52

Chapter 52:

"Are you okay, Blake?" asked Yang, the second Blake entered their room.

"I'm fine," said Blake, giving her friends a tired smile, not all that surprised to see that her team and RASP had been waiting up for her.

"What did Ozpin want to talk about?" asked Nora.

"He wanted to hear more details about what happened," explained Blake. "He wanted to know what our plan had been, how what happened did or didn't line up with what were expecting...it was almost like a debriefing really."

"That's it?" asked Ren.

"Well...I think he knew..." said Blake, "...that I was White Fang, that is. I told him I was, and he seemed all right with it."

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Blake smiled and continued. "And, from the sound of things, he doesn't feel that we were wrong to act, but he wants us to come to him in the future, if we want to try planning something like that."

"That's...unexpectedly lenient of him," said Weiss.

"We've still got detention though," Jaune pointed out.

"I guess Ozpin gets to be the easygoing one and Goodwitch is the hardass," said Yang, drawing an irate look from Weiss. "What?"

"I hope you don't repeat that where it might make it back to her ears," was all that Weiss had to say.

"But the good news is that Ozpin gave us an option to continue," said Ruby.

"It probably is a good idea," said Blake. "Since Adam and Ilia got away, they're sure to be back. I know we haven't seen the last of the White Fang."

"And the girl that helped them get out was working for Torchwick," said Ruby, remembering Adam's words.

"But Torchwick's in prison," Pyrrha pointed out.

"But it doesn't mean that he doesn't have people outside the prison," said Ren. "Someone like him is bound to have cohorts."

Ruby nodded, remembering the group of oddly-dressed men she had brought down, along with Roman himself.

"But why would they work with the White Fang?" Blake wondered. "The White Fang I knew, even at their worst, wouldn't lower themselves to consorting with...someone they consider human scum."

Shrugs were the only response anyone could muster. The more they pondered the situation, the stranger it seemed, and the more disturbing. The White Fang had stolen plenty of Dust, as had the mysterious sea raider targeting the SDC's ships. Where all that Dust was going, what it was being used for, were also driving questions that needed to be answered. Were the pirates and the White Fang operating independently of each other, with the latter capitalizing on opportunities created by the former, or was there collusion in that arena as well?

In the end, there wasn't much point in worrying over it right now. They weren't going to be in any position to follow up leads until the semester was over anyway. Besides, Ruby had something else she wanted to ask about. "Blake...?"

"Yes?" Blake looked at Ruby inquisitively.

"I saw..." Ruby swallowed, a queasy feeling rising in her stomach at the memory of it. "...I broke Adam's mask...I saw his face."

"Oh..." Blake went pale.

"Wait! What's this about this Adam-guy's face?" asked Nora.

"He was branded," said Ruby, "by the SDC."

"What?!" exclaimed Weiss, clenching her fists. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," said Jaune, remembering the mark himself. "Blocky font...all capitals...SDC...And right over his left eye too."

Weiss' expression fell, and her entire body sagged.

"Do you know how he got that?" asked Ruby, looking at Blake.

Blake shook her head. "He never gave me the specifics of how he'd been marked. All he said was that it was a classic example of how the humans oppressed faunus like us."

"Was he a slave or something?" wondered Nora.

"Impossible!" scoffed Weiss.

"You sure, Ice Queen?" asked Yang. "I've heard some pretty creepy things about how your family's company does business."

"First off," protested Weiss, "if you're going to brand slaves, you certainly wouldn't brand them there. The entire point of having slaves is for them to be useful. Branding one across one of his eyes would definitely impair his usefulness. So a brand on the chest or back would be a better choice.

"Secondly, I'll admit that, while Atlas is not the most...progressive...of Kingdoms, when it comes to the issue of faunus rights, slavery is still outlawed there. Not even my father would dare defy the law on that front."

Blake frowned sourly, refraining from pointing out some of the myriad ways "slavery" could be practiced without being officially recognized as such, many of which the SDC definitely did practice.

"That being said, given what you've described..." Weiss frowned. "...It's probably a thief's brand."

"A thief's brand?" gasped Pyrrha.

"It's illegal," said Weiss, sounding disgusted herself, to her credit, "but the kind of thing that's more easily overlooked than outright slavery. If a faunus is caught stealing something, usually Dust, sometimes, whoever caught him will use the brand to mark him as a thief...and to make him an example to others who might be planning the same thing."

"That's awful!" whispered Ruby.

Weiss nodded. "It's absolutely atrocious, but something that Father would have an easier time turning a blind eye to."

"It wouldn't surprise me," said Blake softly. "It sounds like something that might have happened to Adam in his past."

"No wonder he has so much hate," Ruby said softly.

Blake swallowed and nodded. "But that doesn't make what he's doing now right. We have to stop him."

"We will...if we can," said Yang, resting a hand on her partner's arm. "But we can't be going about this without a solid plan. We're kinda barred from this sorta thing for a while, so there's no point in worrying about it now."

