The warehouse was quiet.
Too quiet.
Crates of stolen dust lined the walls, weapons lay scattered across a table, and the faint hum of the city outside barely reached inside. It should've felt like a safe place.
Instead, it felt like a cage.
Crimson sat slouched on a crate, one leg bouncing in irritation, his arms crossed tight across his chest. His eyes were narrowed, staring at absolutely nothing—but his mind was loud.
Neo sat nearby, upside down on another crate, lazily kicking her feet in the air. She spun her parasol absentmindedly, her expression bored… but her eyes? Sharp. Annoyed.
Crimson finally broke the silence.
"Man… I'm getting real sick of this."
Neo tilted her head, raising an eyebrow as if to say 'Oh? Took you long enough.'
"She walks in like she owns us," Crimson continued, voice laced with irritation. "Gives orders, makes threats, and expects us to just… what? Fall in line?"
Neo rolled her eyes dramatically and gave a slow, sarcastic clap.
"Exactly," Crimson muttered, pointing at her. "You get it."
Neo hopped off the crate, landing lightly. She grabbed a nearby piece of chalk and scribbled quickly on a broken bit of wall:
"Bossy. Annoying. Thinks she's better than us."
Crimson snorted. "You forgot 'complete psychopath.'"
Neo smirked and added it with a flourish.
Crimson leaned back, exhaling. "Roman shouldn't have agreed to this. We were doing just fine before she showed up."
Neo paused, then slowly nodded.
Before either of them could continue—
The warehouse door slammed open.
Both of them looked over.
Roman Torchwick stormed in, coat slightly torn, hat tilted wrong, and very clearly in a terrible mood.
Crimson raised an eyebrow. "Well… you look like you lost a fight with a trash can."
Neo covered her mouth, shoulders shaking silently with laughter.
Roman shot them both a glare. "Oh, very funny. Really. I just got my operation ruined."
Crimson sat up slightly. "What happened?"
Roman grumbled, tossing his cane onto the table. "Some kid. A girl."
Neo tilted her head.
"A girl?" Crimson repeated, clearly amused. "And she stopped you?"
Roman's eye twitched. "She was fast, alright? Fast and completely insane."
Neo leaned forward with interest now.
Roman sighed, rubbing his temple. "Red cape. Big scythe. Wouldn't stop talking."
Crimson froze.
Just for a second.
"…Red cape?" he echoed quietly.
"Yeah," Roman said. "Why?"
But Crimson wasn't really listening anymore.
Because in his head—
'That reminds me of…'
No.
He pushed the thought away.
Neo, meanwhile, had already burst into silent laughter, pointing at Roman while clutching her stomach.
Crimson smirked, leaning back again. "So let me get this straight…"
He grinned.
"You got your whole plan wrecked… by a kid in a cape?"
Roman groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have told you two."
Neo gave him a thumbs up—then a mocking little bow.
Crimson chuckled. "Don't worry, boss. I'm sure your reputation will recover… eventually."
Roman shot him a look. "Keep talking."
Crimson just shrugged, still smiling faintly.
But inside…
That thought lingered.
A girl in a cape…
Yeah…
"…sounds just like her."
Roman cleared his throat "anyway I had to have the boss lady bail me out"
At the mention of cinder both Neo and crimson's expressions changed to that of annoyance
"Really she had to bail you? You should have brought one of us with you." Crimson said in exasperation and Neo nodded in agreement
Roman let out a long, tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as Crimson and Neo continued to complain.
"Alright, alright—both of you, shut it," he snapped, though there was more exhaustion than anger in his voice. "I get it. Nobody likes her. Join the club."
Neo crossed her arms, her expression sharp and unimpressed as she tapped her foot against the warehouse floor. Crimson leaned back against a crate, arms folded, clearly not in the mood to hear anything involving Cinder's name again.
Roman straightened his coat, forcing himself back into his usual composed demeanor.
"Look, as much as I hate to say it, we've got things to do. And by 'we,' I mean you two."
Neo raised an eyebrow, already annoyed.
Roman pointed his cane toward her. "You first, dollface. Cinder wants you helping her directly."
Neo's eye twitched. She tilted her head slowly, her glare saying everything her voice couldn't. A sharp, exaggerated motion followed—she dragged a finger across her neck in a mocking gesture, clearly expressing what she thought of that idea.
Roman smirked slightly. "Yeah, yeah. I had the same reaction. Unfortunately, she wasn't asking."
Neo scoffed silently, looking away with a huff as she crossed her arms tighter.
Roman then turned his attention to Crimson, his expression shifting into something more serious.
"And you," he said, tapping his cane against the floor once, "you've got a job too."
Crimson didn't move, but his eyes flicked toward Roman, signaling he was listening.
"There's a guy Cinder wants gone. Used to be White Fang. Now he's not." Roman shrugged. "Apparently, he decided he didn't like taking orders anymore. So now he's an example."
Crimson's gaze darkened slightly. "So… I'm cleaning up her mess."
Roman gave a half-smile. "That's one way to put it."
There was a brief silence before Roman added, almost as an afterthought—
"Oh, and speaking of the White Fang… we're working with them now."
That got a reaction.
Neo immediately turned back toward him, eyes narrowed. She made a quick series of sharp gestures, clearly questioning his sanity.
Crimson pushed himself off the crate, frowning. "You're serious?"
Roman lifted his hands defensively. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. This whole thing? Not my idea."
He started pacing slowly, his cane clicking rhythmically against the concrete floor.
"Personally, I don't like it. Not one bit," he continued. "Those guys? They're not exactly our style."
He stopped and glanced between the two of them.
"We're thieves. We plan, we take, we leave. Clean. Efficient."
He tilted his head slightly, expression souring.
"The White Fang? They don't steal—they smash. They don't plan—they attack. It's messy. Loud. And frankly… bad for business."
Neo nodded in agreement, clearly unimpressed.
Crimson let out a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair. "So we're stuck working with a bunch of fanatics… taking orders from someone we don't trust."
Roman gave a dry chuckle. "Welcome to my week."
He adjusted his hat, his usual smirk returning, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Look, we play along for now. Do the jobs. Keep her happy."
His tone dropped slightly.
"And we keep our options open."
Neo's expression shifted into something more calculating, a small, mischievous smirk forming.
Crimson, however, remained quiet—his thoughts already elsewhere.
A deserter from the White Fang…
For some reason, that didn't sit right with him.
But orders were orders.
And for now…
They didn't really have a choice.