Remnant, as beautiful as it is, is a dangerous place. Grimm prowl the nights, on the ground, in the air and even obscured under the oceans surface. Supernatural forces fight in the shadows for control over the world's future and, driven to desperate measures by the this very world, the people become dangerous as well. Bandits, radical groups, rogue huntsmen and powerful crime syndicates. Every kingdom deals with these threats in it's own way. While the kingdom of Atlas tries to supress these elements by sheer military power, the kingdom of Vale tries to win the upper hand with their huntsmen and huntresses. Mistral's wide plains are home to an incredible number of roving gangs of bandits, the thins spread of the population making it difficult to control their routes and hideouts.

Not too long ago, there had been a war between those kingdom's. The worst war the world of Remnant had ever seen. Brother fought brother, children their parents and around them, at all times, the Grimm grew more in numbers and in variation. It had been a dark chapter in Remnant's history and in an effort to prevent such an atrocity from ever happening again, the council was formed. A circle of the most powerful and influential people the kingdoms had produced, tasked with securing the peace, controlling the governments and being overall useless pieces of...

Ozpin was never a man who gave in to his grudges. His oh so long life had taught him better and he knew that nothing good ever came from anger. But his mind was free and he liked too indulge in it from time to time. As he, in his thoughts, tried to form the most elaborate and voluminous curseword his substantial knowledge of the world's languages was capable of, he sipped calmly from his coffee, humming a tune that only he knew, for it had been lost to time for everyone else.

With a polite smile, he terminated the feed to the council on his terminal and found some satisfaction in the fact that the man didn't get to finish his sentence. He might need to talk to Qrow about this. After learning of his niece's involvement in the, now from the press dubbed, "Port Incident", the headmaster was sure that the huntsman was already on his way. He also had sent a message to Richter, who was the main issue in his conversation with the council. Nobody wanted an unknown right in their own backyard and Ozpin could understand that greatly, but somewhere along the way, between his first meeting with the captain and Glynda Goodwitch's call to inform him of the Port Incident, the headmaster had the idea that he might have a new valuable asset just a scroll-call away.

1181391492119

The pilot sat alone on his bed in the corner of the armory. It had been another relatively restless night for him and like so often, he had woken up in a cold sweat and his sheets twisted around him as he had turned and thrown himself around in his sleep. Before he completely regained his senses, another familiar emotion had dominated his thoughts. The feeling of being alone. It had taken him some moments to shake it off, but actively thinking about his plans normally helped, so he did that.

While he knew better than to let this particular feeling dictate his mood, Richter was indeed an isolated person. He would tell everyone who was interested that he was alone and not lonely, but for everyone who was taking a second look, it was clear that such a notion was more for his own peace of mind than the actual truth. Very few people actually, genuinely liked being on their own and those were mostly not easy being around. Most people who proclaimed to prefer being alone, needed at least one person who would listen when they needed to reaffirm from time to time, that they indeed did not need anyone else. (Than no one probably being the one sitting next to them at that time.)

Richter knew for a fact, that he didn't like it, but he wasn't alone by choice. The experiences of his past made it difficult for him to actually open up to other people, without feeling as if he was putting a weight on them. It went so far that he hadn't been able to build a meaningful friendship since Rachel's death, not even mentioning a romantic relationship. He also knew that his attempts at playing over his evident depressive tendencies never fooled anyone for longer than forty minutes, as he had been asked several times by the members of his late unit, to talk to them about his... his feelings, as flat as that sounded. Often the knowledge that they would listen to him, was enough to lift him up from the depths that he found himself in repeatedly.

His late unit.

He had caught himself forgetting their faces with time and he hated it. He knew it was normal when time went on and it was not like he hadn't experienced this before. Numerous people had died under his command and he had just a vague idea now how they looked. A haircolour, a mannerism, or their eyes. He seldom forgot someone's eyes, he liked eyes, even his own. Even though there was not much left of his original eye colour, due to the augmentations... Lilac, ember, blue and silver... how on earth did that thought come up?

He got up and took a look at his watch. Four thirty in the morning. Still about four and a half hours until the armory opened up and about seven hours before his workshop started. Might as well do something productive, he thought as he turned to the racks, where the queue of work had build up during his stay in the hospital. He had dreaded this moment, but found quickly as he worked that, even though there was much to do, nothing was severe and most weapons lying there, were there because their owners were either too busy with preparations for the festival, or to lazy to repair their tools of the trade themselves. He had no problems with either, he was getting paid to do it after all.

