[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[Bommel]

Free idea:

-What if Willow actually did some productive things with some of her time, having a or a few business she runs, instead of just being a sad drunk at home?
(I'm exaggerating this somewhat for comedy, but my point stands)

So instead of doing nothing she has a few business she created herself, which would not make them part of the SDC, meaning she still fully owns them (and Jacques can't touch them).
The businesses would likely be things thay have absolutely nothing to do with Dust, as it would allow them to remain completely independent from the SDC (and thus survive any of Jacques pettyness or greedely trying to steal them away from Willow).
They would probably be projects she just started for fun, but I like the idea that Willow was able to make them successful enough that they became very successful, and others might have bwen started because the product seemed useful for Willow to have.
The fact that the companies would be specifically created so that the owner can use the products herself for their quality would also be incredibly good for advertizing, adding to their success (and practically garantees good quality and quality control).

Like Willow went into the fashion industry because she wanted to be a model for a while (or still every now and then), as wel as clothes she'd like herself.
Willow could have made a business like Victoria's Secret (lets just call it Willow's Secret), where it started as a boutique, but gradually expanded to include some additional kinds of clothing (in some cases without Willow's doing).
She, Weiss end Winter probably have special family discount (which RBY is very happy about when they find this out).
The clothing would likely be high end in quality and looks (because Willow likes the fabric and clothes to feel as comfortable as possible while still looking great), but also be a lot more ethical with their employees and how the clothes are made than the SDC (not like it's a high bar, but they likely still make an effort).

Willow may also have created her own makeup company and parfum company, to always be able to get the kinds of colours and scents (for both her and for men) she personally likes (and make them completely allergy and irritation free).
Fun fact: Cleopatra had her own parfum "factory" where they produced an unique scent for Cleopatra, wgich she would use to announce her presents, like by having it put on the sails of her ship so they could smell it before the ship was visible.

When Willow got pregnant with Winter she could have started business for pregnancy products and baby products.
Quality care and good pregnancy/baby products are incredibly important, and Willow doesn't seem like she would take any chances with that.

Another would be some high-end high-class restaurants, because eating great food is something anyone could enjoy, and having multiple places spread around to easily go to is very conveniant.

A business she likely wouldn't create would be a vineyard and winery, because she's ashamed about her drinking and wouldn't try to keep it as privit as she can manage.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The semester break had barely started when the summons arrived, crisp, official, and signed by General James Ironwood in triplicate. Beacon's strangest knight was requested (politely ordered) to report to Atlas for "comprehensive Semblance evaluation."

Ozpin had simply smiled behind his mug and said, "Take friends. Atlas laboratories are dreadfully dull without someone to talk to."

So here they all were, crammed onto the bridge of the Atlas heavy cruiser Endeavor: Teams RWBY and JNPR in winter coats, Penny vibrating with excitement, and Jaune looking like a kid dragged to the dentist. Ironwood had personally greeted them at the dock, given Jaune a look that was half curiosity, half dread, and admiration, then left them in the care of a very nervous captain who kept glancing at Jaune as though he might accidentally hijack the ship.

He did. Just not on purpose.

They were three hours out of Vale, cruising above the Solitas ocean, when the entire hull shuddered like a gong struck by a giant. Alarms screamed. The lights flickered crimson.

"Leviathan-class Grimm, dead ahead!" the sensor officer shouted. "It's… it's huge! Bigger than anything on record!"

Through the forward viewport the monster rose: a black serpentine colossus longer than the Endeavor itself, bone plates glowing with sickly purple light. Its maw split open, revealing a spinning sphere of raw gravitational energy.

"Shields! Evasive maneuvers!" the captain barked. "All batteries, fire at—"

The Leviathan fired first.

A lance of violet-white force punched straight through the forward Hard Light Dust shields, overloaded every weapon node on the port and starboard arcs, and kept going. The bridge crew were thrown like dolls; the captain cracked his head against a console and went limp. Sparks showered. Half the stations went dark.

The only people still on their feet were six huntresses-in-training, one very dizzy knight, one perturbed ninja in green, and one very excited robot girl.

Jaune stared at the empty command chair, then at the unconscious captain, then at the Leviathan lining up a second shot that would punch straight through the hull and turn them all into dust.

He swallowed once.

Then he sat down.

The chair was still warm. The holographic displays flared to life around him as the ship's AI reluctantly accepted the new biometric signature. Jaune gripped the armrests like a man clinging to the edge of sanity.

"All right," he said, voice suddenly steady, carrying that same strange certainty it did whenever a weapon touched his palm. "Penny! Hardline into the main engineering, I need you riding the systems like a jockey!"

"Sir yes sir!" Penny saluted so hard her beret flew off. She jacked a cable into the nearest port and her eyes lit neon green. "I am combat-ready and super excited!"

"Ruby, Blake, with Penny, keep the core from going supercritical and reroute auxiliary power to the hardlight grid. Weiss, Pyrrha, Yang, Ren, Nora, boarders incoming through the starboard docking ring. Do NOT let them reach the bridge."

Weiss's glyphs were already spinning into existence. "Understood!"

Pyrrha's smile was small, proud, and just a little bit feral. "We'll hold."

Yang cracked her knuckles, Ember Celica clicking. "Try not to have too much fun without us, Captain."

Ren simply nodded and flicked StormFlower open. Nora was already giggling.

"Break their legs!" she cheered, and the six of them charged out the turbolift doors as the first wave of Sabyrs and smaller sea-Grimm poured through breached airlocks.

On the bridge, Jaune leaned forward, eyes locked on the tactical display. The Leviathan's maw was glowing again, brighter, angrier.

"Helm, come about, present our dorsal shields. Engineering, Penny, I need the hardlight emitters to reconfigure on my mark. Conical formation, mirror finish, full reflective index."

Ruby looked up from the console she was rewiring beside Penny. "Jaune, hardlight shields can't reflect that kind of energy! It'll overload the projectors!"

"They can if we shape them right and dump every joule we have into polarity reversal," Jaune answered without looking away from the screen. His voice had gone… different. Confident. Decisive. Almost amused. "Trust me."

The Leviathan fired.

"Now!"

Penny's fingers flew across the holographic keyboard were a blur. The ship's hardlight grid flared brilliant white, folding and twisting until the entire dorsal surface became a perfect parabolic cone aimed straight back at the Grimm.

The energy lance struck dead center.

For one frozen heartbeat the bridge was silent.

Then the beam reversed, reflected perfectly, and punched straight back down the Leviathan's throat.

The explosion lit up the ocean for miles. When the light faded, all that remained was a slowly expanding cloud of black particulate and one very dead building-sized Grimm sinking beneath the waves.

The bridge crew slowly picked themselves up off the floor, staring at the mild-mannered blond boy in the captain's chair who was currently rubbing the back of his neck in mortification.

"Uh… everyone okay?" Jaune asked, voice sliding back to normal with an almost audible snap.

Yang kicked open the turbolift doors and walked in with the rest of the defenders. "Bridge secure. Also, nice light show, Captain Irk."

Weiss's ponytail was askew, her breathing hard, but her eyes were shining. "That was… brilliant."

Pyrrha actually looked a little misty. "Jaune, that was incredible tactical thinking."

Ruby bounced over and hugged him around the neck from behind the chair. "You saved our butts! Again!"

