Chapter Text
"Don't."
You stare disobediently at the drab concrete. On both sides, two young adults around your age struggle to look ahead but manage. Their breathing is strained, and you're not sure if yours isn't. The wall to your back looms over. An AC unit dangles from the bespectacled ceiling. It looks cheap, and rust resides at its edges. It fails to stop the sweat.
A mosquito lands on the backside of your neck. It's buzzing pushes you to look away and splatter it.
The voice orders again.
"Don't look away."
It’s another fight, but the tone is far more defeatist. It’s not like the half-assed beatdowns he used to enact on you with his midget assistant that he would call “training.” He typically enjoys those. No humor dances in his grin this time. The burning street outside closes in on you two.
Despite the swelling of your tongue, you open your mouth to speak. You feel like you should say more, but nothing comes to mind. You don’t hear what words escape you.
“Don’t give me that shit. You’re an adult now.” He twirls his cane as if it were a toy. “You never did answer the question I asked when we first met.”
The sweat pours down your face in a steady stream. The grip on your weapon faintly digs into your palms. It's uncomfortable, but you assure yourself that you're used to it.
"Are you actually happier like this? Being part of a story like this?"
You know the answer already, but you won't admit it to him.
And it begins.
There comes a point in any career that involves many high-stress life-or-death situations when the danger starts to grow addicting. Gorging itself on blood, sweat, and tears, this hunger empties any hunter afflicted if left malnourished, leaving naught but an animal in the place of a man. In the business, veteran hunters called them "gnats"–people who underwent the toils of being a hunter and came out worse. Like baptisms by fire, huntership changes one for the better or for the worse, and–having partook in the feast–a hunter can't ever wash off the desire for that same rush from his or her soul. Not fully anyway. Never fully.
The sensation of bullets, claws, and blades across your skin as aura barely stops the attacks from severely maiming you. Heat from the sparks of crossing swords. Knuckles colliding with flesh. Arms and fingers getting cleaved off in exchange for preventing decapitation. Dangling your life above a fire pit and overcoming the danger only by the skin of your teeth.
Utter euphoria. The greatest high imaginable.
While many of the few huntresses and huntsmen that actually manage to retire typically settle down and start a family, the unspoken truth shared among hunters is that–deep down–they still crave for action at some level. Otherwise, gnats would not exist. Once you embrace violence as a part of your way of life, it never lets you go. You never let it go. From that point onward, you find yourself more inclined to it as a solution.
Then again, violence and suffering are an integral part of human nature, so maybe those who do embrace it find themselves ironically more at peace internally than those who repress such urges all their lives. God knows if he were to have to sit at an office desk, he'd probably lose his mind.
Of course, he wouldn't know that was like either. He had been fighting ever since he came out of the womb. A form of magnetism or gravity drew him into conflict–into the action. Like a piece of driftwood floating downstream, he just went with the flow. Better for him to not despair over his inclinations and to just accept them. At least that way, he can use them that way for something more beneficial and productive. Fighting is fun, but if you were to just fight all the time without purpose outside of hedonistic pleasure, then you might as well just be dead.
Ronald "Ronnie" James Arc sharpened Stargazer on the grindstone he kept out in his backyard as his family slept. Sparks scattered across the stone driveway, orange light dancing across his safety equipment. He pulled back to inspect the now fine edge of the Damascus steel blade and went on with his morning routine.
Hot steam poured out from his mouth along with his yawn. Unlike Crocea Mors, the zweihander didn't have a sheath, so he strapped it to his back with leather. The morning light began to peek out from behind the green mountainside, so he needed to hurry up.
Removed from the leather holster at his side, Neon Knight was quickly disassembled and cleaned. The revolver deserved to be treated well. It had carried him and his team through some of the worst moments of his life.
"Do you really have to do that right now?" A voice interrupted his train of thought. Her left hand pointed apathetically in the direction of the grindstone. "You could have woken up the girls with this noise."
The shaggy, bearded blond man looked over his shoulder and gently placed Neon Knight back into its holster. His yellow pupils dilated and shrank as they adjusted to the morning sunrise. Behind him, Auri Arc stood at the backyard entrance. Her left hand rested on her distended stomach.
"Sorry about that." The man took out and spun Neon Knight before loading six shots into it, taking extra caution to fill up the cartridge box on his belt with spare gunpowder ammunition, a rarity nowadays given how dust dominated the market. "I have another mission with Marcus this week. We'll probably be gone for a month or two."
