RWBY: Moon Reflection

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, and silence filled the room. Qrow was the first to break it, his usual carefree demeanor cracking under the weight of what had just transpired. He sighed heavily, taking a long swig from his flask before muttering, "Didn't see this coming. I need a drink… or five."

Ozpin watched him for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "The boy is far more perceptive and intelligent than you gave him credit for, Qrow." He paused, steepling his fingers as his gaze shifted to the large gears turning outside the clock tower. "I recall the night of the party. Crimson avoided the gathering entirely, left first, and somehow remembered who danced with whom in a crowded room full of unfamiliar faces. That level of observation, in such a short time, is remarkable."

Ironwood, still standing stiffly in the middle of the office, gave a short nod, his usual stern expression softened by a hint of self-awareness. "He was right to call me blind." He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. "Time is of the essence now. I'll give the order for my soldiers to investigate any possible compromises in the systems." He hesitated, the words clearly difficult to say. "And I'll make Roman talk."

Glynda's frown deepened as she crossed her arms tightly. "You can't be serious, James. Mr.Rose's advice regarding Roman crossed every line of decency."

Ironwood met her gaze unflinchingly. "I am serious, Glynda. If there's even a chance it could save lives, then I'm willing to do what's necessary. Crimson was right—mercy has a price. And I'm not willing to pay it this time."

Deep down, Crimson's cold words resonated with Ironwood's own resolve to protect the people of Remnant. If becoming a monster was the cost of ensuring their safety, then so be it. With a firm nod to Ozpin, he turned and strode toward the door. Inside, a new respect for Crimson began to take root. In Ironwood's eyes, the boy had shown more capability than most Huntsmen he had worked with.

Ozpin watched the General leave, his own thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions. Crimson's cold detachment unsettled him deeply. The boy's willingness to suggest such ruthless measures wasn't normal—especially for someone his age, born in this era of relative peace.

As the elevator closed the door and Ironwood was not in the view anymore, Ozpin turned to Qrow. "Qrow," he said quietly.

Qrow stared at Ozpin waiting for him to continue and Ozpin did "I have reasons to believe Crimson has killed before. And not just once."

Qrow's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You're jumping to conclusions, Ozpin. He's just quirky, that's all. Deep down, he's a softie. You know that."

Glynda remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor, but Ozpin didn't back down. "Perhaps—when it comes to his family. But his compassion doesn't extend to others. In fact, I would argue it's quite the opposite." He straightened, his tone calm but firm. "Do you recall why he came to us today? It wasn't to stop a potential crisis or prevent loss of life. It was solely to clear Yang's name. If it had been someone else, he might have ignored the situation entirely."

Qrow opened his mouth to argue, but Ozpin pressed on. "Crimson shows a kind of strength and intelligence that most don't develop until much later in life. If he deems someone dangerous to his family, do you really think he wouldn't take matters into his own hands? And if he wants to be discreet, will you be able to notice him?"

Ozpin paused, letting his words sink in before delivering his final point. "Do you remember the match he had with a student on his visit? That student bullied his sisters' friend, Crimson threatened that student—publicly, and in front of Glynda. He didn't hesitate then, and I doubt he would now."

Qrow fell silent, his flask dangling loosely from his hand. As much as he wanted to deny it, Ozpin's words struck a chord. Crimson's maturity and sharpness had always been apparent, but now that Ozpin had pointed it out, his lack of restraint with those outside his family painted a troubling picture.

"I need a stronger drink," Qrow muttered, lifting the flask to his lips again.

Ozpin glanced at Glynda, who had yet to say a word. Her silence spoke volumes, and he knew she shared his concerns.

Finally, Ozpin broke the heavy silence. "Qrow, find Mercury's team. This is now a race against time. If they're planning something, we need to stop them before it's too late." He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. "And if Crimson finds them first... I dread to think what might happen."

If Crimson had overheard Ozpin's words, he would be pissed. Some of it was true, but the rest was just baseless speculation—a narrative Ozpin had woven to fit his own unease.

________________________

General Ironwood's flagship hovered silently in the sky, its massive silhouette casting an ominous shadow over the landscape below. Inside, the ship's sterile halls were dimly lit, the hum of machinery filling the silence. In the interrogation room, the air was heavy with tension. Roman Torchwick sat bound to a chair, his trademark snark still intact despite the dire circumstances.

Ironwood entered the room, his face an unreadable mask. He stepped forward without a word, his heavy boots echoing on the steel floor. Roman's signature smirk didn't waver as he leaned back, feigning nonchalance.

"Well, well, if it isn't General Ironwood," Roman said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "How can this lowly thief help the great general?"

Ironwood didn't respond. His eyes locked onto Roman with an icy determination, his expression devoid of emotion. Without warning, he drew his sidearm—not to aim, but to use it as a blunt weapon.

The first strike came swiftly, the butt of the gun connecting with Roman's cheek. The force knocked his head to the side, blood trickling from his mouth. Roman's smirk faltered, replaced by a grimace.

Ironwood continued, striking again and again with mechanical precision. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, blood splattering onto the pristine floor. Roman's defiance began to waver, replaced by groans of pain.

