[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[AndrewJTalon]

The Weight of a Name

Ruby had always known her mother was special.

Summer Rose wasn't just a Huntress — she was the Huntress. The one who smiled through impossible odds, who had made everyone around her feel like they could be heroes too. Ruby had spent years trying to live up to that legacy, chasing the same silver-eyed dream.

But lately, pieces of the puzzle were starting to shift in ways that made her stomach twist.

It started during a quiet evening in the Xiao Long-Rose household during a weekend home. Taiyang was in the kitchen, Qrow was three drinks in and unusually talkative, and Ruby was helping fold laundry when the subject of old missions came up.

"Your mom and Ozpin went way back," Qrow had said, swirling the last of his whiskey. "Closer than most people knew. He trusted her with things he didn't trust anyone else with. Hell, sometimes I wondered if—"

He'd cut himself off with a cough, suddenly very interested in the bottom of his glass.

Ruby had laughed it off at the time. "What, like they were secret best friends or something?"

Qrow had just grunted. "Something like that, kid."

But the seed had been planted.

Then came the old mission logs she found in Ozpin's office while helping with paperwork. Summer's name appeared again and again — always in the most dangerous assignments, always with personal notes from Ozpin himself. "Summer, be careful." "Summer, I need your eyes on this." "Summer… thank you."

And then there was the photo.

A faded picture tucked between two reports: Summer and Ozpin standing side-by-side after some long-forgotten victory. They weren't touching, but the way they looked at each other — the quiet understanding, the soft smile on Summer's face, the rare warmth in Ozpin's eyes — made something cold settle in Ruby's chest.

They were very close.

The thought wouldn't leave her alone.

It all came to a head one rainy afternoon when Qrow was visiting again. Ruby had been helping him clean his weapons when she finally cracked.

"Uncle Qrow?" she asked, voice small. "You said Mom and Ozpin were close. Like… how close?"

Qrow froze, cloth halfway across Harbinger's blade. He didn't look at her.

"Kid…"

"Was he… was he more than just her boss?" Ruby's hands twisted in her cloak. "Because the way people talk, and the logs, and that picture… it's like they were—"

"Ruby." Qrow's voice was rough. He finally turned to face her, and for once he looked completely sober. "Your mom loved your dad. Tai was her world.

You and Yang were her world. Don't go digging up ghosts that aren't there."

But the damage was done.

That night, Ruby lay awake in her bed at Beacon, staring at the ceiling while her mind spiraled.

What if Ozpin is my real father?

It would explain so much. The silver eyes. The way Ozpin sometimes looked at her like he was seeing a ghost. The way he trusted her with things no student should know. The tension between Ozpin and her dad...

Ruby's hands clenched in her sheets.

What if everything I thought I knew about my family is a lie?

She thought about Taiyang — the man who raised her, who taught her to fight, who still called her "pumpkin" even though she was a leader now. The idea of him not being her real dad made her chest ache.

Ruby rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, fighting back tears.

She didn't want this.

She just wanted to be Ruby Rose.

But the doubt was there now, whispering in the dark like a Grimm that refused to die.

And for the first time in a long while, Ruby wasn't sure if she had the strength to face what might be waiting for her.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Weight of Truth

The Schnee Mansion felt strangely quiet that evening. Most of the staff had been dismissed for the night, and the massive halls echoed with a kind of fragile peace. Ruby Rose sat curled up on a plush couch in one of the smaller sitting rooms, her cloak draped over her shoulders like a security blanket. Whitley Schnee sat beside her, close enough that their knees touched, his usual rigid posture softened in her presence.

They had only recently rekindled things. It was tentative, careful... but real. And in that fragile new beginning, Ruby had started turning to him for more than just comfort.

Telling him everything that had happened had felt like draining poison from a wound. Everything.

So by the end of it, she was drained, and staring up at him with her pale face.

"So... Um... What do you think?" She whispered softly.

Whitley watched her for a moment before speaking, his voice calm and measured.

"Ruby… we need to talk to General Ironwood."

Ruby tensed slightly, but she didn't pull away. "I know. I just… after Lionheart, I don't know if I can trust him. What if he's hiding something too?"

Whitley nodded. He reached over and gently took her hand.

"I understand why you're hesitant. Lionheart's betrayal shook all of us. But we have to look at the logic here." He leaned forward slightly, eyes steady. "Ironwood's entire current strategy is built around a massive conventional military strike against Salem. If he already knows she's effectively indestructible, then he's deliberately wasting Atlas's entire military strength and resources on a plan he knows cannot succeed. That would make him a saboteur on an unimaginable scale."

He gave her hand a light squeeze.

"But if he doesn't know… then withholding this information means we're letting him pour everything into a doomed attack. We lose time, resources, and momentum we can't afford to lose. The smart play is to tell him. We can keep the Relic as insurance. If he reacts poorly or tries to seize it, we'll know exactly where he stands. But if he's truly on our side, this intel is too critical not to share."

Ruby was quiet for a long moment, chewing on her lip as she processed his words. Her silver eyes flickered with uncertainty.

"I want to believe he's still one of the good guys… but after Lionheart, I keep wondering if I'm just being naive again."

"You're not naive for wanting to trust people," Whitley said gently. "But trust should be earned, not assumed. Especially now. We can be careful. We don't have to give him everything at once. But we do have to give him this."

Ruby let out a long breath and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"…Okay. We'll tell him. But you're coming with me when we do it, right?"

Whitley turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

"Of course. I'm not letting you face this alone. Not anymore."

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Okay, gonna rethink a lot of my earlier naval assumptions for Vale's Defense Force. So, here is a basic roundup:

Major Combatants

• Aerial Supercarriers (Fleet Carriers): Flagships with advanced technology and staying power. Each carries 90–110 aircraft, including strike fighters, Bullheads, and Hunter transports. Few in number due to budget cutbacks and mismanagement.
• Workhorse Carriers / Assault Ships (Light/Medium Carriers): Multi-role ships optimized for Marine/Hunter insertion, smaller air groups (40–60 craft), and sustained regional presence.
• Battleships (Heavy Gun/Missile Platforms): Flagships for action groups; massive Dust-augmented guns + missile and rocket batteries for bombardment and anti-Grimm work.
• Gun Cruisers: Multi-mission escorts with strong anti-air and land-attack capability.
• Gun Destroyers: Workhorse screening vessels; versatile, numerous, and fast.
• Gun Corvettes / Frigates: Patrol, convoy escort, scouting, some close air support.
• Strike Fighters/Gunships: Strike, reconnaissance, air defense, close air support, etc.

Support & Auxiliary Forces

• Support Airships: Logistics, Tankers, Hospital, Repair.
• Marine Expeditionary Air Wings: Full Marine Air-Ground Task Forces (each built around one Assault Ship + attached Marines).
• Huntsmen Detachments: Integrated contracted teams on all major vessels.

Missiles are more akin to air to air missiles in our world, with rockets: Lots of simple missiles with basic homing/guidance systems. Guns are still the main weapon for use against Grimm. Missiles are generally used against enemy ships/craft or more difficult to handle Grimm, with ranges of a few kilometers but higher accuracy than guns. Combat is still largely within visual range between non-carrier ships.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

• Name: Madame Bai Zhen (白珍)
• Allusion: Bai Suzhen (Lady White Snake) from the classic Chinese legend The Legend of the White Snake
• Naming Process: Bai (白) means "white," symbolizing purity, grace, and the white snake of legend. Zhen (珍) means "precious" or "treasure," reflecting her value as a rare stabilizing force in Mistral and the deep affection once held for her by Ozpin. Together, her name evokes a priceless white lotus blooming amid political chaos.
• Age: Mid-50s (appears in her early 30s due to exceptional Aura control and graceful aging)
• Background: Many decades ago, before the Great War fully erupted, a younger Ozpin fell deeply in love with Bai Zhen. They were engaged for several years, and she became his beacon of hope — a brilliant, compassionate woman who dreamed of unifying Mistral through wisdom and careful governance. When Ozma's memories fully resurfaced and the weight of his eternal war with Salem consumed him, Ozpin abruptly ended the engagement, believing he could not burden her with his cursed immortality. Heartbroken but never bitter, Bai Zhen dedicated her life to strengthening Mistral so it could one day stand as an equal partner against the darkness. She later married a respected noble lord, Xu Xian, and bore him two children. She grieved his eventual passing while using his wealth and influence to advance her political goals. She has served as Grand Chancellor of the Mistral Central Council for over fifteen years, earning the title "The White Lotus of Anima." Despite Lionheart's betrayal and the constant scheming of the Green, Red, and Yellow Dragon factions, she has slowly centralized power through masterful diplomacy and patient long-term planning.
• Race: Human
• Emblem: A white lotus flower coiled around a serpent's body, with delicate roots reaching into cracked earth — symbolizing beauty, resilience, and quiet control over chaos
• Weapon: "Bai Suzhen" (White Snake): An ancient, elegantly crafted bian (leather whip) with a handle shaped like a coiling white snake. The tip is adorned with a crystalline white lotus that can bloom and release Dust-infused pollen or razor-sharp petal projectiles. The whip moves with serpentine grace, capable of binding, striking, or delivering precise Dust-enhanced lashes.
• Semblance: "Sleep Perchance to Dream"
  • Bai Zhen can induce deep sleep with a touch, bypassing most Aura defenses if she maintains contact long enough. The effect can range from momentary disorientation to hours of unconsciousness, depending on how much Aura she invests. She can also create wide-area calming mists that induce drowsiness in groups, making her exceptionally effective at de-escalating conflicts or neutralizing threats non-lethally.
• Appearance: Tall and ethereally graceful with long, flowing silver-white hair often styled in intricate Mistral braids adorned with jade and pearls. She has striking pale gold eyes and flawless, porcelain-like skin, with a scar from her Huntress days over her right eyebrow. Her beauty is serene and almost mythical.
• Outfit: Flowing white and pale green robes of the highest Mistralian craftsmanship, embroidered with subtle lotus and serpent motifs. She wears elegant golden jewelry and carries herself with regal poise, often draped in a long, translucent white shawl that flows like mist when she moves.
• Personality: Elegant, serene, and razor-sharp. Madame Bai Zhen speaks softly yet commands absolute attention in any room. She is a masterful diplomat and patient strategist who thinks in decades rather than years. Beneath her graceful exterior lies a will of iron and a lingering, quiet sadness. She remains deeply compassionate toward the people of Mistral while being ruthlessly pragmatic in politics. Though she has long accepted Ozpin's decision, she still carries the twin fish pendant he once gave her as a treasured memento. She is capable of great warmth toward allies and terrifying coldness toward those who threaten Mistral's future.
• Notes: As Grand Chancellor, Bai Zhen is one of the most powerful and respected figures in Mistral, holding the fractious Dragon factions in a delicate balance. She continues to work quietly toward creating a strong, unified Mistral that could one day stand beside Ozpin against Salem — even if he no longer wants her by his side. She is a highly skilled Huntress who prefers diplomacy and subtle manipulation but is more than capable of unleashing devastating force when necessary. Her history with Ozpin remains a closely guarded secret known to very few.

