I still don't own anything. All rights go to their respective owners.

Dozens of Beowolves watch as the blonde woman in the blouse waves around some kind of stick. An older Beowolf looks right at the woman. It knows who she is, more than that, it has been in these woods for some years. See this particular specimen was smart enough to avoid the semi-yearly trainee rain. Thus, it was more than capable to reason. So, upon seeing what amounts to a Boarbatusk Brute tossed around like a child's toy it makes the decision to leave. All of the other Beowolves smart enough to leave do so. The younger ones, the ones that don't know better charge.

Loose paving stones rupture from below, covered in a purple energy field. If the Beowolf was in the way, well too bad. Glynda Goodwitch sighs. Odds are that Oz will make her put those back just how they were before, neurotic as he is. She motions with her riding crop and the tiles do their work. Nearly twenty Beowolves too dumb to leave get shredded by the tiles, as limbs and even torsos slough off the respective remainders of what was once an intact body.

The green-eyed woman looks around the area. No more Grimm in sight. She jogs over to the comatose body on the ground, her telekinesis pulling a med-kit from the wall of the Bullhead. No movement from the man. 'He's either unconscious or too tired to move.' Goodwitch thinks, knowing there might be another reason he isn't moving. 'No, he was standing when we got here.' Opening the kit with the same ability she grabs hold the body as well, the literal pool of drying blood beneath it not promising much chance of survival. The tens of large gashes all over the man's torso would also lead to that conclusion. The pilot sets the aircraft down and depowers the hovercraft. The pilot then runs out, grabbing at the med-kit. "You watch the Grimm Assistant Head-Mistress, I can be of more use here."

"I'm not even sure where to begin. I've never seen so much blood out of one man before." Glynda replies. The Pilot-Medic look at the body that was pulling into the passenger compartment of her craft. Under her helmet she raises her eyebrows. Reaching over to the man's neck to feel for a pulse she stops suddenly. "Eeep!" "What is it?" The Pilot points at his face. Glynda lowers her weapon and look at what has gotten the other so disturbed. A metal plate seemingly fused to the man's head. Not so innocuous, she's seen plenty of huntsman with cybernetics, though this seems more crude than Ironwood's. A glowing green eye swivels in place tracking movement. It zeros in on her own eyes. It doesn't blink but seems to dim before switching to a blue glow with a red-orange center. Fascinated the Pilot moves her hand and the eyes moves it's focus over to it.

Goodwitch breaks the silence. "Do your job Ms. Helgrind, or he might not make it. That eye moving should mean he's alive. The pilot nods, her stupor lost to duty. Goodwitch's returns to gaze returns the surrounding area. Several minutes pass.

"He's stable now. Aura readings show nothing however." Pilot Helgrind says, moving a scanning device over the bandaged and heavily scarred torso. "He either is suffering from exhaustion or he might not have it unlocked. Either way I can't tell with what we have here. I'll prep for take-off." She climbs back into the Bullhead. Goodwitch takes one last look around before doing the same. As she sits down in the seat she looks back over to the man strapped down off to the side. He's terribly pale, however that probably form blood loss. Dark reddish hair, and more scars than even Port has stories of questionable truthfulness. Most of his gear is scatted around the clearing, broken or torn and useless. 'Who are you? Where are you from?'

Any questions will have to wait until he awakes. If he awakes.

-Break-

-Two days later, Beacon Academy, Conference room near the Infirmary-

"I'm telling you he doesn't exist in Any records, Anywhere! The man is a ghost. A figment, a phantasm!"

Ozpin drags a hand down his face. Two days of searching through records of birth, or of missing persons and nothing. Not even the records from missing or defunct settlement attempts show anything. "And on top of that I don't even know if he's human!" Ozpin blinks. That's a new one.

"What would make you say that Peach? He doesn't appear to have any visible Fuanus traits. Are you saying he may be of a mixed birth?" The angry woman rounds on him. "Oh, so now our esteemed boss finally decides to chime in then?" she sneers.

