Mirror's Edge: Chapter 1
Jaune boarded the elevator, the dread mounting with stronger, faster pulses hammering in his chest. He turned around so that he faced the opening with his back to the wall and a control panel of buttons off to his left somewhere. As the elevator doors closed, he locked eyes with Miss Goodwitch, who held his gaze with the stern and disciplinary expression she wore constantly around Beacon's campus. Looking deeper into her eyes, Jaune barely saw them shiver, a pit of darkness that seemed filled with worry.
Jaune stared down at his shoes. His armor glinted in the bright light beaming from above. A hiss followed by a – Ding – the door sealed shut. His fate sealed shut with it.
No. Those eyes weren't filled with worry. They were pitying. Jaune sighed, closing his eyes. His heart beat in his ears.
/-/-/-/
"The headmaster wants to talk with me?" It was an odd concept to Jaune, since Ozpin hadn't ever really shown him much attention. Ms. Goodwitch stood opposite across the lunch table.
"Immediately, I'm afraid. He says that the matter is of utmost importance." She glanced down at her scroll, pupils dilating every so slightly, before looking back at him. "We should hurry. I wouldn't do to keep him waiting."
Jaune looked back at his food before picking up his tray. He flashed as reassuring a smile as he could muster to his team. "I'll be right back." The teams said their goodbyes.
He had to jog to catch up to Goodwitch. "So, could you tell me what this is about?" The deputy didn't change her pace and kept her stare forwards.
"I have a few guesses but it isn't my place to tell you." They quickly came up to the elevator. Jaune moved to push the button before his wrist grinded to a halt. Goodwitch held her crop steady, the signature violet glow of her semblance emanating from her hand. She cut it off with a sigh and stared him dead in the eye. "Whatever he tells you, whatever decision he makes, I ask that you hold a brave face to the new challenges that now lie in your future. Know that his choice is for the best and that while it may seem one way now, you may come to see it in a different light. A brighter light."
She broke her gaze and, leaning forward, pushed the button for him. "We live in a dark enough world for you to feel regret at such a young age."
/-/-/-/
He knew then. He f*cking knew... F*ck!
Jaune exhaled sharply, dragging one hand down his face, snagging both lower eyelids and rolling his eyes. He ended up staring straight into the lightbulbs.
"Damn it. Why does it have to be so bright in here?" Jaune complained, rubbing his eyes vigorously.
So this was it, huh? His dreams of ever being a hunter, now in shambles. He'd have a permanent record of forgery, a criminal that thought he could force his way to an impossible dream. Everyone would know. His story would make headlines. How would he get a job? How could he ever face his family again? He'd claimed that he would succeed and they didn't believe him, of course they wouldn't have. But to then return shame-faced.
To have to say goodbye to RWBY...
...Ren and Nora...
...Pyrrha.
…
"F*CK!" Jaune lashed out, slamming his fist against the wall next to him. The metal yielded to his aura and no cuts or blood trailed down his hands. Jaune couldn't decide to do anything. What could he do?
Leaning back against the wall, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, waiting for his ascension to end.
…
"Mr. Arc." The voice blared from a speaker in a top corner of the elevator, jolting Jaune from his brooding state. "While I'm sure you have plenty reason to go damaging my property and mope, perhaps it would be better if you just push the button for the top floor and meet me in my office."
Jaune peered around, straining his ears to listen. There was no noise, no creaking of gears, no cables ringing of thick wires moving him upwards. Tentatively, he reached out a finger and pressed down on the button labeled for the 12th floor. The elevator whirled to life around him and ever so slowly, he began his ascent.
"Motherf-"
/-/-/-/
"Sorry about that, headmaster." Jaune took his seat, sinking into the cushions with a long exhale. Ozpin shook his head and smiled.
"It's no worry. I understand you have a lot on your plate already." The headmaster indulged himself in draining his mug, a moment Jaune used to take in the room. It was large, or perhaps it was meant to appear that way. The only things that seemed to take up room in the office were himself, Ozpin, and the wooden desk, whose furnishing suggested that it was made of mahogany. All around them, enormous gears rotated slowly. Even under the glass floor, an endless abyss of axles, spokes, and the darkness between them seemed to stretch up towards him. Jaune pondered their use: there hadn't been a clock on the outer wall of the tower. Now that he thought about it, was the floor an illusion or an actual sheet of glass above such a vast array of cogs that he'd surely be ground to paste if the fall didn't kill him if the floor shattered? Jaune set his feet down gently at the thought of the latter, already breaking into a cold sweat. Ozpin put down his mug.
