Q&A:

Rook435: Well... something like that.

welcometodalolz: [Sarcastic] How'd you guess?

Uscjoey: You're correct on the first part, but the second? Well... you're a little off, but he belongs to the same universe and allegiance nonetheless.

Karmic Impact: Well, you're correct on almost all points. But again, my rebuttal is in your own statement: Emerald is a thief, and not only a thief, a "master thief". She carries weapons, which means that she's not above doing morally wrong choices such as murder, so I can only assume smuggling herself from place to place can be an added assortment of crimes as well. Then she ends up on a list of western-esque Wanted posters before being found by Cinder, heheheh.

But hey, we all have our own thoughts.

Archmage: I know, huh? Pretty surprising there.

NinjaWolf82: You're welcome.

Guest: Haha, nice to see you spotted them.

Jasonhavok: Well, that's the problem, or not, depending on how you look at it. Eddy isn't crazy in the sense that he's "crazy-crazy", but he just has no problem doing the dirty, less-than-repectable jobs (as how Qrow would put it). He's mentally sound, he's capable of rational conversations and the like, though he borders on sociopathy. If I had to categorize him into any given morality spectrum, he'd be labeled as, not a quick-witted mercenary or shell-shocked, physically-wounded soldier trying to adjust to life in the only rational way possible, but more "Libertine".

So in short, on a scale from 1-20, Eddy Winslow is a Sane 6.

Acerman: In accordance to your last sentence in your review, I'll give you a hint: "You just destroyed my favorite clothing store (*spits*), prepare to die."

darklegendarysoldier: Yeah, I do have a majority of this story planned out, and I plan on seeing through to the end.

Author's Notes: Hello and welcome back to another chapter of RWBY: The Gunman. Hope you guys enjoyed the last chapter, cause we are about to jump right into the story in a little bit.

I sort of expected this story to come off as semi-successful, usually because 1. the RWBY Fanfic list is huge, so it's natural that my story would be sort-of lost in the assortment of stories, 2. this is an OC story, which means that it'll be loved by some, hated by others, and "I sorta don't know what to think about this so I don't if I should read this" by the rest; and 3. This story is in it's infancy, it's still taking it's first steps into canon.

Speaking of before I started writing, when I began to write this story, I was torn between showing flashbacks of Eddy's backstory throughout the fic, or leaving bits of his past hinted in his actions, thoughts, and dialogue to be pieced together by the readers. So far, I think I'm doing pretty good with the latter, as I've received some rather attentive messages from you guys about Eddy, and I'm... genuinely surprised, to say the least.

Alright, that's all I have to say for now, so I hope you guys like this chapter.

The following chapter takes place a day after the events of chapter 6.

Onto the story! AD VICTORIAM!

I do not own RWBY, just my OCs.

-Chapter 7: An Expected Journey-

To say that we found Nick immediately wouldn't really be telling the truth. Sure, we managed to track him down within a single day, but that didn't make the journey any more easier.

It didn't take long for Zeta to track down our missing android either, which was actually surprising in my case. I had taken my fair share of bounty hunting missions back on Earth, some of them humans, while others were just runaway machines; Omicron or Zeta would immediately gather any information from records according to what a certain machine belonged to, then search for a specific set of data that was identical to any runaways. It would usually takes hours, sometimes even days, even for a supercomputer-level AI such as Omi and Zeta.

At first, I laughed it off and had said that a human could find them faster... before I realized that most programming that had given many a robot it's "thoughts" were military-grade software. How people got their hands on shit like that was beyond even my comprehension.

But for some strange reason, Zeta was able to track him down in mere seconds, while Omicron's calculations stated that it would take days to find our machine, given that we didn't have his exact appearance, what he was wearing, where he was heading to, etc.

Atlas should really stock up on surveillance cameras if they wanted jobs like this to be easier.

Luckily, Zeta's immediate finding led us somewhere... a little hostile.

More specifically, we found ourselves in an old, dilapidated set of ruins, looking like what seemed to have once been a high and mighty city. Now they were just destroyed wastes.

'Zeta, you seem to know more about this "Nick", given that you were able to track him down in what seemed to be a record-breaking scouting objective. I'll need information, think you can handle it?'

"Sure thing, just ask me what you need," the AI chimed in from within his head.

'First off, what're we dealing with exactly?' I asked, stepping over a piece of torn-down brick wall and continuing through the ruined city.

"Well, from what I can understand. Your... our target has been running in a linear direction through these ruins, dunno why though. Anything else?"

'Yeah, I mentioned yesterday, before we left, that the usual AI for Atlas drones were dumber than even the simplest combat machines on Earth, yet they suddenly made a leap in their progression of AI.'