"Enough! Peach do you think we haven't been doing our best to help? I can speak for all of us when I say that we don't like this mystery anymore than you do." The pink-haired woman deflates. It had been a trying experience for them all. "Now then," Ozpin begins, "What do you mean when you say that you aren't even sure that our friend down there is human?"

Peach sighs and relaxes her shoulders. Reaching around her to a satchel at her side she pulls out a manila folder. She sets it down on the table. At its head sits Ozpin, and on his left Oobleck, and Port. Over to his right Goodwitch and Peach herself. Peach opens the folder and begins passing diagrams of some sort to everyone present. "Here we see the average human or Fuanus of Remnant, barring outstanding traits." Everyone at the table looks at the document. It's a full body X-ray of some sort showing several broken ribs, a shattered pelvis and an overlay with surface damage. The overlay revealing massive lacerations over the entire body. Peach continues "This individual has suffered from a head on vehicular collision, and even with medical Dust and healing from such semblances will have a recovery time of at least two months."

Everyone nods following along. "Now, say this person was a Huntsman or Huntress. They would be fine from their aura within two weeks, with the afore mentioned treatments, maybe even five days to a week. Now this," she says passing another scan around, "this is our Mr. Who knows." Oobleck drops his thermos. Port's eyebrows pop up. Ozpin looks down at the laminated sheet before him. Despite not being fully trained medical professionals like Peach, it doesn't take much to figure out something isn't right.

The scan shows bones nearly 50% more dense, with numerous fractures in nearly All of them. Femurs, tibia, the collarbone, all the bones in his left foot. His ribcage is a fragmented mash of shards, a wonder he doesn't have ruptured lungs. But his skull… The metal plate covers the right upper half of his face yes, but it is bolted in place. A long furrow traces over and through the socket on the right side of his skull under the plate. The X-ray reveals wiring going into his brain from the plate and behind it, connecting the ocular device to the part of his brain that's receives light and tells you what you are seeing. A giant crack runs through the left side of his skull along the ear canal, and a dislocated jaw.

"This is disturbing. And this was from when he arrived correct?" Asks Oobleck. Peach nods, then pulls out one more sheet, before passing it around. "I have never seen someone heal this fast, barring though with a semblance that lets them do so." She looks troubled as she says, "Never mind the situation with his Aura. He has one, but it is neither unlocked nor active. It seems to be stuck between the two states causing the hyper accelerated healing but at the loss of being able to project in any capacity. And it always seems to read zero, no matter how many boosters I pump him with to try and get the levels to rise. I think he must have had it unlocked far too late in life to be able to learn how to use it properly, and that this healing is the result."

The Second X-ray shows all the hair-line fractures healed, and the ribs to be sealing themselves shut, his skull nominally healed but for the scarred bone under the plate. "It would show that he isn't human, but his genetic sequences all match the average run of the mill human. Mind that I actually have no idea how he healed so fast, or even what is going on with his aura, this is the just the least crazy idea I've managed to come up with."

Ozpin sets down the laminated sheets on the table. He raises the coffee mug to his lips but soon sets it back down. Empty. Port looks hard at the sheets while Goodwitch and Bartholomew, look to him for a response. "All we can do is wait, and hope he wakes in a mood to give us answers to our questions. However, if you have any ideas of your own feel free to speak your mind on this matter. Port?"

Port looks up from the page he was studying. "Have you asked James about this gent yet? The metal plate in the head tends to give me an Atlas vibe." Ozpin shakes his head. "He says he doesn't know anything about this. Rather he offered to have one of his experts come and help us with 'Questioning' him when he awakes." Goodwitch and Peach wince. Port grunts, then returns to looking at the file. Oobleck chimes in. "I studied some of his equipment. Rather what was left of it, given that most was damaged beyond repair. Quite a bit of it is handmade. Crude yes, however it was built with one purpose in mind. To kill. Little more or less. The rest had brand labels that also don't seem to exist. And the scraps of the cloak he wore that we recovered. It was as if a Beowolf were to exist in a living capacity and have been skinned. Such a creature, if it were to be real, would perhaps be a progenitor species for the Beowolf. It could change everything we know about the Grimm." They all ponder this for a moment. Ozpin stares wistfully into space, as even his legendary levels of caffeine consumption, on par with Bart's, seem to be faltering to keep him coherent. Oobleck pipes in once more. "Not to mention the devices he had in his pocket. I've ran cross analysis on them and they appear to be memory drives, but they are of a type I'm not familiar with. Perhaps General Ironwood would be of assistance in that regard?" There is a mumbled response from everyone present. A sudden smack sounds echos in the room as ports' head hits the table, a snoring sound emerging from under the mustache.

