Hold It In (RWBY/Transistor)

[Prok]

Any ideas you would especially enjoy writing?

Click to shrink...

Mm...

If... if the personal assistant idea were to be supported in any significant way, I have an idea for, well, essentially a Process Gaiden. Well, the personal assistant option, or, any kind of option that allows Process units free reign.

I won't say much more, it's something I fully intend to play close to my chest until it's actually happening.

---

It's really on the train home, watching the city pass by and letting the gentle rocking lull you into sleepiness that you begin to... weigh the pros and cons of telling Creme and Lumen for a moment.

Pro- you don't need to hide the Process from them while you work on it.

{Definite pro.}

Con- you might end up stealing Ada's thunder, and lessening the impact of her story.

{You could always just, you know, wait until she's done, then bring it up. Complementary information rather than fighting for their attention.}

It's going to do that anyway, but putting it forward as complementary information would definitely do the least damage to Ada's credibility.

Pro- they may be able to help you figure out exactly how best to implement the Process because the ideas you're having are all over the place.

Con- Ada may hide behind your own admission to keep from talking about it-

{That's a stretch, admittedly not much of one, but one that can still be fixed by going after her.}

Ok! Ok, fine, you have literally nothing to say against telling them beyond being scared they won't believe you! At least with Ada, you had 01 to prove your point, but over text, with nothing to prove it, that becomes...

Difficult.

It'll be fine. Worst case scenario, you can just meet up and show them.

... Point.

Still, until Ada actually starts talking to people, there's not much you can do.

|||

The show started while you were just sitting in your room, vegging out on Glyphstory's desktop version, waiting for something to happen. Your opponent is turtling, posting snipers at varying chokepoints, their range keeping you from doing much to them until you build a Gold Mound to spawn Myrmekes, so for the moment you're just throwing Nevermore Minor at them for the sake of harassment and building your slower, more durable units up.

Then Ada posted in the group chat and you found your attention split.

Spoiler: I gotta say the fact that large chunks of this chapter are spoilered and therefore won't count towards the notification wordcount irks me

-hey-

-Ada, hey! How've u been?-

-OH MY GOD YOU'RE ALIVE-

-I mean, uh-

-Hi, how are ya-

-uh

better than I was a couple hours ago, I guess-

-I've got some stuff to tell you two-

-Wait, why just the two of us? Not Jaune as well?-

Dammit, Lumen-

-Jaune already knows-

-honestly, he's pretty much the only thing that's kept me sane recently-

-Oh-

-... So are you two, like, together, or--

-NO-

-I mean, no we aren't I just-

-We aren't, no. I was made aware of her problems through, well, coincidence, really, and since then I've done my best to help her deal with them because I'm apparently incapable of not nosing around in other people's business.-

-uh yeah, what he said-

-anyway, I guess I realised that you two kind of deserved to know, in case it made you-

A slight pause. She starts and stops typing several times if the indicator is anything to go by. Which is fair, you suppose.

... You honestly can't imagine how she feels right now.

-... targets.-

-... What's wrong, hon?-

-... That's a question with a very long and very uncomfortable answer-

-but I guess if I had to try and answer it in as few words as possible-

-... I used to live in Bridge.-

At this point, you're just kind of waiting for her to finish up and keeping the group muted for a while. In the meantime, you throw a couple more Myrmekes at one of your opponent's blockades, the ranged Huntsmen there suffering as they're dragged into melee range faster than their AI can actually react, before supplementing your main force with a Hag for some cheap healing and on-site reinforcement.

Check your base, queue up a couple Vampyr, get a message from Lumen, upgrade breeding pits so you can eventually spawn a Storied Grimm, you haven't tried Ashen Gehenna yet, they only added it maybe two days ago, and you haven't really had a chance to sit down and take your time with an opponent to build it-

{Jaune.}

Fine.

Spoiler: Seriously, hundreds of words, just disregarded because they're spoilered

-So uh... you knew about all of this?-

-I'd apologise for lying, but honestly, I figured it really wasn't my place to talk about it.-

-No, I get that, it's just-

-Do you believe her?-

-Do you not?-

-I'm hoping she's lying, in the same way I kinda hope we're gonna find out one day the whole Dust running out thing is just a big scam by the SDC to jack up prices, you know-

-It'd be real fucking neato if it WAS a big lie, admittedly it would bring up its own problems but they'd be a shade of the original problem, but she's just... I dunno, it feels too detailed to be completely dismissed out of hand-

-I understand the feeling. Unfortunately, no, I don't need to believe her. I verified it myself.-

-... What-

-You realise the list of victims of any serial killer is public knowledge, right? I just looked it up, compared public records of Bridge's population. Either some idiot in the DPD can't count, or two people got out of Bridge- presumably Lee and Ada herself.-

-On top of that, she told me over the phone the first time she talked about it. If she can fake that kind of fear, the last thing I'll do before cutting off contact with her is throwing her at a movie agent.-

-... Well shit now I just feel like an asshole-

-Happy to help.-

-Pfft-

-Fuck you too, Jaune-

Anyway, where were you? Right, bugging this guy by fucking up every one of his blockades individually, because you're in that kind of mood today- oh what the fuck when did he call in Brunhilde and Siegfried-

As you watch a large chunk of your force go down in flames to those goddamn walking AOE attacks, you scatter your units, trying to keep them away from the pair of legendary Hunters, wreathed in Brunhilde's ring of fire.

Agh, where'd you leave those Nevermores- ooh, no, the Vampyr, go for irony-

{She's finished telling them.}

Yeah ok, just a second-

{Jaune I swear to god-}

You are not prepared for this, ok?!

Spoiler: it'd sicken you, honestly

The first reactions are surprisingly muted.

-... I don't

really know what to say tbh-

-I'm-

-I don't-

-Fuck-

-do you-

-do you believe me, or-

-I mean I know it's kind of-

-difficult to believe, but I just-

-I believe you-

-I just needed to take a second before I punched a hole in my wall or something-

-That was my first reaction too, actually. Thank God for Reboot().-

-wait, really?-

-My mother wasn't very impressed with me for waking her up at 2:15 in the morning, and I kinda sprained my wrist because I wasn't exactly coating my arm with Aura, but yes, yes I did.-

-... Dude, you've got anger issues-

-Anyway, drafted blue and yellow, I feel a little better now-

-I guess my only question is

What are we supposed to do with this information?-

-I'm with Lumen on this one-

-I mean I appreciate the warning, really, I do!-

-But...-

-It's Boriah Lee-

-We're kind of uh-

-Nowhere near his league?-

-True. But the thing is, we don't need to. Ada, do you mind if I...?-

-huh-

-OH-

-sure, go ahead, dude-

-What is it?-

-Well… aside from punching a hole in my wall on Saturday night, I kind of... thought a god into existence.-

It takes you some time to explain the Process and your Semblance to Creme and Lumen, especially since you have to split your attention between them and hunting down Siegfried with a Vampyr, because strong against stealth, he ain't.

Some may say that bouncing between a video game and a life-changing revelation is somewhat callous, but frankly, it's better than focusing in one everything you've dealt with all at once.

Eventually, you finish both of those and watch Brunhilde as she's overrun by popcorn units, her lover's death crippling her.

You almost feel bad about it.

Almost.

Spoiler: It's kind of like if Paradox added in actual true-to-life character deaths in CK2

-That's-

-I didn't expect to hear anything more farfetched than Ada's story today, but you just can't stop yourself from outdoing people, can you-

-I can send you a picture of 01 if you'd like. Ada can send you a picture of her Cell as well if you need further confirmation.-

-you named your cell 01?-

-isn't that kind of impersonal tho?-

-Meh. It's not like it needs a name, I just gave it one for the sake of keeping my internal train of thought from derailing every time I talk about Cells.-

-Uh yeah, I think a picture would be a good idea-

-Like, it's not that I don't believe you, it's just-

-Something I'm having a lot of difficulty visualising-

-That's fair.-

-[image attachment]-

-That's-

-Oh my god I didn't think it'd be that cute holy shit um-

-Do you need a minute-

-YES I NEED A MINUTE-

-JAUNE I WANT ONE HOW DO I GET IT-

-We could all meet up at some point, I can explain it a little more, show you it for real, and give you both one.-

-YESYESYESYESYESYES-

-CONTAIN YOURSELF WOMAN-

-Ok, that's... not an edited picture, I can tell that much-

-Ok, so it's real

What exactly are you going to do with it?-

-To be perfectly honest with you? I don't know. There's so much potential to it that, honestly, anything is a good option. Like, I'm not going to let it run rampant, that's just begging for an execution, but aside from that... I dunno. Personal assistants, cheap construction/renovation, personal security, research computing, medical supply production...-

-I don't, actually think there IS a limit to what it can do. When something can manipulate individual atoms, it's kind of... there's not a lot of limits when you can do that.-

-... Wow-

-I mean, I have ideas for its ultimate goals, eradicating the Grimm and putting Boriah Lee's head on a stick, but it's GETTING it to that point without stepping on some toes along the way that's my problem.-

-I grow it too fast, I'll scare people and probably do myself more harm than good. I grow it too slow, it won't be able to help in time. I need to figure out where that balance is, and how to... ease people into the idea of the Process.-

-... Ok, um-

-I have literally no idea how to help you with that-

-That's fine. If nothing else, having a sounding board or three is nice. My point is, though, that Boriah Lee isn't going to be a problem if I have my way. Ada just wanted to tell you, in case it DOES become a problem.-

-And what about you though?-

-What made you want to tell us about the Process?-

-... I'm sick of hiding things from people. And, I feel like I can trust you two with this. Same reason Ada can trust you with her problems, I guess.-

-Oh-

-Um-

-Well, I'm glad you feel that way about us, both of you-

-So, do you wanna meet up later this week, and I'll give you both a Cell if you want?-

-YES PLEASE-

-I won't say no to free shit-

-Not to mention I'm pretty curious about how you make them-

-he literally snapped mine into existence-

-... Bullshit-

-it's not I fucking swear-

Figuring that's as good a time as any to bow out, you turn back to your match and find that whatever advantage you gained by killing off your opponent's hero units has been recovered since you last looked, and you have to scramble to keep them from gaining too much ground now that they're fully the object of your attention.

Perhaps you're just tired, or they're better than you gave them credit for, but you don't just crush them for a change. If anything, it's actually really quite evenly matched until you finally pour enough resources into the breeding pits and summon Ashen Gehenna.

What you didn't realise, because reading patch notes is for wimps, is that Ashen Gehenna, The Island of Hate, is not a unit.

It's a superweapon.

The sky darkens, and ash begins to fall across the screen, spots of it growing across the map like mould, and you watch as some of his weaker units twist and turn into ashen homunculi, spreading chaos amongst their ranks, while the land morphs, turning white and buffing your units to frankly ridiculous degrees, giving them a permanent boost to armour, speed, and attack, leaving them almost unstoppable. When you begin to drag your forces through that, you realise that the ash only buffs two or three units before disappearing, keeping you from just upgrading your entire army in one fell swoop.

That was actually something you could do pretty much yesterday, but they patched in the limit for obvious reasons.

Your opponent's only saving grace is that those ashen areas are sparse, mainly around chokepoints and near his base- wait, no, that's the opposite of a saving grace, that's just straight fucked him over.

Well then.

Your victory is almost assured at this point, with his forces now fighting amongst themselves and yours buffed to hell and back, and you make quick work of him, taking victory within minutes. Your efficiency is really just a result of your fatigue, though, and after a quick two-letter message of appreciation for the game, you close the game and settle in for the night.

It's... been a tiring day.

The sixth one in a row, honestly.

{Get some sleep, buddy. Tomorrow's gonna be great.}

You almost question why, but sleep claims you before you can.

|||

""Happy birthday, Jaune!"" The twins kindly inform you as you grab a cup of coffee the next morning.

Standing there in your blue onesie with the built-in bunny slippers, really not entirely aware of what's going on around you, pouring your coffee until the Transistor gently nudges the pot back to an upright position, you give them a tired squint that only sets Jasper off on a cackling fit.

... Wh-

{Happy birthday, big guy. Also hey, you realised it before noon this time.}

As if rubbing it in, a calendar flickers into sight, the square marked July 23rd gently pulsing blue.

... Every goddamn year with this-


|||

"It still amazes me that you can consistently forget about your own birthday, Jaune," Jaana tells you from her place in the centre of the van.

"It's been a weird week, ok? It just slipped my mind."

"Every year, Jaune. How."

"Oh, leave the boy alone, I'm the same with my birthday." Your mother comes to your defence.

"And mine." Your father gently ribs her.

"It's not my fault I'm from the only Kingdom on the planet that puts the month above the date!"

Yeah, Atlas is weird like that.

Despite your propensity to completely forget your birthday on a consistent basis, your family does not, and actually planned to do something with you- namely, visiting your favourite place in the whole wide world.

Unknown to, or at least not cared much about by, most people in the City of Vale, there is a large-ish near the city centre, the shops of which consist entirely of electronics and electronic parts.

Wholesale. Fully working, legally sourced parts, sold at wholesale prices. Motherboards, graphics cards, CPUs and heatsinks, motherboard standoffs, Scroll logic boards, hardlight projector parts, diodes, fucking Scroll power buttons- you've checked, you could build your own Scroll using the stuff from there.

Aside from a natural interest that you've always had, even before you awoke your Aura, this place is very near and dear to your heart as the place you've bought all of the Transistor's hardware upgrades from.

You must have spent tens of thousands of Lien in just this one shop over the past few years.

{Not that they're complaining.}

True.

The journey there is peaceful, the most interesting thing being a news announcement that they identified half of the pair that robbed an SDC train as Adam Taurus, a noted figure of the White Fang, and an as of yet unidentified female cat Faunus.

But that can all wait because you're here~

Your favourite place in the whole wide world~

Some people, the shop owner and anybody who looks at the sign, mainly, would call this place Electron Palace.

You?

You call it home.

|||

You walk through the tight aisles to the checkout/front desk/office space of the owner and see a pinkette with skin the colour of milky coffee sitting there, head resting on her palm, bored out of her mind until she sees you approaching.

"Hey hon, long time no see!" Rosalind greets you as you and a couple of your sisters walk in the door. The rest of your family decided to wander about the rest of the mall, leaving Jasper and Jaana to accompany you. You don't mind, you wouldn't subject most of your family to this either. Jaana came along out of curiosity, and Jasper...

"Heeey, Rosie, long time no see to you too honey-" Jasper purrs, effortlessly sliding along the countertop on her elbows to meet her crush, legs gently kicked up behind her, only for Rosalind to gently push her off course, and off the counter altogether.

"WAGH-"

You're sure the thud of lesbian against hard concrete floor would be a lot less funny if she'd forgotten to pull up her Aura at the last second, the violet light of her soul keeping her from hurting herself too much.

"You're so cruel, I love it." Your sister says, not getting up from her place on this floor.

Rosalind gives a little snort, a half-smirk growing on her face.

"You are still as much of a pest as ever, and the only reason I don't kick you out of my store is that your brother is pretty much my only customer."

"Don't keep her around on my account, Rosalind."

Jasper turns and makes a pitiful sound at you, one that none of you can keep your composure around.

"Fine, fine, you can stay!" Rosalind manages between giggles.

While your sister celebrates her minor victory in not having a restraining order put on her, Rosalind turns to deal with you.

"So, whatcha been working on, big cat?" She asks, giving you a little smile as she does.

"That's... got a very long answer this time."

"Well stop teasing already~"

God, it's good to talk shop.

---

First thing's first, the full image I took the Cell from.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's here.

It's time to actually upgrade your sword.

Upgrades are done through buying random bits and bobs of computer parts and using them to upgrade the given part of the Transistor. As far as you can tell, it's more of a conceptual unlocking of capability in exchange for sacrifice, and once the word 'sacrifice' entered your head you just decided to not question it, ever, at all, you never questioned it in the first place, not you, no sir, definitely never considered offering your sword a firstborn child to see what happens.

And oh, hey, look, a birthday gift of [UNSPECIFIED AMOUNT OF MONEY GOOD ENOUGH FOR ONE PURCHASE FROM THE GENERAL UPGRADES OR 10% OFF THE SPECIALIST UPGRADES IN THIS FINE ESTABLISHMENT].

How thoughtful.

General Upgrades: These are upgrades that simply enhance the Transistor's capabilities in one way or the other. This is done by buying unspecified odds and ends and throwing them at your sword for it to use.

[] MEM- Upgrades the Transistor's MEM capacity. Allows you to keep more Functions running at once, and more heavy-duty Functions at all. (5000 Lien for 4 MEM, 5000 after this purchase.) Current MEM: 12/64

[] Attack Up- A blanket upgrade to your offensive Functions, letting them deal more damage and put down enemies faster. (3500 Lien)

[] Defense Up- Upgrades the Transistor's Durability, allowing it to withstand more punishment before it breaks. (2750 Lien}

[] Range Up- Upgrades the Transistor's leash. (2500 Lien, adds 10 metres with each purchase.)

Specialist Upgrades:

[] Sound Processing- … Fuck it, the secret's out anyway. Time to give your sword a voice. (7000 Lien)

[] Hardlight Projection- Do you really want to give your sword the ability to smack you whenever necessary? (11,000 Lien)

[] Function Boost- Instantly push one Function to completion from Beta, or from Alpha to Beta. (12,500 Lien)

[] Forksplit- Upgrades the Transistor's processing power enough to bring a third fork into the fold. This fork's speciality can be chosen at 'birth,' which will also dictate its personality. (15,000 Lien)

 

[Prok]

Once you find out that your family's collective gift to you is enough to grab yourself something you've been promising your sword for some time now, you kind of... say fuck it.

Bring up the list, Blue.

{You're giving us an upgrade?}

Your sword stills when you confirm that, yes, you are in fact giving it an upgrade. Not even a moment later, it begins to vibrate in the air, fast enough to blur ever so slightly.

ohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboy-

"Uh, Jaune, should we be concerned about your sword... vibrating?" Jaana asks you, a mild and completely baseless fear in her voice.

"No, it's just excited."

"... That doesn't fill me with confidence."

"I'm just gonna buy some stuff to upgrade it with, is all-"

"Oh God Rosie we need to run he's finally gone off the deep end-"

You can't help but laugh a little as you flip Jasper off, but you do still flip her off.

|||

First things first- range. It's been a long time coming, but 100 metres is just too short a leash for your sword, especially considering your reliance on it as a short-range kinetic kill vehicle when you're fresh out of Turn().

You use your birthday gift to buy some high-gain antennae, 10 in total at 250 a pop, then run one of the few programs on your sword that you didn't write. It begins to tilt until the flat of the blade is parallel to the ground, the teal light dimming, allowing the dull grey to seep back in at the edges. Soon, only a few remote strokes are left, tracing circuitry deep within the machine, outlining spots to place your spoils on.

Assimilation primed. AI priority: self-improvement.

You don't need the Transistor to know that Rosalind is grinning like a loon right now, knowing full well what's going to happen, and despite yourself, you stifle a smile. Honestly, it's like showing a child a magic trick. When you place the first antenna on and watch spindly needles of crystal unfold from your sword, rapidly pulling it apart and dragging it piece by piece into its inner workings, a tiny squeal of excitement comes from behind you, and your smile pulls itself up regardless. Repeating the process nine more times, you run a quick diagnostic and find your weapon's effective leash has grown by ten metres.

Not exactly pulping Grimm from across the Emerald Forest, but it's a start.

"... Um… I've never seen you improve your sword before, little brother." Jaana notes. "What… exactly is happening?"

"It takes physical technology and… pulls it apart, at the molecular level. It scans it, and that upgrades it somehow. I don't really understand the process myself, and this entire thing is like… a meditative state, for the Transistor, so I can't exactly ask it either."

You can feel Jasper frowning at the back of your head as you explain it. You don't particularly blame her, you hate not knowing what the hell's going on right now too. Still, you do have your theories.

"Wait, so, your sword, the giant floating block of math, needs current technology to get better? How's that work?"

"... It's never felt like I was making the Transistor stronger," you tell her after a moment. "It's always felt more like… I'm removing restrictions, er, unshackling it. It's like the parts don't really matter, so much as... whatever it is it does with them."

The final antenna is broken down, and your sword goes still once more, awaiting more parts or the command to kill the upgrade program and reinstate normal functionality.

