Calibre of a Forged Soul - Prologue: "Bronze Presentation"
Clack. Clack. Clack.
He sighed. The loud, guttural sound echoed throughout the small armoury. 'Whirrs' and 'clicks' quickly drown him out as streamlined, metallic cylinders affixed themselves around the arms of the one in front of him. Automated machines lining the walls refilled magazines with all kinds with ammunition - both regular and Dust infused.
The nerves were getting to him. He couldn't help it as he ran a rough hand through tousled locks.
"So…" He swallowed; mouth and throat uncomfortably dry as he did so. He needed a drink - and if this all went pear-shaped, something particularly strong as well, "…This is more-or-less it. Are you completely prepared?"
Clack. Whirr. Clank.
One last clank saw to the left set of cylinders being fixed securely in place. Metallic digits flexed as the clamps holding the arm up released, the limb bobbing once as sheer strength fought against both gravity and sheer weight.
"If everything should go according to plan, I can confirm with a ninety-seven-point-six-two percent accuracy of being 'completely prepared.'."
Whirr. Buzz. Clank.
He massaged his eyes.
"Your voice is doing that undercurrent digital tone again. You have to watch that."
A hum met his ears, one far more natural than the previous synthetic speech.
"My…I am sorry, Professor Ritter." A small smile formed at the genuine apologetic tone in the now organic voice, "It is still a force of habit."
"Bah, it's not that much of a problem." Oh did he wish he felt as confident as he sounded. "Given what we - what you - have managed to accomplish, something as small as a vocal habit can be overlooked."
The individual's head turned to look at him, orange eyes nearly glowing - even in the well-lit armoury.
"Thank you, Professor Ritter."
Clack. Buzz. Clank.
The second set of clamps released, and the armour encased right arm joined its opposite at the android's sides.
Professor Aneurin Ritter nodded in response, eyes wandering over the cylindrical articles of armour that encased the individual's arms from his wrists to most of the way up his biceps. Sometimes he seriously questioned the intelligence - and more often than not, the sanity as well - of the lot that developed the 'Revolving Receiver Gauntlets' and called them such, when anyone with even the tiniest amount of knowledge when it came to armour would be able to clearly tell that they were not gauntlets at all, but more comparable to a set vambraces and rerebraces.
"There is only an estimated thirteen-point-oh-four percent chance of successfully distracting your mind by nit-picking with topics that are only somewhat relevant to the subject at hand."
A small smile pulled at his lips.
"I don't recall installing you with anything that grants the capability to read minds."
"Reading minds?" Orange eyes turned to him once more, pure confusion evident on his face, "It is one thing to read the mind of an individual. It is another to read the cues and expressions of someone you have known and had more than a decade of experience in dealings with, Professor."
His smile didn't so much as change into an exasperated glare as it did slide down his face.
"Remind me to go over whatever you have in your head that governs everything to do with humour. Not quite as tuned as it should be."
"Of course, Professor."
He sighed once more, glaring at the innocent expression he-couldn't-quite-tell-if-it-was-genuinely-innocent-or-not that stared back at him. He didn't know how - and he didn't know when, but he was going to have words with whoever had the 'smart' idea of teaching the concept of gadfly-humour to an android.
"Yeah, yeah, keep laughing Tin-can-"
"Composite chassis made of multiple near-impervious alloys and highly resilient synthetic polymers, actually."
"-Tin-can. Shush."
The android turned on his heel, reaching a table practically covered in numerous magazines. The left cylindrical, revolver chamber-esque vambrace rotated once, revealing a single slot in the underarm.
One of the many magazines strewn about the table was inserted into the waiting slot, held for a brief moment, and removed. The vambrace revolved once more, and the process was repeated with another magazine. A satisfied hum would sound out, and the process was then repeated with the right vambrace, then the left rerebrace, and finally followed by the right rerebrace.
He couldn't help but think in the lull. This was really going to happen, wasn't it?
"You should really get moving, Professor." Orange eyes flick backwards. "From what I have been told, the tolerance of the Spectrum Council may be legendary, but it does indeed have its limits."