"What I think is that we need to get some rest. At this rate we will burn ourselves out even with Aura. Get some rest my friends. Doctor's Orders!" declares Peach. Everybody, too tired to argue with the sporadic woman, slowly staggers away from the table. Seats grind against the floor as they leave the room. The light turns off some time after they leave, as it runs on a motion timer.

No sound can be heard but the low hum of electricity in the walls. The light has a faint glow as the wire filament in the bulb let's off excess heat. Unbidden, it suddenly turns back on. If one looked closely they might have seen a faint black mist glide over the table. Had someone been in the room they would have even been able to see the folder open once more onto the X-rays of their mystery man. Even still they might have seen the X-rays fade, and bleach until nothing but a blank paper remained, the faint smell of ozone and acrid smoke lingering for several minutes. Then the bulb explodes, glass shards falling onto the table of the small conference room. Once more silence.

-The next morning, The Infirmary-

Flashes of light. Voices. Words, out of context it seems. Aura, Lack of Aura, The metal eye. His eyes. "Silver!"

A dull thudding in his head stirs Philip awake. His body aches. It aches everywhere. He feels… Clean. The numbness fades as he cracks open his left eye. The light seems harsh, but the strain fades as it adjusts. He tries to reach up with his left arm to rub the sleep crust from it, but a tugging at the elbow gives him pause. He tilts his head up. "A be-" He coughs, "A bed? What?" In his arm is an IV, feeding a strange lightly glowing liquid into his veins. His arms are bandaged expertly, much better than the roughshod methods he uses. A tightness on his chest tells him it too is bound and bandaged. Might even be a cast. The hell is going on here?!

Blankets slide off his body as he forces his body to sit upright. He is in a cast it seems. Philip looks around, eyes critical, nothing escaping his observational skills. 'White room, Clean, High tech. I'm alive. Means that was a rescue not an execution. Unknown faction, possible military? Multiple beds, no other patients. No staff either.' He hums a bit. It's always worked before. Sometimes to his detriment. But it still works. His voice is strained, and his throat is dry, but he manages a wheezy "Hey!" Philip swallows and licks his lips, noticing he's been shaved. He reaches up and touches his head. Shaved as well. Eh, he was going to do that eventually, sooner or later. "Hey! Anybody there? I'm awake!" Silence greets him. "Gah" He shrugs, noticing a lack of pain.

Odd. He recalls very clearly being all but dead. Oh, right. Medicine and such. Jolly well and good. He swings his legs over to the side freeing them of the warmth of the blankets. Toes wriggling, he slaps his feet onto the floor. Tiled. Nice. Very nice. The IV bag is attached to one of those wheeled towers. Very nice indeed! Grabbing hold of the steel pole he shuffles over to the foot of the bed. His head hurts still. That same stabbing pain behind his eyes. Well effectively Eye in the singular, as given the mechanical optic hasn't yet kicked on. His right arm moves up and he *thunks* the plate. It hurts but the device lets out a small *zzzzrkt* and the enhanced vision turns back on, giving Philip out of depth vision for a moment. Grimacing he smacks the plate again. "Ahh." He lets out a satisfied sigh as it re-aligns with his natural eye.

*zzzzrkt* Several sparks fall out of the eye he moves over to the foot of his bed. His memories are never clear but, if this is a real hospital, then there should be a chart in some sort of drawer looking thing.