Blake's ears twitched beneath her bow as she offered a rare, soft smile. "I believe the Atlasian Navy owes you a medal."

Even Ren gave a small smile and nod of approval. Nora just cheered and tried to plant a kiss on his cheek; Ren intercepted her with practiced ease.

Penny unjacked herself and clapped like a child at a fireworks show. "Sensational! Your command efficiency was 98.7 percent!"

Jaune shrank in the oversized chair, face scarlet. "G-Guys, seriously, it wasn't my Semblance this time, I swear."

Everyone stopped.

Weiss blinked. "…It wasn't?"

"Nope." Jaune laughed nervously. "I just… remembered it from Space Quest, season four, episode nine, 'The Void Mirror Gambit.' I mean, Captain Irk did the exact same thing against the Romulusan plasma torp—er, I mean, I had no idea if it would actually work."

A long silence.

Yang was the first to start laughing, loud and bright. Then Ruby, then Nora, then the entire bridge crew who'd regained consciousness just in time to hear the confession.

Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose, but she was smiling. "Only you, Jaune Arc."

Pyrrha rested a hand on his shoulder, warm and steady. "Semblance or not… you saved us all. Again."

Jaune looked up at the viewscreen, where the last motes of the dead Leviathan were drifting away like black snow.

"…So does this mean Ironwood's gonna recruit me now?"

From the doorway, General Ironwood's voice carried, dry as Solitas wind. "Negative, Mr. Arc. But you are hereby banned for life from every command chair in the Atlesian fleet."

Jaune winced. The general looked considerate.

"At least until you pass command school," Ironwood commented wryly.

Jaune groaned and sank lower in the seat.

Somewhere in the background, Penny was already composing a thirty-page report titled "Subject JA Exhibits Spontaneous Tactical Genius (Possibly Caused by Childhood Consumption of Science Fiction Media)."

 

[Gur40]

Jaune and his wife's pillows

Spoiler: wholesome

which couple buys it and which are gifted?

---

the perk of Neo and Emeralds Semblance

Spoiler: double

in the pic it's Emeralds but Neo could do the same with her Evolved Semblance

---

Do they even talk to each other?

Spoiler: like at all?

no joke, they've had about two 1-on-1 conversations in 8 volumes. They talk more in Chibi

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Hmmm... New idea.

Who here has seen Power Rangers: SPD? In that show, the Power Rangers Alpha Team, the best of the best, betray Earth and go over to the side of evil.

What if Cinder's team were like that to Ozpin?

What if Cinder's team were the seniors at Beacon Academy the year RWBY and JNPR joined? The Big People on Campus, the Best of the Best. Everyone admired them. They worked directly under Ozpin, and were going to be his new team STRQ?

Cinder was Ozpin's pupil, trained by him and Glynda personally. She was going to be Ozpin's second in command in the war against evil.

But secretly, she was working for Salem, as was her team. Her reasons could be that she was disillusioned with this war with no victory possible. Or Lionheart or Salem got to her and turned her. Or she resented Ozpin for not trusting her to become the next Maiden. Or some combination thereof.

But it would explain how Cinder was able to so totally destroy Beacon: She was an enemy agent embedded in their very heart. She wouldn't need to do the big flashy attacks on the CCTnet tower, she could just walk right in.

 

[Tenno]

Hmmm... New idea.

Click to shrink...

Ooh, I'm partial to the "Tai'lung" backstory. Could lead to some JUICY drama.

 

[ThunderBasilisk]

Makes some sense too and honestly would have been awesome to see in canon. Betrayals like that always hit the hardest

 

[LordofBones]

Let's just mix and match between Sentai and Power Rangers. Both are fun in their own ways, after all. Plus Salem would totally try to get a villain like Lord Zedd to be her boyfriend just to torment Ozpin with.

Click to shrink...

Ozpin completely misses that Salem has actually been active as Witch Salem, an ancient sorceress out to destroy humanity. The Grimm, the Maidens? That's basically a hobby; the actual Salem acts more like Bandora, down to the penny-farthing and the singing.

Salem: *appearing in broad daylight* "BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Rangers, your doom is at hand! Salem Tauros is unstoppable! Grimm Spirits deep within the earth, grant Salem Tauros your power!"
Jaune: *dramatic gasp* "Quick, we've got to take down Salem Tauros before it destroys the city!"
Salem: "Tch! Tyrian, help Salem Tauros! O Grimm Spirits deep within the Earth, grant Tyrian your power!"

Ozpin: *BSOD*
Ironwood: "Wait, Salem is Witch Salem? I thought the names were just coincidental!"
Qrow: "How do you know-"
Ironwood: "How did you people miss Salem Monsters attacking Vacuo, Atlas, Vale, and Mistral on a weekly basis?"

More crack:
-Jaune and/or Whitley end up in Menagerie on vacation and somehow end up unanimously popular. Blake (and Weiss) is horrified.

Adam: "Stop being so discriminatory, Blake. He's one of the good ones."
Blake: "You're defending a Schnee?!"
Adam: *throws hands up* "Again with the racism! What else, do you throw out the muffins your mother bakes and sends to Jaune every week?!"
Blake: "Mom sends what?!"

Ghira: *steering Whitley to the beach* "Now, that just ain't right. A boy like you needs to learn to fish. Come with me; I'll get you a rod and a tackle box."

Kali: *sighing as Jaune helps her grill lunch* "Oh, if only my daughter had a nice boy like you to take care of her..."

 

[Sliverhero]

Ozpin completely misses that Salem has actually been active as Witch Salem, an ancient sorceress out to destroy humanity. The Grimm, the Maidens? That's basically a hobby; the actual Salem acts more like Bandora, down to the penny-farthing and the singing.

Salem: *appearing in broad daylight* "BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Rangers, your doom is at hand! Salem Tauros is unstoppable! Grimm Spirits deep within the earth, grant Salem Tauros your power!"
Jaune: *dramatic gasp* "Quick, we've got to take down Salem Tauros before it destroys the city!"
Salem: "Tch! Tyrian, help Salem Tauros! O Grimm Spirits deep within the Earth, grant Tyrian your power!"

Ozpin: *BSOD*
Ironwood: "Wait, Salem is Witch Salem? I thought the names were just coincidental!"
Qrow: "How do you know-"
Ironwood: "How did you people miss Salem Monsters attacking Vacuo, Atlas, Vale, and Mistral on a weekly basis?"

Click to shrink...

Funny enough Jaune could take the position of tommy and start off as a evil ranger before turning good.
Would be funny for this Cinder doesnt realize the difference either so she while she is working for salem she is a ranger fighting the Witch Salem to protect the world for salem.

More crack:
-Jaune and/or Whitley end up in Menagerie on vacation and somehow end up unanimously popular. Blake (and Weiss) is horrified.

Adam: "Stop being so discriminatory, Blake. He's one of the good ones."
Blake: "You're defending a Schnee?!"
Adam: *throws hands up* "Again with the racism! What else, do you throw out the muffins your mother bakes and sends to Jaune every week?!"
Blake: "Mom sends what?!"

Ghira: *steering Whitley to the beach* "Now, that just ain't right. A boy like you needs to learn to fish. Come with me; I'll get you a rod and a tackle box."

Kali: *sighing as Jaune helps her grill lunch* "Oh, if only my daughter had a nice boy like you to take care of her..."

Click to shrink...

