Oakley Alfaro was his name. No, not "that guy on the bike", or "the guy that smells like a mechanic shop", or worst of all, "that one that creaks when he moves". It was Oakley Alfaro; Atlas citizen, aspiring huntsman-in-training, and licensed first responder.
He was currently hunched forward on his sport bike. It was painted gunmetal gray, creating a sleek design alongside the similarly coloured inner mechanisms that showed through. He hit the clutch and shifted gears, feeling the familiar momentary lull before the bike shot forward. Half leaning, half steering, he drew a serpentine path through downtown Vale. He went around cars and buses, but none very dangerously. Despite the stereotype behind a motorbike owner, he wasn't that risky. He wore a silver helmet and proper protection to be riding, and never once surpassed the speed limit.
With his efficient technique, he made good time. He was out of downtown Vale by noon and would be on Hope Highway after lunch. Of course, the real highway was probably called something boring like Seaside Drive. He called it Hope Highway because the slowly zigzagging path had only one destination, Beacon Academy. The way up was filled with people bursting with excitement, hope, and various graduation fantasies. Even if everyone was in their own vehicle, one could still sense it in the air.
The only thing between Oakley and the highway was a bus stop. Parked there was a double-decker bus that took residents and tourists alike to and from Beacon Academy. Preparing to board the transport was Evelina Caeruleus-
Preparing to board the transport was Eve. Her turquoise hair was as hard to spell as it was to describe. Kind of like a blue sky on a clear day, but with a more vibrant touch. Surely one blessed with such incredible hair colour would spend hours daily working on it? Nope. It was in a ponytail. Her matching eyes scanned the street, but not carefully enough. Her hand fell on empty air, now lacking the purse she clutched moments before. Scampering footsteps went off to her right, but she was too shocked to act. She stood frozen as the thief made his way to a motorbike and started it up. A call to action shook her body and she finally reacted, chasing after him and yelling, "T-Thief!". It was too little too late, and in moments the thief was too far down the highway. She had no vehicle, and no way of chasing him in time.
"I got him!"
A helmeted man zipped past her on his own grey bike. He did everything in his power to gain ground on the thief, and that included swerving dangerously close between cars. The speed limit was forgotten as he used all of his driving skills to expertly traverse the urban environment. He spotted the thief about fifty meters ahead and made his way there, taking the same lane as him and approaching from behind. If the thief saw someone making their way to his position he might be inclined to flee. Oakley succeeded in taking a place in the lane beside the biker. He waved for his attention and lifted his own visor, revealing his violet eyes.
"Pull over!" Oakley bellowed over the buffeting wind. The thief, who bore no helmet and left his face bare, simply squinted at him through his glasses. Oakley pointed at the blue purse tucked into his jacket, showing his intention. The thief immediately pushed Oakley's bike away from his and sped forward. Oakley gasped and grabbed the handlebars with both hands, working to bring the wobbling bike back to stability. Face set with new determination, Oakley turned his wrist and revved the bike loudly, setting a course straight for the thief.
When Oakley pulled up beside the man, he swung out his arm frantically. Oakley lifted an arm and blocked the blow on his forearm. The two grabbled with an almost comically casual air. They both remained completely still except for one arm each, which fought for control. They were going too fast and approached the rear end of a semi truck. They split, each combatant going to a different side of the semi and speeding past it, only to group back up in front of it. Oakley surprised him with a punch across the jaw that hurt more than it should have. The thief didn't react, he even held his head to the same side it was knocked.
In a flash of silver, the thief stubbornly denied defeat. Cold steel sliced into Oakley's shoulder, cutting more than half his sleeve off with a strange metallic ring. Oakley grunted and pulled his bike away from the encounter. His ripped sleeve shook like a flag in the wind, that wouldn't do. In a single motion, he ripped most of it off and revealed his full arm.
From the other side of the multi-lane freeway, the thief returned. The cause of Oak's fashion dilemma was now revealed, a short sword akin to a machete. As he turned his bike and neared Oakley he let it grind against the freeway, releasing an intimidating shower of sparks. Like a diving hawk, the thief closed the distance and stabbed with killing intent. He didn't expect Oakley to grab the blade with his bare hands, bringing him to speak for the first time.
"What are you?!"
Oakley smiled. His right arm was entirely mechanical, mostly showing metal plates. At the wrist, shoulder, and elbow one could see between the plates and spot wires, springs, tubes filled with fluid, gears, and so much more they couldn't come close to describing. Its metallic fingers were wrapped around the machete blade.
