The night kicked off in usual fashion. I hit the local night scene, ready for it to hit back, and wasn't fazed when it did.

What I was fazed by, was what happened in the middle of it.

I'd been in the middle of moving to the next stash-house, when I heard gunshots a couple blocks down. Given the kinds of crap that seems to be the norm in Vale, I wasn't initially as fazed by it as I should've been.

After I checked my scroll and made sure that the White Fang hadn't actually made any big moves, I moved to investigate. If they were going to suddenly start causing trouble without sending word out, it either meant their chain of command was shit, or they'd grown wise to my snooping. In either case, if there was a chance anyone was going to get hurt, I was going to be there.

I'd taken to using the rooftops more frequently after the night I'd intercepted the White Fang at the Laundromat. The back alleys and side roads were good in a pinch, but I could cut straight lines by keeping to the roofs. I just needed to be careful to not fall and break my ass again. I got off easy for that, next time I probably wouldn't.

It took me longer than I wanted to follow the sound regardless. Without my compass pointing me, I was chasing sounds that were echoing off of every building in the city. Being on the rooftops helped to keep everything isolated, but not by much. Once I'd reached where I was headed, I paused for a moment, peering down over the edge. I was immediately greeted with a sense of déjà vu.

There was a car, sitting outside a storefront. From the depictions of gemstones and crystals embossed on the glass and signage, I had to guess either a Dust shop or a jeweler's. Either was a possibility, the White Fang had sent out a blanket order saying they were stopping with Dust Shops. But in the same order, they'd made it clear that they were giving carte blanche for anything the grunts wanted. If one of them wanted to keep hitting dust shops, no one would stop them.

The street was deserted, the gunfire must've been a clue for people to get outta there. But it was silent as well, no alarms going off. Strange.

There was a car sitting out front of the shop. A four-door car that, if the scoop on its hood and fat tires were an indicator, said it'd been souped up. It was in mint condition, and parked halfway onto the curb and half on the street. I could just barely make out a rumbling idle and rattling along the body that told me it was running. The driver's seat was empty though.

Meaning however many people had come in it, they were all inside at the moment.

I ran for the adjoining edge of the roof, and took a fire escape down. If there was a rush to getting down there, it wasn't apparent. Jumping off of rooftops would need to be reserved for more immediately lethal situations, thank you very much. Didn't have enough stimpacks to warrant constantly shattering my lower half. Frankly, no amount of stimpacks warranted that, really.

Plus, y'know, it's not the fall that kills you.

My feet touched down, and I broke into a crouched run across the street. Place was deserted, gunfire had scared people off. Cops hopefully weren't going to be dragging their heels to get there. This wasn't like the other places that'd been hit. The buildings were well kept, the streets clean, and the lights were all on and working. Not the type of place I'd been fighting in until now. Stealth was going to be harder.

I came up to the car and kept behind it, working my way towards the rear. Moving quickly, trying to avoid drawing attention from anyone who might be observing. I peered around the edge of the car, getting a better look of the store front.

There was a lone gunman facing out of the shop. Turning and sweeping frantically up and down the street. From the loose, shaky way his weapon was held, I had to guess he was green. That didn't change that what he was carrying was serious hardware. The design reminded of the Automatic Rifles I'd found in the Madre. Long barrels, bipods, boxy, all wood and steel.

The guy holding it was dressed as a White Fang.

Couldn't tell what he was though, whatever 'attribute' made him a faunus must've been well hidden.

I drew my cattle prod and began to creep around the side of the vehicle. The moment there was an opening, I needed to move fast and hit hard. This was going to be tricky. Visibility was better than I would like, and Faunus have better senses than a human's. If I didn't do it fast enough, he'd see me coming from a mile out, if I was too loud, he'd hear me before that.

Which meant it was time to gamble my aura again.

The moment the gunman's head was half-way turned the opposite direction, I pushed my aura through my feet, and shot forward.

I must've moved faster than I thought, I was on the guy before his head had even stopped turning. Like he'd never heard me coming.