"You're guess is as good as mine-"

'For a supercomputer-level artificial intelligence, I thought you were supposed to be smart,' I deadpanned within my thoughts.

"Says the 'brave and powerful soldier' whom had been described to me before I was assigned to you," she countered before continuing, "But you make a good point on Atlas' technological progress, despite their advancements in technology, they seem pretty dim when compared to it's track record in more advanced forms of warfare, firearms and wartime transportation not included. In the meantime, however, it's all merely a few holes within the logic that I'm trying to fill in."

'I can make a dirty joke out of that last sentence.'

"Don't," was all she said.

We continued trekking through the destroyed city, treading lightly as most of the asphalt that made up the road had been ruined. Claw marks had made themselves known on the still-crumbling buildings, the roads that they've been walking on, even a stop sign was torn in half and laid frayed across the sidewalk.

"Well, isn't this a sight," I said to myself, walking past a pool of what I hope wasn't blood.

'Nanoskin's on low-power mode right now, what's it's charge?' I asked Omicron.

The NanoSkin was currently powered at it's lowest setting, but enough to take on a basic form. The suit was currently disguised as light-grey Atlesian special-operations apparel. Both pistols, my old M1911 and it's bulkier cousin, laid in their holsters; my cane was in it's bladed form, sheathed at my hip to look like a sword, though it would seem that's true form would be fairly obvious, given that I couldn't disguise it's perpendicular hilt; while my knife was sheathed and attached to a strap that ran across my chest.

In my hands was what appeared to be the Remnant version of a Benelli M3 pump-action shotgun, though the receiver held a seven-shooter cylinder instead. It looked extremely impractical, but it was the only one provided that seemed to handle the kick from almost all forms of Dust. From solid ice Dust slugs (non-lethal) to gel-based fire Dust (very lethal, legally only to be used against the creatures of Grimm as it has the highest fatality rate, range, and spread out of all buckshot-based ammunition). The only exception on this gun EVER was gravity Dust.

Nobody has ever found a way to fix the problems of gravity Dust.

The more that I think about it, I'm now suddenly realizing that I am oddly over-prepared for this mission. I mean, I'm carrying two pistols, a knife, a cane-sword, and a shotgun. That's five weapons. But then again, they're like condoms: better to have them and not need them than to need them and not have them.

Heheheh... innuendos.

"Ninety-four percent and holding. It would be at one-hundred if there were any wind or sunlight, but we we are in Atlas in the middle of a stagnant cloud day. In the meantime, both kinetic energy and the NS's battery should keep it in a stable condition."

'Alright, I'll make sure to remember that. Zeta, how close are we to our friend, mister Nick?'

"Approximately a half-kilo. You see that large ominous building over there?"

I pressed a button on the side of my sunglasses, enhancing the magnification of my vision to see a dull-grey rectangular building, covered in what seemed to be a protective layer of metal. A bomb shelter maybe? Nah, Remnant doesn't have the firepower to breach a building that big.

Even the concept of the atom was still an anomaly to them. So what gives?

'Think the Grimm could breach that place?'

"Hard to say, I can't really get a sure answer until we see for ourselves? You up for a little footwork for our android friend?"

"Sounds like a plan, let's get on with it," I said, racking the slide on my shotgun.

"Sir, what was that?" I heard behind me.

"Oh right, I almost forgot that you brought the kid along," the feminine AI remarked, "Okay, I'm gonna go now, see ya!"

'But I-... dammit. Zeta, you traitor,' I sighed in frustration. I considered putting a bullet in my brain in hopes that it at least silences Zeta, but then again, I really hadn't had a good track record with headshots. One put me in the hospital, the second put me in Remnant, I don't want to find out where the third takes me.

Private Pallor wasn't my first option for a teammate to bring on this mission, he was actually my second. My first decision would've been Qrow, but he's off for a mission in Mistral, something about some swamp in the middle of tit-fuck nowhere. He said he'll be back soon, but I doubt that he'll return without a creatively lewd story and some pictures in the event that I call bullshit on him.

I don't really have anybody else to trust, beside Glynda and, debatebly, Ozpin. So I had to trust someone who I've known (indirectly), and that someone was Trey Pallor.

It really wasn't the best decision on my part, but I have to improvise on occasion.

I turned around to see Private Pallor standing behind me, his weapon in it's rifle form, wearing an Atlesian infantryman outfit, minus the helmet and instead was replaced by a pair of green-lensed goggles that covered his eyes that, upon inspection from Omicron, revealed that they provided not only protective eye-wear, but a custom-programmed Heads-Up Display.

Not bad, not bad at all.