She probably would die to ensure the civil war happens but you could hint at Ozpin's past with her.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Radian Militia's Elite Squads: The Reds & The Blues

To keep morale high and foster healthy (mostly) competition, Captain Nicholas "Nick" Arc officially divided the Radian Militia's most skilled and eccentric members into two elite rapid-response squads: The Reds and The Blues.

The tradition started as a joke during a particularly boring winter training exercise (someone painted half the practice dummies red and the other half blue), but it quickly became a beloved and surprisingly effective part of Radian's defenses.

Despite the constant bickering, pranks, and insults, the Reds and Blues are the militia's go-to teams for high-risk missions, Grimm incursions, and bandit hunts. They work together far better than they'll ever admit.

Arturia and Shirou have been known to referee their more ridiculous competitions and Coral and Verdy do technical support for both. The Sith family provides mechanical and vehicle support.

---

The Reds – "Blood, Guts, and Glory"
Motto: "If it's red, it's dead."

Role: Shock troops, heavy assault, and overwhelming firepower.

• Sergeant "Sarge" Harlan: Loud, gravelly-voiced veteran with a thick mustache and a cybernetic eye. Obsessed with "proper military procedure" (which usually means shooting first and asking questions never). He constantly talks about "the glory of combat" and refers to Grimm as "filthy alien bastards." Best friends with Mercer Sith Senior — the two can often be heard arguing about who has the bigger gun while drinking on the porch. His weapon is a heavily modified rotary grenade launcher he calls "The Shotgun of Justice"-Despite it being a grenade launcher.
  Role: Commander and heavy weapons user
• Dexter "Grif" Griffin: Sarcastic, lazy, and perpetually complaining. Orange-accented armor. He tries to avoid real work but is surprisingly competent when cornered. Mercer Jr. frequently drags him on convoy runs because "at least you're not completely useless behind the wheel." Secretly a very good cook.
  Role: Heavy vehicle operator and reluctant scout.
• Richard "Simmons" Simmons: Brown-nosing tech specialist and Sarge's loyal right-hand man. Red armor with gold trim. Obsessed with rules, efficiency, and earning Sarge's approval. Works closely with Verdy Arc on vehicle upgrades and is low-key terrified of Coral.
  Role: Logistics, communications, and cyber defense.
• Franklin Delano "Donut" Donut: Cheerful, pink-armored demolitions expert with a surprisingly sweet (and flamboyant) personality. Loves baking cupcakes for the squad and painting everything pink when Sarge isn't looking. Surprisingly deadly with explosives and close-quarters combat.
  Role: Demolitions and morale officer (whether the squad wants it or not).
• Lopez "The Heavy": A human cyborg rebuilt after a serious accident by Isabel. Speaks primarily in heavily accented Hispanian due to a vocoder replacement for his vocal chords (with subtitles on his HUD for the squad). Extremely competent, sarcastic, and tired of everyone's nonsense.
  Role: Heavy weapons platform and mechanic.

---

The Blues – "Strategy, Stealth, and Shenanigans"
Motto: "We're not incompetent… we're just misunderstood."

Role: Recon, infiltration, sabotage, and tactical support.

• Leonard "Church" Vale: Cynical, sarcastic squad leader with a dry wit and terrible luck. Blue armor. Surprisingly brilliant tactician when he stops complaining. Frequently argues with Sarge over the radio during joint operations. Has an ongoing "will they won't they" rivalry/relationship with Tex.
  Role: Overall field commander and sniper.
• Lavernius "Tucker" Tucker: Smooth-talking ladies' man in teal-accented armor. Famous (and infamous) for his catchphrase "Bow-chicka-wow-wow" after every successful mission… and many failed ones. Surprisingly good at stealth and knife work. Has flirted with half the female members of the militia. Won't flirt with the Arc daughters-Not until they're all legal, anyway.
  Role: Scout and close-quarters specialist.
• Michael J. "Caboose" Caboose: Enormous, lovable, and incredibly strong — but not the brightest. Bright blue armor. Accidentally killed more friendly training dummies than actual Grimm. Worships Church as a god-like figure and is terrified of "the mean lady with the pink armor" (Donut). Has adopted several Choux Birds as pets.
  Role: Heavy hitter and living shield (he just stands in front of bullets and Grimm).
• Allison "Tex" Tex: Badass lone-wolf operative in black-and-blue armor, fiery redhead. Extremely skilled, ruthless, and terrifying in combat. Works with the Blues but often operates independently. Has a complicated history with Church. Nick and Mercer Sr. respect her deeply, and she in turn respects them greatly.
  Role: Special operations and assassination.
• Frank "Doc" DuFresne: The squad's pacifist medic in purple-accented armor. Genuinely wants to help people and hates violence… until he occasionally snaps into "O'Malley" mode (a combat persona triggered by extreme stress). Works closely with Isabel at the hospital.
  Role: Combat medic and psychological support.

 

[Sliverhero]

Man with a mission

The glass shattered with a musical chime as Roman Torchwick kicked the door open, his cane resting lightly on his shoulder. "In a world of nothing but chaos and dust, this shop is a little slice of order," he mused, watching his henchmen shovel Dust crystals into bags. "Shame it has to go."

Then the door opened again. Roman sighed, adjusting his hat as a girl in a red hood stepped in, wielding a massive scythe that looked heavier than she was. "Alright, listen here, you little..."

He didn't get to finish. The girl moved like a blur of rose petals, dismantling his goons with practiced ease. Roman watched, eyebrows rising, as his hired help was decimated in seconds. He stepped back, reaching into his coat. "Change of plans," Roman muttered into his scroll. "I'm calling in him now..!"

He turned and bolted out the back door just as the girl turned her attention to him. He sprinted down the alleyway, the sound of the girl's pursuit close behind, when the shadows ahead of him seemed to ripple and darken. A massive Bullhead hovered above the rooftops, lowering a ramp. Standing at the edge of the alley was a figure cloaked in tattered, dark grey cloth. Heavy iron armor covered the frame, and a greatsword with a peculiar, bluish blade was sheathed on the figure's back.

Roman skidded to a halt behind the knight. "About time! She's all yours, 'Dark Knight.' Try not to kill her, just buy me some time!" The knight, a towering entity reminiscent of the legendary Abysswalker and the legends of old, merely nodded beneath his winged helmet. He turned to face Ruby Rose as she burst into the alley. "You!" Ruby shouted, leveling Crescent Rose at the newcomer. "I don't know who you are, but you're not getting away with that Dust!"

The knight didn't speak. He simply drew his greatsword in a single, fluid motion, the blade humming with energy. He charged, closing the distance instantly. Their clash sparked, scythe met greatsword in a shower of sparks. The knight was immensely strong, forcing Ruby back with sheer brute force.

They danced through the alley, trading blows. Ruby relied on speed, dodging the heavy swings that cracked the pavement where she stood. She tried to fire a shot at point-blank range to push him back, but the knight predicted her movement. He grabbed the barrel of Crescent Rose with his left hand and swung his elbow out to deflect her.

In the chaotic grapple, his gauntleted hand slipped from the scythe and collided firmly with Ruby's chest, catching her off balance. The metal was cold, but the grip was firm and undeniably powerful. Ruby yelped, her face flushing bright red as she shoved him back using a recoil blast. Did he just...? She shook her head, focusing on the fight, but a strange, lingering warmth remained in her chest. It wasn't just the impact; it was the solidity of it, the undeniable presence of the man behind the armor. She felt a confusing flutter in her stomach that she quickly shoved down. "Focus Ruby Focus, we can think on it Later." She muttered to herself.

The knight seized the opening, launching a flurry of strikes that drove her up the fire escape toward the rooftop. They burst onto the roof under the moonlight, Roman already boarding the Bullhead nearby. "End of the line, Red," the knight seemed to say with his posture alone.

Suddenly, a riding crop cracked through the air, trailing purple energy. "I'm afraid I can't let you leave," Glynda Goodwitch declared, stepping off a hovercraft, her eyes glowing with magic.
The knight didn't hesitate. He spun around, his free hand shooting out to grab Ruby by her ankle. Before she could react, he swung her in a wide arc, hurling the screaming Huntress directly at Glynda.

"You insolent...!" Glynda cried out, barely managing to catch Ruby without hurting her, the momentum forcing her backward and breaking her concentration. As Glynda recovered, gathering her aura for a massive sweeping attack to ground the Bullhead, the knight raised his greatsword. The blade glowed with a blinding light as he swung it horizontally.

"An Aura Slash!" Glynda shouted in alarm.
A wave of energy cut through the air, slamming into Glynda's attack and shattering it. The force of the blast pushed the Huntress back, creating the perfect window. The knight leaped into the air, grabbing onto the Bullhead's landing skid just as the engines roared to life.