"Mr. Arc. Do you know why I called you here?" Silence reigned. Seconds ticked by on a choked tongue.
"No, sir. Could you tell me?"
The man picked up a sheet of paper off his desk and adjusted his glasses. "Earlier this year, I received an application that surprised me quite a bit. It had the Arc family name to it. I found it odd considering Nicholas had told me, not five years ago, that he hadn't taught any of his children to be huntsmen. He hadn't enrolled them or allowed them to gain experience in any capacity and he claimed that he never would." Jaune's hands clenched into fists, pale skin starting to shiver. The headmaster set down the sheet and locked eyes with him.
"That aside, five years is quite a while and I assumed that perhaps he had changed his mind. Upon further review of your application, my deputy found several inconsistencies with your skills: the boy who could take out hordes of beowolves without a single mention of aura, the skill with a sword with no description of technique nor mention of any teacher that taught you, and an incorrect association of an aggressive blade form with a style of defensive hand-to-hand combat."
Jaune closed his eyes, barely keeping his tears back. "You knew. All this time, you knew I was fake. A fraud."
"I did. And despite all of that, I decided to let you attend this school."
Jaune stared down at his feet, face gaunt with horror. He hesitated. He took a single deep breath and forced himself to meet the headmaster's gaze. "Please. My team, just... I need to say goodbye. Two hours. My things will be packed and I'll be out of your way."
Ozpin sighed sharply, removing his glasses before rubbing the bridge of his nose. Shaking his head, he grabbed the crystal of his cane and moved over to stare out the series of windows that had been at this back. "I didn't think you'd give up so easily." He moved to take a sip from his mug, only to realize he'd left it on the desk. He folded his fingers into a fist. "... Mr. Arc. Did it occur to you that perhaps I wanted you here? That perhaps I could see your potential for greatness as a savior of mankind? Why else let you in here, ignore my own rules, and allow you to attend the most prestigious academy in Vale?"
"Then why?" Jaune's voice was quiet, but the volume increased rapidly. "Why tell me this? Why even call me here? If I'm going to stay, why now?"
"Because your too slow." Jaune reeled in shock. Ozpin's voice hadn't waver in the slightest. For a moment, the man stopped looking the strong and confident professor he was meant to embody and more an old, frail man. The headmaster settled back into his chair and grabbed his mug, choosing to sling it, swinging it back and forth rather than drink. "You're advancing too slowly. I don't think there's a recorded match where you've won against Mr. Winchester. You've improved but the pace is insufficient." Ozpin stopped slinging and drank deeply. "And in a place like this, a person like you is very dangerous, both for the you and the people around you."
"Then what's the plan? Do I even still have a hope of staying here?"
Ozpin raised an eyebrow, his smirk suddenly looking a bit more smug. "Tell me, Mr. Arc. Your nights training on the rooftops, have you or Ms. Nikos had any luck finding out your semblance?"
"No. No, not really." Jaune looked down. "All that has been established is that I have an enormous Aural capacity. We've kept looking, even doing some research along the way." He shrugged dejectedly. "No luck."
Ozpin set down his mug. "You don't need to search. Your semblance is one already well-known."
Jaune froze, his gaze slowly moving back to the Headmaster.
"I believe you are aware of the Schnee family, yes?" Jaune nodded. "They are a family that possesses a hereditary semblance, a glyph that is able to manipulate the very physics of nature. The Arcs are very similar, also possessing a hereditary semblance. Your grandfather, Thomas, studied here with me, though he was two years ahead of me. Nicholas studied here under me. Both possessed the exact same semblance. And now you're here." Ozpin hid a smile behind a sip from his mug. "I'd like to think I have a pretty good guess for your latent potential."
"And that would be...?"
Ozpin set down the mug, twisting his chair slightly as he began tapping matched fingers on both hands.
"You don't really have your own semblance."
Jaune almost fell out of his chair.
"Actually," Ozpin raised a finger, "it would be more accurate to say your semblance has no potential for originality. Simply put, your semblance is mimicry."
"Mimic – what, you mean like copying?"
"Indeed. Your semblance allows you to imitate the physical aspects of semblances belonging to other combatants." Ozpin leaned forward. "And at your age, a semblance like that and will take a very long time to develop."
"I'll do it. Any training, any exercise, no matter how difficult, I will do anything to become the best hero I can be."
Ozpin smiled. "I know you will."
/-/-/-/
Rules of criticism, yada yada, still gonna write them.
1) Do not write critiques that convey senses of either love or hate
2) Do not label the writing
3) Comment what you think was good AS WELL AS what you think can be improved
4) Do not give me ideas for further plots.