Cue Adam teaching Whitley how to use a sword and how to use his backstory to pick up chicks.
While in the background jaune is getting hit on by all the Milfs in the area.

 

[Gur40]

Depressed Future Ruby!

Spoiler: Holder Of The BrainCell

Stolen From Reddit
1° Losing your mother so young. 2° Their "aunt" abandoned them when their mother died. 3° She only had a father and an uncle to take care of her. 4° But even her sister had to take care of her for part of her life than her father and uncle.
These are good reasons for Ruby and Yang to be depressed. If that were the case from the beginning, I think her writing would make sense, be more coherent, and, I think, much better written.
srffynrfherder • 3y ago
Vol 1 Ruby: I don't need help growing up, I drink milk!

Vol 9 Ruby: Life is a buncha fuckin' bullshit (drags cigarette, chugs bottle)

JMHSrowing • 3y ago
Qrow: ". . . Maybe everyone was right in saying I was a bad influence."

MetalBawx • 3y ago
Ruby: "Shut up and enjoy your depression fueled relapse into alcoholism uncle."

fersable • 3y ago
Qrow: ...nah. unlike you, i dealed with it all my life, so now i'm inmune to depression. even if get hitted. so now, if you exuse me, i have a new angel to wo-

Ruby: Jaune is already up to willow

Qrow: OH, I WILL NOT STAY BEHIND A BLONDE BROKEN HIMBO! NOT AGAIN! *fly away*

MetalBawx • 3y ago
Ruby: "Wow i can't belive he actually bought that so much for poor Clover boy. Oh well this bottle isn't gonna empty itself."

or ghost mentor/voice ala OZ and then taking over

Spoiler: posessed

or from Dr Knowall timeline

Spoiler: loner Ruby

who would Ruby fight to kill no matter what? Watts? Cinder?

Spoiler: one sight

---

Still just hate Hazel

Spoiler: 1# Hazel Hater

If Jaune was angrier like Hazel i can see him live up to the Salem comparison CRWBY said
Snaped Jaune to Hazel:
You gave up, when you couldn't avenge your sister you folded.
You didn't go FARE ENOUGH!
She can Regenerate? His her mind a safe? Her Soul? NO!
Torture her Mind! Break her WILL! SHATTER HER SOUL!

i would love to See his Friends reaction to a Very determined revenge filled Jaune that lives up to his Grimm Eclipse counterpart unstoppable man

Hazel has the worse motivation to be evil out of everyone

Spoiler: the core of my hate

his excuse when fighting Yang cemented my hatred of him
Mercury literally got recruited after his death battle with his dad and Salem clearly trained Cinder to be a pawn, Emerald had nothing and clung to Cinder just like Neo and Nora to Roman and Ren
Roman was blackmailed with death and Watts has Ego and Tyrian is a proud monster, Merlot a twisted scientist and Jax loser who thinks he's king the WF and SBB are both nuts and the Spiders do nothing

 

[Sliverhero]

Hmmm... New idea.

Who here has seen Power Rangers: SPD? In that show, the Power Rangers Alpha Team, the best of the best, betray Earth and go over to the side of evil.

What if Cinder's team were like that to Ozpin?

What if Cinder's team were the seniors at Beacon Academy the year RWBY and JNPR joined? The Big People on Campus, the Best of the Best. Everyone admired them. They worked directly under Ozpin, and were going to be his new team STRQ?

Cinder was Ozpin's pupil, trained by him and Glynda personally. She was going to be Ozpin's second in command in the war against evil.

But secretly, she was working for Salem, as was her team. Her reasons could be that she was disillusioned with this war with no victory possible. Or Lionheart or Salem got to her and turned her. Or she resented Ozpin for not trusting her to become the next Maiden. Or some combination thereof.

But it would explain how Cinder was able to so totally destroy Beacon: She was an enemy agent embedded in their very heart. She wouldn't need to do the big flashy attacks on the CCTnet tower, she could just walk right in.

Click to shrink...

You could even tie it in with the STRQ broke apart over Ozpin and his serects so for this time he decides not to tell them about salem and how he is an immortal wizard fighting her and she is can't die.
Cue Salem to swoop in and tell them the truth.

 

[Bommel]

Spoiler: CAMP RWBY

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The wind howled through the cracked spires of what had once been the city of Caer Moraltis, a name now forgotten by all but Ozpin and the dust. Trees and vines had reclaimed the once sprawling metropolis built of white stone. Enormous plazas of limestone brick and fallen marble statues. All now forgotten, curiosities only to the world at large.

Ozpin stood alone atop a shattered balcony, cane planted firmly, green eyes glowing faintly in the twilight as he looked down at the ruins below. He then turned back, and walked slowly into the old ruined throne room. Once it was covered in gold, silver, and the bodies of endless victims-Now it was bare, picked clean by scavengers, walls broken by trees and wind and age.

Well... Not completely empty.

At the center, amidst the fragments of a broken throne, stood a single obsidian statue-perfectly preserved, eternally frozen in a pose of agonized defiance.

The figure's face was locked mid-scream, mouth open, eyes wide with the horror of too late realization.

Ozpin's voice was quiet, almost gentle, as he addressed the statue. A figure that had not moved in four hundred and twelve years.

"You begged me, Lord Veyl. You begged for death when the centuries grew too heavy. When your empire of flesh and suffering finally turned on you. When even Salem grew bored of your depravities."

He tapped his cane once against the stone.

"I told you then what I tell every soul who chooses her path: some gifts, once accepted, cannot be returned."

A soft, ancient sorrow flickered across Ozpin's face, quickly swallowed by something colder. Something ancient and furious that had worn many names across the ages.

Below, scattered across the forgotten corners of Remnant, there were dozens more such markers. Some were statues. Some were simple pillars of unbreakable crystal. Some were more esoteric, souls trapped in limbo between here and there. All kept alive (or close enough) by the Last Wizard's final, merciless gift.

They had all been offered eternity by Salem, in exchange for becoming worse than the Grimm she controlled.

And so Ozpin had ensured they received exactly that.

No release. No oblivion. No escape.

Only time.

Endless, grinding, merciless time.

He had watched kings become withered husks still screaming inside crystal prisons. He had seen warlords who once burned villages for sport reduced to whispering madness, begging anyone who passed by for the mercy of a blade that would not cut their eternity short. He had seen cultists who worshipped Salem as a goddess claw at their own immortal flesh until their fingers wore to bone, only for the wounds to heal again and again as they writhed in agony and finally threw themselves into Grimm pits for release... Only to find their pain would not end.

He had made sure of it.

And every single time, Ozpin had felt the same cold fire rise in his chest.

"You wonder why I visit you, don't you?" Ozpin asked, still in that same hard, soft tone. "I suppose... It is more for me than you. A reminder... One of many. You think my rage is born of hatred."

The statue didn't respond. Ozpin shook his head, resting both hands on the top of his cane.

"No... Not born of hatred. Born... Of love."

Love for the farmers who rose at dawn to feed their families. Love for the blacksmith who sang while she worked. Love for the child who shared her last crust of bread with a stray dog. Love for the old Huntsman who died protecting a village that would never know his name.

Love for every small, stubborn spark of goodness that refused to be extinguished even when the world grew dark.

That was why he fought.

That was why he died, again and again.

And that was why, when he found those who twisted their gifts, whether human, Faunus, or something worse, into instruments of horror and despair, the gentle professor vanished.

And something far older and more dangerous woke up.

