RWBY: Gray Dawn(Revised)

October 5th , Downtown Vale, Monday, 12:05 PM

A crisp autumn chill carried through the streets; its brisk pace only undermined by the sparse strands of sunlight that pierced the oppressive overcast. It was on this moody day, in this bleak city that three young women walked. Their pace even, but their eyes sharp, cautious as they passed one alleyway after another.

Pyrrha, Ruby, and Blake strode down the street, unphased by the crackle of distant gunfire, but tensing when Ruby’s careless steps sent a stray tin can clanking down the sidewalk.

Ruby flashed a sheepish smile to Pyrrha and Blake. “Sorry!” she stage whispered.

Their mission was simple, yet delicate. Outreach. Outreach in a predominately Faunus neighborhood just four months after the Gray Dawn leaks. Four months after rioters tried to raze what was left of Beacon out of protest.

Blake knew how they’d look to these people. Brazen at best, and like vultures at worst. They didn’t have a choice though. Between Beacon’s casualties, the surge of civilian Semblance awakenings, and the Grimm lurking in the streets, they couldn’t be too picky. And It’s not like Beacon wasn’t trying to change since the leaks.

Tuition was waived for anyone with a Semblance. Food, lodging, and amenities were a given; a natural selling point since half the city didn’t have power. The problem was trust. After everything came out, Beacon looked less like a school and more like a cult. Optics that Blake knew would undermine them at every turn. With a sigh, Blake glanced over at Ruby, who was still clutching three plates of saran wrapped cookies, a casual contrast to the official-looking pamphlets that Pyrrha held.

“Sooooo,” Ruby chirped, glancing at Blake and Pyrrha to her left and right respectively. “I was thinking—once they get a cookie, we reel them in with how awesome our forge is! Oh, oh—and how much we encourage custom builds! Our sales pitch could be like: ‘Beacon, home to the city’s only Build-A-Weapon workshop’!”

Blake gave Ruby a small smile. “That...is a selling point, yeah,” Blake murmured. She took a moment to choose her words, not wanting to dampen Ruby’s enthusiasm. “But maybe we should be a little more low-key.” Blake saw the slight droop in Ruby’s shoulders before quickly adding: “It’s nothing personal! You’re great at being approachable! It’s just that too much optimism might rub people the wrong way.”

Blake gestured ahead at the crude graffiti on the brick wall they were coming up on.

FUCK OZPIN!!!! Beacon lied and people died! It read.

“They might think we’re trying to gloss over everything that’s happened.” Blake said.

Ruby nodded, nibbling her lower lip. “Fair. We could...take turns talking? That way, people can hear different perspectives, instead of thinking we’re a creepy hivemind! What do you think, Pyrrha?”

But Pyrrha’s gaze was distant, her tired green eyes on the sidewalk as if searching for something she long forgot the name of. Pyrrha’s head snapped up after she registered her name being called. “Y-yes!” Pyrrha stammered. “Multiple perspectives. That sounds great!”

Blake and Ruby shared a look, but didn’t comment on it. Between the Fall and the Gray Dawn, it was a miracle Pyrrha was still holding up as well as she was. “A-anyways, we’re here!” Ruby exclaimed as she pointed to the relief shelter’s entrance.

Two Faunus guards—a wolf Faunus man with silver hair and a blond woman with lynx ears—stood on either side of the steps leading up to the front door. Their hands tightened on their battle-scarred assault rifles as they assessed the three of them.

Blake stepped forward. “We’re here on business. Beacon outreach.” To emphasize, Blake nodded to Ruby’s bright smile and saran wrapped cookies.

The man sneered then nodded towards the door.

The shelter was packed. There were easily eighty to one hundred twenty people within the modest re-purposed gymnasium. Mostly Faunus, but more than a few humans scattered about too. As they stepped further in, the overwhelming stench of collective body odor greeted them. Not surprising. A city in crisis meant needs going unmet.

Ruby’s smile tightened as she scrunched her nose, leading the way to the receptionist’s desk to their left. “Hi! I’m Ruby Rose and we’re fr—”

’Sarah’, according to the middle-aged hedgehog woman’s name tag, scoffed. “Save it,” she interrupted, her tone clipped. “I know why you’re here. Your table is over there. At the back wall. In the corner. You’ve got an hour.”

