Project: RWBY

Ch 30) Project: rePentaNce

The weather in the wastelands has always been a volatile thing, especially in the Dead Zones. In just an hour it can go from acid rain to a blood storm without any warning, claiming the lives of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught without shelter.

Today, however, was calmer than most. A brief spurt of acid rain in the night followed by a heat wave once the sun arose. This morning the atmosphere was hot and humid, and there was an unpleasantly sour taste was left in the air from the evaporated acidic liquid that rained on down on the city.

Granted, it wasn't the worst condition this city has witnessed and survived, but for the fifty something men and women in the tent outside the city walls it felt like an unbearably sweaty hell they wouldn't ever forget.

It had only been ten or so minutes since they had arrived, but patience was dwindling fast. Luckily, a figure had finally made their appearance on the podium on the stage in front of the group.

He was a tall man in a pristine black and white suit, an outfit far out of place in this crowd of soldiers and mercenaries. His face was riddled with scars, the horribly mutilated face betraying the air of elegance he wore and garnering the stares of those beneath him.

"Congratulations you lot, you've been handpicked for a special operation," He spoke calmly, seemingly unaffected by the horrid weather, "I won't be introducing myself, as this will likely be the first and last time we will be meeting. But I do hope you produce some exceptional results, for your sake more than ours."

"This man is a Fisherman."

The thought rang out simultaneously within the heads of everyone gathered, sending a chill down their spines just like that.

Cold and ruthless, power incarnate, hooks latched onto every corner of the continent, that is how most knew the Fisher Corporation that ruled the city. In their eyes, human lives were expendable, especially those without a special rank such as the foot soldiers and mercenaries here.

'Handpicked' and 'Special operation' may as well be translated to death row inmates. No one thought anything about the unbearable heat anymore, all they could think about what was to come. Whatever they were here for, it was unlikely any of them would survive to see it through to the end.

Then they would be replaced like the expendable tools they were.

"Soon, an associate will take my place here," The Fisherman began again, seeing that everyone in the room had come to terms with their unfortunate situation, "It would be in your best interest to listen to what he has to say and keep your mouth shut. I wish you all luck in your future endeavors."

With his brief introduction concluded, he turned and exited the tent the same way he entered. At the same time, a new figure passes by the man in the suit in an equally out of place outfit and appears equally unaffected by the heat.

Standing on the podium with jet black hair and blue eyes as deep as the frozen ocean in the north, a man in a lab coat stares down at the group before him an expression entirely unreadable.

"I will keep this brief, all of you know who that was, yes?"

Reluctantly, the drafted nod their head.

"Then you know each and every one of you no longer have any agency over your lives." His voice was flat and the statement was factual, cold enough to fight off the heat.

His words are met with silence, an unreasonable anger bubbling within many of the victims. While others were able to keep cool, the majority, their brains overheating from the weather, were ready to rush the man who held so little regard for their lives. Murmurs and frustrated whispers echo across the tent, and the scientist stops it before they grow too restless.