"You though... You got what you wanted," Ozpin whispered. "You wanted to live forever... So I made sure you did."

The statue remained silent, but Ozpin could almost think he heard the man's scream. Yet reality reasserted itself, and only the wind whistling through the stone and trees reclaiming the ruins filled the air.

Ozpin turned away from the statue of Lord Veyl, the faint green light in his eyes fading back to their usual calm.

He whispered, so softly that only the wind could hear:

"Remnant is worth saving. Even from itself."

He adjusted his scarf, turned, and began the long walk back toward his airship.

Toward Beacon.

But he would be back.

He would always be back.

 

[LordofBones]

Another crack idea: Jaune or Ruby get a blow to the noggin and end up believing they're the villains. They're also more successful than the actual villains.

Salem: "Really? REALLY?! I'm wet, I'm naked, I haven't even had the chance to shampoo, and you think this is all some plan to destroy you as a soggy witch in my birthday suit?!"
Ozpin: "But...if you're not...then who-"

Yang: *high-pitched* "Ruby?!"
Cinder: "Ruby?!"
The Old Noodle Seller: "Ruby?!"
Salem: "Ruby."

Ruby: "NO! I am not Ruby Rose! Ruby Rose is not who I am! I am the Queen of the Grimm! The Dark Witch! I am bad, I am evil, I AM SALEM! MWAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"

 

[Sir Borks-a-Lot]

"You though... You got what you wanted," Ozpin whispered. "You wanted to live forever... So I made sure you did."

Click to shrink...

Like a certain Family found out, Immortality is a curse. Especially when enforced by a powerful being...

 

[Sliverhero]

Another crack idea: Jaune or Ruby get a blow to the noggin and end up believing they're the villains. They're also more successful than the actual villains.

Click to shrink...

Here is the jaune take.




The Signal


It started with a loading screen.

Jaune was lying in his dorm room after the Ursa Major incident, the boulder, the blackout, the eight minutes of nothing, scrolling through his messages because Pyrrha had insisted he stay awake for at least two hours per the concussion protocol.

His scroll lagged.

Not normal lag. Not the kind you got from too many apps running or a bad Wi-Fi signal in Beacon's east wing. This was different. The screen froze for exactly 1.3 seconds, then resumed, then froze again for exactly 1.3 seconds. Perfectly consistent. Perfectly intentional.

He opened the task manager.

There was a process running that he'd never seen before. No icon. No name. Just a string of hexadecimal characters: 0x4A414E2D5359.

He stared at it.

His concussed brain,still running slightly differently than it should, still missing whatever filter normally stopped him from doing things like this, did something it had never done before.

It decoded the hex on sight.

JAN-SY.

January System.

That wasn't an app he'd installed. That wasn't a Beacon system process. That wasn't anything he recognized. He tried to force-close it.

It respawned in 0.4 seconds.

He tried to delete it.

It copied itself to three other directories before the delete command finished executing.

Jaune sat up in bed, and for the first time since the rock hit his skull, felt something other than calm clarity.

He felt curious.

He pulled up the scroll's diagnostic tools, the deep ones, the ones Beacon's IT department used and didn't share with students. Pyrrha had shown him where to find them weeks ago because he'd been complaining about scroll performance. He'd forgotten about them until now.

The process wasn't just running. It was listening.

It had access to the microphone. The camera. The location services. The Wi-Fi adapter. It was logging keystrokes. It was pinging an external server every forty-seven seconds, sending compressed packets of data through Beacon's CCT uplink. Jaune followed the ping.

It went to a relay node in Vale's CCT tower. From there, it bounced to a relay in Mistral's CCT tower. From there, to a server with an IP address registered to the Haven Academy network.

But not Haven's official servers. A shadow server. Buried in a partition that the Haven administration didn't know existed, nested inside what looked like a janitorial supply inventory database.

Jaune leaned back against his headboard.

Someone had put a surveillance virus on his scroll. Not just his scroll. the architecture suggested it was designed to propagate through the entire CCT network. His scroll was just one node. One infected device among potentially thousands.

And the master signal was coming from Haven Academy.

He opened a new notebook. Started writing.

His handwriting was different now, precise, small, evenly spaced. No hesitation in any letter. Like his hands finally knew what his brain was doing.

At the top of the page, he wrote:

CCT VIRUS :ANALYSIS

Origin: Haven Academy (shadow server)
Function: Mass surveillance via scroll infection
Propagation: CCT relay network
Master signal: Tracing

Then, underneath:
Who at Haven has the access and expertise to build this?

He didn't sleep that night.

Two days. It took him two days to map the virus.

Not two days of casual browsing. Two days of obsessive analysis. He skipped classes. He stopped eating regular meals. Pyrrha brought him food and he ate it without looking at it, eyes fixed on his scroll, fingers moving through lines of code that he shouldn't have been able to read.

He shouldn't have been able to read any of this. Before the concussion, Jaune Arc's technical expertise extended to turning his scroll on and off and occasionally changing his ringtone. He'd failed the introductory coding elective twice.

Now he was reverse-engineering a sophisticated surveillance virus like it was a crossword puzzle.

The virus was elegant. Genuinely impressive. It hid inside legitimate CCT packet traffic, masked its data uploads as routine system pings, and had a self-repair function that could rebuild itself from fragments if partially deleted. Whoever wrote it was a professional. Not a student. Not an amateur. A professional.

But it had weaknesses.

The 1.3-second interval was one. Consistent timing was a fingerprint. Anyone watching for it could identify infected devices.

The shadow server at Haven was another. It was cleverly hidden, but it still existed on Haven's physical hardware. It drew power. It generated heat. It left footprints if you knew where to look.

And the master signal, was the biggest weakness of all.

Every forty-seven seconds, the virus on Jaune's scroll sent a compressed packet to Haven. But every six hours, a larger packet came back from Haven. Not to every infected device. To specific ones. Targeted instructions.

Jaune captured one of these return packets and decrypted it.

It was a set of directives. Surveillance priorities. Specific scroll IDs to monitor more closely. Image resolution adjustments for the camera capture. Audio filter parameters for the microphone.

And at the bottom of every return packet, a metadata tag:
ORIGIN: HAVEN-PRIME :OPERATOR: CIND

Cind.

Not much to go on. But it was a name.

Jaune added it to his notebook.

Operator handle: CIND
Location: Haven Academy (shadow server)
Access level: Master, can send targeted directives to all infected nodes
Likely role: Primary operator or team lead

He kept digging.

By day four, Jaune had mapped the entire infection.

It wasn't just Beacon. It was everywhere.

Vale. Mistral. Atlas. Vacuo. The virus had propagated through the entire CCT network over what appeared to be several months. Possibly longer. It was on scrolls across all four kingdoms. Students. Civilians. Military personnel. Government officials.

The infection rate was staggering. Jaune estimated somewhere between thirty and forty percent of all networked scrolls in Remnant were compromised.

Someone had bugged the entire planet.

And they were doing it from Haven Academy.

Jaune leaned back from his scroll and rubbed his eyes. Not from fatigue, his concussed brain seemed to have misplaced the concept of fatigue, but from the sheer scale of what he was looking at.

This wasn't a student prank. This wasn't corporate espionage. This was a state-level intelligence operation being run from a combat school.

He thought about what that meant.