Blake nodded before guiding them through the crowd, toward the food-stained white plastic table near the far left of the shelter. Pyrrha followed, her head down as if trying to make herself smaller. Ruby fidgeted with her cape as she trailed behind them.

Few people noticed them right away. It was lunch-time so most were in line, chatting, or eating. The people that noticed shot them dirty looks as they waded through. And for a split second, Ruby could swear she saw the glint of a concealed weapon or two out of the corner of her eyes.

Despite the crusted grime on the table, Ruby did her best to make it look presentable. She aligned the three saran wrapped plates of cookies near the center, with two stacks of pamphlets on either side. Pyrrha stood to her left, scanning the crowd as if looking for someone before she sighed and turned her attention to their makeshift display.

Ruby stood on her tip-toes, eyeing the crowd as well. “So, uh, do we just wait for them to come to us or...?”

Blake looked thoughtful. "Maybe we should warm-up on someone who looks approachable. Hmm..."

Just then, the shelter's entrance opened and another figure stepped inside.

October 6th, Tuesday, 2:00 PM, Beacon Academy

Glynda Goodwitch had never felt like a fraud before. Beacon valedictorian early graduate at age 19, youngest combat professor on record at age 22, and deputy headmistress to Ozpin by age 24—all earned through nothing short of her own merits. And yet, as she hesitated to fill out Cardin Winchester’s death certificate, she felt like an absolute con woman.

Yet, it was part of the job. A morbid clerical duty expected of Beacon's new headmistress. Cardin's student record, a thick manila folder filled with demerits and petty fines; proof of his existence, anecdotes of the person he was during his short time on Remnant. And to the left of it, a single slip of paper. The words "Cause of death" waited on her input like a blank—

"Tombstone," Glynda murmured with an undercurrent of depressed realization. "Oh gods, that's it isn't it? Their records their remains, this faded wooden desk the coffin..." Glynda didn't continue the rumination, her right hand already gripping The Disciplinarian as her heart-raced. The room suddenly felt too small, too cramped; her breath short as her palms began to sweat.

Grief-induced anxiety. It was a term she'd come across during one of the many restless nights she spent reading instead of sleeping after the Fall. But despite knowing what it was, it didn't make it any easier to bear. Glynda forced her eyes closed and took several deep breaths, grounding herself before she opened them again. She willed herself to look at the room objectively, an anxiety exercise she learned.

It wasn’t like Ozpin’s old office, no. The top of Beacon Tower had been destroyed during the Fall, the salvaged remains of the Cross Continental Transmit System moved to a more secure location off-campus. No, this was the office of headmasters past, located just above the eastern training courtyard on the second floor of the administrations building. It wasn’t much, but it had everything Glynda needed--a workstation on the desk just off to the right, a salvaged coffee machine on a small table to the wall on her left, and some rust-tinged file cabinets behind her. Humble. Practical. Two things that Beacon should’ve been long before the Gray Dawn leaks.

As Glynda looked at the empty chairs in front of her desk, she remembered that Ruby, Pyrrha, and Blake would be back from their outreach duties soon. With a weary slump to her shoulders, Glynda sat back down and continued.

“Cardin Winchester,” Glynda whispered to herself as she wrote. “Killed in the line of duty during the Fall. Declined evacuation along with the rest of team CRDL. Instead, volunteered to hold the line for evacuating civilians. Cause of death...”

Glynda froze, her writing hand shaking as she recalled every grisly detail. Team CFVY had recovered his corpse during a particularly warm afternoon. Velvet had retched on the spot, not from the smell, according to her, but because her sensitive hearing picked up on the maggots squelching inside what was left of Cardin’s face. The only silver lining was that his face had been chewed off postmortem.

The autopsy hadn’t been kinder. He had been swarmed by Lancers, stung fifteen times in his abdomen through chinks in his armor. In the end, it took a power saw to remove the plating due to the bloating and necrosis. Glynda collected herself once more before continuing to write. “Cause of death: overwhelmed by Lancers, stung fifteen times through gaps in his armor plating.”