The corners of her lips bent back, but he knew she would be fine. "The girls want to spend more time with their father, you know. You could at least offer them the courtesy of saying goodbye first, especially if you're going on a dangerous mission. They'll be mad that they missed you."
"And you? Are you also going to miss me? Most of the girls are now old enough to help you, you know." Ronnie James turned to face her, his spine straightening. The backpack next to him was already packed with enough ammunition, dust, and hunter rations to last for the next few weeks. Up until he and Marcus reached civilization at least. "Besides, they were raised tough. They can hold the fort in the meantime."
"The girls and I aren't the only ones you should be worried about. We're used to you taking on these missions." Auri gently touched her belly.
His stern expression softened instantly, transforming him from a battle-hardened warrior to a parent with extreme ease. He carefully walked over to his wife and placed his metal hand on her shoulder. "You know I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't have to."
His wife relented at his touch and sighed. "I know… it's just that it's a lot of work without you around, and it is really nice to have you at the house."
His lips turned upwards. "So you are going to miss me?" His grin got wider. "You must have been getting soft with age. The Auri I know would have never admitted to that."
"Well, having seven children typically changes a person in many cases."
"Hmm." Ronnie nodded in agreement. She wasn't wrong. It sure as Hell changed him. He coughed into his hand, and his eyes sharpened. "I'm meeting Marcus in the outskirts of Ansel soon. I should be heading out now."
"Just try to be safe and back here soon." Her azure eyes and lips turned downcast even as he brought her into an embrace.
"I will." He kissed the top of her forehead before pulling back. "Tell you what, I'll try to get some souvenirs for the girls before I come back. Marcus is in the same boat as me, so I'm sure he doesn't want this to go poorly either."
"Is he happy at least?" Her brow furrowed. "It's been a long time since we've talked."
"He's doing well for himself from what I can tell. Despite his side-job." He plastered another grin on his face. "You should really see him with his wife. He's a completely different man with her around." He smiled back at her. "Tell the girls I love them, and tell Saphron to try to mess around with less boys in the future unless she wants me to pay for Marcus's side-services. I'll try to keep in touch in the meantime."
Auri rubbed her stomach again. "You better."
Serving as the backbone of society, the hunter's code strongly stresses the importance of not trivializing human life into mere statistics. Innocent life has innate value and is therefore naturally precious. Those who break the hunter's code would in turn lose their life's value on a social level, depreciating until they were worth no more than those they had ironically buried in the ground.
Marcus Black firmly agreed. He slicked his silver hair back with his sweaty hands. The hunter's code could just be interpreted in many different ways
So in accordance to the hunter's code's emphasis on human life's innate value, one could put a price on a life. A steep price too depending on the significance of the target. For example, his most recent hit was a Mistralian tournament celebrity who pissed off the wrong people. Apparently, the idiot got too big for his britches and won a fight he shouldn't have.
1,125,000 lien for just one man's life. The normal huntsmen missions would only fetch a fraction of that, and those actually involved defending innocent life.
That hit paid him far more than any missions as a hunter ever did. Being a hunter was just another job. The hunter's code was just another paper document. And Beacon was just another school. Those dumb enough to drift along and not form their own set of guiding principles were no better either. Not worthy of praise nor worthy of scorn.
It wasn't as if he took pleasure in ending the lives of others either. The assassination gig was just a temporary thing. It may have driven a wedge between him and his sister, but that heals with time too. Or so he hoped. Besides, after this mission, he'd officially be much busier at home. No better time than now to go legit again. Hell, maybe after that, he could meet up with the rest of his surviving team members and get a drink at the local tavern. Maybe he would also go back on the straight and narrow–if Marcus showed him how much happier he could be, turning away from the criminal underworld.
Marcus Black sat against the railings of Ansel's entrance as he carved at a wooden block. A new hobby of his. Something about cutting away all the wood to create a gift granted him some deep satisfaction.
The mission paid well this time, at the very least. Operating a two man team was much more dangerous, but it certainly paid better not having to split the money four ways. And it wasn't like he had a choice at this point. Life sometimes just gives you the short end of the stick.
Though, he'd say things were going pretty well for him nowadays. All things considered. Break a few politicians here, kill a few terrorists there, and soon, he'll have enough lien to not have to keep doing this anymore thanks to his side hustle. His big break. With this, he'd be able to secure the best life possible for his wife and kid.