Blake nodded reluctantly.

"My thoughts exactly," said Weiss, huffing and nodding her agreement. "Our semester finals are coming up after all...and these shenanigans have cut into our study-time considerably."

"Typical Weiss," said Nora, not bothering to stifle a laugh.

"Quiet you," huffed Weiss, a smile appearing on her face, despite her pithy response, the rest of her friends chortling as the tension drained from the room.

"A filthy thief, huh?" snarled the supervisor, the bulge of his stomach quivering with each step he took, while he paced around the bound boy before him.

The young man had been forced to his knees. The clothes he wore were ragged and worn. His right eye sported a dark bruise, while his arms had been bound behind his back. The foreman took a look at the unkempt mop of red and black hair atop his head and, most prominently, the pair of curving horns that stretched up from it. His lips curled back in a disgusted sneer.

"So you think you can just waltz in and take whatever you want, huh?" growled the supervisor. "You mongrels seem to think that you're entitled to whatever you like, eh?"

"Please! We can't afford it," protested the young faunus. "It was a mistake. I won't do it again."

The supervisor's face lit up in a sadistic leer. "No, you won't," he agreed. "We'll make damn sure of that, you little rat." He held out his right hand. One of the guards in the room pressed a metal rod into his palm. The man closed his hand around it, bringing the object up for the young faunus to see.

At the far end of the metal rod from the handle was a flat, rectangular block. Holding it up allowed the boy to see the SDC logo standing out against the flat surface of the block. His gaze flicked up to the supervisor uncertainly. That uncertainty only seemed to make the man smile all the wider.

A flick of his wrist caused the shaft of the rod to slide forward from the handle, revealing an opening, almost like a chute. The supervisor held out his left hand, and the guard on that side deposited a single red Dust crystal into it. Taking the crystal, the supervisor dropped it down the chute in the shaft of his device. Another flick of his wrist slid it back closed with a click. There was another click as his thumb pressed a button on the handle.

A faint whine filled the air. After a few seconds, the letters of the logo, along with the lines that framed it from above and below, began to glow red, then orange, before beginning to take on a yellowish tint. Sweat began to break out across the boy's face as he felt the heat washing outwards from the device.

"And now..." declared the supervisor, "...it's time to make sure that everyone knows exactly who you tried to steal from...and what happens to idiots who try to take company property."

"No!" shouted the boy, struggling against his bonds.

"Hold him still!" snapped the supervisor to his guards, who immediately moved to restrain the boy. "I know exactly where to mark him! Keep his head steady!"

"No! Stop! Please!" The boy tried to thrash and beg in his captors' grip, but they held him tightly. Rough hands clamped down on his head, holding his face still, leaving the boy in the perfect position to watch as the superheated brand inched closer and closer.

A sizzling hiss filled the air, but was quickly drowned out by an agonized scream. A second later, the air filled with the scent of scorched flesh.

"Toss that animal out!" snapped the supervisor. "If he lives, he'll get to be an example to the rest of his kind!"

Those were the last words the boy heard before he forsook his pain for the merciful darkness of unconsciousness...

Adam's eyes opened. After another moment, he sat upright, his hand going to the left side of his face. He couldn't see the shadow of his hand over his left eye. Even though it opened and closed like normal, there was nothing his eye on that side could see. Instead...Adam felt. He could still feel that burn. There were times where the brand pained him, like the sensation of a bad sunburn on the left side of his face. It continued to persist, even years later, especially when he was reminded of its existence.

There wasn't any pain when he had his mask, though. It wasn't shame that drove Adam to wear his mask every waking moment. As far as he was concerned, the mask over his eyes was his true face. Humanity had spent ages tormenting the faunus, calling them monsters. That being the case, Adam had decided to become that monster. He would be a specter that inspired fear in the humans. They would dread him, just like they dreaded the Grimm his mask impersonated.

But then he had fought that girl, and she had struck through all his defenses, the first person to accomplish that in quite a while. She'd broken through his true face, and revealed what lay beneath it. His scar, his brand, was like an indicator of vulnerability. And that girl, that little red-cloaked brat, had exposed him. If it took him a hundred years, Adam would repay her for that humiliation.

A heated throb came from the scar once more, and Adam grimaced. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to recall the memory of the day he had repaid that pain.

Adam Taurus stared down at the prone, flabby figure of the supervisor. All around him, the other members of the White Fang were picking up crates of Dust and hauling them out the doors, loading them onto waiting trucks. In just a few minutes, this entire place would be an empty shell. Then, once the charges were set, the SDC wouldn't even have the consolation of simply starting up the processing center again to try and recoup the loss from this night.

"Y-you damn animal!" snapped the supervisor, thrashing in pain from the wound Adam had cut into his shoulder. "You'll pay for this! The SDC doesn't forgive vermin like you stealing from us!"

"Oh, I'm counting on it," said Adam, a sadistic grin appearing on his face. "I know all too well how you humans deal with us faunus. It's time for you to receive a taste of your own medicine."

