Chapter 1: Fear

"The single quality that is common across every living creature on this planet is fear. It's funny then, that as common as fear is, we so easily underestimate its power."

— 1 —

Catch!

It all came down to this. I raced forwards to catch the ball and charged the goal. The familiar weight of the old leather I'd thrown and caught until my hands were bloody. Nobody could stop me. Not with the eyes of the entire vault on me. The roar of the crowd.

This was it. The moment. Team OCHR against team BLNC for the future of the vault.

Behind my helmet, I grinned. And as that pathetic dweeb Conrad Sunbleach rushed onto the field to stop me, it only grew wider. He thought he could stop me with that hammer of his. I'd break his legs for that. Tackle through him like the vault monorail through debris. Put him and his team in its place!

I saw the look behind his helmet. Determined. Desperate. Sure, half the point of the Vytal Festival Tournament was to beat the tar out of the other team, but you made your points completing objectives. And I… I…

I blinked the sweat from my eyes. Kept running. Something felt wrong. Felt faint. Like I'd eaten something wrong. But I'd only been eating Vault-Tec Sports Paste this week to prepare for the game.

I blinked again, trying to get rid of the vague haze in my eyes. The sudden air of the stadium was oppressive.

Conrad Sunbleach. Sill there. He swung his hammer behind him, expelling a gust of force to propel himself towards me. Trying to intercept me. Trying… Trying…

Why couldn't I see straight?

The roar of the crowd. The heat of my huntsman armor.

Conrad Sunbleach trying to stop me.

"Hello, my name is Ozpin," the voice in my head said. "And we need to get out of this Vault."

I lost my footing and tackled into Conrad, rolling over the astroturf into a jumbled, broken heap of limbs.

The referee blew the whistle. "Stop the game, stop damn you!"

"Ozrick!" someone shouted at me. "Ozrick! Ozrick, boy, what the hell was that?!"

Darkness overtook the edges of my vision like I'd stood up too quickly from the squat rack. The last thing I heard was that voice in my head again.

"Oh dear. It appears I've shown up at a bad time."

— 2 —

"Dammit, Oz, what the fuck was that?" the Coach said to me. He didn't yell. He didn't have to.

I sat in the clinic bed, staring at my legs. "I don't know."

"What happened to the months of practice? What happened out there to my star huntsman?"

I swallowed, gripping the clinic's sterilized sheets. What was I going to say? Oh yeah, I got sick there and started hearing voices? Like that'll go over well.

"Because of you, the Eastside's team was able to win the game. When we needed you most, you just flaked out on us. You know what that means, Oz?"

I didn't have to think hard. It meant the Westside just lost its Overseer. The results of the game put the Eastside's candidate for Overseer in power. And with that came resource allocation. Eastside would get first pick on the freshest crops from hydroponics. They'd get priority on all maintenance work orders.

Hell, even the vault's best artist, Pinkerton, would be reassigned from her work on the Westside to beautify the concrete halls of the East.

People I knew had trusted me. Had relied on me to win this game for the Vault. And now they were going to go hungry in their bleak halls of concrete.

"So much for our star huntsman, Oz."

I cringed into myself. But as I looked at Coach Yarrow, the cold anger in his eyes, I heard his voice. Advice he's given me time and time again over the years. Never admit fault. Never admit weakness. Always attack.

I grit my teeth and tried to rally myself. "It was a fluke. I broke that bastard's leg. And when I see him again, I'll break his other one."

"Don't act big with me, punk ass. He's not the one who went ass-up in front of the entire vault."

"Sunbleach is a pathetic loser who only got this far because his team carried him," I spat, filling with righteous indignation. "Lemme at him again. Right now. I'll break his other leg and get the winning trophy back."

"You don't get it, do you, kid? You're supposed to know better."

"I know that I am better!"

"So much better that you go down to your knees like a lower level whore right in front of him?"

"I broke his leg!" I shouted.

"He broke our winning streak!"

