RWBY 1. Crash Course

**I**

**Crash Course**

Time.

Ozpin hated it with every fiber of his being.

No matter what good deed he did or great accomplishment he performed, time had a cruel way of bringing up his dark past and undoing all the good he ever did. It didn't matter how far he ran or where he hid. His past always found a way to haunt him. The various screens on his wall displaying the invaded cities were only another testament of his numerous failures.

Yet again, time was playing another cruel joke on him.

Nearly all of Remnant had found itself suddenly under attack at the same time by their most feared enemy.

Ozpin let out a small chuckle in utter disbelief. He never even thought it was possible, not since the end of the Great War. Despite all the accomplishments and tragedies he had suffered over the years, this was the one thing he was sure would never happen.

Remnant and the Four Kingdoms had been in a time of peace unlike any seen for many decades, despite constant small scale pirate raids and isolated terrorist attacks. It did seem that there were no end to the power-hungry lunatics and their plans for conquest, despite what Ozpin did. Only a few years ago, dozens of groups operated across Remnant, seeking to dethrone their respective governments and the only people who stood in their way were his courageous former students.

All the Hunters he trained at his academy were the best of the best, trained in every possible aspect to counter those who seek to destroy Remnant and protect its diverse population. Despite mostly being kids, every single one of them willingly volunteered at his school, knowing full well the risks of the job and came to terms with it exceptionally well.

It took a special kind of person to do such a job.

Not many could rise up to that challenge and not all were as skilled as many of his students and staff. A great number of eager applicants applied with the academy, drawn by the allure of adventure, action, glory, traveling, and honor, but few actually made the cut. He needed dedicated people, willing to do whatever it took to protect those who couldn't adequately protect themselves. Dreamers were not welcome, although he had several were incredibly selfless and wanted to help people yet didn't care at all about the publicity or recognition of being a hero.

Those chosen few among the precious few were, in essence, true heroes in training.

Still, it brought a bitter taste to his mouth that this was happening now. In all his years, he had never seen something like this. In a single week, every major government in Remnant was suddenly under attack by the vicious race of beings known simply as the Grimm. Despite being around for as long anyone could remember, even in the days before the Great War, not much was known of them. Even most of the vast knowledge people like Ozpin held on the Grimm were purely speculative.

Numbers, strength, culture, speech, amount of resources at their disposal, leadership, written language, homeland.

No one really knew anything substantial about them.

The only thing Ozpin could confidently say was that they possessed a level of ruthlessness that was unmatched by anyone in all of history. Even the White Fang, the radical revolutionaries who pushed for equal rights for the scattered Faunus in all of Remnant, didn't stoop to levels that the Grimm did. The Faunus only wanted equality since their homeland had been destroyed and their status as refugees caused many to shun them. In desperation, some charismatic psychopath convinced a bunch of misguided souls take matters into their own hands and use violence as a means to an end. A peaceful people had turned into a mindless machine pushing for genocide and the "preservation" of their own race.

They could be pretty ruthless at times, but the Grimm seemed to have no capacity for mercy.

Another thing was the Grimm had no discernable endgame.

At least one that was obvious beside the complete eradication of Remnant and all who dwelt in it.

And somehow, someway, they were able to build an entire army complete with tanks, armed exo-suits, armored vehicles, air support, and naval vessels.

As soon as the armies of the Grimm assaulted the Four Kingdoms, their respective governments knew it was futile to try and face them head-on, even with their combined military strength. They had already spread themselves too far and too thin to adequately fight against them, never mind sending reinforcements.

So they ordered their respective Hunter academies to send their students into combat to stem the tide.

It was an order Ozpin begrudgingly carried out. His lifelong friend, General James Ironwood, had his hands full with defending his homeland to spare or extend any form of help to his students and was sending his own cadets into battle as well. Ozpin always hoped that his students would never had to fight a war by themselves, yet they were on their way to the front lines as he sat there, a husk and empty shell was what he used to be.

Mere kids deployed across Remnant to fight against an enemy that they didn't know much about.

He knew his students were as prepared as much as humanly possible. Many joined up due to the Grimm ruining their childhood through their many violent acts and a desire to prevent anyone from experiencing whatever tragic loss they experienced. Others were fighting to protect their homeland and loved ones while some fought simply to protect others. Every single one of them had a reason to fight the Grimm, despite their looming odds and relative inexperience.

He only hoped that they took all his instructors' advice to heart. At least some were fighting with others intending to protect their homeland.

But others would have to rely solely only on themselves and their teammates.

There were in for the fight of their lives and the thought of his students dying gnawed at Ozpin's already ancient, calloused soul.

* * *

><p>"Looks like the militia put up a heck of a fight," commented Walter A. Murphy as he studied the tactical map displayed on his scroll. "You think they already kicked the Grimm out of the city?"<p>

"Dude, the fact that we're here means there's plenty of fighting left in the city," remarked Mykael "Lulz" Belfried, gesturing around him. A whole platoon of Helljumpers stood in the cargo hold of the Bullhead VTOL, anxiously awaiting orders.

Helljumpers were the most elite military unit in all of Remnant, with numbers exceeding that of the holier-than-thou Hunters, and they possessed total autonomy from everyone. In skill, they were second only to the Hunters, whose prestigious history stretched for centuries longer than that of the Helljumpers. In fact, most of them were Hunter rejects, dropouts, and washouts. Despite that, they were still some of the best of the best, despite many of them being as young as seventeen, like Mykael and Walter. They were often the first reinforcements sent into serious combat zones that local military couldn't mobilize to fast enough via high altitude insertions, although they had never face a situation as grave as this in decades.

"Let me see that map," said Mykael, snatching the scroll away from Walter's grip without bothering to wait for a reply.

"Hey!" futilely protested Walt. He knew better then to press that matter. Mykael always got his way when it came to Walter. Mykael should have felt bad about taking advantage of Walter, since he was something of a pushover, but he didn't care since he was the only one that did so. Anyone else who tried would have to answer to him. Walter was his to mess around with and his alone.

The map was far more discouraging then Walter let on, but that was to be expected. Mykael and Walter had always been realists, but Mykael tended to lean towards pessimism unlike Walter, who tried to be as optimistic as possible. Walter was a bit naïve and had a romanticized view of the world. Not being the sharpest tool in the shed, it was pretty mind boggling why someone like Walt would join a gritty crowd like the Helljumpers.

He even foolishly thought the militia could stand a chance against the Grimm's might.

Small but agile warships had anchored in New Valero's harbor, shelling opposition all around the city. The Grimm had claimed territory from the ports all the way to mid-downtown, occupying over a third of the city. There, along the main streets of downtown New Valero, the militia and their brave volunteers set up a defense line to protect the evacuating civilian population stuck in the suburbs surrounding the city's outskirts. Each of the Four Kingdoms were too preoccupied with their own invasions to spare any resources outside of sending air support in the form of lightly armed airships for evacuation and nearly every city state outside of the kingdoms had requested help from the Helljumpers and the Hunters due to the inferior armament and size of their respective militias.

To make matters worse, unlike other independent city-states where the Grimm invaded, the Grimm forces in New Valero possessed the same hardware and were just as numerous as the forces that invaded the Four Kingdoms. It made sense to use lots of armor to invade the militaristic Kingdom of Atlas but for the trading port city of New Valero?

How in the wide, wide world were they able to spare this much armor?

And furthermore, why dedicate this many resources to a city with little to no strategic value? Sure there were trade routes and stuff like that further inland but that wasn't enough for this disproportional amount of forces in occupying the city and it made Mykael wonder. There were even reports of no Nevermore units being sighted anywhere near the city. Why would the Grimm refuse to use their air support? It would benefit them in the long run, especially considering just how powerful they could be.

Whatever.

Lorenzo could probably think of some obscure, seemingly trivial but important reason the Grimm were hell bent on taking the city. Lorenzo Baras was the platoon marksmen, which was a fancy title for a sniper who wasn't a sniper unless told he was a sniper, and was a well-read kid the same age as Mykael, a decent chess player, and knew quite a bit about strategy from all those history books on famous battles he read in his spare time. He was a big bookworm if anything else.

Not Mykael. He liked to read as well, but never could stand those brain rotting analyses of strategy or anything not fictional. He learned strategy the good old fashion way: from playing a variety of RTS games.

The truth of the matter aside, Mykael didn't really care why they were in New Valero. It would be nice to know, but not necessary. They had plenty of armor parachuting into the city with them and as long as the Grimm didn't have anti-air capabilities and if they were able to regroup with the New Valero Militia, the tide could quickly turn in their favor. Besides, from what he'd heard from his CO, several Hunter teams from Beacon Academy were assigned to assist the NVM.

He wasn't a huge gambler, but those odds looked pretty decent and even tempting to him.

Mykael preformed one last routine check on his equipment, making sure everything was safely stored away underneath his wingsuit and secured one of his favorite weapons, a Raider CS-35 assault rifle, to the specialized harness on his back. The Raider was one of the more unique weapons found in the vast Helljumper armory, but it certainly wasn't the weirdest or the most unconventional. The Raider was a averaged length assault rifle with a collapsible stock, pistol grip, tactical rail on top for various optic attachments, could use 25 round straight magazines or bulky 75-round drum magazines, and possessed a pistol grip styled foregrip underneath the barrel located an inch forward of the magazine well. The odd part about it which prevented many from using the rifle was the fact that the magazines were loaded into the left side of the rifle versus the bottom or behind the trigger. This also presented a problem with the drum magazine as some were not able to use it properly and others saw it as unwieldy. Most managed to use the Raider by holding the drum magazine itself but it became hard to aim the sights like that. Few, like Mykael, were able to use the rifle by holding the foregrip that many complained didn't properly soften the recoil.

Mykael had no such problems. He liked the rifle mostly because of the large magazine, decent fire rate, and hard hitting rounds it used. He could care less about the other stuff. He preferred odd weapons and there were no shortages of those in Remnant.

He just wanted to go into combat. His trigger finger was primed and rearing to go.

"Here's your scroll back." Mykael extended the scroll to Walt.

"Oh, that's actually not mine."

Mykael raised an eyebrow. "Then what poor soul did you steal it from? This is a big step up for you, man."

"Dude, I didn't steal it. Mine broke last week and Lorenzo lent me his."

"Ah." That made sense. Lorenzo was a quiet guy, not unlike Mykael, but he was hell of a lot friendlier then Mykael was. Mykael had a...tendency to creep people out. Maybe it was his thuggish eyes, bushy eyebrows, maniacal laugh, or his peculiar sense of humor. Not a lot of people found his admittedly morbid jokes funny either. Walter didn't mind since people didn't like his cheesy puns and most people didn't get Lorenzo's sarcasm most of the time. He insulted people all the time without them ever knowing.

Mykael glanced around the crowded cargo hold for Lorenzo, trying to find the Helljumper helmet with the Grim Reaper wielding a scythe etched on the right side and an Ace of Spades on the left. Mykael never fully understood Lorenzo's symbols. Hunters and Helljumpers had a tradition of marking their armor with family crests or personal symbols which carried a meaning. He claimed they were symbols luck and death, since as a sniper/marksman he picked off enemies one by one while protecting those boots on the ground. Mykael always kinda thought it was a little stupid. Especially since his armor was painted black with red stripes and accents. For a sniper stealth was a pretty big deal, so it seemed like a stupid risk to take.

Then again, it wasn't like his was inconspicuous nor did many people understand his own symbol. Mykael had the image of a solar eclipse sprayed on the right side of his helmet with a sliver of the sun showing. The sun was supposed to symbolize the fleeting present and the moon was the looming and hard to determine future.

Deep stuff but the subtlety and meaning was completely lost on most people.

Idiots, all of them.

He found Lorenzo, conversing with some of the greener Helljumpers who had never performed a combat drop before. He tried to reassure them and gave them numerous tips and pointers on landing the drop safely. It wasn't like there was a high mortality rate among Helljumper jumps. Over 98% of all Helljumpers survived their jumps, since the miniscule targets of an individual person were hard to hit with bulky antiaircraft weaponry and that their unique shock absorbing armor allowed them to deploy their chutes only a few hundred feet off the ground and walk away with little to no injury. Even if someone happened to slam into a building, as long as they weren't going at terminal velocity and at least deployed their wingsuit or parachute, their armor would absorb most injury that could befall them. Bones might be broken, but they would live to fight another day.

"Think fast," calmly stated Mykael, tossing Lorenzo's fragile scroll to him. Lorenzo spun around and barely managed to grab it before it could hit the floor.

He quickly stuffed it away, muttering some type of profanity under his breath. "Can't you respect someone else's personal property?" he grumbled.

"I could, but where's the fun in that?"

Red lights flashed throughout the compartment, cutting the conversation short.

