AN: Sorry it took so long, I've been bogged down with University over the past month, and in this chapter alone, I wrote and rewrote potions so many times it just took forever. I wanted to thank you guys so much for the feedback! I was overjoyed to find that you guys like the story. Some of you were wondering if I was going to do the "usual hash" (as TehUnoman put it) and that would be a no as far as I can tell.

Sorry if this chapter is a bit dialogue heavy.

Beta read by my Resident's Assistant: Zane.

As I said before: Enjoy


September 30, 2281

Many have asked why I walk the way I do in spite of my life, clinging to the hopeful idealism that so defines the worldview of children and the naive. I often find that asking a question serves as a better answer than any statement, as it often allows the brilliant mind that lies within every sentient being to come to their own conclusion.

Have we not made strides since the world burned?

Have we not risen from the ashes like the phoenix of legend?

Have we not given up despair for hope, and created with the remains of the old something new?

It is far easier to give in and believe man to be a dark creature only capable of performing violence, than it is to accept that man is creature both light and dark, able to commit both atrocity and charity. Then again, most don't consider the fact we seem to cling closer to heroes than those they face.

Chapter 2: Lights Shining in the Darkness

Morning is and has always been a time of different extremes. On the one hand it is an evil entity which threatens to destroy the wonderful worlds in which people find themselves in, before dragging them kicking and screaming back towards reality, smacking them in the face for refusing to go along. On the other hand, morning is a time of hope and renewal, the beginning of a bright new day as the darkness of the night ended, producing hopeful imagery. This is perhaps why it is popular amongst hobbyist writers and poets for its imagery and symbolism.

Damn sun!

The Courier, however, was one of those rare individuals to whom the morning was simultaneously both of those extremes. After everything had quieted down from the night before and the few grimm, as he finally learned they were called, that made it into the now relatively safe city had been taken out by Frost's and his efforts, the various combatants had decided on guarding the holes in the wall on a rotating schedule. The Courier, having come from a region of Earth in which it was, at the time, the afternoon, had not yet tired and volunteered for the first watch. He finally felt the exhaustion of the past several hours catch up to him by the time the sun rose, which back in the Mojave would be one hour past midnight. That was why, instead of greeting the morning with happy eager eyes, he instead cursed the irritating light that so painfully reminded him of his rapidly deteriorating circadian rhythm. Sure, he would sleep tonight but that still didn't ease his throbbing cranium. Worse still was the fact that he had adamantly refused to let people see his face, lest they memorize his highly… unique visage, and thus he was unable to massage his own temples.

"GRAWL! RAAAWR!"

Then there's this guy. Still, I have to hand it to… er… it, it's determined.

The Courier stared at the smoking ursa dragging its way through the hole, despite its injuries. In another time he would have left the creature alone, partially out of a respect for its determination to live, but mostly out of a sense of pragmatism. Why waste a shotgun shell on something that wasn't likely to kill anything anytime soon? Unless, of course, it happened to be a deathclaw, obviously.

Aiming the shotgun at the crawling beast the Courier fired, the buckshot round blasting apart its skull. Pumping that last empty shell out, he sighed as he pulled out those strange shells that guards had insisted he take. They looked just like regular buckshot to the Courier, but the Courier took apart one of the shells earlier, out of a rather dangerous sense of curiosity. He then learned exactly how combustible this "dust" was when a spark from one of the stray wires under the wall set aflame the dispersed material. He was lucky his Desert Ranger Combat Armor was as thick as it was, and that the flames that nearly consumed his leather duster were easily extinguished.

Might as well get used to using them, the people here don't seem to use gunpowder. All I have to do now is wait for another grimm to crawl through.

"Hey! Mr. Courier!"

Well… crap…

The Courier turned around to face the guard that came up to him. The young man wore some strange green painted set of what appeared to be Mark II Combat Armor. The man's head was uncovered, his greasy and sweaty bronze hair out for all to see. The man looked at the Courier before continuing.

"Sir! Frost said you need to go see him… and that you need to take a break."

Sir? "The grimm don't take breaks, why should I?"

The guard gave the courier a worried look before speaking once more.

"Because unlike the grimm, you'll eventually collapse. Also, again, Frost needs to see you. I'm to relieve you."

The Courier stared at the man with a worried expression. It wasn't that he felt the man was weak; anyone who could live through what had transpired hours ago was anything but weak. Rather, it was that he felt that the guard could be overwhelmed due to a combination of tenacious grimm and his own probable inexperience in fighting them. Looking at the guard, he could not help but think of an inexperienced NCR trooper.