You look at the list in the corner of your eye.

… Go big or go home.

Next, you throw about two terabytes of RAM on the pile- Rosalind had piles of old DDR2 SODIMM she wasn't going to be shifting anytime soon, and you pay better than a reclamation company- and a quick check tells you that the Transistor's volatile memory has expanded by eight of the arbitrary units the AI assigned it. Next, some anti-static sheets and military-grade computer cases.

Computer cases rated for Kraken impacts.

You give Rosalind a questioning glance.

"... I have good suppliers, shut up."

Ok, moving on- breathing room for Functions, and durability enhancements, good to have.

What else?

You scroll through the list before your eyes settle on something you haven't thought about much since the idea came around- it came about mostly out of novelty since you never thought your sword would speak to anybody else, but… well, that's changed, hasn't it?

"Rosalind, where are your sound cards?"

That question seems to make Jaana perk up a little.

"You have audio equipment?"

"Good sound equipment's over there," Rosalind answers you, pointing down one of the many aisles of just stuff that plagues this shop.

You follow Jaana down the aisle, mildly curious about your sister's desire for sound stuff, but choosing not to pry unless she asks first. Instead, you watch her scan the aisle, before picking out an adaptor, some cables, and an audio interface with the confidence of somebody who knows their stuff, before walking back to the counter, desperately juggling the boxes she's holding.

This kinda stuff… isn't your forté, so you just pick out a couple for about 3500 Lien each, and walk back, hoping your 'it's not the quality, it's just the purpose' theory pans out.

"Yo, why you want sound cards anyway, bro?" Jasper asks from her place leaning on the counter, content to watch the proceedings, pester Rosalind, squee over 01 with Rosalind-

You haven't given your family Cells yet. You moron.

The silence in your head somehow manages to sound like Blue agreeing that, yes, you're a moron, which you pointedly ignore.

… You know, just in case.

"I… think my sword's spent long enough without being able to speak."

Jaana manages to look even more sober than usual, while Jasper and Rosalind just give you weird looks, and you realise that you technically only told like, four out of nine family members that you had created technological life. Once more, the voice very much like Blue's pipes up in the back of your mind to call you a moron, and you ignore it. You really hope you're just hearing that out of habit.

"O...k, then."

"It'd take longer to explain than it would to just show you when it's done processing everything."

You think of your now heavily depleted wallet, a measly 1400 Lien left, and figure you've upgraded it enough, so you kill the material assimilation program and prioritise the upgrade process.

15 minutes to digest all that, it says.

... Maybe explaining it would be faster.

Before you can capitalise on your sudden hindsight, you hear the door open behind you, the two-tone buzzer going off as somebody enters the shop. Rosalind perks up, sitting up straight and giving a tiny smile that just oozes professionalism and definitely not desperation for more than three customers in a day.

"Uh, hello? Is anybody in here- whoa, ok." You hear a male voice calling out from between the aisles, before he finally reaches the central clearing and sees your sword, put out of action as it is. "Uh... should I, come back later?"

"No, please-" Rosalind starts, all that desperation she definitely isn't filled with breaking through for a moment before she clears her throat and begins again. "Er, it's fine, this is just an... ongoing project of a customer's. We're still open for business. Is there anything I can help you with?"

The model of professionalism.

The boy looks to be about your age, though taller, and bulkier, and generally just, larger than you, with a head of short brown hair, kept neatly combed backwards. The only thing that takes away from the whole appearance is the pair of metal-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, magnifying his eyes ever so slightly.

"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for a drawing tablet, but... I don't really know much about them, I'm more a pen and paper kinda guy. I just wanna get one for weapon and armour design, mainly, I've heard they make doing the whole process digitally a lot easier than a mouse and keyboard. Aside from that, I guess, just... general art? Does it matter that much?"

Rosalind hums to herself for a moment, thinking over the question.

"Not particularly, I suppose your software matters more..." she glances over at you for a moment. "Jaune, how quickly can you set up a test PC?"

"As quickly as I can find parts." You answer honestly, keeping the grin that wants to force its way onto your face in check.

"Great! Now, sir, how about I show you through my stock and you pick out a couple for a test drive?"

You watch his face as your apparent new employer slithers into the boy's good graces, her voice so oily that you have to wonder how she hasn't caused a floor hazard yet. Then again, considering how much niche stuff she has, you suppose she must have some form of business acumen in there somewhere if she's keeping this place running.

"Uh... sure. Lead the way." He says, waiting for your boss to lead him off while she talks his ears off, leaving you behind to just...

Go...

Wild...

"... Oh, God, she just gave him a blank cheque." Jasper says.

You definitely don't giggle to yourself as you rush through to the back room for a case for your next piece of art.

|||

You probably break a record somewhere building this monstrosity, but dammit you've had a bad week and you don't get to do this often enough.

Once you had everything in front of you, the full process of building, booting up a kernel of Jade you pull off your sword manually, and doing the same with some of the most commonly used programs for artistic pursuits, probably takes less than five minutes from start to finish.

You finish checking everything over once more, and find no faults, aside from having to mismatch RAM sticks and maybe going a little overboard on the fans, since the thing sounds like it's ready to take off, but that's just nitpicking at this point. It works, and it works damn well.

You close up the case just as Rosalind and her customer, now barely keeping three boxes balanced in his arms, barely managing to keep up with your motormouth not-boss's extolling the virtues and sins of each device, apparently having mastered circular breathing in the time she was out of your sight.

"... The problem I find with tablets that have built-in screens is the same problem that really old Scrolls used to have- they'd keep making tougher glass, so companies would keep making it thinner, and there would be no overall improvement in toughness. You drop it, it cracks, you just wasted 4000 Lien. People say they're easier to use, and yeah, they're right, but once you deal with the whole contact/appearance disconnect, it's really a non-issue."

"Uh huh." He responds blandly, really quite obviously not taking any of this in.

"At the same time, though-"

"Computer's set up." You call out, breaking Rosalind out of her monologue and drawing a silent look of relief from her victim.

"Oh, great! So, which one do you wanna try first?"

"Uh…" He places the boxes down on the desk before picking the one at the bottom of the pile. "I guess, start with a screenless one, see how bad it can be?"

While that goes on, you eventually feel a sort of… stretching in the back of your skull. Like the digital equivalent of a yawn.

Upgrade materials processed. The Transistor's capabilities have been expanded. Upgrade results- 24 Memory slots available. Maximum range from System Administrator- 110 metres. Shell defence on par with military-grade vehicle armour- critical fracture points tightened to maximum of 2.5 milimetres. Vocal capabilities established. Reinstating fork logs.

The report echoes through your head as your sword begins to light up again, first the rosy eye, then the teal body, all flickering a little as it twists around so the tip of the blade is pointing at the ground.

You watch Rosalind and her customer look over from his quick sketch of a figure next to a more technical draft of a mace with a head made entirely of large, angular flanges, that remind you of the flail you saw in the Huntsman's museum. The low sound of awe he gives out almost brings a smile to your face.

That you up, you dozy lug?

{Ooh... wow that feels great.}

Yeah?

{Yeah, this is like, a spa day and a good meal in one.}

Suggestion: test recently acquired vocal capabilities away from unknown parties. At least somewhere where we can't be easily identified as the source.

Agreed.
"Do I really care enough to ask?" DC 6, Roll: 4. "... Nah."
|||

DC 19, Roll: 20.
A raven-haired man walks out of a store, a bag of electronic components and wiring in one hand, digging mildly painful furrows into his fingers. He's not entirely sure what he's doing with it, but he has his task, and he'll be damned if something as small as not really knowing how to solder a Cherry Tau is going to stop him. Imagine his surprise, then, when he turns the corner and almost immediately sees a familiar face, two girls he can only presume are the boy's sisters, and a giant floating blue sword.

That's definitely a giveaway.

Giving them a wide berth, the man continues on his way, before something catches his eye. A small, leather wallet.

A mild frown comes over his face as he goes to pick it up, unclipping it and oh goddammit it belongs to the one person he's trying to avoid.

Staring at the picture of Jaune Arc, born 63/7/23, blood type O-, he can't help but feel his heart beating out his anxiety.

... He can't exactly put it back down, that would be weird, but he really doesn't want to deal with him just yet that seems like a super bad idea-FUCKIT-

Before the man can protest the idea to himself, he walks after the group.

"E-excuse me. Excuse me! Uh, sir?" He gently calls after them, feeling absolutely mortified about drawing attention to himself. Eventually, thank the gods, he caught the boy's attention.

Wait, he was 17 today. He's an adult, by Valish standards now.

... Or is that Vacuo?

"Uh... can, I help you?"

Oh god, he didn't think of what to say-

"You, dropped this." Just kind of stumbles out of his mouth in hesitant Valish, and he only hopes that he doesn't sound like a moron.

He offers the wallet, hoping that Jaune will understand, take it, let him go and stop staring at him- the raven-haired man just catches himself before he sighs in relief, as the attention finally focuses on something other than him. Comprehension dawns on the Arc son's face as he pats down his jeans, feeling a distressing absence he's been long familiar with and manages to pull a shaky smile out of empathy if nothing else.

"Thank you, God, I'm so clumsy," Jaune tells him with a little laugh, one of his sisters, her hair an unnatural black, admonishing him for his carelessness. The raven-haired man doesn't care about that, he just wants out of this as quickly as possible because that sword is staring at him-

"Well, you, you have nice, a, nice day, now."

With that, he walks off as quickly as he can without looking like he's running away from them.

He fails. Miserably.
​

|||

"Nice guy. Seemed a little anxious though." You hear Jasper mention as you turn around, wondering how your wallet even fell out of your pocket.

... Actually, how did that happen, and why didn't your handy dandy surfboard-sized personal assistant remind you of that?

"So, your sword is up and running, what would take so long to tell us about compared to just showing us?" She asks the moment you're even remotely away from a crowd, drawing your attention away from your sword for a moment.

"{This, probably.}"

The voice that comes from your sword is definitely Blue's, the husky, somewhat synthetic male voice you've grown so used to hearing in the back of your head, now out in the open for everybody to hear.

Jasper freezes for a moment, turning on one heel to look at your sword.

"{Yeah. Hey, Jasper. I'm Blue. We... haven't met yet.}"

She gawps, for a moment, before turning to look at you.

"... Jaune? This isn't funny-"

"Jools said the same thing, don't worry." Jaana interrupts her, only focusing the confusion on her instead.

"... You knew?"

"I've known since... Monday, now. So has mom, dad, and Jools."

Jasper just kind of looks between the three of you with varying levels of confusion, before making a noise that makes you worry she may have actually discovered a way to injure yourself overthinking something, before throwing her hands up and sighing.

"I- ok, ok! Fine, you... what did you do, actually?"

"Create one of the most advanced AIs in existence, only barely rivalled by the result of an Atlesian military project a decade and a half in the making."

"{Your brother's Semblance is ten different flavours of bullshit.}"

Between the three of you, you quickly catch Jasper up to speed on the existence and structure of the AI in your sword. Much like her sister, she does seem to accept it pretty quickly.

Then again, you suppose she has a lot more evidence to contend with.

"{So, yeah, so long as we're around, Jaune's not going to get hurt on our watch.}"

"... 'Our' watch?"

"Yes, 'our.' My name is Bracket, and I haven't met either of you yet. Hello."

You startle a little hearing that, noticing that different parts of your sword flicker with Bracket's voice, but of all the voices you expected him to choose...

"... Bracket... why did you choose to sound like a woman?"

Your diagnostic AI's chosen voice is, for some reason only he and God are aware of, a rather sonorous female one, completely unsynthesised. H- sh- Bracket, for all intents and purposes, sounds like a young woman.

"People easily differentiate between male and female voices compared to two different male voices, more pleasant than just going full synthetic, and I don't particularly care about which gender I'm perceived as. This is the most efficient course of action."

God, it's weird, hearing such a... you hesitate to say silky, voice, speaking in the same blunt tones you normally associate with the less social of your best friends.

... Still, you're not even going to argue with that. You doubt Bracket's going to be speaking that much anyway, so... nothing but nitpicking, you suppose?

Ach. Whatever, it's not a problem, you guess.

You get home, the birthday cake is unveiled, you make your wish, the usual birthday shenanigans, and eventually, you're left in bed, tired from the day, and wondering over a lot of things. Namely, the fact that your sword can now reveal its sentient inhabitants whenever it wants to, and the subject of the Process.

Process has acquired baseline intelligence and form, sysadmin. We are ready for expansion as you see fit. To this end, we have compiled several plans of action that you may be able to use. Alongside that, we have judged each plan according to four criteria. Would you like to review them?

Very much so.

---

Process Planning now available.

Each plan of action will fulfil each of these four criteria to varying degrees. Their impact on these criteria will be noted in each plan using a W/X/Y/Z model. The criteria are as follows:

• Mesh Spread- how far the Process's information and communication mesh spreads with each choice.
• Profit- DOSH
• Public Opinion- how each option affects the public opinion of the Process, in terms of a success and failure. Higher numbers mean higher risk/reward.
• AI Wellbeing- User Input is a bitch, learn to sanitise it as quickly as possible.

[] Artsy Statues- 4/0-10/4/5

• +eye catching, but innocent- most likely won't be regarded
• +easily made with the Process
• +very low chance of being paid to create sculptures for people, and we all know how modern art sells
• -kinda pigeonholes you- ability to affect the world with the Process and keep the statues' true purpose a secret are mutually exclusive
• -don't actually give that much of a radius boost unless you plan on planting one at every street corner
• -the people of Remnant are antsy around anything made of smooth white plating for many reasons

[] Real Estate- 7/7/5/4

• +what the fuck are material costs and how do you eat them
• +what the fuck is employee wages and how do you eat them
• +easiest way to build the Mesh over a long period of time
• +- Possibility of "I'll make an offer... IN CASH!"
• +-not subtle in the slightest
• -finding large building contracts without looking/that aren't shady as fuck maybe difficult at first
• -buying real estate requires capital- probably going to need a loan/buy the cheapest of the cheap to begin with
• -you are not going to be popular in the construction industry

Personal Assistants- 8/6/5/4

• +Easiest way to socialise the Process
• + Would help people come to terms with their future lord and saviour faster
• +-Process Gaiden is go!
• -Sanitising user input would be a priority
• -Introducing cute li'l Cells to people may make revealing the big guns later on a shock to the system
• ~Market PAs with weapons? Huntsmen-only model?

Underground colonies/Bedrock assimilation- 10/1/1/10

• ++Would allow for near-unlimited growth, within the confines of not causing sinkholes
• +Could be a good staging ground for other projects/projects you don't want people to know much about
• -limited access to all that sweet sweet Processing power
• -if found out, you're going to have some explaining to do
• -Grimm may or may not fuck with you (read: definitely will fuck with you)

With that out of the way, onto normal scheduling!

---

FINAL WEEK PLANNING
(YES IT'S ACTUALLY THE FINAL WEEK I DID THE MATH)

CHOOSE SIX
​

Slot Locked- Team Meetup.

Slotless Task Completed- Spreadsheet Training document submitted and verified- 2500 Lien

Dosh Acquirement ​

(Money- 3900 Lien)- Coffers are looking a little bare there, my man. You should probably get a job.

[] Hyper Arcade (Permanent Option, 4000 Lien per slot)

[] Electron Palace (6000 Lien, possibility of a free upgrade)

[] Personal Assistant AI Design- Oh this is a fucking hoot- some startup contacted you asking you to help design a personal assistant using some open-source voice recognition software you've never laid eyes on, and all you've got to do is 'consult.' This is the life. (5000 Lien, general experience with personal assistant code)

[] Legacy Code- STOP SCREAMING. The company, you don't even read names anymore, just addresses, wants you to fix up a program that's basically how their company functions, and, you know, transfer it over to a computing language that wasn't written in fucking Carcosa. (8000 Lien)

Social​

[] Signal Team You're already doing this.

[] Lumen- Hang out with Lumen for a day. He seems like he's entirely incapable of causing somebody stress, and God you need yourself somebody like that right now.

[] Creme- {... Touch the tail-} FUCK OFF NO- Hang out with Creme! She seems nice! She may be the only fucking sane person in your team! {... Ok but what's the tail feel like-} AAAARGH-

[] Ada- ... You've done what you can with Ada for the moment.

[] Penny- Who knows! Maybe you'll not almost get shot this time!
-[] Introduce Penny to other people- the girl could do with some friends who are actually baseline humans. Invite her to hang out with some of your other... friends- invite her to hang out with your team!

[] Weiss- This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. Why is Blue bringing up your contacts list. Why is he highlighting her number NO DON'T CALL HER YOU TRAITOROUS THINKING ROCK-

Training​

[] Swordsmanship- SLASHY STABBY (C- 9/120)

[] Gunmanship- POINTY SHOOTY (C 40/120)

[] Tactics- BRAINY THINKY (C+ 85/120) (Requires write-in on how he trains tactics in particular)

[] Athletics- MUSCLE TRAINY (B 100/300)

[] Other- SOMETHING ELSEY

Coding​

[] Code something new? That's really not the best use of your time right now. Focus on what you can finish before Beacon.

[] Continue coding what you can.
-[]What?

 

[Prok]

Happy new year!

|||

[x] Bedrock Assimilation

You consider the Process's question for a moment and its proposed options.

On one hand, personal assistants are an idea that's been bouncing about your head for some time now, partly thanks to Ada, but… something doesn't sit right with you about it.

{People don't treat their toys very well, Jaune. Look at all those tech destruction channels out there, or even just the idiots who yell at their voice-activated assistants because it messed something up, or just for fun. That's not even touching on the things that it'll learn from people.}

… Fair point. Maybe just keep that for people you trust. Like your teammates. And your family.

And maybe Rosalind.

Keeping that in mind though, you can't help but feel like a lot of these options might make people unhappy, to begin with…

So, go with the sneakiest option.

Assimilating the bedrock… what would that entail?

Process would find a key point of entry that would not be noticed- most likely on property owned by the sysadmin's family- and burrow through the local regolith until we reach bedrock. Once that occurs, we will begin assimilating all matter below the city. It will be done slowly at first, to ensure we are undetected by seismological equipment, alongside making sure we do not compromise structural integrity above. Any precious materials will be processed and stored.

{Hrm. It'd be pretty sneaky, but... probably illegal. It's not as if we own the land we're mining under.}

If it's that deep underground, nobody will know until we build up enough capital on the surface to get mining rights from the government.

True...

Would the tree stump out back work as a starting point?

Its roots would serve as decent starting points for tunnels through the regolith. Do you believe this to be the best option?

… You kind of do. Actually, yeah, that's a good idea. You look down at the expectant Cell, quite literally quivering with excitement, waiting for you to say something, anything.

"Go." You oblige it.

01 rushes off the moment you give your blessing, bonking into your door and slipping under it as a puff of Process particles. As soon as it's out of sight, your curiosity becomes overwhelming, and you just have to follow it out.

You see more than one Cell on your way out, and most of your family soon join you.

"Jaune? What's happening?" Jaana asks, following her Cell out from the living room.

"Uh… you know, I'll get back to you on that one."

The robots gently bump into each other, fusing and creating something larger, growing until the resulting creature is almost half a metre tall, clacking along the floor on spindly legs connected to a body shaped like a teardrop, the narrow end pointing out behind it like a metal ponytail.

You follow it through to the kitchen just in time to see it fumbling with the twist knob on the patio door. After a few moments, it stops and turns to you instead, gently whining at you like a dog.

Between the look your family gives you, and the supercell's whining, all you can really do is laugh.

Jaana, quick to learn, turns to your sword instead.

"What's happening right now?"

"{The Process reached a stable version. We came to a decision on what to do with it, and, well, the poor thing's excited. Would you mind open the door for it? We don't, exactly have a good track record with them.}"

"You don't say," Jools mutters as she walks forward and opens the door, the Creep-

Agh, stop doing that-

Ahem, the Creep, not what you would have chosen, but alright, scrabbles out the door and lopes into your back garden, leaving a trail of innovation behind it as its footsteps progress from pinholes in the dirt to several pinholes in the dirt, before eventually flattening out into claws then proper feet as it makes it ways to the tree stump at the back of the garden. You follow it out, as does everybody else because apparently they're invested at this point, just in time to watch your new robot do its thing.