"All right everyone, we're a mile out from the city, about twenty thousand feet in the air," said the pilot as the cargo doors slowly opened. Outside, juxtaposed between the bright blue sky above and the white clouds below were a dozen or so brightly custom colored Bullheads with personal insignias of their pilots on displayed on the side. "The NVM have rendezvous points across the city. Just follow your HUDs to get there. Good luck out there."

"All right, listen up." Lorenzo waved his hands around to attract the attention of the rookies as everyone else methodically jumped out of the Bullhead. Walter flashed thumbs up to Mykael before following the rest of their unit out. "We're dropping into a hot zone but don't think that just because we don't have any AA trying to knock us out of the sky that it'll be a smooth ride down. A lot could go wrong in the air. You have to be prepared for anything-"

"Yeah, like so," interrupted Mykael, giving Lorenzo a hard shove in the back, knocking him off of the Bullhead. He let out a deep, hearty laugh as he watched Lorenzo's form struggle to course correct as he plummeted down past the cloud barrier. He should have known better than to stand near the edge!

"MYKAEL YOU INGRATEFUL CRAZY SON OF A B-" Mykael switched off his COMs before he could finish.

"Did you just kill him?" asked a female rookie. Several of the rookies glanced around in panic, unsure if they should fight back or take flight; only they couldn't fire their weapons inside the aircraft this high up in the air without bringing the whole thing down or flee since the only place to go was down.

"He'll be fine and you'll be fine as long if you remember your training," reassured Mykael, cracking his knuckles. Some of the rookies backed up and shared nervous glances. One of them noticeably gripped his sidearm. "Now you can jump off or I can throw you off."

He cracked his neck and flashed a wicked grin at the nervous rookies.

"Who's first?"

* * *

><p>Lorenzo was going to kill Mykael.<p>

No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

He was going to kill Mykael.

Lorenzo grew up in the most dysfunctional cities in Remnant, his friends being incredibly eccentric as a result, which in turn caused him to be introverted and somewhat socially awkward. That's the only reason he was able to put up with Mykael. Anyone else would have shot that highly functioning sociopath when they first met him.

Then again, a good number of Helljumpers were touched in the head in some way or another. Probably why they washed out of the Hunter academies in the first place. Mykael was a valuable asset to the Helljumpers, regardless if he had a few loose screws.

Still, putting a bullet in the back of Mykael's head was highly tempting. He would never know; never hearing the gunshot, never seeing the muzzle flash or the scope glint until it was far too late.

His HUD went crazy with information, displaying all sorts of updates on the invasion: SOSs from trapped civilians behind enemy lines, the militia's rushed back and forward transmissions, garbled civilian chatter from the evacuation effort, and the intercepted encrypted transmissions of the Grimm. Lorenzo pushed them away with a trained flick of the eye and with another brought up a tactical map of the city with the various rendezvous points highlighted.

His unit, Domino 3-2, was ordered to meet up with Misfit 1-3, Anvil 4-2, and Onyx 5-1 in Konica Plaza, four blocks west of the front lines.

Unfortunately, Mykael's stunt had thrown him seriously off course. According to the miniaturized computer in his HUD, he had landed not blocks, but miles off course.

New Valero was a massive city, being the fifth most populated city-state outside of the Four Kingdoms, boasting a population well over one hundred thousand.

That was just great.

Why was it always him?

Every single time, be it an actual mission or a training mission, he was the one that got screwed over. His unit leader, a so-called "military man" who insisted he be called Sarge even though there was no real ranks within the Helljumpers aside from seniority, consistently ignored his warnings and kept getting him and their teammates ambushed or "killed" in their mock engagements, leaving him and whatever stragglers left to pick off the ambushers one by one. Per usual, Sarge was ungrateful and kept claiming his plan would have worked if he hadn't messed it up, even though Lorenzo and his friends won the game.

It didn't matter then and there.

At least he wouldn't have to deal with him now, on an actual battlefield. The many small scale engagements Domino 3-2 had participated in against pirates only produced minor injuries but in a large scale engagement like these?

He prayed for his teammates under Sarge's command, but he needed to worry about himself right now.

Lorenzo had the misfortune of landing in the Wolf's Den district of town. Wolf's Den was the financial district where merchants, stockholders, politicians, businessmen, and other rich and powerful people often made illicit and under the table deals. The surrounding areas were known for their high crime rates.

But that wasn't what scared Lorenzo.

What scared him was that Wolf's Den laid in Grimm controlled territory.

He removed his rifle, a XBR55 Battle Rifle, from the special magnetized plate on his back and chambered a round before removing his tear-away wingsuit, revealing his armor underneath. He needed to get to high ground or get a vehicle. At least Mykael didn't knock off his rifle. Lorenzo was going to need it. His rifle was fitted with an auto-zoom optics scope, digital ammo counter, sixty round magazines, and fire selector for single-fire, burst-fire, and fully automatic modes. The XBR55 was an older, uncommon marksmen rifle that Lorenzo preferred for its accuracy up to nine hundred and fifty meters and its decent fire rate for close quarter engagements.

He looked around for a working vehicle, but every vehicle on the street was either a smoldering wreck or presented too big of a target.

Of course.

Lorenzo just couldn't catch a break.

"This is Lorenzo Baras of Domino 3-2, does anyone copy?" he said over an open COM channels.

Static.

"This is Lorenzo Baras of Domino 3-2, please respond."

Static yet again.

"Can anyone out there hear me? Is there anyone out in Wolf's Den in need of assistance?"

Guess what?

More static.

He angrily kicked an empty soda can across the street, following it as it bounced off rubble before rolling into a storm drain.

Why?

Why him of all people?

Knowing his luck, his team was probably on the other side of the city, eating a hot meal that was cooked by grateful locals for helping them defend their beautiful city. Real beds, proper medicine and equipment, home cooked food, piping hot mugs of tasteless coffee, and fraternizing with the militia as well.

Meanwhile he was going to have to avoid Grimm patrols until he could get back into friendly territory.

No sense in wasting time or cynically complaining about his predicament.

Lorenzo entered the nearest building, some type of stock exchange, looking for a table. The inside was a mess. Papers littered the floor and personal scrolls and state of the art computers laid in smashed pieces all over the ground. Brass casings crunched underneath Lorenzo's combat boots. Exposed wires hung from the ceilings were the lamps were shot down. Large bullet holes peppered the ornately decorated marble walls. Dried blood pooled around the bodies of security guards and the few businessmen that were unfortunately caught inside when the Grimm came inside.

None of them had a remote chance. None of the security guards were able to pull out their sidearm before being gunned down and many of the businessmen were shot in the back trying to flee.

Even through his air filtered helmet, the smell of death was overwhelming. His stomach violently twisted into a knot as he carefully walked past the dead bodies. His conscience argued that he needed to give them men a proper burial, but he had neither the time nor the luxury to do so.

For now he had to survive.

It took Lorenzo all of five minutes before he found a decorated mahogany table in the center of the room with the remnants of a stock computer scattered across the top. If it was any other time, he would have stopped to appreciate the fine craftsmanship and elegant curves carved into the table, but every second he stayed in the Wolf's Den was another second he risked being sighted by the Grimm. He quickly shoved off the garbage and set his rifle against the side of the table within reach. Lorenzo placed his scroll on the center of the table and calmly stated his passcode, "One shot, one kill."

"Voice recognized authenticated," replied the accented voice of Vergil, the artificial intelligence stored within his armor. A small white-blue hologram of a butler materialized on top of the table in front of him. Vergil was a Visual Intelligence System for Reconnaissance, known as VISR for short. It was an experimental but powerful AI system that removed the need for a spotter so snipers like Lorenzo could operate alone. They also had other applications, if used correctly. However, only limited numbers were produced due security reason, so only a few were trusted with these AIs. Not many outside the military and independent contractors/researchers knew about them. "Display TACMAP TK-421 and find out what are the nearest rendezvous points and whose supposed to be at each one," requested Lorenzo.

Vergil stepped to the side of the scroll and a holographic representation of the city appeared. The hologram zoomed in and highlighted a twelve block area while highlighting a community center in red.

"That is one of New Valero's newest community centers; one of a dozen currently under construction across and was estimated to be completed by the end of this year. Kilo 5, Shark 4-2, and Charlie 3 were supposed to meet up there but according to communications between Helljumper and militia channels, only Charlie 3 made it intact."

"Intact? What do you mean by intact?"

"Half of Shark 4-2 was killed in action while the other half sustained multiple critical injuries. Kilo 5 is reported to have landed at a different rendezvous point two point four three miles up north. Charlie 3 only sustained light causalities."

Lorenzo felt his heart drop as a list of all Helljumpers reported KIA appeared. Close to a fifth of all the Helljumpers deployed had been killed or wounded in action within the first hour of combat. All but a handful made it to the ground without some type of complication, but the Grimm did possess better equipment then they initially anticipated.

"Vergil, try to find the nearest friendly radio signal as quick as you can. Search civilian channels and military channels nearby and send them our clearance codes if asked. Isolate the search area to the Wolf's Den district and surrounding areas. Filter out any transmissions by the Grimm."

"Ten minutes until next available response," answered Vergil, his virtual face stoic as his operating systems devoted its power to scanning the heavy COM traffic for friendly forces. This deep in the city, the majority of signals had to be the Grimm's. He had to leave as soon as Vergil came back to him before the Grimm picked up on Vergil's signal. After all, his supplies were incredibly limited. Helljumpers were usually given enough rations to last three days as well as full ammunition for whatever weapons they chose in their rucksacks. Their HUDs provided guidance and access to COM channels but this much interference would severely limit his communication ability.

He needed help, and soon.

A few tense minutes passed before Vergil stumbled onto a concrete signal. "Detecting Priority One distress signal."

"Is it friendly?"

"Affirmative Master Baras. They are running NVM clearance codes."

Lorenzo took a deep breath to calm his nerves. This might the break he needed. Finally something was going his way. Priority One transmissions were only sent by retreating friendly forces, units about to be overrun, and units in need of evacuation. Hopefully it was the first one.

"Patch them through."

"- one copy? This is Captain Ponders of the New Valero Militia. We have heavy casualties and numerous civilians in need of medical attention. Need immediate CASEVAC. Does anyone copy?"

"I copy Captain Ponders. This is Helljumper Lorenzo Baras of Domino 3-2. How can I be of assistance?"

A sigh of relief filled the channel with static for a few seconds. "Thank you son. How many men do you have with you?" he asked eagerly. "My unit has sustained heavy casualties and we have civilians in need of evacuation."

"I'm sorry to for giving you false hope sir, but it's just me. I was separated from my squad during entry."

"Oh." There was a tinge of disappointment present in the Captain's voice. That was to be expected. "Well, I need bodies that can still walk on their own two feet and pull a trigger. Where are you?"

"In some sort of stock exchange inside the Wolf's Den district."

"That's good news. The only stock exchange in the city is the NVSE, which happens to be in the neighborhood. One of the first places the Grimm took over once the ports were taken before they-"

"Sir, forgive me for the interruption but we appear to have hostiles heading towards out current position," said Vergil.

"What?" Lorenzo felt his throat tighten. Did the Grimm track Vergil's signature? If so, he was fundamentally screwed. He couldn't take on a Grimm patrol head on. He needed a plan. A surprise attack or a vantage point to snipe from. "Give me a sitrep."

"I've detected four unique signals approximately five hundred meters up the street disembarking a vehicle and approaching on foot." The map expanded to show the neighborhood a black and a half away with four bright red silhouettes slowly approaching the stock exchange.

"Cease channel search and go into standby mode," ordered Lorenzo. This was bad, so very bad. Four Grimm against a single Helljumper? If it were Mykael in his shoes, the odds would greatly be in his favor. That crazy piece of work could scare off a Beowolf with one nasty look. For Lorenzo, the odds were still in his favor, but not by too much.

"Affirmative. Good luck out there Master Baras." Vergil gave him a ceremonial bow before flashing out of existence.

Lorenzo quickly packed away his scroll and snatched up his rifle, thumbing the fire selector to single fire.

"Looks our conversation will have to wait until we meet up. Trouble just found me."

"Deal with those Grimm as fast as you can and meet us at the NVPD station on Algarve Avenue. I wish you the best of luck," signed off the captain.

"I'm going to need all the luck I can get," Lorenzo muttered under his breath.

He dashed out of the exchange, ducking behind the nearest piece of cover he could find by the entrance, a massive piece of rubble that had been blown off of the skyline.

_Please don't see me._

_Please don't see me._

Lorenzo went prone next to the rubble, resting his rifle on a concrete slab and praying they wouldn't notice his armor on top of the bleak gray concrete. He pressed the scope against his helmet and zoomed in, focusing the digital crosshairs on the forehead of the nearest Grimm.

