This was longer than I remembered, I wonder how much of it is redundant.
In case you're wondering - Yes this was all backlogged. I just did some last minute proof-reading every saturday. Probably not enough proof-reading...
04. What It Seems To Be.
It had been a few days since he was brought back to the academy and treated. Ozpin, somehow reading his masked face reassured the two of them that the job they did was perfect, as apparently Tarantellas would be far too dangerous for applicants. The Drifter remembered him smirking behind his mug as Glynda bent her crop further, enough to bring out another strained squeak from it. When she turned her back she ended up face to face to the drone, its unblinking eye casing her. The chuckle that broke from Ozpin turned into aggressive nose blowing as the contents of his mug shot out, finding its way out his nose.
The rebooting of his drone also brought the revitalization of his wardrobe. Every cloak, drone, blade and gun he had ever collected was packed into it. Right now he was in his fuchsia cloak, which was adorned with intersecting parallel lines and concentric rings of diamonds The shroud was wrapped around his face a tad more tightly, and his hat was yanked down as far as it could go. Adding on to his clothing were a pair of gloves and a bottle full of sanitizer.
Despite the fact that it was only a few days since The Incident, Ozpin was content to let him wander for a bit, so long as he stayed far away from the east-side. So today he was in the west-side. Surrounded by tall and dark towers that were apparently work offices. The streets were barren, through the crystal clear glass windows that adorned the ground floors he could see people occasionally leaving the small shops which were set up inside the lobbies. The side walks were spotless, smooth and grey, like barely anyone ever walked on them. The only colour that existed in this grey plane were these vibrant shrubs that were carved into geometric shapes which surrounded the walkways.
The few people that did remain gave him quizzical looks at his billowing cloak. He turned down one lane and it was like entering a new world, people practically crawled over each other, it didn't help that the paths were now much more thinner, albeit more colourful.
What's up with that?
Shops sat shoulder to shoulder, some stacking over each other. These little outlets were matched by what they sold, so there were three different clothes shops vying for their attention with their hot pink walls and trims. Right next door to it was a stationary shop that only had a meter of free room, the owner of the shop sat on a bar stool in the corner, eyeing the customers. He passed a crossing and could breathe a pained sigh now that the torrent of people thinned out spectacularly. Everybody else crossed the road to go to this three-story mall.
What's up with that?
Down an even less congested lane stood a litany of weapon shops. Children wandered down the cobbled lane, gawking at attachments and ammunition and gizmos and-
There's a lot of children here...
There were adults manning the stores sure, but all around him were children hefting around their weaponry on their backs in their hands, some congregated around the circular benches comparing their weapons like trading cards or interesting sticks.
I wonder if that stick I placed in the fountain is still there?
The buildings that lined the road were of a multitude of colours. A bright orange two story complex lazily rubbed shoulders with a dingy brut shack that had a line to enter, every so often people would be spat out from the orange store and be wililngly swept into the queue.
It's like those bakeries...
Looking in, the formers store front was at odds with its ramshackle outsides. An over polished wooden floor with rows and rows of little parts held in bins like those from a candy shop. Over to one side bullets rested on their sides, stacked up to the ceiling in a glass container. At the very bottom was a little hatch with dials and buttons, he watched as someone fiddled with the knob, placing a little bag under the hatch and swiping their Lien until it spilled outwards.
The wall closest to him hefted weapons in plain view, without any sort of barrier to protect them.
Actually, they are rather disciplined for children.
One of the weapons which hung on the rack resembled a combination scimitar and rifle. It looked oddly familiar…
Ah right, 'the runt'.
They were a smart little green cookie, even if they were slow on the uptake. He once watched as they battered 5 Militia members into a pulp with the butt of his fathers rifle. Which quickly snapped off, his father wasn't disappointed though, apparently it was an 'awful weapon'. There was a little plaque explaining more details but all he could gather from it was that it used cells rather than rounds. And that was by the helpful little picture in place...
Like, energy – No of course not. 'Dust', not that slurry.
