A Soldier, Not a Hero

by Twisted Fate MK 2

Jaune is too old to train to be a Huntsman, but he won't give in. So his father finds a somewhat safer way to let his son have a chance at his dreams. How, you ask? Well, the strongest military on the planet had to be a safe enough place for him to get to his dreams. An imperfect answer but hey, some discipline could be good for him. (Abandoned, Archived)

4. The Strength

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Come morning, instead of the screaming of a raid siren or the even louder screaming of an Instructor Sergeant, he was woken up by a gentle chime. Like a series of bells, just loud enough to disturb him and rouse him from sleep, but not so loud as to be annoying. It was almost musical, in fact, and pleasant enough. Standing in the comfortable pajamas he'd been provided and stretching, he felt truly rested for the first time in weeks and weeks. A soft bed with real blankets that was actually warm would do that to you, he supposed.

Who knew?

A knock sounded at the door to cut off his musings. Pulling it open he blinked and slid into an easy salute, "Specialist Ebi, Sir."

"Arc. At ease and cut the decorum, it's too early for it." In direct opposition to his words, the man snapped a lazy salute in return. At it, and the man's instructions, Jaune relaxed and stepped aside, waving with a hand to invite him in. "Thanks. And hey, a gift," he grunted, stepping through and practically shoving the mug of coffee into his hands, "I understand they banned coffee down in the TC, and for good reason."

"They said 'if the snow and exercise doesn't perk you up, then you can take the walk'." Jaune nodded, taking an experimental sip of the drink and grimacing.

"New to coffee?"

"Yeah, kinda. Didn't drink it much back home." He could get used to it, though, with enough time. It was warm, at least, and that alone would make it nice basically anywhere in Atlas. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, and another sip of the drink, he asked, "Are you here to take me to testing? I thought someone else was supposed to."

"Yeah, well, there was a tiny change of plans. Blame High if you don't like it, count yourself lucky if you do." He shrugged and the Specialist returned the gesture, chuckling and folding his arms over his chest. "Finish your coffee and we're headin' out. Got a whole battery of tests for you today and gotta run through 'em before noon."

"Why does noon matter, Sir?"

"Not worried about not getting breakfast?" Ebi asked with a raised brow and a cocked head.

"Training camp skipped on breakfasts often enough I'm used to it, Sir." The reason given was simply that on deployments, there might not be the time for proper breakfasts. Or the supplies. So better to get used to skipping morning meals while it was still safe to see who doing that would break. Nodding at the man, and knowing he was technically overstepping, he prodded, "Why does noon matter, Sir? Kind of an odd way to run the schedule, feels like."

"It 'feels like' it's odd?" The man parroted, eyes sharp and a brow raised in question. And challenge, too. "What makes it 'feel' like that, exactly, Arc?"

"I… Dunno. Uh, Sir." He added the last after a second, caught off guard by the sudden challenge and hiding it in taking a drink of his coffee. It only bought him a second to think, but that was all he needed. Taking a breath when he was done, he shrugged, "Just a feeling, Sir. In my gut. Dad always said that a Huntsman should trust his gut."

"Except you ain't gonna be a Huntsman." Ebi pointed out, "You're aimin' to be a Specialist."

"Still good advice." They were close enough to the same thing for him to apply the logic anyway, even if they were different in a variety of ways. Shrugging he added, gently, "If you can't answer, or don't want to, it's fine, Sir. Just… Found it weird."

"The VIP we got in from Mistral is headed out at noon, along with a handful of soldiers being assigned to Vale." The man explained, waving it off when Jaune opened his mouth to ask more. Namely the obvious question, 'why men were being sent to Vale', and its brother, 'what that meant'. "Above your paygrade, kid. You got tests today and after that, either back to the TC down there or on vacation for a few weeks until the academy opens up."

"Well…" A vacation certainly sounded nice, to be sure. He had plenty of back pay from training to spend on it, too. He could distantly remember a movie he'd heard about and gotten excited over, buried somewhere under weapon maintenance drills… "I guess I prefer the vacation, Sir."

"Good kid." The man grunted, headed for his door. "Down your brown and come on. You have a day ahead of you. And don't worry about your old training partner," he added, with a wave and a smile over his shoulder, "one of my time is dealing with him."