The Courier had seen inexperienced troopers fight against legionnaires, and the results were far from pretty, especially for the ones who lived and lost. The sights that he had seen in the Mojave had caused him to come to the conclusion that, due to the NCR using inefficient and short training regiments, their non-specialized troops had been left individually physically weaker than fresh legionnaires. In his opinion, they were less front-line soldiers and more peacekeepers, better suited to maintaining the safety of the vast roads of the Republic against inner threats such as bandits and slavers. Still, the NCR had enough decent leadership to more than make up for said inexperience and poor suited-ness in the war against Caesar's Legion. That and they had help. The Courier might be younger than many of the troopers but he was far more experienced.

The Courier shook his head to snap himself from his thoughts. Looking back, the poor guard had shrunk under the Courier's gaze, confusing his unseen look of concern with some form of tranquil anger at being bothered. The price of not having one's face known was that others often saw anger where there was none.

"S-s-so-sorry… I-I-I-"

"I'm not mad if that's what you're thinking," the Courier chuckled. "I'll go see Frost… but if you get overwhelmed by Grimm don't hesitate to run for help."

"I'm no use to anyone dead right?" The Guard chuckled darkly, his fear having left.

"I don't want to see anyone else die," the Courier said. There was a terse silence between the two before the Courier decided to leave, giving a short farewell to the guard. The Courier looked around as he walked through the silent sunlit streets.

They built this town for functionality over comfort.

The Courier never had time to examine the buildings and structure of the town having been busy with slaughtering the soulless creatures of darkness and death. Now that he got a good look at it, he couldn't help but feel a sad sense of familiarity with the destruction and ruined buildings. All down the street laid broken buildings with shattered windows and vague dark stains on the walls. All of that lay upon an architectural foundation the Courier found to be utilitarian in design, what with the emotionless grey concrete buildings and steel plate doors.

The convention center had few differences when compared to the other buildings in the town, being slightly shorter than most of the other buildings but much wider. The Courier climbed up the ladder to the roof once more, greeting the guards on lookout for any aerial grimm- the existence of which unnerved the Courier to no end. Climbing down the hatch once again he found himself staring at a rather relieving sight.

Many of the civilians snored in their slumber, lying against the walls or in sleeping bags on the ground, many of which were he found grouped tightly together. The sleeping bags just barely separated them from the ground littered with papers, empty cans and bottles. It was rather early in the morning, so the Courier didn't really expect most city dwellers to be awake, but he was still surprised anyone could sleep after the attack. Those who were awake regarded him with respect in their eyes and smiles on their faces. They could not see it, but the Courier smiled back under his helmet, happy to know that people could still find the effort to smile in such conditions.

After sneaking through the room, down the stairs, and through another civilian filled room, the Courier found himself staring at the office which Jacob Frost had taken as some sort of command post. Inside, he could hear static from a short range radio used to communicate with the other soldiers. Sighing to himself, the Courier opened the door only to close his eyes and cover his helmet with his palm. Closing the door behind him, the Courier spoke up.

"Frost… please wake up… you might cause a panic."

The sleeping form of Frost stirred on the table, hair the color of the cold blue being the only thing the Courier could see. The man's jacket, which matched his hair color, was loose around his wiry frame.

"Uhhh…I'm not sleeping, I'm just resting my head." The man said, pointing a finger into the air before rising up. The man's dark complexion couldn't hide the dark tint under his eyes, showing he was just as tired as the Courier if not more so. The man blinked as he yawned.

"Ugh… What d'ya want Caleb?"

"Frost, you called me in here. You also sent that young guard to relieve me."

"Huh? I did?" the sleep deprived hunter asked. His eyes shot open. "Oh yeah! I did! Wait, why are you calling Yabloko young? You're younger than him by two years!"

"Sorry, but he is still pretty young."

"I'm too tired for this."

The two stared at each other for several moments.

"Um… So… Why did you call me in here?" the Courier asked in a nervous tone.

"Hmm? Oh right! I needed to tell you to go get some sleep."

The Courier tilted his head to get his incredulousness across. I know he's concerned, but he could have just relayed that message to me through one of the guards.

"Okay… okay, I get it. You remember what I said last night?"

"That you were going to 'put in a good word for me'? You still haven't told me about that 'someone' who you said would want to speak with me."

"Well, I decided to call him right after I called the Valian Military, as I wanted to speak to him about you. Luckily, he was in Vale at the time, otherwise I would not have been able to reach him until we arrived the city itself, and by then it probably would have been too late to get you in."

"I'm guessing it might not have gone over well?"

"No, it went great! He's coming personally to talk to you!"

"Why? All I did was jury-rig a generator and stand in one spot for seven hours," the Courier shrugged.

"You also saved over three hundred lives, man! That's no easy feat! Have a bit more pride!"

"Anyway, who is this guy?"

