SCIENCE!

Yang owed me for wiping the security footage of her laying down a curbstomp fest on Junior and his boys. You might think it silly that a guy running the largest faction of organized crime in the kingdom of Vale would have cameras in his headquarters where he regularly meets with Vale's most wanted and launders all the money from his various unlawful enterprises, but the guy needed them to keep an eye out for people with sticky fingers, goons slacking off, and rivals sending in slouches to scope his operation.

Of course I needed to wipe the footage for more than the gratefulness of a big tiddy waifu, as I had decided to go Danish on the bill for all the goodies and equipment I needed for my SCIENCE. Going Danish is like going Dutch, but instead of splitting a bill you get in your longboats and take everything you need from defenseless people.

And Yang had left me in a big old money laundering operation full of ko'ed losers.

You don't spend as long as I have married Jack without developing a bloodhound's nose for illegal drugs, guns, and money. So I walked out of Junior's club with bags full of money, firearms, and the bottles that survived the desolation of the bar.

The firearms were the least useful of these considering the complete lack of lethality shown throughout RWBY's runtime by them outside of the hands of Coco Adel. In her hands the guns of Ruby go from pellet rifles to Heavy Bolter rounds tearing through the forces of Grimm and anyone else dumb enough to stand in front of her when she whips out the minigun.

The universe needs to experience what she can do if I figure out a way to up the ballistics on this world's tech. It isn't actually something I think is possible using dust, considering that the rounds propelled by it are visible to the naked eye in flight much like Star Wars plasma rounds just without the wonky mass and intense heat to make up for a flight speed beatable by a baseball pitcher.

Anyway, Blake and I moved up from the seedy motel we'd been staying in to a room at an upscale inn with a reputation for its rich food and mean steaks. I messaged Junior at breakfast that I had the money and he shot back that he'd have what I requested by dinner time.

I purchased a suitcase for the fifty thousand lien, as I doubt the man would appreciate the return of the nondescript duffle bag I stole the money from him in.

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"Alright, it's got everything you needed and we got the power and water turned back on for the week." Junior stated with some serious bruising covering his face while I inspected the materials crated up in the derelict pharmaceutical research lab.

Apparently this lab had been researching a cure for a degenerative disease that affects Faunus, so you can imagine my surprise that this place hadn't been burnt to the ground. The Human population really doesn't like the animal hybrids created by the god of animals after the brother gods left this world.

Eventually the scientists folded under the pressure and fled the kingdom, leaving their stuff behind for a real scientist to swoop in and get mad with it.

"It's all here." I confirmed and Blake handed the case full of lien to the man, "I'll call on your services again in the future should the need arise."

"Good." Junior nodded and left with his cheddar, none the wiser that it was his money to begin with… at least for now.

I have never really been a master criminal, or even someone who lays elaborate plans that leave my friends, foes, and readers completely boggled by the level of bullshit that just occurred or has been occurring. After all, why be full of shit when you aren't afraid of anything?

"Alright, Blake." I grinned, "What comes next is some ride or die shit. So you can go home and I'll see you in a couple of days, or stay and accept that I am the master of math, magic, SCIENCE, and technology. MMST, MMST, MMST." I beat boxed while thrusting my hips smooth as silk.

"Did I hear magic in that lineup?" Blake looked at me like I was some weirdo she was sleeping with.

"Oh yeah." I grinned, "I've mastered multiple magic systems, but nothing from this world and I don't have any magic in coursing through this meatbag. But that is a small loss considering that I have been working cross dimension SCIENCE for decades in pursuit of my ultimate dream of making better Primaris Space Marines."

"I have no idea what those are." Blake shook her head.

"The Primaris Marines are a deep heresy, because their creation implies that the Emperor's Astartes are imperfect creations." I informed the uninitiated girl of the glories of a galaxy full of thicc bois in big boy power armor fighting against the forces of Chaos and Xenos, "And I want to drizzle that heresy in more heresy and make a potent heresy cocktail."

"That sounds like a lot of heresy." Blake nodded.

"I like to think that the God Emperor of Mankind will feel the heresy all the way on his eternal throne and will raise up his skeletal form to clench his fist in rage at the glory of my Space Marines." I smiled while thinking of that wondrous day.

"Okay." Blake sighed, "You are even crazier than my last boyfriend. Way to pick 'em Blake, and this time you slept with him. Good going."

"So we going down this rabbit hole together?" I grinned and extended my hand.