Finally, Ironwood stopped, his voice cold and unwavering. "I want to know everything. What are you planning, and how does it relate to Cinder, Mercury, and Emerald?"

At the mention of the names, Roman's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly masked his shock. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice weaker but still laced with defiance.

Ironwood's eyes narrowed. He raised his weapon, aimed it at Roman's leg, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The gunshot echoed through the room. Roman screamed in agony, his voice raw and desperate. "You can't do that! Are you crazy?" he shouted, clutching his wounded leg as blood pooled beneath him.

Ironwood didn't flinch. His voice was as cold as the steel around them. "I'll ask again. What are you planning?"

Roman shook his head, defiance mixed with terror in his eyes. "I told you, I don't—"

Another shot rang out. The bullet tore into Roman's other leg, and his screams grew louder, echoing off the walls.

"Alright! Alright!" Roman cried out, his resistance shattered. "I'll talk! Cinder... she's my employer. She told me to steal for her, to handle 'the other stuff.' That's it! I don't know the full plan! All I know is it's during the Vytal Festival. She's working with the White Fang, and when it's all done, I'm supposed to walk free."

Ironwood's eyes narrowed further. He stepped closer, his presence looming over the broken man. Without warning, he fired again, this time at Roman's hand.

Roman's scream was filled with anguish as he clutched his shattered hand, tears streaming down his face. "I swear that's all I know! Please, stop!"

Ironwood stared down at him, his voice low and menacing. "If I find out you're lying, you'll wish I ended it here." He turned to the soldiers standing guard. "Treat his wounds. I want him alive for now."

As Roman was dragged away, Ironwood stepped out of the interrogation room, the steel door hissing shut behind him. Outside, Winter Schnee was waiting, her face etched with concern.

"General," Winter began cautiously, "was that... necessary?"

Ironwood sighed, his rigid posture softening slightly. "I don't like what I did in there," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "But we're running out of time, and there's a very real possibility of disaster. If thousands of lives are at stake, I'll do whatever it takes to prevent it."

Winter nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I trust your judgment, sir. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

Ironwood glanced back at the door, his resolve hardening once more. "Hope is a luxury we can't afford."

With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy with the burden of his choices.

________________________

The warehouse on the outskirts of Vale was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of scattered lamps dangling from the ceiling. Crates and barrels were stacked haphazardly, creating looming shadows that danced with every flicker of the lights. The faint smell of oil and dust filled the air, mingling with the tension hanging heavily in the room.

Emerald paced anxiously, her boots echoing against the cold cement floor. She chewed on her lip, her emerald-green eyes darting to Cinder, who sat composed in a chair, her legs crossed and her gaze fixed intently on her scroll. Across the room, Mercury leaned casually against a stack of crates, his arms crossed, a perpetual smirk playing on his lips.

"You should stop pacing," Mercury said, his voice light and teasing. "You're making me dizzy."

Emerald shot him a glare but said nothing, her unease palpable.

Cinder broke the silence, her tone sharp yet calm. "Ignoring Crimson was a mistake." She tapped her scroll lightly, as though punctuating her words. Her amber eyes flicked up, locking onto Emerald. "And using your semblance against Coco was an even bigger one."

Emerald flinched, stopping mid-step. "I—I thought it was the right move. It was safer, and we needed to—"

Cinder held up a hand, silencing her. "Excuses won't change the outcome." Her voice carried a cold edge, cutting through Emerald's defenses. "We can't afford mistakes now."

Unbeknownst to Ozpin, Crimson, or anyone else at Beacon, Cinder's helper had compromised the headmaster's office. Every word spoken there echoed in the warehouse, a live feed that played directly on her scroll. Ozpin's latest conversation had been especially enlightening.

Mercury, ever the calmer of the two, shrugged and pushed off the crates. "So, what's the plan now? If they're onto us, it's only a matter of time before they start sniffing around here."

Cinder's lips curved into a slight smirk as she leaned back in her chair. "We stick to the plan." Her voice was steady, almost casual, as though the stakes weren't as high as they were. "Roman doesn't know the details, so they will gain nothing from him. We will just need to be more cautious. A few disguises should suffice"

She paused, her fingers dancing over the scroll's surface, pulling up data and maps. "Our annoying friend at Beacon might have pieced together some of it, but even if they know about the virus, it'll take them days—maybe weeks—to isolate it and fix their systems. By then, it will be too late."

Mercury nodded, his smirk fading slightly. "And what about Crimson? He seems... dangerous."

Cinder's eyes glinted dangerously, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Once I have the Maiden's powers, I will deal with the lucky golden boy myself."

Her words sent a chill through the room, even Emerald stopping mid-breath. Cinder's confidence was absolute, her resolve unshakable. The thought of confronting Crimson—or anyone who dared to oppose her—seemed less like a challenge and more like a foregone conclusion in her mind.

For now, all they had to do was bide their time, keep their heads down, and execute their plan with precision. The pieces were already in motion, and soon, Vale would fall.

The shadows in the warehouse seemed to stretch and twist, as if echoing the dark intentions brewing within.