Only a few had chosen the third job.
There were four of us in total. We were sitting in the back of a pickup truck.
Two of them were the guys I had followed yesterday. The third was sitting right next to me. He had light green hair and looked like some kind of mercenary. It was kind of weird. Eyes closed, arms crossed. He had Aura. Nothing impressive.
Unlike me, who only carried an old pistol in my backpack, he was well-armed: a hatchet at his waist, a hunting knife strapped to his leg, and a large shotgun resting beside him.
The cold wind whipped hard against my face. The greasy ponytail guy was driving up front, leaving the four of us in the open bed.
We were all silent, and I had no intention of changing that.
After what happened with the corpse, there was no way I was going to be the one to start a conversation.
Suddenly, one of the two — the messy-haired redhead — leaned forward, trying to speak over the roar of the wind.
"Well… since we're doing this together, we might as well introduce ourselves, right? I'm Kael. This here's Remy," he said, jerking his thumb toward his friend.
Remy was a rat Faunus with large rounded ears, thin whiskers, sharp attentive eyes, and a long, thin tail that swayed slightly with the truck's movement.
"We came from a small village further north," Kael continued, raising his voice over the wind. "It was attacked by Grimm a few months ago. Almost nothing was left… so we ended up here."
Remy crossed his arms over his knees.
"Yeah. We didn't really had a choice."
Kael looked at the guy beside me.
"And you? What's your name?"
The man didn't even bother opening his eyes, answering in a dry tone:
"Doesn't matter."
Kael insisted.
"Come on, man. We're gonna be working together. I just asked your name…"
"I couldn't care less."
Kael didn't like that answer.
"What the hell? It's just a name! You think you're better than us or something?"
The mercenary slowly opened his eyes and turned his head with clear irritation.
"I do. You two are dead weight. Desperate, inexperienced, no Aura… you'll only serve as a distraction if shit hits the fan in there."
He paused and glanced sideways at me with a cold little smirk.
"The quiet kid over there at least has Aura. He might be slightly useful."
Kael's face turned red with anger as he leaned forward, almost standing up.
"Who the hell do you think you are, you arrogant son of a bitch?"
The mercenary didn't move. He simply smirked, his hand slowly drifting down toward the handle of the hatchet at his waist.
"Someone who's already killed plenty of people like you."
His voice came out much more aggressive. Remy grew visibly nervous, his tail curling rapidly around his own leg.
My stomach tightened. Without thinking, I discreetly slipped my hand into my backpack, fingers touching the grip of my pistol.
Kael opened his mouth to respond, his face flushed, but before he could say anything, the greasy ponytail guy shouted from the cabin:
"Hey! If you break anything back there, I'm deducting it from everyone's pay! Shut the fuck up!"
The mercenary let out a low grunt and closed his eyes again.
Kael huffed but held himself back.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Kael turned to me, still irritated.
"And you? What's your name?"
I hesitated for half a second before answering:
"Witley Schnauzer."
Kael burst into loud laughter, almost a guffaw.
"Schnauzer?! Like the dog breed?!"
Remy started laughing too, covering his mouth with his hand, his tail wagging with amusement.
"Dude… are you serious? Your name is a dog breed?"
Kael leaned forward, laughing so hard he nearly lost his balance in the moving truck.
Even the mercenary beside me cracked a small sideways smirk, clearly entertained.
My face burned, but I forced a crooked smile.
"Yeah… hilarious, right? My parents had a wonderful sense of humor."
Assholes.
.---.---.---.
The pickup truck slowed down and stopped with a jolt.
"We're here," announced the greasy ponytail guy from the cabin, his raspy voice echoing in the cold morning air.
The four of us jumped down from the back, boots hitting the dry dirt. The place was isolated — a poorly maintained dirt road that ended right in front of a large abandoned warehouse with rusted metal doors and cracked concrete walls.
The driver got out too, lighting a cigarette as he looked us over.
"Listen up," he said, blowing out smoke. "Follow this road straight to the warehouse. Go in, scout the place, clear out whatever's inside, and bring back anything useful. Documents, crates, equipment… whatever you find."
He took one last drag before tossing the cigarette butt on the ground and stepping on it.
"If you bring back something really good, I might even give you a bonus."
"I'll wait here until eight. If you're not back by then, I'm leaving and considering you dead."
He paused briefly, spat to the side, then continued in a low, threatening voice:
"But if I find out you ran off with the advance payment… you'd better pray I never find you. Because if I do, you'll wish you were dead."
A heavy silence fell. No one said a word.
He climbed back into the cabin and slammed the door.
"Now go. And don't take long."
We started walking down the dirt road in silence. The sun beat down hard on our backs, and the only sound was our footsteps on the dry earth.
I glanced up at the sky, squinting.