It was a strange fuel source, it was elemental for starters, you could use blue Dust to create water, for example. Mix that with red Dust and hot steam would blanket the area… There existed so many other types of dust, It all spiralled into confusion as he tried to make heads or tails of it when Glynda was explaining how his weapon 'used hard-light dust'.
These felt like… Enchantment runes from fantasy stories. And here they 'use' them – somehow – for fuel.
Why is it hard to imagine a way of generating electricity without burning things?
Whatever, its a new world remember?
A new world with an antagonistic force that could spawn anywhere…
Well, actually they didn't seem to spawn in cities.
Perhaps they don't like nature? Might explain why there's so few trees here...
He really needed to read up on the Grimm, hopefully the library was still open-
"Oi!" Someone called out. How long had he been standing there for?
"You've been standing there for minutes!" Oh, he felt a little sluggish as he turned to stare at the shopkeeper's… assistant? It was somebody, they wore an apron that was stained with degreasers, singing his nose as they marched forth. Their blonde hair was scraggly and frayed, but the worst part were the eyes. Piercing little beads that despite the miniscule height difference, gave him a sense of discomfort he hadn't felt since-
"Hey." It wasn't that long, right? "Are you gonna buy something or are you gonna window shop and waste our time!" The children in line didn't really pay much attention to the little spat outside, occasional glances and double takes as they took in his attire. But nothing too strange…
Oh, yeah he could 'talk' now...
He was called up to the tower once again, this time helpfully pushing himself against the wall to avoid the souring pain of her – magic grasp? He didn't fully understand it. The bronze doors opened revealing him sitting on the opposite side of his desk for once, much to his surprise if Glynda quickly pushing out of the chamber was any indication.
"Good Afternoon, I apologize that we haven't done this sooner but it has been a chaotic first week." Ozpin was the first to speak, hefting up a large notebook and black marker...
Their eyes followed his hands as he dug into the backmost pockets of his cloak. Fetching it out. That caused some heads to linger on him.
Quickly he scrawled out his apology in the most squiggly of fonts. "Sorry. I was just curious about kinetic weapons." He felt their piercing stare burn a hole through his notebook, seemingly trying to parse the mess of a handwriting that he promised would get better overtime, before it quickly moved up to his face with a quizzical look?
"Kinetic Weapons?" Their arms were crossed like a disappointed mother.
He quickly scrawled down an explanation. "Yeah, I tend to use rayguns."
They have 'rayguns', right?
"Rayguns…" Their bangs fell onto their eyes as they stepped forwards, now a hairs breath from each other. Their face fell straight downwards as their shoulders began to twitch.
"Pfff-" It was a sudden burst of noise, which erupted into a cacophony that turned heads. The crowd watched as they grasped onto The Drifters shoulders tightly, their head obscured as it bobbed up and down in rhythm to his waning chuckles. Slowly they began to lift their head up to stare at him, eye to eye.
"If ya want rayguns you're better off going to the Atlas convention, If they'll even let you in!" They said in a much less firmer tone with mirth growing on their face. Their thumb directed him down an alleyway, claiming that you can't miss it. Quickly thanking them The Drifter sprinted down the alleyway. It was a short trip before he noticed the massive all white complex, adorned with light blue holographic text and banners. Over the arched entrance stood the name of the convention "The Nation of Technology: Atlas". He only knew about them thanks to the questions he used to get from the children he would've saved, asking If he was from Atlas.
Blue on blue.
Another holographic board resting underneath the awning claimed free entry for all, which was true. The guards didn't even notice him slipping in…
They must be tired… They hadn't budged an inch.
There was blue everywhere, from the carpet to the ceiling, blue lights hovered above them and holographic text scrolled around them in ninety degree turns. Every glass cabinet was surrounded by deep blue lighting, that brought to focus its sharp bends and bounded wiring. On one side stood scaled down models of future vehicles. A specialized Bullhead with a bullet shaped body and wings on its sides. Nestling in its armpits were cannons that could angle itself slightly. According to the paragraphs attached to it this jet would ride circles around enemies faster then their own guns could react to. Hailing fire on their most sensitive of areas with thousands of energy rounds.