"Nothing," I replied, using my DS voice, "We have a job to do."

"Of course, sir," the boy nodded, though his voice took on an edge of concern, "If I may ask, what exactly are we looking for?"

Huh, he never asked for permission to speak, good. We're in the middle of a mission, not a training drill.

"Not what, who," I corrected, "Tell me, what do you think of that building over there? That giant bunker-looking building."

Trey pressed a button on the side of his goggles, watching as the lenses began to shrink in diameter and expand slightly, magnifying his vision.

"Well, it's big," I was on the verge of facepalming until he spoke once more, "And it's the only thing out of this entire place that's both in fair condition and still standing."

Huh, he had a point.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, this place was sacked by Grimm, right?"

"Obviously," I rolled my eyes, still looking at the building.

"No survivors?"

"Do you see any?" I waved my hand to the amount of nothing that made up the city.

"And that place is the only thing left standing, correct?"

"Are you going anywhere with this or are you going to continue stating the obvious?"

"No sir, I'm just wondering this: where are the Grimm now?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, but closed it.

Lacking a response tends to do that. But he had a point, where were they?

"Maybe... maybe they got bored?" Trey hypothesized, scrunching his eyebrows and lowering his eyes in thought.

"Oh right," I said, "And maybe they decided to go to a party. You know? One of those Grimm rave parties and their fancy-shmancy cultural traditions. Or maybe they're attending a wedding over in Vacuo. With the Beowulf bride and the Ursa husband joining together in unholy matrimony, the wedding cake made out of red frosting and human flesh, tossing the bouquet of depression-themed flowers. You think that's a good theory as well?"

I could just see the oh-so subtle eye twitch from the boy.

The look of sweet, sweet annoyance and irritation; dear God, I'm back!

"...No sir," I looked down to see he was clenching his fists before they suddenly relaxed.

"Alright then. My turn, what if that building there wasn't meant to keep things out, but rather to keep something in?"

"Sir?"

"Think about it. No Grimm, as they have destroyed just about everything. Yet that building-" I point at said building, "Is still up? If it's strong enough to keep things out, there's a toss of a coin that it's meant to hold something in as well."

"Like what?" Trey queried, raising an eyebrow, as though trying to call bullshit on my current hypothesis.

"I dunno, at least my guess is better than yours. Now shut up and let's get a move on," I transferred the shotgun in my hands to my back before leaping off the small cliff of rubble that I had been standing on.

"But-"

*Caw!*

I looked up to see a raven perched on a bent lamppost, tilting it's head to the side with what appeared to be the bird version of a curious expression. Both the bird and I locked eyes for just a second, my bright baby-blues boring deep into it's... red eyes? Holy fuck, never seen a bird with red eyes before (though albinos were the exception).

Why didn't I notice it's peculiar ocular coloration earlier... wow, that's quite a mouthful of words... okay.

"Hello again, birdy!" I waved at the avian animal, which gave no response back to me.

The bird cawed once more before taking off and heading... straight towards the building.

Huh, well would you look at that, "Private Pallor, even the bird is telling you to hurry up!"

I laughed at my joke as Pallor attempted to catch up with me.

'Welcome to Mantle, I suppose,' I thought to myself, looking at the depressingly grey debris that littered such a once possibly average city.

-oOo-

Twelve hours earlier...

I sat down at the foot at my bed, Qrow's bed being on the opposite side of the hotel room, with it still reeking of whiskey and the possible odor of bad sexytime.

He probably found that red-light district I was hoping he wouldn't find. But hey, the man has needs, not that I really care about them in particular, but still: NEEDS, GODDAMMIT!

My cane continued to rest beside me, the rest of my weapons just right next to it. My knife sharpened to a point; my pistols stripped, cleaned, and put back together; the carbon fiber bolts on my prosthetic hand were tightened once more out of necessity in the event that I might... need a hand.

"God, that was awful," was Zeta's only reply.

"No it wasn't," I grinned slightly, placing the leather glove back on my hand, flexing the fingers just to make sure I didn't break anything important, "I guess you could say my jokes might come in handy."

A muffled groan emitted from the implant in my brain that held my AI. With Omicron busy on improving any software on my NanoSkin, that only left the one and only, Zeta.

"You are the worst kind of comedian, you know that, right?"

"I think I'm pretty good. In fact, I think it would call for-"

"Don't you dare."

"-A round-"

"Eddy, I will kill you."

"-Of applause," I finished.

"GAAAAAAAAAAGH!" she screamed in frustration before suddenly disappearing from my mind.

I fell over onto the bed, laughing until it felt like my gut was made of white-hot lead. Once I calmed down, I heard the door open. Turning my head, I saw that it was Qrow who had entered the room.