"If you are full of shit this is going to get ugly." She growled and took my hand.

"Don't worry baby." I laughed, "You're rolling with me now, nothing makes sense anymore and everything is possible. Que the montage! Flashing lights, spinning vials, lasers and sparks and beautiful music! I'm thinking the opening theme of Cowboy Bebop. The original, not the remake you filthy casuals!"

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Three days later we were looking at a glowing golden syringe of custom made super soldier serum that Captain America wishes he could get in his system. A glorious blend of reworked Krogan Vitality Retrovirus and Spartan III bio-augmentations keyed in to my specific genetic sequence designed to rework me over the course of a few months into an absolute unit of a man beyond the physical limitations of normal men and ready to easily survive further surgical augmentation.

A moderate healing factor, carbide ceramic bone ossification, fibroid musculature, retinal inversion, and improved colloidal neural disunification solution, along with a completely reworked hormonal profile and a few other quality of life augments like turning my joints into organic durasteel and the generation survival trigger from the Locust Horde in case someone tries to McGuffin me to death. I'd be taking a series of intense supplements I'd produced during the transition phase and drinking enough milk to scar the collective unconscious of bovines the world over, but they will have the honor of contributing to my lead of mankind across the sea of stars in search of the brother gods.

I'd kick their asses for fun.

"You want me to make you one too?" I asked the cat girl that had watched me roam around this repurposed lab like Mordin Solus on speed the last few days.

"Fuck no." She denied.

"You would be the ultimate kitty amazon goddess." I wheedled in a singsong voice.

"I am perfectly fine the way my parents made me, thank you very much." she growled in offense.

"Sorry," I quickly apologized, "I didn't mean to imply that you are anything less than wonderful as you are." I shook my head in regret of that faux paus, "I just get a little bit over excited when I make super powers in a can."

"I'll consider it after you've proven that you didn't just make radioactive orange juice." Blake kindly lets it slide.

"Goodie." I grinned as I plunge that syringe into my heart and send all that glorious power straight into my bloodstream.

"Was something supposed to happen?" Blake shrugged, "I thought mad scientists are supposed to rip out of their lab coats after they take their mysterious concoction."

"If I could have fabbed up some working Nitramene I could have made a radiation chamber that would have me go from wimpy wimpy teenager to hefty hefty hunkasaurus rex in about a minute flat, but that stuff just doesn't work in most realities. Blast this universe's lack of McGuffin compatibility."

"It really sucks when your mad SCIENCE just doesn't pan out." Blake chuckled as we packed up everything I needed to take from the lab and started spreading fire dust about to destroy the makeshift set up. While I was sure no one would have the capability to replicate my work, I also knew that these people could make robots with souls and that is some real bullshit, so I did the sensible thing and torched the place.

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With only four days left till the start of the new school year at Beacon Academy, I didn't have much time to work out a new weapon and armor system, and honestly wouldn't do so until the hard coded shut off for my growth occurred towards the end of the semester.

I pawned most of OG Jaune's shit except the family sword and shield as that would be a real dick move. It's not like I was afraid to wear his rabbit onesie pajamas or his Pumpkin Pete hoodie, it's just that would require me to actually wear pajamas and I felt aloha shirts calling out to me for some reason.

I purchased a number of sizes from a tailor to match my growth and had myself a number of outfits consisting of stretchy jeans and aloha shirts, with a few tactical vests and belts to hold my gear and field rations. Mostly field rations as I only kept a 45 caliber pistol and a few mags of ammunition to go along with the Arc family sword Crocea Mors.

I'd ditched the bronze and blue hilt and cross guard for a steel and ivory Roman set up and the shield was out for a normal sheath. I'd pair it with a matching dagger I picked up, but both would be replaced once my hands stopped growing for some proper implements of slaughter.

Despite the short amount of time, I'd already picked up an inch of height and several pounds of contractile tissue, particularly in my hips and ass as my cat woman lover was keen on expanding my cardiovascular endurance as fast as possible.

Thank God for my foresight in calibrating my hormone profile, cause Blake fucked like there was a fire in her ovaries that can only be put out temporarily by thick ropes of semen. A lesser man would have tapped out, and Jaune's body certainly sent me signals to stop abusing its tender flesh, but hard work is what turns tender boy flesh into steely man flesh, and Blake was on a mission to ensure I had the rippling core of a god pronto.

I'd be damned before I let us down on that.