Long Ago

Captain January jogged through the hellscape that surrounded him. Massive, hulking griphonic-beasts of darkness swarmed the skies, knocking Bullheads and Warships from their places, killing many in the process. Flames engulfed many of the stone-brick complexes that lined the Campus of Beacon Academy. Bodies of students and civilians lay motionless on the cobblestone pathways, often in grotesque positioning indicating their deaths. His hands tightened their hold on his rifle, a simplistic-styled Bullpup-Carbine. It sported carbon-composite plating to cover the internals, a K2-Scope resting on the mount, with an angled grip along the end of the casing, with a fifty-centimeter barrel sporting a gas tube above it, a design inspired by the Kalashnikov-series of firearm.

His armour was thin along the legs, with plated-greaves sporting webbing-mounted pouches carrying pistol magazines on the left calf, and a leather case with a trio of throwing knives, and a KA-BAR-styled combat knife. Non-reflective, anti-flash titanium carbide coating, high carbon steel. The outer thighs were protected by plates that circled around, leaving the inner thighs exposed. A pistol harness sat upon the right thigh, and another on the left thigh, carrying a miniature, "sawed-off" XM-23 Lever-Action Shanikov M150 Shotgun, with shells lining the harness in belts that wrapped around his legs and the left side of his belt. His forearms were covered by thick vambraces, a hidden blade in the wrist of the right, and two barrels that poked out of the left wrist. A wrist-mounted TACPAD on the right vambrace, and a set of blades on the left, designed to hook oncoming bladed weapons. His left rerebrace began thin at the elbow, growing thicker along the top to accommodate for a large, angular pauldron that sported the shape of a half-cylinder. right was of equal thickness, leading up to a small, curved pauldron that was tightly hugging the shoulder, strong as the left pauldron, yet many times more flexible. His breastplate was basic, with a set of thin, long plates on his abdomen that stretched across his waist. A single, thirty-centimeter wide, fifteen-wide, and twenty-centimeter tall medical case sat on the rear part of his belt, with grenades, a karambit knife and several injections lining the belt. His helmet sported a sleek design, with dark tubes exposed through splits in plates, leading toward the front, where two circular, thin 'filters' on the cheeks, below a set of ovular-shaped 'goggles,' two cyan viewports that connected with the main, wide viewscreen built into the helmet. Two 'fins' ran from the tip of the jaw, where the tubes connected, to the base of the jaw. An open-mawed skull sporting a Stahlhelm was spray-painted onto the left temple.

'Alright, January… Gotta find that damned Faunus girl…' January thought to himself. His external speakers picked up the snippets of a conversation from a building up ahead, and he rushed forward silently, planting his right shoulder against the brick, raising his external speaker volume. The words that came from the mouth of the male he heard were like nails on a chalkboard, venomous, malignant.

"…But I understand because all I want is you, Blake…" That voice made January grind his teeth. He spun the corner, taking a hunched position, sliding along the wall until he reached a shattered window. January knelt from a relatively hidden spot and observed.

The male was young, maybe mid-to-late twenties, wearing a white mask with red markings, red and brown hair, with bull-horns protruding from his skull. Adam Taurus, an ex-companion of his target. Wearing Long-sleeved, black trench coat with a wilting red rose over a white floral pattern on the back. A red-bladed sword was in his arms. He stood over a young woman, black hair, dressed in black buttoned jacket with coattails and a silver button, under that a sleeveless, high-necked crop undershirt, and white shorts with zippers along the front of the legs. Black, low heel boots, full stockings with a black and purple gradient. This was January's target, Blake Belladonna. He lined up his rifle's K2 reticle with Adam's temple, silently readying a finger on the trigger, when he heard another voice, a woman.

"Blake! Blake, where are you?!" His gaze turned to the window opposite him, where Blake's teammate, a young woman (January called her a bimbo, frequently) with fiery yellow hair, sporting yellow, metal… shotgun gauntlets. This was "Yang Xiao Long," Blake's teammate. He returned his attention to Taurus. January had missed something he'd said prior, distracted with his thoughts.

"… Starting with her." Taurus growled. Blake looked utterly terrified, but not dead. That was good.

Suddenly, Taurus' blade was directed into Blake's abdomen, causing her to cry out.

