Two Wrongs Make a Right Ch.37

-9S, Beacon Academy-

Beacon Academy boasted numerous facilities designed to help students learn and refine their skills, something to be expected from one of Remnant's best Huntsman academies. Among these was a specialized workshop that differed from the standard weapon maintenance facility where hunters-in-training built, maintained, and repaired their mechshift weapons. And then there was a secondary workshop catered specifically to students with implants or cybernetic augmentations, its walls lined with diagnostic equipment and precision tools designed for operations that didn't require top-tier medical experts which was much smaller than the weapons one.

Nines found herself in a rather unique position as she carefully analyzed her partner's cybernetic arm. Her eyes mapped every circuit and mechanical component, drawing parallels that she stored in her data banks for further analysis. While she had performed a cursory scan when they first met, this opportunity allowed for a much closer examination. Being able to interface directly with the prosthetic's systems provided invaluable insight into its functionality—particularly the remarkable fact that Yang could experience tactile sensations through the artificial limb.

"You know, I've been thinking about getting synthetic skin for this baby," Yang said, flexing her metallic fingers as she examined her arm. "But honestly? I kinda like how badass it looks. Plus, the whole operation would be ridiculously expensive since I'd have to travel all the way to Atlas for it. And you know me—I'd rather spend my money on more practical things, like my bike. Or food. Definitely food."

Nines nodded as she kept working changing tools.

"Thanks for doing this, Nines," Yang continued, settling more comfortably on the examination table with her arm resting on the specialized support. "You totally saved me from wasting an entire day sitting in those mind-numbing hospital waiting rooms. Besides, they'd charge me a fucking fortune in lien for something this simple."

Nines paused in her examination, looking up with curiosity. "Is a routine checkup really that expensive?"

Yang rolled her lilac eyes dramatically. "Oh, you have no idea, partner. They come up with all sorts of bullshit fees just to look at the thing. Connection diagnostics, wear analysis, system optimization—it's straight-up highway robbery. If it was just a normal health checkup, I'd go bug the school nurse, but they don't have an implant specialist at Beacon. Pretty lame oversight if you ask me."

The android frowned slightly, quickly accessing news articles and medical databases through her internal systems. Within moments, she had formed a comprehensive picture for the implant market for students. "According to my research, Beacon has negotiated discounts for implant maintenance at a couple approved facilities. You shouldn't need to rely solely on hospitals for routine care."

"Yeah, a whole five percent discount—my hero," Yang replied with heavy sarcasm, throwing her free hand up in mock celebration. "Hence why I only get the damn thing checked every couple months or so. There used to be this mechanic back on Patch who'd do free checkups—nice old lady who knew her stuff—but she packed up and moved to Mistral last year. So much for my free ride."

Nines nodded, refocusing on the prosthetic as she carefully removed another screw to access the inner plating. "I understand. It explains why there are courses that teach you self maintenance for implants although it seems a little superficial.."

Pod would undoubtedly possess far more extensive knowledge about cybernetic maintenance, having performed countless diagnostics and even emergency repairs when Healer units weren't available during the war. However, he was currently occupied with important work in Kuo Kuana, and Nines didn't want to disturb him and the Commander for what amounted to a routine procedure. Besides, this hands-on experience could prove invaluable for her reports to Commander Taurus, particularly since he'd been developing his own cybernetic enhancements. Having the opportunity to apply theoretical knowledge in practice brought Nines considerable satisfaction.

While she wasn't a specialized Healer model with extensive medical databases, her combat experience and analytical capabilities provided sufficient knowledge for basic maintenance. The prosthetic's complexity was actually less challenging than her own internal systems, though the sensory and artificial nerve networking remained impressively sophisticated—nearly matching her own.

With the outer plating removed, she conducted another detailed scan and immediately detected anomalies. "Yang, I'm detecting some deterioration in this sector," she said, indicating a specific component cluster. "It's connected to your sensory feedback systems. While not immediately critical, continued degradation will eventually result in complete sensation loss or, potentially worse, irregular electrical discharges."

"Ugh, seriously?" Yang groaned, letting her head fall back against the chair. "And here I thought I was being responsible by coming in for a checkup. What else is gonna go wrong today?"

"Could you test your weapon systems? Ensure the ammunition chambers are empty first, then attempt to fire."

Yang clenched her prosthetic hand into a fist, triggering the familiar clicking sound of empty chambers cycling.

Nines immediately moved to examine the barrel outputs. "Mmm, there's significant material buildup inside the firing mechanisms. Yang, when was the last time you cleaned these properly?"