"O-Okay." He felt kind of guilty for it but thoughts on Mann hadn't actually been that heavy on his mind. Too early in the morning, and too much information buffeting him for it, he guessed. Quickly tossing back the lukewarm dregs of his coffee, he pushed off the bed and asked, "Should I, uh, get changed first, Sir?"

"Nah." He waved him off, "No need. First is a physical, and you won't need a uni for that. That goes well, and you'll be getting a new uni anyways."

"But I thought-"

"Come on now, no time for questions." The man chided as he pulled the door shut behind him with a purposeful bang meant to drown out anything he could try to say. Jaune only shrugged, sat the mug down on his bed, and grabbed his shoes to follow him.

The next few hours were, as the Specialist had warned him, a battery of tests. Physical examinations, bloodwork, an x-ray of sorts to check the musculature of his body. There were other compulsory tests they told him they were running, as sure as he was that they weren't a problem. Sexual diseases and allergies for one thing. His father had had each of them tested in Vale when they were younger for allergies and, well, he'd need the sexual part to get the disease part. Still, they wanted their own tests for 'posterity and updated records'.

Jaune knew Atlas just didn't trust Valean hospitals to test them to Atlesian standards, though. And he didn't mind. Atlas did have the world's best medical technology, after all.

Once that was done, he was given a bowl of oatmeal and two pieces of buttered toast to eat while he waited for the results to come, alone in a small waiting room with little more than lights, a table and a single chair. He downed it eagerly, hungry after not eating all that morning and glad for the food, even if it was kind of tasteless. No sooner had he finished the meal, the door to the little one seat waiting room opened, a grey metal droid carrying a new uniform in. It was the same kind of uniform he'd seen on others as they'd walked to his tests, with long white sleeves, long coat-tails and slightly poofy pants.

It was the uniform of a soldier proper, not an enlistee or hopeful. And his eyes widened for it, the young man stammering, "W-Wait, this is-"

"A Specialist's uniform." Clover's voice called, the man beaming a smile and striding into the waiting room. At Jaune's look of surprise, he explained, "Mann had a poorer physical potential result come back. Which means lower Aura, typically enough we rely on it. So he lost out."

"Oh…" He felt bad for the man but at the same time, he could feel the excitement well up in him at the statement. Mann wouldn't want his pity, so he let himself smile widely and take the uniform, holding it gingerly but tightly in his hands. Still smiling, he murmured, "I did it… Step on to being a hero, done."

"Cus that doesn't sound dorky at all." Ebi chuckled, dismissing the droid with a nod and a wave. Jaune flushed and, as the door shut, started pulling of the pajamas to get into the crisp new uniform. Ebi was a soldier too, so neither he nor Jaune balked at the younger man changing in front of the older, Instead, Ebi explained, "Once you get your Aura, you'll be granted the rank of 'Specialist Private'. Better pay than a standard trooper, and you'll be allowed to design your own kit of equipment."

"Really?"

"Within reason, yeah." The man shrugged, saying that in a very 'obviously, idiot' kind of tone for a man who he knew by reputation used a fishing pole as a weapon. He didn't say that, though, for obvious reasons. When he didn't say anything, Ebi kept talking, "For now, stick with what you know. A good rifle, somethin' to beat people up with if they get to close, maybe a sidearm."

"And a shield." He nodded, Ebi raising an eyebrow. "I want a sword, a shield, and a rifle like I was trained with."

"Makes sense, yeah. You did show pretty good performance in melee, according to your records. While you deal with our little show of good faith, I can get it logged for you." He hadn't been meaning to ask him to, but if the man wanted to take some of the work off him he wouldn't argue. One thing did stand out, though.

"Show of good faith?"

"Politics." The Specialist grumbled, shaking his head and shrugging. When Jaune only gave him a look, silently asking him to elaborate, the man sighed and started to talk in a bored, almost tired tone, "Girl up from Mistral. Letting her activate Specialist Auras, is a show of good faith to Mistral, even with as few enlistees as are coming into the program right now."

"Ah. I see." He didn't, really, beyond 'letting them touch the soldier'. Why would letting Mistralians activate Atlesian Auras be a show of good faith from Atlas? Regardless, he tucked his jacket around himself and adjusted his shoulders, and asked, "How do I look, Sir?"