"You don't know anything!" retorted the supervisor. "You think you know pain? When we catch you, I'll give you a taste of pain you'll never forget!"

"I haven't forgotten," said Adam, reaching up and taking off his mask. The revelation of his face, and the brand seared over his left eye, prompted a gasp from the supervisor.

"It's-y-you..." he stammered. "You're that mongrel brat who-who..."

Adam smirked, returning his mask to his face. "I was just a desperate child, wanting to get a little Dust to help keep my family's home warm against Mantle's cold. For that, I was irreversibly maimed, and the sight stolen from my left eye. As you promised, that pain has stayed with me this entire time."

His grin returning, Adam held out his right hand, one of his subordinates placing a familiar object into it, a branding iron, much like the one this selfsame supervisor had used on him back then. But the design was different. Instead of a rectangular plate, engraved with the SDC's logo, it was instead a flat disk, the raised engraving depicting the head of a lion, on a background of three parallel slashes, like claw-marks, the logo of the new and improved White Fang.

The supervisor's eyes widened at the sight of the iron, and he began to squirm and writhe, his undulations scooting his body along the floor like the movements of a worm, as he struggled in a futile effort to get away. But his limbs lacked the strength to carry him far enough, fast enough, to get anywhere. Adam followed him at a sedate, easygoing pace, savoring the man's fear. In the meantime, he reached into his jacket pocket with his left hand, pulling out a red Dust-crystal, and depositing it into the fuel-shoot of his custom branding-iron.

"You needn't worry about remembering this pain," said Adam. "I'm much more merciful than you, in that respect. All that I will assure you...is that this pain...will be the last thing you ever feel."

The faint, whining hum of the Dust-heater built into the brand filled the air. The supervisor's eyes bulged in their sockets as Adam raised the brand over his face, then drove it down. The man's scream dragged on, accompanied by the sizzling sound and smell of burning flesh. Finally, a long moment later, Adam raised the brand form the man's face. The supervisor was dead, the image of the White Fang's symbol burned into his face like a blackened stain.

"Set him up outside," Adam told one of his men. "Make sure he's far enough away that the explosives won't disturb him. We'll let the Schnees know just what fates their abuse and excess have earned them."

A soft sigh escaped Adam, the burning sensation of the mark engraved on the flesh over his left eye cooling with the memory of the moment he had taken his revenge. He still had the branding iron. While he hadn't used it since, he still held onto it. After all, when the moment came, he fully planned to use it again. Someday soon, he would gladly send Jacques Schnee the head of one of his precious children, with the mark of the White Fang burned right into their face. Someday...he would leave Jacques' corpse with a brand of its own.

Still, that was "someday." And it would be a while before it came. They had much to do in the meantime. With a sigh, Adam got up, sitting up on his cot, his hand reaching out to pluck his mask, a spare to replace the one that girl had broken, from where it rested, on a table beside him. Slipping it onto his face, Adam stood up and pulled on his jacket, before heading out the door of his "bedroom."

It wasn't so much a room as it was a repurposed closet, set up adjacent to the office used to oversee the empty warehouse that the White Fang were currently using as their base of operations in Vale. They were set up to be ready to move at a moment's notice. What little possessions he had could be easily stowed away and carried out as he needed. Looking down from the window of the office, Adam could see things that wouldn't be so easily relocated.

Crates and containers of Dust were stacked in orderly rows, several masked members of the White Fang moving between them. With each successful heist, their stockpile grew, and Adam could scarcely wait for the moment he put all this stored destructive power to use.

The door to the office opened, then closed, with a pair of clicks. Having not turned on the light, Adam found himself looking into shadows, shadows that even his faunus night-vision had trouble penetrating. But there was a deeper blackness there, a blackness that formed around the image of a white mask, with a pair of curved horns projecting out from its forehead, indicating the identity of the person who approached him.

"What is it?" asked Adam.

"She's back," Ilia informed him. "She wants to speak with you."

Adam let out a derisive snort. "Of course she does."

It was galling that he, Adam Taurus, was the beck and call of a filthy human. But, at the moment, they had no other choice. He strode past Ilia, whose skin had turned pitch-black, heading out the door of the office and down the stairs that would take him to the warehouse floor.

He found the woman there. Cinder Fall smiled as she turned to face Adam. "Adam, I trust you've rested well."

"I never do," Adam replied. "What do you want now?"

Cinder's smile widened. "Come now, Adam. There is no need to be like this. This is a great moment for the White Fang. The day will soon come where you can strike a blow against those who've oppressed your people."

"Someday, you will be on that list," Adam growled, glaring at the woman.

"You know well enough that I have nothing against the faunus," said Cinder, strutting forward. "I have great respect for your leadership, your strength, and your unwavering conviction. It's those very things that make you so useful to us. But us using you has nothing to do with your race. You and yours were merely the ones best suited for this task."

"That is no comfort to me," snarled Adam.