In an incredible act of finesse, Oakley jumped. His handlebars remained firmly grasped in both hands, but his legs were in mid-air. He turned his body and sent an equally metallic foot into the thief's side. It knocked him off his bike and onto the pavement harshly. Without a rider, the bike wobbled before hitting its side and spinning across the freeway before coming to a halt against the guard rail.
The wheels cried out. Oakley struggled to keep a tight grip on the brakes. He slammed a foot down on the pavement and turned the bike sharply. Though the tires protested loudly and left parallel black streaks on the road, he succeeded in stopping. He quickly put his bike to the side and charged back down the road. The thief had reclaimed his footing somewhere along the line and was doing the same movement at Oakley. They met in the middle lane.
The thief opened with surprising amounts of skill. He kicked high on Oakley, making him block with his arms. He was no newbie, and didn't leave his leg high and susceptible to being grabbed. He brought it back and kicked again sharply. He repeated this in quick succession, gaining ground in every kick and pushing Oakley back.
A loud horn wailed on his ears and a rush of wind on his back reminded Oakley he was on a freeway. The van had only missed him by about a foot. Determined not to be pushed around in such a dangerous area, Oakley counterattacked fiercely. His martial skill, every ounce of knowledge he had ever learned in it, concentrated into his palms and he attacked with precision that was only matched by his might.
Oakley's robotic arm plunged into the man's gut. He tried to counter with a hook, mostly on instinct, but Oakley swept the arm out of the way and uppercut him with his other, human hand. Oakley's next few attacks were rushed and hurried, as he jumped over him and kicked, only to jump off of the block that was put up. While he was in the air, a honking truck sped underneath him. The top of the cab missed him by inches. The thief survived, barely rolling backwards in time.
The thief landed on all fours, panting. This definitely wasn't going the way he had planned. This stranger was strong, maybe even stronger than him. He couldn't last long on the freeway- there! A glint of light out of the corner of his eye. His discarded blade lay on the line between lanes. The only problem was it was so far ahead, he'd be panting by the time he got there. With one last look at his opponent, he reached out an arm and latched onto the bar of a passing truck. He clung to it tightly as it sped along, barely noticing its new passenger. With a growl, Oakley returned to his bike and used it to close the distance.
The thief jumped off the truck and landed in a roll. By the time he was back on his feet, he had snatched his blade. When Oakley found him again his was greeted by a heavy horizontal slash that he barely ducked under. The onslaught continued, and he found himself on the defensive in no time. When the thief slashed overhead, Oakley flicked his metal wrist. A pizza-shaped metal blade shot from his wrist and extended six inches past his fingertips. He clenched his fist and caught the blow on his new weapon. They danced with their blades, much more careful now. They never stood on anything but their toes. The ringing of metal became sporadic and burst-like, as if a child had dropped a fistful of cutlery. They both sharply abandoned the battle, knowingly. A car sped over their recent arena, which they returned to immediately after.
While there was still a distance between them, Oakley removed his helmet. He shook loose his blonde hair and it fell to his neck. In a strange act, he threw the helmet to the thief. He subconsciously reached upwards to catch it, realizing his mistake too late.
Oakley knocked the blade out of his hand with his own wrist blade. In the same motion, a thinner, rapier-like blade sprouted from his other palm and missed the man's neck, barely. It stuck through the back of his shirt and, using it, Oakley lifted him off the ground.
The thief struggled and tried to run, but to no avail. Even he realized his defeat was at hand. Oakley calmly took the purse from his jacket and inserted it into his own. He dropped the thief, retracting his rapier blade, and took his helmet back. He then proceeded to walk back to his bike as if nothing had happened.
His opponent was far from finished, not with a golden opportunity like this. While Oakley's back was turned, he reached into his boot and pulled out a knife barely bigger than a finger. He stalked behind his prey, quickly but quietly, and prepared to sink it in his back.
A gunshot rang through the street. Oakley had turned 180 and held out his hand in a finger gun. The tip of his index finger had a hole in the end and was smoking.
"You gotta be kidding..." The would-be thief looking down at his blood stained, gun-less hand. He swooned and stumbled before crumpling to the ground. Oakley dashed at him, but not to attack him.
"Keep your hand above your head." Oakley ripped off the rest of his sleeve and began to quickly but accurately wrap the thief's hand. "You'll bleed less and the wound will clot closed faster. I'm gonna tighten this to apply pressure, it might hurt."
"What the hell are you doing? You just shot me!" The thief demanded.
"If it swells, that's a sign of internal bleeding. You should see a hospital then." Oakley ignored him. With a grunt he tightened the wrap on the wound. "The bandage should last until the wound closes.".
"You're…" The thief lost the words, dumbstruck at the stranger's actions.
Oakley fitted his helmet on his head, kicked away the kickstand, and roared the engine. He would hate to be late for his first day.