The blonde looked away sheepishly, her usual confidence momentarily replaced by embarrassment. "I kinda... maybe... forgot? Look, in my defense, I've been super busy with classes and the practical—"

"Yang," Nines interrupted with a concerned sigh, "excessive buildup can cause catastrophic misfires. In the worst-case scenario, you could lose the entire arm."

"Okay, okay! Message received loud and clear, doc," Yang said, raising her organic hand in surrender. "I promise I'll start using that little... uh... the spinny cleaning thing more often."

"Bore brush," Nines corrected automatically.

"Right, that thing. I swear I'll be more responsible about it."

Continuing her examination, Nines noted additional issues. "Several gears are showing signs of tooth rounding, which will eventually impact your weapon's reliability. I'd recommend replacing them during your next comprehensive maintenance cycle."

"Ugh, dammit," Yang muttered, running her free hand through her golden locks. "I guess it's time for a full overhaul then. It's been about two years since I did one, so I suppose I can't complain. Gonna have to skip classes for a day though."

"Don't worry about that," Nines said with a reassuring smile as she began reassembling the components. "I'll make sure you stay current with any material you miss."

"Heh, thanks, partner. You're a real lifesaver—literally, apparently."

As Nines carefully reinstalled the protective plating, her curiosity about the prosthetic's origins intensified. While it would have been inappropriate to inquire during their early acquaintance, months of partnership had built sufficient trust for more personal questions, or so she believed. "If you don't mind my asking... how did you come to need this prosthetic?"

Yang's head snapped toward her, and her usually vibrant demeanor suddenly became subdued. The silence stretched uncomfortably as various emotions flickered across her features.

Recognizing her mistake immediately, Nines quickly backtracked. "I apologize. I didn't mean to pry into something so personal—"

"No, no, it's totally fine," Yang interrupted, shaking her head and forcing her characteristic grin back into place. "Really, no hard feelings at all. I just... haven't really thought about that whole mess in a long time, you know? Kinda prefer keeping it buried." She gestured toward a vending machine in the corner with her organic arm. "Think you could grab us some drinks? This story's gonna take a while, and I could definitely use a drink."

Nines nodded, moving to purchase two carbonated drinks which were a little expensive due them not being recycled, before returning and handing one to Yang, who had settled more comfortably in her chair.

"Alright, girl." Yang said, taking a long drink and exhaling deeply. "This whole shitstorm started about a decade ago when I made probably the single dumbest decision of my entire life. I decided to take little Ruby on what I thought would be a fun adventure..."

----------------------------------------------------------------

-Adam Taurus-

Despite this port having been a battlefield for an impromptu gang war months ago, it's back to full functionality. Well, mostly. It has been months since that chaotic day when my only interest was hijacking a relatively small ship to escape home as soon as possible.

With that time pressure now eliminated, I have considerably more opportunity to explore and investigate the place more thoroughly.

That's precisely why I'm sitting in the boss's office once again. The man hasn't changed passwords or implemented any security improvements since then—the username and password are still written on a note taped to the right corner of the screen. This blatant negligence has left me free to manipulate shipping manifests and merchandise records for what the freight cargo ship is scheduled to load and export to Mistral.

Usually, someone should be working here, but the port supervisor seems committed to doing the absolute bare minimum, leaving the place empty for days at a time from what I've observed. Probably because this isn't exactly a high-traffic commercial hub either.

It's almost amusing that I nearly forgot I had access to this place, especially after Ilia obtained so many valuable files and ledgers from here during our initial operation. But then again, why waste time on elaborate blackmail schemes when we could orchestrate a straightforward acquisition?

Instead of the usual consumer goods and luxury items, I'm systematically altering the inventory ledger—loading it with construction materials and heavy equipment in massive quantities that conveniently happen to be stored in the container yard. I'm shipping tons of steel: structural beams, specialized alloys, reinforced supports, pallets of cement, industrial bricks, construction vehicles, and countless other essentials I need for the major infrastructure projects the Pods have designed. And to avoid revisions or cancellation I simply forged some fake notes and messages inside the computer that this cargo was important for Mistral and no delays. 

But I can always come back to check if things are progressing and don’t require some extra work.

Getting a more advanced forge operational is the biggest priority, after all.

I've also modified the shipping route and departure schedule, rerouting everything to pass close to the southwest port of Mistral—which is the closest to our outpost, though that's being generous since it's still a considerable distance from there.