Even through the scope, the sight of the Grimm gave him the chills. The Grimm, like the Faunus, were almost human, but not quite. Underneath the eye pocket of the red accented bone masks all Grimm wore were pure black pupils that displayed zero emotion. Unlike humans or Faunus who knew when to retreat, nearly all of the Grimm fought to the last man. They were relentless and ruthless in ways most people couldn't even fathom. That made them a foe to be reckoned with. A baffling aspect of the Grimm was the fact that they spoke in a rough language, full of growls, clicks, and hums that couldn't be replicated by humans or Faunus.

To make matters worse, these were the grunts of the Grimm's extensive military, the Beowolves. Beowolves were the Grimm's infantry and the core of their armed forces. They were aggressive, rarely backing down from combat and were bloodthirsty on a level unlike most other Grimm. It seemed the smarter Grimm were the ones assigned to operate the heavy machinery of other divisions, while the dimwitted were sent to be cannon fodder.

He took a deep breath to calm down his frantic heart and centered the crosshairs on the lead Grimm's nose, brushing aside all distracting thoughts.

None of that mattered to Lorenzo right then and there.

It was just him and the enemy he swore to kill.

He had a job to do.

He had to protect the innocent people trying to leave the city.

He needed to avenge the good men and women who perished defending this city.

He needed to avenge his fallen brothers and sisters in arms.

He had an obligation to prevent the Grimm from expanding inwards towards the Four Kingdoms.

Holding his breath, he squeezed the trigger.

The front of the rifle cracked and the stock kicked into his shoulder.

Three hundred meters ahead of him, the head of the lead Grimm evaporated into a red mist.

Lorenzo wasted no time confirming the kill, methodically sweeping the crosshairs to the next Grimm and firing twice, red flowers blossoming on his black uniform where his heart should have been.

The last two Grimm reacted as soon as their comrades hit the ground, bringing their bullpup rifles up and began firing wilding, kicking up the dirt less than four meters away from Lorenzo's position. They didn't even try to correct their fire.

Why would they?

They were Beowolves after all. Single-minded, bloodthirsty grunts that never seemed to end. Their weapons didn't help either. They were using Morita assault rifles, which lacked any form of sights and possessed terrible recoil but they packed a walloping punch, used generous and compact seventy-five round magazines, a high fire rate, and carried an underbarrel shotgun. The standard issue weapons for Grimm infantry, it was a fearsome weapon in close quarters, but not so much at a distance. Shotguns had a better effective range then those things. They weren't called confetti makers for nothing. Still, a hundred or so Beowolves firing those things at once tended to cut down even some of the strongest resistance.

Lorenzo aimed for the center mass of the closet of the two targets and quickly fired off four consecutive rounds. The first two missed by a few centimeters due to the blinding muzzle flash, but the last two struck the Beowolf and sent him flying to the ground motionless.

The final Beowolf possessed enough intelligence to duck behind a ruined car long enough to reload his weapon.

An ultimately pointless act.

As soon as he broke cover, Lorenzo let off another shot.

The sniper remained motionless, his gut twisted into a knot as he watched the Beowolf clutch his now shattered throat, one hand futilely clawing at the air as blood and bone fragments forcibly made their way down his esophagus.

Without waiting for the Grimm to succumb to his wounds, Lorenzo swept his rifle around the perimeter in case of reinforcements. Sporadic gunfire filled the air, but they were far too distant to pose a threat to him then and there. He waited for ninety seconds to see in anyone came but luckily for him, none came.

In the back of his mind, he knew it was an excuse not to watch the Grimm hold to his dear life as he violently convulsed on the desolate road. A sniper's job was one of the most stressful positions imaginable. It's easy to shoot a Beowolf in the heat of combat, not waiting to see if he'll get back up. To shoot them from a distance and watching them hold on as long as they possibly could before their fleeting life left their body was nerve wracking at best.

Regardless, Lorenzo let out a sigh of relief. He finally had some breathing room and a vehicle to get him to where he needed to go. Whatever vehicle the Grimm used to get there would be sufficient enough to get to the police station. According to his TACMAP, it wasn't a long trip by car, unless the roads were too cluttered with wrecks and rubble.

Hopefully the trip there would be uneventful.

With his luck, there were going to be roadblocks and checkpoints every step he took.

He could only guess how the rest of Domino 3-2 was faring on the front lines. With Sarge in charge, chances were they were attempting to carry out another one of his near suicidal, zero chance of success plan.

After a brief moment of thought, Lorenzo considered himself lucky.

* * *

><p>Why did nothing fun ever happen to Mykael?<p>

Most of the Helljumpers going into New Valero landed in hot zones and were helping to push back the Grimm. They were in the streets, fighting door to door, halting whatever advances the Grimm attempted. They were using all the armor dropped in from their Bullheads to decimate the Grimm's forces. LAVs, APCs, FAVs, LRVs, MBTs, IFVs, mobile artillery cannons, missile platforms, exo-suits, and even a handful of mini-mech suits were battling it out in the downtown streets.

Meanwhile, he was stuck with the rest of Domino 3-2 overseeing evacuation efforts of panicky people.

Plucking his eyes out with a spoon was more appealing than standing around in the middle of the street, directing shell-shocked civilians to go in the one direction that anyone with common sense should have gone: towards the air pads and out of the city.

You didn't need a dozen Helljumper units to be traffic cops. Hell, it was an enormous waste of talent. His unit could be with the rest of the Helljumpers, taking the fight to the Grimm and leading the militia to a glorious victory. Why couldn't the militia or the NVPD do it? Surely there were enough of them there to spare a few, now that the Helljumpers were on the scene, but no.

His unit leader chose to stay behind and protect the perfectly out-of-harm's-way civilians while everyone else was going in and kicking the Grimm out of the city. There were no less than a dozen tanks for crying out loud guarding the streets where the civilians poured into. At least ten carefully concealed and well stocked machine gun nests and sniper posts monitored the roads leading to the evacuation center. Bullheads were lifting off and landing every few seconds, their holds stuffed with as many civilians as they could possibly cram in.

Boredom was smacking Mykael around in his head and if he didn't see some action soon, so help him, he was going to strangle someone.

Maybe his unit leader.

Yeah, definitely. If it was going to be anyone, it was going to be Sarge. Maybe Walter if he started telling his cheesy puns again. Sarge was easily one of the most irritable people in all of Remnant and the Four Kingdoms. He always claimed he came from a military background and was supposedly "well versed" in military tactics, but even a simpleton could see how ineffective and suicidal his glory hound plans were.

The one time he came up with an even halfway decent plan that didn't involve them going out in a blaze of glory or attempting a suicidal charge or attack was the one time they weren't fighting. It was hardly a surprise to many that Mykael always tried to team-kill Sarge during a mock engagement. Hell, Lorenzo even shot him once to stop him from leading their unit into a suicidal charge at the flag they were supposed to capture during Capture the Flag. Their unit was able to secure the flag and bring it back to their base in record with only Sarge reported as a casualty and yet what did the obnoxious moron do?

Brushed their achievement aside, claiming his plan would have worked if and only if "some dirty, yellow-bellied coward who shouldn't have been a Helljumper in the first place for not having the guts to face me on the field of battle took a cheap, dirty shot at me."

If only Lorenzo was using live rounds. Their lives would be so much easier and funnier, although some of his teammates might argue about the latter part.

Speaking of which, where was Lorenzo?

Mykael hadn't seen him since he touched ground over an hour ago and he wasn't responding to any COM signals they sent out. His team status list marked him as alive and functional. Aside from the elevated heart rate displayed on his vitals, nothing was wrong with him. At least as far as Mykael could tell. He didn't understand the rest of the fluctuating bars and waves having to do with brain wave activates and stress levels. The only thing that really mattered was that his vitals shouldn't blink red and that his heartbeat should never beat too fast, too slow, or flatline. Any one of those meant he was dead or suffering from a serious injury.

Whatever.

He was a sniper after all.

Aren't they supposed to be distant, the lone wolf type of guy and all that other garbage you read in books? Most likely he was out of range and met up with one of the thirty or so Helljumper units operating sent to New Valero.

"So, why did the elephant eat a box of light bulbs?" asked Walter, breaking the record hour long silence between them standing guard.

Mykael groaned inwards at Walter's jokes. Where Mykael's humor was morbid and dark, Walter's was old and bland. "No, I do not know what the fat, smelly elephant with the tiny brain ate the huge box filled with burned out light bulbs."

Walter leaned in towards Mykael for the punchline as if it was some sort of world changing secret. "He wanted a light lunch!" Walter broke out into a fit of laughter as Mykael resisted the sudden urge to blow out his brains right then and there. Screw that, he should just shoot Walter where the sun don't shine.

He rolled his eyes, searching for the other members of his squad to share a private COM channel with. He needed to occupy himself while Walter fired off cheesy pun after cheesy pun with no provocation. Otherwise the trigger on his rifle was going to be real tempting.

Helljumper units were divided into six-man squads to allow greater flexibility on the battlefield should the chain of command be interrupted. His squad, First Squad, was the odd one out of Domino 3-2, mostly due to having everyone but Walter butting heads with Sarge at some point or another. Sarge turned the many practical jokes and "accidental" misfires very personally and had it out for them.

That alienated them from the rest of their unit, even though some of them tried to socialize with the others.

Lorenzo was missing, so he was a no go and so was Walter with his horrendous jokes. Even though Mykael had turned off his COM connection to Walter, they were standing close enough that Mykael could still hear him, be it slightly muffled.

"What kind of footwear do mice wear? Squeakers!"

One of the two girls in their unit, Raine Dash, was too busy chatting up other females Helljumpers from different units to bother. Normally Mykael would interrupt whatever conversation they were having for a bit of fun but (a) she had her helmet off, so it wouldn't reach her, (b) he didn't know what unit the other girls were from so he couldn't manually set up a private COMM channel with them, and that (c) Raine was not someone you would want to bother or prank a lot. She was a self-proclaimed rebel, with long, messy and unevenly cropped multicolored hair with matching rainbowfied armor, a fierce independent streak, a highly competitive nature, was somewhat brash at times, and was a very self-confident individual. She loved the occasional joke but if she took your joke the wrong way (which was often for Mykael although he blamed Lorenzo for a good third of them), you were going to lose some teeth.

There were no ifs, ands, or buts about that.

Sarge made that exact same mistake during a mock engagement with a severely disrespectful and very vulgar sexist comment.

Yeeeeaaaaa-no.

Mykael possessed absolutely no desire to have his jaw realigned. Again.

Definitely scratching her off the list.

The other girl of First Squad, Sera Masumi, was having a serious conversation with a militia officer, repeatedly pointing to a map sprawled across the hood of a ruined car. Normally, he would have no problem taking to Sera. Sera was a tomboy like Raine, with cropped wavy black hair, a snaggletoothed smile, a mischievous streak, and was very good at keeping a leveled head in even the most stressful environments. Like Raine, it would also be in one's best interests not to offend her since she was well-versed in marital arts and knew about hundred or so ways to kill a fully grown man with her bare hands. Unlike Raine however, she didn't have a temper and was pretty docile. Very sociable and observant at that too.

Still, a conversation with a militia officer meant serious business. Interrupting her assumingly important talk for idle chat would be tantamount to suicide. Either one could do him in, Sera physically and the officer career wise.

Mykael was always something of a risk-taker. It was the way he lived and the way he preferred to go about life. Life wasn't fun without a risk here or there. The more risks one took, the more variety was available in their life. That was his philosophy, opposed to Lorenzo's cautious steps and Walter's obnoxious "live life to the fullest and be friends with all" philosophy.

Still, that didn't mean he was one for taking impossible odds.

Slim to near zero chances, he was perfectly fine with.

With them out of the picture, that left First Squad's leader Drake.

Nolan Drake was a very laidback kind of guy, acting like he really didn't care about much when he was just as every bit of an intellectual as Lorenzo and Mykael were. He somehow read books and knew a surprisingly high amount of technical and mechanical knowledge despite his habit of sleeping whenever humanly possible. Drake was the oldest member of First Squad, at twenty, although he looked far older. His rugged face, seemingly never permanent stubble, disheveled black hair, and sleepy green eyes gave him a very nonthreatening appearance.

When stuff hit the fan however, he was an absolute beast.

Unstoppable even.

Kinda brought a new meaning to "beware the quiet ones".

But even Drake would be unreachable now. He possessed an uncanny skill to fall asleep wherever he desired, whenever he desired, in whatever position he desired. Mykael had seen him deep asleep standing upright many times. He could even sleep through even the hardest shelling and with a machine gun going off next to him.

Probably catching some z's in some obscure little pit or hole, considering their soft job.

_Alright Boredom you win. Want me to blow my brains out now?_

_Yeah. No, wait._ Boredom paused for a moment before posing a question. _Would it be better for everyone if you took Walter out with you?_

_Nah. It'll be more fun to have him annoy them long after I'm dead and gone. Otherwise I might be stuck _with_ him on the other side._

_Nothing is worth that._

_At least we agree on something_ Boredom sneered.