Inside the Bullhead, the silence was heavy. Cinder Fall sat elegantly, her amber eyes studying the hulking knight as he removed his gauntlets. Roman lit a cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke. "So," Cinder purred, leaning forward. "A mute mercenary? Roman, where ever did you find someone with such... exquisite combat capabilities?" "Trade secret," Roman replied, leaning back. "He's temporary muscle. Owes me a favor. And he doesn't talk. Not a word."

Cinder's eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the knight for any sign of emotion. He sat like a statue, ignoring her gaze. "Very well. But I will be keeping an eye on you." The Bullhead dropped them off at a discreet warehouse on the outskirts of Vale. Roman checked the perimeter, ensuring they weren't tailed. Once inside the secured facility, the heavy steel doors clanged shut.

The knight relaxed his posture, the menacing aura evaporating instantly. From the shadows of the living area, a figure in brown and pink stepped out. Neo Politan. But she wasn't holding her usual umbrella. In her arms, cradled gently, was a three month-old baby boy, fast asleep.

The knight reached up and unlatched his helmet. With a hiss of pressurized air, he pulled it off, shaking out a mop of blonde hair. Jaune Arc smiled tiredly at his girlfriend. "Hey, Neo."

Neo's eyes melted from brown and pink to a soft, happy blue. She shifted the baby slightly so Jaune could lean in and kiss her, a tender moment that seemed completely at odds with the attempted robbery earlier. Roman shook his head, leaning against a crate. "You two are ridiculous." Jauna broke the kiss, scratching the back of his neck. "Did we lose them?"

"Yeah, lost 'em. So," Roman gestured to the baby. "You still planning on going through with that school thing? Beacon?" Jaune looked down at his son, brushing a thumb over the baby's cheek. "Yeah. I have to." "Seems pointless," Roman noted. "You just fought Glynda Goodwitch to a standstill and fought off the that skilled kid without breaking a sweat. You don't need Beacon."

"It's not about the training anymore, Roman," Jaune said softly. "I need the license. Being a certified Huntsman from the best academy in the kingdom? It opens doors. It means legal protection, better contracts, legitimate money. I have to provide for him. For Neo."

Roman looked at the young couple. It was hard to believe it had only been a year. He remembered fondly when Jaune was just a snot-nosed kid wandering into the wrong bar, looking for fake transcripts, completely clueless to the point he wants to go to a huntsman academy that he didn't even have an Aura to unlock. He had been so far over his head it was tragic.

Now, the kid radiated power. He didn't need Beacon to survive, but Roman respected the hustle. If he wanted to go play student to secure a future for his kid, Roman wasn't going to stop him. Besides, Roman thought with a smirk, At least once he's gone, I don't have to listen to them going at it all night. He still found it hilarious. A guy who started with zero Aura had somehow developed enough stamina to overpower a woman with Neo's specific... talents... in the bedroom. It was a mystery of the universe, he felt a proud and a little jealous of that feat.

Roman tuned back into their conversation as he walked toward the mini-fridge. Neo was making hand signs, a small illusion hovering over her palm. Will she be in Vale soon?* the illusion of a snowflake asked silently.

Jaune sat on the couch, unstrapping his greaves. "Probably. I heard she might be getting a singing job somewhere in vale. If she is, we visit." Meanwhile, in the Schnee manor in Atlas. "Achoo!" Weiss Schnee rubbed her nose, frowning at her reflection in the mirror. She was packing her bags for Beacon, her trunk already half-filled with uniforms and Dust vials.

"Someone must be talking about me," she muttered. She turned back to her walk-in closet, reaching for a specific hidden drawer at the back. She opened it and looked down at the contents: a pair of fake reading glasses, a black dress that was far shorter than anything her father would approve of, and a leather collar with a small silver tag.

She felt a heat rise to her cheeks as she remembered the weekend she spent in Vale, the alias, the disguise, the absolute surrender of control to a mysterious blonde man and his silent, multicolored partner. It had been... liberating. To not be the Heiress, but just a 'pet.'

Weiss bit her lip, picking up the collar. She should leave it. She was going to Beacon to become a Huntress, to restore the family honor. But... just in case. She tucked the items into the very bottom of her trunk, buried under layers of winter clothes. She closed the lid firmly. She had heard the Master mention that bar where he worked security sometimes. Maybe, just maybe, she'd find an excuse to visit that bar during her time at Beacon.

"Ready, Weiss?" her father's voice boomed from the hallway. "Ready!" she called back, taking a deep breath and composing her face into the mask of the perfect Schnee heiress.


The next morning, the wind whipped through Jaune's hair as he stood on the Bullhead heading to Beacon. He wore his standard hoodie and jeans, his family sword upgraded with heavier plating and a sharper edge sheathed on his back, and a newly reinforced shield on his hip and both able to combine into a greatsword.

He watched the landscape of Vale pass by below. He was a criminal, a father, and now, a student. He had a lot of plates to spin, but as he patted the locket around his neck containing a picture of Neo and the baby, he knew he could handle it. Time to show beacon he is a man on a mission.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Phillip Graves / Phillip Arc Profile

• Name: Phillip Graves (legal name Phillip Arc)
• Allusion: Phillip Graves from Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II/III — the charismatic, ruthless, and highly competent PMC commander who blends Southern charm with cold pragmatism.
• Naming Process: Phillip is a Greek name meaning "lover of horses," traditionally associated with leadership and military command. Graves evokes both the solemnity of death and the graves of past conflicts. He uses "Graves" professionally to distance his PMC work from the Arc family name, though he proudly acknowledges his Arc heritage when among family.
• Age: Early-to-mid 30s
• Background: Phillip is the son of an estranged branch of the Arc family. His father abandoned him and his mother, Rosaline, when he was young. At age nine, Rosaline was killed in the same mountain Grimm attack that claimed Jonathan and Elizabeth Arc. From that day forward, Isabel treated him as one of her own little brothers. Nana Arturia and Papa Shirou helped raise him alongside Isabel's siblings. He enlisted in the Valean Defense Force at 15, rising rapidly through the ranks until he joined the elite Partisans special forces unit. During a mission ordered by Supreme Commander General Sir Aldric Varnholt, his team was captured by White Fang terrorists. Defying orders, Graves single-handedly rescued them, earning a severe reprimand. Later, during the Fall of Mount Glenn, he personally detonated the explosives that sealed the main tunnel. Disillusioned with Vale's leadership and bureaucracy, he left the military and founded Shadow Company, a powerful private military company specializing in troop, air, and maritime deployment. Shadow Company employs many former special operations personnel from across Remnant. Graves remains close to his cousins, particularly respecting Isabel for helping him enter the military. He has a strong working relationship with Tangy Arc (helping her establish Salamander) and is on good terms with Jaune, often giving him blunt but valuable advice.
• Race: Human
• Emblem: A stylized card spade with a chess rook held inside.
• Weapon: "Reaper's Due" — A custom bullpup assault rifle with multiple Dust configurations. He also carries a sidearm and combat knife. In close quarters he favors brutal efficiency over flashy technique.
• Semblance: "Bullet Time" — Graves can drastically speed up his perception of time, allowing him to see the battlefield in slow motion and make split-second tactical decisions. This makes him an terrifyingly accurate shot and an elite battlefield commander. It does require a lot of adrenaline to trigger it.
• Appearance: Tall, athletic, and broad-shouldered with short-cropped dirty blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and a perpetual five-o'clock shadow. He has a thin scar over his left cheekbone. He carries himself with the confident swagger of a man who has seen (and survived) the worst Remnant has to offer.
• Outfit: Tactical operator gear — dark tactical vest over a compression shirt, combat pants, heavy boots, and black gloves. He often wears a Shadow Company patch on his shoulder and a dark ball cap. When visiting family he dresses more casually but still looks ready for war at a moment's notice.
• Personality: Charismatic, pragmatic, and ruthlessly efficient. He has a rural-tinged drawl from his time in the military and a dry sense of humor that can shift from charming to ice-cold in an instant. He genuinely wants to protect the innocent but believes the ends often justify extreme means. He respects Isabel and the rest of the Arc family deeply, though their relationship can become strained when Isabel criticizes the moral gray areas of Shadow Company's operations. He is protective of his cousins and sees Jaune as someone with great potential who needs a dose of harsh reality to survive.
• Notes: Supreme Commander of Shadow Company, a highly professional and well-equipped PMC with over 10,000 personnel, advanced air assets (including the rare AC-150 gunships), and multiple hidden bases. Shadow Company was instrumental in supporting Vale's defense reforms during the lead-up to the Vytal Festival and has worked closely with Tangy Arc's Salamander. While Graves is willing to do dirty work that regular militaries or Hunters won't touch, he still draws a line at harming innocents and has personally rescued several Arc family members in the past (including helping save Irene from the Velvet Glove). He maintains a complicated but ultimately loyal relationship with the wider Arc family — they are one of the few groups he truly trusts. He hates the White Fang but is willing to give ex-members like Blake a chance-Mainly thanks to Jaune's intervention.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Fun Parent/Teacher Conference moment: Taiyang stays at Beacon over night and he with Glynda... Yes...

And in the morning...

Yang: "Hey Dad! Time to get a wake up call-"

Ruby: "Dad, wake up-"

Glynda and Taiyang peek up from the bed they're sharing, looking a bit sheepish... But undeniably smug.

Yang and Ruby: "... DADDY NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"

Jaune: "What's all the screaming about...? Oh... Ew."

Ruby: "THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?!"

Yang: "SERIOUSLY?!"

Jaune: Haunted, dead eyed look "... You get used to it."

Weiss: "What is all the-?! PROFESSOR?! HOW COULD YOU?!"

Glynda: *sighs* "Anyone else going to barge on in or should I just put you all in detention?"

Nora: "Hey guys, are we having a screaming contest? Cause I'm the best!" *stare* "Oh! Mister Xiao-Long and Professor Goodwitch had sex! Neato! Good on you two!" *thumbs up*

Taiyang: *grins, thumbs up back*

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Jaune paced back and forth in the JNPR dorm like a man awaiting execution.

He had to make a decision. He really had to.

"It's not fair of me to anyone," he muttered, "It's not fair to Mia... So I just need to go and... And do it, right?"