Another sigh escaped him. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently.
He looked up, catching the android's lips as they curled into a smile.
"Wipe that grin off your face. You might be strong enough to carry all this pressure and laugh about it, but I'm getting too old for this."
All that seemed to do was make that damned smile widen. He turned; a brisk pace carried him to the lift at the opposite end of the room.
"I'm not going to wish you luck kid, something as superstitious as that doesn't have a place in my business," the doors parted, and he stepped inside, "So what I'll say is this: Go out there, and show them what you can do."
He turned, and orange eyes met his as the doors closed.
"It is what I was forged to do, correct?"
The lift jolted, ascending with nary a hum. His forehead met the door, and the cool metal somewhat calmed his mind.
It didn't calm him completely though, and soon his thoughts returned to just what the entire project revolved around.
He sighed once more. The guttural, fatigued sound echoed throughout the enclosed lift.
"…Kid's going to be the death of me, I swear…"
Aneurin wasn't all that surprised to note that the moment the doors to the observation room parted for him, he was hit with the combined noise of a comfortably full room. Department Leaders were milling around, eager to see how all their hard work would pay off. Benefactors that had the knowledge of what they funded were present to see just where their Lien had been spent. He spotted General Ironwood stood off in a corner, surrounded by a number of scientists from the Atlesian Division. No doubt they were here to see how their 'Mistrian Brother Project' compared to their own Puppeteer Project.
He made note of who were present, exchanging minor pleasantries with the few that greeted him. It was only a quick exchange though, and people in his path parted before him. The short walk from the lift to the observation room had given him plenty of time to compose himself. All they had to do was take a single glance at the steel-like expression he wore, and they understood.
Focus was absolute, and he would need every last ounce of it for what was to come.
His feet carried him to the centre of the room. Eyes locked onto the screens opposite the observation pane.
He stopped, and all chatter came to an abrupt end.
"Good morning, Professor."
Six great screens displayed figures shrouded in shadow. Any detailing features were completely obscure, with only their gender and species discernible thanks to their barely visible frames.
"From the reports we have received over the years, it would be…prudent for us to admit that we are extremely impressed with the progress of the Vulcan Project thus far, Professor."
He nodded. 'Red' always did cut straight to heart of the matter.
"However," The vulpine ears of 'Orange' twitched once, "It is one thing to read about results on a scroll screen, and another to witness them in person…so to speak."
"And I suppose," The musical tone that belonged to 'Violet' echoed throughout the chamber, "That you will include some suitably dramatic speech or some-such?"
General Ironwood looked distinctly nervous in his peripheral vision - tugging at his collar ever-so-slightly.
His lips twitched - and he couldn't quite tell if they were trying to form a smile, or a frown. He didn't really care if it was 'racistly stereotypical' or not, but the feline Faunus didn't do much to present herself in any other mood other than 'stoic, aloof & frigid' or 'desirous of watching people squirm for her own amusement'.
"Only when certain points need to be emphasised will I be 'suitably dramatic', Ma'am."
'Violet' hummed, and he took the brief second of silence as his cue. A brisk nod to one of the seated operators had her typing at her console, and the sole unpowered screen beneath the other six flickered to life; displaying the testing chamber behind him.
"Aura." He folded his hands behind his back. "It is the power that allows us to bear the burdens we carry, and it is the shield that protects us from harm. But it is more than that; it is the proof of our souls. It is the proof of our existence. Since time immemorial, we have held onto that belief, the belief that the Lights of our souls are a fire in the Darkness - a beacon to guide the way, and a pyre to consume our enemy."
The glare he levelled at the Council was as measured as it was unyielding.
"When we emerged from the dust: We built. When the Dark revealed itself: We adapted. And when the Grimm emerged: We fought back. The «Vulcan Project»…"
His eyes darted to another operator, who nodded back.
"…Is simply one of the latest attempts at adapting and fighting back: the creation of an artificial Aura wielder. The creation of an artificial soul."