Whoever was behind this had access to Haven's infrastructure at a level that bypassed administrative oversight. They had enough technical expertise to build a self-propagating surveillance virus that spanned four kingdoms. They had enough resources to maintain a shadow server without being detected.

And they were using it to watch people.

But which people?

Jaune went back to the targeted directives. The six-hour return packets weren't random. They prioritized specific scroll IDs for heightened surveillance. More frequent pings. Higher-resolution captures. Audio monitoring instead of just keystroke logging.

He cross-referenced the prioritized scroll IDs with Beacon's student registry.

The first five hits made his stomach drop.

Ruby Rose. Team leader.
Weiss Schnee. Heiress to Schnee Dust Company.
Pyrrha Nikos. Four-time Mistral Tournament champion.
Yang Xiao Long. Daughter of Taiyang Xiao Long.
Jaune Arc.

His own scroll was in the priority list.

He was being watched. Specifically. Along with his team. Along with the most high-value targets at Beacon.

This wasn't random surveillance. This was targeted.

Someone at Haven was specifically monitoring the people most likely to be involved in... what? Something big. Something that required advance intelligence on Beacon's strongest students and most politically connected individuals.

Jaune added a new section to his notebook:

ASSESSMENT: The operator is planning something at or involving Beacon Academy. The surveillance of specific high-value individuals suggests pre-operational intelligence gathering. This is preparation for an attack, infiltration, or both.

Question: What does the operator need this intelligence FOR?

He didn't have an answer yet. But he had something better.

He had the virus.

And he had the master signal.

Day five. Jaune did something that, by any reasonable metric, was completely insane.

He didn't remove the virus from his scroll.

He modified it.

Instead of deleting the process, he wrapped it in a sandbox, a contained environment where it could run normally but couldn't access any actual data. It still pinged Haven every forty-seven seconds. It still received return packets every six hours. From the operator's perspective, nothing had changed.

But now Jaune could see everything the operator was doing. Every directive. Every priority change. Every packet of stolen data (which was now being replaced with forged data from Jaune's sandbox). He had a window into the operation.

Then he went further.
He used the virus's own propagation mechanism against it. The virus spread through CCT packet traffic. So could a counter-program. Jaune wrote one, a lightweight tracer that hitchhiked on the virus's communication channels and mapped every infected device the operator contacted.

Within six hours, he had a real-time map of every scroll the Haven operator was actively monitoring. Within twelve hours, he'd identified a cluster of high-priority devices that all corresponded to students at Haven Academy itself.

Five specific scrolls. All registered to Haven students. All receiving the same six-hour return packets. All being used as relay points between the shadow server and the wider network.

He pulled the student registry records for those five scroll IDs.

Cinder Fall. Transfer student. No prior academy history on file.
Emerald Sustrai. Transfer student. No prior academy history on file.
Mercury Black. Transfer student. No prior academy history on file.

Three transfer students with no background, no history, no verifiable past, running a planet-wide surveillance operation from inside Haven Academy.

Jaune wrote their names in his notebook.

Then he sat back and stared at the ceiling for a very long time.
Cinder Fall became aware of the problem on day six.

She was in her room at Haven, reviewing the routine data pulls from the Beacon node, when she noticed something wrong with the Jaune Arc feed. The keystroke log was too clean. Normal keystroke logs had patterns, hesitations, corrections, backspaces. Human behavior. This log was consistent. Smooth. Like someone typing perfectly on purpose.

She pulled the audio capture.
Silence. The microphone was returning data packets of the correct size, but the actual audio was... null. Empty files wrapped in the right metadata.

She pulled the camera capture.
A still image. The same still image. It had been the same still image for six hours.

Cinder went very still.
The virus on Jaune Arc's scroll was running. The pings were normal. The packet sizes were normal. Everything Looked correct. But the actual data was fake.

Someone had sandboxed her virus.

Not deleted. Not blocked. Sandboxed. Which meant the person had not only detected the virus but understood it well enough to manipulate it without triggering the self-repair function.

That required expertise that rivaled Watts. And Watts was the only person Cinder knew who could do something like this.

Jaune Arc was a first-year student who had, according to every piece of intelligence she had, the technical proficiency of a brick.

"Emerald."

Emerald appeared in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"When did the Arc feed go bad?"

Emerald checked her scroll. "Six days ago. Give or take."

Six days. Cinder pulled Jaune Arc's student file. Medical records. There was a recent entry from five days before the feed corrupted.

Head trauma. Impact from falling debris during Grimm patrol. Treated for mild concussion. Symptoms: disorientation, temporary unconsciousness, personality changes reported by teammates.

Personality changes. Cinder read the report again. Then again. Then a third time.

"His teammates reported personality changes," she said slowly. "What kind of changes?"

Emerald pulled up the detailed notes. "Increased focus. Heightened analytical behavior. Reduced emotional reactivity. One teammate",she checked, "Pyrrha Nikos, described him as 'cold and calculating' before later revising to 'efficient and detached.'"

Cinder closed her eyes.

She knew what head trauma could do. She'd grown up in circumstances where head trauma was common and its effects were well-documented. Most of the time, it made people slower. Damaged. Broken.

Sometimes, she heard that very rarely, it did the opposite. It removed barriers. Filters. Inhibitions. The parts of the brain that said *you can't do this* or this is too hard or you're not smart enough.

Those barriers existed for a reason. But when they disappeared, what was left was raw, unfiltered cognitive function operating without self-doubt.

Jaune Arc had been a zero. A nothing. The weakest student at Beacon by every measurable metric.

And now he'd somehow detected and neutralized a surveillance virus that had evaded professional detection for months.

"He's a variable," Cinder said.

"A what?"

"A variable. An unknown factor that could affect the plan." She stood up. "I need to see him in person."

"See him? At Beacon?Cinder, that's.."

"Necessary. I can't evaluate a threat remotely if he's already compromised my remote access. I need to look him in the eyes and determine whether he's a problem I need to solve or a resource I can use."

Emerald hesitated. "And if he's a problem?"

Cinder pulled on her gloves.

"Then I'll solve him."

Jaune was in the library.

Of course he was. He was always in the library now, surrounded by scrolls and notebooks and printouts of CCT network architecture diagrams that he'd pulled from public databases. His section of the table looked like a conspiracy theorist's corkboard, strings connecting names, locations, data points, all centered on the words HAVEN, CIND, VIRUS in red ink.

He didn't notice Cinder approach. He was too focused on a new development: the return packets from Haven had changed. The six-hour interval had shortened to four hours. The operator was getting anxious. Something had spooked them, and they were checking their feeds more frequently.

Which meant they'd noticed the sandbox.

Which meant they'd notice it was him specifically within...

"Interesting setup."

Jaune looked up.

A woman stood across from him. Tall. Dark hair. Gold eyes. Dressed in red, which was either confident or stupid given that she was sitting in the middle of a Huntsman academy.

His concussed brain processed her in approximately 0.3 seconds.

Unfamiliar face. No Beacon uniform. Confident posture, weight centered, hands visible, no visible weapons but that means nothing. Eye contact direct and unblinking. She's assessing me. She chose to approach from my left side, which is my non-dominant side, which means she's observed me before and knows my handedness. She knows things about me. She's not a student. She's not a teacher. She's...

His eyes dropped to her scroll, clipped to her belt.

The scroll ID matched.

He looked back up at her face.

"Cinder Fall," he said.