"The hell's goin' on over here? Sounded like someone was torturing a Nevermore, which I would pay good money to see," he stumbled into the room and landed on the bed on the opposite of my own side of the room.

"You've got a sick mind, Qrow," I stated, laying my head back and staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah, and you're the only one that's known the better part of my messed-up brain, Ed. Not even the rest of my family knows," I lifted my head up to see him popping open his flask and drinking from it once more, "Oh yeah, Ozpin's wondering what to do with that rifle you left behind."

"What rifle?" I asked.

"The one that Glynda said that you had once you oh-so suddenly appeared in the forest," he answered.

Oh yeah, my old M4 carbine that I hadn't used in such a long time. It's probably still collecting dust (and not the magical kind) in my old quarters at Signal.

"Tell 'em to put it in the storage room. I won't be using it for a while," I said before getting back up, "Yo, Qrow."

"Yeah?"

"You never told me about your family. What're they like?" I asked.

"Why 'dya want to know?" Qrow inquired, giving me a suspicious look.

"I'm bored beyond all fuck, and you're leaving in a little bit, so I might as well ask before you leave," I responded bluntly, pulling myself up into a sitting position on the bed, "So, you got any special someones waiting for you at home?"

The man barked a laugh, "Hah! I wish, I just can't seem to hold any intimate relationships for more than a few weeks at least; at least that's what Summer once told me back then just to tease me."

"Summer?" I gave him a confused look before his own expression suddenly hardened.

"I... I don't want to talk about it," Qrow hesitated, which was unusual for him. I watched as he took another sip from his flask, "Too many things that I don't want to remember."

"Ah... alright, I know what you mean. Besides that, do you know anyone else? Any family members, perhaps?"

"I only got two that I'm directly related with: my sister and one of my nieces, the other's are my second niece and Taiyang, my old partner when I was a huntsman-in-training," he started.

"You would've liked Tai, the man's got a bad sense of humor; one that my niece picked up on, and my God does it hurt me a little every time I hear those damn puns. My nieces go to Signal, maybe you've seen 'em before?" Qrow asked, taking another sip of his whiskey, "Their names are Ru-"

His Scroll buzzed to life, interrupting his small speech. I watched as he picked up his Scroll and looked up at it, "Shit, I gotta go."

"Where're you going anyway?"

"Mistral, bounty mission. Speaking of which, you need to get to yours," he got up, picking up his sword and sheathing it to his back.

"Wha- oh right, yeah. Well, see ya later, Qrow," I nodded to him as he waved lightly at me from behind his back before the door closed behind him.

As soon as the door closed, I immediately flopped off the bed and reached for each of my weapons, stuffing his pistols into their holsters, looping his cane-sword through a sheathe-belt around my waist, my knife in it's own sheathe across my back.

I looked back at the bed to see that I was now absent of all weapons. Though it seemed like something was missing.

Oh right, I needed a primary firearm, a pair of sidearms and melee weapons just wouldn't do. Note to self: stop by a weapons store and pick something up, preferably something that preaches equality.

And by equality, I mean something that is able to rend flesh from bone, metal from circuitry, and whatever the hell covered a creature of Grimm from whatever the hell was inside a creature of Grimm.

Equally.

I rose up from the bed and made my way to the door, but was stopped by a rather peculiar noise.

And that noise was the sound of something tapping on a glass window. I turned to see a bird perched on the outside of the hotel's window. I found it rather strange since this bird just so happened to be a raven.

The raven and I stared at each other for a few seconds before it suddenly cawed at me and flew away.

Well, wasn't that goddamn awkward, I might as well say something just to make it less awkward.

"Hey, Edgar Allen Poe reject! I already died, you're a little late for the occasion," I muttered while also aware that I was now speaking to nobody in general. Now I just made the situation even more awkward. On the bright side, bird symbolism!

Avian interaction aside, I got both my gear and my shit together before heading out the door, having to retrieve one more thing before I head to wherever Zeta managed to find our automatonic escapee.

Fishing out my Scroll, I dialed a set of numbers before bringing it up to my ear, waiting (im)patiently as it continued to ring.

There was a click, "Hello?"

"General Ironwood, it's me, Eddy," I greeted.

"I know, Sergeant, we talked just yesterday. What do you need?" the man sighed quietly.

"I need an accomplice for this mission," I explained oh-so subtly.

"And why on Remnant would you need someone to work alongside you of all people?" the General demanded .

"Sheesh, getting hostile already?" I pulled back and looked at the Scroll in confusion before bringing back to my ear.

"Just concerned about your intentions. I had been informed that you were previously a mercenary, after all."