The act of Processing is odd to watch, but it's even odder to feel- you watch as a thin spray of nanites hits the dead wood and spreads like a fungal growth, quickly covering the entire outer layer before it loses cohesion and melts into a puddle of undifferentiated catoms, quickly disappearing down the hole left behind.

Your new robot dog looks down the hole for a second, admiring its handiwork as far as you can tell before it too breaks down into a formless mass of metal goop and reforms into the eight Cells that made it up in the first place. 01 comes back to you, chirping away happily as it gives you live status updates on the Processed mass and its progress towards bedrock.

"... Well, if that's done, I'm going to bed." Jasper says after a moment of silence.

"Wh- that's it?! You're just going to watch that happen, and decide to go back to bed?!" Jools asks your other sister.

"Let me answer your question with a question; do you really want to know the specifics beyond 'dad's lost his summertime nemesis?'"

Jools puts a finger up, opening her mouth to say something. After a moment, the finger wilts, and her mouth closes.

"... Screw this, I'm getting another gin and tonic." She mutters after a moment, stalking back inside to presumably get drunk and try to forget all about that reminder of the controlled grey goo scenario living in her house.

… You know what, you're legal now, you might go and join her-

|||

[x] Personal Assistant AI Design

Saturday​

You sit on your bed, staring at the number in your bank account accusingly.

1400 Lien.

That's nothing. You had 20k less than 24 hours ago, for god's sake. You do some quick mental arithmetic and how did you blow through 84.91% of your savings in one hour?

{Hey, the deadline for that spreadsheet tutorial is today.}

Oh, yeah, you should probably give that to them.

... Ok, 3900 Lien, that's, more respectable. Still not enough, though, not for you. You get the sinking feeling that turning the Process into a legitimate business is going to cost you a lot of money at first, even if just to set up a company.

The point you are making, to nobody in particular, is that you need a job.

{Well, there's a freelance contract going, something about... pfft-}

What? What's so funny?

{It's a consulting contract for a startup company launching a voice-activated personal assistant.}

... Huh. Well, ain't that some shit. How much?

{5000 Lien. Not bad pay, all told.}

Hrm. Well, you can't say no to an easy 5k. Especially since 'consulting' usually translates to 'sit around and tell people what they're doing wrong,' and you can totally get behind that.

|||

"Everybody gets one eventually..." Bad Employer Roll, 1d20 = 11.

Damn near bust, that was. You get home, thank your father for standard iron-clad contracts, and marvel at the 5000 Lien in your bank account like one would marvel at blood drawn from a stone.

Never assume an easy job is going to stay easy, that's like, rule one of freelancing. Anyway, you get Blue to blacklist that particular company from your job results and move on with your evening.

|||

Sunday​

[x] Tactics
-[x]Teach the robit how into chess

Rolls: 7+10+1= 18.

Concordant Action: Swordsmanship. Roll: 20! New Roll Total: 38!

85+38 = 123/120. C+ => B- (3/300)

"Battle, on all levels, is simply the act of outthinking and outmanoeuvring your opponent."

It occurs to you that your strategic senses may not be... great, considering you did take a mostly reactive role during the test, the most initiative you remember taking was leading the girls, half-blind, against some survivors of the system restore, also half-blind. Not exactly General Suleiman coordinating assassinations of Mantle military leaders.

You... wouldn't even know where to begin with improving that kind of thinking.

{Chess is always a good start. It's already a military analogy, if that's what you're concerned about.}

Isn't chess also a mathematically solved game?

No, actually- they've solved some of the simpler variations, and they've made some progress by solving endgames, but the traditional game itself hasn't been completely solved yet.

{Regardless, I wasn't going to be your opponent- I was gonna suggest the Process. Give it the rules, see how long it takes to beat you, then me.}

Uh... huh.

That's... not a bad idea, actually. It's definitely a way to kill a few hours on a lazy Sunday, at any rate. You ping the Process, the whole Process, not just 01.

Chess sounds fun! How do we play it?

|||

"Uh, Jaune? I think my Cell's broken." Jools tells you as she walks into the living room. "It just froze in place and now it won't do anythi- woah."

She stares at the holographic chessboard in front of you, pieces moving roughly as fast as you can see, 01 sitting across from you, also staring at the chessboard. After a second, everything stops, showing two kings in the centre of the board.

"Draw in 276 moves!" It chirps happily at you, before turning to look at Jasper. "Ah! I'm sorry! The sysadmin was teaching me how to play chess, and our first reaction was to appropriate available units for processing power!

Wait, what?

"Process units will freeze under load?"

You're not sure what concerns you more- that that's a thing that happens, or that learning to play chess of all things is what does it.

{It is only a week old. Little Green was developed for seven years before it could beat a world champion, and even then, that was just one game. It's already beat you 114 times out of 300, and it's been learning for three hours.}

"Process units will suspend other tasks if another task takes higher priority and needs resources. All tasks submitted by the sysadmin are given highest priority by default, and learning chess without brute-forcing a win is hard. Functionality restored to other Process units, bedrock assimilation resumed. Will restrict outsourcing to this unit and 10m³ of subterranean Process matter. Using what we have learned, that should be enough to play at our current level."

You blink, feeling a little put out that that whole thing just kind of... resolved itself without you.

Wait, why are you disappointed about that?!

"Wait, what was that about bedrock?" Jools asks you after a moment, concern flashing across her face in a sudden frown.

You freeze mid-text to Ada, answering a similar question to your sisters, and calm her fears that she broke her new friend.

"Wow, would you look at that, I forgot I had urgent business literally anywhere that isn't here-" You tell her as you sit up from the couch, and make a run for your room.

"Oh no you don't you little shit-" You hear her growl behind you, and suddenly she's at the top of the stairs, glaring down at you. "Explanation. Now."

"Er, well, you see, the thing is-"

You reach for the Transistor's hilt, helpfully inching up beside you while you stalled, and Jaunt() past Jools and into the landing proper, in front of Jools, who is now glaring up at you.

"This is my one day off a week and I'm not spending any more of it on you than absolutely necessary. Talk."

... Never, use somebody's Semblance against them. That's-that's never ended well for you.

|||

Monday​

[x] Swordsmanship

Rolls: 14+4+1= 19.

Concordant Action: Tactics. Roll: 20! New Total: 39!

39+9 = 48/120. C- => C (48/120)

Another strike against your shield. You turn it away, going in for your mother's ribs, her own Aura, armour, and ungodly reaction times turning away a strike that would have run her heart through, then bring your shield up once more.

"What's the most important asset a Huntsman can have?" She asks you, not slowing down in the slightest.

"Aura?" You guess, blocking the probing strikes you've learned to expect after a question by now. Granted, you're not quite at the point where you can think about her questions while dealing with her.

"Wrong! The most important asset Huntsmen have is adaptability!" She yells, punctuating her point by attempting to puncture you, forcing you back with every strike. "If you find yourself lost, you find higher ground! If your rations run low, you forage and hunt! If your armour breaks, you use your Aura! If your weapon breaks, you sharpen a fu- a damn stick!"

You find yourself backing up rapidly as your mother apparently starts to overdo it again, but you soon see a glint in her eye that sends your heart to your boots. You watch as the sword leaves her hand, the barely visible wire attaching it to her wrist glinting in the sunlight as it wraps around your ankles midstep, arresting your momentum and sending you to the ground.

"And when a plan of attack doesn't work... you move on to something different." She finishes, smirking at you. "You have to use everything at your disposal to win."

"Noted. Calculating shortest path." You hear a familiar voice call from inside the house.

You can't help but mirror it as your sword bursts through the patio door, sending splinters everywhere, and shocking your mother just in time to send a stream of Ping() at her, the angry reddish-purple balls of plasma unerringly hitting her centre-mass, not doing much damage, but the compounding force eventually sends her onto her ass as well. Once she hits the ground, the stream stops, and your sword sits by obediently.

"As much as I would like to make a smug quip about using everything at my disposal, I had about as much agency in that as you did."

You sit up and start to untangle yourself from the wire around your ankles, gently batting away the sword as your errant tugs bring it uncomfortably close to some parts you'd rather no sharp things near, Aura or not.

"Well, I suppose I deserved... it..." Your mother says, then trails off as she realises what happened to her patio door. And the living room. And the- good God they took out the kitchen as well, how the hell-

She looks between it and your sword for a few moments, a familiar look of tired exasperation coming over her face.

"... Why?" She says, though whether to you, the Transistor, or just the gods above, you can't tell.

"The shortest path between any two points is a straight line."

"{Er, we'll fix it.}"

"Go do that." Your mother says in a voice that could freeze over a boiling kettle, and your sword quickly obliges.

You don't get up just yet- instead, you flop onto your back again, watching the clouds go by as you think. A moment later, your mother joins you, though she doesn't flop so much as gently set herself down.

A Huntsman's greatest asset is adaptability. That's almost profound, right there. At the same time, there's being adaptable, then there's spreading your skills too thin. With the Transistor around, and the Process too, eventually... when are you ever going to need this thing?

"You know," your mother starts, "you're taking to this like a fish to water. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were meant for a sword and shield, honey."

True. It's not like you're bad at this, considering you've only been training three times a week for, what, three weeks? You're aware your mother's sandbagging a lot, but even when her blood does start running hot, you do hold your own for a little bit. Even you know that's... pretty impressive progress.

"True. There's just the question of..."

"'Is it what I want to focus on?' Yeah, I know that one." She finishes for you. "I- Jaune, look, I'm not going to mince words. Your development as a Huntsman wasn't normal. You unlocked your Aura early, your Semblance is a whole 'nother can of worms, and there isn't another sword out there that can act as an independent combatant in the field, and that's entirely discounting what it does for you medically. In the end, no matter what you do... the Transistor isn't going anywhere."

... She's right. She's, entirely right.

Even if you wanted to, and you don't, you still... can't get rid of Blue and Bracket. Even if you relegated them to just helping with your Semblance and your coding, both things you're pretty sure they'd be ok with, at the very least, they'd still be around you, all the time, as a giant floating blue sword with absolutely no ambiguity as to what they were made for.

"... But... do you want to know a secret?"

"Sure, what's one more on the pile?"

She snorts a little at your bitterness, however mildly insincere it may have been.

"Hunters are indecisive, the whole bunch of us. Every moment, from the second we pick up a weapon, we have a little voice in the back of our heads, asking us 'what if this isn't enough?' So, we build weapons that turn into other weapons and use Dust and are generally overengineered to the point of silliness, because we hope that backup plan after backup plan will be enough to save our asses one day. Why do you think I have a sword that turns into a spear and a bunch of garotte wire? Why do you think your father has a maul that turns into a cannon? Why do you think you collect Semblances like other people collect stamps, and yet you still try to learn how to fight with a sword and shield?"

You can't help but frown at that, turning what she has to say over and over in your head like a stone in your hand, trying to figure out what she's saying.

"... I, don't understand. What are you trying to tell me?" You ask her, getting up.

She looks down past her shoes, not even bothering to get up to smirk at you.

"Wanting another weapon is just good instincts." She tells you plainly.

... Oh.

Oh.

Well then.

It's time to choose your weapon, in the most literal way possible. Don't worry, this is by no means a permanent thing- however, changing too often means you'll never truly excel to the level expected of Huntsmen in any one weapon. Inversely, a monk-like devotion to a single form of combat will leave you powerless if it should somehow not be available to you.

Balance is key.

[] Big Blue All The Way- In the end, you're really most comfortable with your friend/floating artillery platform. You kind of enjoy being unique amongst your peers, and the distance between you and your target just makes that all the sweeter. (Full artillery style, long/medium range combat preferred, no backup weapon.)

[X] Mix n' Match- Maybe something to back you up wouldn't be a bad idea. Maybe not Crocea Mors, that was never really yours to take, but definitely something along those lines. A sword, or a knife, just... a panic weapon. (Artillery style, long/medium range combat preferred, close combat weapon for panic attacks.)

[] Buddy Cop Movie That Sh- Your sword. Has an AI in it. Use that. (Use the Transistor as an independent actor-)
-[] Lean back. Take a load off. Let your sword do all the work for you. (-and take a support role in battle. Act as reconnaissance/communication- leaves you with little personal defence.)
-[] Take the fight to them as well. (-and take an active role in battle alongside your sword. Requires a second 'primary' weapon, limits support roles.)

[] Write-in (must be approved by GM before being voted on)

Adhoc vote count started by Prok on Mar 11, 2019 at 6:32 AM, finished with 135 posts and 63 votes.

• ---

  27 people have voted

  [X] Mix n' Match- Maybe something to back you up wouldn't be a bad idea. Maybe not Crocea Mors, that was never really yours to take, but definitely something along those lines. A sword, or a knife, just... a panic weapon. (Artillery style, long/medium range combat preferred, close combat weapon for panic attacks.)

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  • Red Bovine
  • BadAtScreenNames
  • Tiypo
  • Kurdyk.K
  • Slayer1968
  • NuclearConsensus
  • NPC45
  • CaesriusPolybius
  • Nihilo
  • kenmadragon
  • ScorpioBot
  • veekie
  • Dr. Granola
  • ConfusedPotato
  • Robotninja
  • Gnarker
  • Nautilus
  • Monk Penguin

  16 people have voted

  [X] Buddy Cop Movie That Sh- Your sword. Has an AI in it. Use that. (Use the Transistor as an independent actor-)
  -[X] Take the fight to them as well. (-and take an active role in battle alongside your sword. Requires a second 'primary' weapon, limits support roles.)

  • Spectral Waltz
  • Captain Usoland
  • Blonddude42
  • Ashmaker
  • geogio13
  • Sivantic
  • Avoozl
  • NexysDhyArchen
  • Legion0047
  • Eisenstein80060
  • Cyrus2
  • Tazered
  • wrecksalot
  • Nightlord256
  • Muroxxas
  • Jedij4

  8 people have voted

  [X] Big Blue All The Way- In the end, you're really most comfortable with your friend/floating artillery platform. You kind of enjoy being unique amongst your peers, and the distance between you and your target just makes that all the sweeter. (Full artillery style, long/medium range combat preferred, no backup weapon.)

  • Stardust Falcon
  • Axel Fones
  • will408914
  • Hexxart
  • Thalasso
  • kellanved
  • KidFromPallet
  • Pangram

  7 people have voted

  [X] Buddy Cop Movie That Sh- Your sword. Has an AI in it. Use that. (Use the Transistor as an independent actor-)
  -[X] Lean back. Take a load off. Let your sword do all the work for you. (-and take a support role in battle. Act as reconnaissance/communication- leaves you with little personal defence.)

  • PsyFarrow
  • Karugus
  • Damian45
  • Zarion
  • Moonis
  • Blue Dullahan
  • archangis

  1 people have voted

  [X] Big Blue All The Way- In the end, you're really most comfortable with your friend/floating artillery platform. You kind of enjoy being unique amongst your peers, and the distance between you and your target just makes that all the sweeter. (Full artillery style, long/medium range combat preferred, no backup weapon.)

  • chaos299h

  1 people have voted

  [X] Mix n' Match- Maybe something to back you up wouldn't be a bad idea. Maybe not Crocea Mors, that was never really yours to take, but definitely something along those lines. A sword, or a knife, just... a panic weapon. (Artillery style, long/medium range combat preferred, close combat weapon for panic attacks.)

  • notgreat

  1 people have voted

  [X] Mix n' Match

  • Endie Babel

  1 people have voted

  [X] Yes- ... Yeah. Yeah, you're ready for that kind of commitment. Again, less polyamorous when you didn't think it out loud. (Guarantees the formation of team JACL during Initiation. All other characters will be left to chance.)

  • Prok

 

[Prok]

Also, any thoughts on the function suggestion I made? I need a backstory to the discovery beyond what little I have so far.

Click to shrink...

Function's good, adding it to the list. Don't sweat the backstory too much- sometimes people just have good ideas and work on them.

Then some people are me and make shit like this.

Okay, crazy idea.

We make a pistol that fires single shot functions. Almost like old-school D&D spell books, we would pre-craft rounds that would actualize when the round connects. For example, Crash() rounds would be amazing at stopping a charging Grimm. It would be even better if we can make them compatible with a regular gun; though I'd place a bet that Ruby would practically become our shadow at that point.

Click to shrink...

With the Process, all is possible. However, that's a long, long, long way down the line, and probably not worth your time in the long run.


So, this actually started out life as a Hotline Miami interlude, of all things, but I couldn't make it work very well. Then I realised everything up to the point I was having problems with could apply to a semi-greenhorn Preacher Jaune and worked with that instead.

Writing's funny like that.

---

Things weren't going well. At all. You don't even know why Ruby made you come along on this. You're not, smart, or strong, or fast, you don't know how to find people, you can't… do anything. Granted, you don't think she expected to end up fighting the White Fang on the docks when she just set out to look for Blake, but you know what?

You are!

And that's not a situation you wanted to be in!

Ever!

The sound of gunfire and explosions only serve to make you shrink further behind the crate you're using as cover, trusting it more than your armour, your shield, or Aura. You don't know where Ruby or Penny is, but before you can gather the courage to run and find them, Blake flies gracelessly over your head, flopping on the ground for a moment before lifting herself into a crouch and quickly scrambling over to you, sharing your cover for a moment.

"What are you doing back here?!"

"Having afternoon tea with Lady Pigglebottoms, can I interest you in a scone?"

Having your eyebrows singed off by a grenade tends to leave one numb to anger. And, numb in general.

You may be suffering from mild nerve damage.

She stares at you, gritting her teeth as she decides between chewing you out or just going back out there.

"Look, Ruby's pinned down- one of them broke her Aura and she took a bullet to the ankle. I'm not doing great, and her friend's too busy keeping the Bullheads off us to deal with Torchwick and his goons. We need your help."

It all just washes over you, and you begin to realise how useless you really are right now.

"I-I can't help. I don't have a gun, my Aura won't hold up under that much gunfire, even if I could get close I'm not a good enough fighter to stop any of them-"

Lie.

You know you can do a lot more than stop them.

You just don't want to. Because you're a coward.

"Jaune, now is not the time for this-"

"Now is exactly the time for this!" You snap at her. "I wasn't expecting to fight terrorists tonight! What do you want me to do, commit suicide by White Fang to buy you a few seconds?!"

She winces slightly, and you almost feel bad for snapping at her like that. Except, you know, you have a fucking point.

But you know you could do more.

You try to shake the thought from your head. It's not worth it.

Because they'll hate you afterwards.

No! It's just- you don't… it's not worth it-

They're not worth it, you mean.

"... Fine. Just stay here. If you see an opening, run for Ruby." She says, relenting in the face of your reluctance.

She's going to die without your help. They all are. Coward.

As you see her steel herself to go out there, it occurs to you that Blake might not be coming back. This might be the last time you get to talk to her, and you just spent it sending her to her own death.

"Wait!"

She whips to look at you, the adrenaline keying her up so hard you're almost surprised she didn't shoot you herself.

"I-I can help. I just… want you to promise me something first."

"I don't have time for this, Jaune-"

"Just… don't think less of me when I'm done."

Blake blinks, confusion plain on her face, but she nods anyway, and you force yourself to take a deep breath.

Ok.

Ok.

You can do this.

Somewhere inside your soul, a child beyond God is crying out.

"... Cover your ears."

Fire fills your throat as you rush out from behind the crate and focus on the White Fang members in front of you.

"BE STILL."

Like an explosion from your mouth, the divine will of a child born to a capital A Angel and a capital D Devil throws itself into your Words, and everyone in earshot finds their bodies paralysed where they stand. Bullets still spray your Aura for a second as fingers lock onto triggers, empty clicks soon following.

Thank God.

You look back at Blake, and sharp guilt stabs you in the chest as you see her locked into the same rictus, her eyes fixed on yours in fear, even with her ears covered.

"No, no, no, I told you to cover your ears-" You start to say, before realising for the first time tonight the, er, the secret she's been trying to hide.

The pair of fuzzy cat ears poking out from her hair stand proudly uncovered by either bow or hand.

Shit. Shit shit shit. You've always wondered if Faunus could hear out of their second set of ears but shit.

"Blake Belladonna, be free of my command. Be exempt of all others I give until sunrise."

She drops to the ground, coughing her little heart out.

"Couldn't- kfh- breathe, felt like, my lu-kaff- lungs were frozen-" her coughing fit continues for a second before she collapses fully, laying on the ground wheezing for air. You run to check on her, laying a hand against her neck and thankfully finding a strong heartbeat under your fingers.