"Well, it's good that I did not care to comfort you," Cinder teased back. "As it is, I have come to address an issue that has cropped up, as a result of the recent debacle at the docks."

Adam hissed in anger. Of course she had to rub that in again.

"Now now," said Cinder, raising a hand in a placating gesture, "there is no need to be so upset. Considering the...unique factors...in play, it's understandable that the result was unexpected. That is why I have not made any mention of punishment. But, what cannot be overlooked is that the incident has left you with a sever deficiency in manpower."

"Our recruiters are taking care of that as we speak," said Adam.

"But are they doing well enough?" said Cinder. "I've seen how your organization's recruitment meetings work, Adam. If we had the better part of a year, you might be able to recoup your losses from Vale's faunus population with your current methods. But they are much too passive.

"Fortunately, I have an...associate...who can help. Much as it irritates me to acknowledge him, it cannot be denied that he has a substantial expertise in a number of diverse fields. I presented our conundrum to him, and he was able to come up with an...effective...way of increasing the yield of your recruitment drives."

"Oh...?" Adam raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Cinder pulled out her scroll. With a few taps, she transferred a file stored on it to Adam's scroll, which chimed upon receiving those files. Pulling out his scroll, Adam opened it up into its tablet-mode, allowing him to review the file. Behind the slits of his mask, his eyes widened. "This is..."

"If you follow the good Doctor's directions, I can assure you that you will have quite a few faunus willing to join your cause," Cinder assured him. "This should be suitable for rebuilding your force much more quickly."

Adam reviewed the file in more detail, ignoring Cinder for the moment. Then he closed down his scroll and pocketed it. "We'll just have to see if it works as well as you promise. I will begin coaching our recruitment officers immediately."

"I look forward to the results," Cinder cooed.

Ashley came to a stop. For a moment, she watched Chrys' back as he walked a little farther down the alleyway, moving towards the entrance to an unused warehouse. There, she could see a small line of people filing in past a guard.

"Ashley?" Her employer turned around to regard her with a confused look.

"I...I'm not sure about this," said Ashley, looking down, grinding the sole of her shoe against the pavement. "I really don't think this is for me."

Chrysanthos Floris smiled, his blonde hair swaying in the wind as he walked towards her, then rested his hands on her shoulders. "I understand that you're nervous," he said. "Trust me, this is just an...information session. They're mostly going to talk about their goals and answer questions. You don't have to sign up, if you don't want to."

"But...what about the news?" asked Ashley.

Chrys frowned. "The news can get distorted," he said. "That said, if the White Fang need Dust, this might be the only way they can get it."

"But what for?" asked Ashley. "I've heard they're actually attacking people. I don't want to be a part of something like that."

Chrys sighed and lowered his head. "Listen, Ashley, don't let the stories of a few bad examples color your views as a whole. The White Fang does a tremendous amount of good for us."

"How?" asked Ashley.

Her employer's smile took on a wry quality. "Do you ever find it odd...that a faunus like me was able to open up a shop in one of the most prime locations of Vale's commercial district?"

Ashley blinked, staring up at Chrys for a moment. Now that he mentioned it, it was more than a little unusual that the landlord of such a location would be willing to have a faunus tenant.

"When I was first looking to open up shop," began Chrys, "it was only natural that I look for the most prime locations for business. My shop is a niche one, since I specialize in flowers, particularly the yellow kind. That kind of specialized business wouldn't do well in the Faunus Quarter. It's not as though I'm someone who can generate universal appeal, the way Bruno does."

Ashley nodded in agreement.

Chrys released her shoulders and turned away from her for a minute. "I checked and applied at almost a dozen different locations. And at every one of them, the results were similar. Either I was outright denied, or the landlord abruptly increased the cost of the lease, sometimes to several times the amount originally offered. Some of them tried to be subtle about it, coming up with various excuses about additional 'risk factors' that I brought along with me. But the real reason was obvious.

"I filed complaints with the Council's Faunus-Relations Committee, but all I got were noncommittal answers, with nothing to show for my efforts."

Ashley nodded. Chrys wasn't the first person she'd heard complain about the Faunus-Relations Committee. The committee was notorious amongst Vale's faunus as nothing more than a publicity stunt, created by the Council to make it look like they were taking bettering the lot of Vale's faunus citizens seriously.

Chrys snorted. "It was around that time that I came to my first rally," he said. "While I was there, I interviewed with a recruiter, and explained my problem to him. I was sure that he was doing nothing more than gathering information for talking points, another example of how humans were oppressing us and so on. However, he said he'd take my case to someone and see if there was something they could do for me. I hadn't even joined yet.

"About three days later, I got a call from one of my prospective landlords. He explained that there had been a sudden change...a re-evaluation of sorts...and that I could lease the space in his building for half his original asking price...and that he would cover utility costs for my first year."

Ashley's jaw dropped, making Chrys chuckle.