"Well," I said, whiteknuckling, trying to find something to say to that, "maybe if you'd actually done your job and prepared us better for the game—!"

"Don't you dare pin this on me, boy," he hissed. "I've given you everything! Treated you like my own son, and what do I get in return? Some sniveling wreck who can't even win a single game against the most pathetic team of Huntsmen the Eastside's ever assembled. Fucking embarassing. You sicken me, kid. I expected better of you, and you made me look like a fool out there!"

I found myself hugging my knees to my chest under his onslaught

The coach spat to the side. "Yeah, go ahead and cry. Maybe being a huntsman isn't your true calling. Maybe mewling like a dying cat is. Go ahead. It seems to be all I've trained you for."

"Don't spit in my clinic, Yarrow," Dr. Mossman said lazily from his chair near the front of the clinic.

"I'll spit where I damn well please!" Coach Yarrow said, puffing up his chest. He wasn't a big man by appearance (I had a full head over him), but he was a big man by nature.

Dr. Mossman spun round in a chair so old the plastic had actually carved grooves into the linoleum floor. "Then you'll clean where you damn well please, too," he said, bored.

Yarrow scowled before storming out of the clinic. He was gone, and I felt a sudden pit in my chest where my heart should have been.

The doctor looked at me for a long moment. "Boy as big as you shouldn't be in the fetal."

"Does it matter?" I snapped.

Unmoved, he said, "We scanned your vitals. Just some bruises, unlike Conrad and the leg you broke."

"Good," I said. "He deserves it for getting in my way."

"Coach is gone," he said, shaking his head. "You don't have to act tough for him anymore."

"I joined the Huntsmen course, not drama club."

He spun around again in his chair, idly fidgeting with his Pip-Boy. "It shows. Maybe you'd be less transparent if you knew how to pretend."

I opened my mouth, only to shut it and look away. "You wouldn't get it. You're essential personnel. They won't cut your rations because you couldn't carry a ball from one side of a field to another."

"And I got that way because I knew what my strengths were and played to them. You might be big, but maybe you aren't meant for sports."

"What, and leave the annual game up to losers I can't trust? Hell no. If I can make a difference, I'm gonna do anything I can to make it."

"And now I see why we matched."

I snapped my head around to him. "What's that mean?"

He furrowed his salt-and-pepper brows. "What's what mean?"

"That thing you just said, doc."

He looked confused for a moment, before seeming to understand. "Oh. Just that what you're good at might not be obvious. You ever used a Vigor Tester machine before?"

I sat forwards, letting my legs hang off a bed. "Yeah, a couple years back. Coach wouldn't let any even train for a team unless the machine said they had the right aptitudes."

"Ever think maybe what your best fit for mighta changed since then?"

I shook my head.

He spread his hands. "Listen, down in maintenance, we got a spare one of them machines. I say while you recover from your strange… whatever it was that happened out on the field today, you go down there and try it out. Maybe help out the boys and girls down there, too."

"Why would I do that?"

The doctor sat up straight, eying me. "Because something tells me you'll want to lie low for a while, but can't exactly sit still to do it. Down there you'll find people who don't care about the game and give you a chance to be useful."

I frowned, thinking it over. "Do I gotta?"

"No. Just an idea."

Getting to my feet, I sighed. "Then no thanks, doc. I gotta just… train more. Get back into the game. Get ready for next year's big game."

"Mm," he hummed, disappointed. "That really wise anymore? You're an adult now. The game closed out your final school year. And schools don't usually keep kids around after that."

"They do sometimes. If they're good."

"And you just lost them the game."

I whirled on him. "Now listen here, you eggheaded f—"

"I interrupting something?" a girl asked.

Mossman continued looking at me like a disappointed father. He just shook his head and turned to his desktop computer. Gods, how I wanted to smash his head through the screen.

"Oof, seems so. Guess I'll just take my cheer and goodwill elsewhere, hotshot."