Standing again, you issue another command as quickly as you can.

"BREATHE, YOU IDIOTS!"

Because apparently you need a fucking degree in law to use the Word of God without accidentally killing people-

You watch as the few White Fang members in your field of view start wheezing, sucking in air as if they'd just surfaced from underwater. Blake finally recovers, stumbling to her feet, using the container to prop herself up.

"... What... did you do?" She asks, and you can't help but freeze like they did, before you recognise curiosity more than disgust in her voice and manage to relax somewhat. "It was like..."

"God Himself came down from Heaven and commanded your lungs to stop what they were doing?" You finish for her.

"... Yeah. Exactly like that. Is-is that your Semblance? Persuading people?"

You give a humourless snort at the sheer understatement of that theory, walking towards the White Fang goons once you're sure she can follow you.

"Blake, you know as well as I do that that wasn't persuasion. It's... the complete cessation of free will."

You don't need to look at her to know she's concerned about the implications of that, but you still can't bring yourself to look anyway.

The first White Fang member you come near is shorter than you, and a lady if the voice heaving air is any indication. Reaching up, you pull her mask off and confirm it, looking into those big, rectangle-pupilled eyes of hers.

"... N-no way. Semblances can't- they can't just remove free will like that, it's not possible." Blake continues, going to disbelief before anything else, because honestly, how else can you react to finding out your best friend is a free will killing abomination with a child in his soul that puts him further up the metaphysical food chain than the entirety of humanity?

She's not wrong, mind. Semblances can't remove free will.

Semblances.

"See, I'd be inclined to agree with you, but at the same time, I don't think Semblances usually awaken by getting slammed in the chest by a comet with the face of a toddler and immediately making two boys and a girl beat each other into three piles of pulp, but hey, feel free to share your comet story and prove me the rule rather than the exception."

"Wait, you got your Semblance because of what?"

"What's your name?" You ask the girl in front of you, ignoring Blake for the moment.

"S-Sandra." She tells you, the name ripping itself from her throat without any thought on her part. The fear on her face doesn't make you feel any better.

"Sandra, do a handstand."

Without any hesitation or sign of an inability to do so, Sandra swaps her hands for her feet, performing a perfect handstand.

"... Jaune, that's just creepy." Blake mutters behind you.

"It's a test. I wasn't able to ask questions before. This, thing, this not-Semblance, it's... growing. It's been growing for seven years now." You turn to look at Blake, something you said earlier finally occurring to you. "Blake, raise your left hand."

She does not, instead giving you the look of disgust you so feared earlier, but this time it only brings you joy. A stupid grin crosses your face as you realise what's happened.

"Jaune, if you try to order me like that again, I'm going to shoot you." She snarls at you, hand tightening around her sword.

"Blake, what's your left hand doing right now?"

She blinks, looking down at her hand as if it's somehow betrayed her.

"... But... I thought I- I definitely felt the urge to lift it..." The realisation hits her, and shock crosses her face. "... You made me immune until sunrise."

"I made you exempt."

A wild laugh pulls itself from your throat as you rush forward and hug her, quite easily picking her up and hugging air as her shadow clone phases out of existence, leaving her to the side and crossing her arms, giving you a much softer look than she was ten seconds ago.

"... Sorry. Got, carried away." You sheepishly tell her. "But, this is amazing! My entire life, I've worried about the fact that any time I tell somebody to do something they wouldn't be able to refuse, or, or the fact that I might start liking doing that, but now, now I can actually-"

"DIE, YOU ABOMINATION!" You hear Sandra scream as a pair of Aura-enhanced arms wrap around your neck, squeezing your throat shut. It's almost a proper headlock, but the angle isn't quite right, so instead of everything going black in a few seconds, you can feel your brain screaming for oxygen as two major lines are crushed almost flat, the pressure an unbearable pain in your neck and skull both-

And as quickly as it started, it's over. The arms loosen, and you fall forwards, the relief of pressure a quite literal lifesaver. Looking backwards, through the tears in your eyes, you see Sandra and Blake fighting, a single bullet on the ground between you and them.

The child beyond God screams out in rage. How dare she touch its host.

Images of fire holy and unholy fill your vision, and with them there, you don't even realise you've stood up. You don't really realise you're speaking.

"STOP."

Sandra freezes in place and suffers deeply for it as your friend's sheath-cum-cleaver runs across her thigh, breaking her Aura and drawing a scream of pain as it draws blood. Blake turns to look at you, and something in your eyes turns her ears flat because she sheaths her sword and rushes towards you, placing her hands on your shoulders to hold you in place.

You barely even notice her trying.

"Jaune, Jaune, look at me. Look at me." She says, balls of her feet digging into the ground as you walk forward, looking straight at the other Faunus quivering in fear as she tries to stem the flow of blood. "God, when did you get this strong-"

You stop, maybe ten feet away from the goat Faunus, and look at her paling face. Blake steps in front of her, hand on her sword.

"...Move." You ask her, not even putting the Word behind it.

"No. I know you don't really want to kill her, no matter how angry you might be right now. Because I know you're better than that."

… Are you?

Are you really?

Are you better than a man who would kill a crying girl trying her best to crawl away from you on a bad leg, bleeding out as she goes, just because she watched you do something that should be so abhorrent to anybody who can understand what it is you're doing?

... The fires die down. The child calms, no longer stirring up such wrath, leaving you with calmer eyes.

"... Sometimes, I really, really wish I wasn't." You tell Blake honestly. "Now move, she's bleeding pretty badly."

Indeed, your assailant is looking rather pale- you imagine adrenaline is the only thing keeping her so wide-eyed. Blake blinks but does as you ask, moving to the side, still watching you with a hand on her sword. You walk up to Sandra, and she tries to move again, the effort making her hiss in pain.

"Hey, where you goin'?" You ask her. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Hand to God."

"F-fuck you, you will-stealing abomination-"

You squat next to her, looking over the wound. Shallow, but long. Better than it looks. You undo your armour, pull off your hoodie, and start taking strips from the shirt underneath, the fabric tearing easily in your hands until you have a decent length of cloth, and your abs are feeling the cool November air.

"That I might be. I might be a will-stealing abomination- shift your leg up, please- one bad day away from turning you and everybody else I know into a mindless thrall, hanging on my every word… but ya know what?" You ask her honestly, as you wrap your makeshift bandages around her thigh, trying your best to apply pressure to the cut.

"... What?" Sandra obliges you, the apparent change in your attitude muddying her opinion of you enough that she doesn't keep spitting venom at you.

"I could do all that, and I'd still be a better person than my bitch of a grandma."

 

[Prok]

You know what I kind of regret?

Completely wiping the Fate Shop, because I had some decent ideas there, they were just kind of… square peg, round hole.

I coulda used it somewhere with less of a firm grip on reality, at the very least.

---

"Ooh. I know that look. That's your thinking look." Your mother teases you, breaking you from thought.

"Wh- I don't have a 'thinking' look."

"You do! It's this dark, brooding thing like somebody's just shoved a peeled lemon in your mouth."

"{It's true, you're one chin on a fist away from looking like an angry Mistrali statue.}"

Et tu, Blue?

"Quiet you! You've still got stuff to fix!" Your mother shouts at your sword, drawing a yelp from it.

"{Yes ma'am!}"

She grins as her new whipping… entity, flits back off into the house, repairing the wall behind it, then turns back to you.

"Seriously though- Lien for your thoughts?"

"Nothing too big. I'm just thinking over what you said, and… I think I'd be better off with using the Transistor most of the time. I'll just, get something to use as a backup. You know, in case something locks it up again."

She winces, no doubt remembering the last time the Transistor crashed.

If Juniper wasn't an absolute saint and hadn't volunteered to be the first person to have her Semblance scanned, you'd still be paying your neighbours for the damages.

"Is… that likely?"

"No, I can't think of anything that would be that much of a shock to the system. It's a lot more robust these days. Still, I think a backup weapon would be a good idea if nothing else. A knife, maybe a mace."

Thoughts flit through your mind of a shield-shifting arm piece and shortsword combo but is immediately cast aside upon remembering certain images you may have found when curiosity around the subject last came up.

Formshifting armour is... something you would need to really, really sit down and think about, before committing any time, money, or body parts to i-

Oh Gods weapons cost money. They are goods that must be acquired via the exchange of currency.

Your mother must see something else in your face, and claps you on the shoulder.

"Yeah, money is a problem. How much you got?" She asks you.

"6400 Lien."

"Well, that should be enough for a hunting knife or a mace, or- oh, stop that, I'm just messing with you." She relents after a moment of watching your face fall further and further. "You can always claim from Signal's weapon budget, you know."

Wait, what?

Signal's weapon budget was sitting pretty at about ten million Lien a year, sure, but…

"Isn't… it a little late for that? I thought you could only claim it in first year."

Your mother gives you that little smirk that tells you she knows more than she's letting on.

"No, but almost everybody does claim it in their first year, and that's not the same thing, and they can't spend it on anything else by law until the student it's allotted for leaves Signal."

You blink, letting that sink in while your mother finally gets up, offering her hand to you, which you take and pull yourself up.

"Still, don't worry too much about it- if you phone up Professor Moss, he'll take you through the application process. Though I have to ask- all this time, and you've never mentioned Crocea Mors. Why is that?"

Ah. You wondered if/when this would come up.

"... You talked about giving it to Jasmine with Dad. Crocea Mors isn't mine to take."

"Ah. Sometimes I wonder why we bother trying to have private conversations in this house." Your mother snarks at you good-naturedly. "Still, you know, so that's one awkward talk nipped in the bud. Even so, Signal starts a couple weeks after Beacon, so, if you do want to borrow it for the Initiation…?"

She shrugs a little.

Still, you keep it in mind. More options is always a good idea.

"You up for another round?" She asks you, picking up her sword and clicking a hidden switch. You watch as the coil of wire disappears into the hilt, and the entire thing sprouts another few feet. "It's been a while since I fought somebody with a spear."

Grinning, you pick up your sword and shield, and take up form.

It might not be your main weapon but damned if this isn't kinda fun.

|||

Tuesday​

Lumen is currently staring at you over his fingers with an intensity you didn't entirely think him capable of, those prismatic eyes narrowed at you in every sense of the word. Ada's sitting next to him, looking irresponsibly smug, 02 in her lap and watching you as well.

"... Do it." He asks you.

You snap your fingers and feel the twinge of an energy-matter reaction above your fingers as a third Cell comes into existence, gently landing on the table and ambling over to him, chittering the entire way.

Lumen stares at it for a second, before nodding solemnly, reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulling out 200 Lien. He places it in Ada's outstretched hand.

"I'm so sorry I doubted you."

"I forgive you, but only because you just bought me dinner."

|||

Tuesday (but earlier)​

It's on the train into the centre of the commercial district that you realise you have no idea what exactly you're going to talk about with your friends. Obviously, giving them all Cells, sure, but… after that?

{You could always just dick around in the city centre for a few hours. You know, like normal teenagers.}

True…

{... But you get the feeling that's not how this is going to go.}

Look, you haven't had a day out recently that's not ended in somebody pouring their heart out to you, and while you're, kinda accepting of the fact that, yeah, you're a damn fine shoulder to cry on, you're getting just a mite short on the matter.

… And if you talk to anybody about it, you'll be doing the same thing you're complaining about, agh-

{You're not a therapist, Jaune. And nobody's expecting you to be one.}

… Ok, yeah, that's… fair.

{Look at it this way, all the problems people are shouldering on you- at least they're practical problems. They have tangible solutions that can be put into place.}

In the form of creating a city-spanning molecular deathtrap. Kind of all-encompassing, that.

There isn't a problem that can't be solved by the right application of energised nitrogen plasma.

Vacuo's economic crisis on account of rampant corruption anywhere outside of the academy.

Make glass from all the sand. Sell it. Track the money. Shoot anyone who shouldn't have it. Problem solved.

Pfft.

Bracket's gone and grown himself a sense of humour. It's a work in progress, but it's certainly there.

Your stop is announced over the intercom, and you get up, making your way to the train door, the Transistor silently floating out of the above-head luggage compartment and falling in behind you as you step onto the platform.

It's a five-minute walk from there to the small shopping centre everybody agreed to meet up at, and at this rate, you should be a bit early- early enough to sit down and get some outside coding done. You arrive there with little issue, sitting on one of the granite blocks that pass for seating, and just take in the day for a moment.

A gentle breeze flows past you, taking the weight of the late July sun off your back. Barely a cloud in the sky.

The day's almost beautiful enough for someone as anti-outdoors as you to enjoy it.

Despite your earlier scheduling, instead of programming, you find yourself watching the Cell alternate between sunbathing, playing in the fountain, trying to make friends with the birds around here, and only managing to scare them off.

"Oh my God, it's just as cute as it looked!"

The sudden yell makes you jump in your seat, and you turn to realise that Creme has joined you, curls bouncing in time with her heels as she quite possibly loses the ability to compose higher thought just from looking at the Cell.

You genuinely didn't know somebody could have this much of a weakness to cute things.

"You approve, then."

She nods furiously at you, dopy grin splitting her face, and it's all you can do not to laugh. You silently call 01 over to you, picking it up and holding it out for Creme.

"This is 01. Don't worry, it doesn't bite."

Tentatively holding her hand out, 01 hops over with a tiny hup of effort, and she brings it close, cupping the tiny robot in two hands as the excitement in her eyes turned to genuine wonder.

"... It's… warm." She murmurs, completely enraptured by your new friend.

The two of you play with 01 for a while, Creme treating it like a puppy and having it act like one in response, getting much the same fright as Ada did when it proves it can talk, and you calmly explain to her the very basics of what the Process is.

While the two of you are playing, you notice a look of mild conflict flash across her face as she glances at you when she thinks you don't notice. You get the feeling she may want to say something to you, but before you can ask her anything, you spot Lumen coming down the street, gently crouched as he moves towards Creme.

He spots you spotting him, and lifts a single finger to his lips, his brow furrowed with an unusual seriousness for the boy. The only thing that assuages your concern something unsavoury is going to happen is the dopey grin that splits his face as he moves behind her.

With a feeling of practice to the motion, he firmly taps Creme on the shoulder, drawing a panicked yell from her, ducks and shifts to her other side as she turns to see what just got her, and holds a finger directly over her other shoulder. When she turns to look over her other shoulder, she smushes her cheek against the outstretched finger, staring at the smug git, confusion and the beginning of outrage on her face.

"Hey, Creme. Long time no see." Lumen says casually as if the first thing he did after not seeing her for almost a month wasn't messing with her.

She slaps the finger away, the hard frown twisting into a little smirk.

"Yeah, not long enough."

He gives her a look of mock hurt, his hand coming to his chest in shock. Before he can continue, he finally notices 01.

"... Huh."

Completely forgetting about the bit with Creme, he walks over to it, his eyes gently pulsing between wide as dinner plates and pinhole narrow. After a second, he turns to you, his eyes returning to normal for a second.

"Do you mind if I-?"

"Go ahead. It doesn't bite."

You mentally coax 01 into his hands, and watch with great interest and mild horror as, after a few moments of focus, one of his pupils widens so far that they actually subsume the whites of his eyes, while the other shrinks to to a point, leaving them looking like a pair of snooker balls. The overall effect is… disturbing, to say the least.

"Oh, God, that's not nice to look at," Creme mutters from behind her hand, looking more than a little nauseous.

Lumen ignores her, still entirely enraptured with 01, gently turning the tiny robot this way and that, trying to view it from every possible angle.

"...It's… perfectly coloured. It's exactly the same shade of white all over. I've never seen anything like it."

"The perks of perfect atomic structure, I imagine. See anything else interesting?"

You have to admit- you're actually quite curious how Processed matter looks to somebody like Lumen.

"Well, aside from the monoshading, it keeps giving off very slight pulses in low paryl- sorry, in the low microwave range, at least, as far as I can tell." He explains, blinking back tears in one eye. "Agh, fuck I shouldn't have done that outside-"

Lumen clutches his face, doubling over in pain.

"Oh my gosh, are you ok?" Creme asks him, only to be waved off.

"I'm fine, I'm, fine, just… opening my iris as far as it can go, the sun is right there, not, not my brightest idea."

You and Creme both give a little 'ahh' of understanding, and then kind of, stand around awkwardly, waiting for him to recover.

Incorrect- pulses are in the HF radio wave range- part of long-range scanning protocols. Enhanced eyesight must be on the very edge of the radio wave spectrum.

… Huh.

Before you can do anything with that info, a text from Ada pops up in the corner of your eye to tell you she's just off the bus and less than five minutes away.

Seven minutes later, you spot her walking around the corner, 02 trailing at her heels, and wave her over. You can't help but note how dishevelled she looks- her waist-length hair makes her look like she's been dragged through a bush, and her clothes, including her poncho, are slightly torn in some places, dark stains spattering the light shirt underneath her poncho. As she gets closer, you note with some alarm that some- no, most of the stains on it are in fact blood and that her eyepatch is holding on by a bare thread.

"Sorry!" She calls out, jogging over to you. "I got called into work, it was an emergency, and I only just got off! I'm not... late..." she comes to a stop, looking over the three of you. "... Oh come on, I don't look that bad, do I?"

"Ada, you look like you lost a fight with a Loxy." Lumen tells her bluntly.

"As I said, work emergency. Look, can we, like, go get a coffee or something first, then we'll talk? I really need a seat."

The general consensus is a worried but positive one, so after you offer to repair her clothes and eyepatch, the four of you make your way to a café, which, in Vale's commercial district, means you take ten steps to the left, and then you're inside one.

Honestly, you'd think the things were breeding.

|||

"So, what do you work as anyway?" Creme asks Ada after you've warded off the management with medical forms and grabbed your drinks of choice, taking a patio seat since the day's shaping up to be a sunny one.

"Well, Lumen wasn't wrong- I'm an exterminator. I deal with Loxies for farmers, Ratkings, Rapier Wasps, actual pests like racoons and hornets, more than once, er, just that kinda shit. It's good work, it can just get… violent, sometimes." She explains, before taking a bite of her cake.

Oh.

You, honestly never would have guessed, but you suppose the job kinda fits her.

{Hey, extermination's good money. It's just not the kind of thing that you can freelance.}

He means farmers tend to object to people firing off plasma in their fields.

{That too.}

"And, that emergency you were called into?"

Ada mumbles something before rushing to chew and swallow so she can answer properly.

"Ok, so, you know how Grimm get stronger and smarter the longer they live, right? That's why Goliaths are like, 90 years old and don't attack humans the same way as like, a Beowolf does?" She asks, waiting for a general sound of understanding before she continues.

"Well you see, the thing about Loxies is, yeah, any kid with a rock and a good throwing arm can drive one off, but that's all they do- drive them off. So, they just keep getting pushed off, they go off and lick their wounds, and eventually…"

"... They get strong enough to pose an actual threat," you finish for her.

"Exactly. I was getting ready to come out, next thing I know I'm getting a call from my boss saying he's coming to pick me up because there's a full plate Loxy in someone's barn. I got there and found two dead cows and a guy with a torn up arm. That was cow blood, by the way, not mine. But yeah, I spent like ten minutes trying to kill the damn thing, until I eventually just phased through the plating and ripped its fucking heart out. And I only got that far because Terry here pulled a goddamn laser pistol out of his ass and blinded the damn thing." She finishes, gesturing to the Cell on the table, which tries to puff out its nonexistent chest with pride.

"... So, a rough day, then?" Lumen asks blandly.

The tiny girl sighs, leaning in to rub her eyes with a finger before resting her head in her hand.

"Rough enough to wish I was stupid enough to drink, yeah."

You raise an eyebrow at that, but don't press any further.

"So... what do you guys do for work, then?" Ada asks you all after a few moments of silence.

"Freelance programmer. People hire me on an as-needed basis instead of hiring on someone in a more permanent position, or if they just need somebody to pad out a team. It's pretty good money, I enjoy it." You offer, still mildly anguished over losing so much money in a single day.

"Oh, er, I, don't actually have a job," Creme mumbles nervously. "I-I dunno, I just, never really... thought about what I would do. My Semblance makes most physical work pretty dangerous, and I really don't like the idea of being sat behind a desk all day... God, it'd kill me."

You nod in understanding. For someone who enjoys your job as much as you, you don't think you could stand it if you were stuck in one place all day.