"Like a Specialist." The man grunted, grabbing his hat from from the table, flicking it open with practiced ease, and slamming it down over his short-cut hair. Spreading his arms out to either side like he was presenting him, the man stepped back and smiled, "Slap a pulse rifle in your hands, and I wouldn't be able to pick you out from anyone else in a combat unit, about to head out on an op."

"Good." The uniform felt good too. Heavy in that protective sort of way, like his training armor but lighter. A lot lighter, in fact. Too much so, even.

His opinion of that must have shown because Ebi chuckled, "You can wear heavier gear if you want, too. Arc. Just gotta request it. Lotta MI boys coming in end up running with more standard armor. Higher grade, but still, standard to design."

"Yeah, I… Like the sound of that."

"I'll put it in the report." The man grunted, again turning for the door after a glance at the clock, "C'mon, now. Mistrali wanted to spend some time gettin' to know you before activating your Aura."

"Why?" He asked quickly, doing the last button of his jacket and jogging after the older man. As they walked through the halls, soldiers and other specialists paid them small, polite nods that filled him with pride. Even if most of those were directed at the Specialist beside him, he still returned them eagerly, asking, "Why does she want to get to know me? She's just activating my Aura."

"Mistralians are just weird like that, Arc." He shrugged, smiling amusedly at him when he saw him return a nod. Jaune flushed but he didn't say anything, turning back around and ignoring him as they made their way through the halls. "Superstitious lot. They think it's 'touching souls' and treat it like something magical for it."

"That's…" Weird, but in a way that kind of made sense, given that their 'souls' powered their Aura. Some were bound to have a more, well, spiritual application of that idea. Eventually, he settled on, "That makes sense, I guess. Kind of annoying, though…"

"Well, you can explain that to her when you see her, Arc. And have fun with that, too." Clover said with a small, somehow knowing smirk. The kind that seemed to say he knew something about what Jaune had said, and found it funny either because Jaune didn't know it, or because it was just a joke to him.

'An inside joke for one person', as his dad would always say.

A few minutes later, and a short jaunt through the windy Atlesian street outside, he was brought to a hotel of all things. High end, with what looked almost like marble brickwork and stained glass for the lobby windows. Higher up, the windows were blacked out in the way that one-way glass always was. A measure taken to combat the glare that the clouds could reflect back from the city's lights, he knew.

Atlesian armored vehicles had the same tinting, so that their occupants didn't get a flash of sunlight off ice and go blind, and so that if they were attacked and unconscious the Grimm might not see them. It was expensive to be sure, and he doubted the military use of it had even been considered. But, then again, this was Atlas, not Mantle. 'Expensive' was just a dirty word that got you raised eyebrows, and function was a secondary concern entirely. Like 'help' or 'tolerance'.

Not that he was allowed to say anything about it while in uniform, of course.

"Here for Miss Nikos." Ebi reported at the desk as they approached it, sliding their uniform hats into their pockets neatly, the small Faunus woman behind it looking positively dwarven behind the massive mahogany desk. The girl nodded and took his ident-card, checking it while Jaune looked around.

Around him, the rest of the lobby was just as fancy as the rich desk, with thick red carpeting and black, wooden walls. More rich mahogany filled the room in the form of lounge chairs, desks, tables and ornamental cabinets filled with silver. All manner of different kinds of paintings filled, from battles to generals and knights in shining armor. All of them, he figured, were of Atlesian victories. Or Mantle ones, for the more ancient battles.

Which made sense, he figured, since this hotel was an officer's and dignitaries one. Which meant that making good impressions was key, either to impress upon a visitor the 'might of Atlas' or make an officer of Atlas feel recognized. As his mother always said, to his older sisters whenever she thought he couldn't hear, 'stroke a man's ego just right and he'll do whatever you want him to'.

Only now did he realize why they'd all chuckled, flushing at the realization as the little Faunus looked up.

"Here you go." The ram said, offering them a keycard and the man's ident-card back. To him, knowing that Ebi wouldn't be accompanying him further, she explained, "Miss Nikos is on the fifteenth floor in a private room, waiting for you. It's a board meeting room, so there will be some snacks and drinks available, but you will be charged for them."

"I'll cover." Ebi offered instantly, waving him off when he made to argue, "C'mon, kid. It's your first day, let me buy you a drink."

Shrugging, he agreed to the man's suggestion and turned back to the woman, smiling, "Thank you, Miss…?"