With Mossman ignoring my attempts to stare him down, I turned to the door. There stood a girl with lilac eyes and short red hair. And a body I'd been dead set on finally seeing without that combat dress of hers, if only we'd won tonight's game. As it was, I immediately looked away.

She stood smiling, hands on hips, a gesture made slightly awkward by the folded up crossbow on her arm. "Gosh, Oz, you look très bad. How ya feeling? Hurting much?"

"Nice to see you too, Hailee," I said dryly. "And it only hurts when I do this."

"Do what?"

"Exist."

She snorted. "I imagine. Saw the look on Coach Yarrow's face after he stormed out. Figured you needed a few minutes to recover." She tossed a bag at my feet.

"What's this?"

"Your gear. C'mon. I don't like seeing you mope."

I took an uncomfortably long moment before I tried replying with, "I don't like seeing you fully clothed."

Mossman choked on his bottle of water. It was a small joy.

Hailee gagged. "Euch. Somebody call off the digger droids, this boy's already dug himself deep enough into that there hole."

"Ha ha," I said, fishing out my huntsman uniform and power fists.

"C'mon. You can embarrass yourself somewhere that doesn't smell so badly of bleach."

— 3 —

Vault 4's clinic opened out into the most central of the vault's many atriums. This was the Atrium. Capital A. This massive chamber was built around the vault's central freight elevator and provided the crossroads between the East and West. You had to go through here to use one of the vault's essential services, from seeing the doctor to waiting in line for this week's groceries. As I climbed down the stairs to a lower level, I could already see eastern vault security putting up barricades, preparing to slow down and limit food distribution to the east. They used the barriers we'd formerly put up against them.

"Hey, that Oz?" a westside officer said.

I kept my head down. But a guy my size in my distinctive Huntsman gear didn't exactly have an easy time staying incognito.

"Yo, kid, what the fuck?" his partner called out.

"Leave him alone, dickheads!" Hailee snapped.

I kept walking. Past glaring Westsiders going through. Ignoring the occasion whistles and cheers from Easterners. Eastside residential was downstairs from the Atrium. And it was hard to pretend I didn't see everyone down on my way home.

"They're upset," I said, unnecessarily.

Hailee rolled her eyes. "What gave it away?"

"The murderous look in their eyes, for one."

"If that could stop you, you would've stopped hitting on me years ago."

"I'm persistent," I said evasively.

"Yeah, at not taking a hint."

"Did you come find me just to beat me down?"

She sides, folding her arms behind her head. How it was uncomfortable with her crossbow, I didn't know. "I ran out of better potions. Rene's raging in the gym too much for me to want to talk to her, and July Child is busy trying to convince everyone that being strong and silent is a good substitute for having a personality."

"That's just team OCHR."

"Pff, I'm bursting with personality. And," she cut me off with, "if you turn that into a boob joke, I'm shooting you."

"Charming."

"One of us has to be," she said with a wink, elbowing me in the side. "But for real, it was you or, like, my brother. But I didn't want to bother him. He and the rest of hydroponics are too busy trying to save this cycle's crops."

As we talked, I realized she was refusing to bring up tonight's game. The realization made my stomach turn. It made everything she said sound hollow, some attempt to cheer me up out of pity. When we finally reached my apartment, I was only too glad.

"You just gonna leave me here, Oz?" she asked.

I stood before the vertically sliding door to my apartment, about to type in the keycode to open it. "My mom's home. It'd be weird."

"Aw, c'mon. It'd only be weird if you watched. You know your mom and I—" she made some awkward purring noise in her throat that I think everyone regretted pretty much instantly.

"Don't, uh, don't ever do that again."

"Deal," she said quickly, looking anywhere but me.

In the silence, I heard the local AC kick in.

I took the moment to open the door and slip in before she could stop me. I held my back to the door and let out a shuddering sigh, rubbing eyes that suddenly felt three-days-dry. The lights in the apartment weren't on.