He worked in silence for almost five hours and without break. Repairing things had a therapeutic effect on him, a bit meditative, so it took some rumbling from below to make him remember that he hadn't eaten anything today. His enhanced metabolism demanded sustenance, food, lot's of it. He gave the remaining weapons a short lookover and was pleased to see that most students seemed to care much better for their equipment, now that he had distributed his little pamphlet on maintenance. He guessed it had cut his work in half, as he looked down into another chamber, the light reflecting from the metal in a dull manner, but it was definitely clean.

He changed from his overall into jeans and shirt and threw on the new coat he had gotten before he left the city and stepped outside. It was cold now, this planet's winter cycle just beginning and he saw a few students going around in their morning routines. Someone had told him that aura was capable of protecting it's user from environmental hazards to some degree. Namely heat and cold, so it didn't surprise him as much that he saw most girls still walk around in the rather short skirts that made up the lower part of their uniform. Not that he complained.

He proceeded to the cantina, where he helped himself to a generous portion of breakfast which vanished in a matter of minutes. He noticed that he received a few queer looks while he shovelled scrambled eggs with chives and tomato into his mouth. Still he didn't care too much. He was well aware that his table manners had suffered during his time in deployment, which was almost all the time, but certain mindsets were hard to lose. He still ate and slept as if an interruption could happen anytime. It wasn't uncommon to find him sleeping during the day in the armory for an hour or so if he didn't have any immediate work. Then again, he often worked through nights. Not the healthiest lifestyle he was sure, but he was used to it and was comfortable with it. Sleep when you can, eat when you can. That was what his comrades had told him during his first few days in the IMC.

The scroll in his pocket chimed, indicating that he had received a new message. Placing his tray in a cart at the wall he pulled the device out and opened the text.

"Good morning, Captain.

I hope I am not inconveniencing you too much, but if you have a free moment I'd like to talk to you about the incident at the docks. The sooner the better."

Not inconveniencing too much... Richter knew enough of the etiquette the headmaster liked to hold up to know that this message was not a friendly inquiry, but an order. He seemed caring enough, but the pilot recognised an authority when he saw it and Ozpin was a commander first and headmaster second. He answered that he would come around, after his first workshop was done, early afternoon probably.

Deactivating the device he turned to the door, but not without stealing another peach as he passed by the food counter. The kitchen staff had by now stopped wondering about how much the pilot ate during each meal. Sure it was common for the students to dig in after a taxing training session or even an extended mission, but when Richter during his first visit to the cafeteria, had devoured over one and a half kilogram of noodles with dessert afterwards, the staff hadn't been able to ask themselves, how he had not expanded like a balloon since he was here. In fact, it was quite the contrary, he was in peak physical condition again, after his brief stay at the hospital. The augmentations would see to that.

1181391492119Ruby was excited... and nervous and a little scared. But of course it was not that she was scared of the Captain. Of course not, it was just her usual social anxiety kicking in. Nothing to worry about, nothing new.

Maybe it was the concentration of people she didn't knew. Sure, team CFVY was nice and team JNPR was basically slowly becoming family, soooo... no excuse too, huh? Okay, she was kinda scared of the Captain, but that might also be, because she was still alone with him. The other teams and all of her team members were still around on campus, doing things, just she was dumb enough to arrive thirty minutes early. Mentally she pulled a bunch of hair from her head, but quickly realised that such thoughts weren't going to help her. Steeling herself, she hefted Crescent Rose and stepped forward. It seemed as if Richter hadn't noticed her yet, as his face was buried in a book about the recent of the human-faunus racial dispute. He had a interesting way of reading, she thought, with his head back over the chairs backrest and the book directly on his face. She took a step closer and realised that he was snoring. He was sleeping... obviously... great detective work, Rubes. For a few minutes she just stood there, unsure of what to do, until she decided to move up to him and clear her throat.

"Hrrhmm!"

She heard a mechanical click, as well as his breathing suddenly stopping. Looking down on her, she was surprised to find that he had sometime between her movement and now, drawn his gun and pointed it at her chest. She also didn't expect to see a small, pale red orb peeking below the book. The third thing she realised was that she couldn't move a muscle and that sweat accumulated on her brow.

