Vigil (Worm/RWBY self-insert)

[Vector_Seven]

Summary: A post-GM Taylor helps a plucky OC/SI assemble a cross-dimensional team to save the universe. Not a single one of our intrepid heroes are anywhere close to mentally stable.

Author's note: While this version of Taylor doesn't have her bug powers, she does have several different abnormal (as in beyond human) abilities which will be revealed in due time. This story is at least two-thirds crack, maybe more like three-quarters. Crossovers are numerous, though RWBY is the main one. Updates are unlikely to follow any kind of reasonable schedule, because my life is a hot mess right now.

TLDR: This is a post-GM crossover-fusion crack story featuring Taylor, an OC-SI, and Team RWBY.

(Fair warning here, folks: I have no grand plan or strategy for this thing. None at all.)

RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth Productions. Worm belongs to Wildbow.

***

Chapter One: Rock Bottom

I should have known better than to challenge Taylor Hebert on anything related to the philosophy of literature, because she is merciless. Case in point:

"…and that's why your whole argument, especially the first half, is bullshit. Seriously, Richard, it's like you're not even trying. Anyway, who are we recruiting tonight? If you're about to say something like 'Taylor, you're going to have to wear a stupid dress, since this is a swanky nightclub,' I may be forced to strangle you."

I quickly try to reassure the former (and arguably current) Queen of Escalation that her concerns are groundless. It helps that I just happen to have exactly the right tech-gadget for this situation. Yet again, the extra-dimensional bag of holding (in the form of my coat pockets) saves the day.

"Nah, we'll just fake it with some holograms. To answer your question, though, we're recruiting a woman named Blake. Try not to say anything about the cat ears, please."

Taylor gives me a searching look, like she can't tell if I'm joking or not.

The nightclub is classy but generic. As Taylor and I walk in, holo-disguises firmly in place, I immediately spot our target. Blake is sitting in a corner booth, alone. Well, not entirely alone; she seems to be in the company of a very impressive (and diverse) collection of colorful alcoholic drinks in crystal glasses. Half of them are already empty. I can spot someone drinking to get shit-faced drunk from a mile away, and this is a textbook case of it. Taylor and I approach the cat-girl, who is wearing a wrinkled, faded black dress that has seen better days.

I do the whole 'clear my throat unnecessarily loudly' thing, because I've always wanted to do that. Blake studiously ignores me. I gesture to Taylor to follow my lead, and the two of us sit down across from the inebriated huntress. After a good five seconds of silence, Blake proceeds to woo me with her legendary charisma.

"Fuck off. Both of you."

Well, I'd be lying if I said that was a surprise. Still, I have something that Blake wants. Possibly the only thing that Blake wants, actually. Time to cut to the chase. I lean in, trying to meet her eyes without being creepy.

"Look, we know who you are, Blake. I want to talk to you about your team. Your old team, I mean."

Blake gives a dry chuckle that is completely devoid of any actual humor.

"Hilarious, but my team is dead. I got them killed."

Oh, right. It figures that Blake would be one of those. You know, one of the people who somehow blames herself for being the only survivor of that one epic battle, and ignores any pesky facts that might break the miserable, self-mutilating narrative. I've seen this before. I'm sure Taylor has, too. Anyway, I'm a busy guy with many, many important things to do, so I skip to the sales pitch.

"Death is just a temporary inconvenience, Blake. You know, if you are a genius with the ability to manipulate space and time. Come work with us, and you'll see your friends again. I can bring them back. Honestly, truly bring them back, not a zombie-slash-flesh-golem kind of thing. Genuine, living, breathing resurrection."

In all honesty, I personally can't actually do any of that, but I recently built a little black box that can. Semantics, though. Blake meets my eyes for the first time in this whole conversation.

"You are… wow. You actually believe that, don't you? Hm, you don't look crazy, so it's gotta be tech of some sort. I'm listening."

Now we're getting somewhere. I grin.

"Good. The name's Richard, and my partner here is Taylor. Let's take this outside."