"Hey, ma. I'm home," I called out

She didn't reply. I found her passed out on the couch, half-naked, and smelling of hydroponic whiskey. Her job as an upper level barmaid made it too easy to acquire. I recalled the night she'd first gotten the job. She'd come home and kissed me goodnight; the stench of the liquor had made me vomit. She'd spanked my ass and made me stay up late cleaning it all up.

In any case, if she was knocked this badly out, she likely hadn't seen my game. I'd intimately knew how drunk she could get, and how long it took to get there. Under normal circumstances I'd be upset. But for once I was thankful. I carried her to her bed.

Technically, our apartment was just one giant room separated by dividers. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and (most sinfully) our own private bathroom. It also had a rare window looking out onto the underground river that fueled the vault's water reserves.

I collapsed into my own bed, wondering if we'd have to move because of my failure. Or if maybe I could get back into the game and keep my house. I had a feeling if we lost this place, mom would come to the wrong come drunk one night and wind up dead. It seemed in-character for her.

Whatever the case, the new training season wouldn't start for a while. I was functionally out of work until then.

So I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling fan, and let myself just drift off. Lose myself in my thoughts. Close my eyes. Rest.

"Rather dreary, isn't it?"

I shot up. "Ma?!" The artificial light outside by the river indicated it was night. How long was I out for?

"No, I don't think so," he said with a chuckle.

I jumped to my feet, putting on my pneumatic power fists. They weren't exactly lethal, but they had the force to knock an untrained player back several feet.

"Who's there?"

"I've actually never been a woman before," the voice went on, unconcerned. "Old men, young boys, even faunus. But never a woman."

I took the bait. "What's a faunus?"

The voice paused. "I suppose there weren't many of them on Patch, were there?"

Mom was still asleep in bed, sprawled out in a bundle of limbs. Check as I might, I couldn't find anyone in the apartment.

"Who are you?"

"I told you, my name is Ozpin."

"What's an Ozpin?"

"Not what, who."

"That's a douchebaggy correction to make."

"And when I showed up, you wanted to kill a young man just for being on the other side of a sports game. I think I have the moral high ground."

"Guys doing the right thing don't need to hide."

Another pause. Whoever he was, he liked to think before he spoke. You couldn't trust people like that.

"Find a mirror," he said.

"What?"

"Find a mirror."

Against my better judgement, I obeyed. I turned on the bathroom lights and looked into it. There was my face, as you'd expect. Same hair. Same eyes. Except… the more I looked, the more something happened. As I watched, my face stretched and ripped, shaking and tearing into something else, someone else. I grabbed my face and screamed, and the old man with the white-blond hair and pea-sized glasses screamed too.

I stumbled back, falling into the shower.

"Well," he said breathlessly. "I could have certainly been far unluckier, Ozrick, was it?"

I crawled forwards and climbed to my feet. My reflection was mine again. But if I looked away, I saw his face staring at me. A corner of the eye illusion. Trying to look at it was like trying to follow those blotchy spots in your eyes.

"Yeah. Ozrick."

He chuckles. "Of course it is. Even murdering them doesn't put an end to their little jokes."

"Who?"

"Oh, nothing."

I touched my face. It felt right. "You enjoy being cryptic, don't you, Ozpin?"

"It's one of my few remaining joys in life," he admitted, sounding somehow sheepish.

I stumbled out of the bathroom back to the foot of my bed. "So. Great. I have that mind disease with the voices. It's just… eat right, diet, exercise, and you still get fucked."

"Don't say that. Your girlfriend seemed nice."

"Who, Hailee Comet?" I asked. "She's not, I mean I wish she—but no. Just my partner."

"Hmm. Seems Vault 4 is still doing its job. I take it you're a Huntsman?"

I nodded, though I didn't really know why. Like, why was I taking to the voice in my head. "Head of Team OCHR. Best Huntsmen in the vault. Or, used to be until today."

"What's your semblance?"

"My what?"

"Your aura?"

"Uh, people say I'm strong and full of life?"

"Show me your Pip-Boy."

"I don't have one."

That seemed to stun Ozpin. "You live in a vault."

