was talking, it sounds like Beacon is somehow related to her plans. If she’s evaluated at least one of its staff as a non-threat, then the institution must be related to the scheme somehow.” Roman hadn’t noticed that. It made sense. “And besides,” Sam continued, “even if whatever she’s planning isn’t related to Beacon, it’s still the de facto seat of power in the city, as you’ve said. Intel on the place should be worth something.”

Roman considered Sam’s argument. Weighed it against the risks. Then, he remembered that there wasn’t really anything he could do to stop the younger man if he wanted to leave. “Alright, you can go,” he said, mostly to salvage his ego. “But don’t do anything that would incriminate either of us,” he gestured to himself and Neo.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam smiled and winked, “Keep a light on, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Roman rolled his eyes, “Just get out of here, kid.”

Sam stopped at the door. “Alright, I was going to leave it alone, but now I’m curious. Why do you keep calling me ‘kid’?”

“Because that’s what you are, kid!” Roman kicked his feet up, “Maybe in a few years you’ll have been on the street long enough to make a name for yourself, but for now you’re just a kid, kid.”

Roman took a deep, greedy drink just in time to choke on it when Sam said, “...Roman, I’m forty-three.”

By the time Roman recovered, Sam had left, and Neo was laughing at him.

Ozpin had just returned to his office and poured himself another mug of cocoa when the alarm went off. It hadn’t been any of the proximity sensors around the edges of campus, or any of the spy cameras littering the Emerald Forest, or the mundane burglar alarms on all the buildings. Whoever had intruded in his school had made it far enough inside to trigger the wards inside the administrative wing. 

Glynda had called the wards dotting campus a waste of his (relatively) meager magic, and some days he was inclined to agree. Not tonight, though. He snatched his cane from where it leaned against his desk with one hand and hooked it to his belt as he marched to the elevator. The cocoa was abandoned on his desk.

The intruder wasn’t showing up on any security cameras. Ozpin flicked through feed after feed on his scroll as he descended, seeing empty room after empty room. No traces of anyone, either. Everything was exactly as he left it. He returned the camera feed to the room with the wards, hoping to find something-

There. So quick he nearly missed it, there was a tiny flicker in the footage. The camera was being fed a loop. 

Ozpin hastened his pace as he left the elevator. This definitely wasn’t a random break-in; this took skill and coordination. Could they be here for the relic? To find the Fall Maiden and finish the job half-done? Or perhaps it wasn’t related to Salem at all? It wouldn’t be the first time Ozpin had leapt to that conclusion incorrectly. 

The headmaster shook his head. Conjecture was useless. He needed information. 

An idea sprang to mind. 

First, he ducked into a nearby bathroom, away from the security camera’s prying eyes. Ozpin couldn’t be sure that the intruder had someone on the outside watching the feed, but he knew better than to take the chance. Then, with a tug on a distant, long-neglected muscle, he placed a charm of obfuscation upon himself. 

A parlor trick, compared to the arcane might that had once been at mankind’s fingertips. But in a world of but two magi, it was an invaluable ability. The spell would last as long as Ozpin had the energy to sustain it, and would hide him and his actions from the eyes of animal and machine alike, so long as he neither spoke nor overtly drew attention to himself. 

He exited the bathroom, taking care to gently open the door and close it behind him, lest he break the charm, strode across campus to the admin building, shrouded from perception, and reached his destination without incident. As he walked, he sent out messages to all the onsite faculty, instructing them to prepare to repel the intruder but to hold off on approaching until Ozpin gave the go-ahead. If whoever may have been watching the cameras saw his staff approach the building en-masse, he might as well have skipped the obfuscation spell entirely.

The activated ward had been placed in the primary records room, full of file cabinets of financial and administrative paperwork. Old records; things that hadn’t been digitized, or at least not thrown out after the fact. Ozpin, still obfuscated, poked his head inside and glanced around warily. Nothing had been disturbed, and everything was in its proper place. Whoever had gone through the room had done so meticulously, and taken care not to leave behind a trace.

Ozpin was beginning to suspect the intruder, or intruders, had already taken what they came for and left when he heard a file cabinet close in the back of the room, and another one open. Still going through the records, then. Looking for something?

Ozpin crept towards the noise and saw the intruder. Or rather, didn’t see them. They were shorter than Ozpin, but not so short as to draw attention. Any further details were covered by the light-refracting field around them: A faint shimmer in the air, like the heat from a jet engine. 

Some form of invisibility; likely insurance in case the camera tampering was discovered and someone was sent to investigate. Ozpin presumed that, had they noticed his approach, they would have already fled by now. The intruder stood in front of a file cabinet, rifling through its contents. They were a rather fast reader, Ozpin noted, lingering on each page for only seconds before flipping it over to scan another.

Another twist of magic adjusted Ozpin’s eyes. All deception was unveiled, and he saw only the truth. The effect around the intruder did not drop. Not a Semblance, then; he had never encountered a Semblance that could deceive his perception when enhanced by this spell. Some form of technology. Atlas-made? He’d heard rumors of Atlas experimenting with light-refracting Dustweave, but nothing advanced enough for Ironwood to deem worth informing him of directly. 

Ozpin silded around the intruder to get a better look at the file cabinet they were rifling through. Right now they were going through a cabinet that held last year’s financial records. Ozpin leaned closer and saw they were currently looking at an expense report for last autumn’s fresh produce orders. 

Was he being investigated for financial fraud? No, Ozpin dismissed the notion. The Council wouldn’t dare conduct such an investigation without alerting him, much less do so through such underhanded means. Maybe the intruder didn’t know where to find what they were looking for? Or perhaps they weren’t looking for anything specific, and were just going through everything and hoping to find something valuable.

Ozpin’s scroll vibrated in his pocket. He turned away to check it, shielding the scroll’s light from the intruder. It was a message from Professor Goodwitch, informing him that she and all combat-ready faculty were ready to converge on his position at his command.

With backup incoming (not that Ozpin believed he would need it should things come to blows) and a lack of information on his part, Ozpin decided to take a chance. He gently placed his cane on the ground and laid both hands on it, one atop the other, settled into a serene, imperious stance, dropped the charm and announced himself with a polite, confident, “Hello there.”

To his mild surprise, the intruder only froze for half a second before dropping their own invisibility field and fixing him with a polite, easygoing smile. “Good evening,” they said, “Nice to meet you.”

The intruder was mildly effeminate but visibly male. Slightly below-average height. Sandy blonde hair, groomed but unstyled. Lightly tanned skin. Two scars from small-caliber gunshots overlapping on his forehead, creating an eclipse. 

Roman’s new associate. He matched Miss Rose’s description perfectly, down to the reflective sunglasses and knee-length sleeveless coat.

Ozpin had to give the intruder credit: he had impeccable control over his body. He only looked casual and relaxed; centuries of experience reading body language let Ozpin catch the tension brimming in every muscle of his body, and the subtle shift into a ready stance. He looked ready to fight or flee, or both, in that order.

“Nice to meet you as well,” Ozpin returned. “If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly is it you’re doing here tonight?”

The intruder considered this request for a moment. Then, he started to lie.

It wasn’t a particularly convincing lie, in hindsight. A long, winding yarn about sightseeing and tourism that went nowhere, meandered between disparate, equally inane topics, and ultimately said nothing at all. Ozpin suspected the intruder was stalling for his own backup. Regardless, he let the intruder keep talking, patiently waiting him out in the expectation that he would say something incriminating, or at least substantive that Ozpin could work with. Ozpin was somewhat surprised that he never did; despite rambling seemingly aimlessly for almost ten minutes, the intruder never said anything Ozpin could use against him.

Eventually, Ozpin lost his patience and interrupted. “Pardon me,” Ozpin said, serenely, “As riveting as this is, I’m afraid I’m not comfortable talking with people who won’t look me in the eyes.” Ozpin had enough arcane reserves left for one more spell, and magic influencing the mind worked best with eye contact.

The intruder held Ozpin’s gaze for a second, then smiled. “I suppose that’s fair enough.” He reached up and removed his sunglasses. 

All thoughts of interrogation fled Ozpin’s mind. His breath hitched. Another one? Two in the same day? And of such power that his eyes shone like candles without conscious activation? 

“… Is there something the matter?” The intruder’s grin faded, confused, before being slotted back into place. “Have I got something in my teeth?”

Ozpin’s mind whirled. Could it be a trick? An illusory Semblance? No, impossible. No Semblance in all his centuries of life had ever come close to resembling it. A trap from Salem, perhaps? Definitely not. She would never allow one out of her clutches, especially not to serve as bait for him. 

“… Sir, I’m flattered, but I feel you’re being a bit too forward, even by my standards. I don’t even know your name, after all.” 

Ozpin just murmured, “You have Silver Eyes.”

They blinked like headlights. “… Yyyyyes? I’m aware?”

Ozpin finally reigned himself in. “My apologies,” he said, straightening into a confident poise, “I was merely surprised. You’re rather special, you know.”

The intruder cocked an eyebrow, “I’ve been told such before. Though, I must admit I’m rather curious as to what makes you believe that.”

Ozpin shook his head, “Of course, forgive my poor manners. My name is Headmaster Ozpin.” The wizard held out a hand and said, “I believe we have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

“You did WHAT?!?”

Ozpin took a sip from a fresh mug of cocoa. It was the next morning after the intruder, who Ozpin now knew was named Sam, was discovered on campus grounds. After a thoroughly productive conversation with the young man, Ozpin had dismissed his staff for the night and retired to his office to make the necessary adjustments to the school’s employee roster. He summoned Glynda first thing in the morning to break the news and, as he had predicted, she did not take it well.

Right now, Glynda was raving, and Ozpin was letting her. He knew her well enough to know he would not get a word in edgewise while she was in this state. So he sat back, sipped his cocoa, and let her wear herself out. 

It took nearly ten minutes, but she eventually began winding down, finally capping off her furious rant with, “Ozpin, I’m familiar with the adage of ‘keep your enemies closer’, but offering him a JOB?? What were you thinking?!?”

“I was thinking,” Ozpin said, “that I couldn’t let the good fortune of having another Silver-Eyed Warrior fall into my lap go unutilized.”

Glynda fell silent. “...You’re certain?”

“Positive,” Ozpin confirmed. “The color; the shine; the feeling of power radiating off his very being. It was unmistakable.”

“...Even so,” Glynda rallied, “That’s no reason to employ him! He’s still a wanted criminal! He could be trying to rob us! Or defraud us! Or worse, he could be spying on us for her!”

“No.” Ozpin shook his head and firmly said, “Definitely not. Salem has several uses for Silver-Eyed Warriors, but none of them involve allowing them to roam free.”

“Well, even if that is ruled out, it doesn’t invalidate the rest! We should be handing him over to the police, not taking him in!”

“Ah,” Ozpin realized the disconnect. “I seem to have inadequately communicated the gravity of the situation. Allow me to elucidate.” Ozpin set down his mug, stood up and started to slowly pace. “Glynda, I cannot impress upon you just how rare it is to find a Silver-Eyed Warrior. Several hundred years ago, eight Silver-Eyed Warriors existed simultaneously across Remnant, and as far as I am aware that is the highest number in history. Even with all my agents and informants, the odds of even finding a Silver-Eyed Warrior are extremely slim, much less recruiting one. Compounding this even further is Salem; her eyes and ears are just as numerous and widespread as mine, and she wants the Silver Eyes just as much as I do. Many times has she scooped up a Silver-Eyed Warrior and spirited them away to her sanctum before I could secure them. And the things she does to them…” Ozpin came to a stop at the window, and let himself shudder, “I have only ever seen the end product, but even that was so horrible as to defy comprehension. 