"I joined up the very next day," he finished. "There's more to the White Fang than what you just see and hear on the news. They are fighting for us faunus, for our rights and dignity. The way they fight can appear different, depending on the kind of battle being fought, but they're still fighting for people like us. I wanted you to be able to see that for yourself."

Ashley shifted uncertainly. She had to admit that Chrys' story certainly made the organization sound more appealing.

"I'm not the only one," Chrys continued. "You know Tukson, right?"

Ashley nodded hesitantly. She wasn't a huge reader, but had visited the man's bookshop occasionally, and even gotten her school textbooks from him. Now that she thought about it, it occurred to her that he too was set up in an area that would have normally been difficult for a faunus to open an establishment.

"His story is basically the same as mine," said Chrys. "We owe our success, what we've accomplished thus far, to the White Fang and the opportunities they afforded us. You may not think you need that kind of support right now, but you never know where your life might take you, so there is always the risk that you'll find yourself in a place where discrimination keeps you from doing what you've set out to do in life. At the very least, I want you to see what the White Fang is about for yourself."

"A-all right," said Ashley, still feeling hesitant.

Her hesitation was understandable. After all, not even her parents knew what she was really doing this evening. They were under the impression that Chrys had called her in for a late-night shift to re-organize his store. She couldn't imagine what they would say if they knew her employer had actually called her over to take her to a clandestine meeting with a group that the media often referred to as a terrorist organization. As it was, she couldn't imagine what her classmates would say either, some very unflattering things to be sure.

But Chrys had been calmly adamant that she see for herself what the White Fang was about. While he never got overbearing about it, he continued to gently press and pester her about it. Even this "shift" she was working had been cover that they'd worked out beforehand. Chrys was even paying her for the hours she would be at the meeting, so Ashley certainly couldn't complain about that.

So she and Chrys continued on, heading for the door. There, the doorman inspected them briefly, before admitting them, handing them each something that made Ashley tense nervously. It was a simple white mask, meant to rest above the nose and cover the eyes. It was a white color, reminding her of pictures and illustrations she'd seen of the Creatures of Grimm.

She looked over at Chrys for an explanation, only to find that he too was staring at the mask, somewhat nervously. "Is this...normal?" she asked.

"It's...new," said Chrys warily, a frown appearing on his face. "I know that members of the Vale Branch have been wearing these lately, but I thought it was the ones who were in on militant actions who were wearing these. They aren't supposed to just hand them out to new recruits or prospectives."

Ashley swallowed, feeling an uncomfortable lump rise in her throat.

Chrys gave her an encouraging smile, thought it was beginning to waver. "I'm sure it's nothing more than a new wrinkle. Don't worry too much about it. If you're not into this, you can just hand it back in when the meeting's over."

"R-right," said Ashley.

Reluctantly, they slipped the masks on their faces and moved forward with the other arrivals, filing inside the warehouse, where they found themselves assembling in a crowd. A makeshift stage had been set up at one end, with everyone gathering in front of it. The new arrivals were bunched together in the rightmost section, standing out by virtue of their varied clothes and the simple masks they were all wearing. The left half of the floor was occupied by those who were clearly active members, made all the more apparent by their slightly larger, more-ornate masks, covering a larger section of their faces than the ones the new arrivals wore. They were all also dressed in the same uniform; sleeveless white shirts, and black pants. They stood in orderly rows, arms folded behind their back in military discipline, a stark contrast to the disorganized mob presented by those who were only just thinking about joining.

Low muttering filled the warehouse, all of it provided by the new and prospective recruits, like Ashley herself. Looking to Chrys, she couldn't help but notice how tense his posture was. There was something going on here, something he didn't understand. Clearly, this wasn't the kind of meeting he had been expecting.

"What do they usually do at meetings like this?" she asked.

"Normally, someone presents a short speech," said Chrys. "They call up volunteers to share their experiences. A few others come up to explain how the White Fang has helped them. After that, we're supposed to mingle. We can talk to the recruiters, ask more questions, get more details, that sort of thing."

"And the soldier-types?" asked Ashley.

"They aren't usually assembled together like this, and not so many of them," said Chrys warily. "Usually, there's only a small complement for security."

Ashley found herself feeling more nervous with each passing minute.

Finally, the lights dimmed, a silent signal that the time for chatter had passed. The mutterings died down, and everyone's attention became focused upon the stage. A man mounted the steps and began to walk across it towards the center. He wore something similar to uniform worn by the other soldiers, but he was definitely somebody a good bit more important. His sleeveless shit looked more substantial, with a high collar rising around his neck, and formidable looking metal armguards covering his forearms and the backs of his hands.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters," said the man, stretching his thickly-muscled arms to either side. His voice was distorted, mainly because, unlike the other soldiers, his Grimm-mask was much more elaborate, covering the entirety of his face, designs in blood-red spiraling down past both the eye-slits and down to where it came to a point, just past his chin. "Thank you for coming to join us this evening. I am certain that the decision to become a part of our battle for the sake of our people is not one you've made lightly."