"Ah, Miss Rose, you startled me." He said as he decocked his weapon and removed the book from his face. "I must have fallen asleep. No wonder. You know, I am seriously, genuinely trying to understand the people who are against faunus emancipation, but I am failing. So many problems just come up because the people get mad about the weirdest shit, right?" He stood up and stretched his arms.

"Are you okay? Miss Rose?"

She was not okay. Images of blood and ownerless limbs flashed in her mind. A picture of hundreds of dead White Fang, with a suit of armor standing atop of them, the soulless visor staring down at her. This wasn't real, right?

"Miss Rose?"

The voice was gentle, soothing in a way, almost grandfatherly. Nothing bad could come from a voice like this, right? The deep tone reverberated through her torso and felt funny in her diaphragm. Oh how much she wished for this voice to talk to her when she couldn't sleep.

"Miss Rose!"

But it sounded so urgent now, so concerned. Whoever was the owner of this voice shouldn't sound that concerned. The calm was what made it enjoyable.

"You need to look at me!" Her eyes flicked up to the furrowed brow of Jonathan Richter.

"Yes?" She answered and he made a sound of relief.

"Are you alright?" She looked into his eyes and saw a genuine fear in them. She also saw that they reflected light like the ones of a tiger, which was unnerving to say the least, but behind that she recognised his concern for her well being. But somehow that didn't seem right. Something inside her, decided that it was okay and opened the floodgates. Suddenly tears streamed down her cheeks without her being able to stop it.

He looked in terror at the girl. He had fought through the most brutal battlefields humanity had ever seen. He had killed Titans five times taller than him. He had made half of the galaxy his enemy. he had sneaked into enemy territory, without help or any possibility of extraction if his mission went south, but he had never been able to see a girl cry. Not in school, not during his teen years, not Rachel. Fuck.

What was he supposed to do? How could he help her? This was obviously because of what happened at the docks, right? It was impossible that something like that didn't leave a mark on someone so young. The little girl had started punching him, not out of rage he knew, but because she wasn't sure what else to do. He let her for a few moments, before he took a step forward and pulled her towards him, letting her sob into his chest. They stayed like that, until she managed to calm her breathing and her crying eventually stopped. He had taken to run his hand gently through her hair, letting the scent of some fruit shampoo calm his own nerves.

"You had to, right?" She sniffed into his shirt. He was becoming aware of the wet spot that was developing on his chest.

"Yes."

"What if you didn't?"

"Then me, Miss Belladonna or the faunus boy could either be dead or hospitalised now."

"Sun. That's his name." She prepressed her forehead against his ribcage before letting go, wiping the tears from her face. Richter noticed that, aside from some lipstick, she didn't wear any makeup which would have smeared. She was just naturally pretty.

"I'm sorry. Normally I'm in a much better mood, but somehow... somehow your gun, well it scared me."

"Because it helped me kill people?"

She shrugged weakly. "Kind of."

"Would it help if you shot it? Too see that it's just that? A gun?" She pondered a bit over his proposal.

"Can I?"

"Sure." He took a step back and opened a door. The wooden structure seemed unassuming from the outside. At least, Ruby wouldn't have expected to find doors labelled 'Gentlemen' and 'Ladies' in intricate, cursive writing, or a room with several cots and a big collection of medical supplies. She was genuinely interested what this 'killhouse' that Richter had built was. Through the door he had just opened she saw a short firing range. The walls had been lined with some kind of fiber. He said it was bulletproof and would dampen the noise of gunfire a bit. Three targets stood in the back, all of them simple triangles that he had painted a few circles on. Each circle was painted in a different colour. Red, orange and a light yellow that was difficult to see on the white surface.

"We still have twenty minutes, so..." He pulled the gun from his chest amd put it on the counter before the range. "...have fun. Don't worry too much about bullets. I make them in the armory. But they're no dust bullets, so... you'll see."

"No dust?" She muttered as she took the gun. It was heavy compared to other handguns of this size and seemed worn. Most of the paint that had civered the slide and the grip was rubbed away, so the dull gunmetal grey peeked through the light colour. She pushed the magazine-release and the mag fell out. Curiously she observed the bullets, which looked no different from normal dust bullets, except maybe for the tips. They seemed to be made of a slightly diferent material.