"My old headmaster! Y'know, you're one lucky guy to have a friend like-" Frost Grinned.

"Headmaster?"

Frost's grin shattered like the moon.

"Headmaster, a well… you don't know what a headmaster is?"

"I do actually. But a Headmaster of what?" The Courier asked

"A combat school, obviously."

"What's a combat school?"

Frost slapped his palm into his face.

"A school for training huntsmen and huntresses."

"You need to train to hunt game?"

Frost slammed his head onto the table.

"I can't tell if that was sarcasm or not. Huntsmen and huntresses, you know? Defenders of society? Slayers of grimm? Sex magnets? People like me."

Frost sighed, and the Courier frowned underneath his helmet. Neither could really handle being awake at the current moment and thus they chalked each other's' inability to… well to do just about anything other than shoot straight to their exhaustion. Looking at Frost's rather perturbed fact the Courier decided to speak up first, trying to get the conversation started again on a more relevant topic.

"The other holes are well covered, right? Did you use my idea to use a pile of metal to conduct the electricity and slow them down further?"

"The other holes are far larger than the one you guarded; those were the ones most of the grimm were coming through before you got here. We drove some forklifts and metal crates into the holes, meaning only the really small grimm could make it through. The guards are handling what comes through rather well all things considered, but I probably should have asked you to guard one of those instead."

The Courier shook his head and replied.

"The hole I was guarding was small enough to kill most of the grimm that tried coming through, but around fifty made it past the small opening, judging by my now empty supply of non-dust shotgun shells."

Frost looked at him incredulously.

"Wow, you really have crap luck. That's far more grimm than all of the other holes combined. I think I need to send more men to-"

"Not really, the hole's only big enough for one at any given time, and I told Yabloko to come running if he was in trouble."

"...Fine, I'll trust you. Anyways, I wanted to tell that the first bulkhead should arrive in an hour or so. You don't need to meet it, I can handle that much. You need to find a place to sleep and get some rest."

"I'm not one to deny sleep, but… why do you care about how much sleep I get?"

Frost sighed.

"You need to be at your best by the time the headmaster arrives, as I really don't want you to give off a bad impression. It might diminish your chances of getting in."

This again?

"And I would want to get in because-?"

That stopped Frost cold. The man never really took into account that the Courier might want to attend- or more accurately, find the importance in attending- an academy for learning how to 'properly' fight. The Courier knew the academy was supposedly prestigious, but he felt formal combat education might be far less pragmatic than he liked. He knew Frost meant nothing by it, and in fact felt as though it would benefit the Courier, but he felt as though the decision ignored his own ambitions.

"Well- y'see… Um… I just… I thought you wanted to protect people? You do...right?" Frost asked with some desperation.

"Do I need a formal education to do so?"

The Courier noticed Frosts rather regret filled expression. He frowned under his helmet, knowing that he chose the wrong words. Sighing, he finally took off his helmet again, looking at Frost's eyes without the green tinted lenses of his helmet. Frost seemed surprised by the action, likely assuming that the Courier never removed his helmet, as if his face was something he would rather hide.

"Sorry, I appreciate your offer but… Well… I travel a lot… and I'm used to it- hell, I enjoy it!" The Courier sighed. "I don't know if I'm exactly ready to settle down for… for however long this school would have me stay. I'm worried about being stuck there, in between my desire for freedom and my desire to leave things finished. I mean, as a courier, I don't get payed for jobs half done you know."

"... Heh… Maybe I should have asked before I informed him about you. It's just… It's just most people who take even a small interest in combat would leap at the chance to go to a combat school. It's prestigious as I said. Graduating from one practi- no, more than that- it does ensure one's career as a hunter! I just thought that you might get something out of it y'know… maybe get stronger, help more people. I mean, not to- you-you're already a hero as is! You saved our collective asses man! If you had the training that my school offered, you'd be a force to be reckoned with!" Frost walked around to the Courier, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I… I want to see you become a hunter, and get the respect you deserve."

The Courier was rather surprised to hear such reasoning. Most people who tried rewarding the Courier gave money, supplies, weapons or armor; something physical. Getting a recommendation into an academy for the sole purpose of bettering his skills and earning respect was rather new, and it honestly made him regret his choice of words.

I don't think I've ever met someone outside the Rangers who thought I deserved more respect than what I earned. Ah, dammit.

The Courier sighed.

"I'll… I'll talk with him… see exactly what he wants. But, I would like it better if you were there as well… I think it would make the discussion easier."

Frost smiled before replying, taking his hand of the young man's shoulder. "Deal. Whatever you decide, I'll support it. You've earned that at least."