“I cannot let that happen.” He turned to Glynda, “Regardless of his indiscretions thus far, I cannot allow Mr. Cole to fall out of my grasp and into Salem’s clutches.”

Glynda’s anger was cowed, now, just as predicted. Still, she resisted. “Be that as it may,” she began, “That’s no reason to allow him into the Academy. He’s a dangerous criminal, who associates with even more dangerous criminals. I can’t imagine the sort of things he would teach our students if he were to-”

Ozpin laughed. It was a genuine laugh, but it only left his mouth because he allowed it. “Our students? No, no, ideally he’ll not be having any interaction with them whatsoever.”

Now Glynda was confused, “What?”

“Come now, Glynda,” Ozpin brought his mirth down to a light chuckle, “Did you think I would be making him a professor or something?”

“I… well,” she brushed the question aside, “If not that, then what will you have him doing?”

“Administration,” Ozpin replied as he took a folder from his desk. “Contrary to how it may seem, you don’t do all of the paperwork around here, Glynda.” He pulled out a staff ID card and handed it to Glynda. It said:

BEACON ACADEMY STAFF
COLE, SAM
JUNIOR VICE ADMINISTRATOR

The windows where a portrait and emblem would sit were blank.

Glynda peered down at the card and raised an eyebrow, “I wasn’t aware there was such a thing as a ‘junior vice administrator’.” 

“This position does entitle me to certain liberties.” Ozpin sat back down behind his desk, “I am Headmaster, you know. In any case, he will essentially be in an entry-level position. No serious privileges or responsibilities, but enough salary and benefits to incentivize him to stay. 

“I see…” Glynda bit her lip, “Sir, I’m still not entirely comfortable with this.”

“I recognize that, and I appreciate your honesty, Glynda.” Ozpin swirled his cocoa, “If it makes you feel better, as a member of our administrative staff, he’ll be your direct subordinate. And, as the youngest and most junior employee, it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to assert your authority.”

Ozpin saw a slight smile slip onto Glynda’s face, and knew he’d won. Still, she mustered up one last objection, “Didn’t you find him going through our records in the first place? What makes you think he won’t use this position to find what he was looking for and just leave afterwards?”

“I impressed upon him the need for discretion and loyalty in his new position.” Ozpin smirked, “He seemed suitably cowed; I doubt he’ll be returning to his outlaw compatriots any time soon.”

“He did what?!?”

It was the morning after Sam’s foolhardy expedition into the seat of power in Vale. He had materialized in their hideout earlier with groceries and a report of ‘mission accomplished’. Roman had been incredulous, and was even more so now that he had the details.

“Believe me, Candlestick, I’m just as confused as you are.” Sam did not look confused. He looked downright sanguine, if Roman was any judge. He sat – lounged, really – on their couch with a cup of awful-smelling something in one hand (he’d called it ‘coffee’, but not even Altesian Black smelled that horrid), and a jaunty little tune was playing from his wrist doohickey (instrumental jazz was still jazz, at the end of the day, but it was a compromise Roman was willing to live with), as if the events of last night hadn’t, in fact, happened. But they had, and now the three of them were left to piece together the why of things. 

Though, Roman suspected that Sam already had a pretty good idea. “Well, you must have left something out, because none of what you just said explains why the Emerald King up there decided to give you a job right after he caught you sneaking around! Much less why the job is in the same place he caught you sneaking into!” 

Neo leaned into Roman’s line of sight and twirled her finger around her ear. 

“No,” Roman shook his head, “I don’t think he’s crazy; a guy doesn’t get himself so entrenched in national politics without a good head on his shoulders. There must be an angle somewhere.”

Neo tapped her chin thoughtfully. She held up a hand and pantomimed walking forward with two fingers, then brought her wrists together and snapped them shut like a pair of jaws. 

“Could be a trap,” Roman translated. “You might show up for training on Monday and find a gaggle of Hunters waiting to toss you over to the cops.”

“No, I don’t so” Sam said, “The offer’s genuine; I definitely got that vibe from him. Besides, if he wanted to beat me up and throw me to the pigs, he would’ve tried it last night. He had enough Hunters on staff to try, even at that hour.”

Roman thought that was fair enough, but something stood out. “… ‘Pigs’?”

Sam’s cool exterior faltered, and he looked slightly confused. “Pigs. Police. Cops. Y’know- OH!” Sam straightened a bit, “I guess that’s not a thing here. Yeah makes sense, the whole ‘Faunus’ thing would make that a bit confusing.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Roman asked.

Sam waved him off, “Don’t worry about it, the point is, it’s almost certainly not a trap.”

Roman rolled his eyes again and turned to Neo. She thought some more, then made a finger gun with one hand and pointed it at Roman. Her other hand clamped around her wrist, and then the finger gun twisted around to point at herself. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Roman nodded, “Though if Oz was trying to flip him it’d make more sense to have him arrested first.” He turned to Sam, “Did he say anything about us?”

“He did mention ‘certain disreputable parties’ and said that ‘it would be best for everyone if your association ended as soon as possible’. Based on how he said it, I’m pretty sure it was meant to be a threat.”

“Well,” said Roman, “You’re here now, so it couldn't have been that threatening.”

“Oh no,” Sam shook his head, “it was a pretty good threat. A well-composed blend of menace, authority, and danger. Solid 8/10 as far as threats go. It would’ve worked on most people, but,” Sam shrugged, “I’ve eaten scarier people than him. It takes more than that to ruffle me.”

Roman frowned, “… Do you mean that literally, or is that another innuendo?”

Sam took a deep sip of his ‘coffee’ and grinned, “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

Roman rolled his eyes and brushed off his potentially-cannibalistic employee, “Sure, fine, whatever. Anyways, that sounds like he wants to flip you, but that doesn’t explain why.”

Neo shrugged.

Sam polished off his mug of black sludge and tucked it into his duster. “Actually, I have a theory about that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well,” Sam continued to rummage in his coat, his Semblance letting him stick his arm in nearly up to his shoulder, “More of a hypothesis, really. Last night, after he snuck up on me- and sidebar, can I just reiterate how fucking insane that is?? Do you have any idea how hard it is to sneak up on me?” Sam twisted around to look behind his shoulder, “I know you do.”

The Neo that had been standing next to Roman shattered, as did the air behind Sam, revealing the real Neo, who stomped over to Roman’s side with a huff.

“Right, anyways, after that, he asked me to take off my shades and look him in the eyes. I obliged; I figured there wasn’t any harm in it, and then he got really excited.”

“What,” Roman frowned, “excited about your eyes?”

“That’s my thinking.” Sam’s eyes were uncovered and, as promised, the light of day had banished their unnatural glow, leaving them a still-odd-but-less-obvious shining silver. “He even said ‘you have silver eyes’, like that was something special beyond just being unusual. So, I did some digging.”

Sam finally pulled out a small but eclectic stack of books, ranging from historical archives to ancient folk tales. “Based on what I’ve found, I think Oz believes that people with silver eyes possess some kind of ancient magical power that makes them supernaturally strong fighters. A lot of the more fairy-tale-esque sources I found even capitalize ‘Silver-Eyed Warrior’, like its a special caste or lineage.”

Roman hummed, “So Ozpin believes you’re a member of this ancient magical warrior caste, and therefore valuable enough to get on his side no matter what.”

Sam nodded, “At least, that’s my best guess. All I have to go on is what I’ve been lucky enough to find from the library, and I’m still going through it all; it’s entirely possible there’s something in there that completely contradicts everything I’ve just said.”

Roman nodded, then something occurred to him. “… the King Ostra Royal Library?”

“Yeah.”

“The same King Ostra Royal Library that had its entire inventory vanish overnight last week?”

“Yep.”

Roman considered that factoid within the context of Sam’s Semblance, and swiftly decided that that was a rabbit hole he had no interest in jumping into. Instead he asked, “So… are you a member of this ancient magical warrior caste?”

“No,” Sam shook his head, “definitely not. But Oz thinks I am, and I’m sure as hell not gonna let that go unexploited.”

“Well, how do you know you aren’t one?”

“Well, several reasons, but most pertinently; All the records I’ve found on these kinds of people specifies that they’re born with silver eyes. I wasn’t.”

“… Then when did you get them?”

Sam brushed his bangs aside with a thumb, and tapped his overlapping bullet scars. 

“Huh. I was meaning to ask about that, actually,” said Roman. “What’s the story there?”

“Long story,” Sam replied. “Short version: I was mugged, then they put me in a shallow grave.”

“… And then?” Roman asked.

“Too shallow.”

Roman exchanged glances with Neo. He didn’t really know what to say to that.

As if on cue, Sam’s floating robot whirled up the stairs with a chirp. 

“Ah, there you are, Eddie!” Sam stood up. “Did you get what I asked for?”

The robot said… something in its incomprehensible robot language.

“And no one saw you?”

Another string of robot nonsense.

“Nicely done! Once we get settled in Beacon, we’ll really be in business!”

“This isn’t something we should be concerned about, is it?” Roman asked.

“Hm?” Sam turned, seeming to just realize Roman and Neo were still in the room. “Oh, no, not at all. Personal stuff, nothing to do with you or our operations here.”

“Somehow I’m not reassured,” Roman snarked. “And how exactly can The Amazing Flying Beachball even get anything? It’s not like it’s got arms.”

That got the robot’s attention. It sped up into Roman’s face, and before he could smack it away or tell Sam to call off his toy, there was a metallic click-click-click-clicking noise, like a collapsible umbrella, as a long, segmented tendril extended out of one of the short cylinders on the underside of the robot’s chassis and flicked his hat off his head.

“OI!” Sam and Roman shouted in unison. Roman flinched backward at the same time that Sam grabbed one of the robot’s antennae and tugged him back to his side. 

“That was uncalled for,” Sam sternly reprimanded the machine. It extended another identical tendril, both tipped with six multi-jointed manipulator digits, and gestured towards Roman with them in a way that he would’ve described as ‘Are-you-fucking-kidding-me’ if it had been a human doing the gesturing. “His being disrespectful is no excuse,” Sam scolded. “Control yourself. You’re better than that.”

The robot hissed like static, but retracted its tendrils and lowered its self like a surly teenager.

“Anyways!” Sam tucked the robot under his arm and waved, “We’ve got lots to do, and daylight’s burning, so we’ll head out for now. I’ll be in touch before the meeting with the boss next Saturday!” As Sam sauntered out, the robot in the crook of his arm beeped and bipped in a way Roman was tempted to call cheery. Sam barked with laughter, “Oh yeah, that’s right! HA! I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.”

Once Sam had descended the stairs, blundered around the tripwire and left the building, Roman turned to Neo and asked, “Is that how we look whenever we talk?”

Neo handed back his hat with a shrug.

Chapter Text

"You think that's him?" Glynda asked.

Ozpin peered at the sleek black car peeling onto campus, “VPD reported a car matching that description leaving the cordon the night of Roman’s disappearance. It seems likely.”