'Shit.' January hurdled the window, switching his carbine out for his KA-BAR knife, when he was knocked to the side as Yang came leaping through the window. Taurus smirked, sheathing his blade as the (quite literally) fiery-haired blonde prepared to launch blows. January quickly pulled himself up. He was only able to watch in awe as Taurus' blade was unsheathed, and a loud 'SWOOSH' was heard. Yang went flying… Her lower right arm separated from her body.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" January launched himself forward, swiping at Taurus with his knife, only to have the move blocked. January's cannons in his vambrace made themselves apparent, firing two large concussive blasts into Taurus, causing him to stagger and reel back. January took the opportunity, tackling Taurus to the floor. Taurus' sword was sent sliding across the ground, far out of reach, January's knife sitting conveniently nearby. January landed a few blows before Taurus retaliated by throwing January off with a strength that he had not seen coming.

January used his armour's built in thrusters to plunge himself back to the ground before he was able to become stunned himself. January was barely able to get his bearings before Taurus came at him with blows from his fists and January's knife.

January blocked or dodged most hits, countering with those of his own. Kicks, punches and jabs, each with enough strength to knock an average person out cold. Taurus threw a kick that hit January's temple, causing him to stagger back and grunt from pain.

Taurus launched himself forward, plunging the knife toward January's throat with a roar. January grabbed his wrist, redirecting his entire body in a different direction, snagging the knife by the blade. He used his other hand to grab Taurus by the neck, stunning the White Fang leader as he gasped for air. January flipped the knife's handle into his hand, and plunged the blade into Taurus' mask, causing the entire left eye section to shatter as the blade made itself at home in Adam's eye socket for a few moments. Adam was only able to scream and flail, before the knife was ruthlessly torn out. Taurus spun a bit, his aura flickering. January reeled his left arm back, the cannons loaded up with a second shot, and plunged his fist into the side of Taurus' head, knocking him to the floor.

January spat blood, causing it to splatter the insides of his visor.

"Prick." January flicked the blood off his KA-BAR and sheathed it, taking a moment to breathe.

"Yang!" His attention was drawn toward Blake rushing toward her fallen teammate, stumbling and falling onto her side, coughing. January took not another second, rushing over with a syringe, ready to deal with Yang first. The yellow-haired girl was bleeding bad, spurting blood at a terrifying rate. January swore, and injected the syringe into her neck, depressing the plunger. Once empty, it was tossed aside. January got up and planted his gauntlet against one of the fires for a few seconds, rushing over and planting it into the injured girl's stump. She was unconscious, however still shook and struggled as her wound cauterized. He used a roll of gauze from his pouch to wrap the wound, before turning to Blake.

Her wound could be treated easily. He slowly approached Blake, her eyes full of fear, and rage. He removed a canister of Bio-Medical Sealant-Foam from his pouch.

"Hold still." He said softly, kneeling beside Blake. She hesitantly backed away a bit, before allowing January to insert the canister's injector tip into her wound. He pulled the plunger, and Blake hissed as a mint-coloured, quick-hardening material filled up her wound.

"This will keep your guts in until we get you looked at by an actual Doc." January bandaged her abdominal wound.

"Why… Why are you helping us?" Blake asked as January helped her up onto her feet. He knelt back down and scooped her comrade into a fireman's carry before answering.

"Let's just call me a Guardian Angel, nice and simple." January was about to start leaving, when he noticed Blake staring at the downed Taurus. He hesitated for a while, before giving her what she needed to hear.

"He's not dead, but he'll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up." His answer calmed Blake enough.

"… Over here! I heard screaming!" The uninvited voices kick-started January and Blake.

"Follow me, there are a lot of Huntsmen and Huntresses at the dock." Blake stumbled along, January in tow. He had in his right hand an M24911, a renovated, refurbished and modernized version of the classic M1911 Firearm, loaded with a full magazine of 12.7x40mm M239 HE/AP Magnum rounds. It sported a Red-Dot styled rail mounted sight, a laser-guidance under-barrel mount, and a suppressor.

"I… I have so many questions." Blake said as they traversed the hell-scape that was Beacon Academy, post-fall.

"I'll answer what I can when we're in the clear." January grunted, readjusting his grip on the unconscious unarmed, injured yellow-haired girl. Blake stopped directly in front of him, staring up at him from her five-foot-six height, up to his seven-foot-four towering height.

"Let's start with, 'who are you'?" Blake asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. January grumbled.

"This isn't the time for this…" He grunted.

"Bullshit, it isn't. Tell me who you are." Blake retaliated.

"Fine… You can just call me January for now. Come on, lead us to the finish, I can sense all sorts of baddies inbound." January's response caused Blake to narrow her eyes further accusingly, before continuing onward…

A Few Months Later, Present Day.