Putting on his helmet the Courier exited the room and headed up the stairs towards the second floor, hoping to find a nice dark closet to sleep in. Walking around upstairs, noticing more and more of the civilians waking up, he eventually found a door that opened into a lightless closet. Using the flashlight on his Pip-Boy, the Courier found the closet to be rather larger than he initially thought.

Entering the room, the Courier moved one of the shelves diagonally towards the other so he could lean against the wall, some of the tool boxes and bins fell off, but the clutter on the ground didn't land on anywhere the Courier was going to be sleeping. After turning off the Pip-Boy's light, the Courier sat against the walls. Sighing and relaxing the Courier closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep in the warm confines of his clothes.


"Hey man you need to wake up!"

The Courier opened his eyes quickly, twisting his body as he started to reach for his pistol. He stopped himself before he could pull out anything when he found himself staring at the overweight man silhouetted in the doorway. The Courier stood up.

"Er, Sorry about that."

"Sorry about what?" The man asked. The Courier responded with a simple shrug, before responding.

"Never mind, what do you need?"

"Well… the evacuation is underway, and we're not exactly eager to leave you behind."

"Evacu-How long was I asleep? Wh-What time is it?" The Courier asked as he clutched his head.

"It's about eight at night, and the Airships arrived about half an hour ago. We're being flown to a makeshift refugee center in the city of Vale for the time being. Not my choice, but it's the closest city. Don't worry, the wounded have already been transported onto the airship, they were the first to be taken in. The medics are looking over them as we speak. The rest of us are being escorted slowly but surely onto the ship. It's just taking a while because some people refuse to give up their belongings."

"How long do you think it'll be until the airships leave?"

"Another half hour, why?"

"I need to pick up my supplies from the Generator Building." The Courier stood up and walked past the man, giving him a wave as he left. "Thanks again for waking me up!"

The chattering that defined the building when the Courier entered for the first time had been replaced with silent solitude. The hallways were empty of people, making his trip outside rather short. Climbing once again onto the roof the Courier was again met with the night sky, though it was now obscured by the various lights nearby. Looking at the source, the Courier felt his mouth drop beneath his helmet.

The vehicles that stood before him appeared like something straight out of a science fiction novel. Lit up by the lights of whatever makeshift landing zone had been made, the Courier could only guess at how large the ships were. They easily dwarfed the few Vertibirds the New California Republic obtained from the scraps the Enclave left behind, making those rather bulky air vehicles look like a radroach compared to the Giant Roboscorpion that the Courier had faced at Big MT. They were colored white, but had components painted a greyish black color. Each of the airships had four wings, two on each side, with the leading edge painted black, and attached to large blocks with rudders attached, as if the ship was some sort of boat that sailed the sky.

One of the Airships took off, the thrusters propelling it forward slowly while the wings made circular motions as if swimming leisurely. The Courier had to snap himself back into reality, shakily climbing down the ladder as he began the long trek back towards the Generator building. The walk was lit by the dim light of streetlamps, indicating the jury-rigged generator still worked, but only provided some of the power the town was used to. The Courier would have liked the night to have been quiet but he could hear the sounds of the engines now that he was no longer inside a building. The noise was silenced when he entered the building, still in the same shambles it was when he left it. The single working dust generator was making sounds that from a machine were similar to the death cries of a mole rat, and he couldn't help but feel pity for the poor machine, having helped rebuild it briefly just the night before. Before hefting his bags onto his back and shoulder, he ensured all of his belongings were in their proper place. Not finding a single empty shell missing, he lifted the heavy duct taped bags onto his back and grabbed the third by its strap, placing it on his shoulder as he left the building once more.

He couldn't help but feel apprehension as he approached the airship, entering a line of civilians waiting to board the ship. The man in front of him gave him a smile and offered a handshake, which the Courier reciprocated, still uneasy as he moved forward. After the affable man was allowed onto the ship the soldier stopped the Courier with an outstretched arm.

"Name please?"

"Uh, I'm with Jacob Frost…"

The Courier was given a look by the soldier, whose eyes were covered by a visor. Still the Courier could only guess that he was unhappy with the statement he made.

So that's what it feels like for people looking at me.

The Courier leaned in close to the soldier and whispered his name. Nodding, the soldier began to check the list before being tapped on the shoulder by a strange, grey haired man in a black suit.

"Let him pass, he is with us."

"Of course sir!" The soldier responded. Looking towards the Courier the soldier apologized. "Sorry about that sir, I have orders to check the names of all the civilians. I didn't know you were a hunter sir."

"It's fine, but I'm not a hunter, just a friend of Frost's"

The Soldier nodded before ushering him past. The Courier merely stood still and looked at the ship, trying to hold off entering the vehicle for as long as possible; an effort broken when the grey haired man spoke up.