I shrugged. "A very big one. We ran out of Pip-Boys forever ago. Only the lucky few have them. Essential and upper level personal, mostly."

I waited for him to reply. But nothing came. Even the weird reflections on surfaces were gone. It was just me. All alone again.

I didn't know what to do. The latent schizophrenia disinclined me to sleeping. Trust me, I tried. It didn't work. At some point I noticed a little light by the front door. During the night someone had delivered the mail.

I opened the slot and checked it. I tossed everything but me and mom's weekend ratio coupons atop my trophy case. On friday night you got a larger surplus of coupons, with the idea being you could order a bit more food for the weekend. Or, so I thought. These coupons look like normal rations.

Of course they would be, I realized. Westside no longer gets first pick. Those extra coupons were probably already being delivered to upper level Eastside families as per direction of our new Overseer.

Fuck me.

Still, unable to sleep, and with Mom unlikely to remember to pick up groceries, I figured I could go out to the Atrium to pick up whatever scraps the Eastside had authorized us. I changed into my normal vault suit, tuced the coupons away, and headed out.

Outside the lights were dim, but still there. Vault night. I could even make out the faint lines of illuminum running near the floor, a subtle but ever present light in case the power ever did fail. Brownouts were rare in the upper levels of residential. I'd only ever seen it in the lower, newer areas of the vault.

At this hour, the smell of antibac singed my nostrils. The janitors must have come by already to clean the halls, probably right after the mailman came around. I tried to ignore it. A benefit of being a team captain was living in the upper residential, which mean it was a quicker walk to the Atrium, where the comforting smell of food and human bodies overpowered even the most thorough attempts to scrub away odor.

I heard the shouting before I even reached the atrium.

— 4 —

The central freight elevator was still settling in, bringing with it the latest and greatest produce from hydroponics. Already the earlier night shifters had queued up. But nervous and angry voices were turning order into tumult.

"Now calm down!" a member of vault security was trying to shout over the crowd. "You'll get your food, same as always."

"Bullshit!" someone shouted. "I got half my normal coupons this morning."

"What's going on? Why aren't they opening yet?"

Inside the massive elevator, haulers and workers were setting up to hand out food. And they were all facing the wrong way, toward the east, not us to the west. You couldn't miss it.

I tried to keep my head down and blend into the crowd, moving into to lose myself in the set of blue vault suits.

An officer was holding his hands out, using himself to separate the press of bodies from the closed doors to the freight lift. "Overseer LeForge is making sure—"

"LeForge?" someone shouted. "That Eastside fuck?"

"We lost the game last night, didn't we?"

"No way. No fucking way. OCHR's the best team we've had in years."

"It's true. That's why I came early. I was up late last night watching the game."

"We're still getting our food, right?"

The freight elevator settled. The workers inside were ready. The crowd turned into a low, electric murmur. Which erupted into a roar as the Eastside gates opened up, and residents of the other side of the vault started pouring in to collect their weekend food. First pick, extra coupons meant they were walking away with armfuls.

"You need to get out of here," Ozpin murmured.

"Oh, welcome back," I said at the same volume, unsure if how loud I was actually meant anything to him. Clutching my ratio coupons tighter, I told me, "I'll be fine."

"Hey! Hey! What's going on in there?" a vault dweller demanded.

"They're taking all the food!"

"Now," the security officer said, "there's enough. There's always been enough."

"Bullshit! I got a cousin in hydroponics been saying there's less and less!"

"That's not true."

"It's true! And they're gonna take all the food before we get it! My kids are gonna starve!"

Ozpin hummed. "Things are worse than I thought."

"It's fine; they're just not used to change," I said. "I'll win next year's game and everything will be fine."

"But until next year?"

"We survive."

"They, maybe. But not you. Look at them."

"It's fine."

"Hey! Hey, it's Ozrick!" a woman said. "Ozrick, you gotta tell 'em. No way you lost us."

I froze in place. Of course they'd know me. Even without my huntsman armor, I stood out. And how many of them had spent hours watching or listening to my games, either in person or on the Vault New Network?