"Look, I don't know how you're mercenaries (*cough*HuntsmanandHuntresses*cough*) function here, but where I'm from. I follow the code of my own little 'guild' of mine, meaning that this gun-for-hire has standards. Understand?"

I could hear him give off what seemed to be a cross between a sigh and a growl, "... Yes, I understand. Now, why do you need someone to help you?"

I stepped into the elevator of the hotel, punching in the button for the ground floor, "Never been to Mantle before-"

"Nobody has, not in a long time."

"And you wonder why your soldiers come up empty handed," I chided Ironwood, now aware that I was backtalking basically the leader of Atlas, it's Huntsman academy, and army. I felt pretty damn empowered, "Look, I just need an extra pair of eyes. None of this 'lone wolf merc' bullshit. An extra pair of hands, eyes, ears, et cetera would benefit greatly."

I heard an audible 'hmm' on the other end of the line, "I see your point. In that case, I'll send someone to your location and-"

"Actually, General, I had someone else in mind."

"And who would that be?" he inquired over the Scroll.

"Well... before I go any further into detail, you'll have to cancel his class for today..."

"...What?"

-oOo-

Present Day...

I watched as the bunker doors slid up and the normal doors slid open as I unlocked them with the panel beside it, asking for a password.

As it turns out, a twelve-gauge shotgun round was a viable password to opening the door.

I looked up at the building, now aware that the entire place was it's shade of grey due to a large quantity of metal had completely enshrouded it. It meant that this place was quarantined and currently under lockdown.

That raises the question, what could be so bad that they had to lock down this entire building? To put it simply, we're going to find out.

God, that sounds so cheesy now that I've said it in my head. I looked up to see the raven perched on another lamppost, looking at us with those beady, yet vaguely intelligent red eyes.

"You are stupidly fortunate. I mean, there was a five-point-two percent chance that that would work," Zeta scolded me.

'But it worked, didn't it? Besides, you would've unlocked the door from the other side, couldn't you?'

She sighed, "I sometimes hate it when you know this stuff already. But yeah, I could've gotten it open."

'Bloody genius, I am,' I thought in a faux cockney accent, walking through the door and into the dark room.

The room they walked into seemed to be a ginormous lobby, almost all light was completely dispersed, save for a few low-powered emergency lights, though even they were flickering every now and then.

"So who are we looking for again, sir?" Pallor queried, his rifle aimed steadily at whatever was in front of him, which just so happened to be a sofa.

"I never told you in the first place. But now that you ask, it's someone that's ran away from Atlas, and we're just here to find him and bring him home," I explained, "And enough with the 'sir', we're in the middle of a mission."

"Okay, but why did he leave?" the boy asked.

"That's a good question," no, seriously, it was a good question, one that I'll have to ask Ironwood the same thing once we get back, "I'll ask him when we find him."

"Do you know who this person even is? Or what he looks like?"

"All Ironwood just told me was that we'll know who he is when he find him," I answered.

"Sounds a little vague if you ask me."

"Same, but I don't get paid just for sitting around with my thumb up my ass," we made our way down a narrow hallway as soon as we left the lobby. From the amount of rooms that we've been passing, I'm starting to tell that this place used to be either a medical or science facility. Medical, due to the amount of syringes, empty blood packs, and pharmaceutical containers lying about on the floor, strewn about messily; or science, given from the amount of bottles containing solutions and compounds with almost incomprehensible words.

Nevertheless, we proceeded with making our way through the complex, our weapons lowered slightly yet still locked and loaded for whatever may come.

"So, what's our guy's name?" Pallor asked, giving me a curious look.

"He goes by the name of Nick, I don't know anything else."

"Just Nick? No last or middle name?"

"All I got is a name and that's about it. So for now, you either nut up or shut up, and get going!" I yelled, a little irritated, not by the Private, but by the realization that Ironwood's been keeping me in the dark about all this stuff.

And here we go, it's the cryptic bullshit all over again. First with the entity that brought me back to life, then it was Glynda, then it was Ozpin, and now Ironwood!? The guy's as wooden as his fucking last name and as blunt as... well, his last name.

Anyway, we continued to walk through the darkening hallways, I watched as the place began to darken as we trekked through the desolate halls.

Ironically, I activated the night-vision mode on my sunglasses, allowing me to finally see more than a meter in front of my face.

After minutes of nothing but walking, we came across a split. One (the left) leading left into a morgue, and the other (the right) leading to a blood testing facility.

I did a double take at the sign: Blood Testing? Well, that definitely doesn't sound ominous.

"Which-"

"Right," I immediately interrupted, pointing at the path with my shotgun, "I really don't have a good feeling about this."