His internal conversation was cut short by the sudden thunderous booms of tank cannons and deafening rattle of gunfire.

"Contact!" cried out someone from one of the forward posts over the open COMs. "Death Stalkers and Beowolves, four o'clock!"

"Finally, some action!" Mykael broke off into a sprint, heading towards the source of the commotion with a very reluctant Walter in tow.

"Uh, shouldn't we, you know, let the tanks and anti-armor guys deal with this?"

"Come on Walt, where's your sense of excitement and adventure?"

"Well, uh, I kinda value my life. Walking into combat seems counter-intuitive."

"Mykael, this isn't our fight," sternly interrupted Drake on the squad's personal channel, stopping Mykael in his tracks only a few hundred meters away from the action. "We've being reassigned for a different task. Get over here, double-time."

Mortars popped and small explosions peppered the ground a few hundred meters ahead of the defensive line. Through the smoke, Mykael could make out the smoldering wrecks of several M808 Scorpion Main Battle Tanks and the mutilated limbs of Beowolves. The Grimm had always been more imitative then innovative, using stolen conceptual designs and mass producing them for combat, despite any flaws or drawbacks.

The Scorpion MBT was one such design. It was an impressive and unique design, utilizing four independent tread pods for enhanced mobility and traction on the battlefield and a unique gyro system which allowed a greater range of angles for it to fire from, but it's relatively weak armor for its size and 90mm cannon didn't hold up to the newer retro tank designs. Since there was a gunship the Four Kingdoms used already called the Scorpion, some egghead somewhere decided to rechristen the Grimm's Scorpion tanks as the Death Stalkers, like they did with the Grimm's other vehicles.

Could they have come up with a more demoralizing name?

Still, despite that, the one-sided tank battle was still a jaw-dropping sight to see. The massive cannons from the militia and Helljumper tanks pounded away at the Death Stalkers, ripping apart anything within their line of sight. Anti-armor unit guys darted back and forward, keeping the anti-tank rockets and anti-material rifles well stocked and continuously firing. The Beowolves charging into the carnage were being ripped apart before they could even fire off a shot.

"Come on man, we've got to go," said Walter, tapping Mykael on the shoulder.

Reluctantly and bitterly, Mykael turned away from the delightful carnage and slowly made his way towards the staging area.

It just wasn't fair. Why should they get all the fun?

But then again, maybe it was good that he wasn't participating. As much as he loved the thrill for combat, going toe to toe with a tank wasn't too feasible. Watching the rest of the tank duel play out would be awesome, but duty called.

Yet another thing for Mykael to add to the long list of everything he was constantly deprived of.

He brushed the thought aside as soon as he and Walter approached the rest of First Squad, who were all gathered around a worn map sprawled across a makeshift table. Drake's helmet rested on the table revealing a pained and worried expression as he studied it. Some high ranking militia officer stood next to him, pointing at something scribbled on the map and was talking about something important since everyone else apparently absorbed everything he said.

Mykael let out a gasp. Something big was going down.

A counterattack that they were being a part of?

A search and destroy mission eliminating the Grimm's presence in a certain section of town?

An assassination mission to eliminate the elusive members of Grimm leadership?

"Who are we killing?" asked Mykael perhaps a little too eagerly coming up to the table.

Drake looked up from the map with a displeased look on his face and ignored his comment. "Commander, these are the other two members of my squad. The tall one's Mykael and the other one's Walter. Lorenzo, our marksman, landed somewhere near the front lines."

"Always a pleasure to meet the brave boys and girls of the Helljumpers." The Commander was a fossil, complete with wrinkly old man skin, liver spots sprinkled across his bald head, and a wispy snow white beard but posture was that of a fellow soldier. That spoke volumes of the Commander to Mykael. "Glad you two can join us. I have a mission for you two and the rest of your squad."

"Our squad, sir?" Walter not-so-subtly glanced around for any sign of a furious Sarge and his prized shotgun. It couldn't be a setup by Sarge. It would be too well-executed and thoroughly planned out for Sarge's severely limited intellect.

"Would you mind filling us in, sir," requested Mykael with a straight face although he was barely able to contain his excitement. He was finally able to go into combat! After hours of being denied of participating in combat, he and his squad had a special mission of all things from a NVM Commander. His hands nervously tensed around the grips of his rifle as he waited for the specifics of the mission.

The Commander motioned them towards the table and pointed a bony finger to a circled building. "There was a Priority One distress signal received a few hours ago from one of the NVPD stations deep in the city. The message is mostly garbled due to the high volume of radio traffic, but we do know they have dozens of civvies in critical condition."

"Do we know if they're in hiding?" inquired Drake, pointing to an area highlighted in red. "Drone reports say that the Grimm have set up a staging area not too far away. The fact that they've escape notice this long is a miracle in itself."

"Well, that's where y'all come in. The leftovers of two militia companies and a handful of NVPD and SWAT officers are holed up in there with them. A great deal of them are injured so we need someone to clear the way." The Commander pointed to all the members of First Squad. "That'll be your mission. I've requisitioned a couple of Hogs for you to take there. Once you secure the area, I'll get some Bullheads to extract them and give you equipment for the second part of your mission."

Drake shared a puzzled expression with the rest of his squad. "What do mean by second part, sir?"

The Commander's shoulders slumped a little as he confessed, "A Huntress was captured."

Everyone stool still, stunned by what they heard.

"But I thought the Grimm didn't take prisoners!" Raine looked to the other members of her squad for confirmation. She wasn't exactly the smartest member of their group, but she certainly wasn't the dumbest either. Walter had the honor of the latter while Sera and Lorenzo were constantly competing for the honor of the former. She was on the same level as Mykael. If they wanted to, they could be intellectuals, but were uninterested, indifferent, or lazy to try.

"I though a Huntress would never surrender!" Walter added in disbelief.

The commander held up his hand. "Calm down, all of you." He wiped his sweaty brow and took a deep breath before continuing. "We do not know, at this time, why or how they managed to take Huntress prisoner. All we know is that one of the Hunter teams sent into the city was ambushed upon entry and one of their members is MIA. Only a half hour ago did we received visual confirmation that she was being held."

"Why risk a Helljumper squad for one Huntress?" Drake worriedly glanced around at his squad. "I already have one member unaccounted for and I'm not entirely comfortable going up against an entire army for one person."

The Commander looked down and bit his lip. He reached into his pocket and produced a silver flask. Extending it towards Drake, he offered a drink. Drake waved him off and the Commander took a swig. "If word gets out that a Huntress was killed, these people are going to panic. We only got them under control once we told them that the Helljumpers and Hunters were coming to save them. Aside from intelligence issues, it's also a morale issue. I felt terrible asking you to do so, but I need some soldiers who can do the unconventional. From what I hear, this squad is the most unconventional out there."

"We're certainly one of the most unconventional," remarked Mykael. That earned him sour looks from everyone else. "What? What'd I say?"

"So let me get this straight," said Drake, numbering his fingers. "First of all, you want us to traverse through enemy controlled territory to a makeshift evacuation center. Next, you want us to secure the perimeter against what could be hundreds to thousands of Beowolves. Then, assuming we all survive and the evacuation goes off without a hitch, we are to save a Huntress from the Grimm's clutches. Lastly, we need to somehow escape the Grimm and make it back to the defensive line."

The Commander solemnly nodded. "That about sums it up. I feel terrible about asking you kids, truly I do, but I have no other options short of eliminating a potential security risk."

A brief moment of silence followed as everyone took in what the Commander said. If they didn't save the Huntress, he was going to order an airstrike to kill her and make sure no strategic information was leaked to the enemy.

It made perfect sense to Mykael. Even though the Grimm were never known for taking prisoners, it wasn't a stretch that the Huntress would be submitted to torture and forced to reveal any secrets she possessed. Hunters typically knew a lot, considering how flexible their mission assignments could be.

"I'm down for it," stated Mykael, all gung ho.

"Well, we'll be in the area anyway..." trailed off Sera.

"And we get to be heroes to everyone!" excitedly exclaimed Raine. "What do you think people will think of us when they hear that we rescued one of the oh-so-revered Huntsmen from the clutches of the Grimm? We'll be heroes!"

"Can't argue with that logic," admitted Drake, although he still looked unsure. He rubbed his chin, lost in thought for a tense minute before giving a curt, "We'll do it."

The Commander released a sigh under his breath and his shoulders seemed to relax. "You have my thanks. Everything you need will be by the Warthogs at the depot." He straightened his back and swiftly them a salute. "Good luck."

First Squad returned the salute before departing and silently made their way towards the vehicle depot. Everyone in First Squad stopped by the makeshift armory to pick up extra equipment and ammunition.

Not Mykael.

Mykael practically ran up to the closest of the two Warthogs, jumping into the back and racking back the slide on the 360 degree mounted triple-barreled machine gun turret, savoring the sound of a chambering round. He felt the sides of his mouth slowly rising into a wide grin.

Despite everything he thought earlier, things were just about to get real fun.

* * *

><p>How did it go so wrong?<p>

How did it go so _wrong_?

Ozpin gave them one job and one job only: buy as much time as possible for New Valero to evacuate its civilian population. They were not supposed to put themselves at risk if possible and were supposed to work in conjunction with the Helljumpers gliding into the city. There were not supposed to be heroes. Ozpin had been very clear on that subject. They were there simply to provide assistance where necessary. Save as many people as possible and not throwing their lives away in a blaze of glory.

But everything went wrong from the very beginning.

Their LZ was taken by the Grimm hours beforehand and the militia units waiting for them, Rhino 2-1 and Rhino 2-3, had been wiped out long before they arrived.

The Grimm shot down their Bullhead as soon as it came within a few hundred meters of their landing zone.

The concentrated gunfire scattered their small team as soon as they crashed landed.

All lines of communications between them were lost or blocked before they even emerged from the wreckage.

Then the Grimm did the one thing the Huntress would never, ever expect, not in a million years.

The Grimm took her prisoner.

That troubled her immensely.

The Grimm were anything but merciful. They had a reputation of never, ever taking prisoners, from the elderly to the smallest child. They never left survivors if possible. People had survived Grimm attacks before by playing dead since Grimm never double checked if someone was truly dead, but those cases were few and far in-between. Most bled out or succumbed to infections.

She defiantly jerked her arms forward for the hundredth time, only for the rough iron shackles to dig deeper into her bloody wrists yet again. She should have realized it was no use long ago. Those shackles wouldn't break. When they first brought her into the warehouse, they found the thickest wall they could find and drilled the strongest bolts into it before restraining her to it.

Then again, persistence had always been one of her strong suits.

Everything would have been so much better if she wasn't floating in a sea of agony. Blood caked the side of her face and bits of dirt dug into her skin. Pain exploded in her left lung with every breath she took. One of her teeth was loose and on the verge of falling out. Only a matter of time before she spat it out or pushed it back in. A distinct metallic taste saturated her entire tongue. A knot on the back of her head the size of her fist rhythmically throbbed. Her left eye was swollen shut and black spots obscured her vision in her right. A Beowolf did hit the back of her head with a rifle butt to incapacitate her. Took two tries. A cold chill slowly slithered up and down her spine, bathing her raw nerves in icy flames.

Yet she still fought.

She was not willing to die, not now, not until she was able to do everything she wanted to do and then some.

She would endure the pain, if only so she could inflict the same pain tenfold on her captors. She wouldn't make it easy on them. She would fight them every step of the way, either through verbal taunts or physical prowess. Her stubborn streak would win out. Few were as stubborn as she could be, when she chose to act so.

As if on cue, the door to the warehouse creaked open and three Grimm marched in, two of them with their rifles at the ready. The one in front looked different then the other two. While the two armed Grimm looked like generic Beowolves with the same red accented masks and simple black fatigues only with some special patch on their arms, but the one in front looked completely different. His mask was that of an Ursa, a member of the exo-suit corps. Ursai were essentially the smarter and more effective infantry division of the Grimm's military might, using armed exo-suits in combat. Even without exo-suits, Ursai were dangerous in their own right.

"Oh, you boys ready to play again? I'm always up for another round," the Huntress taunted, earning her a swift punch to her gut from the Ursa. Waves of pain rippled up and down her side. "That all you got? I know a few bedridden grandmas who could punch harder than that."

The Ursa snarled something at his two comrades, who glanced at each other nervously under their masks. He barked another order at them and they reluctantly slung their rifles over their shoulders before cautiously walking towards their captive.

What were they doing? Trying to move her? If so, why didn't they just jab her with a needle to knock her out?

Oh wait, they were Grimm.

They wouldn't do anything smart.