The plan itself is straightforward: Once the cargo vessel departs Vale, I'll dispatch the ship girls to intercept and board it mid-route. They'll establish a portal on board, allowing me to teleport directly there, assume control, and if I can't manage the entire crew myself, I can call for Pod backup to handle navigation and steering.

The crew will become temporary hostages—uncomfortable but necessary. We'll release them as soon as we finish unloading everything  back at Menagerie and drop them, along with their vessel, at Mistral port. We're not keeping a standard freight cargo ship—too much unwanted attention and too many operational complications considering that our port is still not ready for something that big. The smaller cargo ship we already have is sufficient for our current needs.

Simple but effective.

I save the modified schedule and ledgers, finalizing the alterations. By the end of the week, the freighter will depart Vale and be intercepted mid-route to Mistral. With a proper refinery operational, we'll immediately transition our energy infrastructure and allocate all Dust production to military applications. Naturally, while the facilities are under construction, the Pods will shift priorities to begin comprehensive personnel training—otherwise, these installations would be useless or operating at subpar capacity.

I power down the computer—the work is complete. I take a moment to methodically scan the room, ensuring everything is returned to its original position so no one will suspect anything has been tampered with. Even the chair is pushed back to the exact angle I found it.

Time to move. Phase one is now set in motion.

But first, I need to coordinate it with Pod.

I quickly type out the operational details and attach screenshots of the documents and other specifics I've altered, ensuring Pod can perform the calculations and predict the optimal interception point and new routes from there. I could handle these calculations myself, but he can process them more efficiently while identifying potential risks and problems, subsequently improving the original plan.

The response comes within minutes, as expected.

'UNDERSTOOD. CURRENT PLAN HAS 71% CHANCE OF SUCCESS. I WILL SEND A DETAILED REPORT AND SUGGESTIONS TO IMPROVE CHANCES OF SUCCESS FURTHER.'

Perfect.

I power down the terminal and slip out of the office. Moving through the building proves effortless—the same security negligence that allowed me access to the computer extends throughout the facility. I reach the exterior and scale the building's wall, pulling myself onto the roof.

From this position, I can survey the port's layout once more. Despite it being broad daylight, there's minimal security presence compared to when I infiltrated this place with Ilia months ago. Perhaps they've grown complacent, or maybe the reduced staffing is simply another cost-cutting measure in response to the gang war that occurred here.

Either way, it works in my favor.

I begin my exit route, leaping from rooftop to rooftop before transitioning to the massive container towers that dominate the landscape. The shipping containers provide excellent cover and multiple escape pathways out of the facility as well.

Within minutes, I'm clear of the port entirely and making my way toward the nightclub where Roman is recovering, this time using portals to save time.

I didn't establish a portal directly inside the safe house—that would be far too suspicious and could compromise the location. Instead, I positioned the portal in a different alley blocks away, maintaining a layer of security while keeping the destination quickly accessible.

Just like last time, I reach the reinforced door and deliver the password to the same guard. He grants me entry without question, and I follow the familiar path downstairs to the basement corridor.

When I reach the metallic door at the end, I attempt to turn the handle, but it's locked. Annoying. I was expecting it to be left open, so I knocked firmly a couple of times.

The door opens to reveal the short ice cream girl, whose heterochromatic eyes widen before she immediately steps aside. Her expression is more relaxed than during our previous encounter, which already tells me volumes about Roman's recovery.

And indeed, Roman Torchwick is sitting upright on the bed, the blanket covering his lower body while his upper torso is clothed in clean white undergarments. The transformation is remarkable—he looks significantly healthier than the scrawny, hollowed man from over a week ago, though his usually immaculate hair hangs loose and unstyled rather than in that characteristic flamboyant look.

As expected the stamp had done a very good job, though he appears somewhat subdued—unusual for someone typically so theatrical and extrovert.

What surprises me most is his muted demeanor. There's no sarcastic greeting, no sneaky quip or dramatic flourish—just a simple, weary acknowledgment of my presence with a nod.

Roman notices my reaction and lets out a dry chuckle. "Well, well, I can tell you're surprised even behind that loud helmet of yours." He gestures vaguely at himself with less than his usual flair. "I'm just... tired. Really, genuinely tired. You know, I always thought I was pretty smarter, but I completely underestimated what those bastards were capable of." His voice carries a weariness I've never heard before. "They don't just lock you up and throw away the key. Oh no, that would be too merciful. You don't even want to lift your head after a while. The monotony, the forced silence—you can't even hear your own breathing. It was driving me completely, utterly insane."