***

For someone with this much booze in her system, Blake seems fairly alert. That probably indicates an alarmingly high alcohol tolerance built up through extensive practice, but that's a worry for another time. The three of us are outside, in what appears to be a junkyard full of rusting metal… things. It's hard to tell in the dark, honestly. Blake is talking.

"So, you need someone with a strong emotional connection to the deceased. Right. Well, you guys seem to have done your homework, so we-"

I promptly cut her off, because she's trying to steal my explanation speech. What a bitch. It's my turn to bring the delicious exposition, woman!

"We'll start with Yang, for obvious reasons. You'll be the anchor. Then Yang anchors Ruby, then Ruby anchors Weiss, then the whole gang is back together. Then we go save the universe. Ready?"

Blake nods, a little too eager. There's a look of pure, ravenous desperation in her amber eyes. I'd bet money that she was drinking to forget her dead (well, not dead for much longer) friends. The survivor's guilt is strong with this one.

I consider making a little show out of this, but quickly decide against it. Theatrics are for people with time to waste. I am not one of those people. With a thought, my coat coughs up the Threshold Engine from my nearly-infinite holding space, and I press the only button on it. The button is, naturally, bright red, because you have to respect the classics.

Reality twists. The air crackles faintly with static electricity. Blake gasps. Taylor remains cool as a cucumber. With an utter lack of dramatic explosions or flashing lights, a curvy blonde girl with a cybernetic arm is suddenly standing before us.

After a short moment of hesitation, Blake violently attack-hugs her partner, then starts quietly weeping into Yang's jacket, squeezing the blonde with frankly terrifying force. If Yang didn't have the whole Aura-bullshit thing going for her, she'd probably have a few broken ribs at this point. Blake is clinging to Yang like the blonde might vanish without constant physical contact.

Taylor and I discreetly step away, letting the two huntresses have a moment alone. In order to kill time, I give Taylor a thirty-second briefing on huntress weapons, aura, and the bullshit known only as 'semblance.' Taylor nods at appropriate intervals. I idly wonder if she already has a plan to kill Yang and Blake, because that's exactly the kind of thing that the classic Skitter-Taylor would do. Old habits die hard.

Who am I kidding? Taylor probably knows at least five different ways to kill me, if not more. Considering how augmented I am, that's quite difficult for your average human to pull off.

Twenty tear-filled minutes later, the fully reassembled Team RWBY is ready to go. The four of them follow Taylor and I through a portal to our next destination, and my next recruitment pitch. The universe ain't gonna save itself, you know.

***

[sixteen hours later]

"They're good."

Thus spoke Taylor Hebert, in the understatement of the century.

Currently, Taylor and I were watching Team RWBY fight roughly a thousand Grimm of all shapes and sizes. At the same time. In an open field.

Since I am not a moron (and neither is Taylor, for that matter) the two of us were watching from a small hill a generous distance away from the action. Taylor was wrong, though. The four Huntress girls weren't good; they were in-fucking-credible. Honestly, even using the term 'fight' is a little deceptive, because it implies that the Grimm might possibly win. 'Slaughter' is much more accurate language.

The Grimm had overwhelming numbers, raw power, speed, reach, height advantage, and sufficient coordination to not trip over each other. It wasn't great teamwork, not compared to the four girls at the center of the carnage, but it should have been enough. After, all, quantity has its own quality, to quote Stalin. The dark tide of beasts should have simply swamped the four encircled warriors. The Grimm had almost every advantage, here.

The Grimm had no fucking chance whatsoever.

Ruby swung Crescent Rose around like it was nearly weightless, and every strike ended one of the creatures in a puff of black ash. With no pattern that I could discern, the usually-adorable crimson terror occasionally interrupted her hurricane of death to shoot one of the minions trying to swarm her, blowing it apart with the gun aspect of her sniper-scythe. Honestly, I had no idea how she selected which Grimm to shoot, which ones to slice, and which ones to leave to her teammates. It was a mesmerizing, fast-paced dance. If the Grimm had conventional blood, Crescent Rose would have been soaked with it.