The silence was gratifying - in a manner, and all he had to do now was wait for someone not quite in the loop to ask the obvi-
"B-but! A-an…arti…artificial soul? Tha-that's impossible!"
Called it.
"Why?" A number of people - the speaker included - behind him jolted, "Why is it that whenever the idea is brought up, it gets brushed off as being 'impossible'? Why is it 'impossible' to artificially create an Aura? A soul? Because old theories from decades long since passed deem it so? Because those in charge all but refuse to push against the so-called 'boundaries' that 'exist'? Because they are afraid of 'playing God'?"
Ironwood took steps during the Puppeteer Project's demonstration to avoid mentioning those particular subjects.
Not him though. Not here.
"Are you not afraid of 'playing God', Professor?"
He glared, expression flickering into a disapproving frown for a moment. He knew who this 'Green' was before he even received the title from the previous holder. And so far, the only thing that changed was the bugger went from 'little shit' to 'slightly larger shit'. Not that he cared in the least that 'Green' hated him for some-reason-or-another. Was he irritated whenever the little bugger opened his trap? Yes, undoubtedly. But not to even the smallest of degrees did he care that he was disliked.
The fact that 'Green' didn't interrupt at any point during the Puppeteer Project's demonstration just lent credit to his belief.
"I will be afraid of 'playing God' when he-slash-her comes down to tell me off in person, Sir."
"That is-"
"Enough."
'Yellow' leant forward, her contralto voice silencing the little bugger. It was nice to see that he wasn't alone in his dislike of 'Green'. The fact that he also knew 'Yellow' before she became 'Yellow' personally - memories of many a night spent just drunkenly complaining about life in general came to mind - made it all the more satisfying.
"I believe the only method of convincing some of those present would be the more…corporeal aspect of this demonstration, Professor."
He flicked his gaze left. A third operator tapped their console.
The blast doors into the chamber itself hissed; whirring as a fog filtered into the room in between the door's openings.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Spectrum, may I present you with the culmination of the Vulcan Project…"
A pair of orange lights flashed in the haze.
"…Talos Vulcan."
The android emerged from the fog, and the chatter immediately picked up as Talos' precise - and more importantly, natural - gait carried him to the centre of the chamber. From what he picked out of the talk that filtered into his mind though, there was one thing in particular that popped up more than once.
"It seems…odd that something designed to emulate the human form would display its mechanical origins so…openly." Of course, it'd be bloody 'Green' to open his trap. "Is there a reason for this, Professor?"
Shelving his dislike for 'Green' for the moment, he did have a point. It made sense that many a person would notice that. The gunmetal machinery than made up the ball-and-socket joints that connected the arms to the shoulders was clearly visible. At the very least, the hip joints as well as the upper thigh area were covered by a grey synthetic layer. Visible was still visible though, and the brass coloured edgings of Talos' armoured limbs just made it more so.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"The numerous requests put forward for more materials required to construct enough synthetic skin and a thin musculature layer to cover the complete human form were continually denied." 'Green' bristled. "We simply did not receive the resources necessary to create anything more than enough to cover the majority of the head and neck regions. For everything else, we had no choice but to improvise with the alternates we had at our disposal. Namely the Lycra composed cloth that is currently…visible, as well as full-form concealing clothing."
'Orange' cleared his throat.
"And I suppose that those…headphones that 'Talos' is wearing also have something to do with the…lack of materials?"
"You would be correct, Sir."
'Orange' nodded, satisfied with the answer.
"Couldn't make a pair of ears, Professor?"
His brow furrowed.
"My Doctorates of Philosophy were earned in the fields of Advanced Robotics, Artificial Intelligence, and HRI. Not Biology." Even framed by shadow, the smile that 'Violet' bore was near perfectly visible, and his expression adopted a frown in response. "With all due respect, I don't even have the foggiest as to what an ear is made out of; much less make two for the Vulcan Project."
Stifled laughter sounded throughout the room. Laughter became choked gasps as 'Red' coughed once.
"Whilst we are thankful that such a…miscommunication within the organisation has come to light, it appears as if we have strayed from the purpose of this demonstration." He nodded. "I believe that a presentation of…Talos' capabilities in the field of armed combat would be a sufficient start."
