Brick DeMarco stood silently in his dress blue uniform and breastplate. He and just over a hundred others were standing at attention as row upon row of boxes were taken from the backs of wagons and placed beside holes to be buried.
Out of his entire battalion, only one-hundred and nineteen out of nearly seven hundred had survived the Faunus Revolution. Some were never brought home and they were merely burying coffins filled with rocks. Others had the misfortune of dying after being discharged from the military. With the efforts to recover the economy underway, benefits and even ceremony were removed from veterans. They wouldn't be buried with military honors, only cremated and dumped into whatever graveyard they were near.
As the final wagon was relieved of its burden Brick stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak. As the highest ranking soldier left alive of the 12th Atlesian Heavy Foot Mobile Regiment, 3rd Battalion, he figured he was expected to say something for the fallen.
Almost immediately he heard murmurs of discontent and hatred. None who stood on that field were unaware of the atrocities Specialist Brick DeMarco visited upon his enemies. Every man present hated him, and the act of him speaking among their dead filled them with fury.
Brick waited a moment for the men to quiet but none did. Eventually, the bravest, or most foolish, stepped forward to spit in Brick's face. Brick impassively wiped his face, staining his pristine white gloves with the man's spit. Looking at it a moment, Brick shrugged and slowly set his rifle down, then removed his saber and breastplate. Setting them beside one of the open graves, he turned and calmly walked away.
The soldiers behind him jeered and threw insults after him as he dropped his dress blue jacket and cap, yelling at him angrily when he didn't acknowledge them.
That was the one and only gathering of his unit that he ever went to. Brick spoke with a few of the right people and by the end of the day he was no longer a member of the Atlesian Armed Forces, discharged without honors. It didn't take much convincing from him either. Apparently, when a soldier is as proficient at killing and terrifying his enemy as Brick DeMarco was, their parent military tended to not want their bloody legacy tied with theirs.
He was dismissed, his name removed from any records and every one of his medals and commendations were revoked. Brick DeMarco had never been in the Atlesian Regular Army, at least on paper, and all it took was a Colonel with a pen and a bottle of decent alcohol to make it happen.
Adjusting his shirt, Brick left the army barracks for the last time. No fanfare, no send off, just scars and memories telling of his time of service.
Brick sat quietly in the bar. He was all by himself, drinking alone and not talking to anyone. Three empty bottles were lined up neatly beside him as he drank from a forth. He had decided that he would spend the last of his pay where it would do the most good: Drowning his memories.
It was as he was picking up a fifth bottle to drink from that the door to the bar was kicked open and several soldiers already reeking of booze stumbled in. Brick set his bottle down as he observed the drunken fools celebrating the holiday. Three years it had been since the end of the war and the soldiers here were bragging of their 'unit's' actions.
Turning back to his vodka, Brick ignored the rowdy bunch. He had better things to do and a shift in the mines in nine hours, so he didn't have time for their nonsense.
The haggard faunus barmaid, a young woman looking just old enough to serve drinks, was doing the best she could while dealing with the soldiers. She hurried to deliver them their beers, her tail half curled from fear of the men as she handed them their beers. As she was turning though she felt a tug and then pain. Looking back, she saw one of the soldiers yanking on her tail, running his fingers up it to her backside. She yelped and tried to get away, but the soldier just grinned and tightened his grip. "What's wrong, puppy? Don't you want to stay with us? Or is it because you sided with Menagerie? Is that it? Traitorous whore, we should teach you a lesson".
The barmaid pleaded with them to be let go, struggling with them to get away to no avail. She looked around the room with pleading eyes, praying for someone to save her. None stood for her. "H-help! Someone, please!".
She cut off with another yelp as she cuffed across the head. Standing up, one of the other soldiers laughed and picked her up. "Hey, bartender, how much for the wench to party with us, huh? She's a rutter, so it should be cheap right?". He laughed, he and the others cheering and standing, slapping some money on the counter. "What do you say, boys, let's conquer this faunus whore and plant a flag in her ass like we did Menagerie!". His statement was met with more cheering from the soldiers and begging from the barmaid as the frightened barkeep hesitantly collected their money. "Y-you won't hurt her, r-right?".
The soldier laughed and grabbed at one of the faunus woman's breasts to her humiliation and pain. "What do you think old man? Don't worry, we'll all take a turn or two with her and you can come to take your turn later".
Looking sadly at the crying girl, the bartender simply nodded and turned away, much to the merriment of the soldiers as they headed for the stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor.
They had to stop as Brick stood, his large bulk blocking their way as he paid for his drinks and turned to leave. "Out of our way digger, we're the heroes of Atlas, the Armored Foot Mobile, and we won't hesitate to beat you to a pulp!".
Brick looked down at the soldier for a minute before sighing. "They let anyone in nowadays. Hell...". Reaching out, he picked the girl up by the back of her dress and set her on his shoulder. "Now fuck off little man before I show you what being in the Armored Foot Mobile means".
The soldiers sneered and drew their knives. "We're not taking that from a digger, some mole man who noses around in the dirt! We'll skin you and then fuck the girl before killing her too old man!".
Brick shook his head and set the barmaid down before nodding toward the kitchen. "Call the MPs girl. Go on". The frightened girl didn't need to be told twice. Shakily nodding, she bolted for the kitchen, she and the bartender locking the door behind them.
Having been denied his prize, the drunken soldier sneered at Brick. "Faunus fucker...".
Brick looked down at the fool before laughing. "That's right boy, I fuck faunus. Fuck uppity shits too. I really enjoy those star-eyed young privates like yourself. So full of pride and gusto, assholes so ready for spreading. Well, what do you think boy? You wanted to get fucked, didn't you?".
Brick unzipped his pants and his member sprang out. "What do you think boy? Suck, or fuck?".
The soldiers all looked at Brick like he was crazy, most wavering, uncertainty sobering them. The leader saw he was losing his group and snarled, lunging forward to stab Brick.
With a contemptuous ease Brick DeMarco reached out and crushed the hand and fingers wrapped around the knife, squeezing down tight as he laughed at the soldier's screams before taking the knife and pocketing it. "Now then boy, you just sit there and wait for the MPs and think of what you've done". Brick had more to say but the other soldiers attacked him for hurting their leader. Laughing quietly, Brick smacked each hand that came near, taking the knives, crushing fingers, and breaking jaws. When all was done he stood and they lay around him in a moaning, whimpering mass as they clutched their injured anatomy. Kneeling down, Brick shook his head with a sigh and patted the flinching soldier on the cheek.
"Poor enthusiasm and worse coordination boy. Either fight better or fight sober and hope that you fight better. Either way, when you're explaining this to your Sargeant I want you to ask him about Brick DeMarco. That way, you might learn a thing about knowing who you're fucking with before you try to fight someone. Got it, boy?".
The young soldier quickly nodded, tears rolling down his face as he clutched his ruined hand. Brick just smiled down at him and stood before walking out the door, whistling as he did.