As the academy came into view, Oakley had trouble focusing on the road. The grounds were simply breathtaking. The verdant green flora, spanning buildings, and stunning architecture all contributed to his awe. He approached it in no time, but didn't enter quite yet. He stopped at the bus stop; he still had that purse in his jacket. He pulled up beside it and lowered his kickstand.
"T-T-Thank you!" A voice stuttered while Oakley was taking off his helmet. When he could see again, he recognized the blue-haired girl from earlier.
"Oh, hello." Oakley smiled, reaching into his jacket and holding out the purse. "It was no problem, I actually had a lot of fun."
The woman said nothing. She stared at him with saucer eyes.
"Sorry, is there something wrong?"
"Oh. My. God." Oakley followed her eyes and saw them latched onto his robotic arm. In a blink's time she had crossed their separating distance and was inspecting every inch of his arm with her eyes and hands. "This is incredible! Who created this?! The coolant fluid weaved directly into the marrow core, brilliant! You can use your arm without it ever overheating! The touch sensory system is almost like the one I designed last year... but at least twice as accurate. It hooks into your flesh with... and inlaid network of artificial nerves!" The girl looked up to meet his eyes, finally, and seemed to catch herself. All at once she realized she was fondling a strangers arm. As soon as she had come, she zipped back a few meters.
"S-sorry..." She bowed her head. "You don't even know my n-name. I'm Evelina Caeruleus."
"Eve." Oakley shortened with a smile. "My name is Oakley Alfaro, I'm gonna be a student here at Beacon. What about you?" Despite her meek demeanor, Oakley spotted a large pistol at her hip.
"Yes! Although I prefer to design weapons, I'm attending as a first year student." She answered without a stumble.
"Then let's walk together, the entrance ceremony shouldn't last long." Oakley hung his helmet on his motorcycle and removed the keys. After fishing around in the back, he found a long sleeved shirt to slip on to replace his ripped jacket. Eve seemed to be visibly deflated when he covered his arm.
"Are those... cabbages?" Oakley looked at the planters at Beacon to see that each one held a single, well maintained head of cabbage. He hesitantly reached out a finger to poke it and make sure this wasn't some kind of joke.
"HANDS OFF THE CABBAGES, LADDIE!" Oakley's trained reflexes were the only thing that pulled his finger away in time to save them from the shears that snapped shut a hair's breadth from his nail.
"What in the world?!" Oak exclaimed, stepping back. He now saw the culprit, a withered, hunched old man with a wispy beard and faded overalls.
"I saw ya! You were trying to steal my babies!" The groundskeeper squinted at him, shaking the rusty shears in his direction.
"H-He was simply curious!" Eve spoke up.
"Ignorant dunkelbumser!" He snapped, getting on his knees and carefully trimming wayward edges of the cabbage leaves. He managed to maintain the utmost focus on the task while continuing his speech. "Cabbage provides you with special cholesterol-lowering benefits! Our ancient ancestors originally believed that cabbages were gods and worshipped them as such! Cabbages prevent cancer! I bet you didn't know cabbages were the first spherical object!"
"I'll take your word for it, Mr...?"
"Sir Ernest Jenkins." He smiled broadly and bowed, which looked just plain creepy. For some reason they doubted that a crazy groundskeeper was knighted.
"My name is Oakley." The boy said as politely as he could, backing away slowly. The man went back to his cabbage pruning, allowing the pair to walk away.
"Y-you had a lot of patience for such a s-strange man." Eve smiled, still nervous.
Oakley was about to say something when a mic shrieked sharply. They were standing outside the main hall already.
"I'll keep this brief." A man said from the stage. He sported spectacles, a cane and grey hair, even though his face was far from aged.
"You have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and acquire new skills. And when you are finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people. But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy in need of purpose, direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step."
Oakley and Eve exchanged confused looks, unsure what to say.
"You will gather in the ballroom tonight." A younger blonde lady said as she walked up to the mic. "Tomorrow, your initiation begins. Be ready. You are dismissed."
They walked off the stage together. Oakley barely heard their chatter.
"Now we have to deal with the groundskeeper, the fool is ripping out the flowers and putting in cabbages again!"
"Well you have to admit, the old man keeps the place interesting."
That night, in the gym, Oakley lost track of Eve. It was half on purpose, though. If any of his assumptions about her shy nature were true then he wouldn't want to be caught half naked around her, leaving alone the fact that she was in love with his right arm. He didn't dare wonder what she would do when she saw his metal leg...
Oakley settled in his provided sleeping bag in expensive, purple pajamas. That night, he slept peacefully. He dreamt that he was flying over the vast buildings and architecture of his home, Atlas.