Rwby Belongs to Monty Oum

Bioshock belongs to Irrational Games (Ghost story) - 2k Games

They offered you the city, and you refused it.

And what did you do instead?

What they expected of you.

You saved them.

You gave them the one thing that was stolen from them.

A chance.

A chance to learn.

To find love.

To live.

And in the end, what was your reward? You never said it.

But I think I know…

A family.

One can consider that it would the end, the last scene, fin; who wouldn't?

You showed to Ryan that altruism possesses a value of its own. It might not be the same as the genes that made us who were are, what we used to destroy, but instead with our souls.

Your various acts of kindness in a perilous situation and environment where actions such as that are few and far between.

That makes you different from the rest.

Different from your creators.

Far different from the soulless monsters eloquently masquerading themselves through wealth as people.

Your soul is what makes you who you are.

Another dream… A city flying high in the sky to a city submerged underwater, a city built on top of an enormous mountain, a citadel floating in space.

What was the connection to these places? Besides being the location quite unusual for a city to be built upon? That they were once utopia gone awry by something along of mankind's nature of some sort that led to their downfall. That there is always a light house before and after everything.

Somewhere in Beacon, lays the blond leader of team Juniper sneaking to the bathroom as he flicks the lights on to give himself a good look in the mirror in revealing his tonight's anxiety etched onto his face then going with his body being visibly drenched with his own sweat; the dream was too vivid to actually left his body to sweat from the experiences his unconscious mind went through.

The nights of the past few weeks were nothing short of torturous. It was getting longer as he noticed each night and coincidentally the same time when those strange dreams started appearing in his sleep.

If his red eyes and distinguished bags under them are proof enough.

If things weren't bad enough, then it finally overspill to his daytime activities, making things even worst. Productivity took a plunge as sleeping in classes was now a luxury he can't afford to miss. Undoubtedly, it led him to an encounter with a few run-ins with Miss Goodwitch.

His friends were worried for him, always prodding questions he hadn't even had the strength from his mouth of his to answer to lest he get a ride to the looney bin or get faced with even more to answer for.

He really wanted to tell them; Just not at the right time. He's got too much on his plate and Ruby or Pyrrha dashing to him at every moment he's free to probe him about what was going on wasn't even at the least helpful in his situation, he did felt bad given all of this was in due of them being worried about him.

Yet, his conscience told him better to keep things to himself for now. Not bring them along with his personal issues. Hopefully, it's not mental.

Needles…

His eyes widened after his breath hitched at the small thought at the back of his head whispered that shook him to his very core. He needed to be sure that he took off his onesie just below the waist as his hands started inspecting around his body for anything out of the ordinary. Praying to Oum above that there isn't any.

But most of his attention landed on his damn wrist to the discovery of nothing, thankfully.

Relief washes over him as he felt some kind of normalcy returning, as a sigh escaped his lips with all of that out of the way. He took a moment before wondering why he was worried in the first place? It was just a dream, no matter how vivid it felt.

His body, meanwhile, didn't feel the same as it's twitching from still a bit shaken with unease from the entire ordeal. He shouldn't be freaking out over a dream.

He insisted to himself that it was a strange figment of his imagination all concocted by the stresses of classes and just the danger that comes with this profession he chose has around everywhere he goes led to making up the strange stories in his head.

Best of all, it ended on a high note, somewhat saved everyone and get to got home, but except for a single girl he dreamed of from a different night about how he's supposed to be saving her and failed in miserable fashion.

Not that it mattered, he at least knows it's a dream.

This got him to grit his teeth at the reflection of a blond noodle who stared back at him with a troubled look. Why was he hung up about it all?

Every shadow cast around the room perceived his eyes for any black feathers, rose petals, or any strange reflections from the light resembling the shape of an eight-legged creepy crawlies before at the corner of his eye did Jaune quickly jumped into gear. He was in no shape to fight hand-to-hand, both skill and strength, but like hell, he wouldn't go down trying.

His eyes landed on…

Absolutely Nothing.

Unless the toilet was out for his blood for he's certain it wasn't; It took him a few seconds he play it off and steady his breathing as his eyes are just playing tricks with him once again.

Maybe some fresh air is what he needed. Nodding his head with his reflection doing the same in an agreement with each other.

Now with a goal to set his mind to, he slip into his usual clothes and snuck off into the night. Miss Goodwitch or not, he needed to be awake for a while.

He navigated the empty halls of the academy, making sure to avoid the sole warden guarding its domain with a riding crop and cameras by utilizing his dream's of taking advantages of the blind spots as he went to the only place around Beacon he can feel relaxed.

The roof.