"Does this have to do with the person we're looking for?"

I scoffed lightly as I began walking through the hallway to the blood room, "I wish, I just find this place more than a little creepy."

We continued to walk through the filthy once-immaculate hall, it's floors tarnished with a suspiciously black ooze and it's walls stained with brown-red splotches.

At last, we came upon the blood testing room.

I looked at Pallor, motioning to the door, "Stay here, in case anything comes our way. I need you to stay alert."

He nodded quickly, "Of course."

What surprised me was that I've been using my Drill Sergeant voice this whole time without even realizing it.

The Blood testing room looked exactly how I expected it to look in an abandoned hospital/laboratory: formerly clean, stained with blood and broken glass, clear murky plasma floating amidst the blood beneath my boots. Vials of blood laid in clear-glassed refrigerators that were somehow still operating, hospital beds with half-emptied IVs laid messily strewn on parallel ends of the room.

I ran my fingers across one of the beds, I brought it up to see that dust had accumulated over time. The beds looked old, and I mean World War I level old. This place's probably stood since Remnant's Great War. Let's hope there isn't a second or that's just a bad track record on war.

Before I was ready to leave the place, I turned just in time to see a small label hanging above a creepily neat stack of mid-sized metallic crates, one that I recognized even back on Earth.

A Biohazard warning.

Now one thing irked me now that I've set my sights upon this peculiar sign: there's vials of blood everywhere, some broken, some not, but why of all things are those crates bearing a biohazard sign.

I stalked upon one of the crates with ease, a little anxious by what I might stumble upon. I pressed a button on the side of my sunglasses and input a command on the NanoSkin that had currently been disguised as it's spec-ops suit. The faux military helmet upon my head suddenly began to melt as the suit began to follow it's command, my headwear began to shift from the back of my head to the front, stretching and expanding; my glasses began to meld with the grey gel-like substance until it suddenly hardened into a material form not unlike candle wax suddenly solidifying.

Instead of my sunglasses and a helmet, on my face was now a fully functioning gas mask advanced to filter out even the most microscopic and deadliest of toxins and, in this case, biohazards.

The crate in front of me held a panel to a set of numerical buttons. With Omicron's help, he used his security breaking skills to unlocked the sealed top that held whatever was inside. Using my blade, I prodded it open, listening as it fell to the floor with a loud clang.

"What's going on back there?" I heard Pallor ask out of curiosity.

"Nothing, pay attention to what's in front of you," I ordered before looking back at the crate, steeling myself for what was inside.

Inside the box was a large cloud of fog, obscuring my vision from what was inside.

I unholstered my Remnant pistol and peeked my head over to get a look at what was inside... nothing was moving so far, so I had that going for me. Sheathing my sword, I continued to train my pistol on whatever was in the box until the fog completely dissipated.

Inside was a long row of vials, each containing a sort of black liquid. Cautiously, I removed the leather glove from my left hand, revealing the high-tech prosthesis. I picked one up and began looking at it cautiously, holding it away from my face should it be some sort of biological weapon.

I swished the black goop from within it's container, watching as some of it began to stack to the surface, a little too much like blood. The strangest part about it was the fact that it gave off an eerie red hue.

'Omicron, prepare for storage, I'm taking this back to Atlas as soon as we recover Nick.'

"Of course, sir," a small container opened up from the side of my belt. I placed the vial into the slot before it finally sealed back up, solidifying completely. I pressed a button on the side of my mask, it immediately reformed back into my helmet and sunglasses.

"Alright, Pallor, let's get out of-"

*BANG! BANG!*

I whipped around at the sound of two gunshots, "What the hell was that!?"

"Sergeant Winslow, I saw movement! It looked like a man!"

"And your idea was to shoot it?! It could've been our target!" I scolded the boy, removing my shotgun and checking my ammunition.

Non-lethal ice rounds, good.

"He fired at me as soon as I did!"

"Then it was in self-defense, you twit!" I growled.

'Zeta, where's our target?'

"He's moving away from our location. Five meters away."

'That's not too bad.'

"Directly below us. We're on ground floor and he's descending the stairs at a surprisingly quick rate."

"Fuck... Pallor, Follow me!" I yelled, bolting past him and running out of the room.

"Stairs going down directly on your right, hurry!" Zeta advised in an almost panicked voice while I obeyed her command. True to her word, I found a flight of stairs that had led downward, deeper into the building.

Wasting no time at all, I skipped walking and leaped off the edge, past all the stair steps, and landing at the bottom with a roll before breaking into a sprint.

'Nailed it,' I thought, listening to the muffled steps of Pallor hastily following behind me.