He looked at himself in the mirror and nodded.

"I've decided," Jaune announced, stopping abruptly. "I'm just going to ask the first girl I run into. Nice and fair, right? No overthinking. No drama. Just… rip the bandage off."

Jaune took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and marched out the door muttering to himself like a motivational mantra.

"Gonna ask a girl out. Gonna ask a girl out. Be mature. Be smooth. You've got this, Arc. First girl you see. Easy. You had a wife. You can ask out a girl."

He pushed open the library doors, still whispering under his breath.

"First girl. It will be fair, nobody will complain if it's at random, right? Just walk up and say it. Nice and casual. You can do this."

He rounded the corner with his eyes squeezed shut for courage. He could feel a strong female Aura, familiar, right in front of him. He took a deep breath.

"Would you like to go with me to the dance?"

Silence.

Jaune opened his eyes.

Professor Glynda Goodwitch stood directly in front of him, holding a stack of books, staring at him in complete shock.

Her green eyes widened behind her glasses.

Jaune's soul left his body.

"Uhhh…"

Glynda cleared her throat, cheeks faintly pink. "I'm… deeply flattered, Mister Arc. But I'm far too old for you, and it would be highly inappropriate."

Jaune's face turned scarlet. "I— uh, no, I mean—!"

From a nearby table, the entire group — RWBY, Pyrrha, Nora, Ren, and Mia — stared at him in stunned silence.

Jaune nodded quickly, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. "N-No, of course. I understand. Sorry. Nerves."

Glynda adjusted her glasses, regaining her usual composure. "Yes, I imagine so. Have a nice day, Mister Arc."

"Of course, Professor. Thank you."

Jaune turned on his heel and walked stiffly over to the table like a man marching to his own funeral. He sat down heavily and buried his face in his hands.

Weiss blinked. "What… was that all about?"

Blake smirked knowingly from behind her book. She had heard the entire thing.

Mia, sitting in Ruby's lap, reached over and gently patted Jaune's head.

"Papa's silly!"

Jaune let out a long, muffled groan into his palms.

Nora cackled. "Ten out of ten execution. Zero out of ten landing."

Pyrrha tried (and failed) to hide her sympathetic giggle behind her hand.

Ruby leaned over and whispered, "So… are we pretending that didn't just happen?"

Jaune's muffled voice came from between his fingers. "Yes. Please."

Yang grinned, resting her chin on her hand. "Too late, Vomit Boy. This one's going in the group chat."

Jaune whimpered.

Mia just kept patting his head like he was a sad puppy. "It's okay, Papa. You'll get it next time!"

 

[LordofBones]

Crack idea: Jaune's secretly a novelist and RWBY + Pyrrha are fans of his work. The problem is that they identify too much with the characters he creates, all of which have...unfortunate fates.

Pyrrha: *numb, the book having fallen from her hands* "Alex...alexandria dies? She's...she's killed, just like that? What about her - her destiny? And her boon companions? She just...leaves them grieving for the rest of the series?"
Ruby: *staring at a wall, lips quivering* "Garnet...snaps? But...but she doesn't even have time to process anything and all she knows is that her mother was a hero...she never wanted any of this and now everyone's dead and her sister doesn't take responsibility for her own problems and blames her and - and - and -"

Meanwhile, Jaune's writing the ending...

Jaune: "Hmmm...and there, on Alexandria's grave, John laid his head to rest. It would be hours later, long after the celebration had ended, that Hua and Thor would find him. 'He's smiling,' whispered Hua through her tears, and they both knew that he'd finally found his peace. The End."

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The jail cell was cold, poorly lit, and stank. Blake looked around her surroundings, then at the rest of her team.

"So... I... May have made a mistake," she admitted, "Possibly."

"That's the closest thing to an apology you can make, huh?" Yang quipped, as she held a trembling Ruby.

"I can't believe it... Arrested!" Ruby cried. "Arrested for trying to stop terrorists! I have a Hunter-In-Training license!"

"This is going to go on my permanent record," Weiss moaned, "I'll never become a Huntress, I'll never become CEO, I'll be disowned, and it's ALL YOUR FAULT!" She glared at Blake. Blake held up her hands.

"I... You didn't have to come after me!"

"You didn't HAVE to freak out over us finding out you were a terrorist!"

"FORMER TERRORIST!"

"Of an organization that KILLED MEMBERS OF MY FAMILY!" Weiss screeched. "I THINK I'M HANDLING THE SITUATION VERY WELL ALL THINGS CONSIDERED!"

"Well... WELL YOU'RE JUST RACIST!"

"YOUR ORGANIZATION WAS TRYING TO KILL ME! HOW IS RACE A FACTOR?!" Weiss demanded.

"BECAUSE THE SDC ENSLAVES FAUNUS!"

"I DIDN'T DO ANY OF THAT!"

"YOU PROFITED OFF IT!"

"SHUT UP!" Shouted an inmate from the other cell, a burly Faunus man with bear ears, a beard and a scowl, "Makin' too much noise, you underaged prostitutes!"

"We're not prostitutes!" Weiss cried.

"Yeah!" Ruby shrieked. "But I am underaged and oh no what if they think we're hookers we're DOOMED!"

"I'M NOT GOING TO JAIL FOR A PROSTITUTION CHARGE!" Weiss snarled at Blake. Blake shrugged.

"That's hardly the worst thing to be charged for."

"I already have a record, we'll be fine!" Yang insisted.

"YOU'RE ALREADY A HARDENED CRIMINAL!" Weiss yelped. She grabbed Ruby and yanked her away. "Don't listen to her Ruby! We'll get through this! We'll be fine! We won't go to prison! I'm rich! I'll buy our way out!"

"You will?!" Ruby gasped. "Only if you get Yang out too!"

"I'll try but she'll be tougher!"

"Oh no, I'm already too used to being behind bars," Yang joked, "I can't go outside again!"

"NOT FUNNY!" Weiss growled.

"What about me?" Blake demanded.

"YOU GOT US IN THIS MESS! YOU CAN ROT!"

"WHORE!"

"SKANK!"

A female officer came in, and cleared her throat. Weiss pulled back away from the bars, but Ruby moved forward eagerly.

"What's up?! What's happening?!"

"Your bail has been paid and your case was dismissed on grounds of you being Huntresses in training," she said, "The school will pay the fine and your friends are here to pick you up."

"Friends? Who?" Ruby asked eagerly.

Jaune walked out, and waved awkwardly.

"Uh, hey guys," he said.

"JAUNE?!" Everyone chorused.

Weiss scowled.

"This isn't an attempt to get me out on a date again, is it?"

"What? No!" Jaune said quickly, shaking his head. "Of course not!"

"Is it to get a date with me?" Yang asked with a grin,"Because you just won one!"

"Shameless strumpet," Weiss huffed.

"I'm being nice, damnit!"

The cell door opened and RWBY came out. They headed out to the clerk's desk, where Pyrrha, Nora and Ren were waiting. Nora beamed and hugged Ruby.

"Rubes! You're okay! Did you get a prison tattoo?"

"No!"

"Shucks! Guess we'll wait until next time!"

Weiss zeroed in on Pyrrha. She hugged her.

"Oh thank you Pyrrha! You provided the money to bail us out! I'm eternally grateful!" She gushed. Pyrrha coughed and smiled awkwardly.

"Oh, uh, no," she said, "Sorry, that was Jaune."

"Huh?" Yang, Ruby and Blake looked at Jaune in disbelief. Weiss raised an eyebrow.

"How much was it?" She demanded.

"Ohhh... That's not important," Jaune laughed nervously.

"150,000 Lien each," Ren blandly said. Weiss goggled. Blake's eyes widened. Yang's jaw dropped as Ruby gasped.

"That much?! Jaune, I-I-!"

"Now listen," Yang said quickly, "If you need us to repay you, I-I can do it! Don't make Ruby do anything! I'll handle it all!" She moved closer to Jaune. "I can do anything you need to repay you! Anything!"

"DON'T DEBASE YOURSELF!" Weiss screeched. "I'll handle this! I can cover it! You want a date, right? We can have dates! ... And money! I can give you money!"

"I... It's such a massive sacrifice to make, Jaune," Blake said, touched. "I don't know how I can repay you but... But I will! However I can!"

"Yeah!" Ruby cried, "I'll repay you forever! We're best friends forever!"

"Uhhh... It's not important," Jaune said quickly. "Not important at all! Let's go get ice cream, huh?"

"What?" Yang frowned. "Is your family loaded?"

"Did you have to make a sacrifice to your parents?" Blake asked, "Give up your dreams of becoming a Huntsman for the money?"

Jaune's eyes widened.

"Wait, I didn't-!"

"You would do that for us, Jaune?!" Ruby gasped, hugging him. She began to sob. "Oh Jaune! You-We're not worth that sacrifice-!"

"HE'S SO NOBLE!" Nora sobbed, hugging him tightly from the other side. Blake walked up and took his hands.

"I'm willing to make up for this in any erotic way you need me to, Jaune!"

"I made the offer first!" Yang growled.

Pyrrha twitched, but hid her smile.

Jaune shook his head rapidly, and held up his hands.

"No! Nonnono! Nothing like that! It's uh... It's just not important, eheh!"

"Why would it not be important?" Weiss demanded.

A police officer came up to Jaune and handed him a check with a smile.

"And here's your change, Mister Arc! This is quite the haul for a young bounty hunter like you!"

Silence fell. The clerk looked around, blinked, then shrugged.

"But uh... Maybe you shouldn't date the woman you brought in? I... Seems kind of dangerous-"

"He lives dangerously!" Nora insisted. The clerk blinked, then shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

The clerk walked off. All four members of RWBY stared intensely at Jaune. He coughed.

"Ahhhh..."

"Bounty hunter?" Yang prompted, her eyes red. Jaune held up his hands.

"Okay, short version; I took a four hour course to become a licensed bounty hunter because I thought it would help me with becoming a Hunter. I finished the course, got my license, and uh, came to Beacon... And because I called the cops about the situation with White Fang they gave me the money for Blake's bounty."