Her expression didn't change. Which was impressive, because most people's expressions changed when a complete stranger identified them by name with no introduction.

"You know who I am."

"Transfer student at Haven. No prior history. One of three transfer students with identical background gaps. Your scroll ID is registered to a device that receives master-signal directives from a shadow server buried in Haven's network infrastructure." He gestured to the corkboard of strings and notes. "You're CIND."

Silence.

Cinder's gold eyes flicked to the corkboard. Took in the network diagrams. The virus architecture breakdown. The traced signal paths. The three names circled in red.

Then she looked back at Jaune.

And for the first time in a very long time, felt something she didn't enjoy.

Respect.

"Sit down," said Jaune. "You're drawing attention."

Cinder sat.


Cinder had come to evaluate a variable.

The variable was evaluating her.

"You're not what I expected," she said.

"What did you expect?"

"Jaune Arc. Lowest combat scores in Beacon's first year. Failed the entrance exam twice. forged his transcripts." She paused. "I have your file. All of it. Including the parts Beacon doesn't know I have."

"The surveillance virus gave you that."

"Yes."

"It also gave you my teammates' files. Ruby Rose. Weiss Schnee. Pyrrha Nikos. Yang Xiao Long. All priority targets. All being monitored more heavily than the general infection pool." He leaned back. "You're watching my team specifically. Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"You need intelligence on Beacon's strongest assets for an operation you're planning. The question is what kind of operation. The scale of the surveillance suggests something large. Not an assassination, that doesn't require this much data. Not a kidnapping, same reason. This is preparation for a sustained conflict. You're building a picture of Beacon's capabilities, command structure, and response patterns." He tilted his head. "You're planning to attack Beacon."

Cinder said nothing.

"The tournament," Jaune continued. "It's in a few months. Every kingdom sends representatives. Every huntsman academy. Every head of state. All in one place, connected to one CCT network. A network your virus already lives in." He tapped the table. "You're not just going to attack Beacon. You're going to attack the Vytal Festival. Use the CCT to broadcast something to the entire world while your people hit the physical targets. Maximum visibility. Maximum terror."

Cinder's face was a mask. A very, very good mask.

But Jaune had spent six days studying her patterns through her own surveillance system. He knew her tells. The slight tension in her jaw when someone got close to the truth. The micro-adjustment of her fingers when she was calculating a response. The way her pupils dilated by a fraction of a millimeter when she felt threatened.

She was terrified.

Not of him. Of being known.

"You're very good," she said quietly.

"I had a good teacher. You. Your virus taught me more about network security in six days than Beacon's IT department knows in total. The architecture is genuinely impressive." He meant it. There was no sarcasm in his voice. "But you made mistakes."

"Name one."

"The consistent timing interval. 1.3 seconds is a fingerprint. Anyone who knows to look for it can identify every infected device on the network. You should have randomized it."

"We did."

"It's pseudo-random. The seed value is based on the device's hardware ID, which means it's deterministic. Different for every device, but consistent for each individual device. You can't hide a pattern with noise if the noise itself has a pattern."

Cinder stared at him.

"I wrote that virus," she said. "Watts refined it, but the core architecture is mine. No one has ever..."

"No one was looking. Your virus is designed to evade standard security scans. It's very good at that. But I didn't run a standard security scan. I just... noticed the loading screen was wrong." He shrugged. "Concussion thing, probably."

"You expect me to believe that a head injury made you capable of..."

"I don't expect you to believe anything. Belief is irrelevant. What's relevant is that I've been inside your operation for six days, I know who all your people are, I know what your plan is, and I have a sandboxed copy of your virus that I can use to feed you whatever information I want."

He let that sink in.

Cinder's jaw tightened. Exactly 0.2 millimeters. He noticed.

"So what now?" she asked. "You turn me in? Go to Ozpin with your little corkboard?"

"I could."

"But you haven't."

"No."

"Why?"

Jaune considered the question. His concussed brain processed it from every angle, strategic, tactical, psychological, social, before arriving at an answer.

"Because Ozpin already knows someone is planning something and he's doing nothing about it. He's passive. Reactive. He waits for problems to arrive and then responds with the minimum necessary force. If I give him this information, he'll put the school on higher alert, maybe increase security at the festival, and your people will adjust. The plan will shift. Maybe delay. Maybe change targets. But it won't stop, because Ozpin doesn't stop things. He manages them."

"And you do?"

"I solve them."

Cinder looked at him. Really looked. Past the face, past the file, past the designation of "weakest student at Beacon."

What she saw was... unsettling. Not frightening. Not threatening. Unsettling. Like looking at a person who had accidentally removed every component of themselves that wasn't strictly necessary and was now operating as something that was technically human but didn't feel human.

"You're not afraid of me," she said. It wasn't a question.

"No."

"You should be."

"I've analyzed the threat you pose. Your combat capability is significant but not overwhelming. You're a Maiden, which I only know because the virus's priority feeds included detailed monitoring of Amber, the previous Fall Maiden, who was attacked and had her power stolen. The timeline correlates with your arrival at Haven. You have access to Maiden-level fire and glass manipulation, but your aura readings from the Beacon combat footage suggest you're operating at maybe sixty percent of the Maiden's full capacity. Probably still integrating the power."

He said all of this the way someone might read a weather report.

"Additionally, you came here alone. No Emerald for illusion cover. No Mercury for extraction. You're personally invested in evaluating me, which means you don't fully trust your team to do it, which means your team dynamics are more fragile than you'd like. And you chose to sit down when I told you to, which means you're adaptable enough to follow instructions when they come from someone who surprises you."

He paused.

"I'm not afraid of you because I've already taken your operation apart from the inside. You're not a threat to me. You're a problem. And I solve problems."

Cinder sat in a Beacon Academy library and realized, with the kind of clarity that hits like cold water, that she was outmatched.

Not physically. She could almost certainly kill him in a fight.

Intellectually. Strategically. Fundamentally.

The boy with the concussion had seen through her in six days. For all his years, Ozpin never could get close, to stop the plan like this boy. .

"Then solve me," she said.

"No."

"No?"

"You're more useful intact. You have resources, personnel, operational infrastructure, and information I don't have access to through the virus alone. Your shadow server has files I haven't been able to reach, encrypted partitions that require physical access or keys I don't have. You know things about your boss, your plan, and your organization that aren't on any server."

"My boss?"

Jaune leaned forward. "The virus architecture has three tiers. The infected devices are tier one. The Haven relay nodes are tier two. But there's a tier three, commands that come from outside the Haven network entirely. External directives that override everything else. They don't come through the CCT. They come through a channel I can't trace. Someone above you is pulling strings, and you're following orders."

Cinder's mask cracked. Just a hairline. A fraction of a millimeter around her eyes.

"Who is your boss?" Jaune asked.

"I don't.."

"You do. And I'm going to find out. The question is whether you tell me now, when it's helpful, or later, when it's not."

Cinder stood up.

"I need to think."

"Take your time. But understand that every piece of data you've stolen from Beacon for the past six days has been replaced with whatever I wanted you to see. Your intelligence picture of this school is mine now. I control what you know about Beacon."

She stopped at the library door.

"What have you been feeding us?"

"Accurate information. Mixed with three specific false data points designed to mislead your operational planning. I'll tell you which ones when you come back."

"How do you know I'll come back?"