Another operator worked at her console before he even had to give the signal.
He glanced at the feed from the testing chamber. Multiple armoury lockers and shelves emerged from the openings created as sections of the floors parted. Stood in the centre was Talos, browsing through the lockers as the far wall divided to reveal a firing range. Targets bearing the facsimiles of Class-Five Grimm were joined to rails, and roughly a dozen Atlesian Knight-One-Thirties entered the room, taking up positions at multiple points in the range.
Talos' halted at one locker in particular, eyes positively - and thankfully, not literally - glowing in delight.
Murmurs of interest sprang up around the room as the android pulled a tactical firearm harness from the locker, fastening the gear to his frame with a practiced ease. The firearms followed, resting comfortably in their holsters as they were clipped onto the harness: A pair of foot-long holstered handguns criss-crossed over Talos' lumbar region, and two large, identical - save for the different cylinders they bore - long guns rested in their compact forms, holstered vertically over the android's shoulders.
The android dug through each locker in turn, drawing numerous magazines of different varieties and fixing them to his person.
With all the magazines affixed to his harness - as well as the ammunition that Talos was loading into his little firearm collection, the android was well on his way to becoming a walking armoury.
"The rifle is…«Poté» of the «Chrysá Míla», if I'm not mistaken," 'Yellow' hummed at his nod, eyes fixated on the rifle as it was drawn from its sheath and expanded into its full form. The lever was worked forward, and single cartridge canister was slotted into the waiting cylinder, "I find myself dreadfully curious as to how and why Talos decided to create a long-arms rifle with a combination of both a lever and a revolver action."
Poté was shouldered, pointed down-range as the android observed the ever-shifting landscape of the chamber.
The first target shot up, front depicting the image of an Ursa Minor mid-lunge.
BANG!
Splinters erupted from where the bullet struck, false Ursa - now sans everything above the neck - clattering against the ground.
Cla-clack.
Two more replaced the fallen mark, a Creep and a Boarbatusk on different storey elevations.
BANG!
They fell just as quickly as the first.
"I posed the exact same curiosity to Talos himself when he presented me with the blueprints for Poté," He shrugged, even as Talos dropped another target with said rifle, "His response was - and I quote - 'Because it will be so cool if it works'."
"I do not recall receiving any reports on the Chrysá Míla being a part of the Vulcan Project, Professor."
Even as 'Green' spoke, he kept his eyes on the chamber feed. Ammunition lockers retracted back into the ground as the chamber converted more-and-more of itself into a firing range. The cut-out Grimm targets spread out further apart, and the One-Thirty 'Spookies' began to move - taking cover behind the barricades that extended from the floor.
Two more targets revealed themselves, both directly to the android's left and right. The cut-outs were too far apart to hit both before either one would retract into the floor.
Talos' reaction was simple: he drew a single handgun and aimed at the two targets simultaneously.
"Aspiring Hunters are allowed to build their own, unique Trick-Weapons." Even as the dual firearm routine continued, Talos was steadily getting fancier with his trick-shooting. «Tous» was aimed and firing in one direction as Poté was fired from his hip at targets in a completely different one, rifle being flip-cocked after every shot. He huffed. Damn android was just overtly showing off now. "It was only fair that Talos was given the same privilege."
The chatter in the room picked up once more, targets dropping almost as quickly as they deployed. They wanted a demonstration with standard - well, more-or-less standard-ish - firearms?
He was more than happy to oblige.
Poté span one final time, frame compacting as it slid back into its holster. One final target shot from the ground - another snarling Ursa painted on the front - a dozen feet away from the android.
Tous' sister handgun - «Gia» - met it, barrel lined up with the target's crimson eyes.
BANG!
As the shot rang out, an operator tapped at their console.
Phase two.
The chamber had completed its transformation. No longer did it resemble a firing range, and the closest comparison he could think of was that of a largely cluttered urban combat scenario. Many a One-Thirty had taken cover, surrounding the android as they remained out of line of sight.