The other three huntresses weren't exactly idle, either. Weiss danced around on glyphs that blatantly violated the laws of physics, and each precise stab of Myrtenaster killed or maimed an unlucky Grimm. Blake performed ridiculous acrobatics with Gambol Shroud's whip-function, pulling Grimm into lethal stabs and point-blank gunshots like a conductor. Yang… well, Yang punched things to death with extreme prejudice. A corona of fire shone from her mane of blonde hair, burning nearby Grimm but never touching any of Team RWBY. The occasional gunshot from Ember Celica let Yang change direction impossibly fast. I was pretty sure that recoil didn't work like that. Shouldn't work like that, I mean.

The level of coordination between the four of them was just totally insane. Every move from every fighter provided cover for at least one other person. Every attack was also a flanking action to support a follow-up strike from someone else. Over and over again, one of the RWBY gang exposed herself to otherwise-lethal attacks from Grimm talons… only to be rescued by a punch, stab, or slice from a teammate.

It was like watching one mind in four bodies.

If any of them missed a step, it could have been lethal. This was all theoretical, though, because none of them ever did.

As if all of that wasn't impressive enough, the four murder-machines seemed to actually be enjoying their workout. Friendly banter punctuated the whole melee, and my enhanced hearing caught wind of a bet on who would end up with the most kills. During the whole massacre, the Huntress team kept up the same air of friendly competition you'd find at a casual video gaming match between friends. It was unbelievable. I finally snap out of my thoughts, and answer Taylor.

"That's putting it mildly. Got any more energy bars? Strawberry if you have it, but anything will do, really."

Without taking her eyes off the battle, Taylor dexterously tosses one of the calorie-dense things to me. Her replacement arm is a biomechanical masterpiece of style, function, and efficiency. I ought to know; I built it.

As I munch on the survival bar, I notice that the curbstomp is coming to an end. Only a handful of Grimm remain, and those that have survived were canny enough to avoid the killing zone that surrounded the four humans. These Grimm were a tad smarter, it seemed, but it didn't matter. They died just like their dumber brethren.

As the last monster disintegrated into ash, it quickly became apparent who had won the body-count competition. Yang, dispelling any illusions of maturity, seemed to be doing an elaborate victory dance, complete with sound effects. Blake, Ruby, and Weiss all gave simultaneous exasperated sighs. For the moment, we were safe.

That evening, the nightmares started.

 

[Jeff Roy]

Okay, Imma gonna need some backstory but otherwise, YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION!

 

[IsaacTheAutobot1229]

I just found this and I freaking love it. I am now a fish, because this has me hooked!

 

[Im_just_a_Reader]

This is very VERY confusing...

Also... never mind.

 

[Vector_Seven]

Maybe the horrible, twisted, blood-soaked fever dreams will go away if I ignore them.

In the present, I scowl at the projected screen of my omni-tool, trying to force it to give me different results through sheer willpower. As so often happens in these situations, it remains stubbornly unchanged.

I let out a weary sigh. Might as well break it to the team, then.

"Well, folks, the good news is that the next three names on our list are all in one place, so we won't have to run around the whole damn multiverse looking for them. The bad news is that the place in question is basically a fortress, complete with walls, guns, guards, and any number of other nasty surprises."

Yang, far from looking resigned or depressed at this news, looks positively thrilled.

"So, we bust them all out of jail, punch some faces, and then break for margaritas! When do we start?"

Honestly, the blonde brawler isn't far off the mark. That's probably going to end up being the plan, unless we're spectacularly lucky. Peaceful negotiation worked for Taylor and then again for the RWBY girls, but it almost certainly won't work this time.

Weiss, ever the type to focus on actual details, speaks next.

"So we're breaking into a prison, then? Sounds… chaotic. Can you tell us anything about the defenses other than some generalities?"

As it so happens, I honestly can't, and I tell her so. Weiss frowns.

"Very well, then. Can you at least tell us who we're rescuing?"

I need to tread carefully here, because I know way, way too much about two out of three of them. Best to keep most of that information private, at least for now. Fortunate, then, that my self-designed augmentations include keeping tight control over my microexpressions. Barring someone who can use literal magic to detect untruths, I'm confident in my ability to fool others.