"Two in the afternoon… maybe two-thirty," I muttered. "That gives us about five and a half hours, six at most, until eight."
The closer we got to the warehouse, the heavier and stranger the air felt.
Suddenly, Remy stopped. His rat ears twitched and he tilted his head, sniffing the air. Then he quickly leaned toward Kael and whispered something into his ear, barely moving his lips.
I narrowed my eyes.
"If you have something to share with the rest of the class, feel free," I said, unable to hide the irritation in my voice.
Kael hesitated, glanced at Remy, then turned to us.
"…He smells blood. A lot of it."
The green-haired mercenary turned his head and asked in a rough voice:
"Old or fresh?"
Remy swallowed hard, nose still wrinkled, and answered:
"Most of it is old. But there are some fresh ones mixed in. Fresh enough for me to smell."
Remy was visibly more nervous now. He looked back toward where we came from and spoke in a rushed whisper:
"Guys… we already got half the payment. We can just turn around and head back to the capital. It's not that far. No one needs to go inside. This doesn't smell right… literally."
I'm not getting lost out there again.
"No."
He swallowed again.
"I'm serious. We run now and that's it."
Kael immediately turned to him with a glare.
"That's a terrible idea, Remy. If we try to run now, Spider will hunt us down. They don't forgive people who disappear with the advance."
Spider…
Ah. So that's why there were spiders everywhere. What a shitty gang name. I could come up with something much better.
We continued walking in silence until we finally reached the front of the warehouse. The green-haired mercenary went ahead, shoved the rusted metal door open with his shoulder, and it creaked loudly in protest.
He stepped aside and nodded his head, signaling for us to enter.
The strong smell of rust, mold, old dust, and that underlying sickly-sweet scent of dried blood hit us immediately. The warehouse was large, dark, with a high ceiling and several collapsed sections that let thin blades of light through.
Faded spray-painted Spider symbols could still be seen on the walls.
Kael looked around, visibly tense, and said:
"Alright… let's split up to make this quicker. Each one takes an area. Look for sealed crates, documents, equipment — anything useful. Bring everything you find to the center of the warehouse."
I frowned.
Split up? Right after Remy said there's blood?
No fucking way.
I looked at Remy — who looked the most nervous of all of us — and decided quickly.
"I'm going to the second floor," I said, pointing at the rusted metal staircase in the back. "Remy, you're coming with me."
Kael looked like he wanted to say something, but I didn't care. I grabbed the Faunus by the wrist and pulled him along before he could protest.
As we climbed the creaking stairs, I kept my right hand buried inside my oversized hoodie pocket, fingers tightly wrapped around my Glock. Ready to draw in less than a second. I wasn't taking any risks in this place.
The second floor was tighter, with a lower ceiling, crossed metal beams, and barely any light. There were overturned work tables, open lockers, and papers scattered all over the dirty floor.
Remy stayed glued to my side, his nose constantly twitching and his tail tightly curled in tension. He barely touched anything.
While searching a nearby desk, I grabbed a few sealed Dust vials, a broken tablet, and a crumpled black Spider jacket buried under a pile of papers. The red spider on the shoulder was half torn, and there were dark dried blood stains on the sleeve. I stuffed everything into my backpack without commenting.
More proof that this place really belongs to Spider…
I couldn't stop thinking:
Why the hell did the guy park the truck so far from the entrance?
If it was just a quick recovery and scouting job, it made no sense to park so far away.
And all those spider symbols everywhere… why did he try to make it look like this warehouse wasn't connected to Spider?
The silence up here was oppressive.
I kept my right hand buried in my hoodie pocket the entire time, gripping the Glock tightly. The warm metal against my palm was the only comfort I had.
Remy suddenly froze beside me, his entire body going rigid.
"Schnauzer…" his voice came out low and shaky. "Look at this."
Yeah… even whispered, the name sounds terrible.
When I turned my eyes in the direction he was pointing, I felt my breath catch in my throat.
There was a body.
It was slumped against the wall, half-hidden behind some crates. The black Spider uniform was torn open, the chest and throat ripped apart by claw marks. Dried blood was smeared across the floor.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Remy took a step back, nearly tripping.
"I… I told you… I told you we shouldn't come…"
BANG!
The sharp, loud crack of a gunshot echoed from downstairs.
We both jumped. Without thinking twice, we rushed to the metal railing overlooking the ground floor.
A fight was breaking out below.
A massive Beowolf blocked the main exit, its hulking body and white bone plating gleaming in the dim light. Another one, smaller and faster, lunged at the mercenary, who had just fired his shotgun and was now desperately trying to reload.
Kael was pressed against a stack of crates, pale and frozen.
I looked down, heart hammering in my chest, my hand still gripping the Glock that was no longer hidden in my pocket.
Didn't you say you had Aura, Whitley?
Then survive this.