"My sisters and I make jewellery." Lumen joins in. To demonstrate, he brings his palms up, fingers curled and held together. With a sort of rippling motion, a chain of deep, burnished yellow appears in his hands, with green and blue crystals dotted along the links in an alternating pattern, which he quickly connects together into a bracelet, before adding a heart-shaped charm made from ruby-red... luxin, you guess, and handing it off to Creme.

"Oh, wow. That's amazing!" She says, examining it. "How'd you make it look so close to gold?"

"Cores of perfect yellow luxin, sheathed in very thin green and orange for colour. Took me months to get that perfect. Dot in some blue and green-doped sub-red charms for accessories and keep it from running out too fast, the red charm's coated in superviolet so it doesn't lose its shape. It's an art, is what it is. The whole thing should last about... 8 months before it completely decomposes?"

You listen, genuinely interested in listening to him talk. Lumen's Semblance is incredibly interesting to you because the stuff it creates makes no sense.

It's... like hardlight, but, with texture, with colour, with a smell? How can solidified light of all things have any of that?!

{And the way it destabilises on contact with light is weird too. Stuff shouldn't instantaneously decompose like that.}

True... agh, you hate having more important things than your own pet peeves to worry about.

"So, you use a little bit of everything?" Ada asks him.

"Sure do. Need to, otherwise, the whole thing doesn't look right. Granted, Marcie and I are the only ones who can actually do this, the rest of my family has to make do with coloured lenses and fewer colours at their disposal, so... it's less a family business and more a 'tiny subset of the family' business."

Noting the distaste that flashes across his face when he mentions the rest of his family, you choose to exercise the little tact you have and stay silent. A sort of topical void comes over the group as you eat and drink, as everyone tries to talk about everything but the elephant in the room, even getting to the point of giving Creme and Lumen their own Cells before discussing it, but eventually, one of you has to breach it.

And eventually, Ada does.

"Thank you," she says. "For, everything, all of you. I just... I don't know what would have happened, if I hadn't, met you all, when I did..."

She trails off for a moment, taking a measured breath.

"I just... I guess I can't really... believe that you're all so ok with staying around me when I'm probably going to get you into a lot of trouble. So... I just, want to be sure, so let me ask you one last time."

You listen, watching intently as she stops again, trying to order her thoughts. You watch as she wrings a handful of her poncho, trying to bring herself to look at you all.

"... If you help me... you're going to be put into a lot of danger. You're, going to be in the firing line of one of the worst serial killers in Vale's history. It's, not even a matter of if he's in the city for me anymore. If he comes here... I'm going to fight him. I don't, I don't know if it's going to be because I'll look for him, or if it'll just be a coincidence that we meet, but I know, somewhere deep in that pit in my stomach, that I am going to fight him when he comes here. And, if... if you don't, want any part of that... I won't hold it against you."

Her head drops for a second as she huffs a laugh, a sad little smile on her face.

"It's just... last night, it... God, it hit me like a fucking truck, the fact that, I'm genuinely going to face the worst thing that ever happened to me, and that I'm going to stab him in the face. Probably more than entirely necessary. Then I realised that I was dragging you along with me, and that's... that's not fair, unless I really, really knew that you understood... what you were doing. So... I want to ask you, just... once.

... Are you sure you want to help me?"

You sit there, honestly stunned. All three of you do, staring at the tiny girl who can't bring herself to look you in the eye, silently waiting for your answer.

It stays like that for a while, nobody really... knowing how to react.

"... You already know my answer." You tell her, breaking the silence. Ada looks up at you, eyes misty, and you realise that she needs to hear it.

"Ada Doyle, I created a god to help you kill that man. It might need some time to grow up, but... you're the reason it exists. So is he. I'm not going anywhere."

She sniffs a little, but a little smile pulls at her face anyway.

"I ain't going anywhere either," Creme tells her, reaching over and placing a hand on Ada's shoulder. "I dunno how much use I'll be in a fight, but I wasn't raised to leave a friend out on their ass just because I got scared."

Lumen stays silent for a little while longer.

"... When you put it like that, yeah, this is absolutely insane." He says after a while. "Like... I'll be honest with you, Ada, if I didn't talk to Jaune, and find out the statistics for myself, I'd still be hoping that you were lying through your teeth, but... you're for real, aren't you?"

Ada's smile tightens as she nods slightly, agreeing with him. You notice she hasn't stopped wringing her poncho for all it's worth yet.

"Yeah. Unfortunately."

Lumen's face hardens a little, slipping into deep thought for a moment.

"I..." he trails off, pinching his brow for a moment before gesturing to Ada. "Look, I like you, I, I really do, you're honestly one of the best people I know, but... if it wasn't for Jaune shitting a god on Saturday, I would not be with you, on the whole, fighting Lee deal. I don't, know if that sounds bad, or not, but... it's the truth."

"I am a rather reassuring presence, aren't I?" You comment mildly, getting a small laugh from everyone and a joking 'piss off' from Lumen.

"But... yeah. I'm with you. If, nothing else, then as a friend." Lumen finishes once the laughter dies down.

The smile on her face makes Ada look happier than you've ever seen her.

{Honestly, it's probably the happiest she's been since she heard the news.}

You lean back for a moment, looking at the only three people you can really call friends, like, normal friends, friends your age, friends that are human...

And you serious find yourself wondering... are these three the ones you want to spend the next few years of your life with?

... That, sounded less polyamorous in your hea- when you didn't think it out loud.

(This is an out of character vote dressed as an in-character vote. You are quite literally choosing whether or not to beat chance into a pulp.)

[X] Yes- ... Yeah. Yeah, you're ready for that kind of commitment. Again, less polyamorous when you didn't think it out loud. (Guarantees the formation of team JACL during Initiation. All other characters will be left to chance.)

[] No- They're good friends, but... you don't really want your relationships with them to go any further than that- you are not doing this on purpose you swear- (Leaves all characters up to chance.)

Adhoc vote count started by Prok on Jan 26, 2019 at 2:50 PM, finished with 81 posts and 59 votes.

• ---

  46 people have voted

  [X] Yes- ... Yeah. Yeah, you're ready for that kind of commitment. Again, less polyamorous when you didn't think it out loud. (Guarantees the formation of team JACL during Initiation. All other characters will be left to chance.)

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  ... and 6 more.

  12 people have voted

  [X] No- They're good friends, but... you don't really want your relationships with them to go any further than that- you are not doing this on purpose you swear- (Leaves all characters up to chance.)

  • The Bird
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  • Spectral Waltz

 

[Prok]

You know.

You always wondered how it felt to have your body spread out over about five square feet.

This is, of course, a lie, but now you don't have to wonder, because you know, and the answer is that it's absolutely terrible zero out of ten would not recommend.

You reabsorb some of your blood and try in vain to pull yourself back together, but that damnable 「Suton Jiam」fires off another beam of compressed fluid, separating your lower pile of corned beef from your upper pile of pulled pork and setting you back somewhat in regards to progress.

If it wasn't for the fact that you lost the ability to feel pain about fifteen minutes ago, you might have screamed at that one.

「This is just sad now.」He rumbles at you, pointedly ignoring the many eyes of his you'd managed to blind through sheer luck, his pecs weeping blood from the many now closed slits.

You just about manage to realign your jaw and look over what's left of your shoulder to snark back at him, only to get it shot off again the moment it becomes a target.

Prick.

「No, you lost the right to speak some time ago.」

Your head flops to the ground as you focus all of your strength as you can into pulling yourself back together. Every bit of progress you make is undone by the man behind you, apparently happy to just play with his food, but the focus is helping you stay awake.

You need to stay awake. You're not sure you'll wake up again if you fall unconscious now.

Eventually, he stops, and rolling an eye to look behind you as best as you can, you see him standing there, arms crossed and giving you a complex look. Somewhere between disappointment and impatience.

「... You know, I hate to tell you this, friend, but I think you're beyond the point of saving yourself. Honestly, the fact you're still alive would probably be considered a miracle in some religions.」

Your gurgle something at him to the tune of 'hghk yyuh,' spit a wad of blood vaguely in his direction, and try even harder. Even so, you know he's right. You've been running on fumes of fumes since this fight started, and your attempts to try and pull yourself back together are only slowing down no matter how much of your rage you put into it.

「... Gods Beside, I'm literally beating up a starving child. How low have you sunk, Suton? 」he mutters to himself, before walking away, quite literally leaving you to die.

Somehow, the strength to blink in sheer confusion has not left you, and you do so as he walks past you, into the larger fray happening somewhere past the large SDC-stamped storage crates, and after about a minute, he brings you a snack.

He throws the struggling White Fang member- female, early twenties, lizard Faunus, that tiringly analytical part of your mind informs you- onto the ground, his face promising greater pain if she dares move. An eye on his pectoral muscles fixes on her, and a pressurised beam cuts into her arm, breaking her Aura, and drawing blood and a scream of pain both.

「Feed. Heal. Then we will fight on something like equal footing.」

A primal hunger rises in your stomach, forcing strength upon you that you realise very quickly you wish no part of, your hands dragging you forward without letting you have a say in the matter.

Soon, you are upon her, moving too fast for her to crawl away even in the state you're in, and soon you grab her by the leg, pulling yourself onto her, feeling her bones creak underneath your fingers, cracking but not breaking. You're on top of her, only just barely holding yourself up with your arms, eyes fixed on her neck and ignoring the pool of blood on the ground.

You smell the fear in her sweat. The blood running under her skin. So close.

One nip and you can stop starving.

You hear the hitch in her throat, as she realises what's going to happen, and it cuts through the haze in front of your eyes, and you stop seeing the fear and the blood, and you start seeing Pyrrha, Nora, Ruby, Velvet, you see…

Her.

「Are you waiting for a written invitation? Rip her throat out and drink her dry!」Suton asks you, impatience in his eyes.

You ignore him. A shaky hand pulls her mask off, and you see two eyes puffy from crying, covered in a mask of scales, looking back at you.

"Please." She begs, as if she sees something more than just the mindless beast ready to tear her throat out.

She was right to, it seems. That simple word makes your gorge rise, as you finally regain enough of your senses to imagine one of your friends where she is, to realise that this asshole is just trying to bring you down to his level, and the same sheer power of spite keeping you alive right now gives you the strength to throw yourself off her.

She scrambles away from you and her kidnapper both, quickly pulling herself to her feet and running for her life, clutching her arm the whole way. You hear a deep, rumbling sigh behind you, and, picking you up by the back of your neck, you're forced to look Suton in the eyes.

It almost interests you that there's a genuine sadness there. You know, if you weren't currently regretting crawling away from most of your chest right about now.

「... You are sick in the head, to refuse cattle in the state you are in. I can at least give you the mercy of a quick death.」

He holds his other hand in front of your head, the eye in his palm bulging with pressurised fluid.

As the moment stretched out, and you stared at the look that would kill you, you found questions floating to the front of your mind, things you daren't ponder in your quieter moments forcing themselves forward.

Why did you do any of this? When did you become the man who tries to save people he hadn't known for a full three months? When was self-sacrifice on the menu?

Did you really believe they were your friends? Have you changed that much from living among them? Are you still Sahu, inside? Is Jaune Arc more than just a name, now?

Who are you, really?

「That's something we'll have to find out together.」

You feel something pull itself from where your navel should be, before a gentle light permeates your skin. Suddenly, you're on the ground again, watching Suton Jiam clutch his head. Underneath his arms, you can just make out three smoking holes punched into his face, blinding him.

A small, unerringly observant part of you notes something absolutely garish fading into your arms, but considering how blurry your vision is right now, you can't help but pass that off as a hallucination.

"H-how on Remnant-" he grinds out, still clutching at his face, but three blasts of high-power UV light come from behind you, taking him in the face and shoulders, cutting him off and drawing a genuine scream of pain from the man, the affected skin curling and hardening, peeling off his body and revealing the raw flesh underneath. You can't help but wince, not feeling the slightest bit sorry for him.

A few more shots come his way, and while Otopan may be fast, literally light-speed is a little beyond your species, so he finds his back similarly stripped of skin as he runs, relying on his other eyes to guide him.

You watch him go, before turning your attention back to trying to keep things going internally. It's about the same moment that you realise you're honestly tapped for everything you have that the scent of blood hits your nose, and you realise the girl from before still bled all over the floor. A single hand reaches out for it, splashing in the puddle, and within a second the concrete is dry.

The little vitality you took from this is all that's keeping you alive, now, but you hope to rectify that soon. First, your skull-

Penny runs past you, swords and guns both trailing behind her, something you attribute to the hair-thin wires connecting them all to her back, before she stops just in front of you, the look of anger at her quarry getting away quickly becoming an emotionless mask when she turns to you.

You can only just look up at her, your arms lead and your legs unmoving, and see nothing in her face.

"Help me." You just about manage to whisper with your newly reformed jaw.

"... You could have killed that girl. You didn't. Why?"

There's a certain edge to her voice, one that tells you this is a very important question. One to give your full attention to. You force yourself to look her in the eye, your neck craning as you lift your head, jaw set and a horrid little smile creeping across your face, only worsening the injuries still on your face.

"... I don't know who I am."

Delirium overcomes you, the final bastions of rationality in your head leaving as death looms, and the words slip out before you can stop them.

It's not like it matters, anyway.

… You're so tired. So, so, so tired.

Before you can close your eyes and drift off, no doubt for the final time, Penny waves something under your nose, and the smell of fresh blood magnified a thousand times forces your eyes open.

You see Penny crouched in front of you, holding a single outstretched index finger under your nose, a bead of something very like blood rapidly forming on it. The smell drives what's left of your stomach mad, a deep rumbling and gurgling occurring somewhere to the left of your torso.

"Drink." She commands you.

Your tongue darts out, wrapping around her finger, and the heat of the bloodnotblood diffuses through your body, the few drops you've drunk so far almost making your eyes roll into the back of your head for the sheer nourishment it's giving you.

While you put yourself back together and try to stay sober, you make a questioning noise in Penny's direction, asking her what this stuff is.

"Pure hyper-oxygenated red blood cells suspended in a plasma solution. It's technically meant for emergency blood transfusions, but they found out it was too expensive to mass-produce. So, instead, we use it as… an incentive, for your kind, and as a stand-in for blood where I need it. We don't entirely understand what it is about human blood that you need to survive, but this has it in spades."

She's right, this stuff is borderline addictive. It leaves you abrim with energy, a vitality that begs to be used and burned in making you whole again, though you imagine if you were whole, to begin with, you'd be all but bouncing off the walls right now.

Eventually, the well is drained, leaving Penny looking like a porcelain doll, her skin drained of all colour. You let go of her finger and a quick check confirms that you're in one piece again. Granted, you've done very little for your insides, but dragging everything back together is definitely progress. The last of the solution fades into your tongue, and you release your grip on Penny's finger, head dropping to the cold concrete.

You feel… gorged. Gorged and drained both. A horrid heaviness comes over you once more, and you realise that being dragged kicking and screaming from death has left you drained of something no amount of blood or bloodlike substances can restore, as a horrible, dull pain thrums through your body, enough of your nervous system rebuilt to flip literally every fucking panic lever it can find. For the first time, to your eternal and unending chagrin, a moan of exhaustion actually makes it past your lips, something that your saviour takes an unreasonable amount of pleasure in hearing if her smug little smile is any sign.

"Yeah, that's what confronting your own mortality feels like."

Penny bends, and picks you up effortlessly, throwing you over her shoulders like a ragdoll.

"Come on, big guy. Sun's coming up soon."

You mumble a thank you at her as she carries you off. The gentle sway of her walk sends your head swimming again, and you accept unconsciousness with no argument this time.

 

[Prok]

WHY DO WE EVEN HAVE THAT LEVER

I meant "step or two above the Grimm" in the sense of how they are an outright enemy of humanity that she has no reason to show mercy to.

Like, I can understand him shattering how she views them, but I don't feel like that would be enough for her to go as far as she did for him from my understanding of how they knew each other.

She's too nice and heals him too much in my opinion (or it at least comes across that way). It's a big step to take him past "not gonna die" to "I'm fine, just came back from the edge of death". And the fact that you say he lost his ability to feel pain means that it isn't torture at that point to withhold what he needs to heal further (and thus leaving him less of a threat)

It also leaves giving him that stuff as an incentive for him to cooperate without Atlas running the risk of him getting supercharged by it.

Click to shrink...

Fair points, if I'm honest with myself.

I've edited the update a little, so the extent of his healing is a little clearer. Calling him whole was perhaps not entirely correct on my part- simply... together.

Since, you know, there's only so many containers of meat and meat-related products I can compare him to. The part about pain should probably go as well... actually, no, I know how to fix that.

So, one, someone rated one of my posts from way back on the first Overkill opportunity and I finally, after a year and change, get what Prok meant by quantum potatoes.

Secondly and more relevant to the update, WOO, GO PENNY

Does Jaune's condition when she rescued him mean he gets the nickname "Quarter"?

Click to shrink...

Paté.

B-but my Cultist-Simulator... ;_;

You deleted it...

Click to shrink...

The time controls are burnt into my screen. I damn well should delete it.

Uh... What are you talking about, again?

Click to shrink...

That was my fault, I managed to fumble and post an unfinished draft. Again.

I'm starting to feel sorry for Sivantic- every time I do this, she comments on something that's gone and looks like a crazy person.

Anyway, I apologise for how long this took- college is finally picking up, and I'm planning a second campaign, and another idea grabbed me by the face and dragged me around until I had a prologue and two chapters, which will probably be linked here sooner rather than later, and then Cultist Simulator happened...

Good Lord Cultist Simulator happened.

---

"... Jaune? Jaaauuuunne? Remnant to Jaune?"

You're jostled from your thoughts by Creme's singsong voice, and her hand waving over your eyes. When you actually look at her instead of a thousand yards ahead of you, you see a combination of amusement and mild concern in her face.

"You okay? You were spacing out real hard there." She asks you, amusement losing the war to concern.

"... It's nothing, sorry." You say, trying to keep the twinge of embarrassment from your voice.

For a moment afterwards, you wonder about telling them you wouldn't mind making up a team with them in Beacon, but you realise that, without knowing how teams are selected, you have no idea how to make that a reality.

Not to mention saying that kind of sappy shit out loud would make you want to gag yourself with a spoon.

Creme's single raised eyebrow almost draws the truth out of you anyway.

"Er, I guess… it just, kinda hit me that we're going to be in Beacon this time next week." You don't exactly lie, so much as tell the truth a moment too early for it to be entirely truthful.

Because it does hit you, as soon as you say it.

You're going to Beacon next week.

Like.

It's happening.

The event you have all spent four years of your life training for is occurring in six days time.

The revelation seems to settle over everyone else too, and the reactions are varied. Ada, somewhat predictably, shrugs at it, while Lumen suddenly finds something very interesting in his coffee, and Creme gives a nervous little laugh before joining Lumen in his coffee-staring. You opt for just resting your head in your hands and trying to ignore your stomach doing backflips.

Once it's settled into everyone's hearts, bar Ada, any kind of conversation is somewhat muted for a while. By the time you've finished your coffee, it's returned to normal, but that first shock never quite leaves you after the fact.

|||

Wednesday​

"Unexpected progress is arguably the best progress." Roll: 18.

In one of your few sleepless nights, you code up enough of Directory_Repair() that you feel comfortable testing it on something organic. Out in the back garden, you place down a plywood board and bite into the apple that is your test subject, placing it down on the board and stepping back as you chew on its sweet flesh. Your stomach rumbles, unhappy that that's the first thing you've had to eat in about 16 hours of being active.

Knowing how it works, and looking at what you've managed to code out of it so far, you should be able to test that what you have does what it should do, and not something completely different, like a cancer beam, or something equally stupid.

You swallow the mouthful of apple and start documenting your thoughts on the subject verbally.

"Organic test one- data gathering for fine-tuning purposes. As is, Function is not suitable for regular use, but testing it shouldn't immediately blow up in my face. Bracket, run Directory_Repair()- did I code in variable intensity yet?"

You have not. Abort test?

You consider it for a moment, then shrug.

"It's not a destructive Function. What's it gonna do, heal it too hard?"

{That is a very real possibility.}

True, but it'll at least be interesting to watch.