The tile lies cold under his feet as he stumbles over. Another dam fucking gown. A wave of mild nostalgia washes over him. Philip grabs the chart and starts flicking through the pages. Huh. "Guess I almost died. Again. Bah!" He sets the clipboard back into slot and clambers back into the bed. No reason to risk anything yet. 'If these people were nice enough to fix me up, then who am I to impose.' A terrible sound emerges from below. It would seem that a lion had a half-breed child with a rabid gorilla that has a sinus infection, that's trying to beatbox out some dubstep. 'Oh. Food. Kinda might need some.' Philip looks over at the barrier thing on the beds side. A call button. "Oh. Duh."

Pressing the button, he settles back into the obscenely comfortable mattress. Images fading in and out of his minds eye tell him a nurse should be here in around two minutes tops. Now all he needs to do is wait. Shouldn't be that difficult. 'One. Two. Three. Four. Five… (You get the idea)

'Two-hundred-seventy-three… Oh hey footsteps running down the hallway. Neat.' Philip's ear twitches at the sound, echoing down through the closed door. His body tenses, but he forces it to still. 'These folks fixed me up. If they wanted to kill me, they would have.' He tells himself. It doesn't stop his danger sense from going off. Whomever is approaching means business. The door opens, and Philip waits, left eye closing and the other focusing in to magnification level 4X.

A mass of pink hair tied in a bun with two pencils sticking through enters his vision as the door opens, and two pink eyes meet his. The woman has a lab-coat on with numerous pockets full of notepads and writing utensils. A plain white shirt, and black slacks and shoes complete her rather drab outfit. However, there was one thing that drew Philips attention even more than her strange colored hair and eyes. Even her *rather impressive figure wasn't what caught it. The massive Zweihander stowed in a sheath on her back.

"So, the mystery man awakes. Do you know where you are?" Philip un-zooms the eye and opens his other. "Uh, no. But I assume you are going to tell me, right?" The woman smirks. "You are at Beacon Academy, a finishing school for Huntsmen and Huntresses." Philip stares blankly at the woman. "Uhhh. Hmm. Is that still in Michigan? And what's a Huntsman?" The woman's smile fades. "Where's Michigan? Is that somewhere in Minstrel?" Philip draws his hand down his face. "This is just like when I awoke in the blighted Cryo facility." He mumbles. "Allow me to introduce myself then. My name is Philip Kindred. Some may know me as 'The Unstoppable' or 'Cannibal's Bane'." Philip pauses as often when people meet him they have one of three reactions. Awe, Fear, or Rage. He gets none of them. Peach blinks at the titles. 'What kind of person calls themselves 'Cannibal's Bane'?' She glances down at his hands, noting that they are clenched into fists. She notes just how callused they are. How scarred the knuckles are and the density of the bone structure. Those are hands that have hurt people.

"Well, my name is Peach. I'm a professor here at Beacon. The Headmaster would like to speak with you." Philip narrows his eye. 'Headmaster then? Am I somewhere in Europe? No, no accent from this woman.' He considers his options. What other choice does he have, realistically? None. 'Her stance shows she's warry yet confident, even despite knowing my person. She thinks she could take me down without due difficulty. Arrogance or assurance?' The sound emerges once more from his gullet. Peach jumps at the sound, startled. "Could I get something to eat first? And perhaps my clothes back?"

"We can stop by the cafeteria on the way to his office, even though it's the middle of summer, some of the cooks are full time, so they should be able to prepare something for you." Philip holds his reaction from view following the this 'Peach' person. It was the start of fall before. At least he thinks it was. But the fight with the Merga-wolves... 'The day was warm, far too warm for Michigan' The pink-haired woman continues prattling on. 'No,' he corrects himself, 'Never even think that a woman is prattling, she will know. They always know!' He stops suddenly. "Who?" A sudden pain wracks his head and he grabs at his non-existent hair, only to be lost in an odd sensation. His vision fades until all that remains is as if a mist, or a fog.