I tackled him at full speed, gloved hand clasping over his mouth as I rammed the handle of the cattle prod into the back of his skull. The momentum from my run sending us both to the ground, the White Fang landing on his Rifle.

He remained stunned for a half a second, unable to register what'd just hit him. I slammed him in the back of the head, again, keeping him that way. My hand left his mouth for a second, long enough to rip his arms out from under him, away from his gun. Last thing I needed was for him to seize up and start blind firing down the street.

"W-Whut da-" The Fang slurred, drunkenly.

I shut him up by gripping his mouth, pressing my knee into his spine, and jamming the electrode into him like I'd intended.

A muffled squeal tried to fight its way through the filter of my hand. It came out just soft enough it could be mistaken for a giant rat's fart. All around unnoticeable in any location unless they were right on top of you.

I was on top of him in that case, but semantics.

As soon as the squeal stopped, I released the prod from his neck and the hand from his mouth. My fist crashed in where they'd been, hitting the back of his head and hammering his face into the concrete.

One down.

I slipped back to the door the grunt had been standing in front of, and peered in. Needed to keep the momentum. As soon as they realized that the door was unguarded now, things were going to get crazy in a hurry.

My assessment had ultimately been on the mark. Going by the merchandise and cases lining and filling the floor of the shop, it was a jewelers. Unless people made dust into jewelry, then it'd be a dust jewelers. I had no clue why they'd do something like that, it'd be like hanging a live grenade or fuel rod from your neck. But sense had clearly abandoned this place some time ago, I was just the one trying to hold on.

The interior of the store was well lit. Either the place had still been open when they got here, or they had no problem being visible to the whole world. There were three more grunts inside, each visibly armed. Two of them, a male with dog ears poking stiffly through his hood and a female with a fluffy red tail hanging limply from her waist, were the same. Carrying Automatic Rifle clones, much the same as the first grunt had. The third, a male, changed it up, I could see a pair of what looked to be .45 Auto Pistols under either shoulder. Each of their hands, scaly, claws jutting out of each finger. There was something off about each of them, but I had bigger issues to worry about at the moment. They hadn't noticed my presence yet. Too busy smashing open the displays, gathering up their potentially ill-gotten gains, and depositing them into duffle bags.

If nothing else, they were moving quickly. Unlike past groups, these White Fang didn't seem keen to stay.

They were keeping closer to the rear of the showroom, allowing me to slip in through the front door. I crept along the displays dotting the floor, keeping them between me and the grunts. Poking my head out to watch and overhear them. They were more focused on the money than me.

"We're gonna be filthy fuckin' rich!" The dog-eared male said, cramming jewelry into a duffle and zipping it shut.

"Less gab more grab Buck." The female said, slinging a loaded bag in the dog-eared man- Buck's direction.

Buck caught it, stacking it beside the one he'd shut. "Lighten up Blanche, even Wheatey's enjoyin' it."

"Yer damn right." The scaled grunt, 'Wheatey' growled "Las' time I got to hold this much money was back on that job in Vacuo, you 'member the one."

"Can't say I do" Buck corrected, ramming the butt of his automatic rifle into a glass case. Surprisingly, it didn't set off any alarms. "Been with my brother since we started, you're thinkin' of someone else."

Wheatey paused for a moment, rubbing his chin, then snapped his fingers. "Palms, that's who I was thinkin' of, my boy Palms."

"What'd I say about gabbin' an' grabbin'?" Blanche asked pointedly, putting her hands on her hips

"Relax, dear." Buck said "Ain't nobody gonna come botherin' us with Clyde knockin' out the alarms. The gunfire'll take a few minutes to get people's attention, an' we got Hamm sittin' at the door on a swivel. Soon as Clyde an' Bon-bon get back, we can double time it."

I began creeping closer, putting my cattle prod back at my side and levering my shotgun over my shoulder. Slowly and carefully cycling the lever, making sure there was a shell in the chamber.

These guys were already armed, and seriously at that. Quicker this got put to bed the better. Buck and Blanche needed to come down first. Wheatey would be a bigger problem if he could draw his pistols. But it wouldn't take much for The other two to swing their rifles my way. I could deal with dodging pistol fire, assuming he could actually manage to get one out and draw on me. I wasn't chancing automatic fire from two machine guns.