After that, he could sit back and relax on a beach in Vacuo or somewhere nice without a care in the world. He could train his kid for a better life in his free time–carpentry would be best for him. That's paradise. Big-ass house. Fast cars. That'd be his life.
"You look like you've gained weight." Ronnie James Arc joked as he approached the assassin. "I see the Dad bod has finally hit you too."
A laugh escaped from his lips, and his carving knife lazily spun around in his hand. "Go fuck yourself, Arc. Don't think I've forgiven you for plowing my sister."
Ronnie's approach slowed, and he raised his hands defensively in jest.
"Okay, okay. I get it. Touchy subject. Sheesh." Ronnie unstrapped the first pouch on the backpack before pulling out a map. "I'll try not to mention your ginormous beer belly, I guess…"
"My body fat percentage is at fucking ten percent, and you can literally grate cheese off of my six-pack abs." Marcus deadpanned. "Just because you feel like you're getting old doesn't mean you need to project your Dad bod insecurities onto me."
Much to his personal horror, Ronnie winked. "A Dad bod is more of a vibe than anything, trust me." He flexed his bicep smugly. "I'm a professional on the subject." His knuckles cracked. "Plus, women dig the DILF vibes."
"Yeah, women with parental issues would be all over you." Marcus closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose, disgust evident. "Why are we having this conversation? You're married. Plus, do you even know what that word means?"
"I'll be completely honest. No. I just heard it on TV once."
"Well, thank Christ you don't. I don't want to explain it to you." The assassin's hand gestured to the paper map in his friend's hand. "So what's the game plan and the pay?"
"We'll be crossing through some Grimm territory with no CCT access, so it's probably a good idea to load up whatever dust and rations right now in case you haven't. We'll just be protecting some bigwig from Ansel as they travel to central Vale from possible bandit attacks. Apparently, they're trying to industrialize the shithole and make it into a nicer city as some form of humanitarian effort, but God knows how long that will take." He checked his watch. "Our guy will hopefully show up soon." Ronnie James's expression sharpened. "As for the pay, we'll be splitting the upfront 2,470,500 lien and another 3,235,250 lien after we complete it, expenses accounted for and everything. Other than that, how the Hell have you been?"
Walking down the dirt path ahead of them, Marcus whistled, clearly impressed. "Jesus Christ, 2,352,875 lien for just one measly protection job? What kind of bandits are they expecting, a whole army of completely jacked Mistralian huntsmen and huntresses? It's surprising a job like this hasn't already been picked up from some other Beacon alumni like team STRQ."
Well, Marcus also had his own mission, but that was neither here nor there.
"Yeah, it's really suspicious, but I think the pay is worth it. Plus, the initial upfront pay is enough to get at least one of my kids into Signal and then Beacon. Potentially all of them if I just invest that money right. Thinking long term about schooling costs and whatnot is very important for raising children." Playfully kicking a rock off of the path, Ronnie's tone became more lower pitched and tense. "I think that reason alone is enough to justify taking it. Besides, worse comes to worst, I trust Auri enough to be responsible. She's already used to me not being around." He laughed. "She's probably pissed at me already."
Marcus elbowed his friend in the side. "C'mon man. No woman would have more than three kids with any man if she wasn't absolutely in love with him. Don't talk like that."
"Well, I suppose she's just been in a bad mood lately." He cleared his voice. "Anyways, speaking of, how are things going with Momo?"
"Same old, same old. The missus has been busting my ass recently though when it comes to the baby. We're currently hoping it's a girl, but I do have a name in mind if it's a boy." Marcus continued. "Did you ever have to deal with some of the crazy food combos with Auri? I swear, last night, my wife made me go out to get dark chocolate and pickles. She wanted to blend them together in some kind of unholy display."
"To be fair, they are pregnant. Their hormones are all out of whack." Ronnie shrugged flippantly. "And before you ask, yes, Auri once made me go get peanut butter and steak."
"That sounds disgusting."
"It's actually pretty good as long as you like the taste of actual feces. Sadly, I do not."
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"And Auri does?"
Ronnie paused before he could insult his wife, and his index finger waved in the air to stop himself.
"Touché." He finished.
Marcus had enough of the subject. "So what are the details on the target?"