Cardin was never Glynda’s favorite student. He was a troublemaker, a schoolyard bully who picked fights and belittled his peers. And despite that, even someone like Cardin conducted himself like a true Huntsman when it mattered. As Glynda slid the death certificate into Cardin’s folder, guilt stayed her hand when she went to reach for the DECEASED stamp. ‘It should’ve been me,’ Glynda thought bitterly to herself, forcing her hand to the stamp and pressing it down on Cardin’s folder. ‘Simple calculus; I got a promotion and he got an early grave. If only subtracting myself could add him and all the others back into the equation...’

Glynda got up from her desk and walked toward the window overlooking the training courtyard. A few brave(or desperate) souls had responded to their outreach efforts. As Glynda watched Jaune Arc gesture animatedly towards the new recruits, she already knew Beacon didn’t deserve them. The Gray Dawn ensured everyone knew about the lies, the secrets, the...grooming. Ozpin was a villain, according to the court of public opinion, and Glynda his loyal brainwashed mistress.

’If only the reality was that cut and dry...’ Glynda thought as she watched Weiss Schnee walk into the courtyard.

“U-uh, e-everyone, this is Weiss!” Jaune exclaimed, gesturing to an impassive looking Weiss. “Weiss Schnee. She’ll be, uh, assisting with your orientation.”

Weiss resisted a strong urge to roll her eyes at Jaune’s lackluster introduction. Instead she crossed her arms and glared at the four recruits. Fresh from the streets or from a homeless shelter by the looks of them. “From left to right,” Weiss confidently projected. “Please state your name and why you’re here!”

A young lanky deer Faunus man with blue eyes and messy brown hair spoke up. “Uh, because I wanna learn how to use my Semblance. Oh, and my name is Adrian!”

Weiss then turned an expectant gaze towards the next person, a twenty something freckled blonde young woman wearing a green dew rag and denim overalls. There was an oil stain on her right cheek. “Sup! I’m Annie! Beacon’s got the only working weapons forge left, right? Figured I can keep tinkering while helping out.”

“And I’m Bruno!” A wider set, imposing Rhino Faunus man boomed. His small rhino horn for a nose matching his greasy gray hair. He was easily 300 pounds at about 6’3”. “I wanna beat the shit outta some Grimm!”

Weiss’s eyebrow twitched at the needless vulgarity from Bruno’s introduction, but she wisely decided to keep this moving along. She took a small breath and looked at the last recruit. “And what about you?”

October 7th, Wednesday, 1:00 PM, Vale Outskirts, Fort Krieg

At precisely 1300 hours, Winter Schnee strode into Spec Ops’ temporary briefing room. A quick scan revealed everyone requested was at attendance. Harriet Bree, Elm Ederne, Marrow Amin, and Vine Zeki—the most capable members of Ace Ops, her most trusted personnel. Winter should’ve felt relief upon seeing them, having been the sole Ace Ops member stationed in Vale since the Fall. Instead, there was tension coiling in her stomach. Atlas was already stretched thin, their military’s strength and intelligence compromised due to the Black Queen virus during the Fall and the Gray Dawn leaks months after. And Cinder? Still at large. Having most of Ace Ops here felt like a lethal case of overreach.

“At ease,” Winter said, stopping them from rising from their seats. Except Harriet, her speed put her at attention before Winter could stop her. Winter walked to the front of the room, stopping in front of the round circular table. She tapped the projection module in the center of it, displaying a holographic map of Vale. “I trust you all read your mission briefings during the flight. Since time is short, ask your questions now so we can spare the redundancies.”

Harriet, now back in her seat, looked to the map before meeting Winter’s gaze. “Ma’am, what’s the current status of the Supernovas?”

Winter anticipated that question. The Supernova dossiers they were given were little over a month out of date by now, a single skirmish could make all of it dated within the span of a day. “Alive and active,” Winter replied coolly. “Orion, Angus, and Carla are the most visible. Angus patrols the walls with a loosely coordinated gang of rogue Grimm hunters, Orion’s patrols overlap with Beacon’s, but he usually steers clear of Atlas's. Carla and her ‘Builders’ are focused on infrastructure repair. Tyler Streak has a knack for instigation, but his main priority is streaming his vigilante antics.”