With its long, slim body and large fins, the eerily silent vehicle was visually distinctive to the point of almost being gauche. Glynda was aghast that the VPD had lost track of it. Nevertheless, that was irrelevant now. It was Monday at the crack of dawn, before any of the new or returning students had arrived on campus, and it was time for Sam Cole to be onboarded. 

Due to the architectural layout of Beacon’s campus, the school actually had barely any onsite parking for ground vehicles, except for just over a dozen staff members such as herself and Ozpin. (Not that Glynda had ever seen the headmaster drive anywhere- the man practically lived on campus) The vast majority of campus staff had to park their vehicles on an offsite lot and take a shuttle bus onto the grounds.

Glynda and Ozpin were waiting at the dropoff site for that shuttle when the man of the hour drove up to the stop in his own car. She wasn’t sure how he was able to get it past the security checkpoint, but one of them was probably going to have to reprimand the guards over it.

Ozpin had claimed that the rouge and been cowed during their last face-to-face meeting, and that it would be no trouble for Glynda to assert her own authority over him. Now, as Glynda watched the car come to an abrupt halt in front of them, utterly silent save for a jaunty jazz overture, she began to doubt whether Mr. Cole would be as subservient as Ozpin had led her to believe. 

The passenger door popped open, prompting a raised eyebrow from Ozpin, and Mr. Cole dismounted with a smile and a visitor’s pass on a lanyard. His outfit was exactly as Ruby Rose had described it, save for sunglasses which he had, paradoxically, discarded during the day. His eyes were a bright, shining Silver, just as Ozpin had promised. Upon exiting the vehicle, he strode over to Ozpin, shook his hand and said, “Ozpin! Lovely to see you again. Where should my valet park the car?”

“Your what?” Glynda asked.

The drivers side window opened, and a segmented, polished metal tentacle curved out and over the roof, with another visitor’s pass gripped in small, rectangular metal fingers. Glynda hesitantly used her semblance to grab the pass and float it closer to her. There was a picture of a metal object, about the size and shape of a beachball, with a ‘face’ like a car grill. It was apparently named ‘ED-E’.

Glynda glanced up at Mr. Cole, who simpered and didn’t say a word. She glanced at Ozpin, who subtly shook his head. “Your… valet can park your car back in the staff parking lot. Where you came from.” She floated the visitor’s pass back over and shot Mr. Cole a stern frown. “Then…” she weighed the options, “… they can take the shuttle back up along with the rest of the school’s staff.”

Mr. Cole nodded, “Fair enough.” He slapped the roof of the car twice and said, “You heard the lady, get going! I’ll be fine without you for a while!” As the car silently spun away, he turned to Glynda, extended a hand and said, “Speaking of, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Ah, of course. Forgive me,” Ozpin gestured between them, “Mr. Cole, meet Professor Glynda Goodwitch. My deputy head teacher, and the head combat instructor here at Beacon. She’ll be your superior during your time with us, and you’ll be reporting directly to her.”

Mr. Cole eyed Glynda with a grin she couldn’t quite read. “Is that a fact?”

Glynda took Mr. Cole’s outstretched hand and shook it, adding just a pinch of Aura to her grip. Now that they were face to face, Glynda realized that he was actually a good deal shorter than her. About five or six inches shorter, counting her heels, judging by the dimensions of his clothing. “Yes. An immutable one.” She sharply raised an eyebrow, “Will that be a problem?”

Instead of being intimidated, as she’d hoped, or pushing back, as she’d anticipated, Mr. Cole just laughed and said, “Oh, Miss. Goodwitch...” he leaned in, and his grin turned lascivious, “working under you would be a singular pleasure.”

Glynda frowned, “I beg your pardon?”

“What?” Mr. Cole said, a bit defensive, “I just meant I’m looking forward to working with you. What did you think I meant?”

Glynda decided that she did not like this man. Fortunately, Ozpin interceded before she could say anything ill-advised. “I’m glad you feel that way, Mr. Cole.” He smiled, “It would be very unfortunate for you to start off your second chance,” he stressed the words, “on the wrong foot, wouldn’t it?”
 
Mr. Cole sharply inhaled, his shoulders tensing. After a beat, he said through gritted teeth, “Yes. It would.”

Ozpin serenely nodded, “I’m glad we agree. Now, come along,” he turned on his heel and strode towards the administrative building, “We’ll show you to your new workplace, and then I must be off. Professor Goodwitch can handle the rest of your orientation without me.”

“What,” Mr. Cole asked, “Not going to show me around a bit first?”

“Ordinarily, a tour of the grounds would precede job-specific orientation, yes. But I’ve elected to waive it in your case, due to the last-minute nature of your employment. Besides,” Ozpin shot a wry grin over his shoulder, “I’m sure you already know your way around.”

Mr. Cole averted his gaze toward his feet and said contritely, “...Yeah, fair enough.”

Glynda felt a satisfied grin creeping onto her face. Perhaps this Mr. Cole would be easy to rein in after all. “Another thing,” she said, turning to glare at Mr. Cole as they trailed behind the headmaster, “It is Professor Goodwitch.”

Mr. Cole met her eyes. The corner of his mouth perked upwards. “Of course,” he said, “My mistake.”

It was a short walk to the main administrative building to handle the final details of Mr. Cole’s employment. Mr. Cole got his picture taken, submitted his Emblem, and had both added to his faculty I.D. Then Ozpin escorted them to a different section of the building, opened the door to let them peer inside and said,

“… and here is your new workplace.” It was a small foom to begin with, barely an office. It had been made even smaller by the addition of many, many stacks of paperwork tucked everywhere they could fit without obstructing the door, stacked as high as they could without posing a falling hazard.

Perhaps it was a bit petty of her, but Glynda felt no shame. He put a bag over her head. He deserved it.

“… I’ve seen worse,” Mr. Cole said, and to Glynda’s irritation, she somewhat believed him. 

“Then I’m glad to hear this won’t be an unfamiliar experience for you. Now,” Ozpin straightened and brushed off his jacket, “I must be off. Today is a big day, what with Initiation and all. If you need me, simply follow the yellow-bricked pathway; it leads straight to my office both ways.”

“Got it, follow the yellow-brick…” Mr. Cole trailed off. His face fell, and for the first time since he set foot on campus, he actually looked disturbed. Horrified, almost.

“Is something the matter?” Glynda asked.

“No. No.” Mr. Cole grimaced and covered his face, as if he had just heard a particularly bad joke. “It’s fine. Just… déjà vu.” 

Ozpin nodded, “I see. Glynda, do join me once you finish up here. I could use your assistance as the new students begin arriving.” 

Glynda confirmed she would, and Ozpin left. Once his footsteps had receded, Glynda and Mr. Cole both turned to speak simultaneously.

Mr. Cole got the first word in. “Alright, level with me. ‘Junior Vice Administrator’ is just some shit he made up, right?”

Glynda didn’t answer, which was an answer unto itself.

“Yeah, I figured.” He glanced around the room, “Say, you’re a telekinetic, I take it you set this all up,” he said, gesturing at the tall, thick stacks of paperwork. “Is this some kind of elaborate hazing ritual?” 

Glynda drew herself up, and sneered, “Headmaster Ozpin gave me full authority over your workload. Perhaps you ought to consider this the consequences of your actions.”

Mr. Cole raised an eyebrow, “My actions? Surely this is a bit disproportionate for fibbing my way past the gate this morning.”

Glynda glowered, “You’re really determined to continue this farce?”

The corner of his mouth curled upward ever so slightly. “Miss Goodwitch, I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.”

Ignoring the odd turn of phrase, Glynda harshly corrected, “Professor Goodwitch.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He brushed her off with a shrug. “Oh, well. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal??” she hissed, incredulous

“Why not?” He shrugged, “It’s not like you can fire me.”

“… Is that so?”

“Your boss invented a new job title just to get me on his staff. That alone would be a dead giveaway. But,” Mr. Cole smiled, unfriendly. “I did some digging after my heart-to-heart with Oz.” He put up two fingers, pointing at his Silver Eyes. “I know what I am. I know why Oz really hired me. And I’ll bet there’s not much he wouldn’t let slide just to keep me in arms reach.

“So why don’t we stow the whole ‘you have to do what I say because I said so’ shtick, and deal with each other on the level, ‘kay?”

… Well. It finally happened. Glynda finally saw the day that Ozpin was wrong. If she were any less furious, she might have been a bit amused. It was only years of practice and a wellspring of steely determination that kept her features schooled in a neutral, disapproving frown. It seemed that Sam Cole would not be cowed as easily as Ozpin had believed. Fortunately, Glynda would not be cowed, either. 

“Are you quite confident about that?” she asked.

“Very.”

“Then perhaps you ought to reexamine your position,” Glynda said. “It’s not nearly as stable as you seem to believe.”

Mr. Cole raised an eyebrow, “Do tell.”

“You’re an associate of Roman Torchwick, and an accessory to robbery besides. It would be easy for the headmaster to motivate the police to keep you in custody. And as much as Headmaster Ozpin would prefer to keep you close, you would be just as safe and secure inside a maximum security prison cell.” Glynda stepped forward, looming over the shorter man, glaring over the rims of her glasses. “If you keep acting like you’re untouchable – if you put so much as a single toe out of line – then I will put you in a hole, and leave you there until we need you. If we need you.”

Mr. Cole did not respond for a long time. He just looked at her, unmoving. Unyielding. Silver eyes boring into green. Neither of them budged. Eventually, the smirk faded from his face. When he finally spoke, he sounded a little surprised, and more than a little impressed. “You actually mean that, don’t you?”

“What ever gave you the impression that I didn’t?” Glynda hissed.

Sam snorted. He backed off, chin held high, but arms held up in mock surrender. “Alright, Professor Goodwitch. You’ve made your point. I’ll play nice. Mostly.”

Glynda glared down at him. It wasn’t perfect, but she knew that pushing harder would only undermine the authority she’d just established. She decided it was good enough. “See that you do,” she hissed.

Mr. Cole smiled back. “Alright, now that we understand each other, what’s my first task for my new made-up job?”

Glynda said, “You can start by sorting this mess,” she gestured to the towers of paperwork.

“Sort how?” Mr. Cole asked.

“I don’t care how,” she said, “Pick a system and stick to it.”

He chortled, “So you can come back, tell me you don’t like how I did it, and make me do it all over again? No. Nice try.”

She frowned, “You think I’m that petty?”

He gestured at the room, “You’re this petty. I wouldn’t put it past you, at this point.” Glynda huffed. That was fair enough, though she’d never admit it aloud. “You’re my boss now,” he continued, “Make the call. Take responsibility.”

“Fine,” she said. “Sort them first by department, then by date within each department. Have it done before the start of classes on Wednesday.”

“Alright, I can do that.” Mr. Cole nodded, “Will there be anything else?”

“No.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched out. Mostly satisfied, Glynda thought for a second, then paused, deciding there was one more thing to say. She turned around in the open doorframe. “Actually, I lie. There is one more thing.”

Mr. Cole had already pulled down a manila file folder and begun flipping through it. He peered up to meet Glynda’s eyes. “Mhm?”

“Beacon Academy may be Headmaster Ozpin’s school, but this is my house. You’ll find there is very little what goes on here that escapes my attention.” Glynda glared over her spectacles. “Do you understand?”

He held her eyes for a second, then replied, “Clear as crystal.”

“Good.” With that, Glynda shut the door and marched away, victorious, at least in part. Her ability to simply have him jailed was, in truth, somewhat exaggerated. It would take a lot to convince Ozpin that jailing Mr. Cole was worth it. But if a slight bluff was what it took to assert her authority, then she was willing to keep that detail to herself. 