"Oh, uh-" The white-haired girl flushed, eyes flicking to either side anxiously. Quieter, she murmured, "Clients don't like it when we use our names, usually. I just go by miss Ram, or Miss Sheepy. Just, uh, whichever."

"I'm not calling you that." It was demeaning and racist, enough so that even Ebi was frowning at the practice. The older man's confidence gave him enough of his own to speak, albeit quietly, "That can't be legal."

"It isn't." Ebi grunted shortly, folding his arms and smiling so that anyone watching wouldn't think he was angry. The rapid tapping of his finger on his bicep, though, told Jaune he was plenty mad. Just like the young Arc himself was. "Let me guess, you're 'not required to answer to the names or offer them, but it's preferred'."

"For the guest's comforts, yeah…" She shrugged, "Happier guests, better tips and more hours."

"Well, racist monikers make me very unhappy. Very unhappy indeed. Why, I've half a mind to complain, matter-of-fact." Jaune grunted, smiling and giving the woman a look to know he was joking. If his faux-posh voice hadn't already done it which, judging from her little little smile, it had. "Now, thank you, Miss...?"

"Thyme." The girl chuckled, "Fiona Thyme. And you're welcome, sir."

With a small nod, he turned to leave, Ebi following him around and to the elevators. Waiting for them to arrive, Ebi bumped an elbow into his and smirked, "Got a thing for small and cute, eh?"

"W-What?"

"The receptionist." Ebi grunted, bobbing his head slightly to the desk where he could just make out the little Faunus, just visible around the corner. "You. Got a thing for 'em when they're small and cute, don't you?"

"Shut up…"

"Oh shit, you do!" Ebi turned, smiling in that shit eating way soldiers did when they were messing with each other, and took two steps back towards the exit. "I'll get you her number too then, kid."

"Don't you dare or I'll-"

"Relax, relax." The man chuckled, turning and pointing a finger just as the elevator slid open, completely empty and with no one else around to board. "Straight shot and an empty lift? My my but you are one lucky son-of-a-bitch aren't you? And hey, lucky me, I have to run, too. See ya, Arc."

He gave the man a salute with one hand and another of the one-fingered variety at his waist, and the man chuckled. With that, though, he left and Jaune stepped into the elevator. A short trip up, thankfully without any stops for other guests somehow, and he was let out on a wide hallway with only scattered staff meandering through it. All Faunus staff, he noticed, like on the first floor. Faunus who, when he nodded to them respectfully, blinked in surprise before nodding back anxiously.

Unsettling, in a lot of ways, but nothing he could do anything about even if he knew what was going on.

Nikos, and he still couldn't place that name though it sounded so familiar, had a room that was easy to find. Two silver Atlesian drones outside, along with a Human minder, made that easy enough. The soldier, an old man covered head to toe in Atlesian armor and striped in officer red, stepped forward at his approach and grunted with a voice practically hew from raw rock, "Private Arc?"

"Yes, Sir." He almost saluted, then realized he didn't know the Specialist to trooper rank respects and froze.

"You're the higher. Leastways you will be once you show me your ident-card." The man grunted, voice uniquely suited to sounded amused and aggravated all at once. Jaune found it in his breast pocket, where cleaners would leave it per protocol, and showed it to the man. He scanned it briefly and snapped to, the droids responding in kind. Jaune responded with one of his own and the man relaxed, "She's waiting inside, Specialist-Private Arc. Kind of anxious and touchy, but eh, none of my business."

"Thank you, sir." Technically, he wasn't supposed to call him 'sir' being a higher technical rank. But the man was older and clearly a veteran, armor well worn and pitted even for being clear. Worn in a way that screamed the man had spent a long time fighting even to Jaune's less experienced eyes. Gesturing to the soe, flanked by rifle armed drones, he asked, "May I?"

"Of course, Sir." The man nodded.

At a signal from their handler, one of the drones reached to the side, arm moving almost unnaturally, to turn the knob and pull it open. Inside was, as expected, fancy and high end. A short hallway led from the door, lined by the same carpeting and black woodwork walls as the lobby and hall had been. At its end, just past a large suit of ornamental, ancient armor, was another door, resting open and letting him see Atlas' sky through the window on the wall opposite of it.