...The guns are rather big for such a small projectile.
Oh, right. They weren't using raw energy, they were using elemental dust. Presumably much of the bulk was just for converting it into raw energy...
Right next to it was a massive piece of artillery, the featureless barrel was held up by a side rail, and its chamber – which was just a larger cylinder – would remain affixed on the ground, supposedly allowing them to use less energy when aiming? Since they only needed to move the barrel and not the whole gun? In a case next to it were specialized rounds that could fly for kilometres thanks to their rocket propulsion systems. On a screen nearby it gave more detail about the rounds, how they were designed to be fired into the fat of a swarm, violently exploding with fire and brimstone. There was a helpful little video on the side showcasing its destructive potential.
Do they really need the rocket propulsions?
A lot of the machines felt rather, overengineered? Even though he didn't understand a thing about machinery, let alone dust based ones, it wasn't something objective, it just felt as though they could've just used the elemental energy as is…
It would be literally raining fire if they just used the red dust raw, somehow.
Going deeper into the hall there was much of the same. Machines and equipment meant for the army, rather than anything for civilians. There was a new Scroll model in the works, with a specialized solar recharger and newer, more efficient algorithms that could blah blah blah-
All the personal equipment that people would want is described so boringly, while the artillery rounds actually used the phrase 'fire and brimstone'…
While there were banners overhead that talked about self-defence tools and holographic suites, they were all described so clinically that he had to fight back the urge to fall asleep. He wanted to go back, only to find out that the place was stationed like a circuit. "I'm sorry sir, but you must pass through the entire path to exit" an attendant explained. So he meandered through the crowd, bumping shoulders with new people every five seconds. There were more cannons, and studies about dust and science experiments for the kids. Like infusing a lemon with electric dust.
It was halfway through the circuit that he spotted a t-junction that promised to speed him along. So he took it, only to find a circular arena, kissed by the yellowed light of the sun. In the middle a stout man gesticulated to the thin crowd, pointing towards-
"Behold! The newest in a line of self-defence automations!" Oh dear…
They're outsourcing their defence to machines…
He remembered the early prototypes of 'conscious' machines… They weren't really conscious, it was more like something that was really bad at acting like a person. As far as he remembered, all a neural net was just a bunch of 'filters' operating in some random sequence, spitting out a result that was partially accurate. That's why most of the scientists involved with the projects would often need to give it instructions like they were slaves.
And there was that one time someone brought a robot that had saw blades for arms… They claimed it was a surgery bot...
Can't trust machines to not kill. Can't trust people to not configure machines for killing...
Looking at the machine on display, it resembled a blanched, wet noodle. He watched as they talked about its artificial muscles, filled with a gas that could not only hold itself up, but meter-sized tungsten boxes. He silently gawked as the machine hefted one box up high over its head. Not even struggling or twitching. The crowd started clapping when they lifted up another box over its head, and he watched along with baited breath as the man dragged a stepladder over to it, climbing up to perch on top of them all whilst the machine made microscopic adjustments to keep itself completely frozen. The clapping died down only for a second before the machine tossed the boxes several feet apart, catching the man in a bridal carry.
It didn't take another second before people started cheering and clapping. Their raucous applause was accepted by the machine, who was now bowing to the crowd.
Its all preprogrammed...
Well, its stability when holding the tungsten boxes was impressive, and the idea of using artificial muscles was interesting.
Hey… if this turns out to be a farce, at least they'll have some realistic prosthetics.
It took him an embarrassingly long time to realise that the scientist was staring at him into his own eyes, he didn't say anything? It took them a while to realise their eyes were locked, quickly the scientist pulled away from both his sight and the machine. He walked around the machine, every so often flicking his eyes back to The Drifters obscured figure, both of their faces remained impassive.