Talos - even through a video feed - looked entirely unconcerned, seemingly more bothered with the fresh round canisters he was slotting into Gia's and Tous' cylinders.
A few people whispered to one another when the android slotted magazines into the vambraces and rerebraces, and a couple of the…less informed individuals gaped when it clicked that the magazines were slotted into Talos' arms themselves.
Click.
The android looked up, orange eyes scanning the landscape as his head turned on a swivel.
"I am surprised that you are not taking this time to ladle us with some form exposition, Professor."
Talos began walking in a random direction.
"To be perfectly frank Ma'am, everyone present has either read the reports they are fully entitled to read, or just not interested in hearing me waffle on about the specifications of the algorithms used in Talos' fire-control systems or some such."
A few observers chuckled, even as 'Yellow' leant back in her seat. He shrugged. The video feed followed the android in question as he slunk down the recently formed alleys. The dozen One-Thirties followed in loose formation in turn, moving as one and in such manner as they stalked their target that it brought images of hardened Spec-Ops units to mind.
Talos slowed, Gia and Tous raised as the android skulked down one of the many passages, face stoic in concentration.
The android's gait was precise. Measured. Careful.
It would also carry him directly into the path of a waiting Spooky.
The moment Gia's barrel passed the corner threshold, the One-Thirty lashed out - arm descending and forcing the handgun down as the metallic digits clamped over the handgun. The droid's wrist-blade deployed as it rounded the corner, arm drawn back and poised to skewer the android it faced.
Far too slow. Talos had already twisted his frame as his own arm snaked up inside of the One-Thirty's guard. A slight push against the metallic arm was all it took to send the blade to sail harmlessly past the android's form.
It didn't end there. Talos shifted; arm blurring as it ghosted over and around the limb of the One-Thirty, trapping the arm between his own, underarm, and body.
The Spooky jolted as Talos pulled, and the air was filled with the sound of metal shearing as mechanical servos and joints were pulled apart.
Talos arched his body ever-so-slightly, Gia raised as he did so. A moment later and the handgun came down, half shearing, half crushing through the attacking robot's shoulder. The Spooky was not one to go down without a fight - even as damaged as it was. One last act of defiance saw it lean back before lurching forward, head rocketing forward with enough force to fracture the front of anyone's skull.
Gia's sister handgun flashed across, smashing the droid's head clean off and sending the abused dome of scrap metal into the air in an arc.
Two more droids charged forward as Talos pulled Tous free from their comrade's brutalised frame.
His eyes cut away from the feed, gaze panning over numerous operators as they worked at their consoles. He has seen Talos' gymnastic gunplay routine more times that he could recall - even if the android was…performing against 'live' targets this time around. Those observing were completely enthralled - even Ironwood was at the very least affected by the display. Mistral might not have had the mechanical advantage that Atlas held when it came to robotics, but he had friends in high places, in many places, and whom all owed him some favours.
He looked back just in time to witness the third Spooky fall. The second had fallen to a Failure Drill and the third was being…Gun-Fu'd? Gun-Kata'd?…Whatever the term was - into submission. They hadn't completely failed their objective though, Spooky-Three had managed to clamp its fingers around Gia, wresting the handgun away from the android. Not that he blamed him. Spectrum custom Spookies could pull apart Bullhead plating with ease.
Besides - he grinned; the guns Talos carried weren't his only weapons.
Spooky-Four came into view, arms configured into Gatling mode and spooling up.
The android threw his hand out, fingers pointing towards his attacker.
The silence - he reckoned - from the crowd was gratifying as an entire magazine's worth of ammunition was emptied into the Spooky, all fired from Talos' fingertips.
"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the first and foremost weapon that Talos is equipped with," He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "The FINGAH."
This time the silence was one of befuddlement, even as Spooky-Five was riddled with holes courtesy of a burst of fire from the android's other hand.
"…Finger, Professor?"
'Violet' just - once again - sounded amused.