"Hello, who is- Oh. It is you..." The woman that rounded the corner came to a halt, blinking owlishly.

She had red hair and startlingly green eyes that stood out starkly from the tight sweatshirt and loose jeans she wore, the tags hanging off of both. Thick boots covered her feet, with soft soles and metal caps over the toes, and off a hip hung a sword. A beautiful circlet rested on her head and, combined with the rest of her ensemble and even how she spoke and sounded, gave him an odd sense of speaking to royalty mixed with modernity. A princess brought to the future and given modern clothes to wear.

"U-Uh, hi?" His voice cracked and he flushed, hiding the redness by looking down and patting his pockets as though looking for something. What, he had no idea, but he rambled on regardless. "U-Um, I, well, I'm the Specialist that… Was supposed to meet with you. Uh, Nikos, Ma'am. To, you know-"

"Get your Aura activated." The woman smiled when he had to look at her to nod, but it wasn't a cruel or mocking one. Instead, it was amused and genuine seeming. She nodded and turned, disappearing around the corner and calling behind her, "Then let us eat together. I would know you before I allow you to touch my very heart, Specialist."

"Yeah, uh, Specialist Ebi told me." He took the moment he had to catch his breath and focus before following her. He always was terribly with women…

Especially the tall, powerfully built ones that could kill him if they wanted.

The meeting room was a rather simple thing, for all the hotel that hosted it was very much not. Leather-backed, comfortable chairs, the same carpets, walls and a black roof with the Atlesian symbol emblazoned in silver on the roof. Fluorescents in the corner lit it in stark white which glinted off the silvery steel of the long, ovular table used for the board meetings hosted here.

At the head of the long table the woman had taken a seat, rich, leather-backed office chair turned to watch a distant Atlesian battleship drift by. She picked at the potatoes set on the tray beside her and murmured something he couldn't make out. Curious, he took a seat across the table from the window, pulling his own tray of steak and spuds to him, and asked, "What was that?"

"N-Nothing." She blinked, smiling in that fake, polite way that he himself had been trained to. The way one did to avoid getting into any trouble, of whatever form. Ignoring whatever she'd said, she offered a hand and a stiff, "Pyrrha Nikos. I'm… Sure you've heard of me."

"Yeah, I have." He grunted, taking her hand and feeling her stiffen ever so slightly in his grip before she relaxed and gave it a gentle shake. Smiling lopsidedly he picked up his fork and pointed it at her, "You are on the Pumpkin Pete's cereal box."

"I-I'm… I'm on what?"

"Pumpkin Pete's?" She blinked, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips, and he kept on. Kept playing his hunch. Bobbing the fork, and in terrible tune, he sand, "'When you want somethin' sweet to eat, grab you and your kids some from Pumpkin Pete'. Come on, you're on the box. You gotta know it."

"I… Of course I do, I had to learn it for commercials. Part of the… The contract." Chuckling genuinely again and smiling fully, she leaned back and guessed at his game. "You know my cereal and ads."

"I do."

"Then you know who I am." He raised an eyebrow, and she cocked her head to the side. "I introduced myself for the ads. And so, you see, you must know who I am if you know the jingle they made me sing. A jingle that, were it not for contractual binding, I would say I very much disliked."

"Hey, that jingle was great."

"It was horrible." She stated simply, in the kind of tone he recognized from his sisters. One that brooked no argument, and earned hands held up in mock surrender for its use. This earned another quiet laugh from the woman, who shook her head and, smiling, asked, "If you knew who and what I was, then why pretend?"

"You know what my last name is?" He asked by way of answer, earning a somewhat apologetic 'no' from her. "Jaune Arc is my name. My full name, I mean. Do you know that name?"

"I know it, though only vaguely." She answered, eyes growing distant as she fought to recall where and how she'd heard the name before. Chewing her lip cutely for a second she sighed and, finally, gave up. "Forgive me, Specialist Arc-"

"Jaune." He cut in, smiling disarmingly when she blinked in slight confusion. "If we're getting to know each other here, you can use my given name."

"Jaune, then. As you like, and as I don't dislike. I do not know from where I remember the name of 'Arc'." She smiled, shaking her head wryly and taking a sip of the clear water. Setting it down, she prompted him with a hand and a simple, "Please, if you would, enlighten me. I would quite enjoy it."