Then again, they must have been the smarter Grimm since the guards were using Type 03 BR assault rifles. Compared to the ridiculous looking and oversized Morita assault rifles the Beowolves used, Type 03s were pretty accurate, carried a underslung grenade launcher, used large capacity straight magazines, and had a high fire rate. They were used by the smarter Grimm and were widespread among the other branches of the Grimm military. Thankfully, they were a significantly smaller population then the simple minded Beowolves.

The two Grimms cautiously unshackled her and she thanked him by delivering a swift jab to one in the neck and driving her knee into another's groin, sending both sprawling to the ground. She turned towards the Ursa, who didn't even react to her actions. Instead, he brought up a pistol and aimed it squarely at her forehead. He barked something and half a dozen Ursai popped out of the shadows, rifles trained on her.

The Ursa leader flashed a wicked smile as he motioned her towards the door.

The Huntress carefully analyzed her surroundings. They were too far away to rush nor could she take any of them for a shield. She was outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched. The space was too open and provided no cover. The only available cover there was were wooden crates and they were too far away for her to sprint to. They would do nothing to stop their bullets. Recognizing the futility of her situation, she threw up her hands in defeat and proceeded to walk towards the door. The two Grimm she assaulted were left behind.

Even so, none of it discouraged her in the slightest. In the back of her mind, the numerous cogs and gears of her brain were working furiously, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

Yang Xiao Long would never go down without a good fight.

* * *

><p>AN:

This is my first RWBY fanfiction and it's an alternate universe, so I am tweaking the story to make it more realistic with pretty dark themes. Don't get me wrong; I love the show. It has some minor clichés here and there but they execute them pretty good with a nice twist, so I keep on watching. Anyway, a good number of facts from the show will have to be changed so don't get mad if things aren't the way you like it, but I will try to run as many parallels as I possibly can. If you have criticisms, just leave a review. I like to write stories, but I just can't write about something as cool as the weapons in RWBY without screwing it up.

I hope you'll like my alternate universe.

On a side note, nearly every single weapon and vehicle listed in the story is a fictional weapon or vehicle taken from some other franchise to appear more futuristic. Helljumpers are an obvious reference to Halo (yes, Helljumpers are using the ODST armor but I will refer it to Helljumper armor and there is some changes in functions but visually the same unless stated otherwise) and the CS-35 is a dart gun that I turned into a real gun. Expect more of the same. The majority of my characters as well will be references to other characters from other franchises and series, outside of a few OCs. Lots of references to many things inbound as well.

If there is anything to clarify, just leave a question in the review and I will answer it next chapter.

PS: forgive me for any typos or grammatical errors you may find in my writing. I write most of my stories through my iPad, where autocorrect seems to be very buggy to say the least. The rare occasions I write on my actual computer seems to be no better since loading issues will not save everything I write all the time, so I apologize beforehand.

Seriously though, constructive criticism helps. The worst thing you can do is tell an artist their work is perfect when it could be improved.


	2. Obstacles

**Forewarning: Something is wrong with either the document or my tablet due to the number of grammatical mistakes my friend and I have noticed throughout the first chapter. I have since corrected them. Please forgive me if you find any mistakes since autocorrect keeps putting in the wrong words and it seems that the document won't always save some of the edits I keep making. There's even this weird glitch that when I try to place the cursor on the bottom paragraph, it'll jump up three paragraphs. A few times when I've tried to type, it'll put the correction in the line above or below. I don't know if it's the document itself or my computer. Also, the document has the title centered, but upon publishing, it doesn't actually center. **

**Either way, I hope you enjoy. :)**

**I do not own RWBY or any of the numerous shows/series I reference in this story. All credit goes to their respective owners.**

* * *

><p>II<p>

**Obstacles**

Lorenzo hated being right.

Most normal people would revel in the fact that they were right all along. Anyone else would brag on and on about how smart or observant or knowledgeable they were on that particular subject. They would put down their friend and humiliate them by citing how spot on they were and how off the mark their friends were. People were boastful like that, always ready to be recognized as right but refusing to be considered wrong on anything.

Not Lorenzo.

He may have been many things: sarcastic, a smart aleck, a Helljumper, a sniper, an intellectual, a marksman, a bookworm, a strategist, an introvert, and something of a pessimist, but above all else, he was a cynic. He always tried to look at the bright side, tried his best to find the ever so elusive silver lining, but so many terrible things transpired in his relatively short life and it became more and more difficult for him to see anything past the bad things.

His horrendous luck sure didn't help his confidence either.

It seemed that for every few feet he drove, the Big Man upstairs saw it fit to place something there to deter him from heading to the police station. Makeshift barricades of wrecked cars, obstructive pieces of rubble, abandoned gridlocks of fleeing vehicles, piles of Grimm bodies, collapsed buildings or trees. Always something. What should have been no more than a fifteen minute drive turned into a two hour long, never ending detour.

Just like he predicted.

His mode of transportation only added to his ever increasing frustration.

It turned out that the Grimm he dispatched of somehow captured a NVPD SWAT assault van. Any other time, he would appreciate it greatly. It boasted heavy armor plating, nearly shatterproof windows, bulletproof tires, a small complement of riot gear and weapons, and carried enough Dust in the fuel tank to last a few days of nonstop driving. The problem with the van was that it was unnecessarily large and sluggishly slow with an annoyingly large turn radius and it was set too close to the ground, keeping Lorenzo from driving over anything except the flattest terrain. The smallest obstacle prevented him from taking any direct routes to the station.

His only distraction during all this was Vergil, who provided him periodical snippets of information on the city's situation through the static plaguing the van's built in COM devices.

It was bleak, to say the least.

Civilian casualties numbered in the tens of thousands, with even more reported missing or severely injured. Over half of the New Valero Militia was killed in action and two thirds of all their vehicles destroyed. The NVPD and their SWAT teams were nearly wiped out. For the Helljumpers, it was only slightly better. A fifth of all Helljumpers had been killed or put out of action by the Grimm, but the defensive line downtown smoothly established a few blocks south of the evacuation center was ready for anything the Grimm could throw at them. Helljumper armor had taken out most of the Grimm's Death Stalkers, crippling their advances. Artillery fire from the Grimm had mysteriously stopped, despite Helljumper artillery not arriving in the city yet.

However the Grimm still maintained their foothold downtown with their warships still in the harbor, a third of the civilian population not yet evacuated, and there was still no air support for either side.

Exactly how Lorenzo was going to get out of this fine mess was beyond him.

Instead, he just focused on his current objective: getting to the police station and Captain Ponders. He had learned a long time ago that trying to plan ahead would only give the universe even more chances to mess around with his pitiful life. It was the reason he never planned anything past the vaguest details. He always got screwed over on the details.

As he drew closer and closer to the station, an uneasy feeling slowly crept up on him. After the initial communications with Captain Ponders, he received nothing further from him. Even Vergil, who devoted most of his processing power to filtering between the static from the surge of incoming messages, found no signals originating from that area anymore.

All signals from that district suddenly stopped altogether.

Something was going on and Lorenzo didn't like that one bit.

Two blocks from the station, Lorenzo parked the van in the middle of the street. It wasn't like he was going to get any closer. Between the derelict cars and rubble, he couldn't even see the other side of the street. Besides, if everything was fine at the station, which he highly doubted, they could always use it as a backup vehicle. The van was bountiful in weapons, ranging from nonlethal tear gas grenade launchers to pump action shotguns with a variety of special loads to riot shields. Not exactly military gear, but it was enough to give them a much needed edge.

The NVPD Station was a nondescript building that blended in with the rest of the glass and concrete office buildings dominating the district. From the streets, there were no signs of habitation visible, but closer inspection told a completely different story. A dozen ramshackle cars were surreptitiously arranged in a half circle in front of the marble steps leading up to the massive oak door entrance. Sandbags were visible in several of the windows, where the tell-tale glint of sniper scopes and barrels of rifles rested. Bullet holes adorned the walls and the top two floors collapsed due to structural damage.

Lorenzo would have thought that everyone inside was safe and sound, nervously awaiting evacuation efforts, if not for the Grimm milling about outside. Five Ursa Minors were standing around a Death Stalker driver sitting on his Scorpion tank while two other Ursa Minors barked orders at a pack of Beowolves by the front door. Half the pack rushed inside, eager to shed blood, only to be met by the muffled sounds of gunfire.

Someone was still inside fighting the Grimm.

Lorenzo dropped to the ground, taking in the situation unfolding in front of him through his scope.

This was bad, oh so very bad. Captain Ponders was probably barricaded inside with his men while the Grimm tried to push their way inside. It was only a matter of time before reinforcements came. If the Grimm weren't taken care of soon, then evacuation would be impossible.

But that wasn't what troubled Lorenzo.

What troubled him was the Grimm themselves.

Beowolves were one thing. They were idiotic grunts who only knew how to attack. Every once in a while, you might find one with a facsimile of intelligence in a leadership position, but for the most part, they were pretty predictable. They had little to no sense of self-preservation and their numbers proved to be a problem at times. Other than that and their heightened senses and strength, it wasn't too difficult to put one down.

Ursai on the other hand, were another story entirely. Ursai were unlike any of the other Grimm branches, in the sense that there were two different classifications of them. Ursa Minors were grunts, like the Beowolves, only they possessed tougher body armor, far better equipment, and were actually competent in combat. Grimm in general were not very smart, even the operators of their fighting vehicles were fairly incompetent in vehicular warfare but Ursai were dangerous because they possessed some degree of intelligence. They knew when to retreat. They knew how to take cover. They actually employed basic tactical thinking. They weren't run-and-gun like the Beowolves. Like any other military unit in Remnant, they formulated plans of attacks, simple ones at that, but it was enough to discourage the average soldier or militia trooper.

Especially when their big bad brothers were on the field.

Ursa Majors were the Ursai who were competent enough to pilot the aging yet highly dangerous exo-suits and mechs. Despite the outdated models of their exo-suits and mechs, they still possessed incredibly destructive capabilities, often wielding heavy firepower and laying waste to everything in sight. At least none of them were present in the city. That would have been a problem. Their armor protected them from most small arms fire and substantial firepower was needed to bring even one down. Ursa Majors typically operated in packs and where Ursa Minors where, Ursa Majors tended to be not too far away.

Reinforcements aside, how was he going to deal with the Grimm already present?

By his count, there were seven Ursa Minors and a dozen Beowolves outside, plus the Death Stalker driver sitting on his tank and who knew how many Grimm inside the police station itself. He could probably snipe the Grimm one by one, but that tank was going to be a problem. His role as a marksman/sniper meant the equipment he carried was suited for stealth and to help him with accuracy. His grenades were a mixture of smoke grenades, flashbangs, and EMP grenades with a couple of fragmentation grenades for extreme situations, but those couldn't do anything against a Death Stalker. Maybe a cluster of them tucked under the tank's weak point in the back, but two grenades alone weren't going to cut it. That armor was just way too thick for that.

Maybe there was something in the SWAT van he could use. Ever so slowly, Lorenzo melted into the shadows, hugging the streets on his way back.

There must be something inside he could use.

There just had to be.

Yet nothing but breaching charges could be found in the back of the van. While powerful and in the proper application, lethal, the SWAT van was devoid of anything else that could potentially damage the tank.

The pragmatic side of Lorenzo advised him to just cut his losses and leave. Despite being an ungainly mode of transportation, the van was armored and fueled up. It could take him out of the hot zone, if he planned the routes correctly. He could avoid conflict all the way down to the defensive line, never risking life or limb for anything or anyone unnecessary.

Why risk his life for strangers who probably didn't appreciate it?

Why not live to fight another day?

Why not-

Lorenzo let out a heavy sigh.

It didn't matter.

He just couldn't leave anyone behind. His conscience wouldn't allow it. Not when someone was in danger, not when he had a means of escape available to him, not when he had the power to do something about the problems he was seeing. It was his greatest fault. He just couldn't let things be. Not when he had a opportunity to do something about it. It was one of the many reasons he joined the Helljumpers. To protect people, whether or not they deserved his protection. He took an oath to protect all the residents of Remnant, regardless of class, ethnicity, race, or ideology.

Before he could continue self-loathing, an idea sprung up in his mind.

_What about the Dust?_

A possible answer to his problem was right in front of him. How could he be so ignorant?

Just about everything utilized Dust in some way those days. Automobiles could run for a day to a week, depending on the size and potency of a Dust crystal or the amount of Dust powder in a canister. Everything from planes to boats to helicopters to VTOLs ran on the stuff. Even the gunpowder in Lorenzo's bullets had trace amounts of Dust powder sprinkled inside to give it a boost in combat.

But if he wasn't careful, he could easily blow himself up. Dust, while a powerful energy source, could be extremely dangerous when handled improperly. As a result, cheap, stable, but lower potency Dust was common throughout most of Remnant while the more powerful, highly potent, but slightly unstable Dust was reserved for emergency services and the armed forces. Considering it was a SWAT van Lorenzo found, chances were it ran on higher potency Dust while still being relatively stable.