Neo slowly approaches him and sits beside him, rubbing his back in gentle, soothing circles. It's strange to witness this tender side of her—I only know this girl as a psychotic, sadistic little terror, not someone capable of such affection and care.

But I'm getting sidetracked.

"How were you captured?" I ask directly, cutting through the sentiment.

Roman's expression darkens, and cynicism resurfaces. "Ah, now there's the million-lien question." He grimaces before continuing. "It was a colossal mistake on my part, really. I was dealing with some new gang, absolute idiots who were overreaching and bringing way too much heat down on everyone operating in that sector. Problem was, somebody with loose lips tipped off the boys in blue."

He pauses to take a careful sip of water. "So there I was, expecting a simple put them in their place kinda job, when suddenly we're in the middle of a full-scale police bust. Gunfire everywhere, sirens wailing—the whole building or block. Now, any reasonable criminal would join forces against the common threat, right? But these brain-dead morons decided it would be a brilliant idea to turn their guns and shiny trinkets on me instead of the cops."

Roman's voice takes on a sardonic edge. "Oh, but it gets better. The VPD rolled out their shiny new toys—combat drones, both the 'less lethal' and 'very lethal' varieties. Absolutely swarmed the place like locusts. Meanwhile, Neo and I are trying to deal with these augmented idiots who suddenly think they're hot stuff because they've got some fancy cybernetics." His expression sours further. "I really, really hate those augmentation junkies. Turns absolute morons into something temporarily dangerous."

He sets down the glass with slightly trembling fingers. "Then one of these enhanced idiots—and I use that term loosely because intelligence clearly wasn't part of his upgrade package—decided it would be clever to use a grenade belt he obviously didn't understand. Thing went off right in his own face, sent me flying out onto the street like a ragdoll, and suddenly I'm surrounded by those mechanical vultures."

Roman's voice drops lower, more serious. "The police also deployed their Enforcers—officers with both Aura training and military-grade augmentations. Now, individually? I could probably take one squad, maybe two if I’m inspired. They're still significantly weaker than proper Huntsmen. But half the city's police force, dozens of combat drones, and an entire squad of Enforcers?" He shakes his head ruefully. "Even I'm not that arrogant. It was surrender or became a bloody paste on the road."

That's a reasonable assessment of an impossible situation.

"And the Isocube?" I press for details.

"Ah yes, my lovely accommodations." Roman's voice drips with bitter resentment. "After that spectacular failure, that's where they stashed me—streaming it live for the whole world to see, of course. Scammers all of them, showing me all there sitting and somehow enduring while in actuality I was…something bad."

"That extensively?"

"Oh, those sadistic bastards..." Roman's hands clench into fists. "I'm convinced they were either trying to kill me slowly for the ratings, or maybe they had some sort of sick streaming donation challenge going. 'How long can we break Roman Torchwick?' A regular prison would have been Club Med compared to that psychological torture chamber." His expression grows even darker. "Not that standard prison would've been a vacation either—there's always the delightful possibility of having your organs harvested or being sold off to Atlas like a piece of meat or somebody going full psycho. Really just a collection of terrible choices all around."

"What?" This information catches my attention immediately.

Roman looks genuinely surprised by my reaction. "You didn't know about that little arrangement? Well, aren't you adorably naive." His sardonic smile returns briefly. "The prison system has this lovely side business selling prisoners to some Atlesian corporations. I haven't done a full investigation—been a bit busy getting tortured, you understand—but that was the primary reason I chose the Isocube over standard incarceration. After what I went through in that sensory deprivation nightmare, I'm seriously regretting that particular decision."

The implications are deeply disturbing. Atlas purchasing prisoners from other kingdoms strongly suggests human experimentation at minimum. Those poor bastards never stood a chance.

"So about our contract..." I begin.

"Oh, absolutely. A deal's a deal, and Roman Torchwick always honors his commitments—especially to someone who pulled him out of that hell." His voice regains some confidence. "Besides, after that delightful vacation courtesy of Vale's finest, I'm more motivated than ever to make some people's lives very, very difficult." He turns to Neo with genuine affection. "Neo, sweetheart, bring our friend the contract, would you?"

She moves away from his side and retrieves a tablet, which she hands over with a small, almost shy smile.

I grab the tablet and examine it, scrolling through what I initially expected to be the contract. Instead, it's an extensive digital catalogue with numerous options—not products, but legitimate businesses and their details..