"What's he doing out this late?"

"He knows there's no food and's trying to get the last of it! That's why!"

My voice left me. "I, I, that's not—"

"What's the star huntsman doing? That fucker, what the fuck did you do?"

"Ozrick," the man in my head said, "you need to leave."

I swallowed and tried to rally myself. "Everyone, listen, it's just…" Just what? Just failed them? Just wasn't good enough? Just suddenly got sick and now everyone in the Westside was a second-class citizen?

Crowds had a mind of their own. A kind of collective consciousness I'd come to realize during Vytal Festival games. Something animal. And as if realizing they weren't going to get through security or the freight elevator's gates, they turned to me, a soft, human victim. A face they could put a name to, put blame to.

"How many coupons do you have, boy?"

"He's got plenty. Look at them! He's upper Westside."

Ozpin made a warning noise. "You need to leave."

"I can handle this," I said, either to Ozpin to the crowd, I didn't know.

"You're going to get hurt," he said, concern audibly increasing.

"I can handle this!" I repeated, gritting my teeth.

A woman grabbed my arm. Mrs. Abernathy, I recognized. I'd thrashed her son in the Westside playoffs. "Ozrick, please. Jimmy's still a little slow on his feet. You can spare coupons, right? Please?"

I just stood there, staring.

"He's giving his coupons back!"

"I, uh, no," I stammered. "This is, me, my mom—"

"You don't need the food! You're big enough. And your mom makes plenty too!"

"These, these are ours. For the weekend. I, our food, and—"

Mrs. Abernathy tugged on my arm. Someone else grabbed at my shoulder.

"They're going to hurt you, Ozrick," Oz said. He sounded equal part worried and helpless. Like a man watching his favorite sports team slowly lose the final game.

"It's alright," I tried, feeling my heart punching a hole through my chest.

They were saying something. Pulling at me. Trying to get at my rations.

"Ozrick, please!"

"Boy, give her the coupons!"

"No, no, I need more too. My baby's sick!"

"It's my brother's birthday, too! I can't let him go hungry on his birthday!"

"Ozrick!" they'd shout, tugging. Pulling. "Ozrick!"

The calm voice. "Ozrick."

"Ozrick! Ozrick!"

"You greedy bastard!"

"I always knew you'd screw us over, kid!"

"Ozrick!"

Ozpin again, almost pleading against all hope, like a man praying for a surprise homerun at the bottom of the ninth inning. "They'll kill you. I've seen this before. Either now or through guilt."

"It's alright!"

"It's not alright!" Mrs. Abernathy said hysterically, pulling harder at my arm. "Please, kid, you owe me for what you did to my boy!"

"You owe us all! You were supposed to win!"

I tried backing away, but the press of bodies kept me rooted. "I'll win the next game!"

"And what if we're all starving my then!"

"Ozrick," the voice said again as Mrs. Abernathy got her hands on the packet of coupons.

My heart ripped through my ribcage. Cold and hot blood crept through my veins like syrup. "That's enough!" I shouted, shoving Mrs. Abernathy away.

The crowd went quiet as she stumbled back. If not for the bodies, she would have hit the ground.

The woman broke down crying, and any restraint the crowd had. People grabbed at me. Pounded at me. Someone even tried punching me in the face. They pressed against me, and I found myself stuck in place, unable to move. Unable to breathe.

I didn't know what to do. Couldn't do anything. I grabbed at my heads and tried to defend myself against the people I'd failed. People I'd betrayed and let down. People who were going to go hungry because of me.

"They're going to take your rations," Ozpin said. "They blame you, and they'll blame your mother too."

"Shut up!"

I imagined it. Me and mom trying to get food and the people not allowing us. Taking our coupons. I pictured my mom returning home from a shift and getting robbed and beaten. All because I couldn't carry a ball just a few more yards.