*flashback*

A summer long ago. A small cabin in the woods. There is a pond nearby with the sounds of laughter coming from it. There are figures there, shadows only vaguely human. But then a wooden deck, with a table and a grill, the smell of hotdogs and steaks over cherrywood smoke. One of the figures in front of the grill coalesces turning into a hauntingly familiar shape. Pale white legs with sandals and socks, and kaki shorts. An apron declaring 'High Baron of the kingdom of Grill' is worn over a shirt declaring some long forgotten animated show. The figure is muscled well, but has aged into having a body that's waist line is more than years past. "Uncle Horus?" The man is laughing as well, telling a tale that has long since only been funny due to the constant repetition of it. "Well my boy what can you say? Don't you know you never even THINK that a woman is prattling, she will know. They always know!" the figure laughs again, turning around. "Isn't that right Philip? After all, how else do you think I met your aunt?" The face, that face that he knows should be there isn't. It's marred with empty sockets where silver eyes should be, blood weeping from the gouges. Young Philip screams. The figure laughs, and the shape returns to blackness, a white mask where a head should be. Then a whisper sinking in the back of his mind, so faint and so cold, that it couldn't be real. 'Welcome home lost blood.'

*End flashback*

Peach looks back at the guy calling himself 'The Unstoppable'. He looks pretty well stopped, standing still and twitching in place. "Hey! Mr. Kindred? Philip, are you okay?!" He gasps for air and bends over grabbing at his knees to steady himself. Ragged breathes sound from him. "Just, getting used outside air again. Don't mind me. Now what's this about my gear then?"

So, he was paying attention. That was still strange though. "Well most of it was all of trashed by those Beowolves you were tearing through, but we did recover some of it. And your clothes were completely destroyed and torn to shreds. However, we have some basic clothing for you to use in the meantime." "Such as? I would rather have some pants sooner than later. The breeze, while refreshing is becoming, shall we say, nippy."

Peach looks back over at him, garbed with only a hospital-type gown. "Oh. Yes. Let's take care of that first. Whoops." She shrugs apologetically as if to say, 'Well what can you do?'

A trip over to one of what would appear to be a uniform surplus store-room later, and Philip is now garbed in plain brown slacks and a white button up shirt, with black loafers. The two resume their trip to the cafeteria. "So why did you shave my head?" Peach shrugs. "You had lice." Philip rubs his hand across his scalp, feeling some scars and more to the point, many little irritated spots. He grunts, "Thanks then."

Arriving at the cafeteria Philip stares in awe. "Is… is that a coffee maker?! I've not had real coffee in nearly a year!" he rushes over to the machine and grabs the glass pot right out of it. Ignoring the temperature that would burn the hands and mouth of a lesser man he starts drinking it right from the pot. Peach can't help look dumbstruck as the coffee slowly drains out of the pot until its gone. "That, was good. So where might the food be then?" Peach points over to the counter where two mildly disturbed cooks also stare. Marching over Philip looks over the options available. He grins as he lingers over the meat section and his nostrils flare at the wonderous scents of food that has been seasoned!

-30 minutes later, a table nearby-

Philip pats his stomach as he sighs in contentment. "My compliments to the chefs, for there prompt and effective service." Both the cooks look upon the table in horror and some level of awe, as does Peach. They had little choice but to keep bringing out food. Ozpins orders as it were, were actively causing a hit to the budget even before the year started. So in other words, business as usual. Upon the table lies the picked-clean bones of two ENTIRE roast chickens. Philip had eaten almost three heads of lettuce worth of side salad, and almost a pound and a half of cheese! Not withstanding the four loaves of bread to top it all off. "I've not been able to eat my fill in nearly half a year!"

"Small wonder why." One chef mutters. The both of them retreat back to the larder so as to recoup the losses committed to the stores. "I think he might be crazy." "I think you may be right." "Whatever, he was polite at least, haven't had a student like that in nearly a decade at least."