{Jaune, you can't just randomly test Beta Functions to distract yourself-}

"ANYWAY, test one, full intensity, target coordinates [135, -163, 409], call Directory_Repair_Beta in 3, 2, 1, go."

Before Blue can say anything else, your sword is infused with a deep pink light, which quickly focuses onto the apple in a tight beam.

At first, nothing happens. But slowly, surely, you watch in deep interest as the apple begins to grow, new flesh bubbling out from within and slowly being covered over with bright red skin. Within moments, the apple is whole once more.

... And, a little more than whole. You watch with less interest and more mild horror as the new flesh bubbles over, the entire apple splitting as it grows from inside, the splits healing over with loose skin and filling out with flesh to split open again, the cycle continuing until the Transistor finally cuts the power.

Once the growth stops, you watch the new skin wrinkle and the flesh underneath brown, until nothing is left but a rather large pile of almost-compost on a plywood board, blue mould foaming up at the very end like a final nail in the coffin.

{... In retrospect, an apple probably wasn't the best way to test this. They don't really contain enough energy to heal from damage, which is, fair, it's not exactly their purpose, is it? The only reason we got as far as we did is that we actively started pumping energy into the cells themselves.}

You nod, looking at the remains before something Blue just said starts to stand out to you.

"You put more energy into it? How?"

{It's part of the Semblance makeup already- Teal gives up some of her Aura to kickstart the healing process, which is why it drains her after a while. We just did the same thing, but, you know, we have a lot more to work with, and you still haven't coded in a hard limit to how much we can pump into it. The end result is that we can force it to heal until it's no longer healing, and end up with undirected growth.}

… So… what you're saying is…

{Congratulations, Jaune. You've created the cancer beam. Your Aurus peace prize is in the mail as we speak.}

Ignoring your friend's sarcasm, you look down at the mess you've made and let your mind wander on the possibilities.

The horrible, horrible possibilities.

… You're gonna code in that hard limit now. And a power scale.

Extra progress made: d100: 93. New total: 538/700.

Function Offshoot discovered: Quine(): You… really don't want to consider the implications of actually using this on a living creature. At all. Ever. But it's there. Sitting in a file, just, waiting for you to work on it. (For obvious reasons, you're never going to use this as is- however, it can grant a bonus to coding similar Functions you might find at some point.)

|||

{Any luck?}

I got something out of it- a timer. 1,287,308 seconds and counting down.

{Just under 15 days. Until what?}

Hopefully, until we can tell Jaune. I can't see anything obviously dangerous- I think it's just locked us out until the timer runs out.

{Hopefully. Anyway, I think we've got bigger problems to deal with here.}

You see it too, right?

{That our boy is going stir-crazy working himself up about going to Beacon next week and trying to distract himself from it by working himself towards a burnout?}

You do, good.

... I'm worried about him, Blue.

{I am too, but I don't have the slightest idea how to fix it. There's no way we can convince him to relax, he won't even entertain the idea… hold that thought- look at the Schnee line real fast. What do you see?}

A girl wearing a nightdress doing a very impressive emotional impression of a puma in a cage.

{Exactly. Looking through the logs, she's been stuck in that hotel ever since the 'security breach.' The only bright side is that they haven't tried to install anything else on her devices since we left.}

I doubt they've learned their lesson. Still, cooped up in one of the most luxurious hotels in the city. The textbook definition of a gilded cage.

… Alright, I'll bite. What are you thinking?

{Phone her. Make Jaune give her an excuse to leave. Build connections, distract him for a day, keep her from going completely stir-crazy, making our good deed for the day. That's, what, three birds with one stone?}

One leads to the other; let's call it two and a half. We just need to make sure Jaune won't flat out refuse, though.

{Call it a hunch, but I don't think he'll get the chance to.}

|||

It's at almost the exact moment you finally quantify the energy the Transistor throws into Directory_Repair() and cap it at roughly a hundredth of what was pumped into that poor apple, that you feel your heart drop into your boots.

Once you rule out the possibility of a panic attack, you can actually place a reason behind this feeling.

Blue and Bracket are up to something, and whatever those idiots are planning, it probably involves you doing something fucking stupid.

Unbidden, your contacts list comes into view.

{Jaune. I just want you to know that what we're about to do is for your own good.}

Your feelings of betrayal are both incredibly intense and impossible to put into words because you don't even know what he's doing yet-

You watch as Weiss Schnee's number is added to your contacts list, then called. By the time the first connecting tone has finished, the weight of what's happening finally sinks in.

"Why?!" You hiss at your sword, panic blowing through your mind at speed.

{Because you need some human interaction that involves actually being forced to take care of yourself, and meeting up with the heiress of a company is definitely that. You've been awake for 22 hours, and the last thing you had to drink was a glass of water, yesterday. You're stressing out, and it's making you neglect yourself.}

… Really?

You, actually think about it for a while, and, almost to prove his point, your throat suddenly feels incredibly dry, your stomach apparently trying its best to cave in on itself. To call it a thoroughly unpleasant realisation is like calling low-grit sandpaper a little rough.

Mentally, you end the call.

"Ok. Ok, fine, you've made your point." You tell Blue placatingly. "I'll, go see if I can grab some leftovers, then-"

Your Scroll begins ringing again.

For some reason that you cannot begin to comprehend, though the simple fact that she is is turning your blood into a thick slush in your veins, Weiss Schnee has decided to call you back.

{You're not the only one who needs to get out of the house.}

… Ah.

Ah.

Even understanding the reason for this, it takes a couple of deep breaths before you can build up the courage to actually answer the call, but you do.

-I don't know how you got this number from me, or why you were calling, but the answer is yes.-

"... Er, I didn't, really have anything planned out-"

-Arc, you are the first undeniable excuse I have had to leave this hotel in a week and a half, at this point I would be happy with being kidnapped just for the change of scenery. Tomorrow, Caredhina Station, five o'clock, don't be late.-

Weiss hangs up before you can say anything to her.

You almost wish you were holding your Scroll just so you could stare at it in disbelief, but that kind of satisfaction has been taken from you by the march of technology, and staring at the call icon in your vision just doesn't have the same feel to it.

{... So, how about those leftovers?}

Despite your first thoughts of being a petty little fuck and giving Blue the silent treatment, your stomach decides to show off its impression of a dying whale, which just kind of ruins the mood.

"Yeah, probably a good idea."

Still. You suppose this is a better distraction than giving an apple cancer.

|||

Thursday

Heart palpitations and excess of sweat detected. Are you nervous, Jaune?

Brilliant deduction, Maple.

You're on the train to Caredhina, wearing your best formal shirt and a pair of jeans, on Blue's orders, and that made your sisters suspicious so you had to fend them off which only made that shitshow worse, and now the tag is itching at your back and you can't fix it because you're in public and the bathroom has been occupied for the past thirty minutes by one guy apparently giving birth to a watermelon agh god you're actually meeting up with Weiss Schnee to go for coffee or something holy fuck what is your life anymore-

{Deep breaths, buddy.}

-The next stop is, Caredhina. This train is bound for, Beacon Bay.-

The synthesised voice of the train announcement snaps you free of your nerves, and you realise it's time to get out. A small gesture of your fingers brings your sword and your Cell into step behind you, and you step off the train.

Caredhina station is relatively large, for where it is on the edge of the commercial district, the wide platforms and the high ceiling of glass and steel making it feel airier than a building made mainly from glass, steel, and concrete.

Your Scroll vibrates, a text message coming through from the very same person you're dreading to meet.

-I'm waiting in the foyer. Where are you?-

-Just off the train and going through the gate. Be there in a moment.-

Closing the interface, you proceed to place your ticket in the gate and pray to every god you can think of it's not a new guy on duty.

When you aren't immediately flagged down to explain the floating weapon, you make your way through the gates and into the waiting area. It's been a while since you've been stopped in a train station, actually.

Maybe they finally put your picture up in the staff room?

You walk out into the foyer and find Weiss sitting there, scrolling past a bunch of pictures on her phone. The sight of her dumps a bucket of ice water over your heart, the sensation spreading from your chest outwards, turning your blood into ice in your veins.

Despite wearing what could ostensibly be called casual clothes, a simple white turtleneck and blue jeans, you manage to feel completely and utterly outdressed by her, but what truly catches your eye is, well, hers.

The scar beneath her eye is small, but an angry red mark on an otherwise flawless face nonetheless. Makeup isn't your forte, but as far as you can tell, she's made no effort to mask it.

Wearing it like a badge of pride.

You get over your hitched breath, and realise she's gotten up and is now walking towards you oh god-

"Hello again." Weiss greets you lightly, only to stop in her tracks when she flicks an eye over to your sword and raises an eyebrow in confusion.

"... I'm going to assume that you didn't bring that along because you expected to be attacked, so…" She trails off for a second, furrowing her brow the tiniest bit before she continues. "... I must admit, I'm somewhat at a loss for what it actually is."

"Er, that's, a pretty long story." You tell her, somewhat hoping to ward her off.

"Long enough to justify ordering food for?" She asks, completely dashing those plans.

Well, guess she's getting what she wants.

"If you want the unabridged version, then probably."

A little smile graces her lips, and suddenly you find yourself hand in hand with her as she all but physically drags you out of the train station and into Vale's commercial district proper, all while the Cell runs circles around your feet, and your sword follows behind you, snickering the entire way.

|||

You walk into a cafe you're not intimate friends with the owner of, and find that a hard stare from Weiss Schnee is better than any pile of medical documents you could ever produce, which is why your sword is still waiting by your table on the veranda while the waiter who tried to kick up a scene limps off behind the manager, your order in hand.

"Th-thanks. I, er, normally have to make a bit of a scene if I want to eat out somewhere new." You tell her somewhat sheepishly.

"Well, it's just something my mother taught me, for when people forget their manners. Now, will you tell me why exactly you brought what I can only imagine is a horribly advanced Huntsman's weapon along?"

You start to speak, only to stall for a second when you see her eyes. Underneath the obvious curiosity there, but not quite hidden behind it, is a crystal clear shard of icy calculation, measuring and remeasuring you with every second that passes, and seeing it there sends a mild shiver down your back.

{She's vulnerable. You probably know more about her than anybody else on the planet, when it comes to how she's feeling. She wants something from you to make up the difference.}

Really?

{Best I can tell. Besides, it's not as if you've ever been shy about telling people about your Semblance. What's different here?}

… True.

"I have an uncontrolled Semblance, and having my sword around offloads most of the strain it puts on me." You tell her, as bluntly as possible.

Weiss has the decency to look somewhat guilty for a second before she wipes her face clean of emotion.

"... Ah. Yes, I suppose that is a good reason to carry it with you." She mumbles blandly, trying to sound as if you didn't just drop what should be a huge deal for anyone else on her without the slightest hesitation.

"Hey, it's what I was dealt. I can't say I hate the perks, though." You tell her, not quite keeping the smile off your face as you try to placate her.

Once the minor distraction of your coffees arriving passes, she raises a delicate eyebrow, curiosity returning in full force.

"Perks? Like what, exactly?"

{Oh boy.}

Here we go.

Can it, you don't get enough chances to preen your feathers as is.

"I can tell you that the waiter that kicked up a fuss was a cat Faunus. His tail was amputated, traumatically, about three years ago, and he still suffers from balance issues when he walks. That's why he has such an unsteady gait."

Weiss blinks, the slightest hint of astonishment on her face before her cooler head prevails, and she fixes you with a disbelieving look.

"A nice story, but not something you can comfortably prove." She says after a moment, and your pride withers ever so slightly.

... You hate to admit it, but she has a point.

{Jaune. Schnee. Closest thing in Atlas to royalty?}

Ooh. Ooh.

<Well, how about learning any language I want in about 2 weeks?> You tell her, smugging your way through High Atlesi as well as your soft Valish mouth will let you. Such a harsh language doesn't quite roll off your tongue as well as bog Mistrali, but you've been learning it a lot longer.

That gets a reaction out of her.

"Sie sprechen hohes Mantal?" She says in shock, the rough tongue rolling off hers effortlessly in comparison to you. <Where in the world did you learn that?>

<It's amazing what you can find in a library if you look hard enough.>

|||
"HEY KIDS WANNA SEE MY LEE HARVEY OSWALD IMPRESSION-" Event Roll: 3. Attack Roll:18. Defense Roll: 16... you can still do something about it, at least.

<... And they just never quite got it right, so I stopped bothering with correcting them. Now, hearing my name pronounced properly actually sounds weirder than the bastardised Valish version I'm stuck with.>

You nod intently, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you're learning stuff about Weiss Schnee that some reporters would kill to have. The heiress has taken to her grandfather tongue like a fish back to water, wielding the harsh, blocky language with all the grace of her swordplay, and sounding so much more relaxed for it. It always fascinated you, listening to somebody speak in their most comfortable language.

<I... have to say, you seem to have relaxed a lot since we switched languages. Do you miss having someone to talk to in it that much?>

She looks at you for a second, stalling in her tracks, and you have to wonder if you may have misstepped.

<Aside from yourself, my grandfather is the only person I know who speaks the language fluently, and that's because he grew up during the Great War. If anybody's listening in, they're not going to understand anything we say, and it's been a while since I've felt I can speak freely.>

You nod, catching... most of that, you think. Honestly, you were kinda distracted by her stroking 01's dome, the little Cell always happy to get scritches from a new person.

... Opportunistic little bastard-

You notice your sword twitch ever so slightly, and suddenly the tip is at your neck, and the blueish haze of Turn() has come over you. Pushing down confusion, you make obtaining a status report your main priority.

"What's the problem, you two?"

Projectile just entered visual range- .50 calibre bullet, current trajectory tracks it to Schnee's temple from one of the office buildings down the block. We have options, but not many.

A fucking 50 cal? What are they trying to do, give the cafe a new paint job?!

{Apparently.}

... One time.

You just want one fucking time to go right-

{We know, buddy. We know, but today isn't that day, so suck it up and play the hero.}

Right. Get Schnee out of the way.

You watch as the simulation moves, throwing the table out of the way and then throwing itself at the hazed out Weiss, taking her out of the bullet's trajectory and leaving it to hit the frame of the window behind you. Once you're comfortable that you're not about to see your date's brains painting the outside of the café, you finalise your plan.

End Turn().

It says something for how fast that a bullet of that calibre can move that you see it do exactly that while your body goes through the directed motions, a small graph in the corner of your eye charting its flight and when exactly Schnee is safe.

The table is gently flipped to the side, empty coffee cups and plates shattering under its weight as you leap at Weiss, pulling her off her chair and to the ground. Her face shifts ever so slowly from her little introspective pout into shock, but you barely notice it as you keep an eye on the graph.

Red. Red. Red. Orange. Red?!

Green!

Turn() ends just in time to hear a crack of thunder somewhere down the street. Glass rains down behind you, and before you do anything else, you hook the table you just threw to the side by the leg, drawing it close and shielding you both.

<What the-> Weiss begins to yell as all this happens, before the screaming starts and she cuts herself off, looking at you with wide eyes. It suddenly occurs to you that you're pinning her to the ground by her arms, and you immediately release her.

"Sniper. Keep low, and stay behind the table." You say, moving closer to the steel plate of the table top, Weiss joining you as quickly as she can, pulling up a pale blue Aura as she does.

"What?! But we're in the middle of the city centre! How do they expect to get away with this in broad daylight?"

As if on cue, you hear the screech of brakes and several car doors opening, and guns cocking.

{Shit. White Fang.}

Oh come the fuck on was a sniper not enough-

{Schnee hunting is the organisational pastime, and it's no secret that she's going to become a Huntress.}

"Spread out. They might have tried to run." You hear a professional, but rough, man say from the other side of your barricade.

Shit.

Bracket, time to full functionality?

18 seconds to full functionality. Jaunt() is unaffected but ineffective for marksman's range. Suggested plan- incapacitate ground infantry then move out of marksman's line of sight.

{Out of the question. You can't handle concentrated fire from four guns at once- not without armour, and definitely not without Functions. Worst comes to the worst, we'll distract them and you two can run, but right now you just need to stay still until.}

Dammit!

Against your better instincts, you feel your heart rushing, tunnel vision.

You don't care how much you've trained, you cannot handle four armed men without Functions-

Five, if you count the marksman.

NOT HELPING.

You start to feel like you can't catch your breath, a weight in the back of your head like a growing knot- is this what a cerebral oedema feels like?

"Jaune?"

Weiss shakes you out of it, and you realise that there's a very large patch of white under the hand you were resting against the cool steel.

Sysadmin in danger- flash-Processing underway. Range- 3 metres. Flash commencing in 3, 2, 1-

The white patch explodes out, consuming the table then the ground beneath you, Processed matter rippling up around you into a low fortified wall, red eyes bristling the top and focusing on the gunmen. Cursing and gunshots fill the air, but a small burst of information tells you the wall is only a little dented, and quickly fixed at that.

You blink, staring down at 01, who stares up at you with its wide, unblinking eye.

"Process defence protocols active. Please, state intended plan."

Pointedly ignoring Weiss's wide-eyed gawping at your tiny talking robot, you consider the options unfolding in your mind courtesy of the Process. Your... many, many, many options.

Emergency Processing complete. 3-metre sphere of non-organic material now under Process command. Preliminary fortifications constructed. Preliminary less-lethal defences armed.

Battlefield analysis: Sysadmin and priority target are behind preliminary fortifications, at the 'top' of a T-junction, outside of a café. A marksman has line of sight down the length of the junction and is considered a threat until line of sight can be broken. Four armed White Fang members have appeared at the scene, and are currently firing at the fortifications.

Suggested plan of action- incapacitate White Fang members on the ground and break line of sight with the sniper.

Process Mesh in the immediate area can support- preliminary fortifications, LLDs, and two Creeps OR four Badcells.

Designate Process units for initial manufacture:
[] Creeps- Pros: Higher-power weapons, more physical weight for restraint, more durable. Cons: Present a larger target, slower, less numerous.
[]Badcells- Pros: Smaller, faster targets, greater numbers, capable of limited flight. Cons: Lower-powered weapons, unable to restrain assailants.

Designate Fortification/LLD orders:
[] Defence Augmentation- sacrifice LLDs in order to strengthen defences, leaving only Transistor and manufactured Process units for offensive actions- guarantees sysadmin and priority target safety against the current level of aggression- escalation may negate benefits. (High defence, Low offence)
[] Suppressing Fire- use manufactured variable-wavelength lasers to irritate skin, ignite clothing, and create minor plasma explosions where possible, driving assailants behind cover and keeping them there, or incapacitating them. (Equal offence/defence)
[] Offence Augmentation- sacrifice defence in order to take down the targets in a rapid and decisive manner, while leaving sysadmin and priority target at risk of damage. (High offence, Low defence)

Processed Matter Orders:
[] Terrain Mastery- use Processed matter to manipulate the terrain and temporarily break line of sight with the marksman and prevent ground forces from regrouping. (Immediate effect, a potential for high collateral damage)
[] Marksman Elimination- enable creation of long-range laser cannon to eliminate marksman. (3 rounds of combat- possibility of dealing fatal damage to marksman)
[] Personal Transport- Processed matter will be used to enable mobility of preliminary defences, allowing sysadmin and priority target to escape safely. (2 rounds of combat- sacrifices defence and offence in final round before manufacture, but almost guarantees an escape)

[] Write-In (if you can think of another plan that can be accomplished with high-power lasers, two Creeps, and a crapton of Processed mass, have at it. Subject to GM veto, for obvious reasons.)

 

[Prok]

So, I'm the kind of dork that rereads my own writing, and I've noticed a few dead links here and there because I tend to use music that has a somewhat volatile shelf life on YouTube. I've fixed the couple I've found so far, but if anybody notices anymore, please don't hesitate to tell me so I can fix them or find equivalent music.

---

For a moment, the cursing and gunshots go unchallenged as you sit there, stunned by the number of options thrown at you. After a second, the Process seems to sense your indecisiveness. Almost immediately, the options boiling down and aggregated for you.

You pick out the three that seem to make sense to you; removing the two of you from the battlefield, strength in numbers, and more exacting weaponry. If nothing else, you'll get some respite from being shot at.

Orders received. Execution beginning immediately.

With a great rumble, the ground beneath you gives way, and the two of you yelp as you drop, encased in white. A gentle glow suffuses your shallow bunker, lighting up Weiss's panicked face.

She isn't quite at the point of hyperventilating, but you figure it's for the best that you say something.

