This phenomenon is referred to as "Resurrection Syndrome." A case in which one's very soul sacrifices a part of itself to revive the body from death. And this one part is always the same... Their memories. The life experiences that made up their very character. Lost, in the hopes that the individual may live on. However, it seems this sacrifice is surprisingly selective, while the mental memories are gone, their muscle memories remain intact. I am still trying to figure out as to how that works.

Now, another interesting thing about this effect is the switch in personality, and this is in relation to what I have said earlier. While one's memories are gone. So, too, are their primary, strong, dominant emotions. Leaving room for their weaker or repressed emotions to grow like a wildfire. That being said, if one were to have the training of a fighter, but the mentality of a coward, the Resurrection Syndrome would create a warrior capable of fighting to the death like an animal.

There is one thing that aggravates me about this phenomenon, however. Its peculiarity is as interesting as it is rare. For the thousands of years that I have lived, I have only discovered thirteen individuals that were affected. There is no indication as to who may have it or why it happens. The only way of knowing is if you are aware of Resurrection Syndrome and know of someone who has come back from the dead. Otherwise, it is merely folklore deep within certain legends.

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Deep within a Grimm infested Wasteland stands the Evernight Castle. Deep within that castle lies the conference hall. Deep within that conference hall sits the greatest threat to all of Remnant, Salem. An imposing woman in black with a snow white complexion riddled with lines of black veins. In her hands is an opened weathered journal filled with old yellow pages. With a simple squeeze, she slams the book shut as she looks up and over to a seat on her left.

Salem: And that, Dr. Watts, is what is "wrong" with Tyrian. Once I had learned of Resurrection Syndrome's potential, I started seeking out combat capable individuals in hopes of creating a useful tool for my goals... Unfortunately, the rarity of causing it is frustratingly low. In the hundreds of years in attempting the Syndrome, untold hundreds killed to accomplish it, I have only succeeded twice. Tyrian...

She waves her hand over to her right. Watts follows this gesture and sees Tyrian sitting across from him. The scorpion faunus' attention entirely focused on a beetle scurrying across the table. He slams his hand on the table, blocking the insect's path. It turns, he does the same with the other hand. As the bug tried to run away again, a scorpion tail appears from behind the sadistic faunus and impales the beetle. Tyrian simply lets out a demented giggle as his prey fruitlessly tries to escape.

Salem: And before him, many years ago, a girl named Tock.

Watts:.... Duly noted.

The good doctor decides to shut his mouth for the rest of the day. Although a man of science, the fact he was given a small survey on something he believed to be drivel is now true, this is the last time he will ask anything about the demented man-servent sitting in front of him--Oop, and Tyrian is now eating the beetle. Great... Giving it some thought, it is genuinely hard to imagine the faunus being anything less than a deranged psychopath in a previous life.

Just then, the doors to the conference hall open, revealing four individuals walking through. Three of them being Emerald, Mercury, and Neo. With the last, Roman, wobbling in wearing a cast and a neck brace. The seasoned criminal now putting that walking cane to actual use. Salem turns her sharp gaze at the group with a look that almost borders on emotionless and apathetic.

Salem: Ah, you've finally returned... Where is Cinder?

Roman, doing his best not to shit out his entrails, carefully turns towards the two kiddies that were the underlings of the girl in question. Mint chocolate is pretty much useless after her pimp was declared dead. The definitely-not-black Mr. Black does his worst to comfort his friend without benefits. Turning in the other direction, doing his best not to worry about that popping sound in his back, he sees his ice cream themed right-hand. Who gives Roman reassuring words in the form of two thumbs up.

He hesitantly turns his attention to the impatient white woman, accepting his fate as the messenger.

Roman: Uuummm. *cough* So, yeah. Good news and bad news!

[Location: East Vale]

Along the East coast of the Kingdom of Vale are multiple docks and costal towns dotting the water front. Among one of these half moist civilizations is a sizable ship preparing to set sail. Along the dock and surrounding area are workers going about taking stock and moving crates. Some are going on the ship, and others are going elsewhere.

Within a nice-looking shed stands the bosun with a clipboard of various writings. He looks over the shipping manifest, the list of what is expected to be on the ship during the travel. Supplies, passengers, crew, cargo, and a few vehicles are all bound for the neighboring kingdom of Mistral.

Deciding that the shed is acting too much like an oven under the afternoon sun, the bosun takes his leave and takes a look at the new "help". While he sees his fellow seamen doing their jobs to stuff the ship with shit like they always do, they aren't his concern. It's the men in black who are working alongside them. How anyone could work in this heat in all that black, he'll never understand.