"Decision?" hissed Ashley, looking at Chrys, aghast.

To his credit, Chrys looked utterly baffled. "This isn't right," he muttered. "Why is he talking like everyone's already joined?"

He wasn't the only one discomfited by the strange approach utilized by the man on the stage.

"Just know that, by dedicating yourself to our cause, you are fighting for the wellbeing of faunus across the whole of Remnant," continued the man. "Our cause is greater than any single injustice, mightier than any one Kingdom. All across this world, our people are suffering under the yoke of human oppression. Because of that, we of the White Fang must take it upon ourselves to stand up and fight!"

The soldiers on the left side of the floor raised a hearty cheer, at least a few voices from the new and prospective recruits on the right echoing them.

The soldier on the stage continued to speak. "Tonight, you will learn more about the cause to which you will be dedicating yourselves. Your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated. After last week's...disruption...we have been in dire need of assistance, and you will all have an important role to play."

Disruption? Ashley's eyes widened as she wracked her mind for what had happened. Then she remembered a news story about the police cracking down on a White Fang attempt to raid a massive SDC Dust shipment, arresting a number of members. Are they trying to make up for the openings in their roster? she wondered.

"Now then, let's begin by giving you a taste of what we are fighting against," continued the man on stage.

From there, the meeting began to go the way Chrys had explained it would. Various volunteers from the ranks of the soldiers on the left side of the room came up onto stage. One man, sporting a pair of dog-ears, explained why his left ear looked so badly tattered, explaining how he had been jumped by a pair of thugs, one of whom had taken a knife to his ear with the intent of cutting it off, and how he had been detained and imprisoned by the police for his effort to defend himself, without his ear ever being properly treated. He then explained how the White Fang, after hearing his story, had tracked down the thugs in question...and promptly cut off their ears in return.

A woman came up, explaining how she had been beaten and raped by a human she had known. But, when she went to the police to report him, they had done nothing, even ridiculed her in the most disgusting fashion. The White Fang had helped her by paying a visit to the man...and castrating him.

More and more volunteers filed up onto the stage to give their stories. Said stories were bloody and unsettling. Ashley heard about beatings, about people being mauled and maimed. Volunteers talked about the organization wreaking a bloody retribution for the wrongs done to them. Glancing sidelong at her employer, Ashley could see that Chrys was definitely uneasy.

"Are the stories normally this graphic?" she asked.

Chrys shook his head slowly. "No," he said.

"This is the first time it's been like this?" she pressed.

Chrys nodded. "I haven't..." he gulped, pausing as another graphic story, replete with descriptions of gore and human savagery washed over them. "...haven't been to one of these meetings in a while. This change can't have come all that long ago, though."

Ashley shuddered and turned her attention back onto the stage.

The stories continued. As they did, the mood in the room was beginning to turn. Everyone felt a surge of anger and indignation at the relation of every injustice. That anger was turned into a cathartic euphoria as the speech segued into the part where the White Fang paid the aggressors back for their actions. Gradually, the audience began to grow more and more involved, shouting angrily, then cheering. Back and forth the mood swayed. Gradually, Ashley began to feel herself being swept up in it. Hearing the stories of attacks, of rapes, of beatings, of bloody mutilations; they all brought up reminders of her own encounter in that alley. There was no telling what those thugs might have done to her had Ruby not-

And, just like that, Ashley felt as though she'd been doused by a bucket of cold water. The anger and fear surging through her was washed away. She remembered a pair of kind and friendly silver eyes, a gentle touch that had erased the pain of the beating she'd been subjected to. She remembered Ruby's smile, her laughter, their friendship. She'd been attacked on the basis of her race; but Ruby, a human, had stood up for her, protected her. Ruby Rose was a Huntress, someone who shouldn't have even bothered with a civilian like Ashley. Yet she had reached out, and now Ashley found herself closer to Ruby, a human, than she was to most of the faunus friends she knew.

One of the electives Ashley was taking at her school was Public Speech and Debate. Multiple classes were spent going over how public speakers could moderate their speech in everything from volume and tone, to their very body language. Looking at the current speaker on stage, Ashley began to see him, and the ones that had come before him, with fresh eyes.

These weren't shy, nervous volunteers, uneasily recounting traumatic experiences. Each one spoke with incredible passion, never hesitating or stuttering. One moment, they would be speaking just loud enough to ensure their words were heard by everyone in the audience. Then, when their narrative got to the critical moment, that speaking-voice became an impassioned shout, accompanied by the appropriate gestures, a raised fist pumped in the air, a bold step forward. These people knew how to say what they were saying, how to make their words have an impact. It was possible that most, if not all, of these stories were completely true. But the speakers had clearly been coached on how to tell them.