"Mr. Caleb, we have been waiting for you since the Airship arrived. Please, follow me."

The Courier simply watched as the man walked onto the ramp and into the cabin of the ship. He took a moment before walking forward to follow him. He moved through the crowded cabin, gently passing the throng of people in an attempt to follow the grey haired man. Some of the people attempted to stop him, hoping to ask a question or two but were politely rebuffed. He followed the man through several rooms and hallways, each filled to the brim with people, until they both stood in front of a door, whose tinted window eschewed any attempt to peer inside. The grey haired man knocked on the door, before it opened to the visage of Jacob Frost, who now appeared to be rested for once since the incident.

The Courier entered after the grey haired man, who walked over to an old man in a beige military greatcoat, a large fir trim displayed prominent around the neck. His eyes were tired and experienced, befitting the wrinkle filled face and smile. A large grey beard overlapped his neck, flowing down like a waterfall until it reached the tip of the man's chest, more than making up for the lack of hair on the elderly man's head. The Courier couldn't help but feel a bit envious of the man's apparent beard growing capacity, himself being beardless.

Frost closed the door before placing a hand on the Courier's left shoulder, giving him a proud grin as he walked towards the table in the center of the room. The two men in the corner also moved towards the table, but remained standing on the opposite side. The Courier nodded towards them before placing his bags in the corner, out of the way of anyone who would enter or walk through the room. Then he removed his helmet, placing it on top of the bags.

"Well, I see my old student wasn't joking when he said that you had an odd appearance. I've never seen one as young as you with so many scars. Aside from that, I can only hope that your hair is not always so unkempt and covered in grime?" The bearded man said with a chuckle and smile.

The Courier made a slight nod before responding.

"Sorry sir. I've been traveling for about two weeks now, and I haven't bathed in about half that time."

"Well, that is something we'll need to rectify later. For now I believe introductions are in order," the Elderly man said with a slight bow. "I am Owyn Lyons, Headmaster of Shade Academy. Jacob here thinks quite highly of you, and if what he said is true, I believe I may have a place for you at my school."

"Nice to meet you… erm… Headmaster. I'm guessing you already know my name though," The Courier said as he shook the elderly headmaster's hand while simultaneously scratching the back of his head. "And it's nice to meet you as well… er?"

"Ozpin."

"Mr. Ozpin."

"Headmaster Ozpin." The man said with a smug grin on his face.

"...Okay then. Headmaster Ozpin." The Courier said as he looked at the grey haired man. The four stood around the table, before Lyons began to chuckle good-naturedly.

"Why don't we all have a seat now? It'll be more comfortable than standing up."

The other three agreed, and then promptly plopped onto the cushioned chairs that surrounded the table. The Courier's eyes wandered after he had taken his seat, noting in wonder the design of the interior. Oddly for a wastelander, he felt comfortable in the room, perhaps because he was with someone he knew wouldn't stab him in the back, or perhaps it was because the room reminded him of the Sink. Looking back towards the three others he found them staring at him with curious eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

It was Ozpin who spoke up first. "According to Frost, you appeared out of nowhere, performed first aid on a dying man, saving his life, before following said dying man's directions to a building containing broken generators. You then proceeded to not only fix one of said generators, but then proceeded to help eliminate the remaining grimm inside the colony. Not only this, but according to Frost, you have no combat training, and are merely a package courier." Ozpin leveled a curious glance over his glasses, before continuing. "We want to know-and do not lie to us, for we are very well versed in determining lies- is this truly what happened? Are you truly what you say you are? Or are these events embellished?"

The Courier shook his head. "I would say most of those details are wrong." Frost gave the courier a shocked expression and mumbled something under his breath about wasted opportunities. "I came from… well… it's a long story and I doubt you'd believe it if I told you."

Lyons stroked his beard as he spoke, "There are many strange things in this world Mr. Caleb, and I think I speak for all of us when I say we would like to hear that 'story' but please continue."

The Courier nodded. "Second, I killed a few of those… Ursa? Before I found the man and treated his injuries… Is he alright by the way?"

Ozpin nodded, "According to the doctors your first aid not only saved his life, but placed him on the road to recovery rather quickly. Apparently the strange drug you injected him with did what he said you said it would do, and kick-started tissue regrowth around the damaged area. While the bone will take time to heal, his muscles and skin should be fine in a few weeks. I would like to ask you about that drug before we part ways. For now, please continue."

"Understood. Third, I would say I treated his injuries rather than apply first aid. As you said, I placed him on an early start to recovery."

Ozpin spoke up and leaned forward. "Are you claiming knowledge of medical treatments?"

"I know a bit about medicine."

"That's what you said about your skills in repairing, and I know for a fact 'a bit' doesn't cover rebuilding a generator!" Frost exclaimed.