"My what?!" Blake gasped. Jaune nodded.

"Yup... And uh... I used it to pay your bail... Professor Ozpin did the rest..."

A beat of silence.

"How much was her bounty?" Ruby asked. Weiss snatched up the check and stared at it. She looked at Blake in disbelief.

"150,000 lien per... This much... WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!"

"Enough to get us out of jail?" Blake offered.

 

[CountvonBarnOwl]

Crossposted from SB -


I got a 3K word snippet for everybody. It lacks the level of polish that I usually aspire to (in my own estimation) especially near the beginning and the end.


But this is what I get for doing things without a proofreader.


Nevertheless, I find it increasingly important to try to do more on my own.


Anyway, what this is is a general prologue to all of my Cyber-Whitley ideas, which I am trying to dredge up the motivation to start writing again. Success has been very, very, very limited on that front. Nevertheless I like this idea and everything stemming from it in its raw form and want to get back to doing things with it.


But this is sort of a... prologue I wrote to clue people in. I don't like writing beginnings, you see. So I often skip them and go back in order to make myself feel the enthusiasm to write them. We all have parts that we enjoy or don't enjoy. Those bits of our work that we enjoy weaving just that either more or less.


That is not what I mean.


Because when I'm not writing after my own mercurial muse, I often end up feeling like I have to write things that I don't want to write. And that isn't me speaking to the necessary elements of a story that I feel that I must write in any case to make all of the fun bits attach to each other properly and come off as a coherent look into my inner world.


I mean things like, I can't write a story for a Remnant that has a total population above 400,000,000 people. I just don't see that. Nor do I see Grimm that can have their hides pierced by anything weaker than a 9.5mm H&H. And the bone should behave like the armor of early tanks. They've just got to be monsters worthy of sending Aura wielders after. Horrors against which no final victory can come. You don't win against a death world. The beauty of humanity comes forward in striving nevertheless.


I could try to write such things. Or for any Jaune ship that isn't my top two, or for one of my top two building a harem, but the product would be pure trash.


It isn't an issue opinion or preference at that point, it is artistic integrity and competence.


Funny, I say trash and then hack this up and then let it sit on my hard drive for two weeks before posting. Point is this not my best work and I am entirely aware of that. But I had to put something out if only for my own peace of mind. I know that probably makes me sound like a hack, I certainly feel like a hack.


But you all have indulged my prattling long enough.


Without further ado:

---

How it Happened – The Beginning of my Cyber-Whitley AU & all of its offshoots; Part 1


Though operating under appreciable stress, morale among the White Fang strike team only rose with every step. Every obstacle quietly surmounted, every lock quietly picked, every potential witness meticulously dodged or maneuvered around, every camera quickly hacked and replaced with a looping feed.



Silence was worth four hundred Lien a minute and nevertheless, Brother Onyx was barely able to hold himself back from bursting into song. Today, they would kill Jacques Schnee.



And Onyx himself had been charged with firing the opening shot. Brother Maroon and Sister Air were tasked with firing the follow-up and contingency shots. There was an all-hands-on-deck meeting between the SDC's highest officials today. Onyx himself hadn't known where the information had come from, operational security being what it was. He had only known that the officers in the White Fang's Solitas Branch, with confirmation from the High Leader herself, considered the intelligence actionable enough to mobilize a team.



Any minute now, the SDC chief executive's armored limousine would be making its way along this highway. It was not a direct, or likely route between places that the man would frequent, but knowing his own security measures, that, in Onyx's mind, only confirmed the likelihood of his presence.



Their position was set up in less than ten seconds. An eight-man fireteam consisting of three rockets, two perimeter guards, primary and secondary overwatch, and a communications and electronics officer coordinating had all been set up, clear from backblast, three floors below the rooftop, in a building currently undergoing renovations, where windows and walls were almost as uncommon as people, while the construction crew had all gone off to lunch, waiting to give the Animal God's justice to Jacques Schnee.


"Target spotted, ETA twenty seconds." Onyx readied his rocket launcher and took aim at the nearby section of highway that they had determined the range to from their position in the planning phase and calculated the time that he'd have to pre-fire by given the rocket's velocity.



"Ten, nine, eight, seven," the officer sounded off like a metronome. "Five, four," he continued. He had barely begun to say 'three' when Onyx pulled the trigger. Three a half seconds. That was Onyx's best guess. The distance between the point of launch and the target was a little over two seconds away at the rocket's normal velocity. But there was a delay for acceleration, another delay for Onyx's own brain to receive and act on the information, and the distance was as the crow flies, basic trigonometry indicated that the distance of the diagonal he was firing along was longer than that.



Onyx barely saw the long, dark blue limousine come into view behind the smoke trail of his rocket, but he heard the explosion.



The instant the smoke had dispersed, he saw the remains of an overturned limousine on the highway, its front end mangled in the way that a direct blow from a HEAT warhead could mangle a commercial market car, armored as it was.



"Good hit! Air, follow up on the midsection, Maroon, the gas tank." The officer called without missing a beat. The next two rockets slammed into the overturned vehicle, and even as smoke engulfed their position, Onyx saw the fireball that devoured the car.



There was a pause as the officer stood still, staring at his scroll, and another screen strapped to his wrist. "Evac route Cherry everyone. We are leaving."



Onyx was walking on air all through the retreat. There was no need for stealth, they could shoot as many human obstacles as got in their way and they made better time to the exfiltration point than they had coming from it. Within a few hours he'd be flying out of Solitas, watching the news confirm Jacques Schnee's death.



Somewhat earlier, the SDC parking lot -



Whitley Schnee did not let the exhaustion, the frustration, or anything else appear on his face as he made his way to across the fortified parking lot under the SDC headquarters.



Today's board meeting had been unproductive. None of the board members had so much as touched anything that wasn't considered a closed matter as of last week. Nevertheless, he knew he would be expected to make a productive report to the CEO when he got home.



He already knew how it would begin; 'Several members of the board behave inconsistently with previous patterns. Including those on which their employment was predicated.' Inculpatory enough of others that Jacques wouldn't suspect him being remiss in his duties, or failing to uphold his obligations. However, it was not paranoid, not like he was trying to distract the man.



Assuming today's traffic pattern remained consistent, Whitley was confident that he would be able to churn something out on his laptop denoting how the director, and officer positions at or above the regional level now had a higher statistical mortality rate than Level III+ mines and it may not be presently viable to adjust their hazard pay, insurance, and risk packages accordingly.



Whitley was positive he was not the only one making a report to Jacques. The directors and other departmental officers would be reporting to him too. Information was power. Information asymmetry was necessary for leadership to remain unquestioned. That was why Jacques wanted everybody checking up on everybody else. It kept everyone below him nervous, clumsy, and liable to further expose themselves to him. As the head of both the SDC's marketing and accounting departments, and first in line for CFO, Whitley knew that far better than most. It had been no different from growing up in the man's household.



Whitley entered his father's armored limousine and climbed into the citadel, the armored capsule that protected the frontmost three seats of the passenger compartment. Then he took the intercom and told the chauffeur to take him home. There was nearly zero delay. This chauffeur probably wandered around or fucked around on his scroll when the car wasn't moving, as much as the last one.



But this driver knew enough to minimize his own exposure. He, unlike his predecessor, understood how much of a risk he was taking, and that paycheck was only as big as it was because he wasn't expected to stick around and collect it for more than three years. Whitley dismissed the matter from his head, and got to work over his laptop.



Minutes later, from the corner of his eye, he saw a growing flash of orange light. There came a flash, that he did not just see, but he felt through his whole body, and Whitley Schnee knew only fire, and pain.



Agony stretched the sensation out toward eternity. However, naught but mere seconds could have been able to pass before the pain started to dim and blur at the edges. It began to fade, as if gradually falling into a pillow, as it was being held over Whitley's face.



So, Whitley fought. Truly, he fought. He tried to chase the spiderweb of searing sensations that his mind could perceive in an attempt to hold on, to stay lucid, to stay cognizant. For as long as he kept his mind, he kept his life. He thrashed; he flailed with all of the meager might that he thought he had. But the smothering sensation had been joined by a vice, constricting his windpipe, and tightening. And faster it tightened the tighter it got.



Until Whitley could no longer feel the tightening, he could no longer feel the suffocation, the burning, or the haze. He could only feel the fatigue of his strength spent. His brain commanded eyelids that were no longer there to close around sockets whose contents had burst from the heat of the initial explosion. It did not work. But it was good enough. Either way, Whitley saw only black. And he was too tired to care.



Then he felt nothing.



He couldn't tell how much time had passed when sensation returned to him. And what he could feel was difficult to describe. He felt like he was floating on water… no, cream… that was not it either. Milk perhaps? Whole and warm. And 'floating' was wrong too. It was more like, as he would later recount, 'sinking in reverse.' As though he was drifting down, as opposed to up, facing the bottom of whatever body of liquid that he was in and yet, the heavy fluid pooled above, or underneath him, as water rushes a swimmer out of the way in its journey to reach the lowest point possible, pushing him to the surface. That was the best comparison he could make.



This was the sensation that he felt for a brief interval up until the milk-water started to run thin, and when it felt almost as if he would break the surface/floor a bolt of pain seized Whitley up his spine and into the back of his head, the thunderclap of agony pulling him into further darkness.



Yet he remained cognizant. He could picture himself, hunched and curled up, perhaps on his side, though he couldn't feel his limbs, taste, the air or open his eyes. Any minute now, he would find out if he would be woken up by a group of scientists rousing him from a simulation, or if he had gone the way of every animated protagonist that he had ever seen, being personally introduced to the plots of their respective shows by the front bumper of a truck.



He really wasn't looking forward to what would inevitably come next in the latter case. But he did not discount the chance of a new family. Dare he hope that the next family would love him?



"Alright, all systems online. He should be responsive now." Whitley heard a comically Midgardian accent utter from higher up and perhaps to his left.



"Hmm… Simulation it is." Whitley thought to himself.