I clicked the action shut as I began to close in on the Grunts. Piecing together what way this was liable to go in my head. Nothing fancy, needed to remove them from the fight before things went sideways. I was about ten feet away from them. Opposite side of the showroom, a ring of display cases between us. Peering over the lip of the cases, the three grunts were still close together, arguing.

"I'd rather not wait for your brother and his girlfriend to get back here before we start loading these things into the car." Blanche said, putting her hands on her hips "Unless you want a repeat of what happened in Iridos with those hunters?"

"We're in Vale, not some back-water farm town." Buck said "The cops in this place don't give two shits, or are too busy dealing with the White Fang-"

"What do you think we look like right now?" Blanche hissed "Do you really want to get caught looking like this?"

"Pff, re'lax Blanche." Wheatey drawled, tapping one of his holstered pistols "We got more than 'nuff to take on a couple academy drop-outs. It's the ones in trainin' ye gotta watch out fer. Dumb brats sometimes think they're good 'nuff that they can go and harass hard workin' individ'als like us. Had 'nuff run-ins wit' 'em in Vacuo to know most-a 'em are a bunch-a cocky fucks. Didn't keep 'em from gettin' the drop on Hamm though" Wheatey turned towards the front door "Ain't that ri-… Hamm?"

Blanche and Buck mirrored the motion, finding the doorway vacant.

I snapped up from the case, leveling the shotgun at Buck's back. Even at 10 feet apart, I was going to be hitting each of them with a full shell's worth of lead. Most people don't realize how far you can reliably hit with one of these and assume they'll miss at half a dozen paces.

That's an exaggeration, mind you, but the general idea is the same.

Fire and lead leapt from the barrel as the magnum shell cried thunder. Couldn't use any less. The buckshot collided with Buck's back in an irregular, tight-knit pattern. Sending Buck sprawling forward, out of sight.

Blanche and Wheatey had only just begun to turn towards me as I cycled the action. By the time they had eyes on me, the chamber was already loaded and the spent shell had just reached the floor. My finger twitched, the hammer fell, and the gun jolted in my hands again. Sending Blanche backward, crashing into the smashed open display case before crumbling to the floor.

My hand knocked the lever forward as I pivoted to Wheatey.

A bolt of startled fear shot through him. Valuables dropped from his hands to the floor as he began to reach for his armpits.

I snapped the lever back and pulled the trigger before he even got hands on them. The shot slammed Wheatey's crossed arms into his chest, practically flipping him over on himself.

I vaulted over the display case, sprinted about eight feet, then vaulted over another set of display cases. Clearing the distance between us and landing on Buck in the process.

I flipped my shotgun around and rammed the grip into the back of his head. Hammering it into the floor hard enough to bounce off of it. I had to take that as a sign he was out of the fight.

My head snapped to Blanche and Wheatey.

They were both recovering from being shot, Wheatey still with his arms crossed and Blanche trying to prop herself up. For a moment, I debated which of them was going to be the one I needed to take-out quicker. Neither of them seemed capable of being an immediate threat.

As I focused on Wheatey though, an image played out in my mind. Wheatey's arms snapping forward, pistols drawn with practiced ease. Fire and light flaring from the barrels.

It caught me off guard.

Then, with ease I'd seen from veteran raiders and mercenaries, Wheatey's arms began to move. Carrying a sinuous, practiced fluidity to them. As his peppered forearms began to unfold from his chest, I caught the barest glimpse of steel.

I lunged towards him from my crouch, flipping my shotgun around to grip it by both the barrel and stock. Using the strength of both my arms to ram the side of the gun into Wheatey's face. Even as I did, he tried to finish drawing his pistols. But it didn't work, closing the distance like I had removed much of the room he had to move. His crossed arms swept out, forearms connecting dully with my chest, and stopping.

Then they both went off.