Quickly they addressed the thick crowd, "Now, I'm sure you're wondering how it would hold up in self defence, because after all, what's the point of if it can't protect you and the ones you loved?" They pretended to scan the crowd twice, there were other people who were qualified to fight against the machine, but he didn't need to hold his breath. "You!" It was said with such energy and joviality, It felt cloying sweet. They directed both him and the machine to two white dots that stood more than a metre apart. The scientist eagerly eyed the fresh meat, from his clothes to the shroud that clamped his mouth shut, the machine joined in with its reflective eyes that were tucked away in its chassis.
"Now… I must confess that it may need some parts tightened up, especially after that display… But, I still think It could give you a run for your money. Huntsman-In-Training?" All The Drifter could do was shrug in response, much to the scientists laughter. "Are you ready?" It adopted a southpaw stance, mirroring his own lean.
"Ready. Set. Go!"
The Drifter leapt first, dashing to its side with a blazing blue blade barrelling towards it. Faster than he could see it bent its torso backwards ninety degrees, which quickly turned into a powerful dropkick, judging by the gust of air that passed its face. Quickly it righted itself, landing on two feet and remaining in its southpaw stance. Its head seemed to track the movement of his sword, watching and readjusting when he twisted it into a reverse grip. The place was silent as the two of them circled the small arena, it twitched every so often, twisting its legs and chest erratically.
It was the machines turn to leap out, it kept its body close to the ground while it zigzagged forwards into his guard. He quickly rectified that mistake, dashing back around to the centre of the arena. It sped up to him, swinging its fist high over him. Which was quickly guarded by his blade. The creaking of metal made some people wince, even the machine seemed to react negatively to the sound. Quickly capitalizing on that small window its hand was sent flying back, still attached to it though. Once again, it righted itself in mid air, resetting back into its stance.
Metal springs creaked and plastic bolts slid as it slowly marched towards him with its fists held up to its face. It took its steps with a sense of trepidation.
He was getting sick of waiting, so The Drifter decided to just crash into the thing with his shield, knock it back into range for a final cut. His grip on the sword changed ever so slightly, and he was sure the robot saw it too. With his finger on the button he sprung out from his crouch, letting the augments flare up and accelerate him to unthinkable speeds.
Then he messed up the timing, the shields could not link to the stream, only buzzing in denial. The machines right foot was now in the lead, their torso twisted upwards to reveal another overhead punch, their whole arm twitched and beckoned and he finally realised that there were springs within the bare-metal wrist, wound up tightly and held in place with a latch. It looked thick. And since they thought he was a huntsman-in-training…
"It's quite surprising to see someone survive against the Grimm with no aura. I suppose that your dashing ability is powered by technology?" The memories of him nodding his head abruptly throttled him. Aura… It was something that they needed to survive, if this could beat someone with aura...
Death reared its ugly head to mock him, to laugh at the stupid mistake he made. Every inch the fist made was accompanied by its demented insults slung at speed. It laughed at how he thought he could life a normal life. It laughed at him struggling in the past and the now. Every stupid mistakes he made appeared alongside them, all laughing in his face with unhinged jaws.
Their open mouth was spat into by his railgun. It passed through the metal head, taking great chunks of it flying. It tore through the white concrete roof, carrying with it the sound of dying motors. The machine was sent flying far back, almost striking some of the viewers. The phantom pain lingered as he bolted through the still silent crowd.
Far, far outside he silently waited for the Bullhead to take him back, praying to any deity that no one would've noticed.
"He has funguses in his bloodstream-"
"Is that the source of the virus?"
"No sir, they're all dead. His body has been using them for… Materials? We're not completely sure. But they are there and they don't seem to obstruct anything, though when we first tried to pull some blood it blocked the syringe."
"So, its thick, or large enough to jam up a syringe, but not thick enough to block his capillaries?"
"Ozpin, I believe that this should warrant immediate relocation to-"
"No. No, he must remain here. If what they say is correct..."
"Sirs?"
"Thank you, you are dismissed... Ozpin, are you sure you can trust them?"
"…"
"...Yes."
"Uh, General. There's been another attack..."
END
Only now I'm writing chapter eight. GLHF.