"Not…quite, Ma'am. FINGAH. Forearm Integrated Newtonne-Gatling Assault Housing." Spookies Six, Seven, and Eight were rapidly closing the distance from two different directions as Talos slotted a drum-mag into a left hand receiver. The android watched as he aimed both hands, digits forming the unmistakable 'finger gun' gesture. "Blame the lot in the labs. They have an almost pathological desire for puns and having fun with acronyms."
Three shots rang out, and three targets fell - each one's head shattering in a shower of metals and polymers.
"Of course."
The last three Spookies were a little more…creative in their approach. Nine had picked up the disabled form of a fellow Spooky, and was using the body as a makeshift battering ram. Ten had pulled two blades from one of its recently felled allies, wielding the two as if they were particularly styled hand-axes.
And most surprisingly of all, Spooky-Eleven had pried an entire panel from the wall, creating a crude - but effective - Tower-shield.
This was another reason he loved Spectrum custom Spookies. They were far more adaptive than the factory produced ones straight off the assembly line.
Of course, being adaptive was a bit of a stretch when Spooky-Nine had decided to throw the body it was carrying at Talos - something that provided to be far more effective that it should have been thanks only to the enclosed nature of the battlefield.
Talos leant back, twisting his frame towards the approaching 'projectile', knees bent as his arms came up to meet the One-Thirty as it passed. A form of improvised parry, he reckoned. Pushing away the droid as Talos hopped backwards with his back meeting the wall.
A smart move, giving that Spooky-Ten would have bisected the android vertically if Talos had remained where he was. It wasn't discouraged though; the moment one attack failed the 'Axe' wielding One-Thirty pivoted, bringing the same weapon around in a vertical swing.
Talos glanced down as the blade drew near, a small smile forming as he stomped down on something. It was an act that was shortly followed by an object being flicked into the air by that very same foot.
The blade connected with Gia's rail, metal screeching as Talos shifted his grip and directed the blade away: An act that sent the blade high and left the droid completely open to counter-attack.
The handgun was pressed against Ten's head, and the crack of Gia discharging saw another Spooky clatter to the ground. Tous was redrawn from its holster, and Spooky-Nine shortly followed its comrade to the scrapheap.
"And I suppose that whatever is housed in Talos' upper arms also bears an amusing acronym?"
The android turned his attention to the sole remaining One-Thirty.
"Not quite."
The drum-mag was dropped completely as Talos re-holstered both handguns - the android straightening his left arm out towards the final One-Thirty, vambrace spinning once and locking into place as the android took aim.
There was still a magazine loaded into the rerebrace, after all.
Eleven braced itself behind its makeshift shield, just as a foot long barrel emerged from Talos' palm.
"They just get called his 'Guns' on the reports."
The loud - almost thundering - crack from the chamber interrupted any form of retort. There wasn't much one can say over the firing of an anti-materiel rifle, and even less so when the fired High-Explosive Armour-Piercing round punched through a piece of armour plating as if it were tissue paper, as well as obliterating everything that existed directly to the left Spooky-Eleven's spine.
The makeshift shield clattered to the ground, no longer held up by an arm that no longer existed. Amazingly, the droid had yet to fall. Its remaining arm was outstretched - Gatling barrels unable to spin due to damage, and the red glare normally produced to signal a working Dust Engine was flickering erratically.
The One-Thirty took two steps before collapsing, Dust Engine glaring in defiance one final time as it broke down.
Time for Stage Three.
"As you can see," Operators began tapping at their consoles once more as everyone present turned their attention back to him, "Talos is not only capable in utilizing firearms that - whilst both stylised and heavily customised - are well within the realm of similarity with those found in your standard military armoury. Additionally, as long as Talos has access to a filled magazine, he cannot be truly disarmed. The vambraces and rerebraces are not strictly necessary, but they make the process of utilising the FINGAH's multiple calibre barrel system a much smoother and more effective weapons platform."
The chamber began to alter once more. Raised platforms that simulated buildings sank back into the ground as Talos made his way back into the centre of the room. As the android passed an unseen threshold, sections of the floor rose once more, forming a completely encasing cylindrical barrier wall - and more importantly, completely removing his line of sight of everything outside said wall.
