My recollections of my origins are foggy at best. My clearest memories are of my time in the tank. I floated, suspended in a nameless orange liquid. The only sound was a muted hum that carried strangely through the fluid around me. The chamber that had contained me for as long as I could remember was small. It had seemed much bigger a long time ago, but I grew, and the tank did not.

There was still enough room for me to move my arms, for now. I sometimes worried that I might grow too big, that the walls would press my arms to my sides. I’d be unable to move. I would be unable to do my puzzles. Unable to call for help.

Sometimes, I felt sick and weak, like I could barely move. That was usually after the people who watched added things to my tank. The impurities always dissolved slowly, making the liquid in my tank waver like air on a hot day. When that happened, I could barely see outside.

Beyond the translucent walls of my circular tank, there was a well-lit room. It looked the same as it always had: smooth white surfaces and lots of little blinking lights. My view of the world beyond wobbled and distorted as the liquid bubbled and swirled.

The room was empty now, but people would come back soon. Then, I would start solving today’s puzzles. A long time ago, the puzzles were simple: matching shapes, colors, numbers, and patterns. I learned to recognize them instinctively. Now, though, the puzzles were more demanding.

My newest lessons were more practical, and I devoured them ravenously—anything to escape the monotony of matching a blue hexagon to a multiple-choice answer. Lately, they had involved mathematics and weaponry. I enjoyed these puzzles a great deal more than geometry.

Two people entered the room, their mouths moving. The liquid muffled the vibrations of their speech, and their words drowned in the hum of the tank. My eyes tracked them as they moved to the wall of blinking lights. Soon, I would receive my puzzles.

These people had flat chests and broad shoulders, which meant they were likely male. One of the first things I learned after the first puzzles was that there were men and women. Men were tall, broad, and flat, while women were short and curved. Upon self-examination, I determined that I was physically female.

The transparent wall before me flickered, colorful lines tracing shapes and symbols. My first puzzle of the day took shape as the two men turned to watch me. Lifting one hand, I touched the wall in front of me with two fingers. A practiced motion of the fingers enlarged the puzzle until it took up most of the wall before me.

I recognized most of the images and equations from previous puzzles. I identified this puzzle as a test involving a ranged weapon known as artillery. I tapped the answer field, and a keyboard shimmered into being just below. I typed in the correct answer and pressed my finger against the illuminated word “NEXT.”

Time went by, marked only by sleep and the coming and going of the people who watched me. I grew, and the tank did not. I still felt sick when they added things to my tank, but they did it less often now.

Then, one day, the watchers drained my tank, the orange liquid rushing away, replaced by frigid air. I shrank away as they dragged me out of the tank and onto the cold metal floor. I coughed lungfuls of oxygenated nutrients into a drain, gasped my first lungfuls of stinging air, and then coughed up more nutrient liquid.

They gave me clothes to wear and a name, Lily Shepherd. Then, they gave me a weapon and taught me to fight monsters called Grimm. From that day forward, my life was blood and battle.

Tight walls and orange fluid that wavers like air on a hot day. The walls are squeezing my chest until my ribs hurt. Men are watching me, nothing more than blurry silhouettes in the room outside. There are dozens of them just standing there. I try to signal for help, but I cannot move my arms; they are pinned to my sides by the tank walls.

I blink my eyes frantically, trying to signal someone, anyone, that something is wrong. The impurities make me feel sick, and the tank is too small. I cannot tell them because I have no voice. The walls squeeze tighter. Desperate, I rear my head and slam my forehead into the tank wall.

I wake up with a cold sweat on my forehead, my breathing shaky. I fidget in my seat, my armor feeling too tight. I pull my cloak tighter to ward off a sudden chill and flip up my hood, covering my head and muffling my surroundings slightly as my ears are forced against the top of my head. The hood conceals the tattoo: the stylized letter “A” made to look like the head of a spear, just below and behind my right jaw.