"Well… The Arc family has existed for long enough we don't actually know long we have been around. And almost all of the Arcs in history have been heroes of some kind. Mostly Hunters." A statement that, understandably, drew eyebrows raised impressedly for his saying it. It was a big claim, after all, given the Grimm and the proclivity of Hunters to be overwhelmed and ripped apart. "My grandfather even fought in the Great War, carrying the ancestral Crocea Mors into battle."

"A… Deep history." She nodded, obviously missing the point he was raising.

"Yeah." He nodded, leaning forward and giving her a hard look. On that had even the champion fighter blinking in surprise. "And a hell of a lot of expectations on me, on my family really, for it, too. What I would act like, be interested in. How many of my sisters would be warriors like dad. No one should be judged and coerced like that, by people who see a person's fame and history and nothing else."

"So you understand…" He nodded and she frowned, looking mournful for a moment. "Is that why you became a soldier? Expectation? Some vain kind of duty, foisted onto you by your last name?"

"My sister married a technician and lives in Argus." He answered, leaning back and starting to cut into his steak idly. Shrugging, he smiled and added, almost nostalgically even for having been the recipient of the punishment. "My family doesn't care about fake obligations coming from our last name. I demanded my dad teach me, once upon a time, so I could 'do what I was supposed to' and he tanned my hide."

"No, I became a soldier because I wanted to be a hero and my dad refused to train and lose a son. Because I wanted to help people, Pyrrha." He gave her a smile and took a bite of his steak. Delicious, peppered, and well done just enough to be crispy on the outside. It was a good distraction from his biting nerves, hidden as they were by the discipline that had been drilled into him so he could face Grimm.

Grimm and, apparently, attractive Mistralian women. Who'd have called that?

Swallowing his bit and his nerves through a dry throat, he gave her a look and pressed, gently, "And I'm asking you to be my friend and help me. Give me what I need to help protect people, so I can be the hero my ancestors were, and that I want to be. Please."

A long moment passed, the woman reflexively spinning her fork on the palm of her hand. Without even moving her fingers, somehow, but he ignored that. Instead, he kept his focus on those startlingly green eyes of hers. Then she sighed, turned her chair, and stood. Instead of pulling him up, though, she knelt before him and reached up to clasp the front of his coat and tug him the scant inches to her level. She closed her eyes and, for a moment he thought she might kiss him and began to panic.

Instead, she rested her forehead against his and began to pray, "For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all. Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul. And by my shoulder, protect thee."

With the last of her words, he felt something in him stir. Like something dormant awakening and then rushing through him, hot like passion and fire yet cold like grief and ice. He sensed resignation and a kind of fear there, too, sparking deep down where he could only glance at it. Then it was gone, washed away by a feeling of power and headiness that rushed through him like a tempest ripping its way through a forest.

Had she not knelt, he knew he'd have let Pyrrha fall. As it was, she gasped and fell against him, head on his chest for a single, stunned moment. Pushing away she stood, shaky but on her own power, and smiled at the concern on his face, "It's a rush, doing that. Especially when someone has so much Aura, as you do."

"I… Do?" It was odd but, even though he couldn't see it when he looked at his hands, he felt stronger. More whole, somehow.

"You do, yes." She smiled, taking her seat and reaching for her plate. "Now, let us eat. And exchange our contact information. I'm starving after such a day and that ordeal, short as it was."

"Sure, but… Contact information?"

"Yes." She nodded, seeming sheepish now, oddly enough. "A piece of my soul is yours now. Did you think I would simply give a piece of myself to you in one night and never seek to speak to you again?"

"No, I guess not." He smiled, reaching for his own plate without another word and digging in. She wasn't the only one that was hungry, after all.

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Simer :

...Yes. This. All of this.

Frosty Chops :

Well, keep looking, because when I have time I intend to keep workin' on this.

Talon Ibn La Ahad :

I always enjoy your Reviews, mine friend!

Chendog :

There will be, to an extent, yes. But they won't get SUPER swampy in the story. I have ideas around it, s'what I am saying.

Cdn Inquisition :

Indeed! Over-reliance on a single tool, even if it is always available, can ruin you. If you always count on having your rifle and so only train with IT, you would be in dire trouble should you be without it. RWBY could and would compensate quickly and without comment, whereas the Ops relied too much on their individual roles and Semblances.

That way lies defeat.