Managing Mr. Cole would be a unique challenge, requiring a careful balance of carrot and stick to keep him in line. Mostly carrot, Glynda surmised; if she read him right, Mr. Cole would more often than not consider the stick to be a carrot unto itself.

Glynda was so deep in thought that she nearly ran smack into the floating orb meandering down the halls. She stopped just short, and got a closer look at it. Vacuum tubes, armor plating, and all manner of communications equipment dotted its chassis. The visitor’s pass it had presented earlier hung limply from a small cylinder mounted on its undercarriage. 

Glynda considered addressing it, giving it directions. She brushed the impulse off as it trundled down the hall past her. Just a machine, she surmised, making its way back to its master. Still, Glynda made a note to inquire with Ozpin for another tracking charm, in case they needed to keep track of it, as well.

“Ok, so…” Mercury Black glanced around the nearly-empty diner, stretching languidly in a corner booth, “remind me again why you wanted us to meet up here?”

Cinder fixed Mercury with mild glare. “I called you here to discuss your assignments. I trust you both were successful?” 

Mercury raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t we already have a meeting on Saturday? Why didn’t you ask us about it then?”

Emerald put down her fork and frowned, “You want us to discuss the details of our operations around Roman Torchwick?”

Mercury shrugged, “Why not? I went to a place, killed a guy, got out, and nobody saw me do it. It’s not exactly black ops material.”

“That is exactly black ops material!” Emerald shot back.

“Pft. Whatever,” Mercury scoffed, “It’s not like Torchwick cares either way.”

Cinder cut in, saying, “Roman only needs to know what he needs to know, when he needs to know it, and nothing else.” Her frown deepened, “If I don’t want you to talk about something, then that is the only reason you should need.”

Mercury raised his hands in mock surrender, “Alright fine, whatever. All I’m saying is you could have just called us instead.”

“Somehow I feel like that’s less secure then meeting in person,” Emerald said.

“Sure,” Mercury said, “but it’s more convenient for me. And really, that’s all that matters in the end, right?”

Emerald rolled her eyes and let her head slump against the booth. When their waitress made her way to their corner of the diner, Emerald made eye contact and smiled at her. The waitress nodded and turned away.

“Keeping your Semblance up on her, I trust?” Cinder asked.

“Oh!” Emerald turned back to Cinder, blushing. “Um, y-yes ma’am! She won’t hear a thing we say!”

“Good. And your objective?”

“Y-yes! Right here!” Emerald pawed at her satchel and pulled out a thin manila folder. “I got the blackmail material right here! You can make the councilman do whatever you want if he knows you have this!”

“Good. And did you make a copy?”

“No, ma’am! You’ve got the only one!”

Cinder allowed a small, gentle smile to grace her lips. “Good girl. This will do nicely.” She watched as Emerald blushed redder than a strawberry, visibly struggling to contain herself. It was so fortunate that she found a puppet with such obvious strings that were so easy to pull. 

Mercury, Cinder’s other puppet, with strings that were different than Emerald’s but no less easy to manipulate, smirked and pushed his glass of water across the table to Emerald. “Here. You look like you need this.”

Emerald stopped blushing and eyed the glass, confused. “I’m not thirsty.”

Mercury chortled, “Oh, yes you are.”

Emerald frowned, affronted, “What the hell is that supposed to-”

Cinder gasped, clutching her head as a short sharp shock shot through her mind. Her lackeys froze.

She was being hailed.

“Cinder? What’s wrong?” Emerald asked.

“Uh oh,” Mercury said, “Another call from the big boss?”

“Let me out,” Cinder demanded, “I need to take this alone.”

Emerald moved to put a hand on Cinder’s shoulder, “Cinder, we can-”

Cinder roared, “OUT OF MY WAY!!!” Her eyes flashed with power and the air surged with heat. Emerald flinched, terrified, and practically fell over herself getting out of the booth.

Cinder barely made it. She stumbled out of the booth and stormed to the bathroom, locking herself in the last stall just before the first word slammed into her mind like a meteor, overwhelming all sensation.

CINDER.

I am here, mistress, Cinder thought. Actual speech was unnecessary; her mistress could hear her no matter what. What is your command?

REPORT.

Cinder shuddered. We have evaded Ozpin’s spy. They suspect nothing. My agents are working to destabilize the city in preparation for the Vytal Festival. When the time is right, Beacon will fall, and the power of the Fall Maiden will be-

THE CROWN.

Mistress? Cinder gasped. An unseen pressure began to squeeze her head like a vice, making her wince in pain as the weight pressed in on all sides, steadily building.

THE CROWN, CINDER.

THE RELIC.

YOUR MISSION.

Cinder’s eyes widened, and she frantically backpedaled, Yes, yes of course! The Fall Maiden would have been taken to Beacon. They likely stored her in the academy vault alongside the Relic! They will be together! I will retrieve them both in your name!

For a moment, nothing happened, and Cinder began to panic. Then, slowly, the pressure receded, and Cinder nearly collapsed in relief.

HOW CONVENIENT.

Cinder nodded as she gasped for breath. Yes, indeed! How fortuitous that our enemy would be so foolish as to-

FOR YOU.

Cinder flinched, expecting another reprimand. None came. 

Mistress?

There was no response. The overwhelming presence in her mind faded, leaving her alone in her own mind. It took longer than Cinder would have liked for her to compose herself, but she eventually left the bathroom with her head held high, showing no weakness or fear. As she approached, Mercury glanced at her and opened his mouth, likely to make some inane quip about her mistress’s chosen medium of communication. Cinder gave him a glare with a flash of Maiden power in her eyes, and he quickly shut his mouth. “All is well.” Cinder said. Emerald got up without prompting, allowing Cinder to slide into the booth. Their food had arrived while she was in the bathroom. “The plan will proceed as scheduled. You both know what to do next.”

“Yeah, about that,” Mercury pushed a plate of barely-eaten eggs away from himself. “I was thinking maybe we should swing by Torchwick’s pad early.”

Cinder raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Well, ‘cause…” he floundered, “y’know, to like… share intelligence and-”

Emerald cut him off. “He wants Torchwick’s pet fairy to make him dinner.”

Mercury threw his arms up, “Oh fuck you, Emerald! Like you don’t!”

“I don’t, Mercury.”

“Bullshit you don’t! I can’t even eat eggs anymore, it was so good!” He gestured to the nearly-untouched plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. “It doesn’t even compare!”

Cinder rolled her eyes. “Enough. We will reconvene with Torchwick and his minions next Saturday, and no sooner.” Emerald smirked, and Mercury pouted. Cinder continued, “In the meantime, Mercury, I have a new target for you. Emerald,” she turned to her pet thief, “you will accompany me personally. It’s time to begin recruitment.”

Emerald beamed at the chance to follow at her heel, but frowned. “Recruitment?”

“We have enough specialists now,” said Cinder. “Now it’s time to gather some foot soldiers. Or should I say,” she grinned, “attack dogs.”

“… Wow.” Mercury cocked an eyebrow, “Racist.”

Cinder scowled, “Shut up, Mercury.”

Ruby didn’t consider herself a heavy sleeper. Her father slept very light; years of active Hunter duty had trained him to wake up at the slightest disturbance. Her sister slept like a log, and snored like a chainsaw. They’d had to soundproof their room just so their father could get a good night’s sleep, which led to all the sorts of shenanigans that teenagers with a soundproofed bedroom could get up to. Her mother… hadn’t been around long enough for Ruby to find out how she slept. 

The point being, Ruby considered herself very much middle-of-the-road when it came to sleep weight. (was that a phrase? It was now.) And after the crazy day she’d had, between being abandoned by her sister, getting into a literally explosive altercation, and making her first non-sister-related friend, she was sleeping more heavily than usual. 

So Ruby only woke up when someone removed her sleep mask and gently pinched her eyelid, peeled it up off her face, and let it slap back down onto her eyeball. Repeatedly. 

Ruby yelped in surprise and confusion, flailing to ward the pinching fingers away. Her little finger hit metal, making her cry out and hiss in pain. She sucked on her knuckle for a second before registering who had disturbed her.

Or, more accurately, what had disturbed her.

It was a robot. Round, about the size of a beach ball, with a face like a truck grill and a menagerie of antennae, vacuum tubes, and what resembled a tiny CCT dish dotting its chassis. A short, narrow cylinder that Ruby tentatively identified as a compact Dust laser was mounted to its underside, flanked by two segmented tentacles tipped with manipulator digits. Two wider cylinders sat behind them, and Ruby presumed that they held tentacles as well.

“um.” Ruby pushed herself up onto her elbows. “… Hi?”

The robot waved with one manipulator and pointed to the exit with another. When Ruby didn’t immediately respond, it started gently tugging on the collar of her pajamas as it pointed.

“You want me to follow you?”

The robot bobbed up and down, like it was nodding. 

“Okay, um… where? What for?”

The robot made… well, it made noise. Somewhere between an ancient printer and those old dial-up CCT networks Ruby had heard about. 

“I, um… I don’t know what that means.” Ruby winced apologetically, “Can you talk, like, normal?”

The robot made another noise. It was different, slightly; a bit closer to radio static than a printer. It was no more comprehensible.

“I guess not.” Ruby looked around. It seemed like no one else was awake. Yang was still snoring like a wood chipper next to her, drowning out the conversation to any would-be eavesdroppers. “Ok, ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions, then. Is it important?”

The robot bobbed up and down. ‘Yes’.

“Okay, we’re getting somewhere.” Ruby thought for a second. “Is it about me?”

Another nod.

“Am I in trouble?”

The robot shook its… well, its entire body, really. Ruby presumed that was a ‘no’.

Ruby quietly hummed. If it was working for the academy, the robot was probably trustworthy. And if it had taken the trouble to wake her up in the dead of night like this it probably couldn’t wait until morning. “Okay,” Ruby nodded, gingerly picking herself up. “Lead the way.”

The robot chirped, and turned to the exit, floating over the sleeping students with a quiet hum. Ruby didn’t see any propulsion mechanism anywhere on it; it must have used some sort of anti-gravity system to stay airborne. 

Ruby slowly picked her way across the auditorium, taking care not to step on anyone or knock anything over. She’d use her Semblance, but someone was bound to get rose petals somewhere inconvenient and wake up, and she didn’t want to be inconsiderate. After a minute, the robot seemed to get impatient, and flew back over to Ruby. It held out its tentacles and waved them up and down in front of itself, making grabby motions with its manipulator digits. 

Ruby stared at it before guessing, “… Are you offering to carry me?”

It nodded. 

Ruby glanced at the smooth, polished metal of its segmented tentacles and felt a slight heat in her face. “Um,” she stammered, “no, thanks, I’m alright.”

The robot said something else incomprehensible (quieter now that they were away from Yang’s snorescreen). Ruby must have imagined it, but she could have sworn it almost sounded disappointed. 

It led, and she followed. Out of the auditorium and through the halls of Beacon, on a path that wound up and down and through at least two lecture halls. Ruby thought they might have doubled back a few times; it was too dark to tell. The robot would pause and turn around to face her at every corner or door, waiting for her to catch up. She didn’t see any eyes or other sort of camera anywhere on the robot; it was turning around purely for her benefit. 