A loud klaxon sounded in the chamber, shortly followed by a section in the floor split to reveal a reinforced cage.
Cries and exclamations of shock and fear echoed around the observation room. It made sense, even if he was irritated that the sounds more-or-less represented the lack of trust and belief in the Vulcan Project as a whole.
"A Banderslash, Professor?"
Said Banderslash stalked out of the reinforced cage into the chamber; the large, Class-Four Grimm resembling a cross between a wombat and a bulldog, packed into a vaguely feline form the size of a car. It hissed and growled, jaws parting to reveal multiple rows of jagged teeth.
Talos was once again without a care in the world, loading a single round canister into the sole weapon he had yet to use.
The almost overly loud 'Ca-clack' «Stási» made as the lever action was worked was almost foreboding.
"Of course," He nodded his head once, "How else would we be able to truly test the entire reason the Vulcan Project was created for without one? Aura: The manifestation of one's soul. And Semblance: A tangible projection of one's Aura."
Even separated from its prey by a four foot thick wall the Grimm prowled, leaving large gashes in the floor thanks to the claws that gave the beast its namesake as its attention was completely fixed on where Talos was stood on the other side. Grimm always had their uncanny - and annoyingly elusive to researchers - ability to detect Aura, no matter the surroundings.
Still, an artificially created Aura was still an Aura. ANIMA made sure of that.
This time, Talos' eyes literally began to glow. The chatter began to pick back up once more as the android tracked the large Grimm as if he were watching the beast through a window, projecting the image of a big game hunter as Stási remained held in one hand and propped up against his shoulder.
He nodded to the video feed.
"Semblance."
An operator tapped their console once.
The Barrier wall dropped.
A loud, soul rattling roar echoed as the Banderslash pounced.
Talos threw out his unoccupied hand, directly in between him and the beast that sought to end him.
"And Aura."
A completely indescribable sound resonated as the Grimm was halted mid lunge, and a hexagonal, semi-transparent bronze shield separated Talos and the Class-Four Grimm. Another howl torn itself free from the throat of the Banderslash, the hatred and impotent fury was clear in the beast's tone.
Talos simply smiled in response.
He then levelled Stási directly in line with the Grimm's eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
He couldn't quite keep the smile off his face as the discharge of a shotgun rang out for all to hear.
"I do believe this concludes the demonstration of the Vulcan Project."
"Well…" Aneurin muttered, the ice in the tumbler clinking together as he held the glass in his hand. "I did say I was going to need a drink earlier."
Another shot was poured into the small glass, and a single laugh escaped him as a thought struck his inebriated mind. Drinking was usually the result if one of two things happened: Either you drank as a result of something personally horrible happening and you needed to forget, or you drank to commemorate a great event.
The loud, resounding cheer from beyond his office reminded him just what results he was drinking to.
"I would have thought you would be celebrating with the rest of your co-workers."
He turned to the screen on his desk, the device displaying the image of someone no longer framed in concealing shadow.
"Ahh, yes. Well, I was, but then some bright sparked - dulled by one too many pints, I think - had the grand idea of challenging Talos to a drinking contest." Another cheer rang out. 'Yellow' raised a single eyebrow in response, even as she brought a saucer of Vacuese saké to her lips. "That must be the sixth person he's drank under the table. Good thing all the labs are locked, or else Spectrum could have found their Mistrian branch a smoking crater come morning."
"And you are not particularly bothered that your scientists are drinking themselves to stupor in the vain hopes of besting someone that cannot get drunk?"
"Nah." He downed the whisky is a single, smooth motion. "Besides. I think the hangover in the morning is punishment enough, especially when I get Talos to parade around completely hangover-free in front of their tired arses."
"You're terrible."
"Yup. But for now, they can enjoy themselves."
Twenty-Five years the Vulcan Project was in development, and eight of those were spent just planning and hypothesising. But now, everyone's hard work has finally paid off.
"The Council also wanted me to pass on that we have collectively read over this 'Persona Initiative', or whatever you are calling it. You have our full backing with any and all of your future endeavours unless notified otherwise."