And it was working. People were becoming engrossed. The more horrific or grotesque the atrocity committed by the humans, the more that revulsion turned to euphoria when the speaker talked about how the White Fang struck back. And the speakers kept on coming. Some stories lasted just a few minutes, others half an hour or more. Ashley was beginning to lose track of time. Worse, she was getting tired. As she did, she found it harder and harder to keep from being swept up in the fervor of the speakers and their passion. To keep her head on straight, she focused on dissecting their storytelling, silently picking apart what words and actions were consciously chosen to sway the crowd. In between those times, she kept tabs on the people around her to see how they were doing.

She wasn't the only one getting tired. Everyone had been standing in place for the better part of three hours now. There had been no breaks, whether for refreshment or simply to take a few minutes sitting down to rest. To Ashley, it seemed like they were getting more and more drawn into the stories, using the narratives to take their minds off their exhaustion. As a result, their enthusiasm was growing.

Finally, just when Ashley was beginning to think she could stand no more, the latest volunteer left the stage. The man with the full-face mask came back on. "Thank you all for listening to these tales. As you can see, there is no limit to humans' capacity for aggression. Even after the Revolution, when we were supposed to have obtained equality, have things actually changed?"

"NO!" shouted someone from within the crowd.

"That's right!" shouted the man, pumping his fist in the air. "Not so long ago, we, the brothers and sisters of the White Fang, strove to peacefully work with the humans to bring about that ideal of equality that so many before us sacrificed their lives for. Those brave souls fought and died, laying down their lives to save us from being penned like animals! The fact that any are able to dwell in this Kingdom at all is due to their mighty spirit.

"But the humans do not appreciate that! Instead of admitting their defeat, instead of accepting what is right, they choose to stew in resentment and anger, sore losers to the bitter end. They rejected our attempts to make peaceful resolutions. So we chose to speak to those savages through the only language they seem to understand, the language of blood!"

A ragged cheer rose through the warehouse.

"Now that you understand what we are fighting against, what is at stake, if you have the courage to stand with your fellow faunus, become brothers and sisters of the White Fang. If the humans cannot be swayed by reason, then we will deal with them through force. Rise up!"

A louder cheer swept through the room.

"All you new recruits, come forward and give your names to the officers at the foot of the stage," instructed the man in charge. "With your help, we will step forward and make great strides into the future."

The crowd began to move. Ashley found people walking around her. She stumbled as someone pushed her aside in their eagerness to get to the front. Ashley's stumble sent her bumping into Chrys, who managed to keep her from falling over.

"Are you all right?" asked Chrys, steadying her. Looking up, Ashley could tell that he was a bit dazed, apparently just as tired from the long hours of continuous standing as her.

"No," said Ashley. "this isn't what you'd said it would be at all. Let's get out of here. I just want to go home."

"I...I understand," said Chrys, his expression falling. He directed one last uneasy look around. "I don't get why they're doing it, but this wasn't at all what it was like for me."

"L-let's just get out," said Ashley, sweating, both from nerves and from spending so long packed into a confined space with so many bodies.

"Right," said Chrys, a sense of fresh unease welling up within him.

The only instruction they'd been given was to move to the foot of the stage in order to sign up with the White Fang. But no one had said anything about what to do if they didn't feel it was for them. What was more, now that he was looking around, Chrys noticed something else. The soldiers who'd been occupying the left section of the floor in orderly rows had moved. They now stood around the perimeter of the room, with at least two standing beside every door. Only one door stood open, and it was the one that the newly-signed-up recruits were being directed out through.

Being taller than Ashley, Chrys had a better vantage point, allowing him to see that he and Ashley weren't the only ones who'd avoided being drawn in by the impassioned, but mind-numbing, presentation. He spotted one other faunus, a boy a couple years older than Ashley, sporting a colorful frill that folded flush against his neck. The boy made his way to one of the closed doors to address the soldiers there. Carefully, Chrys took Ashley by the shoulder, steering them both in the direction of the boy, hoping that this would be their way out of this.

As they approached, he was able to pick up what the boy was saying. "So...this really isn't for me. You mind if I head on out."

The soldier on one side of the door stared at the boy. With the mask on his face, it was hard to piece together his expression. But the hard set of his mouth was not an encouraging sign. "All new recruits need to go to the front of the stage and give their names."

"Yeah, but I don't want to join," the boy replied. "I mean, i-it sounds like you're all fighting the good fight here, but this just doesn't seem like my thing. I thought this was just an informational meeting anyway."

That didn't sway the soldier out all. In fact, his hand drifted towards the butt of the pistol holstered at his waist. "All new recruits must report to the front of the room. Now, go."

The young man backed off, hands raised warily. "Okay okay! I'm heading up."

Chrys swallowed, and Ashley shivered, pressing herself up against him nervously. "I'm really not liking this," she said.

"Me neither," said Chrys. He looked at the open door past the recruiters. "Maybe we can just go past them without signing up. They probably just want everyone to use the same exit."

Ashley swallowed, not thinking that was the most likely possibility. Still, it looked as though there was no other way to get out of here. She and Chrys decided to fall in behind the the young man they'd been watching earlier, to see if he tried doing exactly that.