"I am afraid that it is no simulation, Herr Schnee." Whitley tried, and failed, to reorient himself in the direction where he thought the voice was coming from.



'You would pardon my incredulity.' Whitley thought again, this time to himself.



No response came after the pause. Whitley noted that. Until further testing, thoughts would emanate, for want of a better term, from him and into the aether until further testing could be done.



"Amzel! Did we lose him?!?" Came the raised shout of General James Ironwood. Whitley had never really met the man, but he had spoken to Jacques enough, and made enough public appearances that the Schnee scion could identify his voice.



"Nein, the brainwave monitor here displays that he is thinking to himself." Amzel, replied, again with an accent that sounded like a Valeman's impression of an Atlesian scientist with some particular derangement or another. Speaking with respect to a machine that Whitley could not see. "He is likely simply processing his circumstances."



"Regarding the same," Whitley thought/spoke "Where am I, and why are you able to read some of my thoughts? I understand that I am most likely blind and awaiting some prosthesis. But what I do not understand is how you are able to hear at least some of my thoughts."



"Ah, that is easy, young Whitley. Your injuries on the highway being critical, you were relocated to a life support unit in an aerial ambulance. Of course, you are no longer in a life support unit, as you have most likely deduced. After your resuscitation, your brain was relocated to a cybernetic cranial casing with integrated life support functions." Amzel continued.



'Cybernetic cranial casing?' Whitley wondered with a pit of dread pooling inside of the stomach that he admittedly no longer possessed. "Am I to understand that I am now just a brain in a jar?!" He asked in alarm.



"Wrong on all counts." Amzel replied. "Your C-spine also retained some level of integrity. And the remains of your C-1 through C-3 vertebrae remain attached and contained in a flexible armored appendix beneath the cranial unit. The unit's exact capabilities are military secrets which I am not at liberty to disclose until your enlistment is made official. You are also hooked up to my laptop and conversing with us via its audio input and output."



"Enlistment?" Whitley inquired, duplicating as best he could the raised tone that his father used when receiving information was not just unexpected, but also unpleasant.



"Well…" Amzel drew out. "There was a disagreement regarding exactly who would be paying for your prosthetics. Your sire decided to shirk his legal und natural obligations, and say that covering your exoframe should be society's problem."



"That is a complete misrepresentation of the conversation that took place between your superior and I, Lieutenant General!" Whitley heard his father add. Giving Whitley a better idea as to where the man stood in the command structure.



Whitley wasn't surprised. His father wouldn't spend any money he didn't need to spend. Being raised in the man's household, he saw the logic. Expending one's own effort and resources wasn't a logical thing to do when lesser expenditures could compel, by threat or by force, someone else to expend their own strength to your ends, which had the knock-on effect of preserving one's own stockpiles and treasure trove.



He wasn't surprised to find out how poorly his own well-being rated in the eyes of Jacques Schnee.



There should have been something there, some emotive reaction. He understood also that he should be feeling something besides the mildest of disappointments at being proven right. He knew he had limited value to his father. But for most of his life he had given himself the leeway of being a necessary expense in Jacques' eyes.



Something dark rumbled in Whitley's mind. 'That had been a mistake,' he admitted to himself. He had gotten comfortable, complacent, he had taken for granted the surety of his own footing in proximity to Jacques Schnee.



Fortunately, Whitley Schnee learned from his mistakes.



"Returning to the point, young Whitley," Amzel's address shook him from his ruminations. "Atlas will cover the cost of your prosthesis. But you will reimburse us."



"I take it through years of service rather than a financial arrangement," Whitley replied. Something, not quite tone, betraying what could have been lukewarm disappointment or impassive nonchalance.



"It isn't a state of affairs that I am exactly pleased with either, son." Jacques was trying to somehow paint himself as the aggrieved party in this matter, and further ingratiate himself with the person who suffered the actual injury in the same stroke… again. Whitley had watched the same thing play out a hundred-hundred times in the upper strata of Atlesian business and politics. But he had hardly ever seen it from this side of the equation.



"They were the ones who let you die, and yet they feel entitled to your service." Jacques continued.



'Wait… Die..!' Whitley thought with some trepidation. That particular truth paralyzing him where he was. The human mind is not made to truly contemplate or comprehend the cession of its own existence. 'When did I die? What part of what I felt was death? The fire or the floating?'



"Schnee!" Ironwood barked back at Jacques. "That is a complete mischaracterization of the situation…"



As Ironwood continued to berate his father, Whitley recalled Amzel's mention of resuscitation. "I suppose I really did die there for a while."



"You were clinically dead for exactly sixteen-point-eight-three-two seconds." Amzel clarified through his thick accent.



"Not brain-dead then," Whitley clarified. "Should I be aware of any cellular damage resulting from oxygen starvation?"



"Nein." Amzel clarified. "And once your father and his bodyguard give us the room, I will be able to discuss details of your situation in depth."



They did, sooner or later, as Whitley heard his genitor's torrent of accusations, admonishments, and deflections, as well as the head general's half-shouted own accusations and denials recede from the room before the door closed.



"Now that we are alone, I may explain to you what your duties will entail." Amzel explained. "You will serve as a test pilot for the latest generation of military cybernetic augmentations. To this end, you will be assigned the rank of Warrant Officer and placed under my command. It is exceedingly likely that I will assign you other tasks and command that you assist in other SCTC programs and cooperate with other SCTC personnel. You will, furthermore, be assigned to active combat operations at my discretion. If we need actual combat data, you will be the one out obtaining it. I will not be saying anything more until I have your verbal assent to this."



Whitley did not hesitate, "You have my assent, general." Even if the decision had not already been made when he was unresponsive, Whitley understood the shape of his options and prospects as a brain in a jar quite clearly.



"Good. Your father already signed your enlistment paperwork as your legal guardian. Consider yourself enlisted and under my command. I will soon be disconnecting you from the laptop, after which we will relocate to the Jotun complex where you will be given your posting and assignment. Tell me what, if anything, you experience in the interim."



Amzel did not even give Whitley the chance to respond before he felt something snap or cut. And then, Whitley felt alone, isolated, and that floating feeling, in a half-hunch or fetal position.



Rationally, he understood it was just his brain trying to process its new state of affairs while operating under complete sensory deprivation. But the analogues and allegories, for want of a better turn of phrase, gave the world around him shape and form.



He could feel his limbs, his body, drifting in the fetal position, under an endless black sea. Bother. He would probably be stuck like this without being plugged into any prosthetic. And for what was nothing near the first time in his life, Whitley Schnee found himself weighing whether he should try sleep, or remaining with his thoughts.



To be continued.

---

I hope you all enjoyed that, and I would appreciate any feedback that any of you have. And again, be as specific as possible.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The weapons workshop was quieter than usual in the late afternoon. Jaune had stopped by to work on Crocea Mors, carefully oiling the blade and checking the mechanisms on the shield. He was so focused that he didn't notice anyone else until a familiar voice spoke up behind him.

"Jaune?"

He turned to see Velvet Scarlatina standing near the doorway, Mia perched happily on her hip. The little girl was swinging her legs and playing with one of Velvet's long ears.

"Velvet? Hey," Jaune said, surprised. "What are you doing here? And with Mia?"

Velvet gave him a small, slightly embarrassed smile. "Ruby called and said she was going to be late picking her up. I volunteered to grab her from daycare."

Jaune raised an eyebrow. "Ruby's late? That's not like her."

Velvet's ears twitched. "She and Coco have been spending a lot of time together lately. They've gotten… closer. Ruby really likes her-Especially given her Semblance can cause bigger explosions."

Jaune blinked, then smiled. "Huh. Good for them."

Though he'd probably need to watch out during the next training session.

Velvet nodded, then glanced down at Mia. "I thought I'd bring her here while I finished up a few things. Hope that's alright."

"Yeah, of course," Jaune said. He wiped his hands on a rag and stood up. "Mind if we head outside? I could use some fresh air."

They found a quiet spot in one of the smaller courtyards. Jaune sat on a stone bench and laid Crocea Mors across his lap, resuming his careful maintenance. Velvet sat beside him with Mia between them.

"You're taking good care of it," Velvet observed, watching him work.

Jaune nodded. "My great-grandfather reforged it before I left. I try to keep it in good shape."

Velvet smiled softly. "That's good. Weapons like that deserve to be looked after."

Mia, who had been quietly observing the conversation, suddenly perked up and looked at Velvet with wide eyes.

"Are you a Faunus too?" she asked. "Did you come from Menagerie like Auntie Blake?"

Velvet's ears twitched. For just a second, something sharp and angry flashed in her eyes — an old, familiar pain. But she quickly pushed it down and smiled warmly at Mia.

"No, I'm not from Menagerie," she said gently. "I was born here in Vale. My father is human… and my mother is a rabbit Faunus who came from Menagerie."

Mia tilted her head. "Really?"

Velvet nodded. Her voice grew quieter, and a faint Menagerian accent slipped through without her realizing. "They faced a lot of trouble for being together. Some people in the White Fang even tried to hurt them because my mother 'betrayed' her own kind by marrying a human."

Mia's eyes went wide. "That's mean!"

Velvet's expression softened. She reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from Mia's face. "I'm sorry for telling you something so heavy, Mia. I shouldn't have-"

But Mia suddenly lit up with pure excitement.

"You're like me!" she said happily. "You're a grown-up rabbit me! And you're super nice!"

Velvet blinked, clearly caught off guard. A small, genuine smile broke across her face.

"…Thank you, Mia."

She looked over at Jaune, ears slightly lowered. "I'm sorry for venting like that. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," Jaune said quietly. He glanced at Mia, then nodded toward the open courtyard. "Hey, kitten. Why don't you go play for a bit? I'll be right here."

Mia nodded and hopped off the bench, running off with her toy sword to swing it at imaginary Grimm.

Velvet and Jaune watched her go in comfortable silence for a moment.

"She's an amazing little girl," Velvet said softly. "You've done an incredible job raising her."

Jaune rubbed the back of his neck. "My family did a lot of the heavy lifting, honestly. Especially when Katy…" He trailed off, then shook his head. "They were really supportive."