Wheatey had displayed a case of horrific trigger discipline, having drawn with his fingers on the triggers. His arms were still crossed under each other, the scales on his hands and forearms bunching up strangely. The pistols rang with a clap of thunder, quick gouts of fire erupting under his upper arms. Carrying the burning stink of singed cloth and hair. The bullets flew to opposite ends of the store, one shattering one of the store-front windows, and the other a yet un-broken case. Wheatey yowled in surprise, having caught himself with the muzzle flash.

I quirked my arms, shifting the pressure off to the side, using the handle and lever of the shotgun like a crook. They caught Wheatey on the temple, knocking him off balance. I did my best to keep him arms from unfurling and pointing in my direction.

Angling the shotgun around the handle, I reared it back, then slammed it into the side of Wheatey head, near his left eye. The motion caused his arms to slip free from their coiled position. I moved to the side, allowing a tense moment for one of them to clear my chest as I followed the other arm. Keeping me at angle, and forcing him off target.

Wheatey began to slump, but I didn't take that as a sign he was down. I hit him again, then jerked my shotgun up enough to hold it with one hand, at the meeting of the receiver and foregrip. I let my free hand pull my cattleprod back out, then jammed it down in place of my shotgun. Whether his aura was broken or not, Wheatey crumpled completely after that, pistols falling limply from his hands. I held the cattleprod in place for a moment longer, then used the crook of my shotgun to swipe the pistols out of Wheatey's hands. A miracle the shock hadn't caused him to squeeze off any extra rounds.

A dry, retching cough drew my attention up from Wheatey.

Blanche was shakily trying to pick herself up, sucking air in labored fashion. Hands carelessly pushing into the broken glass laden floor for support.

Her head drunkenly swiveled over to me.

We stared each other down for a moment.

Blanche's mouth quivered for a moment.

I used my moment to launch at her. Not intending to give her any time to get her bearings or try to draw the Automatic Rifle from her back.

I jabbed the electrode into Blanche's face, only narrowly missing the eye guard under her hood. Almost immediately she collapsed back to the floor with a yelp. I made sure she stayed there, planting a knee in the center of her back. For added leverage, I reached towards the small of her back and grabbed her tail, laying limp across her backside. The tail of an animal is the extension of their spine. Faunus traits being what they were, the same school of thought applied.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I grabbed it by the base and gave it a hard pull, knowing it would be enough to stun her. Keep any funny ideas out of her head.

I felt something snap in my hand, and I felt my arm jerk away from Blanche.

Confused, I looked to my hand, now hovering several inches away from Where it'd been.

Blanche's tail still firmly grasped in it. Two tendon-ous threads dangling from the end of it. Nary a drop of blood or errant chunk of bone to be seen.

"… What the Fuck?" I muttered, pausing to look at the wad of fur dangling in my hand.

Right at that moment, Blanche tried to shift underneath me. Had she been someone like Yang or Nora, she'd probably have thrown me off like I was made of paper and glue. As it stood, even if aura was intact, she struggled to push herself up. She got about maybe two, three inches off the ground.

Then I bopped her on the back of the head with the cattle prod, and she hit the ground, out like a light.

I studied the back of Blanche's head for a moment, noting the spot I'd hit her. Then I looked back to her tail, still dangling in my hand. A moment passed as I looked at the severed length of limp fur, then my head swiveled to the other two bodies lying on the floor. I focused on Wheatey's exposed arms, to the scales on his hands. The way they seemed to bunch and fold more like hardened plates on fabric than, say, the skin of a gecko or deathclaw.

I switched my attention to Buck, not too far from Wheatey.

His dog-like ears were sitting cockeyed and disjointed from his head.

"Are… Are you wearing costumes?" I asked, bewildered.

Before I could get an answer to that question, not that I was going to, I heard a door crash open towards the back of the store. I whipped around to face it as two more White Fang stepped out. One a lean looking man, the other a faire woman, a notable hitch in her stride. Rabbit ears protruded from her head, while a thin, feline tail dangled behind the man.

My mind flashed back to the conversation being had before I barged in.

These must've been the two left unaccounted for.

They reacted with the same practiced grace Wheatey had. The woman pulling some class of shotgun to bear, and the man another Automatic Rifle. This time the barrel cut-down, more maneuverable.