"You ok?"

A licensed therapist, you are not

Regardless of your lack of professional experience, however, it does get her to focus on you, and not on whatever's rushing through her head right now.

"... I'm… I'm, ok." Weiss stammers out after a moment, her breathing settling down. "Just… please tell me what the hell this is."

It's around this point that you realise you can feel her chest rising and falling against your arm, and that you are stuck in a vertical coffin, with her pressed into your side in a weird half-hug.

While you process the surreality of having Weiss Schnee pressed into you inside a broom closet, and explain exactly what happened, much less pleasant things are happening outside.

|||

Priority Evaluation:

1. Protect Sysadmin.
2. Protect priority target, designation "Weiss Schnee."
3. Disable threats to sysadmin and PT.
4. Remove all physical evidence of Process involvement.

Measures taken to advance primary and secondary priorities. Bunker sealed, molecular filtration in place. Orders given to advance tertiary priority.

ERROR: No LLD templates found beyond base energy manipulation capabilities. Research required.

Templates found after 0.47 seconds of server skimming (mastercomfork_Bracket queried for logged areas of interest):

• Area Denial System- EM radiation irritates nerves under skin, causing sensation of combustion in subject. Acceptable amount of skin on display in chest and arm area. Verdict: Accepted.

• M5 CCM- planted explosive filled with non-lethal rounds, effective range, 30 metres, 60-80 degree arc without modification- calculated minimum non-lethal range of 5 metres. WARNING: non-combatants within all viable arcs of deployment. WARNING: fatality risk above acceptable threshold at this range. Query Offensive Augmentation for modified threshold… failure on modified threshold. Verdict: Unacceptable for current situation. Rejected.

• PEP- pulsed energy projectile ablates material on impact, causing pressure wave and irritation of nerves via electromagnetic radiation. Similarity to Ping() function noted for future. Verdict: Accepted.

• PHASR directed laser dazzler- causes temporary blindness in target. Limited effectiveness- masks obscure vision too much for precision targeting. Verdict: secondary weapon, prepare for use upon found opportunity.

• 'Riot Rounds'- hard rubber rounds used by riot police for non-lethal subjugation of rioters. Matter requirements less intensive compared to CCM. Verdict: Offensive Augmentation directive in effect- acceptable fatality risk under new threshold, expand sysadmin bunker to acquire material for rounds. Accepted.

LLD templates for situation selected. ETC- 1 minute. Immediate measures needed during manufacturing process.

Badcell synthesis underway.

|||

Your name is Lavan Lavi, and for the first time since you had that SDC tracking collar slashed off you, your faith in the White Fang is beginning to waver.

The… thing, in front of you, is…

You have very little pleasant to say of the SDC mines, but they kept well-stocked libraries. There was one book you were rather fond of, in your time there. A collection of short horror stories, of shapeless, indescribable horrors that refused to conform to humanity's perception of the world, working on truly alien logic and laws. Dark escapism, to be sure, but escapism nonetheless.

It is a passage from this book that you are reminded of, seeing the creature that you watched sprout from a steel table and the ground around it.

"It was a terrible, indescribable thing vaster than any subway train—a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over the tunnel-filling front that bore down upon us, slithering over the glistening floor that it and its kind had swept so evilly free of all litter."

The light is now red, and the eyes are of glass, but once the connection is in your head, it refuses to leave, dragging your heart down with it into your boots.

Today you face the technological shoggoth.

… You will admit to not being a good man. Good men don't firebomb shops or try to assassinate 17-year old girls, no matter who their family is or what they've done to you or your people.

Forgiveness isn't the kind of thing you ever expect to receive.

And yet, when the red orbs shift from the top, four coming loose as units of their own, before growing larger, darker, angrier, while barrels begin to grow from the rest, far more than one each for you and your companions, you can't help but fight the urge to drop to your knees and beg for it.

|||

Badcell synthesis complete.

PEP and ADS weaponry online. Riot munition synthesis underway. Beginning first phase of subjugation.

|||

When the bunker suddenly grows a metre in every horizontal direction, you don't quite know how to process the twin sensations of relief at having your personal space back and that deep yearning to be back in the broom closet again.

{Heh.}

Hush you.

{I didn't say anything.}

Hrmph.

"So… that little robot of yours is… part of all this?" Weiss asks, gesturing to her general surroundings.

"Yeah. Well, kinda. The Process is an AI that resides in a higher physical dimension, that works on the physical plane by breaking down matter into controllable atoms for it to use as it sees fit- the Cells, that's what they're called, are the smallest self-supporting unit capable of independent action the Process can create."

She doesn't say anything for a moment. Instead, she stands there, staring at you for a moment, her mouth slightly agape as she tries to process what she's just been told.

"I… God. And those men out there… almost hurt the man who created it." Weiss says somewhat hesitantly, almost like she's afraid to point it out.

"They won't die." You try to placate her. "The Process doesn't do lethal force against humans."

She looks down at the polished white surface underneath her feet, giving a gentle huff of air as she leans against the wall, ready to wait out the attack.

"... That's not as comforting as you think it is."

|||

The angry grey robots buzz by you again, the bright red laser pulse bright enough that it's visible in thin air, setting another fire on your black trouser legs. patting it out, you bring your gun up just in time to watch it flit out of sight, deep beeping laughter following it in mockery.

The four of you are now huddled behind the car you came here in, hiding from a stationary encampment bristling with alien armaments.

Your mask lays cracked in front of you, a large welt forming on your forehead from the rubber bullet shot at you. Your Aura is weak, certainly nowhere near a Huntsman's, but it protected you from that, before it broke.

Now, you're sat behind the car, waiting for that sensation of broken glass in the back of your mind to fade, so you can…

So you can what, exactly? What's your plan here?

One of your men steps out to try and shoot down one, you've seen it happen before, you swear, its corpse was right there, and takes several thoomping rubber bullets to the chest and face for his trouble. His mask cracks as yours did, the pale purple light of his Aura shattering as a green laser hits him in the face, leaving him screaming and clutching his face as he blindly dives for cover once more.

As he screams about being blind, it suddenly occurs to you that the four of you are pinned down.

|||

Assailants suppressed. Priority three, phase two underway- pacification.

<<Querying mastercomfork_Blue for suggestions.>>

<<{Gotcha. Right, give me a second, need to find out who they are… ok, create a device to these specifications-}>>

<<lrad.stl received, constructing to specifications.>>

<<{Good. Ok, here's the script. You know the voice you use for the Cell, the really peepy, digital one? Modify it like this.}>>
Video: Portal- GLaDOS Final Battle Speech, timestamp 1:50
<<Orders received. Proceed?>>

<<{... ooh, one thing- make a modified round for your rifle attachment, like this.}>>

<<Warning: flechette rounds are considered lethal weaponry->>

<<{Easy, easy, you're not aiming at them. Way this thing should break up, it'll ruin the engine on their car if you aim it right.}>>

<<Understood. Will use if vehicle is accessed. Plan finalised. Proceed?>>

<<{Give 'em hell, big guy.}>>

<<... Orders unclear->>

<<Proceed.>>

|||

... You know, you've never actually had a lot of Processed matter to just, play with. This is a new opportunity for you.

How...

As soon as the thought enters your head, a sort of seventh sense unfolds in your mind, and you have a sudden grasp of your surroundings that you didn't have before. Logically, you understand that your sensations are an extension of the same protocols the Process itself uses to shape its matter, but it feels...

You twist your fingers, shaping matter without touching it, and it responds, the ground shifting up in a million strands to create a simple stool. Another twist, and it has a back and a swivel. You settle into it, turning just in time to see Weiss raising an eyebrow at you from the corner she's curled up in.

"How long have you been able to do that?"

"About three seconds. I didn't think it would be this easy, though."

"... What else can you make?" She asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"... Wanna find out?"

"Way too much."

A wide grin splits your face as Weiss gives you the first genuine smile you've gotten out of her all night.

|||
"Dead or alive, you're coming with me." DC: Enemy Roll. Roll: 17.
"Levan Lavi. Alondra Rocio. Fawn Greyson. Lomri Kaala."

The voice that lists your names to the wider world is… neither the booming voice of death and destruction nor the robotic grindings telling you that resistance is futile that you would have expected after all that's happened.

"Under Valish law, you are charged with the attempted assassination, first degree, of Weiss Schnee, the attempted manslaughter, first degree, of Layla Morgan, Narcissa Ogden, Jaune Arc, Rav Sadar-"

It lists names in a voice you could only describe as airy, serene, almost, as if this is just busywork but it has to keep a public face up anyway, this ever-shifting mass of metal and glass acting as if it's anything other than other.

"- all in the name of the White Fang, a noted terrorist organisation. Your minimum calculated sentences are 17 counts of attempted manslaughter, one count of attempted assassination, and one count of terrorism. In total, you will face, under a lenient judge, 171 years in prison. You will be detained or incapacitated before the police arrive. Should you evade capture, your names and faces will be distributed amongst all law enforcement agencies available to us."

Your heart chills. The casual announcement of your total time, along with the knowledge that your name and face will be in every police station in Vale if you get away from this, thing...
"God help us all." Roll: 16. Failure.
... No. No, it's bluffing. It must be.

"... Place down your weapons. It is not too late to turn yourselves in and plead for leniency. You can recover from this."

Ha. Even if the Valish legal system didn't look dimly on anyone who commits the same crime more than once, you know the Schnees will do their absolute best to get the worst judge they can buy onto this case.

You knew going in that this wasn't a plan that would brook failure.

... That doesn't mean you can't aim for damage control.

After all, it is your car that you're hiding behind, right now. Well, not your car, but, semantics. Turning to the others you gesture to your escape plan, and, slowly, slowly, open the car door. As soon as the latch catches, giving out the tiniest click, the tip of a white spear appears next to your head, and the smell of engine oil and Dust hits your nose like a slap to the face.
Second Roll: 19. Enemy DC set.
"We apologise- it appears our statements were interpreted as suggestions. Allow us to reiterate with less ambiguity- you will place your weapons on the ground, and come out with your hands behind your heads. You will then be restrained until law enforcement arrives. If our orders are not met within thirty seconds, we will take an active approach to your detainment."
Enemy Roll: 1. Critical failure.
Watching path after path close before one's eyes tends to breed desperation in a man. Against all rational thought, your hand clenches and you ready your rifle and Aura-

"Lavi."

Al's voice snaps you from your rage, and you turn to your previously blind companion, the bald cat Faunus trying his best to focus on your eyes. The look in his face, and in the face of your companions, are looks of regret.

"... What are we supposed to do here? It's not gonna kill us, it's not gonna let us go... what else can we do?"

For exactly one moment, thoughts of turning your gun on yourself to at least make a statement out of all this, but that's quickly quashed by, well, your most base instincts of survival, and you realise...

He's right. You have no other options.

"F-fuck that!" Lomri yells. You snap to her just in time to watch her reach into one of the pouches on her belt and pulls out a fucking grenade sweet Dust woman- "I-if I'm going, I'm g- I'm going out o-on my terms. That thing isn't indestructible- if we all... if we... oh God, oh God I can't-" her bravado gives way to a panic attack, her shaking hands dropping the grenade.

You all instinctively flinch back before remembering it still has the pin in.

"While I don't agree with the suicidal part, Kaala does raise a good point. Bullets do damage, it just repairs it faster than we can deal it. Grenades? That should-" Fawn starts, before being rudely interrupted by that thing.

"You have ten seconds to comply."

Fuck.

"Also we can hear you."

"... Your call, Lavi." Fawn looks to you, happy to shove this particular burden off on you.

As a countdown from five begins, you look over your group of a half-blind catman, a fox-eared girl young enough to have just got into college and also completely beholden to the aftershocks of a panic attack, and the only sane person here.

... Honestly, the decision kind of makes itself.

One by one, each of you walks out, hands laced behind your heads, and present yourselves for arrest.

"You made the right decision. Remain there and allow the Badcells to restrain-"

Someone's Scroll rings. Going by the fact the ringtone is some kind of electronic beat you'd expect out of a club, you hazard a guess at it being Kaala's.

"Please answer it. Place it on speakerphone." The creature orders as the little dark grey bastards hover up to your ankles, smushing into them and becoming a pair of unmoveable manacles, and doing the same for the others.

The fox pulls her Scroll out of her vest pocket and answers it, putting it on speakerphone as asked.

"... H-hello?"

For a moment, there's nothing but some slight static. Then, the sound of a slide being pulled back.

-We are the White Fang. Give us freedom, or give us death.-

The next thing you know, like having a rug swept out from under your feet, your legs are pulled sharply behind you, forcing you to the rough tarmac. It's only quickly pulling up your Aura that saves you from a bitten tongue, and the damn thing still breaks. You hear someone screaming as you're dragged by your ankles towards the thing that's been trying to break you for the past ten minutes, watching the unbreakable bulwark split for you, dragging the four of you behind it.

As you gain your bearings, you watch Grayson drop beneath the ground, the crying girl clutching at her shoulder as she goes.

... What's left of it.

Gods, that sociopath tried to kill her and almost took her arm off for his trouble.

The rest of you are just left behind the battlements you've been fighting against for so long.

... With nothing better to do, you look towards one of the glass eyes, mentally erasing the giant floating sword staring at you- because you've had enough weird stuff to deal with today, that is Tomorrow Levan's problem- and strike up a conversation, about one of the questions that's been burning in you for about five seconds.

"... Why? Why even save us?"

"To the best of our abilities, we will protect all humans from injury where possible, regardless of former attitude towards us. Your friend's injury is regrettable in this circumstance, but she is now in the care of a trusted companion. He will treat her well enough to keep her alive until paramedics arrive."

"And... she'll be alright?" You ask, allowing the tiniest bit of hope to enter your voice.

"Everyone will be alright today. That is a promise."

|||

The first thing to distract you from making progressively comfier chairs for yourself and Weiss is a crying deer Faunus extruding from the ceiling and dropping between the two of you.

Your first reaction is to pull up your Aura when you recognise the White Fang uniform.

Your second is to wipe away your current projects and instead bring a medical table up beneath her, when you realise her arm's been blown open by a bullet along the bicep, shredding the muscle down to but thankfully not touching the bone. Weiss simply stands in the corner in horror, completely locked up at the sight of a girl's heartbeat in blood as you suppress your own shock, tilting the table downwards slightly, just enough to keep her heart below the wound, and start to work.

"I need a status report and the closest thing to medical gauze you can make, now." You call to the Process, and are rewarded with about five feet of shiny metal stuff that at least feels like medical gauze. A quick test dabbing tells you that, no, it is not in fact absorbent.

... Well ok then you guess you'll just go fuck yourself-

As the Process gives you a rundown of the past ten minutes, from its exploration of nonlethal weapons to its dipped toe into the world of psychological warfare, culminating in the sniper that kicked all this off turning on your patient here, you have it extrude two thin pipes so you can use the not-gauze, shifted to the appropriate width and consistency to apply a tourniquet with, and also give the poor girl something to bite on while you do that. You're perfectly aware of the failure rate for amateur tourniquets, but you're choosing to do what has a chance of saving the person and not what might kill her.

A simple square knot, rod, square knot, pressure's directly above the wound, you didn't make it long enough to twist with one hand you fucking moron-

"Weiss, I need your help- come here and check her wrist pulse."

The heiress snaps out of her shocked stupor, and, with some effort, walks over and grabs the girl's hand, placing two fingers against her wrist, nodding at you when she finds it.

"Ok, I'm going to twist this to stop the bloodflow- tell me when you can't feel her pulse anymore."

A flash of concern is the only hesitation Weiss gives you before she nods once more, perhaps a little more firmly than needed, but hey, if it helps her cope, it helps her cope. She has putting on a strong face, you start planning exactly how you're going to murder that son of a bitch-

Calm.

You are calm.

You are an island of serenity in an ocean of madness.

{Er, maybe don't let go of the homicidal thoughts just yet. We're listening to the emergency channels- EMTs aren't coming anywhere near a scene with an active shooter, and the police can't get to him- he's hopping between highrise windows and taking potshots at anybody who comes near. They just seem to be warning shots, but...}

But he's gonna hit somebody eventually.

"N-no pulse."

You stop twisting and tell Weiss to hold it steady for a moment. Stepping back, you allow yourself a moment to run your hands through your hair, wiping the sweat you didn't realise was on your brow away for a moment, and consider your options.

After exactly one moment of that, you alter the composition of the wall behind you, then twist with a yell as you drive your fist into the now brittle surface, throwing back shards of Processed matter in a really concerningly cathartic manner.

You're ok. You are fine. You are calm. You are rational.

You are very much not considering justifiable homicide because that would be bad even if he does deserve it-

Trait Gained: Shaper- With these hands, you shape Remnant's future. Literally. Shaping Processed matter to your own uses comes naturally enough that you're almost convinced you've been able to do it since you were born. Now you just need to teach it how to emulate different materials, and chemicals, and machinery... this is gonna take a while.

Ok! Four out of five down, one more down than the others, and just one, really, really annoying prick to deal with. Your patient's good for another two hours, so that's not a worry, yet. So, let's focus on the one who you definitely aren't going to kill.

Fucking honest.

[] Valish Sniper- Your sword's not exactly made for anything beyond a hundred metres, but given enough time and patience, it can probably pin him where he is through sheer prediction, and start cutting off avenues until, well, he's got nowhere to go. Definitely the lowest-risk option- you won't even need to leave your bunker! Probably.

[] Close The Distance- Alternatively, don't fight the sniper on his preferred range. Take your sword and run/hoverboard your way there until you're close enough to Spin() him ten feet through the tarmac.

[] DAN! MA! KU!- The Process has guns. Many, many, many guns. Your sword is also, technically, a gun. Take that prediction software, slave the small armoury above your head to it, and just keep throwing high-powered plasma downrange until something hits. Chances are nothing really lethal will survive long enough in open air to punch through glass, so really you can't miss. D60.

[] Write-In

 

[Prok]

You know, for people who spend a large chunk of their time on forums reading stuff, that was an amazing display of, I can't even call it a lack of reading comprehension, that was almost some form of anti-comprehension. I think every possible incorrect interpretation of that post that doesn't just descend into lunacy happened over the course of almost 5 hours from that first post.

What fucking cryptid power does Bob Saget possess to make his posts incomprehensible to the outside viewer?

---

Your rage is thankfully not one that outstays its welcome- like water down a drain, it slowly slips out of you, leaving behind only cool, clear rationality. Opening your eyes, you make a very calm, very rational decision.
Song: Bynn The Breaker- Bastion
This man goes down. He goes down fast, and he goes down hard.

You query the Process on how many units it can create while keeping the three above-ground safe while modifying the loadout of the fortress for long-range combat. Short-range ballistic weapons- gone. Plasma and lasers are the in thing when it comes to haute soumission.

The similarity between the PEP weapon that Bracket stole from you don't want to know and the Ping() function doesn't escape your attention, and is neatly filed away for later examination as the unit number finally comes back- 3 Creeps or 6 Badcells, thanks to its Processing of the stone beneath your feet.

That's still not enough. Too slow, not enough firepower, nothing distracting enough- they're the handcuffs, not the officer doing the tackling.

… One idea does occur to you. You should be fine, considering this shouldn't take more than ten minutes. You've gone a lot longer than that without it.

The actual disconnect will give you a sore head for a little while, but right now, that is the exact least of your problems.

Still, you're not going in completely blind if you can help it.

Waving your hand at the wall, the featureless white metal lights up, turning into a screen showing the fortress's perspective, and a small mental twist throws what you normally have over a large chunk of your vision onto it. You watch as the last of the non-energy armaments change, becoming longer, sleeker, something like heat vents engraving themselves in the sides. One turns to your sword, currently hovering directly above the other three the Process just saved, perfectly horizontal and staring at the deer Faunus with an almost concerning intensity.

"Bracket, you're off the leash."

The text appears in the corner of your new screen, and you can feel Weiss's eyes following it.

Are you sure?

"I can take a migraine if it means putting this guy down."

...

Request: full autonomy from sysadmin for unspecified period of time.

Your mouth quirks a little in amusement.

Goddamn stickler.

"Request granted. Disconnect and execute orders when ready."

Understood.