The only place where he and Pyrrha claimed their own after classes; now that sounded wrong, she's just a good friend. What he meant to say was where she trained him to fight after classes. Most of which involves him in ragdolling from the first few sessions until the idea of rooting his footing down finally drilled into his head with his partner's help.

That was if he could keep himself from falling face down asleep first.

The place he had just arrived in at night was nothing short of amazing, no polluting lights from the city for the stars to be visible. As a bonus, the nightlife at Vale was just gearing up and generously gave him a good light show up here.

So now he's here, and he doesn't even know what to do next.

Jaune laid his back against the wall, making himself comfortable, both hands on the back of his head as he think about the events these past few weeks have been. Nothing short of horrible, he remembers beyond any shadow of a doubt.

Maybe take things slow and think about it, not that he can talk to anyone about his sleeping activities involving in a dangerous situation where everything was out for his head and fighting was the only way to find the end the gauntlet of bullshit he keeps ending up at.

Then no, not much of a choice to keep it to himself.

Yang Xaio-Long, the different one. That one girl he never got to save. The sheltered girl was all alone on top of a tower.

Jaune plucks through his memory of her. The one from the city in the sky.

The picture of that place brings out a somber, downcast expression on his face blackened. The place was unlike anything to Atlas; it had something of a homy atmosphere throughout his whole trek through there, save for the racism cranked up resembling what you can expect to see during the age of the human versus faunus era.

The place was a madhouse once he finally ripped the glossy curtain down to reveal the disgusting truth about the people. Then the discord of their screams for his head was almost nonstop ever since.

Columbia makes Atlas' treatment of faunus look like a slap on the wrist. Those devout religious cultist take some sort of divine satisfaction screwing over people that don't look like them; whether faunus, Valean, Mistralian, Vacousian.

Funny how Columbia is the alternate path of Atlas except more of a religious nut-job than an outright military nut-job.

Soon, he learned the people there worshiped someone called Taiying Xiao-Long and plans to make his daughter his successor, called her the lamb, and him being labeled as a false Shepard of some sort.

Straightaway, Jaune wasn't an idiot to know that it didn't take long for to realize the nickname wasn't a positive one. He needed to get out of there. Fast.

What took longer in actuality was him emptying his stomach at every trashcan he comes across the first few hours arriving there. Damn his air sickness. For a brief while, he was a menace to any poor street sweeper in charge of cleaning up those defiled trashcans.

And yes, he was glad to know that he wasn't actually drowning in his own vomit while he was dreaming. No embarrassment could be even more unimaginable than a huntsman-in-training dying on campus by drowning in his own fluids.

Then there's Rapture, a place where someone stupid, rich, or both thought of a brilliant way to escape Remnant and its laws by building a city submerged underwater. A city for artist, culture, and the industrious. Not constraints on creativity from the ethics of man.

That was what the projector said when he was welcomed to the city. What Jaune witnessed instead was a failed city wrought by infighting and corruption that ultimately started a civil war to its inevitable downfall. Most of the people there, except for a few, went had a few screws loose.

It turns out when their entire lives with no sunlight for years cause them to be a bit too peeved about their living space. Wow, who could have forethought that factor before building this place? You'd think they'd consider that possibility even just by the idea of a city underwater.

Just before Jaune notices it though his thoughts he's entrenched in, a pain sharp enough to pierce obsidian just went through his head. Causing him cringe his face from the pain and his teeth followed to grit it self as he grunts with each throbbing pain hammed his head.

What the hell? He thought. Stumbled back up to his feet as he staggered from his legs, feeling like jelly not enough to support him as he kept stumbling with each step to go where his feet take him as he grunt and holler out of pain. What was happening?

One moment he was reminiscing only to follow in the most horrible pain imaginable, like only the insides of his body were burning up, but his skin felt cold like a trip at Mantle.

Everything makes little sense with his body, and he doesn't even know where he his legs were taking him. He clenched his eyes shut from the pain just for a small amount.

Steady now. Your genetic code is being rewritten. Just hold on and everything is going to be fine.

A voice popped from out of the blue that put him out of the loop through his pained screams for a moment.

The blond didn't mistake the owner of the voice as he definitely remembered who it belonging to none other than Fontaine where he spoke from nowhere with his monotone dullness sounded as if he's reading off from a script, that or he's said this a million times already and he's not the first; and it wasn't the first time he heard it out from him.

That must be it. He was finally losing his marbles, if he still believed he didn't already, and from hearing voices was just the beginning.

Before Jaune even try to make some senses of Fontaine's sudden voice appearance, something had stumbled to his feet, limping near the edge of the roof as a last ditch coping to hold the rail to vent his pain out to it but instead he felt the balance from his body dispersed as all the weight shifted towards his head.

All he ever felt last was the wind slapping the back of his head until things went dark.