My name is Lily Shepherd. I am seated on one of the airships flying to Beacon Academy in Vale. In the background, prospective students chatter while a news bulletin plays on a nearby wall-mounted television. It is something about Roman Torchwick, a local gentleman thief. I recall what I know about him, which is not much.

Recently, he has executed numerous robberies targeting dust shops and warehouses in Vale. I am not privy to the details, but this is outside his usual modus operandi. His crimes previous to this targeted financial institutions and wealthy individuals-

"Are you okay?"

The question comes from a short woman with red and black hair standing before me. Her presence is irritating, but she seems non-threatening, and a quick reassurance should be enough to get her to leave.

“I am fine,” I lie to her, trying for a smile but landing somewhere closer to a grimace.

She must miss the strain in my voice because she starts babbling her excitement about Beacon. I cannot imagine being so excited about something like school. School is almost pointless for me. I am here because Ironwood decided I needed to learn about 'teamwork' and 'cooperation' in Vale.

She recaptures my attention when she starts talking about her weapon. It is a Mecha Shift longer than she is tall. It switches between a scythe and what she calls a “High-impact sniper rifle.” I resist the urge to point out that if a sniper rifle were low-impact, then it would be a poorly designed weapon.

My eyes lock on a tall blonde walking toward the two of us. Behind the short woman before me, she approaches, and I say nothing. It is the short one's fault if she is inattentive enough not to notice. The blonde launches an 'attack' on the shorter one, ruffling her hair.

The blonde grins, her voice louder than is typically considered polite. "Heya, sis! What are you up to?"

Are these two actually sisters? They look nothing alike, but I suppose one might be adopted—probably the little one. She seems like a pity case.

The shorter woman gestures to me. "I was just telling this guy-”

I spoke, “Lily Shepherd.”

“-Lily about Crescent Rose!"

"Yeah?"

The blonde's eyes turn to assess me. After a moment of silence, I realize that 'yeah?' is a prompt for me.

I nod, not taking my eyes off the newcomer. "Yes. We were discussing weapons."

The blonde smiles a little more softly, looking between myself and her sister. "Well, that's great. I'm glad you're making friends, Ruby."

So, the short one is named Ruby. Also, friend? I look to my left and right out of the corners of my eyes. No one else is here, so she must be referring to me, which is strange; friendship typically requires repeated social interaction and some degree of familiarity. For example, I saw my handlers and caretakers every day. However, I have never been friends with them because they remained intentionally distant.

Ruby has been talking to me, a stranger, in a one-sided monologue for several minutes. That is not friendship, as I understand it, but she seems happy, and I have no reason to correct her.

Ruby seems ecstatic, practically bouncing up and down. She leans into the tall one and whispers loud enough for me to hear every word easily.

"Yang! I did it! I made a friend!"

Yang looks me over again and meets my eyes. She nods and then smiles at Ruby.

"That's really great, sis. I'm gonna go check on something. You have fun!"

Ruby turns to face me, eyes almost glittering, and I feel a sense of apprehension—like I have been left alone in an overly affectionate tiger’s enclosure.

"Okay, best friend, let's talk about weapons! What's your favorite kind? I know it's a hard question, but imagine picking only one. Or two. Or three. No more than three, though."

She thinks we are friends now. That is inaccurate. We are not friends, but I am not opposed to continuing this interaction. Discussing weapons when a rapid-fire stream of information is not bombarding me sounds appealing.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Ideally,” I answer, “a piercing weapon like a spear or halberd, a ranged option with great stopping power, and a defensive option. I currently use a simple Mecha Shift spear with a telescopic shaft and a dust-powered edge. It allows me to fight in a melee while maintaining maneuverability and reach."

"Oh my gosh! That's so cool! Most people only bother putting a little thought into their weapons beyond what looks cool! But I can tell that you put a lot of thought into it!"

Her enthusiasm is boundless, and she cares about weaponry a great deal. As hobbies go, weapons are one of the least useless activities outside of training. I tell her this, and for some reason, she laughs. That statement was not intended as a joke, but at least she is not laughing at me. I think.