"Some local quack researcher from what I investigated." Ronnie continued. "I don't know where he got the dough, so something tells me it's pretty covert if the SDC is shoveling this much cash for something like this. He's supposed to be meeting us here soon."
"Probably some new strain of dust or dust weaponry." Marcus spoke up. "Or some other way to abuse faunus workers."
"Yeah…" Ronnie trailed off. "You'd think Willow would change something, but you know how Jacques is…"
"You mean a total prick?"
"I was actually thinking dickhead would apply better to him."
"But prick works better for someone as snobby as him. Dickhead applies to someone like Qrow better. Someone who is more explicitly vulgar." Marcus shook his head in disagreement. "Dickhead also feels like it implies some measure of redeemability or endearment."
"Now that you say it…" Ronnie scratched his chin in thought. "Yeah, comparing him to a penis is too offensive to penises."
"Yeah! Like Qrow!" Marcus barked in excitement.
A voice coughed into his hand from behind them.
"I'd hate to interrupt, gentlemen." A white-haired man in a red button-down tapped on Ronnie's shoulder. "But you wouldn't happen to Ronald James Arc, would you? I'm your client, Avion."
Marcus's eyes examined the target up and down. Nothing special. If anything, he looked like the average civilian or standard nerd type. His lanky limbs hung lazily from his bony shoulders. No wonder this guy was paying out the ass for protection money. He probably couldn't even intimidate a stuffed animal. The fact that he announced his identity before confirming theirs betrayed his amateurism.
"No, you got the right guys." Marcus turned around to shake his hand. "Happy to be working with you. We've already plotted out the safest route to Vale from here. Now for the upfront payment…"
"1,235,250 lien will be placed into each of your digital Winchester bank accounts immediately." Avion's hand promptly pulled out his scroll from his back pocket. "I'll have my people take care of that immediately."
"While we appreciate that…" Ronnie’s eyes looked Avion up and down. "If you don't mind, out of all the applicants for the mission, why exactly did you choose us? Surely, it'd be safer to get a proper four person team for a job this expensive. It's not like you can't afford it. And why not just take a bullhead? I know Ansel is out of the way, but they do run from here to Vale every two weeks or so."
"Thanks to the nature of what I'm delivering, the less people the better. And public transportation could just endanger other civilians." Despite the weather, sweat dropped from Avion's forehead and nearly made Ronnie pause. "And for company reasons, I cannot fully disclose that information. I'm sorry."
Marcus interrupted before Ronnie could protest. "That's fine so long as it doesn't affect our mission."
"It won't." Avion smiled. "And as to what you guys were talking about before… You do realize prick is also a phallic insult too, right?"
"Well, dang." Ronnie frowned and turned to his friend. "Guess we can't use that either."
"Hmmm…" Marcus closed his eyes in thought. "Why don't we call him a jerk then and leave it at that?"
"But that's not quite snobby enough, ain't it?"
Deep into the redwood forest of towering trees, nightfall came earlier than expected, and fortunately, the trio hadn't crossed any grimm nor bandits yet. An oddity, surely. Typically, one would start to see grimm after about 10 miles from a small town like Ansel, but it was an oddity they were thankful for regardless. The three sat around a campfire Marcus had started as Ronnie began to prepare their tents and to pass out rations.
Marcus's face immediately recoiled in disgust. "Ugh, this tasteless chicken and dried food again? Man, I got enough rations back when we were at Beacon. Why do you have these, Ronnie?"
"I actually like them." Marcus's face recoiled further. "They're better than anything I can make on my own. Plus, if you add a little water and cook them longer over an open fire, they're much better."
"Yeah, but that's because everything is better cooked on an open fire than being cooked on a stove. That still doesn't excuse it from having no taste and being drier than Goodwitch's sex life."
"Is Glynda still single? I thought most people from our class have already gotten hitched? Didn't Taiyang and Raven recently tie the knot?" Ronnie flicked some water over his chicken before placing it above the fire for it to cook with Avion apparently following suit. "It's not like Glynda's unattractive, and she does seem to really like taking care of kids with her teaching job. You'd think she'd want to settle down and start a family."
Marcus shrugged absentmindedly as he chewed his food and struggled to swallow. "Yeah, last time I ran into her at my wedding, she showed up with no partner or significant other. So either she's just that career-focused–which is unlikely considering she wants to be a teacher–or she just can't find anyone who's interested."