Harriet frowned at the mention of Tyler Streak. In her opinion he was a prime example of why institutions like Atlas and Beacon were necessary. He had an amazing Semblance—velocity manipulation. He’d be a game-changer in high stakes conflicts. Likely even stopping fights before they ever started. But no, he wasted his gift on showboating for an online audience in a crumbling city. Him being a direct counter to her own Semblance didn’t help the matter either.

“What about the bug girl and the street artist?” Elm asked, her arms crossed.

“Natalee Brown and Zerra Hawkins,” Winter replied, giving Elm a slight nod. “Ghosts, the both of them. Natalee hasn’t been seen since the summer riots and Zerra has gone underground. Rumors say she harasses NeoNites, but there’s nothing concrete about her motives.”

Elm snorted. “Great. Why do I have the feeling that we ought to be worried about the quiet ones?”

“That does raise the question of the other one...” Vine murmured, his eyes fixed on the map.

“O-oh yeah!” Marrow interjected, his tail swishing slightly. “The Seventh Supernova! The one that saved Nikos. Do we have any leads yet?”

Winter patiently gestured towards the map, gesturing at several Grimm hot-zones in red around certain neighborhoods. “Nothing conclusive yet. However, we’ve learned that some neighborhoods are suspiciously Grimm-free consistently, neighborhoods outside of the usual patrol routes. We suspect quieter rogue Semblance users or—”

“The Seventh hiding in one of them,” Harriet finished, crossing her arms. “Our orders, Ma’am?”

“Publicly,” Winter replied, her eyes narrowing slightly at being interrupted. “we’re to identify, detain, and neutralize any rogue Semblance user that’s a threat to themselves, civilians, or the city at large. Amber level potential only.”

The room fell silent. Amber level was code for Maiden-level or any Semblance that could rival one in terms of power or application. Given that Vale was on the verge of collapse, any intervention called for precision. Spec Ops level precision.

“Privately?” Vine asked.

Winter tapped the projector once more, changing the projection to a holographic one of Shade Knight. The shimmering, translucent blue hologram showed an intimidating-looking man in leather armor, a cape, holding a blunted sword. His face obscured by a visored barbuta. “Shade Knight. No name, no other aliases. Hostility towards Atlas’ authority has increased since the Fall, but this particular individual has gone out of his way to target Atlas soldiers. He’s hospitalized 5 patrols in the last two weeks; non-lethal force, mostly broken bones.”

“Semblance?” Harriet asked.

”Shadow Warp,” Winter replied. “Witnesses state that he can travel freely between shadows. Obvious preference for guerilla tactics and most active at night. What makes him a particular person of interest is that he was active before the Gray Dawn leaks.”

Elm’s eyes widened at the implication. “This man had a grudge before the rest of the world had reason to. We're sure he wasn’t a player during the Fall?”

“Negative. The earliest reports of him are four weeks after the Fall. Months before the Gray Dawn leaks. No direct evidence of ties to Cinder but we can’t rule that out,” Winter answered. “I’ll be blunt; General Ironwood wants him captured and at an interrogation black site yesterday.” Winter paused, letting the implications sink in before continuing. “Elm, Vine, and Marrow—you all will be the backbone of a special detainment unit. Harriet, you’ll be heading a specialized and discreet unit of urban scouts. All of you will receive your unit rosters by 1600 hours today. Any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads. There wasn’t much more to say. The grim reality of their work awaited beyond the fortified walls of Fort Krieg. “Dismissed.” Winter said.

An hour later, Winter was pacing down a row of at-attention Privates. They were fresh off this afternoon’s drop ship and one look at them told her they weren’t ready for deployment in an urban hot-zone. Fresh-faced and bright eyed; a few of them didn’t look any older than Weiss. Some of them were from Mantle, Winter knew. Their street smarts would give them better survival odds than the Privates raised in Atlas. That was just a fact. Cushy Grimm simulations and paper tests simply didn’t account for hostile disaster zones.