He checked the outside of the van for the unmarked fuel tank. Normally on a van like this, the fuel hatch would be left unmarked so it couldn't be targeted or stolen. It would usually be a little bit forward of where the hatch should have been. He felt the cleverly concealed handle and yanked it open, revealing three slots for Dust canisters, but only one was occupied. He grabbed the lone handle, twisted it until he heard a slight _hiss_ and delicately withdrew the canister, treating it as if it was a live bomb.

Then again, in the hands of someone like Mykael, a Dust canister like this was basically equated to a bomb. Dust, when detonated, could be extremely devastating, depending on potency and quality of the Dust. Red Dust from mined from certain areas released an exponentially large amount of heat and energy upon hitting its threshold. In its powdered form, its volatile nature increased its instability tenfold.

Thankfully, the moderate quality powdered Dust in his hands couldn't possibly detonate by simply dropping it.

Could it?

_Nah._

His luck was terrible, horrendous some would say, but it had never reached that level of unluckiness.

If anything, his luck would screw him over in some other grand and unexpected way like by not letting the Dust detonate or the explosion not destroying the tank or the Grimm noticing him long before he got near the tank or by having falling chunks of rubble alert the Grimm too early.

But that raised the question: just how was he going to detonate it? His grenades could work, but he needed, as Mykael always put it, more _oomph_ then that. Dust canisters were made out of some very tough materials to prevent accidental detonations. Then there was the problem of the Dust itself. Some Dust, like powdered red Dust, was so unstable that just dropping it could set it off, but stable Dust like the canister in his hand required a substantial amount of heat and energy to set it off.

There were breaching charges scattered around in the back of the van. They might work...if they weren't missing the detonator. They were powerful enough to do the job, but now he also had to set off the charges. Maybe he could set up the canister by the charges and blow them all up using a grenade. As long as he wasn't within the blast radius, his armor should absorb the force of the blast. But he doubted his grenades could set them off. Breaching charges were specifically designed so that unless a blasting cap was used, nothing could detonate it. Besides, he needed the Dust for fuel in case he needed to leave or if there were wounded inside.

That left the dangerously pragmatic option.

Pick them off one by one with his rifle. He had fifty-two rounds left over in the crammed magazine from his earlier encounter with the Grimm plus ten spare magazines. All he needed to do was go into one of the abandoned buildings and take them out one by one. Vergil would send him target locations and other logistical information to his HUD if needed. The only problem with his rifle is that while it had a good range and used high capacity magazines, it did not have too much stopping power at a distance. Close to midrange, his rifle could put just about anything down in a few well-placed shots, but due to its lack of penetrating power, his rifle wasn't putting any Grimm down quickly from the top of a building.

Lorenzo scoffed in disbelief over the absurdity of his situation.

He was going to die trying to help these people. He owed them nothing and they owed him nothing. They probably didn't even know he even existed. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, like he always seemed to be. He didn't know how many people were left alive in there. Since the gunfire calmed down after he left, he didn't know if anyone was even still alive. He didn't know how he was going to take down all those Grimm by himself, even if by some miracle, his plan worked and he got rid of the tank driver. He didn't know how many people were inside and if he had enough space in the van for all of them. He didn't know if reinforcements had been called or were already on their way. Ursa Minors and Beowolves were on thing, but Ursa Majors?

There were too many unknown variables involved for his liking.

_Screw it_ he finally decided in a sense of finaility. _Might as well die trying to do something noble. Surely my luck can't screw _that _up._

* * *

><p>Weiss Schnee poked, prodded, spun around, shrunk, and expanded the three dimensional representational blueprint of the police station in frustration, desperately hoping to find some way out of her current predicament. The red holographic figures detailing the Grimm's real-time movement buzzed around the ground level of the station, giving her a headache. It would only be a matter of time before they'd start making their way down.<p>

The station was massive, but damage from the intense fighting reduced the top few floors to rubble. The ground floor was basically an oversized reception area where the majority of police bureaucracy was done, with several small offices, a couple of conference rooms for private conversations, and some file rooms with public information. The first floor above were the majority of the cubicles and large conference rooms for the entire station, with rooms for the various departments spread out all the way up to the roof. They ranged from evidence lockers to various small scale labs to record rooms to interrogation rooms.

The Grimm rummaged through most of the upper floors over the last hour, but sooner or later, they would get bored and begin their descent into the station's subterranean level. The first half of the level was an extensive labyrinth of short term jail cells and visiting rooms, where the leftovers of the various militia units were busy setting up ambushes for the inevitable assault. The second part, guarded by a massive metal door six inches thick and an army of security codes known only to a handful, was the station's armory and riot gear as well as the injured civilians and law enforcement members who got trapped during the invasion.

Weiss felt a headache festering as she carefully studied her steadily decreasing list of options. When she first arrived at the station, she was given command of the station's defenses by Captain Ponders, who needed to devote as much time as possible organizing a immediate MEDEVAC for everyone barricaded inside. Weiss set up the defenses as best as she could with what she had, but it wasn't enough to repel the Grimm for long, despite all she did. All key angles of attack were covered, arcs of fire overlapped, chokepoints were rigged with explosives in case of retreat, and snipers hid in the upper floors, ready to pick off the Grimm.

Eventually the Grimm came in force and her defensive setup held them off for far longer then she originally anticipated. The injured were quickly ushered downstairs and automated turrets were left in their wake but the cost for their retreat was far too high for Weiss's liking. Good men died covering their escape and for what?

They were stuck in the deepest level of the station, awaiting help that may never come or may come far too late.

_Stop it_ she told herself. She knew better then to doubt herself. She was one of the best and brightest Beacon had to offer. She trained rigorously for years to do what she was doing now. Now was the time for action, not doubt.

Weiss turned her attention back to the holographic display, mentally taking notes of the Grimm's progress through the caved in hallways. During their hasty retreat, after they left behind the turrets, she triggered the hidden bombs, collapsing the hallways leading to the basement. The Grimm were locked out but they were locked in as a result.

Fifteen active militia members were busy cobbling together makeshift ambushes with whatever they had on hand in the first part of the basement while the seven police and SWAT officers still left standing kept guard at the door. Forty people, nine of which were militia and police, laid around injured and the first aid kits in the station would only be good for so long. Nearly half of them needed urgent medical attention and several required extensive surgeries. A handful of paramedics and nurses-in-training volunteers did their best to comfort the injured in what might be their final moments. Eight other civilians succumbed to their wounds earlier, before they locked themselves down there.

"How you holding up?" asked Captain Ponders, offering Weiss a mug of the tasteless hot coffee common among Remnant's armed forces..

"Thanks, but I don't drink coffee," said Weiss, maintaining a neutral face. Ponders just shrugged and emptied the mug in three large gulps. She knew she should've trusted Ponders more, but an uneasy feeling plagued her ever since she came to the city.

There was something rotten with the whole situation. According to several of the militia members, most of the defensive systems didn't activate when the Grimm began their assault and most of the underwater gates that should've locked out any incoming ships from the ports didn't raise. Somehow the army of sensors and arrays didn't catch the massive Grimm armada crossing their waters either. The apparent lack of air support from the Grimm and the militia. The abnormally large amount of resources dedicated to destroying a city with little strategic value. The delayed and incomplete activation of the AK-130 androids assigned to the city's first line of defense. So many things that should've worked didn't and there were no logical explanations Weiss could muster.

She had no reason to suspect the Captain. Captain Ponders was something of a local hero, having served the New Valero Militia for many years, defending it against pirates and terrorist plots. He was pushing sixty yet he was still lean and muscular for his age, with a scruffy beard, a salt-and-pepper buzz-cut, and maintained an attentive posture. Ponders became famous during a counter-terrorist plot a few years ago, where a suicide bomber blew himself up in a effort to destroy the New Valero Stock Exchange. Ponders shielded a teenage boy who had gotten caught in the blast with his own body, but lost his left arm as a result. Just looking at the shirt sleeve buttoned to his left shoulder reminded her how dedicated of a man Ponders was. There was no reason for her to doubt him in any way.

"Is there something you wanted, Captain?"

"Well, a sitrep would be much appreciated, ma'am," said the Captain, setting down his mug on the holo-table.

"Nothing much to report," admitted Weiss, disappointed in herself. She should've come up with a solution hours ago, but she didn't and now people were dead. "We lost the automated turrets a few minutes ago, so it's only a matter of time before they make their way down. They'll finish clearing the hallways any minute now, but your men are ready to surprise them." She turned to face Ponders, worried about her teammates. "So, were you able to establish communications with friendly forces?"

"I've talked to a few stragglers here and there." Ponders scratched his bearded chin absent-mindedly, his eyes wandering towards the holo-table. "Not much in terms of reinforcements. We're not going to be counting on any sort of help anything soon. 'Bout an hour ago our equipment stopped transmitting. We're on our own here."

"I see." That struck Weiss as odd. The Grimm weren't the biggest users of tactics, instead preferring to use overwhelming numbers or blitz attacks to swiftly overrun enemy forces. Using something like jammers wasn't unheard of among the Grimm however. King Taijitu, one of the Grimm's special operations unit, were incredibly smart for a Grimm, using any number of tactical equipment to achieve their goals. The fact that lines of communications were being severed had terrible implications. If there were King Taijitu on their way, they were doomed. Even if it wasn't King Taijitu, death was eagerly awaiting them. There were many smart Grimm who could easily kill them, each with more advanced weaponry and more dangerous than the last.

"It seems our options are trickling away as we speak," remarked Ponders, studying the map with his intense eyes. "If we don't take the initiative and take out them out first, we might not last much longer." Ponders scratched his bearded chin again before typing a command into the virtual keypad, zooming in on the Grimm lounging about the tank outside. "That Death Stalker presents the most immediate danger to our forces and we need to take it out as soon as possible. Otherwise, evacuation will be impossible. Once we do that, we can pick off the rest of them." He turned to Weiss for confirmation. "Do you agree?"

"Yes, but I don't see how we can destroy that tank with what we possess," she admitted. "Stun guns, riot shields, and tear gas are good against the infantry, but without explosives-"

Before she could finish, the Death Stalker driver's virtual head violently jerked back and he collapsed. Immediately, a yellow line traced the shot from the dead Death Stalker driver to a building, where a outline of a blue figure appeared, crouched in a window. Bewildered, the Grimm scattered, blindly opening fire in his general direction.

_A sniper_ Weiss quickly realized, her headache suddenly clearing up. _A sniper killed the tank driver._

"We need to move now," said Weiss urgently, snatching up the compact submachine gun Ponders loaned her earlier.

"What? Are you crazy?" Ponders studied her with concerned expression, assessing if she was going to be a liability. Weiss knew from his reputation that he wasn't a man who took insubordination lightly. "You'll compromise our security if you go out there right now! We don't even have any idea on what's going on out there! We need to figure out what's going on and act accordingly!""

"Like it or not, some idiot is out there distracting the Grimm trying to get in here. Whoever he is, he just gave us the opportunity we needed to strike." Ponders stood still, frozen in thought. "If you won't help me, I'll go do it myself."

Ponders barked orders into his earpiece, but Weiss already stormed out of the armory. "Dwayne! Hicks! Get ready to go topside! Meet up with Huntress Schnee at the top of the stairs!" heard Weiss from the hallway.

Weiss chambered a round in her KF5 submachine gun, before making sure the rest of her replacement equipment was properly secured to her belt. The KF5 was a staple among the various armed forces in Remnant due to its large forty round magazine, manageable recoil, and high accuracy and since Weiss had lost all her custom gear upon crashing into the city, it would have to do for now. Not like she had much of a choice in the matter. Aside from her outfit, every piece of equipment she carried on her person was liberated from the militia's limited armory. She swiftly ascended the stairs, passing by several militia members. Most of them paused in their tracks and stared at her as she came by, their nervous minds undoubted filled with hope now that a Huntress was going to fight among them, even one as young as Weiss. Most of them simply dropped what they were doing and fell in step behind her.

One of the many side effects of being a Hunter. Regardless of the odds and circumstances, people gained hope just from being in the presence of a Hunter and who could blame them? They were unrivaled in skill, in prestige, in respect, in combat. Many stories circulated across Remnant about the many valiant stands the Hunters took against their enemies. They were always outnumbered and at a disadvantage yet somehow always managed to come out on top. You couldn't fight alongside someone like that and not feel indestructible.

_Naïve fools, all of them_ thought Weiss before stopping in front of the only entrance to the subterranean level. _Thoughts like that will only get themselves killed._

"Get ready to open the door," snapped Weiss.

One of the two soldiers guarding the door gave her a salute. "Copy that."

She halfheartedly returned the salute and they began removing the hasty fortifications with renewed vigor. Weiss took a deep breath to steady her shaky nerves. A dozen of the militia were standing behind her, armed with outdated rifles and wearing inadequate armor. Was she leading these men to their deaths? She didn't need that on her conscience, not when the deaths of many others were already haunting the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind.