His eyes widened as his head shot forward, any faster and he was sure he would've tumbled from his seat. A discrete glance towards the monitor opposite 'Yellow' brought what they were talking about into view.
"I guess I should also make mention that the Council has decided that diverting more resources towards the Vulcan Project will be a 'worthwhile expenditure'. Congratulations, Aneurin."
There was only one thing he could think of in repose.
"Thank you."
"Not a problem." 'Yellow' peered down at her drink, a small frown forming over her stern features. "Drinking with a friend is far more enjoyable in person."
He smiled.
"Indeed."
"Perhaps next time the situation calls for it, we should plan to do so in person, but as for now I must retire." She smiled at him, a far too amused expression on her face. "No doubt you have calls to place and favours to call in. Enrolment is still a lengthy process, and the new Academy terms start in a week or so."
His glass was raised in acknowledgement, and with a final nod of acceptance the display of 'Yellow' blinked out of existence.
So the Council approved of his next goal? If his mind wasn't as occupied as it was, he probably would have cheered. The tumbler was set down on its coaster as the other hand tapped at the keyboard, dialling the number he wanted.
If he got the time zones right, then she would be just would either be on her way, or already seated in her office at work.
"…Halifax Haycroft speaking, might I ask who is calling?"
At the very least she had answered her phone.
"Good morning Halifax, Aneurin here." He began tapping at his keyboard. "Would I be correct in believing you are in your office at the moment?"
"You would be," She confirmed, "And given you didn't give me the opportunity to make a comment on the fact that it's near one in the morning in Mistral or something along the lines of 'you should be in bed', would I be correct in believing that this is a business call instead of one of leisure?"
"You would be." His computer chimed in confirmation as he sent the e-mail. "I…I'm calling in a favour, Halifax. And before you ask, it's one of the big ones."
"Then you'll be glad to know that I've just had my morning dose of coffee. I'm all ears."
He licked his lips.
"You remember two and a half decades ago, when Spectrum hired me for a big project?"
"I remember you not shutting up about it, then going silent and citing a nondisclosure agreement a week later."
"Well, it's just culminated in a…let's say a resounding success, and I've been given the go ahead for my next project."
"Uh-huh. I guess that's what this e-mail I've just received is all about." Halifax hummed over the phone. "There are quite a few attachments as well."
"Correct, open up the first attachment and the second afterwards and you'll have a clearer picture."
"This is starting to sound-"
Whatever words that were to be spoken were cut off by a sharp inhale. Seconds became minutes, and the only thing audible was the clicking of a mouse and the odd sound from a video recording.
"This…I…" For once, Halifax sounded completely at a loss for words, "…How?"
"Spectrum, remember?" He leant back in his chair. The cheering from earlier sounded so very far away now. "Research and Development is kind of our thing."
"Research? Development?" She still sounded slightly hysterical, "Dust-aid Canisters, I can believe Spectrum R-and-D-ing! Trick-Weapons are another! But this? This is…This is…"
"Revolutionary? Controversial? Believe me Halifax; I've heard them all before." He ran a hand through his hair, covering his eyes as he massaged his temples. "…I know of the consequences. But I've spent twenty-five years on this, Seventeen years of those as a father. The 'Persona Initiative' is not something I was ordered to do. It is something I wish to see unfold. It is something my son wishes to take part in. If it backfires, then fair enough…but it is worth trying to make work."
"And if it works? Well…" A short, tired, bark of a laugh escaped him, fingers tracing one of the two pictures he kept framed on his desk, "…well, as my wife said: if it's stupid but it works, then it's not stupid now, is it?"
A tired, guttural sigh broke the building silence.
"I…I understand, and for what it's worth Ane, what you've done is…it should be impossible. But you've done it, and it's brilliant." Halifax paused as she cleared her throat. "What do you need me to do?"
He smiled, sighing as he sagged in his chair. His eyes returned to the picture his computer displayed: a single picture of a large, grandiose, castle-like complex.
"How long will it take to get an application to Beacon, in such a way that the Headmaster has to meet us in person?"