She couldn’t ask any questions; it stayed ahead of her the whole time no matter how much she tried to keep up. It was deceptively fast. Ruby probably could’ve kept pace with her Semblance, but that would’ve defeated the whole purpose of starting a conversation. A flying ball of rose petals couldn’t exactly talk.

Somewhere along the way, Ruby started to hear music as she was led across campus. It was soft; so faint she thought she was imagining it at first. She thought it was odd, but brushed it off. Someone was probably just working late. But as their path wound further and further, and the volume didn’t fade or strengthen, Ruby started to realize something was wrong. 

She rounded another corner, intent on using her Semblance to get in front of the robot and demand answers, politeness be damned. It was nowhere to be seen.

“Hello?” Ruby called out, “Mr. Robot? Are you there?” 

No response.

“Um,” Ruby said, “is it Ms. Robot? Sorry, I can’t really tell what-”

“He considers himself male, actually.”

Ruby yelped, and jumped a few inches in surprise. She whirled around to the source of the voice. It sounded familiar.

“Normally I would say that ‘it’ is fine,” the speaker was standing right next to the window, just outside the moonlight shining through the glass, “but he’s being rather touchy about that lately. I blame teenage angst, personally.”

Ruby gasped. Her eyes widened. It was him. “It’s YOU!!” she cried.

“It’s me,” he confirmed, pushing off the wall. 

Ruby took a step back and reached for Crescent Rose instinctively. It wasn’t there. She was in her pajamas, damn it, and her baby was still in school custody while they assigned her a locker. Her eyes shot up and down the hall, heart and mind racing. Why was he here? To steal something? Dust? Roman Torchwick was allegedly a Dust thief, and he was one of Torchwick’s associates. How much Dust did a Huntsman Academy keep on hand? Enough to steal? Or maybe it was something else. Information, blackmail material, financial records, confidential blueprints, it could be anything! 

Or maybe – Ruby felt a chill run down her back – he wasn’t here to steal. He was here to infiltrate. Why else would he meet her alone like this? He was here for the long term, and he needed her out of the picture before she could call him out. She was alone – alone with him – and she had no idea where she was- oh god, had that robot lured her here on purpose? Were they in kahoots? They must have been, it made too much sense. This had all been an elaborate ruse to lure her away from the other students so he could silence her, hadn’t it? Oh god, it was, and she’d fallen for it completely. 

“Easy, red.” The thief soothed, holding up his hands placatingly. “It’s not what you think. We’re all friends here.”

“Friends?!?” Ruby hissed, inching further away. She held her Semblance in a vice grip, ready to flee in a flurry of petals at the first errant twitch. “How the heck are we friends?? You’re a criminal! A bad guy!”

The thief giggled. “That’s the funny part, actually.” He casually pulled off his sunglasses, and Ruby balked in mind surprise. His eyes were silver – the same shade as her own eyes – and they shone with a gentle light – like hers did whenever she got emotional. “As it turns out-” He suddenly burst forward into a half-crouch, so they were face to face. With a gleeful smile, he whispered behind his hand, “I’m undercover.”

Glynda shot awake. Someone was jimmying the door to her quarters. 

Unlike the majority of Beacon staff, she lived on campus for the majority of the year. She did have a townhouse in Vale proper, but only stayed there on school breaks (and sometimes not even then) and rented it out most of the time. Glynda rolled smoothly out of bed, grabbed her riding crop from its sleeve in her boot and pushed to her feet. With a quick tug on her Semblance, she silently grabbed the curtains over her window and started to unravel them.

As a public figure in the Hunter community, a rather well-known one, at that, her Semblance was widely known, both as a consequence of her reputation and for the fortune being a generally useful and versatile Semblance, where many Huntsmen and Huntresses had to make do with abilities that were at best situational and at worst outright detrimental. But few people understood how powerful ‘move things with your mind’ really was. 

She couldn’t just pick things up and put them down: Glynda could understand and manipulate objects at a molecular level. For instance, in just three heartbeats, she had completely unraveled both of her curtains, splayed the threads out, fused them together, and rewoven them into a long, sturdy rope. She never took her eyes away from the door.

With another pull on her Semblance, Glynda grabbed a bathrobe off the hook and draped it around herself. Whoever was outside her room was still fiddling with the lock. With yet another use of her Semblance, she snagged her glasses off her desk and floated them onto her face. She silently cursed as her eyes failed to refocus completely. Her prescription was set to arrive tomorrow, and she was still making do with them replacement set the VPD had given her last Saturday.

Glynda crept closer, quiet as she could. She planned to throw the door open and restrain the burglar with the rope, that she could at least claim to have caught one of the recent intruders on campus. Though, with her luck lately, Ozpin might end up hiring this one, too. 

Whoever was on the other side was still fiddling with the lock. Glynda crept closer still. She grabbed the doorknob and deadbolt with her Semblance, rope over her shoulder ready to strike like a cobra.

The noise stopped.

Glynda waited.

There was a knock on the door.

Glynda blinked, surprised. She waited.

They knocked again.

What the fresh hell was this, now? Did whoever was picking her lock realize they’d been made? Why not try to run? Did they seriously think they could play it off? Was this a prank? Had some upperclassman come back to campus early to try and pull one over her? She could think of a few students who were foolish or gutsy enough to fit the bill. 

Whoever was on the other side knocked again, faster, urgently. Glynda discarded her speculation and marched to the door. She pulled it open just enough to poke her head out, and leveled a savage glare at eye-level.

Her aim was a bit low. It was Mr. Cole’s ‘valet’, floating slightly higher than her head. At least, she assumed so; her vision was still blurry, but she figured there weren’t any students or staff in Beacon who were roughly the size and shape of a beach ball and could fly. It raised a hand-tipped metallic tendril and waved at her.

“Well?” Glynda demanded, “What is the meaning of this?” One tendril pointed down the hall to its left. Its other tendril extended from its body with a soft click-click-click-clicking noise and reached for her through the door. Glynda reflexively swatted it away with her crop and hissed, “Keep those to yourself, if you would. Use your words.”

It responded with a string of harsh, electronic noise, somewhere between old dial-up CCTN and a malfunctioning wood chipper. 

Glynda huffed, “Of course. That figures.” She sighed, then said, “Fine. Yes or no questions, then. Is it urgent?”

The machine bobbed up and down. Likely ‘yes’.

“Does it concern your master?”

Another bob. Another ‘yes’.

Glynda rolled her eyes. “Of course it does. Does it really justify waking me up at this ungodly hour?”

Another bob. Another ‘yes’.

Glynda studied the machine for any signs of deceit or chicanery. Obviously, she found none, both because she was half blind and because she was trying to read the body language of a robot. Glynda shook her head, “Very well. Give me a moment to dress myself.” 

In no time at all, she was following the machine as it led her down the hallways (Another benefit of her Semblance; getting dressed was much easier when one could put on every article of clothing at the same time). Their path was rather straightforward, and soon Glynda heard voices.

“… sorry about that, I had to stall for time so Torchwick could get away.” Glynda frowned; that was Mr. Cole’s voice.

“Oooh. Okay, that makes sense!” Glynda’s eyes widened. That was Ruby Rose. “So you didn’t actually mean it?”

“Oh no, I meant every word. It’s bad and you should stop using it.”

Ruby sputtered, affronted. “Why you-!”

Glynda rounded the corner, not quite running. “What is the meaning of this?!?”

Ruby jumped, startled. Mr. Cole smiled, unfazed. She was in pyjamas, a sleeping mask still hanging from her neck. He had removed his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt collar, exposing eyes that softly shone with silver light. Had he lured her from the auditorium out here? Why did he want her alone?

“Professor Goodwitch!” Mr. Cole waved, “What a surprise to see you up and about so late.”

“Don’t try to be cute with me, Cole. I asked you a question.” She turned to Ruby, “Both of you.”

Ruby stammered, looking frantically between Glynda and Sam. Mr. Cole’s smile turned gentle, and he placed a reassuring hand on Ruby’s shoulder. Glynda’s hackles rose, but before she could say anything, Mr. Cole said, “It’s alright, Ruby. She already knows.”

Ruby visibly relaxed. “Oh, thank god. I didn’t wanna lie to a professor but this is like super top secret stuff and I-”

Mr. Cole chuckled, “I understand completely, and I don’t blame you. This is some really sensitive info.”

“What are you talking about?” Glynda demanded.

“Oh,” Mr. Cole shrugged, “Since me and Red here already know each other, I figured it’d be smart to let her in on the whole ‘double agent’ thing before she spotted me and drew the wrong conclusions.”

Glynda, very carefully, did not react. “What?”

“You know,” Sam said, “So that she doesn’t think Oz randomly decided to hire a wanted criminal to handle his paperwork. That would’ve been awkward for everyone.”

Oh, shit. Glynda had a bad feeling. “Miss Rose,” she turned to Ruby, expertly keeping her growing concern out of her face and voice, “What, specifically, did he tell you?”

“Um…” Ruby looked a bit apprehensive, glancing between Glynda and Sam. “That he’s working for the Vale Council to investigate Roman Torchwick, that he’s sorry for attacking me last Saturday but had to do it to maintain his cover, that Torchwick sent him to infiltrate Beacon, that now he’s pretending to be an admin worker gathering information on Beacon, and that if he disappears off campus for a while it’s because he has to meet with Torchwick and his boss.” Ruby glanced between them again. “Um… that’s all true, right?”

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

Glynda had to go along with this.

Mr. Cole had already confessed to being the man Ruby had clashed with; Glynda couldn’t weave another lie convincing enough to explain that. Especially not on the spot. If she called Mr. Cole out on his lie, it would get out that Ozpin had knowingly hired a wanted criminal to work at Vale’s premier Hunter Academy essentially on a whim. Beacon’s reputation couldn’t survive that. Ozpin’s reputation couldn’t survive that; he had political clout, but not that much clout.

“Miss Goodwitch?” Mr. Cole asked innocently, but the gleam in his smile told Glynda everything. He knew he’d won. He’d probably set up this entire encounter somehow. She and Ozpin had underestimated him, and he had outmaneuvered them. 

Glynda drew herself up. Mr. Cole had won this round, but this was far from the end. She would not make the mistake of underestimating him again. “Yes, that’s right,” she nodded, “Mr. Cole is currently working as a double agent for Headmaster Ozpin, infiltrating the criminal underbelly of Vale through Torchwick.”

“Wait a second,” Ruby Rose’s face scrunched up in confusion, “I thought he was working for the Council. Why is Ozpin investigating criminals?”

“A bit of political finagling, actually” Mr. Cole lied as easily as he breathed, “I was originally sent to ingratiate myself with Torchwick by the Council. However, when he sent me to infiltrate Beacon in turn, it was decided that I would be placed under the headmaster’s direct authority. I couldn’t tell you the specifics on how that all went down; I’ve no mind for politics. Not my scene.”

“As for the why,” Glynda cludged together an excuse as best she could, “Headmaster Ozpin has experience running counter-espionage operations from before his tenure at Beacon.” Well before, in fact. “It was decided it would be best that he take a direct hand in things.” Glynda was able to inject enough stern confidence into her tone that Ruby didn’t peel at the explanation. She digressed, “And I don’t exactly recall when he instructed you to inform Miss Rose about this, Mr. Cole.”

