Alright, new story time. So I actually did proper planning for this first. My hope is that this will make updating much quicker and easier.
Now let it be known that my OC is NOT meant to be a good person, nor is he meant to be a wholly bad person. He's just a man (or faunus in this case) who's done some bad things in his life. He's not meant to be a "good guy." He's meant to be real, because real people are shades of gray.
And so we're clear, just because a character I write does something, does NOT mean I condone it. (Except arson. Burn that shit to the ground. Jk.)
Likely this story will be brought up to M rating, but for now it's T for swearing and sexual references.
Disclaimer: I don't own shit.
Chapter 1
Cain Madra
Cain had been many things in his life. A day ago, he had been a prisoner. A year ago, he had been a terrorist, where he'd been something similar to a drill instructor. A time before that he'd been a huntsman, and a time before that, a student, though that felt like hundreds of years ago. But...
"Professor's new," he said to himself as he felt himself being lead out of the airship, unable to see through the bag over his head.
His reply was a firm baton to the back of his head and a terse, "Shut up, scum."
Cain simply chuckled and kept walking. Pain was such a little thing.
He continued walking, the occasional rough shove accompanying him. He took notice of the sound of clacking heels growing closer. Only when the clacking was almost upon him was he suddenly jerked to a stop and the bag pulled from his head to reveal a messy head of long greasy jet black hair, sans the single gray streak on the left side, two dead looking heterochromatic eyes, the left amber and the right blue, a thick beard, and two little black dog ears on the top of his head. He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days, a pale complexion, and looked like he had spent the last year in the woods.
His most notable feature, however, was undoubtedly the fact that both of his legs and his right arm were prosthetic. Because of this, the guards hadn't given him any shoes, so all he wore was a white Atlas prison jumpsuit, a white undershirt, and a necklace with a single silver ring hanging from it. At first glance, despite his rough appearance, he seemed to be in his early to mid twenties.
As his eyes adjusted to the light of the early morning, he took in his surroundings. He had been to Beacon Academy before when he'd been a student in Atlas. It seemed to have grown a bit since then, but he supposed that was to be expected. It definitely felt more comfortable than Atlas, first impression wise. Definitely not the worst place to spend the next twenty years.
His gaze, however, quickly shifted to the woman before him, which, he thought decidedly, was a much better sight to behold. She was tall, probably an inch or so taller than him in those heels, with blonde braided hair and green eyes behind her glasses. She wore an outfit that he supposed could be typical of a teacher, aside from the cape and riding crop in her right hand. In her left, she held a duffle bag.
"Huh," he spoke with a grin. "This is already better than I thought it would be. I didn't know the job came with a dominatrix."
Before she even had time to narrow her eyes, the guard to his right yelled out, "You piece of shit!" and struck him in the gut with his baton, knocking the breath out of him, followed quickly by one to the back of the head from the guard to his left that brought him to his knees. He kneeled down with wheezing laughter and looked up at the guard to his right out of the corner of his eye.
"One of these days, Richard, I'm gonna shove that baton up your ass."
The man scowled in annoyance. "I've told you time and time again that my name is Alan!" he said as he raised the baton to hit him again.
"And I've told you time and time again that you look like a Dick," he said.
Just as the guard was about to hit him again, though, the woman shouted, "Enough!" in a voice with enough authority to freeze them both.
She turned her stern gaze first to the guard and spoke, "Prisoner or not, I advise that you don't attack a staff member of Beacon."
Alan and the other guard gulped and nodded, prompting her to turn her gaze to Cain who smirked back at her.
"And you," she spoke, walking up to the kneeling man and leaning down to meet his gaze with a glare that could freeze a lake. "Refer to me as that again, and you may find yourself in need of a fourth prosthetic."
His grin faltered for the slightest of seconds before he burst into laughter. He looked back at the guard. "You're in luck, Dick. I think I'm gonna like it here."
The woman sighed. "The Headmaster said you may be... unpleasant. I suppose I just didn't realize just to what degree." Without speaking, she quickly pulled something from behind her and stuck it to his neck where it then extended and wrapped around like a collar, and he felt the slightest sting in his arms when it beeped on. Cain took it in stride. After that, she addressed him, "My name is Glynda Goodwitch. I'll be escorting you to the Headmaster from here. Gentlemen, if you would please release Mr. Madra's restraints."
The guards looked hesitant at that. "Ma'am, are you sure? He-"
"Yes, I'm quite sure," she said, cutting left guard off. "Now if you don't mind."
The man gave a nod, pulling out a small device. Cain stood at this and lifted up his pant leg, revealing another small device attached to the side of his prosthetic. The guard attached his device to the one on his leg and twisted, causing it to fall off. He then proceeded to release the other two.
When they were done, Glynda nodded, "Thank you, gentlemen. You may leave. I'll handle it from here."
The guards simply nodded and returned to their airship. Glynda turned her gaze back to the faunus, who was currently throwing practice punches and kicks. They seemed to be expertly thrown to the untrained eye, but still he grimaced and muttered under his breath, "Slow. I'll need oil. Probably have to change out the worn down parts."