"The safety is here." He pointed at the back of the gun, just above the grip. "Safe, semi, auto." She turned towards the target range and switched the safety off. Her finger hovered above the trigger, in anticipation.

A cracking sound. A harsh kick.

Compared to the deep, booming sound of the guns she knew, the sound the RE-45 made was flat, harsh and unpleasant. It was like slapping two bars of metal together. And the smell. Dust tended to burn up with almost no trace leaving the gun. There was a muzzle flash and the internal coating suffered a bit, but all in all a dust-gun was very friendly to the environment. Now however, a pungent smell of cordite reached her nose. Her face contorted a bit in disgust and she heard Richter chuckle next to her, before he pointed at the furthest target.

"Too low." She looked back at the range and was able to make out a black spot just where the red circle started. Without another word, she raised the gun and quickly fired two more shots. Now the noise wasn't as shocking anymore and her aura dampened the noise somewhat, protecting her eardrums.

"Too high and bullseye. Nicely done." Richter said and she saw two more spots on the targed. One was just above the yellow and the last one, she knew, was dead center. Switching the safety back on, she turned to Richter, who had his scroll in his hand.

"Too easy, Mr." She smirked and put her hands on her hip.

"Too easy, huh?" He tapped on his scroll and Ruby heard the range coming to life. At least a dozen of triangles popped up, ran from left to righ and right to left or up and down. Each at it's own pace and some stopping in the middle or just vanishing. It reminded her of target practice here at Beacon or even back at Signal, but this was just convoluted and... chaotic. He threw her a fresh magazine, which she caught deftly in her hand.

"Twenty rounds and one in the chamber. Let's see it." She nodded, reloading and raising the pistol.

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"This is impossible! One hit each and only the shots in the middle count?"

"I thought you were a sniper."

"I AM, but even I cant shoot something like that. Especially at such close range. I have my scythe for that."

"It's possible." Richter said, crossing his arms before a pouting Ruby pushed his gun against his chest. "Show us!" She whispered and a few approving comments came from behind them, where Team JNPR and Ruby's sister Yang had arrived some time ago and watched the redcaped girl try and clear the whole course.

There were sixteen targets, each moving differently and at an individual speed. Only a hit in the center would make them fall over and he had allowed her only a single shot each. Sure that was difficult, but possible. He hoped at least.

"Or are you scared?" Ruby teased. She blew him a raspberry as he threw her a small glare. As to make a show out of it, he didn't even look at the gun or the range as he nimbly flicked the expended magazine out of the gun and rammed a new one in. He then started the course and turned towards it. What haphappened next made Ruby unsure if she should scowl in anger or jump in excitement.

Within mere seconds, Richter unloaded sixteen rounds into the course. The speed with which he operated the trigger made it sound and look as if he was shooting an automatic. One after another, the targets fell, sometimes in a small shower of sparks when the bullet scraped against the metal or ricocheted into the sand on the ground or thick fabric on the walls. Four seconds later, all targets were down and Richter ejected the magazine. One by one, he pressed the bullets from the small metal box. One, two, three, four. He racked the slide and the last bullet flew into his open hand. Five.

"A small bonus lesson!" He started. "For all those who found here early. Precision is very important when fighting with ranged weapons. Most of the times, the one who lands a hit first, wins. In close quarters, the one who fires first wins most of the time. However, since a single bullet to the torso or the extremities is seldom enough to incapacitate an attacker, precision is also very important."

A hand flew up. He recognised the blonde kid as Jaune Arc and nodded for him to ask his question.

"Sir, prof... captain? Not to be disrespectful, but why do you think we need to train how to fight people?"

"Nice question!" Richters index finger shot out to point at the young man, who flinched. "I'll answer as soon as all are accounted for. We're still missing the rest of RWBY and cfffff... Miss Adel's and Miss Fall's team. So please, take a drink from the fridge and let's hope they're all on time."

It took another seven minutes for CENM, CVFY, Blake and Weiss to arrive, but ultimately, they were all punctual. Richter nodded to himself as everyone looked at him in anticipation.

"Alright! Let's jump right in! Your goal is to come out the other side of this 'killhouse'." He put the word in air quotes. "I'll go in first, thirty seconds later, you'll follow. Everyone who can get out the other side without being hit, earns a point. We'll be using training ammunition for this one, so please, switch up. Spare ammo is on that table." He pointed at the table next to him, where a sizable pile of boxes lay. Rubber bullets of most calibers. They would still hurt like hell, but at least noone would have to fear for their lives. When they looked up, Richter was gone. The door to the killhouse slightly ajar, the only indicator where he had gone.