Philip dusts off his shirt, shaking loose nonexistent crumbs. "I've been clothed and fed. You said the 'Headmaster' wished to speak with me? Well then lead on as I am even more so in your debt." Peach just shakes her head at the increasingly odd man. "This way Mr. Kindred."

'The more off kilter I can keep them, the better the chances they underestimate me. If they think me a mad sociopath, mind I may be, the better for it.' The remainder of the walk is silent except for the steps of Peaches shoes, Philips own steps as quiet as a breathy whisper. They traverse through a entry way and arrive at an elevator. "Ozpin will be up at the top floor in his office. Good luck I guess? I don't know what to say here. This entire situation is just all kinds of weird to be truthful."

Philip lets out a relieved laugh. "Yeah. It's quite the odd one. I mean here I am thinking that I was going to die and behold. I am healed, fed, re-clothed and now I have to talk to the head of a school. Feels like… first grade? What do I know anyway? Amnesia for nearly two plus years now, and all I've remembered was my bleeding name!" and with that he entered the elevator leaving a dumbstruck Peach in his wake.

The elevator is drab, plain and has boring music and the ride up is without any significant events. What could possibly happen in an elevator, after all? The current answer is nothing much. And as such once the trip up is over, lasting around no fewer than 80 seconds and no longer than 110 seconds. Emerging from the elevator Philip looks around the office of this 'Ozpin'. The layout is simple, with a desk and a high-backed chair. With no other furniture or even decorations to distract the eye, the fact some kind of holo-viewer turns off the moment the elevator opens. Add to that the fact the entire location has the theme of a mad clock maker doesn't help the image here very much. Even the floor seems to revolve around the idea of the twelve hours on the clock's face. 'Steampunk. Wait what's steampunk? Gah, later.'

And standing at the side of that desk is Ozpin. 'Taller than I expected.' "Ah, our mystery guest has awoken, and from the reports I've received already from the kitchens, is making himself at home. You've even beaten Ports' record for cheese." He lets out a small laugh. Grey haired and garbed in a black and green themed suit, he holds a mug in one hand and several sheets of laminated paper in the other. They heavily faded almost. Odd. "May I offer you some coffee? What we have down in the cafeteria is," he shudders, "rather average compared to my private stock." He moves in front of the desk, of which Philip notices seems to be shaped like a boomerang. 'Or a bad mustache' "As I'm sure Peach informed you, I am Ozpin, Headmaster of Beacon academy of Huntsmen and Huntresses. I suspect that an amnesiac would have many questions regardless. However, I believe your may just be more pointed than not. Am I correct?"

His one eye narrowing Philip nods. "I assume you had some means of contact I did not see?" His suspicions now peaked Philip cycles his vision modes. Night vision, not here. Thermal? Nope nothing, bar a bird outside on the ledge. How about the EM? It's new but Philip can see so many uses with that handy little mode. Ah. Cameras. Lots of cameras. Ozpin walks over to him a mug filled with steaming coffee. "No, now I see those cameras. Hidden in the curvature of the shadows. Good spots." He takes the mug and brings it up to his lips. Ozpin has a very good poker face it seems. He didn't react at all to the revelation that Philip could see the cameras. Turning away from him Philip begins pacing across the room. His instincts are screaming that this man is an absolute monster. 'Never would have guessed from the getup and demeanor. Ah, but that must be the point.' Ozpin doesn't say anything. He just watches. "What do you want from me? And don't say that the food, medicine and clothes were charity. I'm not naive. A sociopath? Maybe, but a fool? I would hope not."

"Right to the point with you then? I can appreciate that level of bluntness." Ozpin begins. "We can start with who you are and, where you are from." Philip grimaces. "You already know my name, but as for where I'm from…" He shrugs. "I think somewhere in Michigan. Full disclosure here?" he asks. Ozpin nods. "That would be best. I hope that you don't prove yourself an enemy." 'To who? A school teacher? Or are you more? Doesn't matter.'

Philip sighs. "To understand where and why and who, how and all of the above I need to go back to the beginning. The Gyges Cryogenics Facility." He chuckles. "Good thing that it's scarcely even past noon. This tale takes a while. To begin it all, I woke up."