He wasn't told much of what their business is, but what he has heard is that this group's leader had confronted the captain last week with an offer. In exchange for safe passage to Mistral, they would assist with security and any help needed for the ship. Strange, but this is not the first time people have offered to work for travel. What makes this concerning is the number of added cargo that these people are bringing that aren't showing up on the manifest. Several crates of unknown content and multiple vehicles.

Wiping the sweat from his hot brow, he looks around and spots something eye-catching. Out of the almost thirty extra people here, two of them are overly dressed twin women. One in white, the other in red. He's learned to avoid those two, especially the first one... Anyway, besides each other, they're always around one other person. Speaking of, it looks like they're talking to him by a box truck... While he does pull-ups from the back of said box truck. From what he can see, he's wearing black dress pants and a vest with what might be a white shirt underneath. On each arm are gauntlets.

He lets out a sigh as he decides to take a chance. The captain may be okay with letting extra people and cargo on board without paperwork, but the bosun still needs to get some specific details written in the manifest. He makes his way over to the three.

Bosun: Excuse me?

The twins turn their gazes towards him. Although a hot day, the two's icy stares send a shiver up his spine. Meanwhile, number three is continuing his pull-ups while counting. Apparently, in the mid 40s right now. As always, the one in white is the first to respond.

Melanie: Yes?

Bosun: Um... I'm here to confirm the cargo that you're bringing on board. We'll be departing in a few hours, so I just want to get the formalities out of the way before we set sail.

The girl's cold gaze stares at him for a second before turning to the pull-up guy. As if knowing, he turns his head in her direction and nods. Then he goes back to his pull-ups. Hits fifty.

Melanie: We're bringing twenty-two crates of cargo, about thirty people, and fifteen vehicles.

Bosun: Mmhm. And what do these crates contain?

Miltia: Cargo.

He turns his attention to the girl in red. A mocktini in her hand as she has a less harsh, but still frigid look in her eyes.

Bosun: Look, I'm just trying to do my job here. I know you made a deal with the captain, but if I can't get the full details on what is being brought on the ship, I will have to call the authorities.

The man dangling from the back of the box truck stops at fifty eight and lets go, landing feet first on the flatbed before making a small leap back to jump out. This startles the bosun and focuses his full attention on the silent exerciser. Facing away from the senior deckhand, the stranger reaches into the truck for something. A second later, he pulls out what looks like a demonic axe with a skull embedded in the side. He swings it over and around to his back, holstering it with a magnetic clang before letting go.

Rolling your shoulders, you turn around and face the bosun.

(Y/n): Listen, we're just desperate people trying to get out of here before the Grimm reach this far east. After what happened in the city, we were lucky to get this many people out alive. This is our only chance to start fresh after losing everything. If there's any problem with whatever personal belongings we bring, I'm sure we can discuss it with the captain.

Your calm tone is certainly a contrast to what the bosun was getting from the twins. However, he notices a subtle look in your eyes. A combination of being neutral and a small hint of malice...

Bosun: N-no, that won't be necessary. I just need the basics written down for the record and your name to confirm it.

(Y/n):... Sure.

He hands you the clipboard and pen. You take both and start writing down the things you're bringing and how much. With the help of Melanie and Miltia, of course, because your dumbass doesn't know shit about all your inventory. Just that you have a lot. After a good two minutes of doing your third least favorite thing, you finish off by writing your name on a dotted line. With that finally done, you hand back the clipboard and pen to the bosun. He looks over everything you've written and looks down to your name.

(Y/n) Xiong.

Bosun: Thank you. Like I said, we'll be setting off in maybe two or three hours. So it would be a good idea to start getting everything on board now.

(Y/n): Will do. Thanks.

The bosun finally takes his leave, heading towards the large boat that will soon be your home for a week or two. Once he's far enough away, your neutral expression falls away and is quickly dominated by an annoyed one.

(Y/n): Jackass.

You walk around the truck and towards where the Xiongs have parked the vehicles, the twins following close behind.

(Y/n): Melanie, you tell the patrols to come on in. Miltia, make sure every crate is on the ship and secured tightly. I'll get the vehicles.

Melanie/Miltia: Yep.

(Y/n): And if you find Pen and Johnny, tell them to come help me.

Melanie: I still don't know why you brought that scrawny guy into the gang. He looks like he wouldn't last long in a gas station robbery, let alone a shootout.

(Y/n): Maybe, but given how many people we lost last month, we're not in a position to be picky. Now hustle.

Melanie lets out a huff as both sisters take their leave to do their tasks. You walk past the trucks and cars to find one specific automobile to start moving. It takes no time for you to find Little Bear. You hop onto the sizeable motorcycle and start up the engine. It takes some maneuvering, but you get it separated from the rest and slowly drive over to the ship, where a ramp is waiting to take in the heavier cargo.

(Y/n): Next stop... Mistral.

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A/n: Stay tuned for me to talk about random bullshit from this story. Otherwise...

THE END