"He's running to the other end of the building. Target's distance is twenty meters... seventeen meters? Fourteen? Eddy, he's heading straight towards you," Zeta continued to inform me.

"Good," I whispered to the AI, jogging with my scattergun in both hands, "The closer he is, the better I have a chance to-"

"Duck!" Omicron yelled, I immediately fell to the ground as a loud bang was heard, a bullet ripping through where I once stood.

"Where was that!" I demanded, blindly aiming my gun at the darkness. Even with the night-vision on my glasses, there was nothing there.

"Calculating trajectory... he is either currently hiding behind that barricade at the far end of the hallway, or he already left," Omicron said, "Your target is using a .357 caliber sidearm. Make and model: unknown."

I aimed my shotgun forward, cautiously wary of whatever was in front of me. Immediately after the words left Omicron, I saw a flash of movement, as well as the flash of a gun's muzzle. I ducked again to hear the whiz of a bullet soar away from me and impact behind a stack of plastic boxes. I backed away until I was crouched behind a stack of the same boxes. I aimed my shotgun and unloaded a round, watching as it impacted the barricade hiding my acquisition.

"That was a warning shot! Try again and the next one'll hit you where the sun don't shine!" I yelled at my attacker. I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye to see Private Pallor catching up to me, I immediately pulled him downward beside me.

"What's going on?" Pallor asked.

"Shut up, let me handle it," I hissed.

"J-just stay away! I don't want to hurt anyone, just leave me be!" I heard a voice, which was just on the other side of the barricade.

"You know I can't do that. Your name's Nick, right?" I asked without missing a beat.

"Y-yeah, I suppose so. Look, I'm in the middle of something. I can't go back to Atlas, there's... there's something wrong here."

"And what's this 'something', mister Nick?" I asked, raising myself up to a standing position, only to fall back down as another gunshot was heard.

"I said go away! I don't trust you! Just let me stay, let me stay..." his voice faltered slightly.

"Look Nick, maybe we can sort something out. Y'know? Like a sort of compromIse," I felt my Drill Sergeant voice crack slightly, bringing back my old voice.

Dammit puberty, why must I suffer from you once more. Alright, even if Pallor noticed, I could still make an excuse for-

"Wait a minute, your voice. I... I've heard it before," Nick said, his voice rising a pitch, almost in realization.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I tried to bring back my disguised voice, but the voice crack continued, impairing my speech to that of my original voice.

"Sergeant?" I heard Pallor ask, "What's wrong with your-"

"Shut it, I need to-"

"Yeah, I remember. Winslow, your name is Winslow. I remember you... trying to survive in the midst of a war... a war against some pitiful tyrant," I heard a click, the hammer of his gun, which I now guessed was a revolver, "I have a deal for you, Winslow. Let's talk, face to face, no weapons, no silly tricks, just a simple talk."

Alright, my brain was now on red alert. How did this guy know about the war we won on Earth? I really wanted to shoot him, I really did, the bastard managed to spill my secret to some trainee beside me. My trigger finger itched violently, but something told me- no, urged me to stand down. I slowly slung the shotgun in my hands over to my back, I slowly stood up.

"Fine... I guess the cat's out of the bag. But yeah, I agree, let's talk," I said, standing at full height before shooting a look at Pallor, "We'll talk about this later."

I just suddenly realized how painful it was to talk in my DS voice, now aware of how easy it was to talk as myself again.

I began to watch as the figure on the other side of the hall rose it's feet, watching as it came forward, revealing his appearance under the dim and flickering light.

Nick was about my height, thought probably a bit shorter due to the boots he's currently wearing. Atop his head was a small nest of silver-brown hair growing out, his eyes glowed a dim and sickly orange, his skin was an ashen-grey, almost lifeless. The parts that stood out the most was the fact that parts of his skin was missing, revealing patches of exposed metal and circuitry, ore around his neck and right wrist, where it stemmed off into a mechanical skeletal-looking hand. In his left hand was the Remnant equivalent of a double-action MP412 REX revolver, where it was clutched tightly in the palm.

He wore a pair of dark-grey camouflage pants that seemed to be a size too big for him, which was why it was wrapped by a belt; covering his torso was a plain, white, short-sleeved shirt. Nick wore a pair of brown combat boots that actually fit him. Around his neck was a scarf more than likely meant to cover his robot patches, and hanging off of his right hand pocket held a leather glove, more than likely meant to cover his hand as well, just like I did with ol' left stumpy and the fake hand that replaced it.

His face sort of looked like what would happen if Ferris Bueller was a robot in disguise, albeit a poor disguise and if he spoke in a weak Bostonian accent.