Velvet hesitated, then asked carefully, "Were they… okay with you marrying a Faunus?"

Jaune looked at her and grinned. "Katy was my childhood friend. Our families had been close for centuries. Nobody ever had a problem with it."

Velvet let out a small, wistful sigh. "That sounds like a wonderful place… and a wonderful family." Her ears drooped slightly. "My mother's family disowned her for marrying a human. My father's family has been welcoming, but things are often tense because he's from Atlas and... Well..."

Jaune was quiet for a second, then said, "If you ever want to visit Radian… I'm more than happy to take you there."

Velvet's cheeks flushed pink. She looked down at her hands. "I… I would like that."

Before either of them could say anything else, Mia came sprinting back over, out of breath and grinning.

She stopped right in front of Velvet, looked up at her with big, hopeful eyes, and blurted out:

"Would you like to give me a sibling with Papa?"

Velvet's entire face went bright red. She opened and closed her mouth several times, completely speechless.

Jaune let out a long, exhausted sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Kitten," he said tiredly, "no. I told you not to ask girls that anymore."

Mia pouted. "But she might want to!"

Jaune gave her a stern look. "No."

Mia crossed her arms and huffed, but didn't argue further. She simply turned and ran back off to play with her toy sword.

Velvet was still bright red, one hand covering her mouth as she tried (and failed) to regain her composure.

Jaune glanced at her and offered a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. She's been… very determined lately."

Velvet let out a shaky laugh, still flustered. "It's… it's alright. She's very direct."

Jaune chuckled softly. "Yeah. That's one word for it."

 

[Sliverhero]

Man with a mission part 2

Roman Torchwick leaned back against the crate, watching Jaune adjust the strap of his shield. A year ago, he would have laughed this kid out of the alley. Now? It was strange. Roman wasn't exactly the sentimental type, he didn't do warm fuzzies, but looking at the blonde idiot adjusting his weapon with the precision of a veteran, Roman felt a pang of something dangerously close to pride. He'd never say it, of course. He had a reputation to maintain. But in his head, he admitted it: he was proud to have this goofball as a son-in-law.

It was ridiculous how it started. A simple stop for ice cream. Roman had just wanted a mint chip cone to tide him over, and Neo had wandered off. She came back dragging this lanky, blonde mess by the hoodie who was asking about fake transcripts. Roman had his cane out, ready to scare the local brat, but Neo just tilted her head and gave him that look. He's cute, She'd taken a liking to him instantly.

But the real shocker came that first night. Roman still remembered walking into the safe house apartment, expecting to find Neo bored and the kid tied to a chair or something. Instead, he found them in bed, asleep. The kid was shirtless, and Roman's criminal instinct immediately cataloged the damage. There were deep, angry scratches running down Jaune's back, trails of blood that were still wet.

Roman had frowned, nudging the bedframe. "Hey, kid." Jaune had jolted awake, blinking blearily. The movement pulled at the wounds, making him hiss. That was when Roman realized the cuts weren't healing. At all.

"Where's your Aura?" Roman had asked, incredulous. "My... what?" Jaune had mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Roman stared at him. "Your Aura. Your shield. Your life force. You know, the thing that keeps you from bleeding out when a pint-sized sadist uses you as a scratching post?"

Jaune had just looked confused. "I... don't think I have one of those?" Roman was floored. This kid, this Aura-less, civilian nobody, had not only survived a night with Neo, who had the stamina of a Huntress and the appetite of a predator, but he had apparently held his own long enough to... well, Roman didn't want the details, but the evidence was on the sheets. The fact that Jaune had outlasted her without the supernatural endurance of an unlocked Aura was a medical marvel. It was a testament to pure, unadulterated grit (or teenage hormones).

Roman sighed and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hold still. This is going to tickle." He'd unlocked Jaune's Aura then and there. It be like any other thing he had to do it for junior goons. Damn, that flash of white light biggest he ever seen from an unlocking had sealed the wounds instantly, but Roman never forgot the sight of the kid soldiering on through pain that would have dropped a trained man.

It was that resilience that made the Museum heist go so smoothly. The plan was simple: Roman needed inside the Vale Natural History Museum to swipe a relic for a client, a pale, but beautiful terrifying woman who went by the witch . She wanted the "Blanket of the First King," an ancient weave supposedly made from impossible Grimm-fur. The blueprints Roman bought were good, but they were missing the updated security protocols.

That was where Jaune came in, to help pay his debt. "Head of security," Roman mused, remembering the badge Jaune had flashed. "Who knew 'honest work' paid so well in intel?"

Jaune had taken a job as a night watchman. For three weeks, he walked the floors, memorized the camera blind spots, and most importantly, noticed the things the blueprints didn't show. He found the pressure sensors under the floorboards in the East Wing and the secondary silent alarm wired to the display case's temperature gauge.

On the night of the heist, Roman and Neo dropped in through the skylight. They landed silently, expecting to dodge laser grids. Instead, they found a clear path. Jaune met them in the hall, still in his uniform.

"The sensors in the hallway are on a loop," Jaune had whispered, handing Roman a keycard. "But watch the third step. It's got a new pressure trigger I couldn't bypass without tripping the main server." "You're a genius, kid," Roman had grinned.

They walked out with the Blanket, tripping zero alarms. Because the internal security was compromised so flawlessly, the police didn't even know a robbery had occurred until they opened the case the next morning. It was listed as a "mysterious disappearance." The client, Witch, was so impressed with the ghost-like execution that she paid a huge bonus.

Jaune used his portion of the bonus to buy a beautiful three story house, and he still have tons left. "Still can't believe I'm a grandfather," Roman muttered to himself, shaking his head. He was too young for this. Too dashing, too many women left to charm. But if he was going to be a grandpa, he was going to be a rich one. Which meant more heists.

The pregnancy had complicated things, though. Neo was sidelined, which meant Jaune had to take her place on the Dust train job they got the green light for. Roman had been hesitant, but the resulting payout from the job overpowered his hesitantence and he have jaune with him. He is surprisingly capable.

He remembers getting onto to the train to claim the dust when the bloody white fang show up. Even worse its that damn Adam taurus the upcoming white fang member that came from nowhere. So many people died to that animal. To Roman delight he would never forget the sight. The White Fang lieutenant, Adam Taurus, stepped out of the Bullhead, glowing red sword in hand, looking for a fight and some rando black cat fanus chick as well. Roman seeing this signaled Jaune, who was wearing a modified, sleeker version of his Abysswalker armor to hide his face.

"I expect you to crumble as easily as the rest SDC scum," Adam had sneered. Jaune hadn't said a word. He just drew that heavy greatsword. When Adam lunged, pulling a poweful Moonslice focusing all of his aura and semblance into it carving through the air, Jaune met it with his shield. The shockwave shattered the windows of the train car. Adam staggered back, eyes wide, noone has ever stop that before, he is impressed. Jaune pressed the attack, his speed belied by his armor, forcing the terrorist back. For the first time, Roman saw Adam Taurus, the big bad bull is forced to retreat to a safe distance to blow the train tracks. It was shocking.

Roman shook himself from the memories. The warehouse was quiet now. The Bullhead for Beacon was due in a hour. On the couch, Jaune had finished packing. He sat down next to Neo, who was holding their son, little Leo, who was blinking awake. Jaune smiled, that goofy, sincere smile that had won over the most dangerous mute assassin in Vale.

"Hey, little man," Jaune whispered, tucking a blanket around the baby. "Daddy has to go to school for a bit. But I'm going to leave you with something. A story about a knight."

He reached into his bag and pulled out a large, old looking leather-bound storybook. The cover featured a painting of a knight in dark grey armor standing before a swirling purple vortex. It was a rare find from the island of Patch, his grandfather found it during the great war and it one of the older versions that told the legend of the Abysswalker.

"It's your favorite," Jaune said to Neo softly. "But I since we family now, might as well show a first edition as the other future editions they changed it. ."Neo raised an eyebrow, her eyes shifting to a curious purple. "one thing was removed was the poems about the Abyss Walker," Jaune explained, clearing his throat. "But...they are in the style of those old nonsense poems."

Roman rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, but he listened. He couldn't help it. The kid had a way of drawing you in. Jaune took a deep breath and began to recite, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, storytelling cadence.


'Twas brutal, and the righteous pale
Did weave and wind the darkened trail:
All mimsy were the Grimm-bones bred,
And the Jabberwock, with eyes of red,
Came creeping through the shadow-shale.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Curiosity Queen!
And shun the frumious Cat-ish scratch!"

He took his vorpal blade in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought
Then rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Queen of Curiosity,
With Cheshire grin and eyes of wood,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as she came!

She struck with speed of petal-storm,
A blur of rose and razor-form!
But on his plate the blows did land,
He stood his ground, a guarded man,
And laughed to see her rage transform.

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brutal, and the righteous pale
Did weave and wind the darkened trail:
The Knight in grey, who stood the test,
Now lays the monster to his rest,
And all is calm within the vale.

Jaune finished with a flourish, grinning down at little Leo, who had drifted back to sleep to the rhythm of his father's voice. Neo wiped a mock tear from her eye, clapping silently.

Even Roman found himself smirking behind his crate. "Nonsense," he muttered, pushing off the wood and walking toward them. "Absolute drivel. But... you've got a future in something, kid. Just don't make it poetry."

Jaune stood up, shouldering his bag. He gave Neo a long, lingering kiss, kissed the baby's forehead, and looked at Roman. "Ready?" Roman asked, jerking his head toward the door.

"Ready," Jaune said, the Dark Knight gone, replaced by the Huntsman in training. "Let's go show them what we've got."



Hope I did the poem right as I tried to do it simlair to Jabberwocky poem by Lewis Carroll.
When we get to beacon jaune is going to have an awkward time as he knows all of team rwby in various disguises and now has to hide that blake is apart of white fang as he cant explain how he knows.