"Sure. The files are partial-" I say, lying shamelessly, "-but I've got a little info. Subject One is a human female, with exceptional stealth and combat skills. There's also a note about some kind of mind-linked familiar, which probably means a combat animal of some type. The only other notes mention knives and short swords as Subject One's choice weapons."

Ruby is suddenly all up in my personal space. Damn, those are adorable puppy-dog eyes. Any normal human would melt instantly. I, however, am unmoved. She sounds eager; then again, Ruby always sounds eager.

"Do you have her name? Age? Favorite flavor of cookie?"

I tell her that I do not, which is largely bullshit. I might not know her favorite cookie flavor, but I do have a pretty full dossier on this one. Best not to reveal that, though. Ruby looks disappointed, but accepts my lie.

I clear my throat pointedly, and Ruby suddenly jumps/teleports backwards, then motions for me a continue. Seeing the scythe-wielding girl's reaction, Taylor lets her mouth quirk into the slightest hint of a smile. I keep talking.

"Right, then. Subject Two, also human, also female. Wide array of weapon skills, with a note mentioning bows and crossbows specifically. No magic or other extras for her."

Blake's left ear twitches towards me. It would be adorable, if it didn't remind me of a cat about to claw my eyes out. Can she detect lies with some Faunus bullshit? No, no way. My tinkering with my reactions should definitely fool even her. So why does Blake still make me uneasy?

"And Subject Three, not human at all. Both the gender and the species files were too damaged to recover, so it's anyone's guess on both counts. Special powers include 'limited bursts of invulnerability' along with enhanced strength, speed and senses. Seems like it has permanent immunity to mind control effects, too. For this one, we do have a name, even though it's only a project code. It's 'Shadow,' for all the good that does us."

Team RWBY waits expectantly, but that's all I'm giving them for now. After a second, the four huntresses go back to packing up their stuff for the portal jump.

Taylor, a little ways off to the side, catches me eye. She glances at Blake, then at me, then raises one eyebrow very slightly, and I catch her unspoken query. To reassure Taylor, I give a tiny shake of my head. The overly inquisitive cat Faunus is not an immediate problem, in my personal opinion. Taylor seems to agree, and the subject is dropped for now.

Five minutes later, the Threshold Engine has torn a rift across space and time, and the six of us stroll on through.

***

Because nothing ever goes according to plan, the compound we're looking at is already partially on fire. At least four different, incredibly sound alarms are going off simultaneously, and every so often a few figures in white lab coats run out of gaping holes in the walls, screaming.

Among the feeling scientists (or whatever they are) are quite a few soldiers, who also look like they are scared shitless. Whatever's happening inside the building, their guns (which appear to be some kind of World War One era rifle) are evidently useless.

Taylor, RWBY, and I all take in the sight of the burning fortress. As if to punctuate this whole nightmarish situation, a small explosion goes off, followed by a much large one that takes a chunk out of the surviving wall. At one point, the barrier was probably twenty-plus feet off solid concrete or stone, but right now it's mostly rubble. Several melted guard towers appear to have been hit with a high-energy laser weapon or some kind, no doubt resulting in a messy death for anyone caught inside. The hellishly loud alarms, explosions, occasional gunshot, and other unrecognizable noises add a horrible kind of ambiance to the whole picture.

In other words, an average Wednesday in my line of work.

Yang, looking like a kid who is determined to get some candy before it's all gone, launches herself forward with a blast from Ember Celica, followed closely by the rest of her team. Taylor and I, being a little less prone to close-range violence, hang back as usual.

I've been working on a way to fix Taylor's ability, with decidedly mixed results. After a tiny bit of brain surgery, the former Queen of Escalation is back to remote control, albeit in a much more limited way. She can control the tiny biomechanical insect drones produced by my matter fabricator, but only about two dozen at once. I'm not sure if the limitation is from my tech or her brain damage, but I'm determined to figure it out somehow.

Presently, team RWBY returns to us, though they only have two figures in tow. Whoever or whatever the 'Shadow' creature is, it hasn't shown itself yet. That probably explains why people are still fleeing the building as if the hounds of hell were pursuing them.