Fennel Greaves prided herself on her professionalism and dedication to her duty, along with her Loyalty to her Kingdom and Home.

She might have been born and raised in Mantle, but she'd damn well earned her place in Atlas Academy. The highlight of her school career had been six years previously, when she and her team had fought in the final of the 32nd Vytal Festival, forcing the tournament's final fight to a draw for only the third time in its history. A few months later, and after graduation, she'd joined the Specialist Program, where she had served ever since. She'd even earned a few commendations in her time there.

In other words, she had reason to be and was damn proud of her skills and her position of Specialist. The Specialists themselves were technically part of the Greys, although unlike the actual covert agents of the Greys, Specialists could be placed under the command of any of the twenty Captains of the Board.

(Which was actually a point of contention between the Specialist Corps and the General. As they were under the General's direct command, their representation on the Board was frankly minimal. For all they did for Atlas and Remnant as a whole, the lack of a voice (and the lack of a voice for so long) was often a key factor in Specialists leaving the Corp and joining another Branch of the Military.)

For the purposes of the mission, she was designated as 'V1'. Vanguard 1. In missions like this, Vanguards were the ones to bring down the main target. Conversely, Rearguards prevented any potential Grimm from interfering with the mission. In an ordinary Military operation, she'd be addressed as Specialist Greaves, her rank followed by her surname. But on missions like this, 'covert elimination' missions like this, the Corps tended to use a more detached method of addressing its operatives. Fennel didn't even know who it was beneath the other featureless helmets, aside from their designations. She supposed that when acting as part of what was effectively a 'kill team', it was nicer not to know who it was that was killing people with you.

"This is Hawthorn." The Captain's voice filled her ears, and Fennel smiled beneath her own helmet. Go time. "You are clear to proceed with the operation. Gallows is go. I repeat, Gallows is go."

Without any further prompting, V4 kicked down the front door of the hovel, and the eight operatives flooded into the building. What little furniture there was was all torn up, as though the occupants had little to no expectation of returning.

Fennel had thought that the hovel was devoid of anyone save her team. She thought that right until the moment she heard V6 call out for help. She rushed into the smaller room, assault rifle already raised to take down whatever had caused her squadmate to yell so urgently.

The sight that greeted her was not an enemy. It was not Marcus Black, Violator of Souls. It was his son. The grey haired boy was shaking, and tears of pain were silently falling down his cheeks. V6 had knelt at his side and even removed her helmet, and it was only after approaching the pair on them that Fennel saw why her teammate had had them rush to her side.

"By the Brothers.."

..Because the boy's legs had been severed just below the knee.

She had read the reports. Black's weapon, Tyburn, could superheat itself, practically ensuring the cauterization of any wound it dealt out. It was another cruelty Black was known for. Not content to steal away part of people's souls with his semblance, Black could steal limbs with his weapon, almost to the point beyond what current technology could 'fix'. But it also meant he could intentionally leave people alive. Or not.

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That meant that he had deliberately dealt his son a wound he could bleed to death from. Likely just to distract them.

It made her sick.

"...Captain." Fennel spoke, stepping out of the room. "Can I assume you saw what-"

"I did." And Hawthorn's response made Fennel grateful for the cameras in their helmets. "I've already had the medbay begin prepping for surgery."

Fennel nodded. "Shall I have two of the squad return so the rest of us can hunt that bastard down?"

"Negative V1." Hawthorn's voice came over their headsets. "All units, fall back to the Sentinel."

"Sir?" Fennel questioned.

"I am going to employ the Grigori Doctrine." Came the simple reply. And Fennel allowed herself a razor thin smile as she put all the pieces together. The reason they'd not just employed Grigori to start with was the certainty of killing the boy now in their care. With that risk gone, why on Remnant would they not just use the weapons aboard the Sentinel, and remove the danger to the operatives on the ground entirely?

True, it meant that most of the effort they'd put in to not risk the life of Mercury Black would be for naught, but she'd much rather the effort not be needed than put the effort in and fail.

And anyway, the Grigori Doctrine could be fun to watch.

If in doubt, bomb the ever-loving fuck out of the surrounding area. And if that doesn't work? You didn't use enough bombs.

Because as everyone knows, there's no kill like overkill.

"Understood sir."

___________

Marcus Black kept his focus on the ground ahead of him. The Mantellian Wastes were unremarkable in appearance, but far safer than the White Sea. That made it the ideal place for one of his savehouses. And the fear his son would be giving off would serve as an adequate lure to keep the Grimm away from him.

The 'loss' of his son was unfortunate. But children were replaceable. The Iron Circle often had them for sale in their auctions. He'd sold children to them in the past, like the Zhang brat after being hired to kill, and then actually killing her parents.

(In front of her, of course.)

Soon, he'd be in Mantle and smuggling himself to Mistral. He needed another contract and needed one soon. He'd been restless for months. He could have stayed to fight the Atlesians, and it would have been a fine fight thanks to their no nonsense approach. But it would have drawn too much attention.

The drone of the airship filled the air as it departed, and he smirked. Atlas was abandoning the hunt, just like Mistral. They talked tough, but only gave chase when they had certainty. They wouldn't bother combing the Wastes, not to kill a single man.

He was about to turn away and continue on his way, but then the airship dropped something. Several somethings.

Marcus Black frowned in genuine confusion as he realised what they were.

It wasn't as though his son mattered.