This interaction is confusing, but I am rescued by a nearby argument that grabs everyone's attention.

"You idiot! It's all over my shoes!"

Apparently, one of the other passengers got motion sick and vomited all over someone else's shoes. She is yelling at him and stomping her fancy, too-expensive shoes in a puddle of puke. If she did not want them to get dirty, why wear them here? Before anything else can be said, the announcer calls over the intercom, letting everyone onboard know that the airship is about to land.

"Ooh, come with me!"

Ruby motions to follow her. I have no real reason to follow her, but I do not have a reason to stay away. Besides, she may have a better idea of where to go.

I stand, slinging the strap of my duffel bag over one shoulder, and I allow her to lead me out of the airship. I move in the same direction as her, brushing past a redhead with a spear and shield—Pyrrha Nikos, a competitive tournament fighter.

I do not know much about her aside from the fact that she is an excellent fighter. It remains to be seen whether she is as good at fighting Grimm as she is at fighting human opponents.

I reach a clearing in the crowd just as Ruby bumps into the snobby girl from earlier, knocking several suitcases to the ground. The snob looks angry enough to burst a blood vessel, and she is advancing on Ruby, who is frantically apologizing. Ruby trips and falls backward, but the snob continues to advance.

"Excuse me."

I step between them, Ruby still sprawled on the ground behind me. The pale girl before me looks taken aback by my sudden appearance. Ruby scrambles to her feet and hides behind me.

"Who are you?" The snob demands.

"I am Lily Shepherd. Who are you?"

"I am Weiss Schnee," she waits for me to react, and when I do not, "of the Schnee Dust Company." Another beat of silence as she waits for recognition.

Oh, I see—the SDC. So she is directly related to the head of one of the most notorious companies on Remnant. Does she expect people to be impressed by that?

"Oh, I see. Do you expect people to be impressed by that?"

The snob seems surprised and offended by my perfectly reasonable question. People are strange. She clears her throat, an angry flush on her cheeks as she squares her shoulders. I tense before forcing myself to relax. At this range, the snob has no visible weapons that would be effective if things come to blows.

"The klutz hiding behind you bumped into me. She knocked over my dust! Do you know how volatile the contents of that case are? Do you?” She leans to one side, glaring around me at the cowering form of Ruby, and demands, “I want an apology!"

I hold up a hand in what I hope is a placating gesture. "Please take a step back. You are frightening my,” I hesitate, “friend."

Weiss seems to remember that she is in public and steps back. I turn to Ruby and pause. She really should not have started this if she had no intention of following through, but what is done is done. Saying this is a bit patronizing to my… friend, but it needs to be said. Yang should be doing this as Ruby’s sister, but now it falls to me.

"Ruby, you should apologize for communicating so poorly—if you want to fight someone that badly, do them the courtesy of asking them directly. Provoking a fight like this is immature. Do better next time."

Weiss, having heard me clearly, boggles at me for some reason. Her wide eyes and dropped jaw make her look like a pale Koi fish. And now I am thinking about fish. I am hungry. It has been a while since I last ate. Is there a cafeteria?

I gesture to Ruby as I leave in search of food. Ruby says something hurriedly to Weiss before running to catch up with me. She looks conflicted and dumbstruck, probably in awe at my fundamental advice. Honestly, what are they teaching children these days? Is this a school for huntsmen or a place where small children are left while their parents do more important things?

Basic social skills like that should be a no-brainer. Even my most poorly socialized batchmates learned these things. Asking to spar is a more effective communication than unprovoked physical violence. Only some people got the memo, though.

Ruby hurries to walk alongside me with a concerned and confused look.

"Were you serious about the fighting thing?”

I cannot help but lift one eyebrow at her question. “...yes? Why do you ask?”

“Because you shouldn't say stuff like that."