“Eyes sharp!” Winter barked, stopping in front of the row with her hands at parade rest. “Some of you may think that this city is waiting for big, strong capable soldiers to come and rescue it, that all it takes is Atlesian discipline and a well-aimed shot.” Winter paused, her eyes drifting to a particular recruit on the far left end of the row for a brief moment. “This is a city that’s lost its patience with authority and would-be heroes. You’ll be fighting Grimm and bad PR in equal measure. Is it fair? No. Is it our duty to help regardless of material or social gain? Yes.”

Her words hung in the air. Winter could see jaws tightening, nervous swallows, and brief flickers of unease on their faces. Personally, she couldn’t blame them. A quarter of them weren’t going to survive the end of the month. The rest were likely to be injured in the field within two weeks. Between Grimm, gangs, and vigilantes, it was a question of when rather than if. “Based on your records, you’ll be assigned accordingly. Regardless of where you’ll be placed, you’ll still be expected to perform to the best of your abilities. Expect to receive your assignments at 1600 hours via scroll. Dismissed!”

With that, the recruits saluted and filed out of the training courtyard. The recruit to the far left of the row caught Winter’s attention, however. She couldn’t necessarily place why they had stood out, just that they did. “Soldier’s intuition,” Ironwood had explained once. “When you’ve got a feeling about something or someone that feels like the right call to make, protocol be damned. You’ll know it when you feel it”. Winter had mentally brushed it off at the time, but after months of watching a city survive Cinder, only to eat itself...

“Private,” Winter’s said, her voice low as she approached the recruit. “You’ll be serving under me directly.” As soon as the words left her mouth she silently hoped that her “soldier’s intuition” wasn’t broken.

October 8th, 6:07 PM, Thursday, Vale Industrial District

”Dust and blood, Neo. That’s all it is at the end of the day”. Roman used to say that after a long day of nothing going right. But when he said it, he did it with a smirk. Like he already knew things would work out in the long-run. It made Neo feel...safe. Secure. Like she was home.

Now? Home was wherever Beacon, Atlas, and Grimm weren’t nosing around. And home for today was an abandoned warehouse on the east side of Vale’s industrial district. All things considered, Neo wasn’t doing too bad for herself. She had a gang of thirty; ten of them were solid fighters and the rest were disposable, desperate goons. NeoNites, she named her gang; based on an old joke Roman made whenever he let her pick the job for the night. “It’s a Neo Night,” he used to say, like they were going out bowling or for pizza like typical normies. He always did have a habit of making her feel normal...

Neopolitan shook her head and turned her attention back to the map in front of her, resting on a makeshift table of battered wooden crates. Dust-wise, they were doing better than 80% of the city right now. The Dust her and Roman stole before the Fall was still in reserve, stowed away in secret supply caches throughout the city. A few of those old spots had even been turned into Grimm nests, an unexpected natural layer of security, Neo had mused. Though that still left the issue of supplies.

Dust was nice, but food was a need. Atlas soldiers made for easy targets. You could count on there being at least two rations in their packs per person. The issue was the fighting. Each skirmish was a gamble. If they scored food, then they’d be looking for medical supplies to patch up the one idiot who went charging in first. If they used Dust to settle fights quickly then they lost leverage and ammunition for major plays. A fucking balancing act...

Neopolitan’s eyes roamed to Cat’s Cradle on the map, the labyrinthian Faunus ghetto. That neighborhood was rough even before the Fall. Still, Neo considered the logistics of a counter raid based on a rumor she heard about a dummy Atlas convoy scheduled to pass through there later tonight.

A knock on the metal door in front of her caused her to scowl. She waited expectantly for the door to open. When it did, Sarah, a hardened thirty-something-year old Faunus woman with brown hair and beagle ears walked in. She was, more or less, Neopolitan’s right hand. Her being one of the few people left in the city who knew sign language definitely put her in Neo’s good graces.

“Sorry, boss,” Sarah said. “Got a new recruit. They brought tribute.” Sarah held up a dusty, tattered Atlas soldier rucksack.

Neopolitan raised an eyebrow before nodding and making a come hither motion with her right hand, signaling for Sarah to bring them in. Sarah gave a single nod and left the dimly lit room. After a few moments, Sarah returned with someone Neopolitan didn’t recognize.

(Write your own intro)