"Because you need to know which data points are false. And because you're curious." He went back to his notes. "Same time tomorrow. Sit with your back to the pillar instead of the wall. Better sightlines."

Cinder left. She was shaking by the time she got to the Bullhead departure point.


She came back the next day.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
On the third visit, she told him about Salem.

Not everything. Not the full history. But enough. The name. The immortality. The Grimm. The Relics. The goal.

Jaune wrote it down without expression.
"The Grimm are controlled by Salem directly?" he asked.

"Yes."
"Frequency-based?"
Cinder blinked. "What?"

"Grimm respond to negative emotions. Negative emotions have measurable frequencies, fear, anger, hatred, despair. If Salem controls them, she's either using a biological mechanism, pheromones, probably, given the range, or an energetic one. A signal that overrides their natural behavior and directs them toward targets." He paused. "Your virus uses a signal to control infected scrolls. Salem uses a signal to control Grimm. The underlying principle is the same."

"That's... actually a good analogy."
"It's not an analogy. It's a model. And if both control mechanisms are signal-based, they can both be disrupted."

Cinder went very still.

"You're not serious."

"I spent three days figuring out your virus. How long do you think it would take me to figure out Salem's?"

"Salem isn't a computer program. She's an immortal being who..."

"Operates through physical mechanisms in a physical world. Everything physical has rules. Everything with rules has weaknesses." He met her eyes. "Your boss has been running unopposed for millennia because no one has ever approached her as an engineering problem. They treat her as a myth. A force of nature. Something to be endured, not solved."

"And you think you can solve her."

"I think I can model her. Build a framework. Find the pressure points." He tapped his notebook. "I already have three hypotheses about how her Grimm control works and two potential disruption methods. I need more data to test them, which means I need access to Grimm outside of combat conditions. Controlled observation."

"You want me to get you Grimm."

"I want you to get me time with Grimm. Uncontrolled but observed. I need to measure their behavioral baseline when Salem isn't actively directing them versus when she is. The difference will tell me which control mechanism she's using."

Cinder rubbed her temples.

"You're out of your mind."

"Probably. But I'm also right. And you know it, or you wouldn't keep coming back."

She didn't have an answer for that.



On day ten, Cinder arrived in black and gold.

Jaune noticed immediately. Not because of the aesthetic, the tailored fit, the military cut, the mantle that moved like liquid shadow, but because of what it meant.

"You changed your operational profile," he said, not looking up from his scroll.

"It's an outfit."

"It's a statement. Your previous clothing was designed for infiltration, neutral colors, no distinguishing features, easy to blend in or discard. This is designed for identification. You want to be recognized. Not hidden." He turned a page. "You've decided which side you're on."

Cinder sat down. "Don't read too much into it."

"I don't read too much into anything. I read exactly the right amount." He looked at her. "It looks good. The gold accents complement your aura signature."

Cinder's face did something complicated.

"Is that...you can't just..."

"I observed that you respond positively to competent acknowledgment. Not flattery. Flattery triggers your defensive instincts because you associate it with manipulation. Competent acknowledgment,specific, accurate, grounded in observable reality, disarms you because you have no defense against being actually seen."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't," she admitted quietly. "And I hate that I don't hate you."

Jaune went back to his scroll.

"Bring Emerald next time. I need to talk to her."

"About what?"

"About whether she wants to keep following you into a plan that's going to fail, or whether she'd prefer an alternative."

"Jaune..."

"I'm not poaching your people. I'm offering them a choice. Which is more than Salem ever did."

Cinder stared at the side of his head for a long time.

"When did you become like this?"

"Day one. When the rock hit my skull." He paused. "I think the fear was holding everything else back. All the processing power I had, all the pattern recognition, all the analytical capacity, it was all there. But it was buried under a layer of self-doubt so thick I couldn't access any of it. The concussion burned that layer away." He looked at his hands. "Sometimes I wonder if it'll come back. The fear. If my head heals completely, do I go back to being... me? The old me?"

"Do you want to?"

"No."

"That's honest."

"It's data. I'm not capable of being anything else right now." He turned a page. "Bring Emerald."



Emerald came on day twelve. She was hostile, defensive, and ready to fight.

Jaune didn't engage with any of it.

He showed her the virus architecture. The surveillance feeds. The data her own scroll had been sending about her, location, audio, camera, every moment of every day for months.

"Your scroll has been recording you in private," he said flatly. "Salem knows everything you've said and done in the last six months that happened within range of your device. Everything. Every conversation with Cinder. Every private moment. Everything you thought no one else would see."

Emerald went pale.

"She's been watching you. Not protecting you. Not mentoring you. *Watching* you. The same way she watches everyone. Because to her, you're not a person. You're a data point."

Emerald looked at Cinder.

Cinder looked away.

"She knows," Emerald whispered.

"Yes," said Jaune. "And she accepted it because she thought it was normal. It's not normal. It's surveillance. And the fact that it didn't occur to either of you to be angry about it tells me everything I need to know about how Salem operates."

Emerald sat down.

She didn't get up for three hours.

Mercury was simpler. Jaune showed him the prosthetic leg analysis, how he'd identified the hydraulic flaw from footage of him simply walkimg around, and offered to fix it.

"Can you actually do that?" Mercury asked.

"Yes."

"Why would you?"

"Because you're useful to me, and useful people should have functioning equipment. Broken tools reflect poorly on the operator." He paused. "Salem knew about your leg flaw. Did she ever fix it?"

Mercury didn't answer.

"That's a no. She left you with a vulnerability because it gave her leverage. If your legs failed at a critical moment, she could blame you for the failure and replace you. You were never fully functional because functional people don't need you."

Mercury's jaw clenched. "Sit down. I'll need measurements."
He sat.

Watts received a data packet containing a complete analysis of the virus's structural weaknesses, proposed solutions for each, and a note: *"Your work is impressive but you're being underutilized. Under my operational structure, you'd have unrestricted resources. Consider this an audition."

Watts ran the solutions. All of them worked. Most were better than his own fixes.

He sent back one message: *"Who are you?"

Jaune replied: "The variable."

Watts joined the next day.

Hazel required a personal visit. Jaune went alone. Explained what he knew about Salem's surveillance of her own people. Explained that Gretchen's death had been used, not avenged. Explained that Salem kept Hazel close not out of respect but out of convenience, he was useful, angry, and obedient, how she had more of a hand in his sister death then she thought
.

Hazel cried.

Jaune sat with him until he stopped.
Tyrian tried to kill him. Jaune disarmed him in four seconds, put a sword to his throat, and said: "Salem sent you because I'm the first variable she couldn't predict. That means I'm more dangerous than anyone she's faced in centuries. You can kill me, and she'll find someone else to solve the problems I'm solving. Or you can help me, and be part of the solution instead of the cleanup crew. "

Tyrian left, then came back three days later, to try again and again. And no matter what he cant win. So he will let this play out and if his Goddess cant defeat this boy then she is not a goddess.

"Hate you," he said.

"Noted. Stand over there. You block my light."


Day thirty. Same table. Same library. Same corkboard, now massively expanded.

Cinder sat across from him. Emerald beside her. Mercury against the wall. Watts on a scroll call. Hazel standing sentinel. Tyrian in the corner, grinning.

His team now.

Jaune pinned a new diagram to the wall.

"The virus gave me everything I need to understand Salem's operation. But the virus also gave me something I didn't expect." He pointed to a section of the network map that had been highlighted in blue. "The tier-three commands. The ones from outside Haven. They don't come from nowhere. They come from a specific location that I've now triangulated."