Surprisingly enough, despite being mostly silent throughout the trip, Avion spoke up. "That's complete baloney. If this is the same Glynda Goodwitch I know, I can name several people who would gladly kill to just have a one-night-stand with her. Not that I can blame them. Either way, rumors about how she might be seeing Lieutenant General Ironwood have been floating around the office now."
The two huntsmen turned their heads towards Avion in shock. Jaws dropped. As if he had told them that he killed their dog, their horrified appearance spoke to a prior trauma.
"Did you seriously use the word 'baloney' in a sentence?" The silver-haired man's gaze wandered back to Ronnie. "I think he's the first person I've met other than Summer to do that unironically, and she stopped after Raven teased her too much."
"Wait, Lieutenant General Ironwood? Shoot, he must've been promoted since the last time we saw him. And with Glynda too? I could have sworn that those two hated each other too." Ronnie took his food off from the fire and bit into his chicken, grinning. "12 lien says it's a friends with benefits thing or a hate-sex relationship. Glynda has great legs, but her personality is way too stern. Given Ironwood's own personality, the two would go together like water and oil."
Eyes like fish, Marcus deadpanned. "Why would I take that bet when the answer is completely obvious."
"Don't tell him this, but I always thought Ironwood swung a different way. Color me surprised." Ronnie moved over to Avion. "So, what's your story, buddy? How do you know Goodbitch? You got a family?"
Avion shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Something like that." Avion pushed up his glasses before pulling out a book from his pack. "As for Miss Goodwitch, my group was originally a small organization centered in Ansel that was a subsidiary of the SDC. We communicated a lot with Beacon and plan on using funds for tax write-offs by helping build central Vale into a proper city. Rather than just being an impoverished area near Beacon." Opening the cover, he continued, in a quieter voice. "I also don't think it's very professional for two hunters to talk about a woman like that."
"Well, shit, no wonder you paid us so much to keep this hush-hush." Marcus leaned in closer in interest. "There probably are some bandits who'd really want whatever research you've got. Everyone knows that the academies are pouring in a lot of their budget into weapons development."
Avion's head nodded in confirmation. "There's a little more than that, but I couldn't even tell you if I wanted to. Some lives are relying on this, you do realize that?"
"Yeah, I suppose so." Marcus stiffened, and his face fell. A newborn tension grew between the two before Marcus got up and headed for the woods nearby. "I'm gonna take a piss and head to bed. Good night."
"You didn't need to tell us that." Ronnie's eyes rolled. "But good night anyways."
The hunters slept peacefully under the starry skies, ready for whatever may come tomorrow.
A month passed, and with the exception of a few grimm, the duo had yet to run into any real action.
"Is that the last of them?" The dagger had been lodged in a Beowulf's skull, forcing Marcus to pull as hard as possible.
"Yeah, that looks to be the end of it." Ronnie strapped Stargazer to his back and placed Neon Knight into its holster.
Panting, Marcus gestured to the revolver. "You still hold onto that thing? Doesn't it just remind you of… you know?"
"It saved me many times."
"Yeah, but still. If you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you. We are brothers now after all."
Ronnie's mouth opened. "I appreciate it, but I'm good for now. Besides, we've almost reached central Vale anyhow."
Soot covered the ground along with the dissolving corpses of hundreds of grimm. A desolate battlefield once surrounded by life. Green vegetation formerly ran along the floor of this forest. Deers and rabbits used to prance about naturally, undisturbed.
"That works with me." From inside a bush nearby, Avion popped out from his hiding spot. His clothes were filthy, and sweat had turned his red button down into a maroon one. "You guys don't need to do anything else once we reach the gates. I'm supposed to work from there on my own."
Ronnie and Marcus both sighed in relief. A mission well done according to Ronnie. No casualties, no problems.
"Are you sure you got everything? Not missing anything?" Ronnie's eyes scanned Avion from head to toe. He had freshened up immensely, but he still hadn't had time to take a shower. "I want to be sure you got everything covered."
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. I got my documentation in my back pocket." His glasses were cleaned using the fabric of his shirt. "Corporate ought to have handled your payment now. Thanks so much."
"Don't worry about it." Satisfied, Ronnie turned away before a cold dread built from the back of his spine.
As soon as they entered the worn-down white gates of Vale, they did the only reasonable action they could after leaving Avion to fend for himself. Though it was far more terrifying than facing down any Grimm or bandits.