No.

She wasn't going to get these men killed.

She was a Huntress, a defender of justice, a protector of the weak, and a carrier of the proud Schnee name and she was going to lead these men to victory.

"Let's move out," sternly said Weiss.

The two men at the door quickly stepped aside as the metal doors parted, bathing them in the darkness of the hallway. Weiss charged forward, disregarding her usual habit of thoroughly checking all her corners with her weapon. Why should she? The sniper undoubtedly drew out all the Grimm in the building. Unsurprisingly, they were met by no resistance and quickly advanced through the sparsely lit corridors. Everywhere they could see how thoroughly the Grimm were. Computer hard drives were smashed open, files laid scattered across the floor, personal safes were blown open, desks were overturned. Gunfire became more and more sporadic the closer they came to the main entrance.

Did the sniper die?

Not likely. The holo-table's display put him at least a hundred meters away from the station. The possibility of the Grimm hitting a target that far away with their weaponry? Unless their smarter counterparts were on the way, they had little to fear in that regard.

Weiss's men slowly took their positions on either side of the entrance, waiting for her orders, but Weiss pushed past them, lining up her sights on the back of the closest Ursa. She let off a short, controlled burst into his back, dropping him before he could even process what had transpired. She swung her SMG towards the other Ursa Minor at the same time he brought up his rifle but before either of them could squeeze their trigger, the top of the Ursa's head exploded, spraying the marble steps with blood and brain matter.

"I had him," she bitterly muttered under her breath, glancing in the general direction of the sniper.

At least someone competent was watching over her. That brought her a little bit of comfort.

Without missing a beat, her men piled out of the station, opening fire and cutting down the exposed Beowolves. Most were too distracted by the sniper to care about their fallen brethren. Unfortunately, the Ursa Minors hiding by the tank took notice of them and ordered their dumb companions to return fire. Two of the militia swiftly fell, crying out in pain and clutching their injuries.

"Get them inside!" barked Weiss in frustration, tossing a fragmentation grenade across the street. It wouldn't do much damage considering how far away they were from the Grimm, but it would scatter them and force them into cover. "Give 'em covering fire!"

Gunfire filled the street, shielding a NVPD officer who rushed forward and grabbed the injured by their shirt collars, quickly dragging them back inside the station. Stray shots from the sniper slowly picked off the remaining Beowolves, leaving only the Ursas hiding behind the now useless tank.

Great.

What was she going to do now?

Her eyes swept over the street, mentally noting that the abandoned cars in the street created a blind spot in the Grimm's rear.

"Cover me," Weiss cryptically told her men. They responded by concentrating fire on the Grimm's position, dropping one Ursa and driving the rest back into cover. Weiss took off, using the environment to conceal her movements. As she maneuvered herself behind the tank more screams from her men filled the air. At least two more were hit.

Weiss hurried, tossing aside any notion of caution. With the intense barrage from the militia and the sniper's constant stream of fire, they wouldn't bother looking at the cars behind them. They were more focused on killing their enemies. They barely flinched as the sniper blew out the brains of one Ursa who tried to use his grenade launcher on the station's steps. The longer she took, the more likely her men were going to die and she didn't want any more blood on her conscience. Any second now, the last three Ursai were going to use their grenade launchers on the police station's steps.

No one else was going to die because of her.

She would personally see to that.

Once in position, she crouched behind an abandoned SUV and took another fragmentation grenade off her belt. She pulled the pin, held it in her hand and counted to three under her breath before tossing the grenade directly underneath the SUV. Weiss personally doubted that the distacted Ursai would notice the small, round sphere roll past their feet.

A heartbeat later, a deafening roar filled the air, tossing up shards of concrete, dust, and gibbets of Ursai into the air.

A small grin formed at the edge of her lips and quickly disappeared.

She'd won.

For now.

Now, she had to deal with that mysterious sniper and after that, somehow find a way back to her team.

* * *

><p>The universe must have held some grudge against Mykael or something of the sort for some inexcusable crime he preformed in a past life of his because as the two M12 Warthog Light Reconnaissance Vehicles bounced up and down off the ruined city roads towards almost certain death, Mykael was met with a huge heaping heap of...<p>

... nothing.

Life was nonexistent in this part of the city.

_Come on! _he screamed mentally.

Right then and there, Mykael had one of the most powerful weapons in the militia's armory in the palm of his hands. The light antiaircraft machine gun mounted in the back of the Warthogs was easily one of the most destructive weapons that could be mounted on the back of a jeep. It's massive armor-piercing ammunition was powerful enough to bring down any aircraft short of an airship or fighter jet. It could penetrate most light armor, tear a Grimm's body completely up in less then two seconds flat, and produced a very satisfying _thud_ whenever a round successfully made contact with its intended target. It was still satisfying even when it missed.

But what good was all that power when there was absolutely nothing to shoot at?

Grumbling, he swung the turret around in boredom, scanning the skies for anything to shoot at.

Nothing.

Just dead buildings, dead trees, dead cars, dead Grimm, dead pets.

Dead, dead, dead.

And Mykael didn't cause any of it.

He valued life as much as the next guy, except where the Grimm were concerned, but he also liked destroying things. He was always that kid who would destroy someone else's block tower after they spent half an hour assembling it in school. He had a natural affinity for it. He could dismantle almost anything without damaging any of the pieces, but to trust him to put it back together again?

He was too lazy, indifferent, or ignorant to care.

It was one of the reasons he joined the Helljumpers. To be able to cause as much destruction while being hailed as protectors of the people of Remnant?

He jumped onboard as soon as Lorenzo told him about the recruitment officer.

So, why in the wide, wide world was he constantly being denied the opportunity to blow stuff up?!

It wasn't too much to ask for and it wasn't like he wanted to destroy an entire city. A couple of cars, maybe a part of the street or two. Nothing that couldn't be quickly rebuilt. Wreck-It & Fix-It Enterprises had a stellar reputation of taking the ruins of anything and rebuilding it into something far better than what it used to be.

"So, how you doing back there?" asked Raine lackadaisically from the driver's seat. Since Sera, Walter, and Nolan were in the lead Warthog, that left the two of them to bring up the rear. Suited Mykael just fine. He didn't want to deal with Nolan's snoring or Walter's jokes. He'd rather throw himself-or Walter for that matter-off a cliff rather than deal with that.

Instead of answering with a vulgar comment, he gave her a simple answer instead, not wanting to incur her wrath. "Bored out of my mind," confessed Mykael, but Raine didn't need to hear that to know that. His constant sighing alerted her of his attitude minutes ago. "How else could I be doing?"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

Mykael thought about that for a minute. A lot of things came to mind, but not many could be done at the moment "Run a Grimm over? Play some songs on the radio?"

Raine shook her head. "You got to be more patient, man. I mean, I know I'm not one to talk, but come on now. We've only been on the road for ten minutes."

"Whatever," said Mykael, aiming the turret towards the sky in order to spot the Bullheads supposedly on standby in case they needed extraction. His experiences with Sarge left him highly distrusting of authority figures. Not much could be done to rekindle his faith in anyone in power anywhere. Sourly, he noticed no aircraft in the sky over this part of New Valero. Darting silhouettes of various ships could be seen in the distance, but they were too far out, meaning they were on their own out here.

Yeah, he pretty much expected that. They say no plan survives contact with the battlefield. He knew from his experiences with Sarge that most plans never even make it to the battlefield in the first place. Which meant they would get sidetracked from whatever the hell they were doing in the first place. What were they doing in the first place? Oh yeah, protecting a bunch of idiotic civilians who weren't smart enough to leave when the sirens ran and rescuing a Huntress that never should've gotten captured in the first place.

Well, at least he had Raine to bug. Not as much fun to annoy as Walter, but it was better then nothing.

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"Not even close."

"How far away are we?"

"I'd say we're only a quarter of the way there."

"So how long do you think it'll take?"

"Half hour, max."

Mykael groaned. "Seriously? Can't we make this at least a little bit interesting?"

Raine raised an eyebrow. "Interesting how?"

"How about a little wager," he suggested, gesturing to the bouncing Warthog ahead of them. "Sera's driving after all. I bet Sera gets to the station before us."

Raine was quiet for a few minutes, probably deciding if it was a good idea. Walter was a living testament to all the horrendous things Mykael could imagine for the loser to do. His many pranks on Walter were humiliating and detrimental to one's self-confidence, although Walter was too dumb and naïve for it to affect him beyond a few moments of shame. Lorenzo always knew better then to bet against him and he'd narrowly won few times he'd betted against Mykael. Still, if Mykael lost, Raine could have revenge for everything he's ever done to her. Eventually, she asked, "What'll be the stakes?"

Idea after idea burst to life in Mykael's mind, ranging from the practical to the humiliating to the risqué. There was any number of desires Mykael wished to have Raine and Sera carry out, but to say that stuff out loud there? In the middle of a combat zone? Mykael loved taking risks, but this seemed like a good way to get himself killed. Raine could easily kill him by slamming the brake and splattering him across a brick wall at a hundred miles per hour. Nothing really kept him in place, not even a rudimentary harness. One of several gaping flaws of the Warthog's design. Only his upper body strength and Mykael's great sense of balance and gravity kept him from flying off into the side of a building.

Instead, fearing for his safety, he opted for a vague answer. "Loser is at the beck and call of the winner and has to carry out their every whim and desire for one whole day once we get back. Not right away, of course, but a few days later."

"Alright, but let's make this interesting," said Raine cryptically, swerving the Warthog around the street corner to avoid another gridlock of cars. "If you lose, Walter and Lorenzo have to serve your punishment with you."

Mykael shrugged. He really didn't care what happened to them. If push came to shove, he could always trick them into taking his punishment. It might take a little to trick Lorenzo, but Walter was as perceptive as a toddler. "Sure. Then that means Sera will have serve with you if you lose."

Raine glanced over her shoulder. "Why not? As long at the demands are within reason, then I'll take that-"

Before she could finish, several things happened at once.

Raine glanced back at Mykael, a mere millisecond before the windshield exploded into a million pieces, pelting their armor with shattered glass.

Walter's screaming his annoying girly high pitched scream at the top of his lungs.

Hundreds of small lights suddenly blinking in and out of existence, kicking up dirt and concrete around both jeeps.

His HUD going crazy and flashing red, highlighting dozens of enemy contacts.

A burst of red painting the windshield of the lead Warthog.

The lead Warthog wrapping its front bumper around a street lamp.

Mykael's gut twisted as the Warthog violently jerked to the side and stopped, nearly throwing him off and ripping his arms out of their sockets.

"Where's our air cover!" shouted Raine, trying to make sense of what transpired.

"Don't know, but don't count on it!" replied Mykael, resisting the urge to barf in his helmet. He'd done that before during training, after Lorenzo spiked his canteen as payback for something Mykael did to him but couldn't remember. "I didn't see any on the way in!"

"Light them up!" screamed Raine. Not bothering to wait for a reply, she jumped out and dashed towards the wrecked jeep, firing blind bursts from her SN6 submachine gun at the approaching Grimm.

"You don't need to tell me twice!" Mykael turned the turret around to face a mass of rapidly advancing Beowolves and pulled the trigger, adrenaline and ecstasy rushing into his system as he heard the tantalizing sounds of shattering legs, arms being blown off, and massive rounds tearing through a Grimm's body. He swept the barrel across the street, cutting down any Beowolves within a hundred or so meters who were stupid enough to approach him. They poured out of the buildings in tens, blindly firing their confetti makers at the jeep, their rounds hitting everything _but_ the jeep Mykael stood in.

Will they ever learn?

_Probably not_ Mykael figured. _And it would be best if it stayed that way_. Despite their imitative nature, the Grimm never improved on their tactics or equipment if they thought it worked. To their credit, while costly, their tactics had the frightening tendency to work on the battlefield.

Stray shots struck the Warthog's side, sending sparks fly everywhere. Mykael glanced to the side and saw a handful of Beowolves behind some cover in the upper floors, taking potshots at him as their dimwitted brethren foolishly charged his jeep.

_Buzz off! I'm having _fun_ here! _thought Mykael, bringing the turret around and demolishing their cover, spraying their blood all over the once clean walls of New Valero. _No one gets between me and my fun! __  
><em>

Lorenzo and Walter had to learn that the hard way. _  
><em>

Mykael's HUD flashed red yet again, obscuring his vision. What could it be now? There were already nearly a hundred Beowolves charging him. A miniature image of a rocket materialized on the screen, alerting him that someone had a missile locked on him.

But that wasn't even the bad news.

The bad news was that the guy with the launcher was directly behind him. Even with reflexes as fast as his, the turret wouldn't turn fast enough for him to hit the guy. He leaped off, his feet barely making contact with the ground before the rocket slammed into the jeep, igniting into a massive fireball and shoving him forward into the street.