He really hated those restraints. They didn't limit his movements. Instead, they were made to act similar to seatbelts. If he moved too fast, they locked up instantly, usually resulting in a less than gracious faceplant. They also limited the amount of force he could apply with them to a little less than 10 pounds. He could barely break a collarbone.
Now, though, the prosthetics were as fast as his coordination allowed and stronger than any human could possibly be without the aid of some sort of semblance. At least, that's how they'd be once he managed to get the repairs that the limbs most definitely needed.
His musings were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat. He looked up to see Glynda looking at him impatiently.
"But," he said louder and adopted a smirk that didn't reach his eyes, "it'll do for now. That my stuff?" He pointed to the bag in her hand.
The professor nodded and handed him the bag. "Yes, now if you'd follow me, I'll take you somewhere to get changed," she said, making no effort to disguise her disgust at the dinginess of what he currently wore. Prison guards weren't exactly the most gracious hosts to ex-terrorists.
Still, he decided that that would probably go over a lot better than just changing in the middle of the courtyard like he'd been debating. The courtyard was completely empty, but he had a feeling that Ms. Goodwitch wouldn't be very appreciative of it either way.
So he simply nodded and followed her.
"I see Atlas isn't the only Academy with expensive taste," he said as the elevator reached the top of the clocktower.
Goodwitch said nothing as the elevator door opened and she stepped into the room.
He frowned dramatically, "Not the most sociable bunch, are you?"
On the way up there, she had stopped by a restroom and allowed him to change and wash his hair. While still long and messy, it had lost its greasiness and was less ratty. He now wore a slim-fitted white dress shirt with a black lazy tie, black dress pants, and black dress shoes. He'd also managed to replace the oil in his prosthetics, though it still felt a little stiff.
"Ah, good to see you again, Mr. Madra," said the silver haired man sitting at the desk at the end of the room. "I trust you're journey wasn't too uncomfortable."
Cain laughed mirthlessly, setting his duffle bag down by the elevator. "Of course. Those guys are always a riot. So do I get the full job description yet, Oz?"
When last they met, Ozpin had offered him a chance to work off his prison sentence by teaching the next generation of Huntsman and Huntresses. Cain had of course jumped at the opportunity to get out of that place, though not for the reason one might expect. After he agreed, however, Ozpin simply said that he'd provide details when he arrived at Beacon.
Ozpin nodded, "Of course. But first, coffee?" he asked, gesturing to a streaming mug on his desk.
Cain had never been the biggest fan of coffee, but after a year of bland prison slop, he could do nothing but step forward and accept it, sipping at the bitter liquid and leaning against the wall.
Yep, it was still disgusting to him. He took another sip.
Ozpin simply nodded as if this was expected while the female professor made her way to his side. He continued, "I have asked you here, as I said last time we met, to teach the newest generation of Huntsmen and Huntresses. As you were once an exceptional Huntsman yourself at one point, is it not only natural that we make use of this situation?"
Cain chuckled at that. "It's been a long time since I considered myself a Huntsman, professor."
"Yes, well be that as it may, an organization such as the White Fang wouldn't employ just anyone to train their most skilled operatives," Ozpin reasoned.
"Fair enough." Cain moved for his spot at the wall and walked around the room. "Alright," he said as he came to a stop on front of the Headmaster's desk. "What am I gonna be doing?"
"Straight to the point, I see. Very well, we have had a space made for an additional class for the first and second year students in their scheduling. Shaped specifically for your particular... talents, we've labeled the class you'll be teaching as Combat Tactics and Aura Manipulation. They're fairly self-explanatory. The first semester will be focused more on strategy and team-building, while the second will be focused more on the control and uses of aura in various situations. I trust these are manageable?" he finished.
Cain nodded. "Not like I got much of a choice. It's either this or back to the cell."
"True. Do you have any questions?" he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.
"Plenty. But I'll settle for two," he answered. "Starting with, why me?"
"You're a skilled and capable warrior. As I said, the White Fa-"
"Don't bullshit me," he interrupted, very pointedly ignoring Goodwitch's glare for the disrespect. "We both know there's plenty of Huntsmen just as, if not more qualified than me. But you got me, which must have taken some heavy string pulling. Why?"
Ozpin simply looked at him for a moment, then sighed, relenting, "Your concern is justified. There are obviously things I can't tell you, however I will say that it appears the White Fang has joined forces with another organization. One that has caused them to become increasingly aggressive. While we have no real countermeasures against this other organization, it is within our power to acquire one for the White Fang at the very least."
"Then make that three questions," Cain said as he pulled up a chair and propped his feet on the desk, earning a frown from the older man. Goodwitch looked downright murderous now. "So you want me to act as your 'countermeasure.' Your expendable attack dog? What's to stop me from saying, 'Fuck it,' and leaving? I can only assume it has something to do with this collar."
The Headmaster nodded. "Yes. Aside from mine and miss Goodwitch's capable hands, that collar would act as a more conventional means of controlling your actions. On command via the scrolls of any member of the staff, that collar will release a signal that will lock down your limbs. For extreme cases, it also contains a powerful sedative. Which, I can assure you, is a much kinder alternative than what General Ironwood had suggested."