"That's what I was about to cover next." The Courier said, shaking his head. "I didn't exactly fix the generator. All I did was jury-rig it. It'll only last for a couple more days. Five at the most. My aim was to get it kick-started and then come back once the makeshift repairs began to wear down."

"Jury-rig, fix, it's all the same man! Stop being semantic!" Frost yelled rather exasperatedly.

"Calm down Frost." Lyons said with a nod of his head. "Mr. Caleb, from what I can tell, the account is accurate, but you are downplaying your own efforts. Am I to assume that you believe it to be solely Mr. Frost's actions that ended the grimm presence in the colony?" The Courier responded with a nod. "I see. In that case I believe I understand the situation. I believe this is proof enough for you Oz?"

Oz? Wait, like the wizard? Didn't I already go on a journey to get my brain back… Oh God, please tell me I still have my brain. The Courier thought worriedly. He shook his head and felt the familiar rattle of his brain against his… enhanced skull. That's a relief.

"Mr. Caleb."

The Courier looked towards Ozpin, who was leaning his head into his hands, covering his mouth with his folded fingers.

"It is clear you're telling the truth, and that you've earned the praise that Frost has given you. Despite making us wait, you indeed have the heart and mindset of a huntsman, albeit one with more… humility, shall we say, than strictly necessary. However, if I am not mistaken, you have never attended even basic combat schooling. Not only that, but according to Frost, you have never even heard of combat schools. Tell me, is this related to your 'unbelievable' story in how you arrived at the colony?"

The Courier sat still for a minute looking at the table, finding the polished chrome rather nice compared to the rusted steel look most tables had back in the wasteland. He was about to answer when he felt a lurch in the airship. There was a brief shaking as determined by the table wobbling back and forth. This was followed by a lifting sensation, with the force of gravity combining with the force exerted by the airship suddenly ascending giving the semblance of the former becoming stronger. The Courier looked out of the window behind the two men to see the dark silhouette of the tree line disappearing beneath the bottom of the window frame. The Courier closed his eyes briefly, inhaled and exhaled before looking all three of the men in the eyes.

"Yes… yes it does."

Lyons leaned forward in his seat, his arms resting on his legs. "Please, explain."

The Courier looked around, before looking back. "I'm… not from here."

"Well that is rather evident isn't it? You lack the air that most Valians give off," the old man responded.

"It's actually a nice change a pace. No offense Headmaster Ozpin," Frost interjected

"I take some," the headmaster said with a scrunched smirk.

"No, I mean… I'm not from here. I'm not from this world… this… what did you call this world?"

There was a silence in the room as the three men stared at the Courier. While the Courier looked down at the table, he began thinking of how he would escape the mental institution or jail they inevitably put him in. He probably should have just remained quiet or let them come up with their own story, but something just told him that would lead to complications down the line. However compared with what would probably happen now that he told the truth he was beginning to not trust his gut instincts.

"Do you have proof than you're not from Remnant?" Lyons asked.

The courier gave a rather dull look at the three in front of him.

"What?"

"If what you said is true, it would not be the oddest thing to have occurred in either of Oz's or my lifetimes." The old man shifted and gave the Courier a discerning glare. "That being said, we are all rational beings Mr. Caleb. That means we require proof to believe any statement such as this, and in this particular case, the burden of proof is on you."

The Courier stared blankly at three men's expressions, trying to gauge whether or not there were simply trying to appease to what appeared to them a rather mentally unstable individual. They were examining him intently, gauging whether he would crack mentally from the unexpected response or would give them proof of being from a completely different world. He sat there quietly, coming up with some sort of proof.

"If… if I showed you ammunition-ammunition that didn't require Dust or gunpowder… would- would you believe me then?" The Courier asked.

Ozpin and Lyons both leaned back in their chairs and gave him a gesture to show what he had.

The Courier stood up and walked over to his bags, taking out an empty Sunset Sarsaparilla bottle as well as an energy cell. The courier placed the bottle on the edge of a small waste bin in the corner of the room before walking back towards the table. He placed the energy cell onto the table and gave them a gesture to examine it. Ozpin was the first to pick it up, twisting and turning it in his hands silently. He handed it off to Lyons before speaking up.

"It looks like a battery to me," He said bluntly.

"Well that's what they were designed to be: high capacity batteries... essentially. Nowadays though they're mostly used as ammunition… which… well was just another purpose when they were designed. I mostly use them to power my plasma defender" the Courier replied, pulling out the energy pistol.

Ozpin raised an eyebrow at his statement. "Are you telling me that you have what is essentially a battery powered pistol that can shoot plasma? No bullets? No dust projectiles?"