1181391492119Slowly, methodically, Pyrrha Nikos, top student when it came to combat and sparring, inched around the corners. she strained her senses, but noticed that every time she concentrated on one sense, mostly hearing, her other senses would suffer under it. The creaking wooden floor gave her chills from time to time, even though it was bright inside. The sunlight fell in through some windows made from ballistic glass.

"Pyrrha!" Jaune whispered from ahead and pointed at the floor. She had to strain her eyes to see it, but she noticed footprints in the faint layer of sawdust that still covered the whole structure.

"They're going to the right. We should go on ahead." He whispered and she nodded. How she understood it, the workshop was supposed to help them with defensive strategies and withdrawal tactics. Admittedly something all students lacked in, she thought. They weren't meant to fight Richter. One had to know when to retreat. Most didn't. Jaune did, but he fought more with his courage and his mind anyway.

"Nora?" No answer.

"Ren? Where's Nora?" No answer.

"Jaune?" He turned around to look at her. That was a mistake. From behind him, further down the corridor, the armored form of the Captain emerged, gun at the ready. The blonde boy shuddered under the impacts of the training bullets and stumbled against Pyrrha, curling up in pain. She recognised the sound of a silencer as she jumped back and a powerful one too. The loudest noise was the sound of metal, as the action cycled another bullet into the chamber.

Two projectiles hit the wood next to her, spraying splinters all over her. The training bullets were meant to hurt, so even though they weren't lethal, they still held a certain potential for destruction. But as Pyrrha peered around her shield, waiting for the impacts, the Captain and his light blue shining visor was gone.

"Uhhrgh." Jaune groaned next to her and she crouched down to check on him. He waved her off however. His aura had already begun to heal the bruises and since he had been hit, he was out of the game. Such were the rules. A creaking sound to her left made her whirl around, her sword and shield poised in the direction of the sound.

A single bead of sweat ran down her neck, only further assisting in making the hair on her arms stand up. She was fed up of being on the defense. In an actual scenario, she'd have gone into the offense at least once by now, just to make the attacker vary of her, if not outright dispatch them. Here however, she is wasn't so sure anymore. The man had apparently managed to separate the small team and take Nora and Ren, either on their own, or even as a team out of the game. The sheer thought that the man had managed to catch Lie Ren off guard, was disconcerting. The black haired boy was an expert at moving undetected and as such, an expert at sniffing out others who tried to move covertly.

Footsteps to her right, moving fast. She turned towards the noise, her senses in overdrive. She saw the individual specks of dust drifting around. She felt the draft of air towards the exit. She heard the wood groaning around her and she could almost taste and smell the man lurking in the dark corners of the killhouse.

Three subdued plopping noises rang through the empty hallway and she dodged to the side. The wall next to her shuddered under the projectiles crashing into it. She skidded to a halt only a few meters from the door. Clean unfiltered daylight fell through from outside and she pushed herself up to sprint the last few steps. Pyrrha raised her head and looked back into the hallway. Jaune was still sitting, propped up on one of the walls and was gesticulating wildly at her. She thought he meant for her to get moving already. She was wrong.

As she turned to the door her eyes fell on something peculiar. A slight distortion in the air around a certain point. It looked like the air glimmering on a warm summer day. But it was almost winter and she was inside.

A hand shot out of nowhere and battered her shield to the side. She made for a slash across the unnatural surface in front of her, but froze as she felt three dull punches to her stomach. The pain didn't come immediately, instead she felt as if all the air was pushed out of her lungs and she tasted copper in her mouth. A subdued moan exited her as she fell to a knee only to see two heavy looking boots with treads so pointy, she was just grateful she had been shot instead of kicked.

"Are you alright?" Richter asked, taking off his helmet. His pistol was still in his hand, fitted, like she thought with a suppressor almost as large as the weapon itself.

"I'm... okay." She gasped, clutching her bruised midriff. She heard shuffling behind her and Richter asking Jaune the same question. Apparently the leader had already recovered, as she felt his hands on her arm, lifting her to her feet, the little warmth that started pooling in her chest making her blush, though she managed to hide it.