The thief clears his throat to pull my attention.  "As expected, those bumbling idiots in blue didn't manage to extract anything of real importance—just the decoys I can reconstruct fairly quickly." He leans back against the pillow with that familiar, self-satisfied smirk returning to his features. "So go ahead, make your shopping list. Specify whether you want regular shipments, one-time acquisitions, or ongoing business partnerships, and I can make the necessary calls to arrange everything through proper channels. You'll even get a substantial discount as my personal thanks for being so... expedient with my extraction. I thought I'd be rotting in that technological nightmare for at least a year."

Neo nods enthusiastically beside him.

I nod and pocket the tablet. "I'll let you know when we have decided how to proceed."

"Smart approach," Roman acknowledges with approval. "No rush on my end—I'm not exactly going anywhere for a while. Just don't take too long; some of these have expiration dates, if you catch my meaning."

"What are your immediate plans?" I ask, curious about his next move.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though I can detect the underlying tension in his posture. "Keep recovering, obviously. I mean, physically I feel significantly better, but the head..." He pauses, his jaw tightening. "Well, let's just say some scars take considerably longer to heal than others."

His expression shifts, and a smile curls up. "After I'm back to my charming, devastatingly handsome self, I'll be paying some very reliable thugs to systematically hunt down and destroy those augmented idiots who put me in this delightful predicament. Each and every one of them." The smile grows colder. "Can't let word spread through Vale's underworld that Roman Torchwick can be crossed without severe, permanent consequences. Bad for business, you understand."

Retaliation—entirely expected in the criminal underworld and perfectly logical from his perspective. But I have no intention of involving myself in his personal vendetta.

"That's reasonable," I acknowledge. "Handle your business as you see fit." I pause, considering our immediate intelligence requirements. "Before I leave, I need to obtain a current territorial map and comprehensive list of the active gangs operating in Vale. Power structures, recent conflicts, everything that might be of importance."

"Now that's more like it," Roman replies with renewed confidence and obvious enthusiasm. "I'll have that compiled and delivered to you within the next few days. My network may have taken some hits during my extended vacation, but the important bits are still intact. Plus, I'm curious to see how the power dynamics shifted while I was indisposed."

Neo reaches over and squeezes his hand briefly—another small gesture of affection that seems odd from someone I've only seen as a ruthless killer.

I nod approvingly and turn to leave the safe house, making my way back through the nightclub's dimly lit corridors and leaving the building before eventually returning to the pocket dimension after reaching the alley from a couple blocks away.

Once back in my manor, I immediately contact Pod 3.

She responds promptly and transmits several high-resolution photographs of the Grimm Lands—terrain that isn't quite the desolate, apocalyptic wasteland one would expect from the horror stories told about that cursed region.

I open the world map and cross-reference her current position. She isn't stationed in the core territories of the Grimm Lands as I had originally anticipated, but rather in what appears to be wild, untamed frontier territory on the periphery.

"I'LL REACH THE DESIGNATED COORDINATES IN APPROXIMATELY ONE DAY. NO SIGNIFICANT GRIMM CONCENTRATIONS DETECTED IN IMMEDIATE VICINITY."

Not much to report yet, then. " If you encounter any new Grimm species, unusual behavioral patterns, or environmental phenomena, record everything. We need as much data you can gather without putting yourself at risk."

"AFFIRMATIVE. COMPREHENSIVE DATA COLLECTION PROTOCOLS ACTIVE."

I end the transmission and shift focus to reviewing any other reports that may have accumulated in my inbox.

Nothing particularly noteworthy in the backlog, resource allocation confirmations from the Pods, and standard intelligence briefs. That’s a good indication since things are running smoothly in my absence.

Except one of the messages is from the Albain brothers regarding the Mistral base. Nothing concerning—more like a progress report stating that the base was fully operational, well-supplied, and ready for the next phase of expansion.

I compose a reply, asking about their future plans and whether they could work to gain political influence, establish contracts with port villages, or infiltrate SDC company towns for intelligence gathering. They had the resources and connections for all of those operations, after all.

Obviously, expansion didn't mean aggressive territorial acquisition. That approach would only draw Atlas's military attention and provoke the remaining Mistral families who wouldn't tolerate another major player disrupting their carefully balanced power structure—especially after the Spider clan's recent power grab and market shocks.

With that correspondence handled, I write a brief message to Sienna, asking for an update about the murder case.