I was breathing hard. Seeping spots in my eyes. They felt wet. Was I crying? Yeah, go ahead and cry, Couch Yarrow had said to me. It seems to be all I've trained you for. I tightened my defensive curl harder, trying to keep my coupons, trying to ignore their desperate, frantic hands.

"You don't belong here," Ozpin said. "Your home has turned against you."

"No!" I screamed.

"People who love and care for you don't do this. They never liked you. They tolerated you because you could win them the game. And now you can't. You're worthless to them."

"Shut up!"

He chuckled sadly. "I can help you."

"You can't help anything. Because of you I lost! They're like this because of you!"

"And I can help them."

"How!" I screamed.

"It's going to take trust."

Someone grabbed at my arm, their nail digging bloody furrows as they tried to pry my coupons away.

"No!"

"Either trust me, or let them kill you and your mother. You call."

"Stop it!"

"This vault is no place for you, Ozrick. You do not belong here. And no one wants you anymore. You have failed them. But I can help you. We're all we each have right now. I'm the only one who can give you a hand up. Fear and hatred are a downhill wheel, you're the only brakes. The only way you and your mother will be safe is if you reach out now."

I dry heaved. "Okay! Okay! Anything. Just make it stop!"

"Good," he said with an air of pleased finality.

Someone boxed my ear. I stumbled back.

Ozpin let out a calm breath and chanted, "Through the darkness of future past, the wizard longs to see. One last chance to save this world. Aura walk with me."

Everything was silent. Quiet. Peaceful. Warm and comforting.

Then came the screaming. Terrified, panicked, desperate. The crowd was screaming. The man who tried punching me was screaming. Mrs. Abernathy was screaming.

I am screaming.

I opened my eyes to see the fallen crowd around me, bathed in an ethereal light from my very skin. Pushed back as if my some unstoppable force that could repel even the mindless singularity of a mob. Mrs. Abernathy's hands were mangled. The man who'd been punching me, his arm was broken, bone piercing through his flesh.

I knew I'd done this somehow. This was all my fault. The desperate people I'd betrayed now broken and bloody around me in a hellishly screaming pile. And there I was in the center, standing tall. A glowing eye in a storm of human misery.

"Oh Gods," Ozpin whispered. "I am so sorry."

I looked uselessly at my hands

"You can't stay here, Ozrick."

I wanted to help. Pick them up. Tend to their wounds. Do something for them. How many of these faces did I know? How many of them had been cheering me on every week for years? How many of them had included me in their prayers?

This is my fault.

But instead of helping them, instead of doing the right thing, I just stood there, paralyzed. The screams of terror and pain.

"They're going to blame you," Ozpin said, sounding like a man grasping for rapidly disappearing straws. "This shouldn't have happened. This isn't normal, but—you can't stay here, Ozrick. You need to run!"

Cries for help. Shouts of people trying to find their family members in the field of bodies. And all I could do was stand there. Stand there and watch. And listen. Like some fucking coward.

Something hit me from behind, hard. I turned to see a distant and terrified member of vault security holding a shotgun. The riot control beanbag bounced off my glow, tumbling to the ground. I just stared at it, uselessly.

He pumped the gun and fired again. I barely stumbled from the impact.

"Run, Ozrick," Ozpin commanded, as the full gravity of what was happening started to hit me. "You have no place here anymore."

He was right. He was right, he was right, and he was right.

The officer chambered another round, his hands shaking. I turned and ran, running over the fallen bodies like they were a human carpet. Running, Apologizing. And crying.

"We need to get out of this vault."

Quest Perk Added: Star Huntsman — As a Star Huntsman on the Path of the Warrior, you have a born ability with weapons, dealing +10% Damage with all weapons.

Vault-Tec Tutorial: Aura — While every living being has an Aura, you possess an Active Aura. The mark of a true Huntsman, your Active Aura is a reflection of your very soul. Your SPECIAL stats, skill points, and even certain quest actions all affect your Aura. You are able to use Active Aura to defend yourself, enhance yourself in combat, or even utilize special pre-war Huntsman equipment.