Damn it… these kids just don't get it. On a fundamental level.
Prof. Terence Afer was disturbed by the answers on the introduction test for his advanced engineering course. This was only his second year teaching at Beacon, but… Damn. How could an entire class score that low?
Next class, he would start from square one. Obviously, these kids were selected based off of averages or for a credit last year, because they were absolute shit. He taught a class last year, but from the look of things he'd have to completely scrap his lesson plan. He grabbed his toolbox, and brought it over to the safety-locked closet. There was one girl, Ruby Rose, that didn't do as terrible as the rest of the class. He asked to see her after classes today, to question her.
He locked up the closet, and grabbed the mail out of the mailbox outside his door on the way out, stuffing it in his messenger bag. As he was walking across the campus, Terrence was desperately probing his mind for any sort of ideas to even get his class interested. He saw that Rose girl and her step-sister walking down a path to the dorms, and sighed. Ruby was only sixteen, but understood better than anyone else in the class, even if it was only by a little.
He noticed her scythe. He recognized the craftsmanship from one of his old books, but couldn't place it. Another thing to do at home. Terrence reached his hover bike, and put the messenger bag and a gun case into a sealable compartment that blends in with the smooth, streamlined features of the bike. This bike was one of his babies, and was in top condition, even as an older model. It pulled corners like nothing else, mostly from a few custom-built modifications.
As he got into position, lying down on his stomach with his arms stretched above his head to the handles and his head pointed upwards on the chin guard, he noticed five or six freshman boys sitting across the lot, in awe that the young engineering professor owned such an expensive machine. Terrence ascended five feet into the air before shooting off. Coolest professor here.
He rode at breakneck speed, violating a few ground-traffic laws, but screw it. He needed to get home. After a normally 10-minute ride was condensed into 4, he pulled his bike into the underground garage to the condominium complex. He took the elevator up, noticing that there was yet another wanted poster for that Roman guy with the stupid hat posted on the bulletin board. Eh, he's a filthy fucker anyway. Not worth anyone's time anymore.
He reached the fourth floor, and fumbled with his keys before going inside the door. His apartment consisted of a desk, a custom built computer, a massive gun cabinet, a shelf covered in ammunition, and a tinker table with a bunch of scraps in a plastic tub underneath. Besides that, there was the essentials, like a sink, mini-fridge, electric stove, a few cupboards, a coffee table and couch in front of a decent television, a toilet, bed, and a window. The wall was faded, chipped, and even a little burned around his workspace, but it was a pretty nice place.
Time to read the mail…