Spoiler

lets just say the events of ever after are much darker here.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

My conception of the larger geopolitics of Remnant (at least in my fan canon) is that Vale and Atlas are the two biggest and most powerful Kingdoms, with Mistral next strongest (but heavily divided) and Vacuo is least strongest, with multiple smaller nation states in the mix allying with the more powerful Kingdoms.

It's not a Cold War between Vale and Atlas' hegemons, exactly. More of a Cold Peace in that both alliances do compete with one another economically, culturally, technologically, but within a restrained framework due to the larger threat of the Grimm. The HAR and many treaties, trading networks, and other systems are in place to prevent a major war breaking out again between peer powers. The CCT Net is one of them.

And both Atlas and Vale have a critical interest in preventing large scale wars between eachother or other nations.

This isn't new: The Athenian and Spartan Leagues in Ancient Greece also competed with eachother and tried to prevent large scale conflict with one another... Because when it did, you got the Peloponnesian War which lasted Twenty-Seven years. And the Concert of Europe in the 1870s-1890s was designed to balance the Great Powers and allow for negotiation to prevent large scale conflicts from breaking out again.

(Yes they failed. So did the United Nations since last I checked, we still have wars.)

It doesn't help that there are elements in Atlas and Vale (The 1K Society for Atlas, various politicians in Vale) who would love for their kingdom to become the only superpower on the planet-For reasons varying from "It's for the good of all man/Faunuskind" to "I want power and influence". Competition between nations doesn't happen in a vacuum, it is a natural consequence of large numbers of people of unique cultural and ethnic heritage joined together into nation states having interests that conflict with the interests of other nation states.

Unlike Europe or Ancient Greece, the ever present threat of the Grimm and the massive losses of the Great War do help maintain the peace... But it also means that Salem has another avenue of causing chaos by upsetting the peace between the superpowers and causing wars and conflicts to cover up her efforts to recover the Relics and the Maidens for her ultimate plans. Making it look like Atlas deliberately attacked Vale, killing the Valean government, and causing chaos could easily lead to open hostilities between both alliances and war, which serves Salem's purposes just fine.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Mutual Defense Accord for Tenebrae Containment

Introduction

Throughout the entire known history of Remnant, the continent called "Tenebrae" by the Quitalans — meaning "Darkness" — has been a subject of myths, legends, and dread. Other names include the Grimmlands and, after its full map was completed in the 1960s AMF, the Dragon Continent. Ancient stories spoke of its origins and of the horrors that dwelt there with later accounts focusing on the existential threat — exceptionally powerful Grimm and hordes of immense size descending upon the lands of Sanus, Solitas, and Anima.

It is worth noting that Grimm-cultist polities — such as the Xolotlian Empire of Western Sanus (destroyed with Quitalan assistance in the 800s AMF) and the various barbaric kingdoms of Western Solitas (crushed by Konan of Hyperborea and his people in the 1100s AMF) — rose in close proximity to the Tenebrae continent, suggesting an ancient and sinister connection.

Large portions of the continent are permanently shrouded in black clouds. Visibility is near-zero, and electronic interference is severe. The interior is considered unreachable and unsurvivable by conventional means.

Throughout recorded history, Tenebrae has experienced major volcanic eruptions with catastrophic planetary consequences. These events have triggered climate disruptions, prolonged winters, and global Grimm surges. The most recent such eruption, in the mid 19th century, caused widespread crop failures and a spike in Grimm activity across the entire planet.

For these reasons, the signatory nations do not attempt to explore or pacify the continent itself. Their mission is containment, not conquest.

With the advancement of technology, the peoples of Remnant finally gained the ability to mitigate the threat emanating from the Dark Continent. Recognizing the danger to major population centers on Sanus, Solitas, and even distant Anima — all of which lie within range of individual gigantic Grimm specimens and massive hordes originating from Tenebrae — the signatory nations established a mutual defense framework for the permanent containment of the continent and its outlying islands — the Mutual Defense Accord for Tenebrae Containment of 1947.

1. Strategic Objectives

• Establish and maintain a continuous, heavily defended maritime and aerial perimeter around Tenebrae and its associated islands.
• Conduct proactive overwatch, reconnaissance, and elimination of high-level threats — whether individual colossal Grimm or unusually large hordes — to prevent migration toward inhabited continents.

2. Areas of Responsibility

1. Dragon Head Peninsula (North-West) – Mistralian Sector
2. Dragon Spit Archipelago (West) – Vacuan Sector only (located directly below the Dragon Head)
3. Southern Dragon Wing Peninsula (South) – Joint Vacuo–Vale Sector
4. Dragon Leg Peninsula (South-East) – Vale Sector only
5. Dragon Tail Island (East) – Vale Sector only
6. Northern Dragon Wing Archipelago (North, North-East) – Atlas Sector only

All four kingdoms maintain significant naval presence and fortified coastal bases along their assigned sectors. Patrols extend to the surrounding waters and airspace, with the understanding that no forces penetrate inland.

• Atlas Federation: Responsible for the north-eastern shores of Tenebrae – the Northern Dragon Wing Archipelago, and the eastern approaches of the Dragon Head Peninsula.
• United Nations of Vale: Responsible for the south-eastern and eastern shores – the Dragon Leg Peninsula, and the Dragon Tail Island chain.
• United Kingdom of Vacuo: Responsible for the south-western and western shores – the western part of the Southern Dragon Wing Peninsula, and the Dragon Spit Archipelago. Vacuo is represented by the fleets of Hispania (naval and air) and Baalia (air) - the forces, while not as numerous as those of Atlas or Vale, are competent and well-equipped for their assigned sector.
• Confederation of Mistral: Responsible for the north-western shores, centered on the Dragon Head Peninsula. Mistral maintains a more limited but still significant presence, primarily through the Eastern Fleet of Imperial Mistral and elements of the Northern Fleet of Rostram. Although Tenebrae is separated from Anima by an ocean (comparable in width to the Atlantic), the threat remains real: Grimm hordes and colossal specimens must cross the entire sea to reach Mistralian shores. Nevertheless, the risk of a catastrophic breakout is sufficient to justify Mistral's participation. Their contribution is valued though less extensive than that of the other three signatories.

Overlap and Mutual Support

On paper, the four nations share joint responsibility for the overall perimeter. In practice, Vale routinely supplements Vacuo's southern sector with additional patrols and logistics, while Mistral coordinates closely with Atlas on the north-western sector, sharing reconnaissance data and maintaining communication links. This flexible burden-sharing ensures continuous coverage despite Vacuo's more limited resources and Mistral's greater geographic distance from the primary threat.

3. Joint Mechanisms

To ensure effective coordination, the signatories have established a permanent command and coordination body known as the Joint Oversight Authority (JOA). The JOA is composed of senior military and civilian representatives from each of the four nations:

• United Nations of Vale
• Atlas Federation
• United Kingdom of Vacuo (operationally represented by the fleets of Hispania and Baalia)
• Confederation of Mistral (represented by the Imperial Mistralian Navy and the Rostramian Northern Fleet)

A separate seat is reserved for the Hunter Association of Remnant, which provides expert consultation on Grimm behavior and deploys licensed Hunters for high-risk reconnaissance and elimination missions when conventional forces prove insufficient. Hunters are rarely deployed to the perimeter itself but serve as rapid-response assets for confirmed major threats.

Functions
The JOA does not exercise direct operational command over national contingents — each signatory retains full authority over its own forces. Instead, it serves as a permanent forum for coordination, deconfliction, and strategic planning. Its primary functions include:

• Scheduling and synchronizing patrol rotations
• Facilitating the regular exchange of reconnaissance data (including Grimm movement patterns, island overwatch reports, and aerial imagery of the black cloud cover)
• Overseeing the annual joint exercises codenamed "Iron Veil," which test the perimeter's integrity and the ability of the signatories to reinforce one another under simulated breakout conditions

Leadership
Leadership of the JOA rotates annually among the four signatory nations. The rotating chair is responsible for convening sessions, setting the agenda, and mediating disputes, but holds no veto power over operational decisions made by individual national contingents within their assigned sectors. In practice, the JOA operates on a consensus basis, reflecting the understanding that a major Grimm breakout from Tenebrae would threaten all signatories regardless of political tensions elsewhere. While the Authority has no standing army of its own, its coordinating role is widely regarded as indispensable for maintaining the continuous, multi-national perimeter around the Dark Continent.

4. Operational Protocols

• All major operations must be pre-notified to the Joint Oversight Authority.
• Bases and naval forces are subject to mutual inspection to ensure compliance with established containment standards.
• Troop and crew rotations are encouraged to maintain operational effectiveness and prevent fatigue.
• No ground operations are conducted on Tenebrae itself. No aircraft or naval vessels are to penetrate inland beyond the coastal perimeter. The interior is designated as a permanent exclusion zone.

Outro - Current Status (2002 AMF)

The Tenebrae Defense Treaty remains one of the strongest and most consistently observed agreements between Vale, Atlas, Vacuo, and Mistral. Practical cooperation continues despite political tensions elsewhere, as each signatory recognizes that a major Grimm breakout from Tenebrae would threaten their respective continents regardless of rivalries.

Mistral's participation, while more limited due to the ocean barrier separating Anima from Tenebrae, remains an important component of the containment framework. The Eastern Fleet of Imperial Mistral and the Northern Fleet of Rostram patrol the Dragon Head Peninsula sector, coordinating closely with Atlas. The distance provides a buffer, but the signatories understand that complacency is not an option.

Vacuo's contribution, represented by the fleets of Hispania and Baalia, is competent and professional, though the Kingdom's limited resources require ongoing logistical support from Vale and Atlas. This is provided without fanfare and without diminishing Vacuo's status as an equal partner in the treaty.

The "Iron Veil" exercises continue to be held annually, with the most recent iteration (2001) successfully demonstrating the ability of the four signatories to coordinate a multi-national response to a simulated Grimm breakout. No major incursion has occurred since the containment perimeter was established, though smaller "leakage" events — individual Grimm or small groups bypassing the naval cordon — are intercepted several times per year. These are considered routine operational matters, handled by national patrols without requiring JOA intervention.

- - -

Written with @Colobopsis