Her response arrives relatively quickly, reporting that the clan leadership had mostly stabilized after their initial upheaval, and tensions had calmed significantly. However, the criminal investigation into the assassination had yielded no concrete results since they lacked specialized forensic equipment and had no personnel with investigative semblances to compensate for those technological limitations, also Sienna’s forces were inexperienced about this. Essentially, a rather primitive investigation by modern standards.

Interestingly, I recall seeing something relevant to that forensic problem in Roman's business catalogue, so I make a mental note to examine those options later.

"COMMANDER."

That's Pod, and being so direct which only happens when there's something important.

"COMMANDER, BEHEMOTH ENTITIES FOUND. TERRITORIAL DISPUTE ONGOING."

Not a single entity, but multiple behemoths in the same area.

"Send me a live feed, Pod."

There's a brief silence before a new screen materializes in my vision, displaying a large clearing situated in the middle of the dense unexplored jungle of Menagerie.

Most importantly, I can see a massive, heavily-built wolf-like creature covered in distinctive blue-tinted scales and prominent horn-like protrusions jutting from its skull and spine. Electrical energy crackles and gathers around its form in visible arcs of blue-white lightning, while a pack of similarly bulky Beowolves surrounds the behemoth. All of them share those unique physical characteristics—the scaled hide, the electrical discharge, the more robust build.

Standing on the opposite side of the clearing is a second behemoth—noticeably smaller and more streamlined in build, but equally dangerous-looking with its prominently spiked tail and can safely assume a more agile frame. Purple-tinged lightning courses through its dark fur in rhythmic, pulsing patterns. This one is accompanied by a pack of leaner, more agile Beowolves that mirror their leader's sleeker physiology.

That detail makes me raise my brow.

How or why have these Grimm adopted the physiology of their respective behemoth leaders? Did they evolve to share similarities through some unknown process? Or were they somehow "born" with these traits? This completely contradicts my initial hypothesis that behemoths consume other Grimm. Are they selective in their behavior? Like a true predatory food chain where apex predators feed on equivalent prey species? But then why are the normal Grimm changing to match their leaders? Is this phenomenon isolated to these two groups, or do other behemoths also command packs with similar transformations?

Ugh. Just more questions with no clear answers.

Both massive creatures are growling menacingly and baring their fangs at each other in an obvious territorial dominance display. The larger behemoth begins pounding the ground with its massive claws, sending tremors through the earth, and its black fur shifts dramatically, taking on a distinctive blue hue as electrical energy intensifies around its entire body, crackling with increasing intensity.

Again, how can it generate electricity so effortlessly? There's no storm present, no external electrical source—how are they creating this bioelectrical discharge from seemingly nothing?

But before one can attack the smaller behemoth lowers its head in a clear gesture of submission and begins withdrawing with its pack, ceding the territory to the larger monster without further conflict.

The winner lets out a triumphant, earth-shaking roar, with its entire pack howling in unison. Doesn’t seem to be that loud since Pod isn’t suffering any backlash from it.

Nonetheless, that was fascinating to witness and highly educational about this world Grimm, but it only generated more questions than answers about their unexpected behavior and potential evolution.

Two distinct behemoth variants with electrical abilities—were these documented in any known Grimm classification systems? Or were they completely new evolutionary forms that had somehow evaded discovery? The bioelectrical abilities, just like the Brachydios's explosive secretions, have no scientific basis as far as I know, only if we capture one or kill it can the expert start their hypothesis.

While pack mentality isn't unusual for standard Grimm, it's unprecedented for behemoths to demonstrate such behavior. More concerning is the apparent fact that smaller, normal Grimm recognize these behemoths as their alphas—this has dangerous implications for regional security. Especially considering the possibility of organized Grimm Tides under behemoth leadership.

Although, they don't actively attack settlements most of the time unless directly provoked or lured. Unlike traditional Alpha Grimm, which aggressively assault populated areas once they gather sufficiently large packs, these behemoths are more focused on territorial control.

"Pod, follow and mark the larger behemoth's lair location. I want that position catalogued for future reference," I give the order. That particular specimen has caught my interest, and I want to attempt stamping it—it appears to be the more powerful of the two, and I'm curious to observe what happens to its pack dynamics once it becomes loyal to me.

"UNDERSTOOD, COMMANDER. INITIATING TRACKING PROTOCOLS. MAINTAINING SAFE DISTANCE TO AVOID DETECTION."