They hadn't contacted their wives in over a month.
But that was a problem for after they returned to them.
"It was nice seeing you again for a little team reunion, even if not much came from it." Ronnie hugged Marcus goodbye. "Call me if you need anything, man."
"Likewise. I sort of miss it, you know." Marcus pulled back. "We should do this again sometimes, working together like old times. I sort of need to get my business in order."
"So you're going legit from now on?"
Marcus breathed in, deeply satisfied, and a giant smile stretched across his face. "After today, that's the plan."
"She may not say it, but Auri and I are so proud of you. You've really gone a long way." Ronnie grabbed him into another hug. "And I know she would have been proud of you too."
Marcus patted his friend as they broke apart. "You too, man. It's gonna be lonely. It was really nice hanging out with you again. I'll catch you later."
"See you, man. I gotta call my wife. And if you need anything at all, feel free to call us anytime. You're always gonna be one of my best friends."
Marcus held out his fist one last time. The two huntsmen shared a final fistbump.
Avion knew something was amiss as soon as he turned away into the nearest alleyway to escape the brothers-in-law. They were good people, sure, but as a civilian, it's hard to relate to any of the huntresses or huntsmen. Who willfully enjoys fighting and killing other people and grimm? What kind of psycho can handle all that stress? He slid his hands down the sides of his face in relief. It was honestly surprising how little action they saw on the month-long trip.
Though, he knew one thing for sure, those guys got overpaid for the job. He'd already sent over the lien they were owed digitally. It wasn't like it was his money to begin with.
His scroll buzzed, and he scrambled to pick it out from his pocket.
"Avion! Buddy! How are you doing? How was the trip?" An intense friendliness answered the call, but he could tell it was empty. "All limbs still on? No missing eyes or anything?"
His boss didn't actually care how he was doing. The real question was obvious. He was asking if he still had that.
"I'm doing fine sir. Everything is still on my person."
"And your guards? Is everything alright with them?" A nervous click of the tongue could be heard from the other side. "Should we give them a tip?"
"No tip is necessary, sir. They completed their duty to the fullest extent without going over the top."
In other words, yes, they were still in the dark.
"How are the wife and kids by the way?"
Avion's fist tightened.
"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen them in a while."
Laughter. Fucking laughter escaped from the scroll. "Well, you're in luck! They'll be meeting you near the docks once you finish your work today. They've been very worried about you, you know."
"Yeah, well–"
"Hold on, I'm getting another call! See you later today, buddy!" The man's tone sharpened. "Don't leave me waiting."
He exhaled in anger. They were playing him and his family like a damn fiddle, and all he could do was twiddle his thumbs to their beck and call.
Footsteps echoed from behind him. A sharp pain.
The next thing he knew, a barrel pointed at his forehead. His eyes crossed. A dagger had been lodged in his guts.
"Why?..."
"Sorry, man." The assailant twisted the dagger, pressing a button that extended the knife through the basis of his spine. "For what it's worth, you don't seem like a bad person. It's just company policy. You clean up once you're done."
"I only really played along to spend some time with a friend and make some more cash. I honestly could have done this anytime." He pulled the trigger on the revolver currently laying on Avion's forehead. "I'm just doing what I need to."
A gunshot echoed through the streets.
"He has your hair."
"He has your eyes." Ronnie fired back at his wife.
The miracle of childbirth always floored Ronnie James whenever he witnessed it. To think he helped bring new life into the world despite all of the hurt and suffering he had caused others. It was crazy enough to make him cry, and he had witnessed it eight times now. Like twin waterfalls, tears pooled down his cheeks.
"Do you have a name in mind, Dad?" Saphron looks over his shoulder along with Indigo and Cyan.
"..." Ronnie looked at his wife, who simply nodded. "I want to name him after my favorite story growing up."
"Which one?" Auri raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Rusted Knight?"
He nodded.
"The name is a pretty common one, but it means so much to me." After his time in the Great War, Ronnie's grandfather retired as a hunter and became an author. His many stories, both fiction and non-fiction, inspired him to become a huntsman. A man like his grandfather deserved to be honored. It made sense to name the newborn after his great grandparent's favorite character. Ronnie brushed the top of the baby's forehead. "Jaune Arc. Our little Jauney."
"I wanna hold him!" The youngest, Indigo yelled.
The infant started crying, surrounded by his family.