And so, over the course of the entire day Philip tells this Ozpin character everything he can about Michigan, and to some degree Earth in general. He asks about Philip himself, his skills, how he fights. About his amnesia and how on very rare occasion he gets glimpses of something that may be memories. Who and what he has fought and why. Has he ever killed? Philips' mirthless laugh at that question startles Ozpin. "Have I? The better question is how many, and of what. And before you ask I'll let you know. People? It's in the triple digits." Ozpins face darkens, and a sense of absolute death descends upon Philip. "Mark it though, it was either in defense of myself or others. Or they were cannibals. I made Exceptions, for cannibals." The mood lifts but Philip notices that Ozpins grip on his cane seems to have tightened. Despite being rather obviously perturbed, Ozpin still continues his stream of questions.

About the Dogmen, the fucking Melonheads, the DMC. He seems particularly interested about the Merga Wraith. "It sounds like you may have encountered a very old, nigh ancient Geist. They are a very hard Grimm to kill. But why call it that? What does Merga mean?" Philip shrugs. "I've been told it means 'Death' in a different language. Not sure what one though." Ozpin nods once more, the action having been common it the dialogue between the two men. "Your combat skills seem to be quite impressive Mr. Kindred." Ozpin states. Philip waves a hand at the address. "Just call me Phil. But enough from me. What is this place, really? What is a 'Huntsman'? Where am I? I know it's not in America. And I'm beginning to expect I might be in Kansas anymore. Mind the expression, but what is the name of the planet I'm on?"

"It is Remnant, of course" And with that Philip stops his pacing. "Ah. I suppose that makes this a bit more straight forward. I fell through a hole in reality." He begins chuckling madly. "Because of course I would fall through the chasm between dimensions!" The chuckling turns to a hysterical cackle. Tears begin to leak from his remaining biological eye as sparks fly out from the cybernetic augment. "Of all the thrice cursed souls that yet burden the mortal coil mine would be the one that gets played with by cosmic forces yet unseen." His shoulder shake as he draws in on himself.

"Mr. Kindred… Phil!" Ozpin shouts. Philip whirls around fists clenched, veins popping from his forehead. "What?!" He seethes out, the loaned shirt now straining at its seams. A wispy field of energy radiating from his body, the silver of his eye faintly glowing.

"I did not picture you the type to break done at so small a thing. From what you have told me, every part of this world is better than your own. Yes, we have our own problems, but I implore you to give our world a chance. You may yet be surprised." Philip visibly struggles with himself, hands clenching and unclenching, his jaw thrust forward. He takes a deep breath, and then as sudden as it appeared the panic attack ends.

"I must apologize, it seems my composure was… frayed? No, I almost snapped right there. Thank you, Ozpin. Now, I believe you were about to regale with the mythos of this fine new world that I find my-self in?"

Ozpin chuckles. "Oh, I don't think I could tell you that. But I'd be glad to inform you on current events. Or rather I would if I didn't have paper work to file through. I do run a school Mr. Kindred ah, Phil. But I can give you access to our library here. That should be more than sufficient to get you informed then, yes?"

'A library? One that is still intact, and ransacked, or just destroyed?' Philip nods, his episode all but forgotten to him. Because for Philip such an incident is par for the course. "Thank you for the opportunity. I would mean to reimburse you, but what with my currency most likely void, how might I go about that?"

Ozpin pauses. "I'm sure I'll find something for you to do. The grounds are vast here, perhaps with your proclaimed skills with Botany, I could make you a grounds keeper. Or maybe…" Philip shakes his head at the older man. But a real, intact library? This is a dream!

As the doors close on the elevator Ozpin drops the act. A flash of magic and the doors to the balcony open. Without even turning around he can feel the grin on his face. "What is your impression of this one Qrow?" "He was serious when he said those numbers Ozpin. I don't even think the tribes kill count could add up to this guys."