That reminds me—I need to check on the Dreadcoil and observe how it's changed or if its behavior has shifted after the stamp. Then study how it reacts when it encounters Brutus. I don't expect it to act like a dog, but considering Brutus's unexpected puppy behavior, anything is possible with these monsters.

However, I quickly receive an incoming call, and it's from Atago.

"Enemy ship sighted, Commander." Her voice carries none of its usual playful, flirtatious tone—which means this situation is serious.

"Enemy?" I immediately adopt a different mindset, furrowing my brow as I focus entirely on the developing situation.

"An unidentified vessel approached our established patrol routes and has refused to respond to any of our communications or direct orders. They haven't increased speed, haven't reduced speed, and are maintaining their current course—which leads directly into our territorial waters around the island."

"Are they alone?" Always a critical question.

"Affirmative, Commander. Our radar systems haven't detected any additional vessels in the immediate area, and we've also confirmed no Grimm presence that might complicate the engagement. I'm currently positioned with Kawakaze since Asanagi is in the West. We require your immediate orders."

I considered the possibilities for a moment. A ship that deliberately refuses all communication attempts and maintains course toward our territory could be anything—pirates testing our defenses, smugglers of the unwanted variety, or something far worse. Nothing about this suggests benign intentions.

So decision is obvious.

"If they maintain course and continue ignoring all communications, fire warning shots across their bow."

Better to attempt intimidation first—give them one final opportunity to reconsider before escalating to full engagement. "Keep the communication channel open throughout."

"Understood, Commander. Firing warning shots now."

A tense pause.

"Still no response, Commander. They've completely ignored our warning shots and continue on their intercept course," Atago reports, her tone growing noticeably colder.

That seals their fate.

"Fire."

They had their last chance and rejected it. That's entirely on them.

Several tense seconds pass before Atago's voice returns.

"Direct hits confirmed on their engine section, but the vessel is still not responding to communications and showing no signs of surrender or distress signals."

The shot might have killed everyone aboard—unfortunate but a predictable outcome when they choose to ignore military warnings.

"Send Kawakaze inspect the ship." A direct hit to their engines should have disabled the ship entirely.

"Roger, Commander. Kawakaze is moving to inspect."

Another moment passes, then—

"They're returning fire!" Atago shouts.

My muscles tense as my eyes widen. Did they deliberately take that hit to lure them closer for an ambush?

"Fire at will! Full engagement authorized!"

There's a longer silence punctuated by what I can only assume is the sound of naval combat, before Atago's voice comes through again. "Enemy vessel has been sunk, Commander."

I exhale slowly, releasing tension I didn't realize I was holding.

"Status report."

"No damage sustained, Commander. Their weapons were much smaller caliber than what our armor can handle. Their shots practically bounced off her hull without leaving so much as a scratch."

I'm relieved to hear that, but their decision raises questions. Did they underestimate the shipgirls because of their appearance? Or was this some kind of desperate suicide mission?

"Proceed to the wreck site immediately. If there are survivors, capture them and transport them to Sienna for interrogation. Search the vessel thoroughly for any cargo, documents, or intelligence materials that might explain their intentions. You're authorized to request assistance from any available Pod units, but remain alert for additional threats."

"Understood completely, Commander. And... thank you for trusting us with this."

And just like that, they had the first direct naval engagement against enemy forces, not grimm. Whether they were pirates, smugglers, or something more concerning, it's reassuring that the shipgirls resolved the threat quickly and efficiently. However, the fact that an unidentified ship attempted to penetrate our waters raises serious questions and the intentions behind such action.

I should look for the CV and a Battleship option now, I have the credits after all.

Hopefully, this won't become a recurring pattern, but I suspect word of our naval presence will spread.

Now… where is that big guy?

-----------------------------------------------

-Ilia Amitola-

Ilia finished a training session with a small squad of new recruits, which left her feeling satisfied with the day's progress. More and more of her people were joining their ranks as they expanded operations - especially now that they needed additional personnel to man the new outposts and cover more of Menagerie's territory, ensuring the villages no longer felt abandoned.

The training had also served as a good way to keep herself sharp while evaluating the newcomers. They were decent enough - nothing that dedicated training and discipline couldn't fix. With more patrols and standing guards, the villages would be considerably more secure from grimm attacks. There were even plans to build another road connecting to an isolated settlement in the northern reaches.

For now, she was heading home to discuss a few matters with Kali, but first she needed to send some updates about equipment requests as the training dummies were starting to tear.

She pulled out her scroll and began swiping through her apps to get the chat, but her finger slipped slightly - a small mistake she was about to correct when something caught her eye. A new app icon had appeared on her screen with a rather peculiar name.