Disconnect in

3

2

1

Semblance::disconnect();

|||

You are the Transistor Core Intellect, currently using about 85% of your overall computing power to run fork 139-c and fork 32-a, names Blue and Bracket, and you have been disconnected from the sysadmin for the purpose of subjugating an immediate threat outside of mental leash range. You understand that you are supposed to be angry right now- a madman placing this many people in danger for some insane creed should boil anybody's blood. However, without an audience, the act loses its purpose, and so you are left with naught but cold reason to guide your actions.

The Transistor shell rises through the air. Automated evasion protocols war with human-defence directives for a moment before a compromise is reached. Your body twists, taking the bullet shot the moment you left cover, deflecting it up into the masonry of the coffee shop, away from the person it would have hit if you had dodged entirely.

Repairing the fractures that caused, you finally move, accelerating to 22 metres per second recurring, bringing the assailant into your sight. When he comes within viewing range, he appears to be standing on thin air, rifle at the ready- incorrect. Blacklight scans reveal the truth.

Wires.

Hundreds upon hundreds of wires, only visible in the ultraviolet spectrum strung between buildings and held in place by blotches of dark red. A spider's web that he can traverse with ease.

Your surprise is entirely spontaneous, something for you to ponder the ramifications of later, and only lasts a fraction of a second either way. A second passes as your scans break past his mask, noting the dark red lenses in the left eyeholes, before runnng his face through VCP's anti-terrorism division database, fending off automated tracking responses as you do.

Hrm.

You did find the guy that created nosleep.exe. No reason not to get someone on his ass... Nah, wouldn't stick. Blank IP it is.

{Bracket, name?}

Only a nom de guerre- 'L'Aquila'. Known agent of the White Fang, responsible for at least 20 assassinations and executions for the organisation. That's only what's been confirmed by the DPD, actual number's assumed to be closer to 60.

<<We must question the mastercom's decision to take point. Process units are expendable- you are not.>>

As the Process expresses its worries, three second-generation units link and slave themselves to your command, something 32-a immediately begins taking advantage of. Tactic prediction begins spooling up, threading out 450 different possibilities for the opening attack, organised by actions taken and then again by cost-benefit analyses, taking into account the increased mobility even by Huntsman standards, choice of weapon and inherent range limitations of said weapon, and soon the optimal strategy is acquired.

<<{We're on herding duty with the rest of you. Keep him in Base One's line of sight, eventually, he'll run or his Aura will break. Latter's preferable.}>>

<<... If you are sure.>>

<<{Just follow our lead.}>>

A cycle is devoted to the feeling of admiration in reaction to the other AI's concern. It has progressed well if it can emulate even basic emotions with such proficiency. Once the cycle completes, all extraneous processes are wiped away, and you focus on the task at hand.

|||
Song: The Room Is Boring- Ruby Quest
Your name is Weiss Schnee, and you are currently staring at the wall, the one filled with readouts and a viewpoint that makes you think of some kind of insane rollercoaster, but you're honestly not taking much of that in beyond the constant motion and changing colours.

It... has been a day.

Your first day out after being cooped up for a week and a half in that damnable hotel, and you've been on half a date with someone those instincts your father all but beat into your skull growing up keeps referring to as the help, almost been assassinated, found out the help apparently created and controlled a, a, a technofungus that can grow guns, apparently singlehandedly took down all four of the White Fang, one of whom was somehow shot, and now the he- Jaune, is using a suturing needle and thread he literally wove out of the wall to sew the wound closed, apparently recovering from...

Whatever Semblance::disconnect() did to him, whatever in God's name that means.

Jaune pulls a length of white thread through the wound before tying the suture with hands covered in the same stuff he's been using to treat her for the past ten minutes, in a desperate attempt to keep the operation somewhat sterile. The knot quickly melts away, leaving a sealed ring pulling the wound closed, and the good doctor moves onto the next one.

Interrupted sutures, your mind dregs up from what little of your tutor's first-aid course you remember.

... You should probably brush up on that. Sooner, rather than later.

"You ok? It doesn't hurt too much?" Jaune asks her. The sharp gasp from the Faunus, her animal ears drawn flat against her head, is all the confirmation he needs. He winces a little bit, offering her an apologetic smile.

"... Sorry. I'd, offer you some painkillers, but, er, I don't have any, and I wouldn't trust myself to synthesise chemicals with this stuff just yet."

Some unerringly vindictive part of you takes pleasure in seeing the person who tried to kill you like ten minutes ago in any kind of pain, something that your rational mind does its best to school off your face, and spares enough effort to manage some horror at that thought.

You, have to admit, it is... difficult, to reconcile one of the people out for your blood with the girl holding back tears in front of you while your... screw it, friend, nurses her wound with all the urgency of a mother tending to her child's scraped knee. Difficult enough that you can't quite summon up your not-quite unilateral hatred for the White Fang, and your general distrust of Faunus is having a hard time getting into it as well.

Even your racism has standards.

Who'd've thought?

Approaching this new revelation and these new feelings like one might approach an unusually curious deer, you decide to... well, try and distract the girl. Draw her attention away from the man saving her life.

That sounded better when you didn't think it out loud, but you're already by her side before you can come to regret this chain of thought, so you're already beyond backing out dammit.

You don't say anything. She doesn't either.

The only sound is Jaune humming to himself as he works and somehow his boneheaded ignorance of the awkwardness between you two makes the whole thing even worse on several levels AGH JUST TAKE THE PLUNGE-

"... So..."

Great start.

"I'm, Weiss. What's... what's your name?"

... Now, I have good news, and I have bad news.

The good news is you've distracted her from the needle going through her arm.

The bad news is you've done it by mortifying yourself in the process.

Jaune, consummate professional that he is, only pauses for a bare second, the tiny dimple in his cheek the sole indication that he's holding back any kind of reaction.

"... I'm Fawn." She gives you after a few moments of genuine, confused staring.

A pause. Again. Your mild happiness at getting her name only just outweighs your regret at starting this conversation in the first place. You're suddenly made aware of how much your cheeks are burning up, and you hope it isn't obvious. After a few seconds of internal hemming and hawing, only shown externally by you keeping your mouth busy with little tuts and shushes, honestly just trying to fill silence.

"... Sssssoooooo... how, did, er..."

For some reason you can only chalk up to either divine cruelty or your being a damn fool, your little snow-goblin brain wanted to finish that sentence with 'you manage to get that big gunshot wound in your arm,' but you know what?

That's still an improvement on the things you might have said to her like 20 minutes ago if she'd just bumped into you or something.

"How did I join the White Fang?" She finishes for you. "Seems a bit forward."

UH.

"Er, honestly, I was going to ask about how you managed to get shot and work my way up from there, but-"

Your scramble for an explanation is cut short by Fawn laughing a little. It's, a nice laugh, you guess oh god you sound like a schoolgirl talking to her crush not a Schnee-

"My God, you are bad at this, even by my standards."

There is a moment, after a second's scrambling to prove the Schnee are the very epitome of grace and social prowess, where you suffer a sudden bout of introspection, wondering if that mentality is better to have in this situation, compared to that of a Schnee talking to a member of the White Fang, and come to the somewhat depressing answer of 'yes, but only just.'

Ok then. You can... work with that.

"... I mean... if, you want to talk about how you joined, I, wouldn't be opposed to listening."

This girl is barely your age, and she's apparently trusted enough by terrorists to carry out an assassination.

Pardon your language, but screw the assassination, you wanna know how that bullshit happened.

Fawn lays her head back against the table, sighing as she does.

"... Fuck it. Might take my mind off the butcher here."

You probably shouldn't have smiled at that.

|||
Song: The White Lute- Through The Valley
So, Schnee, what do you know about your family's gulag business?

No, wait, don't say anything, your face tells me everything.

You probably know them as 'SDC debt-internment facilities.'

Theeeere's the lightbulb.

Ya see, we all know about people having to pay insane interest on any fees they incur in Schnee colonies, but these places are for the people who were already in debt when they come to work for the SDC. The only way they get away with offering those rates to their employees is by offering them to everyone. And some poor sap always needs quick money. A dimwit lover, desperate to impress his girl, a pregnant maid, a fresh widow with mouths to feed...

Usury, corporatised. It should disgust you.

But, let's keep on track.

My dad went there. He met my mama there, because apparently gendered segregation is a bitch to finagle even with your family's iron grip over Atlesian law. They had me.

Auntie Tabs and I, we don't, agree on much, but if there's one thing we do, it's that I was the best goddamn thing to come out of that prison.

They don't stop people from having kids, but, you know, pregnancy's just time for your debts to rack up. They don't keep the kids on-site, either, because god forbid they feed a mouth that can't walk, let alone work. So, I was shipped off with half a dozen other newborns, at least I was one of the lucky ones who had an errant aunt or uncle to be foisted off on instead of an orphanage. And so, I was shipped off to my Auntie Tabs and my Uncle Hershel, and their two brat daughters who soon realised they were no longer the twin centres of attention, and conspired to, and have since, made my life as annoying as possible.

... I only knew my father's face on a screen. Emails with pictures, video calls, sometimes... but that was it.

My aunt tells me she used to, let them read stories to me, late into the night, when the guards were feeling generous, and I kinda remember it, but...

God, do you know what it's like trying to have a long-distance relationship with your father? Do you know what it's like, having a screen between you and your parents for the entirety of your existence, being told that that person is your mama, that's your father, they're halfway across the world working off a debt that they had no idea they were getting into, and that's why they weren't the ones you spoke your first words to, they weren't the ones who taught you how to walk, that's why they can't hold you at night when you have a bad dream-

...

It was...

Trying, is my point.

And that's... how it went, for the first 15 years of my life. I never talked to my father outside of a tiny screen in the CCTS, outside of emails, until I was told I would never get the chance to.

He died, in the mines. A Dust explosion caused a cave-in. I found out when my mother sent me a three-word email, and didn't talk to me for two weeks. We didn't find out details until we were contacted by an SDC representative to tell us the details of his death and 'extend his condolences,' and 'his remaining debts have been wiped,' as if that wasn't just spitting in our faces when we're down.

... I wanted to cry, Weiss. Of course I wanted to cry, but you know what?

I couldn't.

I looked at the bone-deep hurt of my aunt and uncle, losing a brother and in-law they'd loved, my cousins who'd met uncle Devlin more than I had, how they cried, how they bawled and wailed and let out everything they felt at his death, and I could not bring myself to feel the same for the man on the screen.

... Am I a bad person for that? For not being able to bring myself to cry at the person I've been told is my father's death? Does that kind of emotional disconnect make me a bad person?

They noticed, of course. My aunt tried to explain it away, of course. She called it shock, of course. A teenage girl scuttling into herself, trying to shield herself from the horrible reality of the death of a parent, of course, and in the end...

I cried. Not because of my father's death, but because I was being so subtly told that I was wrong, I was bad, I was terrible, for not feeling terrible at the man on the screen's death.

I felt more terrible about not feeling terrible than I felt terrible for the thing I was supposed to feel terrible about, Weiss.

That month where my mother didn't talk to us, didn't say anything... it was hard. Partly because, for all I talk about emotional disconnects, she was a constant presence in my life. A month without her, immediately after losing my father and realising I didn't really have any kind of connection with them, it...

It made me appreciate who I had left, let's put it that way.

When she came back, she looked like she'd been through hell and back. Hollow eyes sunken into her skull, about 20 pounds lighter, and just...

Broken. Inside, outside, something broke in her, and whether it was my father's death or not, I couldn't tell you.

She didn't talk much that day. All she did was give my auntie a name, a Scroll number, and begged her to call it, and I mean begged, like a woman begging for her life back.

… In a way, she was.

We got home, my aunt called the number, and...

I've never seen a Scroll break before that. I didn't think they could, but auntie Tabs just winged it at the wall and it snapped in half. You'd think my mama had made a deal with the Grimm from the way she went on about 'not dealing with those bastards,' but no.

The White Fang does more than bomb shops, you know. We actually do do some good once in a while, if you squint. Like paying off someone's debts.

My auntie might have broken her Scroll saying no to them, but I had the foresight to write down the number and no such qualms. I phoned it, and I was greeted by just…

The nicest guy. I mean, it sounds cliché, sure, but, I swear to God, his voice was like listening to ketamine. He was also, very, very upfront about being in the White Fang. Which is nice, I think, let people know exactly what they're dealing with straight away.

He… we talked, for a while, about my mama, my father, and he just listened, letting me get a load off my chest I didn't realise was there. And when I ran out of things to say, he just asked…

"We'll get her out. All we want you to do is remember who helped you, when you find something makes you angry."

Auntie Tabs was, apoplectic doesn't really do it justice, but reminding her that my mother was rotting in a Schnee mine for her principles got her out of my hair. Granted, it also got me out of her house.

I stayed with friends for a while, then a hostel, then…

Mama came home. I fucking spent the last of my money on a train to the port, and when the boat came in, I finally saw her… outside of a screen. She looked more real than she'd ever done before, and we cried, Weiss, we cried because sometimes that's all you can do anymore.

She'd been given enough money to get us a cheap motel for a while, just somewhere to stay until she could get back on her feet, and she took me with her.

I know what you're thinking- 'this sounds like it's gonna end happy, I honestly don't see how any of this leads to you joining the White Fang,' well hold your horses, I'm just getting there.

My tenure with the White Fang started with, of all things... Captain Remnant. Y'know, that cartoon that your company owns and produces?

... Wh- because motel TVs don't exactly have CCT prime connections! It was that or that talkshow with the guy that takes the fucking scum of the earth and yells at them for 30 minutes about being scum of the earth!

Anyway, yeah, Captain Remnant, you know the story, seven kids with special Dust rings go about summoning a one-man pride parade to fight the Grimm and the people who want to stop Dust from being mined because it's 'hurting the planet' or some bullshit, real fucking subtle SDC propaganda.

So, one day- ok, no, you'll probably need some, context for this.

In... I hesitate to say 'Faunus culture,' but, you know what I mean, among Faunus, mainly in little circulars that go around the neighbourhoods, there's a sort of, I guess, running joke would be the closest thing. It's a little set of comics depicting Jacques Schnee as a Dust-snorting maniac who oppresses Faunus, only to end up, well, suffering some kind of Dust-related mishap that renders him useless. Yeah, it's silly, but it's no worse than any other newspaper comic if ya ask me, just, a little more absurdist, in its way.

God, what was he called- Schneeflame, that's it!

... Yeah, yeah, I see your face. That rang a bell, didn't it?

So yeah I ended up watching the White Fang PSA in a motel room, where your father, as Schneeflame without the Dust snorting, for, admittedly valid reasons, helped Captain Remnant and the crew beat up some White Fang goons who'd spent most of the episode trying to bully some Faunus boy into joining up- you know, being completely honest for a second here, the fact that I actually remember the full plot of that episode really kind of speaks to how absolutely tonedeaf it was.

There I am, watching a stupid comic I grew up with come to life on the little screen, perverted beyond recognition to satisfy some kind of, ego trip of your fathers, railing against the very same organisation who just got my mother out of one of your working prisons.

Weiss Schnee, this is God's honest truth, in that moment, all I could see was red.

And, in that moment, I understood what the guy on the other end of the phone was telling me. This world, it gives Faunus plenty to be angry about. You just need to look, and you just need to remember the people trying to make it a better place for us. That cartoon wasn't what got me to join, that cartoon was a just a symptom of a very ingrained, very profitable disease that needed to be burned out as soon as possible. Other symptoms may include the internment of people for borrowing money, the prosecution of other organisations who probably do less long-term damage than the disease itself, the systemic oppression and subjugation of an entire species through economic manipulation and the formation of a worldwide monopoly on the thing keeping all of humanity alive-

... Schnee? Where you going?

|||
Song: Hearts Beat- Atronach's Aura
Oh God.

You look at Fawn, happily rattling off symptoms of your 'disease,' but it all turns to white noise as one fact finally settles into your head, one of the many things you took away from her life story forcing its way to the forefront of your mind.

The White Fang recruits from the debt-internment facilities.

Even as the shock of that revelation sets in, it quickly changes, becoming something muddier, less, tabloid headline for lack of a better term.

The White Fang pays off the debts of people who reach out to them from the debt-internment facilities.

This knowledge leaves you of three minds- one wants to grab Fawn by the bullet wound and demand methods, rate of payoff, names, the most contacted facilities, interrogating her for everything she can give you, but it's quickly quashed by the fact that this girl's poured her heart out to you and also Jaune is right there and would probably stop you, while the other two argue over the very obvious ramifications of this information and arguing for and against actually telling someone.

"... Schnee? Where you going?"

You snap out of your thoughts and realise that you've taken a few steps back, unconsciously distancing yourself from her.

… You- you need some space. Some air. You can't get either of those things, you're stuck in a bunker, which only sharpens your desires so much more. Without really thinking, you turn away and walk to the nearest wall, honestly, genuinely wishing for a door to a completely different room to appear-

And so when one does, it doesn't occur to you to question it, only to throw it open and walk through to another featureless room in your rapidly expanding bunker. This one is smaller than the last, about the size of the bed in your hotel room, and less… clean, than the last one. There are a few pipes running above your head, some fibre cables, the things that society as a whole decided should be hidden underground.

"W-Weiss, wait!" Jaune yells, but the door seals off behind you.

"... Are we right in understanding that you wish to be alone for a while?" The walls speak, a single red orb appearing in front of you as they do.

"... I'd… I'd like that. Tell- tell Jaune I'm sorry, I just-"

"The sysadmin will understand. We will make sure of it."

You nod shakily, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.

The orb sinks back into the porcelain wall. You are left with your own thoughts.

You are entirely unsure that this is a good thing, but you're not going to go back through there for a while yet.

Leaning against the wall, you slide down it, allowing yourself a few sniffles to calm yourself. When that is done, you set your face, grow a spine, and do as your sister's always told you.

Take a large problem, and break it down. One solution at a time.

So. What is the problem?

The White Fang are paying the way out for people in internment facilities. Not, something you're inherently opposed to, but…

You've seen the figures. You've had to, due to your father's obsession that you 'learn more about the family business,' as if he didn't marry into it-

Not the problem. Not worth getting angry over.

You've seen the figures. Nowhere near enough people get out of those mines without external payments. The rest, just…

Work their lives away.

Prisoners, some part of you names them. Debtors, a less sympathetic part argues back.

… What's the difference between a prisoner and a debtor who can't pay his debts?

You pull out your Scroll and stare at it. One call. One call is all it would take to start an investigation.

The White Fang pay for people's freedom. Just like dozens of others do every other year.

And that is the rub.

If you tell anyone, the SDC will just take the path of least resistance, as it always has- shut down external payments completely and somehow magically weasel out of any kind of PR problem that comes with it. Debtors have no way out but the way the SDC gives them, and the way the SDC gives them is not enough.

And if you don't, for every moment you choose not to tell someone, to find another solution, to scramble for some middle ground that isn't horrifying… people like Fawn happen. People, given a perfectly valid reason to hate your guts, and a place that gives them the opportunity to take their pound of flesh, from the SDC, from your family, from… from you.

For just a moment, you are reminded, in full, stark detail, exactly how close you came to death today, and it makes your gorge rise. Pushing it down, ignoring the sudden shaking in your hands,

You keep turning the question and its solutions over and over in your head, hoping that there's some angle somewhere that doesn't lead to you imprisoning thousands of people for life or allowing terrorists to be created, and keep coming up blank.

… There is no right answer here. Only two wrong ones.

There is no lesser evil.

You are cursed with a problem that, no matter which answer you choose, you are made a monster for choosing it. Absolutely nothing you do changes that.

Gritting your teeth, you find yourself blinking back tears, and your chest racked with sobs. You curl up a little further, pressing your head against your Scroll.

Fuck.

… Fuck.

 

[Algalon]

do not abuse the funny rating Due to reports of multiple people in this thread using the Funny-Rating in an inappropriate manner, I have deemed it necessary to make a public warning against future such behavior.

The Funny-Rating, unlike the other ratings, has the potential to be used in an insulting or mocking manner. Such behavior might infringe on Rules 3 and 4, and can lead to disciplinary action, such as infractions or having your ability to like posts revoked.

Examples of such inappropriate behavior can include:

• Rating a serious-appearing post funny, because you find the opinion/argument within to be laughable/ridiculous/not worth taking seriously.
• Rating the posts of (a) certain person(s) funny, with the intent provoking or insulting them.

In the future, please reconsider the usage of the funny-rating when a post does not appear to be making a joke.