"She didn't make it." The nurse delivers the news. "I'm sorry, sir."
Same as always, he supposed. One new life in exchange for another. Trading lives happened daily. He squeezed the bridge of his nose as tightly as possible to keep the tears back. "What about my son?"
"He fortunately survived, but he was born prematurely. We're going to have to hold onto him for the next week or so. His lungs haven't fully developed." She put her hand on his shoulder. "I know this must be so hard on you right now, but it's better to hold on to the last gift Momo Black gave this world."
All this money, and nothing to show for it. All the people he's killed, and he hadn't truly gained anything. All this violence, and he's still a loser.
So much for the straight and narrow.
What a joke.
He supposed he could go leech off of Ronnie James Arc again, but being near his family would just make him resentful and jealous over things he could never have anymore. Don't get him wrong, he loved Ronnie. Ronnie was all he really had left, but Ronnie's a winner. He had a big family. A big house. And things to look forward to. His friend deserved better.
But this? This wasn't the life of winners after all.
"I don’t care anymore." He drew a long breath in anticipation. Frustrated, his lips released a current of hot air. "I'll name him Mercury."
The baby behind the glass started crying, separated from anyone who loved him.
A steady stream of smoke blew out from the man's lips. The cigar in his mouth lit up the alleyway. He carefully avoided the puddle of blood near the woman's body. His boots were pricey. Then again, he supposed he could just rob someone and get the money back.
She couldn't have been younger than at least 30–around his age. She was a pretty thing too. Her pink and brown hair was rare in Remnant. The dress she wore looked inexpensive, clearly handmade. He could respect that, even though he preferred higher brand clothes himself. Though, her beauty didn't stop the rats and cockroaches from nibbling the body.
Crouched, he couldn't tell what killed her. No noticeable external wounds made themselves obvious at a first glance. He pushed back his bangs to check for any valuables, but her pockets were empty. It was like her heart just exploded on its own.
Standing back up, his feet carried him deeper into the underbelly of Vale, only for something to reach out and grab his ankle. A quiet stillness took over him and slowly dragged his head in the direction of what held him back.
It was a tiny little thing. She couldn't have been over 4 years old, but she must have kept silent for the longest time if an experienced thief like him couldn't notice her. And although she reached out for his attention with her feeble hands, her eyes stayed on the corpse.
Her hair told him that the body must have been her relative. Most likely her mother.
So she didn't have anyone either.
He took another puff and blew out more smoke before staring to the starry sky. Wordlessly, he leaned down to her and veiled her eyes with his hand.
"A brat shouldn't have an image like this etched into her memory." Roman Torchwick sighed. "Though it may be a little too late for that."
Her stomach growled as he turned her towards him.
"Come, let's get you out of here and something to eat." He pointed to the nearest food stand. Some late-night ice cream parlor.
Sure, it wasn't healthy food, but he wasn't a healthy influence. Besides, kids liked ice cream, right?
The little girl finally relented her gaze and nodded, but her eyes stayed lifeless.
His cigar fell out of his mouth, and he smothered it with his boots. It probably was for the best, considering his company.
It'd be fine, so long as he doesn't get attached this time. It was better she didn't have a name either.
At the edge of Vanguard. At the ruins of a failed place of learning.
A field of graves stood like small grains of rice across a green landscape. Honoring those who valiantly lost their lives during the tragedy. But he knew the truth.
They were all children who had been taught to fight and had their stories all cruelly cut short because of some conflict between an ex-husband and an ex-wife.
Bullshit.
The air was thick and humid, blatant indicators of rain. Mud covered his combat boots.
The ground in front of him was cold, but that was fitting.
Even if his blood was red hot.
His sister would probably be chastising him. Telling him to move on and live his own life, not to be inhibited by a loss that occurred about ten years ago.
He could have, you know? He knew that. He had an opportunity to settle down and have a kid. Probably would've named them after her too. Probably would have been happier too. At least for a while.
Unfortunately, the memory always felt fresh.
He had been fighting since he came out of the womb. Violence was the only way he knew how to honor his sister.
Or well, it was the only thing he was ever good at.
And the only way to rid himself of this incinerating hunger for blood in his heart.
Maybe it was a want for justice. Maybe it was spurred on by his rage. Maybe the reasons didn't matter.
Vengeance took hold of him.
With a heavy heart, Hazel Rainart began his march into the land of monsters.