Better for shooting indoors.

I swore under my breath and dove back over the displays. A bullet ripping through the space I'd previously been occupying. More of its kin followed it in a chorus of booming sound as the man dumped the magazine in my general direction. I went prone behind the displays, wads of dust-propelled lead easily piercing the plywood constructions and flying elsewhere. I began crawling along the edge of the displays. If I stayed still, one would eventually get lucky and hit me.

But I also knew that he had to run dry sooner rather than later. Automatic Rifles had abysmal magazine capacity, for an automatic weapon anyway. I wasn't in the mood to be counting bullets, and the man didn't seem to be in the mood to control his fire.

I'd crawled a distance of maybe ten feet, towards the left of my assailants, put us at an angle. Then the booming chorus took a refrain, and the wood and lead stopped flying.

I slipped my cattleprod back into its holster, and flipped out my shotgun again. I sprang up enough to send a scattering of buckshot back towards them. The man and woman moved in kind, splitting apart, one each moving to opposite sides of the store. Whether they were trying to flank me or not, I couldn't tell.

The woman returned the volley with a blast of her own. Shot ripping through the display next to me, debris catching me on the other side.

I dipped back behind the displays as a second blast rocketed through the space where my head had been. Aura or not, I wasn't taking a shell's worth of shot to the face. As a third blast hit in roughly the same neighborhood, I scrambled back the way I came, trying to keep out of sight. The displays I was hiding behind were set in a ring. Until I left cover, I was basically boxed in. Hadn't considered that when I'd dove in.

I cycled the action of my shotgun, chambering the last round in the tube. Fast as it was to empty, reloading required time I didn't have in my current position. Needed to nip my situation in the bud, before things got worse.

Only one of them currently had a loaded gun. Couldn't tell how many rounds she had waiting, so far she'd shot at me three-

The display I'd been about to crawl in front of blew out into a shower of splinters and paint.

Four times.

Most shotguns that were confined to a tube magazine only ever held five rounds. Four in the tube plus one in the chamber. You could increase the capacity by lengthening the magazine, but the Gun Runners didn't do it, and I'd never seen anyone try it. That aside, it was only an increase of two or three rounds, maximum. The tradeoff being additional weight towards the muzzle. Not much, but still more.

I hadn't gotten a great look at the shotgun the woman was using, but I had to assume similar rules applied. I hadn't seen a box magazine.

Which meant I had one person trying to reload and the other with only one round left.

I wasn't in any position to brag. But at least I had more guns.

Pulling out my flare gun, I gripped it in one hand, and slid my other hand down to the handle of my shotgun. Fingers webbed through the lever loop and over the trigger. What I was about to do was honestly stupid, and had I been attempting it in any other capacity, probably would've backfired.

As it stood, I needed to shift the balance back.

I put my aura into my legs again, took a deep breath, and then sprang up. Tucking my knees into my chest to ensure I was out of the immediate line of fire.

Another booming roar sounded, the woman's last shot filling the space I would've been in. Instead, it barely clipped my boot.

I snapped open VATs. Earning the moment I needed to assess.

I'd gone from having an angle on them, to both having separate angles on me. The man to my left, in the midst of pull the magazine from his rifle, his head slowly pivoting to follow my ascent. The woman was recoiling to my right, the shotgun in her hands still lurching back. Last wisps of fire still flaring out from the muzzle, fading into the air a dull orange.

VATs closed, and my hand tracked to their targets as my jump reached its apex. Shotgun pointed to the man, flare gun tracking to the woman.

Both of my hands twitched. A cloud of lead flew at the man as a glaring red sun flew at the woman.

I missed both shots.

The wall beside the man erupted with a spray of masonry and glass. Causing him to shout, diving off to the side. Similar could be said for the woman. The flare missed her by a mile, but it collided with one of the displays, shattering on impact. Releasing a burst of red light and heat. The woman gave the instinctive action all living creatures have when fire suddenly erupts beside them. She screamed, and scrambled away from it, losing all composure and almost dropping her shotgun.