The Courier shook his head, before pausing and gesturing towards the empty bottle.

"By all means," Ozpin said

The Courier opened his palm towards Frost, who was the current holder of the energy cell. The man handed it over, watching as the Courier loaded it into the middle of the barrel. The Courier took aim at the bottle and fired. A bolt of green plasma shot out of the end of the pistol hitting the bottle, but some of the plasma continued on and hit the corner, causing the metal there to melt slightly. Holstering the pistol the courier turned around to see them still staring at them, but their faces were much more relaxed.

"Was that really plasma?" Frost asked as the Courier sat down.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you use that in the fight against the Grim?" the hunter asked.

"... Energy weapons from my world sometimes turn what they hit into a pile of ash or green goo depending on whether the weapon is laser or plasma based. A bullet will do internal damage but can be managed… being turned into ash or goo on the other hand..."

"Okay, I got it! Please don't give me that kind of Imagery, I like sleeping." Frost said with a frightened look on his face.

"Well, Mr. Caleb, I believe that despite the damage you've done to the wall," he said with a gesture towards the corner of the room. The Courier said a quick apology before the grey haired man continued. "You have made your point. We indeed have no technology available at the moment which can turn simple electrical currents into bolts of plasma. While we have lasers, lightning guns, and the ability to fire bolts of electrical dust, the ability for something so small to shoot a bolt of heated plasma without the use of dust ammunition is not yet within our grasp. And that battery contained no dust as far as I am aware."

"However, that still leads us back to exactly how you found yourself on Remnant," Lyons interjected. "As well as your purpose for being here."

The Courier gave an embarrassed grin and chuckled. "Well, uh… I can tell you I'm not here as a vanguard for some Communist Alien Invasion like some of those old films might have you believe."

"What's a communist?" Frost Interjected.

"Long story-But as I was saying… Er… I was traveling, or to be more precise… moving," the Courier said.

"Moving?" Lyons asked with a raised eyebrow. "You mean to tell me in the process of moving from one house to another, you ended up being transported from your world to ours?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, see, those bags over there," the Courier said, pointing at his duffel bags, "contain all that I care to own. I was carrying that with me during my travels eastward. Then there was… there was an accident," the Courier frowned. "I had a device capable of instant transportation to a place called Big Mountain, a center for research that is… well…friendly to me. But there was another accident, and instead of being transported there I ended up in the middle of the woods on a mountain, a stark contrast to the desert I was currently trekking through if I might add.

"The Transportalponder-that device I mentioned- melted into a pile of green goop of either plasma or melted semiconductors. I'm not going home anytime soon."

The four sat there in the cabin in silence, the only sounds coming from the various conversations that could be heard through the doorway. The first to break the silence was Frost who was shaking rather noticeably.

"So… if that Transpon-Transtla- teleporter worked properly… we'd… we'd…"

Frost grasped his head in hands and slouched forward, pushing the chair back so his arms were touching the table. The Courier placed his hand on the man's back, trying to calm the man nearly having a breakdown. It took a few minutes for Frost to regain his composure before the four began to converse again.

"You seem to have quite the story Mr. Caleb," Ozpin stated. "Perhaps one day I will be able to hear it. Sadly today isn't that day; I must consult the captain, and inform him that the airship is safe."

The Courier tilted his head. "It's a flying hunk of metal, how can it be safe?"

"Ah, what I meant to say was, that I shall inform him that you, my otherworldly friend, are not a threat to the safety of those on board. That was the point of my presence here."

The Courier's eyes widened and he nodded in understanding. The grey haired man left the room after they gave their farewells, leaving only Frost, Lyons, and the Courier to discuss matters.

"So, now that the interrogation portion of this meeting is done, I shall get to why I am here." The remaining headmaster replied. He stood up and walked over to the window, looking out over the darkened horizon. "There are forces gathering in secret in this world, scheming for unknown goals. In truth, the attack on Roaring Oaks is but one of many to come in the future I'm afraid, and I shudder to think for what purpose these attacks are made. These forces are not without opposition, however. Ozpin and I, as well as many others, are preparing for when these enemies finally act on their plans, with whatever forces we can muster.

"War is coming to this world, and I know not whether the peace that has lasted nearly eighty years will last in its aftermath. Only the torch of hope, the light that shines within the darkest of nights, can allow us to stand tall against this darkness's approach. But the light needs bearers, holders, warriors! For without warriors it cannot fill the night."

There was a noticeable silence as the man finished his speech, waiting for the two men's response. He looked back at them with tired, sleepless, eyes which held in their dim light the sights of war and loss as well as the torch he mentioned. The Courier stood up with his face downcast.

"So that's why Frost said you'd be interested in me. You feel as though I could be an asset? Is that right?"