"Of course," grumbled Mykael, getting up and distancing himself from the burning Warthog. "They had to ruin my fun. No one wants me to have fun. Why do they pick on me?"

_I'll show them_ he silently swore, bringing his CS-35 up and unleashing a salvo unto the nearest, unfortunate Grimm. Clumps of red flesh tore off his body with each round Mykael pounded into his body.

He'll show them all for ruining what had been a very brief but fun time for him.

No one ever got between a Belfried and their desires and lived to tell the tale.

* * *

><p>Mykael let off a wild, maniacal laugh in the distance, greatly unsettling Raine and sending a scold shiver slithering down her spine but she reminded herself that they possessed much bigger problems at the moment. With their only modes of transportation gone, moving around was going to be a hassle, especially with their team in the conditions they were in.<p>

At any rate, Mykael would keep the Grimm off her back for a little while. A whole pack of Beowolves couldn't take him down.

"How are they?" asked Raine, peeking over the side of the wrecked jeep for any Grimm that slipped past Mykael. On the concrete sidewalk besides Sera laid a unmoving Walter and moaning Nolan clutching his wound.

Sera calmly applied pressure to Nolan's bloody side and quickly rummaged through a open emergency first aid kit. She produced a syringe within seconds and stabbed Nolan in the leg without any sort of warning. Nolan cried out in pain, his hands letting go of his side and clenching his leg. Raine's HUD showed his vitals shooting upwards into the red for a few seconds before slowly dropping back down to acceptable rates.

"Why would you do that?" Nolan asked through gritted teeth.

"It'll stop the bleeding, ya big baby," supplied Raine, keeping an eye out for enemy contacts. "Now stop moaning and help me apply pressure already."

Where were these Grimm coming from? There weren't supposed to be any Grimm this far north of downtown.

_Did the defensive line falter?_ she wondered.

If so, then this was bad, very very bad indeed. They weren't supposed to run into Grimm forces for another fifteen minutes.

Raine scanned the streets, keeping an eye out for somewhere decent to hole up in. At the end of the street was a inconspicuous corner store that the owner hadn't managed to close his shutters in time. Small and probably a little cramped, but there would be only one front entrance and two, maybe three back entrances at most.

"Hey Sera, let's get these deadweights into some real cover." Raine gestured to the store she'd spotted.

"Limited entrances, good choke points, and easily defended. Plus, we'd have a good view of the road in case anything happened. Nice choice," added Sera, injecting more painkillers into Nolan's system. Raine could never figure out how Sera did that. Sera had this odd ability to accurately deduct just about anything. Anytime anyone in their unit tried to do something discreetly, Sera was usually the first one to figure out. Sarge knew that, but she wasn't one to betray someone.

Raine pulled up Nolan's vitals on her HUD, his entire abdomen highlighted in red. A bunch of medical terms popped up, none of which she understood, except for the phrase "internal bleeding". That was not good. Sera had already pumped half the drugs in the first aid kit into his system and his vitals were still reading negative. They needed to get him proper medical attention.

"Want me to grab him?" Raine gestured to Nolan.

"Hey," complained Nolan. "I'm the one who got shot here! Shouldn't I get some better treatment?"

Raine rolled her eyes inside her helmet. Why did he have to be so hard to deal with sometimes? "Fine. Sera, I'll leave the crybaby to you and I'll get Walt."

Raine reluctantly hooked her hand in Walter's armor and quickly dragged him across the street towards the store, surprised by how light he was. She always knew he was a lightweight in more ways then one, but she would have no problem carrying him over her shoulder if she wanted to. He weighted next to nothing. She left him napping behind the counter, out of sight from the street. Content that he'll be safe, Raine turned to leave when Sera trailed, half carrying, half dragging a whimpering Nolan.

"Do you got him?" Sera gave her a thumb's up. "Okay, let's go drag Mykael back."

"You two better hurry," suggested Nolan, wincing as Sera slowly eased him against a wall. "My HUD's picking up a lot of movement out there."

"Will you be alright?" asked Sera, applying the last of the first aid kit into his system. With that amount of drugs and painkillers in his system, he was going to be useless in a fight and they needed every capable hand they could get. At this point, Lorenzo would've undoubtedly made a comment about "being out of the frying pan and into the fire" or some other pessimistic comment of the sort.

Nolan drew his sidearm, a fully automatic KAP-40, and calmly chambered a round. He aimed it at the door and motioned towards it with his gun. "Go. I think I'll be just fine. Just hurry, will ya?"

"Sure." With that, the two of them burst out of the store, sprinting towards Mykael's location. "Think he's okay?"

"This is Mykael we're talking about. Frankly, I'll be surprised if he _hasn't_ finished off all those Beowolves by now-"

"NONONONONONONO!" suddenly bellowed Mykael, stopping the girls dead in their tracks. Mykael? Telling them to run? If he was yelling at his enemies, he could direct out any manner of creative and colorful profanities and curses at them. To have him yell at his own teammates? That was unheard of. Even Lorenzo, who knew what buttons to push if provoked, had never enraged Mykael to the point where he'll yell at them. A couple of older guys abusing some Faunus kids once did, but never at them.

So why did he scream?

As if to answer their own question, Mykael darted around the corner, running as fast as his legs could carry his hefty bulk. He darted past them without a word and the two of them stared at his mass as he entered the convenience store.

"Am I seeing things?" asked Raine in disbelief. She blinked hard to make sure she wasn't seeing things.

Mykael never ran away.

_Ever_.

Mykael loved to fight. He practically lived _to_ fight, in the same way that Lorenzo lived to be a cynical pessimist and Walter lived to be annoying. They'd never knew him to back down from a challenge. Anytime anyone had ever challenged him, he'd always inflicted two to three times the damage the other guy gave him.

So what could cause him to run away?

"No, you are not," assured Sera, no doubt questioning her own sanity.

"Wait a second, if Mykael ran away..."

"...who or what was he running away from?"

* * *

><p>"So, who exactly are you?" asked Captain Ponders, his intense eyes focused on the lone Helljumper standing on the other side of the holo-table.<p>

Lorenzo cleared his throat, a little nervous and unsure of his response. How could he not? In front of him was a local legend, one he didn't initially recognized at first, and a stoic Huntress he might have offended, despite not saying anything since he arrived. He shouldn't have been nervous. He personally knew a lot of colorful characters, many of which came from all sorts of well-known and obscure places across Remnant. The two of them shouldn't have been much of a problem.

So why was he so nervous?

Lorenzo was good friends with a few Hunters in training he'd met before he joined up with the Helljumpers, but he knew from experience that within any group, there were always a few odd ones. The Huntress studying him looked more like a princess than a seasoned soldier, but then again, few Hunters met the glorified description the media often gave them. She was young, probably the same age as Lorenzo. She had a pale complexion with snow white hair pulled back in a off-center ponytail and a crooked scar over her left eye. Her uniform was basically a pale blue thigh length dress. It simply couldn't be called anything else. There was nothing else _to_ call it. What justification could she have for it? A combat skirt? It came with a matching pale blue bolero jacket that was red inside, a small tiara like thing that resembled icicles, a fancy looking belt with numerous pouches and hooks and she wore white heeled wedged boots that went up to her midcalf _as well as __jewelry_.

Who wears a necklace and earrings in a warzone?

But Lorenzo kept his tongue. He knew who she was, long before he saw the snowflake crest on the back of her jacket.

The Huntress was none other than Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, the largest Dust producer in all of Remnant. Subject to a mountain of unscrupulous rumors concerning many of their questionable business practices, the SDC was run by the prestigious Schnee family. The SDC had been engaged in a brutal war with the revolutionaries-turned-terrorist-organization the White Fang over the last decade or so, who opposed the SDC's unfair treatment of their Faunus laborers. Being a member of the Schnee family came with a great deal of perks, but it also came with a great amount of stress. Death threats were constant, kidnappings happened often, and supporters of the SDC had a frightening tendency to mysteriously...disappear. Lorenzo remembered the shock that a lot of privileged families had when Weiss Schnee announced she was applying to Beacon to become a Hunter instead of following the path her family set in stone for her.

_Maybe that's why she became a Hunter_ mused Lorenzo. A couple of his buddies joined up with the Helljumpers to avoid the realm of politics their family otherwise would have inevitably dragged them into. It made sense.

"So, get on with it," snapped Weiss, her suspicious gaze fixed on Lorenzo. "We're waiting."

"My name is Lorenzo Baras," answered Lorenzo. It came out more matter-of-factly than he wanted to, but at this point, formalities hardly mattered. There was a time and place for manners and this was clearly not it. "Of course you can tell I'm a Helljumper."

"Where's the rest of your unit?" inquired Ponders.

"I was separated from them during entry due to a...unforeseen complication," admitted Lorenzo, not wanting to go into detail. It was common knowledge among soldiers that Helljumper entry methods were as unconventional as they were chaotic. It was rare for a whole unit to land in the same small area, which was why they were often divided into flexible squads.

"Great," scoffed Weiss, shaking her head in blatant disappointment. "Of all the Helljumpers in the city, we get the one screw up. Why couldn't someone more capable crashed over here?"

"Well, excuse me your highness, but if it wasn't for me, you'd still have a small army of Grimm trying to bust down your door and slaughter everyone in here."

"Children, can we please focus on the task at hand?" suggested Ponders in a condescending tone that reminded Lorenzo of his old school teachers. He opened up a holographic representation of New Valero on the table. "Right now, we are here," he pointed to a small building highlighted in blue among the red skyscrapers "and the nearest rendezvous we have with friendly forces is over a mile away and we have no modes of transportation to move the injured."

"Actually we do," stated Lorenzo. Weiss and Ponders stared at him as if he'd said the world was flat. "What? You think I walked all the way here? I relieved a few Beowolves of a NVPD SWAT van they stole earlier. It's parked down the street 'cause of the rubble."

"And you didn't think to mention this until now?" Weiss stared daggers at Lorenzo.

"It's not like it can carry everyone." Lorenzo gestured around to the injured civilians leaning against the walls. "There's barely enough space for a dozen men in there, let alone all these civvies. It's not very fast, it's cramped, and it can barely get over any obstacles."

Ponders looked at the youngsters standing before him, a throbbing vein visible on his forehead. "Well you two, I'm open to suggestions."

Lorenzo studied the map, taking in every detail. Several details he hadn't figured out were soon filled in and became painstakingly clear. The artillery fire had stopped not because the warships were disabled like he thought, but because the warships once parked in the harbors had simply vanished. Retreated maybe. Grimm navy commanders possessed above average intelligence and were more likely to retreat than their army counterparts. Wedges had been driven in several areas of the city, pushing back the defensive line, but the advances stopped almost as quick as they came. For whatever reason, a large number of the Grimm forces were also clustered around the dock area.

"There." Lorenzo zoomed in the map on the docks area. "Why? Their warships are long gone and they have no aircraft and yet they have nearly a third of their forces garrisoned here. There's no jamming tower to protect nor is there anything extremely important to the city there, so why? Why here?"

Lorenzo could clearly see the gears in the brains of the Captain and Huntress turning, forming their own conclusions on what he pointed out.

"You're right, it doesn't make any sense," admitted Ponders.

"They could be waiting for reinforcements," said Weiss, her eyes darting around the holo-map. "They arrived by ship, so it would make sense they protect the ports. Probably why the ships left in the first place. To pick up more troops."

The Captain defiantly shook his head. "Can't happen. The unknown regions take far too long to reach by boat. The city would be taken back before they arrive."

"Could they have been left behind?" Weiss expanded the map to show the positions where the Grimm forces were the most concentrated. It made sense to Lorenzo. The Grimm's ruthlessness extended to their own troops and it wasn't uncommon to hear stories of the Grimm leaving their own troops behind to die. What else would one expect from a army that utilized suicidal charges as its main tactic? "The strength of each attack has steadily decreased since the Helljumpers came, so they are holding back their reserves. Either they're planning a counter attack or they're retreating."

"The only problem is the Grimm haven't done anything like this before," pointed out Lorenzo, removing his helmet and setting it down on the table. He ran a hand through his black hair, his mind racing to come up with a solution. He leaned in closer to the hologram, bewildered by what he saw. While retreating wasn't unheard of, the Grimm holding a substantial force like that was.

"They're planning something," noted Ponders, pulling at his upper lips in worry "and we need to figure out what and fast."

* * *

><p>AN: It took this long to write this chapter for a number of reasons: the glitchy document, addicting video games, AP classes, being sick, writer's block, sheer laziness, and Youtube really chewed up my time, so sorry for that. I'll try to make the next chapter come out as soon as possible since I already have a good bit of the plotline set up in my head. Don't worry about the other characters listed in the character list; they'll be pivotal to the story once they get introduced.


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