"Explosive charge in the collar?" he asked, deadpanned. He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation at Ozpin's silence. "Of course. James is nothing if not predictable. Can always trust him to go with the nuclear option. Dick."
For once, Goodwitch seemed like she actually agreed with him on something.
Cain may not have been very familiar with Ozpin, but he knew James Ironwood better than he cared to. Either way though, he had no intention of leaving. He'd gotten a pretty damn good deal with this place.
Besides, collar aside, he was confident, not arrogant like he was when he was younger. He knew his limits. And while he wasn't sure about the once again scowling woman who'd been silently observing the conversation, he did know enough about Ozpin to know that of it came down to just the two of them, he'd be lucky to last a minute. Such was the power that the Headmaster of Beacon held. For someone as aura sensitive as he, simply being this close to the man felt similar to standing near a volatile Dust reactor (which he did unfortunately have experience in, but that was a story for another time).
"Well, anyways," he said, digressing from that line of thought, "I've no intention of going anywhere. I have no loyalty to the Fang, and this deal comes with a lot of benefits. Which brings me to my last question." He brought his feet down, leaned forward, and looked Ozpin in the eyes. "Where is she?"
Regardless of his power, the knowing look the Headmaster gave him still made Cain want to clock him in the jaw.
"Miss Levend arrived several hours before you and has already been brought up to speed. You will find her waiting for you outside your class," he said and pulled a large binder packed with almost more paper than it could hold. On the front, it said 'Combat Tactics and Aura Manipulation Course Description' with the name 'Cain Madra' and a classroom number beneath it.
Cain looked at him, confused, before narrowing his eyes at the man.
"Outside the class?"
"Yes. Today is the first day of classes," he said, not noticing or more likely ignoring the irritated twitch in the new professor's eye. "It's simply an introductory day for you, so you won't be required to do anything in particular. In fact, I'll leave your methods of teaching these students to you, so long as they don't fall into the 'cruel and unusual' category of course. As long what they learn with you will help them improve and survive, you may instruct as you please. Though, I do recommend leaving soon, as your first class will begin in..."
He checked his scroll. "Ten minutes."
...
"This is gonna fuckin' suck, isn't it?"
"Undoubtedly," Ozpin said, smirking, as he pushed the binder towards him. "I'd also advise you read at least the first part of this as you walk."
Cain glared at the silver-haired man for a moment, before sighing, taking the binder, and stepping over and into the elevator, grabbing his bag and swearing an impressively violent string of profanities all the while.
Glynda Goodwitch
"Do you really think that bringing that man here was a wise decision?" the until recently silent woman asked. She trusted Ozpin. She had for years and he had never led her astray. But bringing this man in as a professor was beginning to make her question him.
For what she had recently witnessed and read in the reports of Cain Madra, he was rude, viciously brutal, hedonistic, and prone to alcoholism... Huh. That sounded familiar.
Obnoxious crows aside, she just couldn't see how Ozpin thought that he was fit to train the future protectors of the world. While it was true that he was nothing short of efficient if the reports were to be believed, his personal morals were abhorrently warped.
Ozpin simply smiled that same knowing smile he was so prone to. As of he knew something you didn't, like a grown-up looking down and smiling at a child's naïve ignorance.
If there were two things she and Cain Madra could agree on, it was that James Ironwood was a paranoid, overcompensating tool, and that the Headmaster had an endearing way of making you want to punch him in the face.
"It may not seem like it now, but there's more to that man than there seems. Give him a chance. He may surprise you," Ozpin said.
"And if he doesn't? You read the same reports I did. The man is dangerous."
Dangerous was being generous. Ironwood had skipped any form of trial when he went about locking the faunus up and despite herself, Glynda couldn't help but agree with James about that decision. His list of crimes were numerous and plentiful. They ranged from kidnap, murder, arson, robbery, anarchism, terrorism, the list went on. And that was just what they'd confirmed.
The Headmaster lost his smile at her words, and looked her in the eyes with the conviction of a man who'd made countless mistakes in his life and retained the wisdom gained from all of them. "I don't believe he will, but if the worst should happen and he turns on us... then I will deal with him myself."
Well, there we go. Chapter 1 complete. I'm gonna do what I can to start on the second chapter as soon as possible. So yeah, tell me what you think of Cain. As I said before, he's not a good person, but there's a reason for everything. Cain, just like everyone else, has good points and bad.
I'm also trying to avoid the whole cliché of making my OC exactly like myself or do exactly what I'd do in the situation. Quite frankly, that'd be boring. I like to think I'm a decent enough guy. Cain though... he does as he pleases, and he doesn't particularly like or care about any of these kids (yet). He has no reason or motivation to act like it. He's kinda antihero, leaning more towards the 'anti' side of it at the moment.
Unlike my other story, I will be using the color naming guidelines as much as possible. Cain is obviously a reference to the Judeo-Christian first murderer, Cain. His clothing will vary greatly, but we're likely going to be seeing him in a lot of red. Madra simply means "dog" in Irish.
But I digress. Review and tell me what you think of it in general. Meanwhile, I'll try to update at least somewhat regularly. Also chapter lengths, longer or shorter?