'All Roads Lead to Home.'

She frowned, staring at the unfamiliar app. She definitely didn't remember installing anything with that name, and the icon itself was oddly intricate - almost artistic in design, featuring what looked like a door and multiple pathways.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she tapped it.

The app opened with a small warning message in elegant script: 'Please ensure you are in a private location before proceeding.'

Ilia glanced around the training courtyard, noting a few stragglers still cleaning up equipment and storing training weapons. She moved to a more secluded corner behind one of the supply sheds, her curiosity now thoroughly piqued. 

The next prompt was even stranger: 'Point your device at a flat surface you wish to use.'

She looked at the stone wall of the shed, then back at her scroll. This felt like some kind of elaborate prank. Had Adam installed this when she wasn't looking? Or was it one of the pods? But she'd come this far, and her investigative instincts were fully engaged now. She pointed the scroll at the wall and tapped the screen as if taking a picture.

What happened next defied all logic.

A swirling red vortex materialized in front of her, roughly the size of a doorway, crackling with energy that made the air around it shimmer and hum. It casted an eerie crimson glow across the stone wall, and she could feel a slight warmth emanating from its surface.

Ilia jerked backward instinctively, though she managed to keep her composure enough to avoid any dramatic color changes. She looked around frantically to ensure no one else saw what she just saw, then rubbed her eyes hard. When she opened them, the red portal was still there, spinning quietly like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her mind warred with her survival instincts. This couldn't be real. She knew about some semblances capable of creating portals of sorts, but they didn't just appear from scroll apps. The technology, despite how advanced it was, had limitations, and this clearly exceeded all of them. Yet the evidence was right in front of her, undeniably present and definitely not a hallucination.

She definitely hadn't consumed anything suspicious or been exposed to anything bad.

But almost without conscious thought, she reached out tentatively. Her finger disappeared into the swirling energy for a moment, and she yanked it back with a startled gasp. But when she examined her hand, it was perfectly fine - no burns, no numbness, no strange sensations at all.

Emboldened but still cautious, she tried again with her entire hand, then her arm. The sensation was bizarre - like pushing through warm water that wasn't quite there, with a tingling that reminded her of goosebumps.

She stood there for several minutes, torn between caution and overwhelming curiosity. She should tell Adam about this immediately, or at least inform someone she could trust. This was clearly beyond normal and could represent either an opportunity or a threat.

She wanted to know what was on the other side.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she stepped through.

The transition was seamless, like walking from one room to another through an ordinary doorway. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a completely different environment that definitely wasn't Menagerie.

The air was fresh and pleasant, that alone was shocking, carrying scents of unfamiliar flowers and clean earth with an underlying sweetness she couldn't identify. Everything felt peaceful, almost serene in a way that reminded her of the most tranquil spots in Menagerie's protected interior. The sky above was a subtly different shade of blue, with clouds that seemed to move in foreign patterns, and the light had a quality she'd never experienced before.

She stood in what appeared to be a well-maintained yard in front of a large, beautiful house that bore no resemblance to any architecture she was familiar with. It reminded her vaguely of Mistralian designs she'd seen in pictures, but with distinctive touches that suggested an entirely different origin. The building was impressive without being ostentatious, designed with clean lines, large windows.

But what actually made her jaw drop was the massive creature lying belly-up in the grass like an oversized, contented pet.

The thing was roughly the size of a small truck, with bright red, leathery skin that glistened slightly in the strange light. Its body was roughly spherical with stubby, powerful legs, and its mouth - currently hanging open in apparent bliss - revealed rows of intimidating teeth that could probably bite through steel. Despite its fearsome appearance, it was making rumbling sounds of pure contentment as it received what could only be described as the world's most surreal belly rub.

From her boyfriend.

"A-Adam?" she managed to stammer.

Adam froze mid-scratch, his hand still resting on the creature's rounded belly. He slowly raised his gaze to meet hers, and even with his blindfold, she could sense his surprise.

"So you finally found this place, huh?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess it was inevitable."

The red creature - whatever it was - seemed completely unbothered by her arrival, continuing to make those contented rumbling sounds. It rolled slightly to give Adam better access to a different spot, and let out what could generously be described as a happy bark.

"Adam, what..." she struggled to form coherent thoughts. "Where are we? What is this place? And what in the name of the Brother Gods is that thing?"

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AN: Took a little longer, but here it is. Hope you like it.