Ozpin raises an eyebrow at that, passing the drunkard a mug. "And what gives you that impression? The scars, the killer intent that radiates off him? Or maybe that we have footage of it?" He presses a button on his desk pulling the frozen video from before. "Let's watch this again for emphasis why don't we?"

"Hey," Qrow shrugs, "I haven't seen it yet anyway. But I don't believe that this guy could kill a Beowolf barehanded, no. That's bullshit. He doesn't have an aura!" Exasperated Ozpin sighs. "He has one Qrow, that much is obvious. We even have footage of when it unlocked."

"Wait really? I thought we only had the security footage from the forest." "Incorrect. We had a breakthrough with some of Mr. Kindreds' gear last night. The memory drives that he'd had were found to be physical drives rather than digital ones. Most of us here were and still are, rather tired so if you wouldn't mind getting over here." Strolling over he looks at the video. "Oh. Oh dam."

The date and time-stamp in the corner of the film is pointless and irrelevant to the two men watching. However, what is relevant is the glowing tube out of six. One of them, at random the one marked 02 is broken, dried fluids red in color coating the shattered glass. The one direct across is radiating with a grey and silver gradient of light. Moments later the pod hisses and releases, a pale figure with red hair and lacking any other clothes but a medical gown. The man grabs at his face, lean, muscle-corded arms lacking any scars clutching the sides of the pod. 'Wha? Where am I?' A voice sounds out. Then a sound comes from the doorway. The man groggily gets into a stance, the camera revealing his eyes widening and his jaw setting. The stance is loose yet very linear, some might say a mix of American wrestling, general pugilism, and some basic martial arts. A looming figure appears in the door, a large clawed hand curling around the frame, talons scraping against the metal. What appears to be a hairy Beowolf lacking any bone plating and it's brown hued rather than pitch black. It bursts into the room a sickening howl of primal terror emerging from its' maw. The man stands there either unfazed or too groggy for it to register. The beast looks at his stature, and his stance and seems to pause. Then the man lunges forward, a flying knee strike hitting the beast right in the snout. He pulls his arms back and balls his fists together, a hammer blow rattling the brain-case of the creature. Two dark grey eyes seem to loom in the camera, as the man grabs the beasts head in one hand. He slams the skull into the door frame repeatedly, until the whining sound gurgles out it's last. He stands up foot on its' back and lets out a bellow of victory, as blood drips from his hands, and the thin, medical gown he wears.

Qrow turns and looks at the door to the elevator. "We sure that was the same guy? I mean… wow." Ozpin nods with the sentiment. "Have you seen his performance in the emerald forest? It's even more, lethal." Qrow shakes his head. "Nah, not yet. I'd only just gotten here when scarred and brooding decided to show up."

The two men watch the camera recording of Philips battle with the local Beowolf numbers. "Hey Oz?" "Yes Qrow? Any more insight to add?" Qrow pulls out his flask and downs a gulp. Wiping his face off with his sleeve, he points to the paused image on the screen. "I think he might need his fix. Would explain the moodiness." Ozpin looks at the screen once more. Hanging from Mr. Kindreds' lips is a cigarette, lit and burning away.

A/N: Well that was chapter two folks! I hope your all enjoying what I've put together so far. I have so many plans and ideas for this story, and plenty of surprises as well. No idea on update schedules as usual, but I'm between two jobs right now (quit the old one) and D&D takes up like tow days out of my week. No promises on that but the chapters will be out when they are.

And now to respond to the reviews!

Sothalothgothmothphothinthoth- Glad to hear you like the story! And I'm glad you like the concept.

poaling12- Thanks for the feedback! And hey if we get enough of these stores on the site maybe they'll give NEO Scavenger a selection page!

Guest- No idea if you were just visiting the story or not, but all connections between the NEO scavenger world and Remnant will be explained in time, including Philips' Silver eyes.

And without further ado until next time folks! If you like the story, consider dropping a follow or a favorite, and be sure to give me some feedback! Drop a review if you're so inclined, and be sure to enjoy a coffee while you read!