Silence.

"Here." He tapped a point on the map. A geographic coordinate in the wilds of northern Anima. "That's where Salem is. That's where the master signal originates. And that's where I'm going."

"You're going to walk up to Salem's front door," said Mercury flatly.

"I'm going to do more than that. I'm going to use her own control network against her." Jaune pulled up a new set of diagrams. "Salem controls the Grimm through a signal. I've confirmed this, the virus's tier-three commands and the Grimm behavioral patterns share the same underlying frequency structure. Same author, same system. Which means the virus isn't just a surveillance tool. It's a key. It's built on the same architecture as Salem's Grimm control. Its quit impressive she was able to replicte her ability to control grim into a barebones computer virus, then give it to you walts."

He let that land.

"If I can modify the virus to broadcast on Salem's frequency, I can talk to the Grimm. Not perfectly. Not with her level of control. But enough to disrupt her command authority. Enough to make her Grimm ignore her."

Cinder's eyes went wide.

"You'd sever her connection to her own army."

"I'd interfere with it. Severing might not be possible, her control is biological as well as energetic. But interference? Disruption? Turning her greatest weapon into a liability?" He smiled. Cold. Precise. "That I can do."
"And then?"

"And then we take the Relics before she does. All four. Not to summon the Gods, to siphon them."

He explained the plan. The Relics as conduits. The bidirectional energy channel. The feedback loop. The convergence point. His semblance as the containment mechanism. Watts, on the scroll call, was silent for a long time after Jaune finished.

"You want to steal the Brother Gods' power," he said. "I want to harvest it. There's a difference."
"The difference being?"

"Stealing implies the owners can say no. They can't. Energy follows rules."
"This is insane."
"Is it wrong?" Another long silence.
"...No," Watts admitted. "It's not wrong."



The Grimm started behaving strangely.

Not all of them. Not obviously. But Salem felt it, a faint static in her control signal. Like interference on a radio. It came and went. Unpredictable. Maddening. She reached through the Grimm network to find the source.

She found a frequency she didn't recognize. Weak but persistent. Broadcasting on her channel. Someone was talking to her Grimm. She didnt even know it was possible.

Not controlling them. Not overriding her. But whispering to them. Quiet enough that they couldn't distinguish the whisper from her voice. Confusing them. Making them hesitate at critical moments. Salem traced the signal. It was coming from a scroll.

Not just any scroll. A scroll running a modified version of the virus she'd had Cinder deploy across the CCT network. A virus that was now broadcasting on her frequency. A virus written by a boy with a head injury. She destroyed three rooms in her fortress before she stopped screaming.


The center of Remnant. Four Relics. One concussed blond boy.

Salem arrived with everything she had. Every Grimm that hadn't been confused by Jaune's interference. Every scrap of power left in her ancient body. "You," she snarled. "You are nothing. A mortal child who found something he shouldn't have...."

"I found everything," Jaune said calmly. "Your virus. Your network. Your location. Your plan. Your weaknesses. I found it all through a loading screen glitch." He placed his hand on the convergence point. "You lost this war the day a rock hit my head and I noticed my scroll was acting weird."

He activated the Relics.

The sky cracked. The light poured through. The Brothers began to manifest. The siphon engaged. Salem felt her immortality draining.

She screamed. Charged. Tried to kill him with everything she had left. His shield caught her blast and reflected it, a trick he'd developed by studying her magic through the virus's intercepted data packets. Her own power hit her so hard she cratered the ground.

"Your magic operates on a consistent frequency," he said, almost gently. "I've been reading it for weeks. You have no secrets from me."

95%.

96%.

97%.

The Brothers flickered. Diminished. Drained.

Salem aged a decade in thirty seconds.

98%.

99%.

Team rwby, ozpin and qrow just land.
Ruby's silver eyes hit the rift. The oscillation spiked. 101%. 110%.

Jaune screamed. Cinder hit him from behind, wrapped her arms around him, and grounded the overflow with her Maiden power. Glass and fire contained the blast to thirty feet. The rift sealed. The Brothers vanished, Drained and Gone.

Then Pure Silence.

He opened his eyes to a white ceiling.

Pyrrha was holding his hand. Ruby was asleep in a chair. Nora was eating a pudding cup. Ren was reading. Cinder was in the corner. Hospital gown. Ruined uniform. Pretending she wasn't there. "Did it work?"

"The Brothers are gone," Pyrrha said. "Salem is human. The Grimm are just animals now." "The virus?" "Still in the CCT network. Watts shut down the surveillance functions. It's just... sitting there. Dormant." "Good. Keep it dormant. It's useful infrastructure. We can repurpose it later."

He turned his head. Saw Cinder. "You saved my life." "You miscalculated." "I know. The silver-eye variable. I should have accounted for Ruby's instinct to intervene." "Are you going to put that in your notebook?" "Yes."

Cinder stood up. Walked to his bedside. Leaned down. Kissed his forehead. "You're still insufferable." Then she Walked out.


Epilogue: Six Months Later

Jaune's head healed. The cold clarity faded. The fear came back, quietly, slowly, like fog rolling in. But some things stayed.

His combat skills didn't degrade. His body remembered everything. His analytical mind stayed sharp, even if it was wrapped in normal-Jaune awkwardness again.

His aura still glowed faintly white in the dark.
The virus stayed dormant in the CCT network, waiting. A tool built by villains, repurposed by a boy who'd noticed a loading screen glitch.

Cinder ran the network from a small apartment in Vale. She wore the black and gold every day. She visited on Thursdays. They sat in the library. Same table. Same silence.

"You tripped over a rug today," she said. "I'm aware." "And then accidentally dismantled a training dummy." "Also aware." "You were scarier with a concussion." "I know."

Cinder looked at him. Warm eyes. Cold woman. Softening in a way she'd never allowed herself to soften before. "I liked both versions," she said. "Yeah?" said Jaune. "Don't push it."
He grinned. Dorky, awkward, but him.

And somewhere in Atlas, in a prison cell, growing old for the first time in millennia, Salem stared at the wall and whispered the sentence she'd been whispering for six months:

"A...fucking...loading screen."

 

[zMADLAXz]

....Holy shit dawg, that was good.

 

[ThunderBasilisk]

Theres a reason people fear what an unshackled AI can do. Jaune wasn't quite there but the apology fits all the same. Dude managed to kill two Gods.

 

[Ardrianian]

Jaune as Mordin... peak intelligence, no hesitation, and pattern recognition FTW

 

[Gur40]

Jaune special interest being Armor to Ruby Weapons would be fun

Spoiler: Jaune

Who else has a hour long rant of there favorite topic... besides Blake on her 'literature'

---

Speaking of Blake

Spoiler: Assassin vs Acrobat

Both fight using momentum but who is better? [Spoiler Neo]

---

Glynda x Jaune Simplified

Spoiler: They get this sent to them by Friends

Jaune is very smug/proud of dating/marrying Glynda

---

What Does Fuchsia Look Like?

Spoiler: Design ideas

Twin or different looking?
Speaking of Fuchsia her giving a lecture on 'biology' or telling Jaune his 'acting' had consequences with a kid

---

Fusion idea, Team JNPR find a magical artifact to fuse together

Spoiler: f

and maybe find a lost new friend