Is she displeased? Some people have different standards when it comes to communication. They may consider it rude to say things like that outright. I could apologize or play it off as a joke. I could also explain to her that sometimes, things need to be stated clearly to avoid miscommunication. She has to be told sooner or later.

"Then it was not an attack?"

"What?! No!"

"Ah, so you were gathering intel and gauging her reactions. I apologize. My intervention likely disrupted your efforts to gather information."

She looks utterly lost, and I do feel a bit bad. She put in great effort to get information about a potential opponent, and my intervention disrupted her maneuvers. I do my best to sound consoling.

"It is alright, Ruby. She will probably underestimate you now. If you approach her and attempt to fight her later, she will be too focused on protecting her valuables to fight."

Ruby puts her head in her hands, probably busy thinking about defeating Weiss, the snob. Ruby is such a quick study; it is a shame her sister Yang has failed to pass on any fighting skill or instinct. It may even be intentional. It may be a plot to leave Ruby unprepared for actual combat. That would make sense.

She is leaving Ruby, the stepchild with red hair, to fail, and then she plans on taking Ruby's share of the resources available. Callous but logical. I have seen this among my batchmates more than once. I will have to see about dissuading Yang's sororicidal tendencies. Ruby has potential; it would be a shame to waste that because she is not blood-related.

After navigating through the labyrinthine hallways, I finally enter the cafeteria, only to find it utterly devoid of sustenance. It is not mealtime yet. As my stomach grumbles in protest, Ruby shuffles awkwardly next to me.

"I have some cookies I could share with you?"

I am not opposed to the idea; cookies should help tide me over until mealtime. The quality of the cookies is irrelevant, as I am immune to most poisons, let alone lousy cooking. Either way, if I try this friendship thing, even if it is only to humor her, I should accept her offer.

I hold out my hand, and she places a single cookie in my hand, a chocolate chip cookie. I take a bite and hum appreciatively. The tank had good moments while I was still small enough to be comfortable, but solid food is always better than nutrient-suspension fluid.

It is delicious and fresh, too. Ruby has gone above and beyond for a simple gift with little importance. It is nice. I look back at Ruby; she seems happier when I offer her a smile.

I finish the cookie and nod at her. "Thank you, Ruby. I will avoid disrupting your activities from now on."

"Uh… thanks?"

"It is no problem at all."

Other students are filling up the cafeteria. Apparently, this is where we were supposed to wait all along. As the cafeteria fills, a few individuals catch my eye.

A girl with long black hair and a stupid-looking hairband underneath an equally stupid bow reads a book in one corner. The book's title is pretentious, but I recognize it as being a trashy smut novel written by a hack. What? I am allowed to have opinions about literature, especially that overly flowery Mistralian schlock. It has prose so purple it is practically Ultraviolet.

There is a witless young man who looks more like a lost puppy than a student. He is making dreamy moon eyes at Weiss, the snob, from across the room. He has a weapon but not the posture or mannerisms of a fighter. He looks as skinny as a stick, too.

The snob is busy trying to make herself sound important to Pyrrha Nikos and failing. She should have researched ahead of time if she wanted to make a play like that. What little I know about Pyrrha Nikos suggests the two would be incompatible as teammates or allies.

In another corner, there stands a young man with short-cropped black hair. His face is relaxed, but his posture is rigid, ready to move at a moment's notice. Perhaps he is another soldier, though not one of my batchmates. His companion is a stark contrast. Bubbly, loud, and colorful, she bounces on the balls of her feet next to him, grinning widely.

Yang is talking to some people, possibly her friends or old acquaintances from her previous school. A shudder passes down my spine. Yang is the same woman who is leaving Ruby unprepared for actual combat. Here, she is laughing with her friends while possibly plotting her sister's murder through inaction. I may be a weapon, an organic killing machine, but that is pretty cold.