Sure enough, when the young man reached the front of the line, he grinned nervously at the recruiter before him.

"Provide your name and contact information," said the recruiter.

"Y-yeah...about that," said the young man, rubbing the back of his head uneasily. "I don't feel that this is for me, so I'll just be passing by."

He moved to step past the recruiter, only to stop when the recruiter held out a hand to block him.

"There is no need for you to be worried about giving your name," said the recruiter. "All your information will be kept within the organization."

"Y-yeah, but I don't want to be in the organization," replied the young man.

The recruiter looked at him with an intensity that could be felt, even through the obscuring slits of that mask. "Are you saying that, after everything you've heard, you aren't impassioned by the plight faced by our brothers and sisters?"

"That's not it," protested the boy, growing more nervous. "But fighting isn't my thing. It sounds like I'd just weigh you guys down, so it's probably best if I just take my leave."

"Do you not wish to make the world a better place for your fellow faunus?" pressed the recruiter.

"Um...sure, but-"

"Then you should feel no unease about giving your name, brother."

As the recruiter and the young man went back and forth, two more of the soldiers came to stand behind the recruiter, their imposing appearance, and the hands they rested on their holstered weapons adding to the pressure. At the same time, a few of the people in line behind Chrys and Ashley were beginning to grow irritated. Tired after spending hours standing and listening to speakers drone on, while fired up with the passion those very same speakers had incited within them, they were impatient to get their turn to sign up for the White Fang.

"Are you a coward?" someone called out from behind Chrys, making him tense, his grip on Ashley's shoulder tightening.

"Looks like someone doesn't have the spine to do what's right," taunted another.

"H-hey now..." stammered the young man, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder.

Ashley shivered, the feeling passing up into Chrys, through his hand on her shoulder. It was a feeling that he mirrored a fraction of a second later. Now they could see the forces at play. They weren't going to let anyone leave without first signing on. The young man, his resistance already weakened by the experience of standing through the constant tirades, found his resolve crumbling when faced by the recruiter, who refused to let him through, while the prospective recruits pushed him from behind with their anger.

After another minute of trying to talk his way through, the young man buckled and provided his name and information. The recruiter made him wait an extra minute, using his own scroll to check and make sure the contact information was valid. Only then did they let him through.

"C-Chrys," said Ashley, a tight whimper in her voice.

"It seems there's no other choice," Chrys told her. "Just give them the information and we'll get through this."

There were another two people ahead of them, before it was there turn. The recruiter looked up at the pair. "Are you two here together?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Chrys. "I am Chrysanthos Floris. I've already signed on. I was bringing this young lady here to learn more about our organization."

"I see," said the recruiter, a smile appearing on his lips, before his gaze turned to Ashley. "Thank you for your work, Brother Chrysanthos. What is your name, Miss."

"A-Ashley Forrest," said Ashley uneasily.

Next, she gave the recruiter her contact information. The recruiter gladly welcomed her into the White Fang, allowing the pair to move past and out the door. They stepped out into the street, where they returned their masks to the guards standing outside the doors. From there, they headed back the way they had come.

"Th-that isn't what you said it would be at all!" Ashley said frantically.

"That wasn't what it was like for me," said Chrys, frowning. "I don't like it either. Something must have happened to make them more forceful in bringing in recruits.

"But don't worry. There are different kinds of members. There are the ones like the soldiers, who participate actively. But there are the lower-level members, like us. Mostly we're just supposed to attend the rallies and spread the word. Oh...and we have to pay our dues."

"I didn't want to sign up to begin with!" protested Ashley. "And now you're saying I need to pay for it?"

Chrys gave her a shaky smile. "Don't worry about it," he said. "This was my fault, so I'll pay your dues, this time. Hopefully, we can get in touch with someone and clear up this misunderstanding before the next set of dues is...well...due."

"Couldn't we just...not...pay my dues?" asked Ashley. "Then they'd just kick me out, right?"

Chrys frowned. "Given how they were pressuring people to sign up, I think they may not simply let you leave like that," he said.

"But you still think that this is just a 'misunderstanding' that can be cleared up?" Ashley retorted in a deadpan tone.

Chrys dipped his head, conceding the point.

"We just gave them my name and information," said Ashley, her body beginning to quake at the realization. "They have enough to find out where I live, where I go to school, all my information. What would they do with that if I tried to leave?"

Perhaps they would do nothing. But Ashley could see all different kinds of ways this could go badly. What if they decided to give her name to the authorities? She had just been signed up as a member of the White Fang, so that made her a criminal by association. No...they wouldn't do that, Ashley thought, her pallor lightening further. I've been to one of their hideouts, seen one of their rallies. If they gave me to the police, I could just give that info to the police myself. That meant that, if they had any doubts about her loyalty, they were likely to take action to ensure she couldn't tell anyone about what she had seen and heard tonight.

"This was a terrible idea," Ashley whispered.

"Yes...it was," agreed Chrys, still feeling most unsettled by what they'd just experienced.