“We were going to run into each other eventually,” Mr. Cole shrugged, “I just took the initiative and got ahead of the problem before it could become a problem. Speaking of, Ruby,” he turned to Ruby, “This might not be the part where we kill you for Knowing Too Much, but we’d still appreciate if you kept this conversation to yourself.”

“Oh!” Ruby nodded, “Of course, of course!” She mimed a zipper across her lips, “I can keep a secret so good! Like this one time, my sister took a-” Ruby stopped, likely realizing she was about to contradict herself. “Yeah, I’m great at keeping secrets. The best!”

“Glad to hear it,” said Mr. Cole. He consulted his wrist-mounted device, bathing his face in a gentle amber glow. “In the meantime, you should head back the the auditorium. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, and you’ll need your sleep. ED-E will guide you back.”

The robot floated out of the shadows at Mr. Cole’s gesture. It waved. 

“Oh man, you’re right! Ok, well,” Ruby turned and waved at Glynda, “Goodnight, Professor Goodwitch! And, Sam,” Ruby paused, seemingly gathering her thoughts, “… I’m glad you’re not a bad guy, but you’re still wrong about Crescent Rose!”

Mr. Cole laughed, waving her off, “Sleep well, Red.”

Soon, they were alone. Glynda glared down at him. Mr. Cole smiled up at her like a Cheshire Grimm. “I admire the effort, Ms. Goodwitch,” he brushed past her, leaning over to whisper in her ear, “but leave the lying to the professionals.”

Glynda growled, whirling around to snap, “And what sort of professional does that make-”

He was gone, leaving only a high, lilting chuckle floating in the wind.

Glynda huffed and stormed back to her room, defeated but unbowed. It was only after she shut herself inside when she realized something. “Wait a moment,” she thought aloud, “Torchwick’s boss?”

Chapter Text

“Alright," Roman groaned over the call, "Lemme get this straight: Ozpin thinks he flipped you into working for him." 

"Uh huh," Sam confirmed. 

"The baby huntress we fought last weekend thinks you're pretending to work for me by pretending to work for Ozpin." 

"What do you mean 'we' fought her?" 

"Sam..." Roman growled. 

"Yes, that's accurate." 

"And now you're going to run with this lie and pretend to work for Ozpin by pretending to work for me by pretending to work for Ozpin." 

"Ye pretty much." 

Roman groaned. It was the sound of that perfect blend of amazement and frustration that Sam so loved provoking in his 'allies'. "How the hell do you keep track of this shit, kid?" 

"I already established that I'm near a decade older than you." 

"Yeah, I still don't buy that, but whatever." Roman sighed, "Is that all you woke me up to talk about?" 

"What?" Sam feigned hurt, "You mean you aren't excited that you'll get to see more of your new best friend?" 

Roman hung up, and Sam cackled. He was laying on the administrative building’s roof on a folding lawn chair, stretched out beneath the open sky. Beacon’s elevation and distance from the light pollution of Vale made the stars shine brilliantly, and Sam had decided that, after the week he’d had, he had earned the view.

“<All done,>” ED-E chirped in RobCo termlink as he floated up onto the roof. “<She said by department, then by date, right?>”

“Yeah, that’s right. Good work, that should give us some breathing room until the witch starts breathing down our necks. Well,” he gestured at ED-E’s spherical chassis, “neck, as it were.”

“<Right. By the way,>” ED-E asked, “<did we just push the 'go directly to jail' button back there?>"

“Nah,” Sam waved the question off, “Goodwitch was bluffing.”

“<Didn’t you have a whole thing about how she wasn’t bluffing?>”

“No, see, she meant it, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t bluffing.” Sam explained, “She wants me in a jail cell, but she doesn’t have the authority to actually do that; if she did, she’d have already tried. Really, as long as I don’t do anything to convince her boss I’m more trouble than I’m worth, we’ll be fine.”

“<And how do we know you didn’t just do that?>”

“What, you mean the thing that we were already gonna have to do eventually?” Sam scoffed, “Please. If anything, me taking the initiative here is a selling point. He’ll probably call it a ‘can-do attitude’ or some bullshit like that.”

“<On the subject of convincing the boss,>” ED-E digressed, “<I finished sweeping the campus and found a bunch of rooms that aren’t on the official maps. Of note, a huge chamber underneath the Wizard’s tower. More than three times bigger than the Lucky 38’s basement.>” 

“Good work. I’ll add that to our list of ‘reasons not to try to kill me’. Good thing, too, I hate fighting psykers.”

“<They’re not really psykers though, are they?>”

“Practically speaking, they might as well be.”

“<Fair.>”

“Anyways, enough about avoiding fights with the locals,” Sam said. “How’s your side project coming along?”

ED-E lit up (literally), “<It’s going fantastic! The lack of fossil fuels on this planet forced the locals to use this ‘Dust’ stuff for everything! Electricity, combustion fuel, even circuitry! And the electronics->” the eyebot gushed incoherently (well, more incoherently than normal), “<God, the stuff they’ve done with personal electronics here! The download speeds! The transistors! The data storage drives! Every one of those handheld ‘scrolls’ can store enough data to make the Platinum Chip look like a phonograph cylinder! If we can reproduce even a quarter of this stuff, we could jumpstart a new tech era!>”

Sam smiled, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. It’s good to see you getting into engineering lately; you really needed a hobby after Navarro.”

“<Yeah…>” ED-E trailed off. “<… I miss Veronica.>”

Sam’s face twitched. “… Me too, buddy. Me too.”

Silence fell for a time.

“<… Anyways, I’m gonna start looking into the local computer network next. It seems more expansive than what the U.S. had before the War, based on the quick look I got back at the library.>”

“You mean the porn binge?” Sam asked.

“<Shut up,>” said ED-E, not actually denying the accusation. 

Sam chuckled. “Well, hopefully that’ll be useful too. Either way, we’ll have our work cut out for us integrating all of it into our tech back home.”

“<Yeah. Eventually,>”  ED-E muttered.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“<Nothing, it’s just...>” ED-E sighed, “<Sam, we both know we’re not going home any time soon.>”

“What?? The hell are you talking about, we can go home whenever we want!” Sam started fishing through his duster, “I can call Project Roundabout right now, if you-”

“<I don’t mean literally, Sam. I mean, you can’t help yourself.>”

Sam frowned, “Excuse you???”

“<I know you, Sam. We’ve been together for five years now; I know how you operate. You waltz into someplace, tell everyone and yourself that you’re just there to ‘check out the scenery’ or ‘see if there’s anything worth grabbing’, until you eventually find an excuse to get involved and reshuffle the entire political landscape of the region for your own benefit. You did it in New Vegas, you did it in Portland, you did it in D.C., you did it in Idaho, and you’re going to do it again here!>”

“I did not start a coup in Portland!” Sam objected.

“<You united the natives under a puppet king and made them fight the NCR!>”

“That’s not a coup, that’s serving the community! And D.C. wasn’t a coup either!” Sam scoffed. “Not my fault the Brotherhood’s entire claim to power relied on a polluted river. If your legitimacy can be undone by killing a few dozen cultists in West Virginia, then you never had any to begin with.”

“<None of that is relevant to my point, which is that we wouldn’t be in this goddamned school if we were actually on a low-stakes, no-strings-attached vacation! And don’t even try to convince me that you’re just here to annoy the sexy witch lady!>”

“Why is that so unbelievable? You know I love irritating sexy people!”

“<There are plenty of sexy people you could annoy without spinning this giant fuckass web of lies!>”

“That’s part of the fun, too! Don’t you know that lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off?”

“<That- that’s not->” ED-E sputtered, “<You’re not even a girl right now!>”

“Well, not right now, sure. But give it a few days, we might kill someone worth jacking.”

“<So we will be staying long enough for that!>”

“No, that’s not-” Sam groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Why does it even matter? You’ve never cared about me stirring shit up before.”

“<Several reasons. One:>” ED-E extended a mechadendrite and raised a finger, “<Most of those times didn’t take place during the one fortnight a year we aren’t supposed to be working. Two:>” He held up another finger, “<All those other times were at least arguably in the service of either helping the locals or subverting regional threats.>” He hovered closer, “<We are literally an entire world away from home right now, so the latter doesn’t apply. And overthrowing the Wizard would be really unhealthy for the locals, so the former’s out too.>”

“What, you don’t think the people could use a bit more power?”

“<I think that the government collapsing would set off the horde of giant monsters parked outside the walls. Y’know, the ones attracted to negative emotions?>”

Sam scoffed, “Oh please, you don’t actually believe that, do you? What the hell even is a ‘negative emotion’ supposed to be, anyways?”

“<Three:>” ED-E shoved his hand in Sam’s face, three fingers held up, “<You made us promise to step in and slap some sense into you if you started getting too despotic.>” The mood sobered. Sam straightened in his chair, and his face went blank. “<You made all of us promise. I’m the only one left, so here it is. You need to stop.>”

“I’m not that bad,” Sam said.

“<No, not yet. You’ve always straddled the line between ‘helping out where you’re needed’ and ‘actively looking for excuses to butt in’. But this is pretty close to crossing it.>”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Eventually, Sam asked, “… What happens if I do cross it?”

ED-E affected a sigh. “<Look. You know me; I’ll back you, no matter what. We’re in this together. Just… be careful, alright? The worst atrocities in history were usually done by men convinced they were doing the right thing.>”

Sam snorted. “I’d like to think I’m a bit more self-aware than that.”

“<So did they.>”

“… Yeah, alright. Touché.” Sam chuckled, “When did you get so goddamn erudite?”

“<Probably around the same time you gave me all this extra memory and processing power. If you didn’t want me second-guessing everything you did, you shouldn’t have injected all that 20th century anarchist philosophy into my hard drives.>”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s on me, isn’t it?” He sighed deep, and rubbed his hands up and down his face. “… Alright, fine. You’re right. Not our monkeys, not our circus. We’ll give that report to Roman’s boss at the end of the week, then we’ll leave. I can give Roman my scalp; he’ll say I was a loose end and that he had to off me- that should convince his boss not to kill him.” He smiled, “And hey, if she isn’t convinced, we’ll just bring him and his partner with us. They’d be fun to have around back home.”

“<Somehow I think Roman won’t be pleased with that.>”

“Eh. He can deal with it.”

With that, a companionable silence fell between the two. Sam leaned back into his seat and gazed at the stars. They were different than the ones he was used to; cataloging their positions to navigate by was an ongoing process. And then there was the moon: Bright and shattered. That had given them some rather novel insight: Sam’s eyes shone brighter here than on Earth. Bright enough to blind, even without a full moon. More surface area, ED-E had hypothesized, but it didn’t really matter. Sam’s mutation was clearly some flavor of supernatural, anyways – applying known science was unreliable at best. 

“…Hey, so. Hypothetically…”

“<Oh for fuck’s sake.>”

“No, no, no, hear me out, hear me out. If – hypothetically – theoretically – the Wizard did do something so awful that it justified knocking him off the top of the heap, would you still back me?”

“<Of course I would, Sam. That doesn’t make it a good idea.>”

“Right. Right. Of course.”

The next morning was Initiation. The day when dozens of the best and brightest from across and beyond the Kingdom of Vale were brought to the cliff overlooking the Emerald Forest, wished good luck, and chucked off the edge. Of course, the addition of Aura meant there was no risk of anyone going splat when they hit the bottom, but still, it was an objectively funny concept.