January basked in the smell of the ocean as he leaned against the railing of the large civilian cruiser. His helmet was clipped to his belt, allowing his short, curly silver hair and pale, scarred face to show. A pair of aviator sunglasses sat upon the bridge of his nose, simple gray frames with dark glass. A light gray digital camouflage military cap sat upon his head, assisting the shades in shielding his eyes from the harsh rays of the sun.

The subtle sound of boots against wood alerted January from his musings, and he turned to see Blake walking over. She wore a bulky service jacket that he'd loaned her, a pair of combat boots and cargo pants, with a set of belts hanging from her waist, one of which carrying her trademark weapon, Gambol Shroud. She carried a small paper bag in one hand, with a lighter in the other.

January took both items, removing what appeared to be a cigarette from the bag, placing it to his lips and lighting it, a wispy, relieved sigh escaping him.

"Since I've gotten you everything that you want and need, how about you answer my questions, finally?" Blake crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes accusingly. January simply rolled his.

"Ask away." He replied, taking a puff from the cigarette. Blake let out a relieved breath and imitated his positioning.

"What… Who do you work for?" She asked. The civilian boat lurched as it released from Vale's docks, and slowly pushed off toward the open ocean.

"We call ourselves the 'Vanguard Defense Force.' I belong to the 497th Marine Expeditionary Unit, Firefly Company. I commanded a squad of five—Firefly-One." January's response got a gentle hum from Blake.

"Why are you… protecting me? I can fend for myself." Blake asked. January took another puff from his cigarette, shaking his head softly.

"I dunno, to be frank with you. Something fishy is going on, and I think someone very nasty—and very connected—wants you dead. You're alone—per your own childish reasoning—and would likely still be alone, if I hadn't tracked you down." January was nearly finished with his cigarette, dropping it into a nearby rubbish bin. Blake furrowed her brow.

"You said you commanded a squad, right?" Blake asked, getting a simple nod from January. "So… where are they?" Blake turned to look at January.

"Got separated upon orbital entry… Hell if I know how long ago, I think it was during a meteor shower." January scratched the back of his neck. Blake seemed surprised.

"The last meteor shower was two years ago… You've been on Remnant for two years, yet you haven't the slightest clue what Dust is, the four Kingdoms, Grimm?" She asked, almost accusingly. January shrugged passively.

"I was in the Wilds outside of the Kingdoms, living off my rations and whatever game I could kill." January answered, standing upright. He stretched, disheartened at the various pops and cracks he heard.

"Did it ever cross your mind to try and find them?" Blake asked, her tone becoming increasingly aggressive with each sentence. January frowned.

"I spent the first four months trying to contact them. The four after that, I had to manually track them down using outdated tech that wasn't compatible with anything I could steal from those weird fuckin' ship things—" "—Bullheads—" "—and I had to then jury-rig or entirely reproduce my equipment because of Grimm... All I came up with was an empty pod, the signs of a heavy firefight, a damaged helmet and his 'tags." January reached into his inner-jacket pocket, pulling out a small airtight bag, with a red seal along the top, marked:

[ / CPL. STEINMAN / ]

Blake stared at the small sealed bag for a while before she spoke again. The bag's insides were stained with blood, a single pair of dog-tags resting at the bottom, scratched and bloodied.

"As far as I know, he was the only one who died. I buried the helmet and disposed of the pod." January put the bag back in its place and leaning with his back and elbows against the railing.

"I'm… I'm sorry." Blake eventually spoke up, a guilty expression taking up her features.

"Don't be, you couldn't have known… Besides, from the wounds on him, he went out fighting. The doors of Valhalla will be open to him." January took his cap off and leaned his head back. It wasn't exactly a lie—a large portion of Vanguard personnel (at least the ones that he knew) believed in Valhalla. It was a sort of tradition to them. If one was to go down fighting for what is right, and do so with honour, the doors of Valhalla will be open to them, and they shall be accepted with open arms. January's mind would often wander to whether or not he would be allowed entry to Valhalla. He had served four tours with the Vanguard (about twenty years) and fought in two of their wars. Maybe protecting this girl, Blake, would be the last lock to that door, and by completing that task, he'd be allowed to enter Valhalla. Who knows? The world is a crazy place, anything can happen.

Once January came back to his senses, he found that Blake was no longer in his presence. Didn't matter much to him, he decided. January lifted himself onto his feet, stretched his back out, then got to patrolling from bow to stern.