I came back to ground, whipped my shotgun back behind me, and shot off towards the woman. Of the two she was the most affected. Her beau may have had an arguably more dangerous weapon, but the woman had already proven she was far more capable with hers. All she needed was to get a second to put a round back in it, and I was in trouble.

I vaulted back out of the ring of display cases and broke into a dead sprint. I slipped my flare gun back into its holster as I closed in on the woman. She was struggling to overcome her involuntary reaction. By the time she managed to get her head back in the game, I was already on her. She came to face my fist right as it was about to meet her nose.

I hit her with a hard straight, and her head snapped back, body rocking with her. I kept the distance close, arms snaking out, grabbing her shoulders. I drove my knee up into her stomach, forcing her to bend with it, destroying what was left of her balance.

My left leg kicked out, sweeping at the woman's, and I hauled her to the floor. Keeping my knee in place, the impact driving the force of her fall onto it in one, concentrated point. I felt my arms tingle with exertion as I tried to push my aura into them, bringing them down on her back in a hammer blow. Driving all of the force I could at her from two directions.

Her aura shattered instantly, breath leaving her in a harsh squawk of pain.

She flopped off of my knee, gasping for air. Body trembling from the assault.

I grabbed the back of her hood and slammed her head into the floor. Making sure she stayed down.

The man didn't take kindly to that.

"Bon-bon!" The man roared; the racking of the rifle's action almost muffled by it.

I sprang to my feet, drawing That Gun, getting a bead on the man as his hand slipped back to the trigger. That Gun jolted in my hand, beating the man half a second before fire leapt from his rifle.

My shot landed, hitting him in the shoulder, his shots going wide.

I didn't have a lot of choices in that moment about where to go. I couldn't keep playing hide and go seek with him hoping he'd empty another magazine. I squeezed another round off, nailing the man in the head.

His rifle roared, muzzle rising and twisting as rounds flew into the ceiling and outer walls. I gave more thought than he did about hoping the bullets didn't make it through and hit something, or someone else. Of course, he clearly didn't give a flying fuck in that moment, so it wasn't too hard.

By the time he got the rifle under control, I was halfway to him, closing the distance. He began to whip the rifle back around to me. Its cut-down state made it lighter and more maneuverable. But physics weren't on his side. I closed in at the same point he finally got his rifle pointed vaguely back to me. I batted it aside with my forearm. The man tried to turn the motion into a strike with the buttstock, to his credit. Even if my aura wasn't in working order, my armor dampened the impact enough to not be a problem.

Unfurling my finger from the trigger, I brought the butt of That Gun's grip crashing into the side of his head. I repeated the motion, treating the fine piece of machined steel in my hand like an oddly shaped rock. Hitting and whipping the man about the face. He tried to knock me back with his rifle, but he wasn't taking the repeated hits well enough to actually do it effectively.

After hitting him maybe five additional times, I put the barrel of the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

He rocked back, legs staggering to try and catch him, only to fail and send him to the floor. I grabbed the barrel of his rifle on the way down, wrenching it out of his grasp. Both to keep from using it on me, and to keep from mindlessly spraying it around the room.

The man hit the ground, and his arms shot up, guarding his head. Voice escaping him in half-threatened growls. He scrambled back wards across the floor, and I let him, just a little. I took small, slow steps towards just to make sure the distance stayed the same.

I returned That Gun to my hip, and gripped the rifle in both of my hands. It had a good weight to it. Something about it felt snappy in my hands, balanced. Despite the different origins of the weapon, it felt familiar in my hands. I found the magazine release with ease, pulling the steel box from the receiver and dumping it to the floor. I stared the man down as the heel of my opposite hand knocked the action back, ejecting an unspent round. Reducing the weapon in my hands from being a firearm to being an over-engineered wood and steel club.

I flipped the rifle around and gripped it by the barrel as I closed in on the man.

Almost as if a switch had been flipped, the man's arms fell away from his head. His right hand shot to his waist, at the front of his pants. With a whip-like motion he drew an auto pistol, not bothering to aim, using my close position to point at my general location.

He pulled the trigger, thrice in rapid succession.