Sam was watching the proceedings from his ‘office’ on a purloined Scroll, surrounded by perfectly organized stacks of paperwork. He wasn’t technically supposed to have access to this feed, but what the Wizard and Witch didn’t know, in this case, wouldn’t hurt them. 

(Amazingly, the school hadn’t even cleared out ED-E’s hack from last weekend. Whoever was in charge of their network security needed to be fired.) 

What else was there to say about Initiation at Beacon? It was as it was. It was as it had always been. New students came and went, each bringing different backgrounds and different skills and knowledge to bear, but Initiation was a constant, unchanging thing, never altered beyond minor tweaks here and there for years. 

There was something to be said for not fixing the unbroken, but Sam imagined it had to get boring after a while. Of course, he had to admit, that only applied to faculty who had seen the same trial for years and years. Being a first time viewer, he was thoroughly enjoying the show.

Yet the more he watched the feeds from various cameras encasing the Emerald Forest, the more he began to lament the temporary nature of their stay in Remnant. He saw incredible feats of athleticism and acrobatics from children a third his age. Superhuman strength and agility used to wield absurd, unwieldy mecha-shift platforms to devastating effect. More than once, he saw initiate be thrown into a rock or tree hard enough to splinter wood and shatter stone, only to pop right back up, barely winded.

When he had first learned of it, Sam had dismissed Aura as simply a personal psychic forcefield; easily overcome through ambush or overwhelming fire. He was glad to have been proven wrong here, instead of in the midst of combat.

And these were children. Barely out of the Hunter equivalent of high school (probably; Sam was still a bit iffy on what exactly high school was). To imagine what a fully trained and seasoned adult was capable of… 

They could challenge him. They could threaten him.

It was enticing beyond description. 

"<Sam.>" ED-E floated up to Sam’s shoulder and prodded him urgently. "<Sam, you need to see this.>" 

"I know, right?" Sam remarked, watching one quartet of students fight a gaggle of pitch-black bears. He laughed in quiet disbelief as he watched one girl jump twenty feet in the air, perform a quadruple corkscrew backflip, and land axe-first on one of the bears' heads. "If the teenagers are pulling this kind of Loony-Toons bullshit, I gotta know what the actual adults can do. Maybe we can find a pit fight or two before we go." 

"<No, Sam, I'm serious. Go to camera 38, rewind thirty seconds.>" 

Sam raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and did as ED-E instructed. Eventually. It took a bit of finagling and a muttered, "how the fuck do you..." before he managed to navigate the alien touch-screen interface and pull up the correct camera feed. Sam scrutinized his fingertips, frowning. "I'm never gonna get used to that. Alright, what am I-" 

Camera 38 was a fair distance away from the pair of students it was trained on, so it only caught a snippet of Pyrrha Nikos saying: "...and by my shoulder, protect thee." 

And then Jaune Arc lit up like a goddamned christmas tree. 

Sam's jaw fell open. "... Is that-" 

"<Yep.>" 

"You're sure?" 

"<I checked all the online references we downloaded. That's exactly what it looks like.>" 

Sam stared in mute shock as Jaune’s Aura was awakened. He had laughed a little when the boy had been launched off the 300-foot drop, flailing and screaming in panic, earlier that morning. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, it wasn't nearly as funny. If Nikos hadn’t had the skill, presence of mind, or inclination to catch him as he fell…

Several thoughts ran through Sam’s head. Disbelief. Horror. A few others. “… So,” he asked, “Still think I’d be crossing the line?”

“<You think Oz knew?>”

“Does it matter?”

ED-E scrutinized the screen. “<… Fine. Fuck it.>”

Sam smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile.

Chapter Text

“Well, all things considered, that could have gone worse.”

Glynda whirled around. “Worse?!? Ozpin, that was nearly a disaster!!”

To the students observing and participating in this year’s Initiation, all had seemed, for the most part, well. No comment had been made regarding the presence of higher Grimm-forms. No praise had been given to the newly-designated teams RWBY or JNPR for dispatching them without help from faculty. And certainly no word had been said about Jaune Arc’s complete lack of Aura until after he had been hurled off Beacon Cliff.

All this had been according to Ozpin’s decree, and Glynda could understand most of it. Ignorance of what exactly was considered ‘impossible’ often led to students surpassing those supposed limitations, especially with trainee Hunters. That last point, however…

“You seriously intend to allow Mr. Arc to stay?!? The forgery alone ought to be grounds for immediate expulsion, but he has no Aura training! He didn’t even have Aura until today! Based on his personal performance, I’d wager he has no combat training, either! He’s a danger to himself and his teammates, and you’re just going to overlook all that for-” Glynda sputtered, “-for- for what?!?”

Ozpin’s smile was serene, and infuriatingly patient. “True, the young Mr. Arc will need some… remedial study and practice to keep pace with his peers. But he has the makings of a great Huntsman inside him. With the proper guidance and support, I believe he will flourish here.”

“Headmaster, that is all besides the point! He had no Aura! And we catapulted him off a cliff!! If anyone other than Pyrrha Nikos had attempted to intercept him as he fell, he would have died before he ever so much as saw a Grimm!!”

“True. But he did survive, as I knew he would.”

Glynda gawked. “You knew?!?”

“Yes. I checked.”

“You chec-” Glynda stopped. Thought about that. Then she cradled her forehead in her palm, suddenly feeling very foolish indeed. “Of course. The Relic.”

Ozpin smirked, “Did you really think I would endanger one of my students in such a blatantly dangerous manner if I wasn’t completely certain about the outcome? I knew he would survive Initiation from the moment I approved his application. As for the rest… that will be up to him.”

“Didn’t you say that the Crown was unreliable? How could you be certain?”

“I said that extracting information from the Crown was unreliable. The answers the Relic gives are always accurate. And of all the many, many, many visions the Relic showed me, Jaune Arc survived Initiation in every one.” Ozpin frowned as he recalled the sights the Relic of Choice had given him. “Beyond that, his future has many, many paths; some less pleasant than others, for himself and the people around him. Now it is up to us to ensure he goes down the right one.”

“… I see.” Glynda demurred as they entered the elevator to Ozpin’s office. “I apologize, Headmaster. I should have known better than to assume you would be so cavalier with our students’ safety.”

Ozpin gently dispelled her apology with a wave, “No, Glynda, I apologize for not informing you sooner. I know the safety of our students is your top priority. You should have known before we took them to the cliffs. Besides, the last thing you need is another stressor, especially considering our newest employee.”

As the elevator doors closed and they ascended, Glynda’s face darkened. “Yes. Him. What are we going to do about him?” she asked.

Ozpin shrugged, “I don’t see the need to do anything, really.”

Glynda turned, appalled, “Sir…” 

"The situation with Miss Rose needed to be dealt with eventually.” Ozpin said, “I don't see the need to punish him, considering he resolved the issue quickly and cleanly, and especially since Miss Rose will be brought fully into the fold eventually. To be honest, that sort of forward thinking is something I'd like to cultivate."

"Be that as it may," Glynda ground out, "I told him he would be punished if he acted out. He has acted out. And now you're telling me not to punish him?"

Ozpin put his hand to his chin, contemplating. "Hmm… I see your point. Very well, we'll have to figure something out. Something to strike a balance between punitive and encouraging. I should invite him up for a drink; it would be easier once I get to know him better. Where is he at the moment?”

Glynda reached into her pocket and retrieved the focus. Yesterday, when Mr. Cole and Ozpin had shook hands, the Headmaster had placed a small, invisible tracking charm on Sam’s palm, and bound it to a short wooden rod placed in Glynda’s care. With the rod in hand, Glynda would instantly know Mr. Cole’s exact location anywhere on Remnant. Glynda had questioned the uncharacteristic expenditure of magic, but eventually agreed that it was worth it considering how elusive Mr. Cole had proven himself already.

Ozpin had insisted that it was ‘just a bit of paltry magecraft’, to Glynda’s continued incredulity. If this was petty magic, she could scarcely imagine what truly powerful wizardry would look like.

“Let me see,” Glynda said as she grasped the rod. “He is-”

She stopped. That couldn’t be right.

“Glynda?” Ozpin asked.

“That- that’s not- how could he-”

“Glynda,” said Ozpin, “What is it?”

“It isn’t possible, but it’s saying that he’s-”

The elevator doors opened with a jaunty ‘ding!’

“Oz!” Sam greeted. He was in Ozpin’s office, behind Ozpin’s desk, reclining in Ozpin’s chair. “Lovely to see you! We should chat.”

Glynda gaped, wide-eyed. How did he even get in? They were thirty stories up- the top of the tallest tower on campus, save the CCTT. No way he could have rode the elevator; Ozpin would have noticed someone using the elevator uninvited. The only other way in was-

Glynda’s eyes darted up and to the right- towards a window pane near the ceiling, specially designed to open from the outside with very little force. Mr. Cole was small enough, just barely, to squeeze through. But how could he have gotten that high up in the first place? His Semblance was localized space manipulation- no mobility-oriented abilities there.

Ozpin stepped forward, bring Glynda back to the present. “Sam,” Ozpin said, outwardly serene. “You did this to get my attention. You have it. Say what you came here to say.”

“Straight to the point! I like it!” The silver-eyed interloper smiled, and produced a small Scroll. “I’d like you to watch something. I’m sure you’ve seen it already, but I feel like it’s necessary to emphasize the reality of your situation.” He slid a scroll over the desk in front of Ozpin. On it, was the camera footage from Initiation, of Jaune Arc and Pyrrha Nikos. Sam hit play, Pyrrha walked over to Jaune, put her hand on his chest, and Jaune started glowing.

“I don’t know about you, big guy,” Sam whispered, “but that looks a lot like someone getting their Aura activated.”

Glynda tensed. Oh, this was bad.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," said Ozpin, hopefully feigning ignorance.

"Ha!" Sam laughed, "Haha, I don't believe that for a second, but," he threw up a hand, "if you insist, I'll preserve the kayfabe for your sake. Now," he stepped his fingers, "the way I see it, two options exist.

"One: you didn't know that young Mr. Arc had no Aura. Somehow, his falsified transcripts and fictitious letters of recommendation managed to fool your intake filters. And, once the ruse was revealed," he tapped the scroll, where the image of Jaune Arc, newly awakened Hunter, was frozen indomitably, "you did not halt Initiation, or send faculty to retrieve him, or even so much as expel him after the fact.

"This speaks to a frankly criminal level of not just incompetence, but outright negligence on the part of you and your entire staff. And that's the most charitable interpretation of events." 

"Is that so?" Said Ozpin, a bit coldly.

"Yes, it is. Because option two:" Sam stood up, knuckles on the desk, glaring at Ozpin with something approaching genuine outrage. "You knew. You knew Mr. Arc had no Aura, no combat experience. And you catapulted him off that cliff anyways.

"Now, I don't know what possessed you to consign that young man to almost-certain death. Maybe you thought it was Fate. Some preordained Destiny that led him into your arms. Maybe the sight of a teenage boy popping like a balloon when he hits the ground at terminal velocity gives you a tingle in your shriveled, dead little penis. I don't know, and frankly I don't care.”

Glynda ached to leap to Ozpin’s defense. To explain that Sam was missing crucial information; that Ozpin knew Jaune Arc’s survival was assured days before Initiation. 

She felt a subtle, familiar pressure squeeze beneath her skull, and a whisper in her ear. Not a word.