Ruby seems absorbed in doodling something, muttering about her weapon. I should leave and talk to some of the other people here. I decide to do the young woman with poor fashion sense and worse taste in literature a favor by intervening. I walk toward her, and she meets my gaze as I clear my throat. I meet her eyes and feel certain I have seen her somewhere before, but I cannot say where.

I approach the young woman with an underdeveloped fashion sense. She sees me approach and hurriedly shuts the book. The dust jacket slips, revealing the actual cover underneath. She scrambles to correct this slip-up, and I see the name of the book she was actually reading.

It was not, as I first thought, the trashy Mistralian novel 'My Sweet Samurai'. It is, in fact, 'Ninjas of Love,' which is much worse. I am almost offended that she tried to hide her bad taste in books underneath another terrible book, as though 'My Sweet Samurai' was respectable.

She looks up at me, apparently a bit angry and flustered. "What do you want?"

"That book. Ninjas of love. It's terrible."

She seems taken aback, her eyes darting left and right. "What!? I mean, I've never- I'm reading My Sweet Samurai!"

"That is not any better."

She leans forward, her expression intense."Hey! They're both great books!” She recoils as she realizes what she has admitted to. “I mean, I've heard that Ninjas of Love is good!"

I press the attack. "I disagree strongly. Magical Ninjas and Samurai are solid premises, but both of these books manage to be offensively unoriginal. The dialogue is atrocious, some of the worst I've ever read. The plot is poorly organized, and the pacing is wildly inconsistent."

She seems unsure now, cracks forming in her conviction. "What! I- That's not fair! That's the way people spoke at the time! And the pacing isn't that bad!"

"It is so over the top that it cannot be taken seriously, but it does not even work as a parody of the genre because it is the genre. One cannot effectively parody something once they are the mainstream."

She seems almost desperate now. "What? It was never meant to be a parody; it was a love story!"

Now to set her up and knock her down. "And the smut. The smut is unoriginal, bland, and formulaic. The characters are fleshed out just enough that the reader can keep track of them, and then they get paraded around like lifeless puppets."

Hook, "That's not true," Line, "Sakarua was a strong character!" And sinker.

I go for the kill without mercy. "Sakarua was a wasted character. Kishiromoto has no idea what to do with strong female characters."

"That's- Agh! Ninjas of Love and My Sweet Samurai are both great, and your opinions are incorrect!" She seems uncaring of the fact that her yelling has drawn attention.

"Yelling will not change the facts of the situation."

I pull out my reading list and copy down some titles that I think are relevant. This has to be done; it is practically a public service. Along with classics like 'The Corpse Doctor' and 'A Million Splendid Stars,' I have titles containing smut.

There is the Adult version of a series of mediocre novellas called "The Alchemist: Impurity Within"; I only included it because the fight scenes were pretty cool.

There is 'Carmilla,' a story about a noble vampire lady who falls in love with a mortal woman.

Finally, ''Kink' in the Chamomile' is a spicy romance between a traveling samurai and a woman who works in a tea house.

I write my scroll number at the bottom of the paper and hand it to the young woman. A few people are snickering, but no one approaches. The woman takes the paper without looking at it and wilts under the stares.

She puts her face in her hands and begins groaning. Utterly bizarre.

"Ugh…"

I look around at the giggling students. "I do not understand. Why are they laughing? Is it because they think their scroll-based pornography is better? It is not. I have seen it, and it is awful."

The woman sinks lower, hunched over.

"Uuuuuugh…"

"In any case, call me if you need any more recommendations."

She is practically a puddle now, like she is trying to sink into the ground for some reason.

"Guuugh…"

"Also, you should get rid of the bow," for some reason, she freezes and gets tense, "It is just that, if you were trying to blend in, wearing two hair accessories is a good way to stick out. Besides, it is excessive. I think the phrase is 'putting a hat on a hat.' Good luck."

As I walk away, I can feel her gaze on my back. She must be impressed with my wide array of knowledge and good taste. Excellent, I am already fulfilling my orders to reach out, socialize, and make connections. Now, who should I speak to next?