The first shot went wide, but I felt it tug at my coat. Put a hole in it, more than likely.

The second slugged me in the stomach. Little more than a dull push than the sharp punch of a normal bullet. My aura eating the impact and finally breaking it.

The third hit me in the chest, in the area of my right lung. Carrying more of the energy it should have. Punching into the armor plating of my vest, and breaking apart against the harder material.

But leaving me no worse for wear.

I swept the butt of the rifle horizontally, at arm height of the man, connecting with the pistol and hand holding it. The man's hand and arm flew to the side with the impact, the pistol spinning out of his hand, wrenching his trigger around the back of his hand. Eliciting a howl of pain.

Planting my foot, I swung my rifle-club in reverse, this time striking the man in the head. His aura glowed a tawny brown, then faded out. The rest of the hit connected, blowing the man to the floor, on his side. His arms drunkenly scrambled to try and prop him up again.

I brought the club down on his head again. He hit the floor with a bounce and stayed there.

I waited a moment, watching him, before sliding to a knee. Trying to control my breathing.

"Fuck's sake, how many times do I need to stove-in someone's head before they get the message?" I growled "Is it so hard to just cut your losses and give up?"

No, I do not know the meaning of irony.

As I recovered, and focused my energy into restoring my aura, I stared down at the man vindictively. Focusing on his White Fang 'uniform' as it were.

There were things… wrong with it. The insignia that was normally on their white tunic was on the front rather than the back. It appeared to be rather crudely applied as well and incorrect, there was only one slash mark instead of three, and the beast's head looked rather… dopey. The steel mask wasn't as encompassing either. Less of a guard and more… well, a mask.

I looked down at the man's tail, laying flaccid beside one of his legs.

The bottom half of it coiled like a piece of rope. Something that would be otherwise excruciating. Spines are not meant to be used for rope.

I gripped the tail and, following a hunch, gave it a firm tug. It stayed in place at first, but I felt it give a little, showing it wasn't securely attached. I gave it a second, firmer yank.

It snapped free of his pants, and was left dangling in my hand. I stared at the 'tail' for a moment, then back down at the man.

"… You assholes aren't actually White Fang." I said, shaking my head "You're not even faunus!"

Surmising what was actually going on broke down to this: they were run-of-the-mill thieves. They'd just been using the insanity caused by the White Fang's recent actions as a smoke screen for themselves. No one would be looking for a bunch of humans amidst a storm of Faunus crimes. They'd have gotten written off by the police, and get to walk away with the valuables.

I was wasting my time on copycats! Literally!

I turned to look back at the other thieves, currently laying passed out around the store. All the pieces were starting to fall into place now. Which incentivized me further. I couldn't afford to be wasting time on a bunch of fakes. Yet here I was, standing in the middle of a blasted out jewelry store, surrounded by people I'd just assaulted. Granted, they'd all had it coming, but that didn't change that there were likely far worse things happening in Vale that moment, and every second I'd wasted there could've been spent elsewhere.

Right on cue, my Scroll chimed, stealing my attention.

I opened it, and found that I had received a message from one of the dubious conversations I was eavesdropping in.

[Corner of Burgundy and Tinn. We roll in ten.]

"... Fuckin' shit!" I yelled. I didn't have a great knowledge of the city's layout yet, but I was starting to get better at it. That was at least eight blocks away. I was going to be late, things were going to get ugly. As if I needed one more reason to get pissed off.

Then I noticed the fire that was starting to kick up next to Bon-bon.

The flare that'd only narrowly missed her had still left behind enough fuel to burn, at least for a short while. Given the heat at which it burns, it didn't take much for the surrounding environment to catch fire. Which began causing it to spread and grow in intensity. Only now, after having a moment to begin collecting myself, did I actually smell the smoke.

Then the store's overhead fire suppression systems kicked on, spraying cold water down over everything.

The fire began to die back, hissing and sputtering.

I was largely fine, my coat wicked the water. But getting caught in a sudden downpour is never enjoyable, even in the Mojave.

"Yeah." I grumbled, walking for the entrance "Doesn't that just figure."