Glynda understood. Knowledge of the Relics was beyond a Need-To-Know basis. Sam could not know. Not yet, if ever. And without that crucial context, Glynda’s defense would appear as blind faith, likely having the opposite effect on Ozpin’s credibility in Sam’s eyes.

"But I imagine the general public will care immensely!" Sam laughed, cruel and hard, Glynda and Ozpin’s exchange passing unnoticed, "Not to mention the wider Hunter community! I mean, Blood and Darkness, these people trust you with their children! And this is what you do with them? I'd be out for your head, in their position!"

"What do you want?" Ozpin demanded, any veneer of geniality gone.

"I'm so glad you asked!" Sam plopped back down into Ozpin's chair, kicking his feet up onto the desk. “First and foremost, I want out of that broom closet you stuck me in. I get a bit claustrophobic sometimes; I need some room to stretch my legs a little.”

Ozpin seemed to consider this for a moment. “I understand. I’ll see what I can do, but seeing as you were a last minute appointment, I doubt there will be anywhere more spacious to put you-”

“I’ll take the roof.”

“The-” Ozpin fumbled. Glynda thought it may have been the first time in years she had seen him genuinely caught off guard. “The roof?” 

“The roof of the admin building. Yeah, that’ll do nicely. Breezy, lovely view, lots of open space. I’ll take it.”

Ozpin sat there for a moment, seeming lost for words. Eventually he said, “… very well. The roof it is. Will that be all?”

“No, one more thing. Considering certain… developments,” he gestured at the scroll, the footage of Mr. Arc and Ms. Nikos still looping, “I feel I have cause for concern regarding the student body’s education and well being. Seeing as how I’ve got plenty of experience – lots of acquired skills and know-how, and so forth – I think I’ll start getting a bit more hands-on with the students and staff.” Sam raised a hand, as if it would placate them, “Nothing ridiculous – I’m not asking to be made a Professor – just offering advice and guidance here and there. All, of course, still at the ultimate discretion of Professor Goodwitch. I’m not an unreasonable man, after all.”

“You…” Glynda asked, baffled, “you want more work??”

“Well, I’m not asking for tenure or anything, obviously! I just think you ought to take advantage of the totality of what I bring to the table. I think your students would benefit greatly from my… unique perspective.”

Glynda’s first impulse was to tell Sam to shove off. They weren’t going to let some random person onto their teaching staff, much less one with known criminal associations, blackmail be damned. To say nothing of whatever ulterior motive he had to have, getting closer to Beacon's students and wider faculty.

Then she felt another pulse under her brow, and she held her tongue. 

Ozpin eventually said, "I'll have to consider this thoroughly, you understand."

"Of course, of course! I wouldn't want to pressure you." With that, Sam stood up and marched around the desk. "Right! Well, I've got things to do, people to meet, you know how it is,” he said as he sauntered past them to the elevator. Then, right as he reached Glynda, he paused. "Oh, Professor Goodwitch?"

Glynda tensed, balling her hands into fists as she stared down the silver-eyed snake. “Yes, Mr. Cole?”

Sam held out three brown oblong cases, “I believe these are yours.”

It would be so easy. A sharp burst of compressed air, aimed at the base of the skull, right between the spinal discs. He was just standing there, smug and confident, there was no way he had his Aura up. Even if he did, she was powerful enough that such a precise strike would undoubtedly get through. He was a criminal; a known associate of Torchwick. She would face no legal charges. If she aimed just right, she wouldn’t even get any blood on Ozpin’s floor.

Glynda took the glasses out of Sam’s hand, glaring murderously. She half expected him to shoot off a wink or a clever remark, but it seemed that even he knew when not to push his luck. He just strolled into the elevator, humming under his breath.

“I’ve got the world on a string, sitting on a rainbow. Got the string around my finger. What a world-” The elevator doors clanked shut, leaving them alone. 

Glynda shot Ozpin a long, hard look.

Ozpin sighed, “Don’t say it.” 

“Say what?” Glynda replied sardonically. “I’ve no clue what you mean.”

Ozpin rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Find out how he got that footage. It’s likely the same way he looped the cameras Saturday night.”

Sensible. “Right. And what about Mr. Cole?” Glynda asked.

“See what he intends to contribute. It might provide an insight into his past; there there might be something to exploit to tip the balance of power back in our favor.”

“… What??”

Ozpin raised an eyebrow, “Did I misspeak, professor?”

Glynda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Ozpin, I’m not going to let him stay after that! He has to go!”

“You’re letting your personal feelings cloud your judgement, Glynda.”

“Letting my- he is blackmailing us!! If that is not enough to justify getting rid of him, what else are we willing to tolerate? Espionage? Theft? Murder?”

“Glynda, the power that man possesses is incomparably potent and incomprehensibly rare. With a second Silver-Eyed Warrior on our side, we could actually begin turning the Grimm back, instead of this constant holding action. But that power will be useless if he is in a jail cell! And if, gods forbid, we lose him completely, we will not get him back.” Ozpin shook his head. “No, he stays. Use the totem to keep track of his location. All we need is some leverage of our own, and we’ll be able to keep him on a leash until he can be trusted.”

“But sir-”

Ozpin met Glynda’s eyes. “Glynda Goodwitch, you will take no action against Mr. Cole until I give you my express permission. Do you understand?”

Glynda felt her protests slip down to a simmer. Chastised, she said, “Yes, headmaster.”

“Good.” With that, they both turned and reentered the elevator. “Contact IT after tonight's celebration and get them to patch the leak. Inform me immediately if he leaves campus.” Ozpin pushed a specific, unmarked section of the elevator wall. A hidden panel depressed and popped out, revealing a hidden button. “I will get some foresight.”

The human mind was not designed for immortality. This was not a limitation implemented by the God of Light intentionally, as part of their vast design for the world, but a natural consequence of the inherent weaknesses and expiry dates included in the human body. A maximum lifespan of about a century meant that the human mind never, by design or evolution, developed means to cope or endure with eternity. Just as a mind awake too long would begin to deteriorate, a soul on the mortal plane for too long will… fray.

Ozpin’s unique brand of immortality circumvented the majority of these hazards. His host bodies still slept, and he was admitted respite in the great beyond, albeit briefly, whenever his host expired. With these brief reliefs, Ozpin’s mind had proved resilient to the stressors of eternity. His wife, who could neither sleep nor die, had begun to falter much sooner. 

As her mind began to deteriorate, so did her self-control. She became harder. Crueler. Quicker to violence and retribution. Eventually, Ozpin could no longer excuse or ignore her behavior, and they came to blows.

When two archmagi came to blows, a continent died.

And with it, their children. It was impossible to tell, in the aftermath, who’s spell had been specifically responsible for snuffing their lives out. It did not matter. Salem, the love of Ozpin’s immortal life, snapped. Her already-ragged mind shattered. Then, in her despair, she threw herself into the primordial Grimm pool in the bottom of the world. Then, there was nothing left of the woman Ozpin loved. Only pain, and rage.

Beside himself with grief, Ozpin had made a choice; if he too was ever compromised or driven mad like his beloved, he could not be allowed to hold the same power as her. The destruction they had wrought could never be repeated. To this end, he sought out four young women, honest, honorable and kind, and bestowed upon them a gift and a curse in one. He took his most potent, destructive magic - that of matter, energy, and nature - severed himself from it, split it into four, and imbued the girls with it. These four young women became the Maidens, each corresponding to one season, and each charged to use their power to protect the people of Remnant from Salem. And, if necessary, from him. 

In hindsight, this turned out to be a bad call. Instead of two diametrically opposed archmagi fighting over the fate of the world, it was one archmage versus five hedge mages. Worst of all, while the original Maidens were honest, honorable, and kind, none of these traits were a prerequisite for their successors. Indeed, more than one Maiden met her end at the hand of a cruel, ambitious woman with a knife in the dark, living just long enough to look her murderer in the eye before passing along her power.

Today, Summer and Winter languished in Vacuo and Atlas, respectively, sequestered away so that their power could not be wielded against the people of Remnant. Unfortunate for the women cloistered within, but acceptable. Spring was in the wind; Tribe Branwen had abandoned Ozpin and Salem both, and so far eluded both. This was unfortunate, but so long as Raven kept the Maiden away from Salem, it was good enough for Ozpin.

And Fall…

Well. That was an unfortunately complicated subject.

After dropping Glynda off on the ground floor to see to her duties, both mundane and otherwise, Ozpin rode the elevator down into the depths beneath Beacon. He reached his destination quickly, the elevator opening to spit him out before a long, tall, wide hallway of jade and feldspar.

He strode down the long hallway, past invisible, floor-mounted runes of increasing potency, starting with alarms and warnings to turn back, then escalating to illusory enemies and guardians, then a last-ditch spell- a shifting, indescribable fractal pattern which, when observed, temporarily disrupted all higher brain functions. 

None of the traps triggered beneath his tread. They recognized their creator, and let him pass unmolested. He reached the end of the hallway and found himself in front of a giant door.

Thousands of years ago, when the Gods left Ozpin to his divinely ordained tasks, they left him four Relics; objects of supreme power and potential, each with their own special use. Each of these Relics had been sealed in a Vault created by each of the four Maidens, around and atop which each of the four Huntsman academies had been built, and which could only be opened again by the Maiden who created it. 

This also turned out to have been a bad move, but at least this was an unavoidable consequence of the manner of the Vault's creation. Nevertheless, the great game between Ozpin and Salem shifted, as it turned out that managing ownership of four unfathomably powerful divine instruments was infinitely less complex than managing four teenage girls.

Beacon Vault was unlike the other three; Ozpin had been there personally to oversee the vault’s creation, and had lent his own magic to mix with that of the Fall Maiden. As such, it would open its doors to him in addition to the Fall Maiden. Which was good, considering its current occupant. 

The doors to the vault shuddered open, revealing a young woman with a vicious, alien scar around her left eye, hanging suspended in an experimental stasis chamber, flown direct from Atlas straight from the R&D lab where it had been created.

Ozpin placed a hand on the tank and whispered, “Hello, Amber”

The girl, frozen in time, still gave off the faintest thrum of life, visible to Ozpin’s magical senses. 

“I’m sure you weren’t expecting me to return so quickly. Though, I’m sure you’re not complaining.” Ozpin chuckled. “I met the most extraordinary young man recently. A Silver-Eyed Warrior. Bold. Brash. The makings of a wonderful warrior. But he’s proving to be more trouble than I had anticipated. Nothing insurmountable, of course. I’ve turned more contrarian men and women than him into valuable allies before.

“But this young man, this Silver-Eyed Warrior, seems to have made it his duty to make an enemy out of my second in command, Glynda. You’ve met her, I’m sure you remember. And if this goes poorly, I’m concerned I may lose her support. And if I lose her support, I might lose that of the entire school.” Ozpin rubbed the tank absentmindedly, “I’m sure you can imagine all the ways that would be disastrous.”

Ozpin sighed, and drew away from the tank. “I’m afraid I must cut this visit short, Amber. I need assurances that this will go well. See you soon.”

He left Amber behind. He approached a specific, unmarked tile on the floor, pushed his cane into it at just the right angle, producing a faint click. The tile rose up, unfolding to reveal a brilliant gold crown with inlaid jewels that shone an impossibly bright blue. 

Ozpin leaned his cane against the pillar, took the crown in both hands, placed it upon his head and said, “I summon you once again, Delphi. Come forth, and reveal Destiny.”