Lyons smiled at the man's understanding.

"That is indeed the case my friend."

"Pardon, sir, but why tell me this? While I appreciate the honesty, I -"

"I am not Ozpin," the old headmaster interrupted. "I do not keep secrets from those I trust, Mr. Caleb. I don't know if you noticed or not, but I am old, and I have seen things that no one should ever have to see. I was born in the ashes of one war and fought in another. If my experiences have taught me anything it's that keeping secrets from those you depend on will only escalate problems." The man looked down in sorrow, "If we are to the beacons of hope, of light, that we aspire to be then how can we keep each other in the dark. How can we fight together if there is no trust? Blind loyalty will only last so long."

The Old man looked up with dim fires in his eyes, staring at the young men who stood before him. There was a silence in the room that lasted for several minutes, during which in which the three men sat down at the table. The conversations outside the doorway were distinct but quiet enough that the wings' movements, and the sound of the engine could be heard through the glass. One of the workers on the ship came during the silence and left some coffee, courtesy of the absent grey haired Headmaster, and left with wordless thanks.

The Courier downed a large gulp, the scalding liquid numbing his tongue to taste. He sighed before speaking up.

"So… these enemies you speak of… what exactly have they done that's so horrible?" he asked.

The old headmaster responded with a sigh. "It's what they're planning that's horrible, not what they have already done, though we suspect the forces might be behind the attack on the colony. However, I'm a headmaster for a reason.

The purpose of Shade Academy, like all combat schools, is to prepare the next generation of hunters to protect people; to train them to fight all threats that would attack us. It isn't just the forces in the dark that's the problem, but the grimm and the evil of the world. That is why I look for talent in the youth of this world-and I guess yours as well-as only the best can defend this world against the encroaching horrors. Now… I must ask you Caleb, will you join my Academy?"

"...Yes," the Courier said, "I'll join, but I'm still worried about it."

Frost clasped his hand on his friend's shoulder, giving him a wide and happy grin.

"Wonderful! I shall contact my wife to let her know to add you to this year's list of applicants. Now, it is getting rather late, and I would like us both to be well rested by the time we land, so that the journey to the train station that will take us to Vacuo can be made comfortably and without issues. Goodnight."

"Wait! Please!" the Courier exclaimed. The headmaster gave him an odd look.

"I still have one question, one question that it of the utmost importance!"

The two hunters looked at each other before nodding for him to continue, slightly worried at what could be so important to the being from another world.

"What's the date and time? I need to update the clock on my Pip-Boy."


AN: Ever since I read you guys' comments I've been thinking about telling the same story I planned but in a different setting. I decided to try something new, because after browsing the TVTropes RWBY page while procrastinating on a paper, I honestly thought a story set mostly in Vacuo might be interesting.

Honestly though, the setting change doesn't really actually change much about the planned plot, as I wasn't exactly planning for the characters I was going to introduce to interact much with the canon characters outside of "Oh hey it's the upperclassmen! You guys have any crazy adventures recently?" Since the idea I originally had was the Courier going to Beacon, only a year after the start of season one, it wasn't… well:

RWBY: VOLUME ONE (TWO and THREE)

*Featuring Dante the Courier from Devil May Cry Fallout: New Vegas.

(Though now I'm wondering who'd be the Demi-Fiend.)

That was another part of the reason I decided to change the story's setting to what is essentially: around the start of season one but on a different Continent. I want to write a RWBY fanfiction in which the characters are essentially the Heroes from Another Story. That's where the year later came in, as it prevented the whole "fifth wheel" scenario (not that I mind those stories, just that they are rather overused).

A problem arose when I thought to myself when I decided to change settings. Should I have this take place in Atlas, Vacuo or Mistral? I thought interactions between the Courier and General Ironwood might be interesting, because as someone who fought for the NCR the Courier would probably respect him as a competent military leader who would actually want to do something about the enemy instead of just letting them build up forces so he could claim glory over a mountain of dead Californians.

Then I thought about the Wizard of Oz, or more specifically, how RWBY has revealed only two of Dorothy's three (not including Toto) companions:

James Tinman

ScareQrow

But we're missing one Cowardly Lion (unless we count Jaune. Though I don't think Alternate universe Rule 63 counterparts of historical Catholic Saints can double as references to old American Literature). And then it hit me. I could sprinkle in some Fallout 3 to this story by having the not-so-Cowardly lion be a character named after the creature itself: Owyn Lyons. And thus, we go to Vacuo.

Sorry if this author's note was long winded, I wanted to get all of that off my chest. Thanksgiving break is coming up, so I should be able to get chapter 3 done and possibly part or all of Chapter 4. Hopefully.

As always, please leave comments and constructive criticism.