"Put the gun away, we had a deal," I warned, pressing my own hand against my sidearm.

"I suppose so," he holstered his pistol, his fiery orange eyes boring deep into my own bright blues, "So... now you're here, I guess."

"Yeah, so I have some questions for you," I said, my arms crossing over my chest.

"Alright, ask away," the android nodded, I turned and glanced behind me to see that Pallor was completely dumbstruck by Nick's appearance.

"You're a... a-"

"Robot? Yeah, I get it. You got anything else to say?" Nick raised an eyebrow at the boy, watching as he immediately shut up, "Alright then, Winslow, what did you want to ask?"

"You escaped an Atlas facility-"

"I'm going to stop you right there, okay. When I was just an AI in an empty body, I was... altered by whatever they put into my noggin-" he tapped at the center of his cranium with a metal, bony finger.

"Dunno what they did to me, but all I remembered was you and some... desolate place in a town residing in the ruins of Mantle. It was an immediate obsession that I had obtained, so I broke out and made my way to this place with only the clothes on my back, this here pistol, and my guts... not literally though," he pointed to the pistol in it's holster, then gestured to the whole of himself.

"What makes this place so special? It's just a ruined old hospital-" Pallor decided to speak up.

The moment he finished his sentence, an almost ear-splitting scream had made itself known, forcing us all to turn at the direction of the source.

"You just had to open your mouth and jinx it, didn't you?" I glared fiercely at the boy, who raised his hands in a 'wasn't-me' kind of way.

Nick, on the other hand, merely reloaded his revolver, slamming the cylinder back into the barrel and pointing in the direction of the noise, "That is what makes this place so special. You see, this place wasn't just a hospital, and I plan to find out what's wrong with it."

"Like a robot sleuth?" I remarked, only to receive a glare from Nick.

"I understand that reference, thanks to whatever made me recognize you, and I hate the fact that I'm based on him for whatever reason."

"He's a cool companion, my snide remarks and sarcasm inspired me, okay? Don't hate me for overusing him," I huffed slightly before unslinging my shotgun and replacing the ice shots with fire dust-propelled buckshot.

"What in the world are you guys talking about?" the boy before us asked out of complete and utter confusion.

"Foreign video games, you wouldn't understand," I hastily answered before fast-walking alongside Nick.

"You still have the game downloaded into the drive on your helmet," Omicron added.

'Damn straight. Though in my opinion, Obsidian's new game did better than Bethesda's post-apocalyptic settlement/Taken simulator,' I thought snidely.

"I'd like to disagree on that," Zeta butted in.

'First off, your opinion is moot to me, Zeta. Second, WHY DO YOU JUST SUDDENLY DECIDE TO SHOW UP NOW!?'

"I've actually been searching for how project NICKEL is aware of this place-"

'Yeesh, a little touchy on the names, ain't ya, princess?'

"Shove it, Eddy, I'm just irked by NICKE-... Nick's personality. There's just something too off about him, yet at the same time, a little too familiar. I just can't put my (digital) finger on it. I'll have to look further into any of the data that I had picked up."

'In the meantime, I'll find out whatever's going on here in a more... direct manner.'

"That moment when we're thinking the same thing? It just happened."

'Awesome.'

"Pointless things aside," Nick waved off, raising his revolver in an alert manner, "We're not alone in this place, and I intend to find out what's going on."

I followed after him, my pistol in my left hand and my sword in my right. Pallor removed his rifle and held it in his hands, aiming it forward in an offensive stance.

And so, using nothing but grit, our weapons, sheer determination, and our instincts to survive, we took our first steps into this nightmare, hoping to unearth whatever secrets lay ahead of us and to-

"And for the record, Winslow, robot sleuth is the wrong term-"

'Oh my God, is he really going to say it?!' I thought in pure shock, though my face didn't show it.

"Ugh, he's going to say it," Zeta groaned within my brain.

"-It's Synth detective, jackass," Nick snarked at me as we continued our trek into whatever abyss lay ahead of us.

Needless to say, shit was about to get real.

Disclaimer: My God, has it really been three months since I updated? Jeez, I need to make a schedule for this stuff AND come up with more material, FAST!

Sorry if this chapter is a little... well, bland. I didn't want this to be dead as I see so much potential in this, but hey, a good story sometimes has a slow start on occasion.

If you guys didn't notice, there are a few probably-subtle references in the story that'll hint to more that is to come in the future. In the meantime, however, I have to stick with the one thing that'll leave people lazily interested:

Cliffhangers! I know, I'm now a victim of this as well.

Anyway, hope you guys spotted the references I made (most of them are obvious), and as always, stay beautiful, ladies and gents.