A few people brought up that the story also feels like the Imperial Guard (or whatever they're called now; they changed their names long after I stopped playing I am told) from Warhammer 40,000. In hindsight, I can totally see that, and although I didn't use it as an inspiration I can now see loads of similarities, so good shout. In fact, since it was pointed out I keep seeing similarities, which I suppose is to be expected since Warhammer often deals with the concept of death worlds and dystopian society.

I want this story to also be a little about the characters and lifestyle and downtime, and not just the agonising dystopia of this world, but it is a dystopia and that means you may see some objectionable things such as drug use, heavy drinking, casual sex and more. Not explicit, obviously, but keep in mind that even studying at Beacon means you probably have an expected lifespan of 2-4 years average, and 2-10 if you're lucky. It's the exceptional few who live longer. The characters are going to have much more relaxed morals when they know these are their final years of life.

Chapter 2

Vale was an arcology. What that meant was that the city existed, in theory, independently of the world around it. The arcology sustained itself, both in terms of population, food, power and raw material, and also allowed its citizens to live in a modicum of safety, in a world which otherwise had so little. Jaune had grown up in the higher rises of the arcology, born to military parents into a military family and destined for the military himself; that afforded them certain privileges, the least of which had been an education, better food and a home to themselves away from the lowest levels of the arcology where a thick layer of smog often formed. By-product from the industry that typically made up the ground area around what was otherwise a very vertical city.

Beacon, too, was its own arcology – which was strange to consider. An arcology within an arcology; not necessarily impossible, as Beacon was also self-sufficient and self-sustaining independent of Vale. It might have been more accurate to call it an independent district of the existing arcology that was Vale, but everyone called it the Beacon arcology and that was that. Jaune wasn't really in a case to argue semantics, nor the frame of mind to do so.

As he came into land on a shuttle, he took sight of the elegant architecture and twisting structures. Beacon stood like the old pictures he had seen of what, in times long past, had been called sports stadiums. It was a circular building, rising up around a large open expanse in the centre that made up training fields, gardens and relaxation areas. The building itself sloped and rose up elegantly around that in a circular shape but undulated like flowing water to give an uneven pattern. There were thousands of windows dotted on the outside of it, and several pathways with balconies likely connecting entire wings and districts of the arcology together.

Solar panels dotted every unused piece of space, and more were likely on the roof, where some the vertical gardens which made up its food sources would be located. Others would be located lower down, in rooms lit with artificial light, so as to reduce the potential impact on food supply if a Grimm or aircraft were to strike the roof. It wouldn't do so in one piece, as anti-air batteries dotted the building and the grounds outside. It was obviously of newer construction than Vale itself, which was very square and blocky as one might expect from a structure humanity had to build in a hurry for their survival. More time and care had been taken on making Beacon's arcology attractive and inspiring, no doubt for purposes of morale in an otherwise desolate career choice.

"We're coming down to land," said the pilot. "Beacon, eh? What did you do to land here?"

"Survive," said Jaune, tonelessly.

"Yeah. That'd do it. Those assholes in command always get jittery when we don't die like we're supposed to. I came back from a so-called suicide mission myself, and they tossed me in isolation for two weeks as thanks."

"At least they let you back in the cockpit."

"Not enough trained pilots to keep me out. Coming in. Buckle up."

The landing was not hot, much to his relief. They came in and wheeled closer to the building, at which point a light flickered and the door opened. Jaune unbuckled himself, collected his bag and stood, walking outside into the bright sunlight. It was just before noon and a wonderful day, which always made for the most miserable training regimes. Say what you would about rain and wind, but it helped with the sweat.

"Private," said a commanding woman in tight-fitting military dress uniform. Her pale grey chest was emblazoned with several medals, and her golden hair was done up in a professional bun. Jaune saluted before he even saw the chevrons; it was wise to salute everyone and anyone, and then figure out if they needed it later.

"Ma'am! Jaune Arc, reporting for duty. Ma'am."

"At ease."

Jaune let his hands fall, spread his legs and held his bag at his side. He hooked his other behind his back, still formal, still disciplined, but in a relaxed way. He found his eyes roaming the woman's face and taking in the very small signs of wrinkles. This woman was not quite as old as his mother, and that said a lot. A huntress surviving this long. I'm in the presence of a living legend here.

"Private," said the woman. "I am Lieutenant General Glynda Goodwitch, second in command to General Ozpin himself. I run over the day-to-day affairs of the academy and have been asked to see you inducted and settled. My time is short." Turning, she began to walk away. "With me."

Jaune fell in line with a curt "Ma'am."

"The academy year has already begun and you are joining three months late. This is a hurdle you will struggle to pass, especially given your unique circumstances and lack of formal aura training from an early age. I will be blunt, Arc, and inform you that I do not rate your chances of surviving the year. I am sure you're well aware of the fact."

"I am, ma'am."

"Good. Better you be informed now. Additional material will be made available for you to catch up on lost time, and some preferential access will be granted for you to access the simulator rooms. I advise you to make use of it quickly. As you may know, Beacon Academy trains huntsmen and huntresses for their role in our society. Our task is to hunt, kill or distract Grimm forces while ground troops take key objectives. We are support for the war effort, and our lives are dedicated to this task. Vale will not ask you to surpass impossible odds, but it will ask you to give your life dearly. In return, you shall be granted a level of freedom and luxury unavailable to many within the arcology."

They entered through the huge entrance, which featured a giant arch several times their height, with a second and even third-floor walkways above. Sheer glass meshed with growing walls of creping vines giving a touch of nature rarely seen in the arcology proper. The men and women that came and went were dressed vibrantly, and were loud and expressive, but they were also young and haunted, and they moved with catlike grace and wary eyes. Numerous corridors spanned off left and right, into the circular arcology proper, while the path ahead led to the gardens and fields, which Jaune realised were several acres larger than he had expected them to be.

Space was valuable in Vale, enough so that not even farming could take place on the ground. It all had to be used for fitting in as many people as possible, with heavier industry on the bottom and lighter living quarters above. To see so much open space, unused, in the middle of the arcology, shocked him. Unfortunately, he was taken away from that, to the left and past a checkpoint that beeped green for Miss Goodwitch and red for him. A short alarm blared, but a quick gesture from the officer had the nearby soldiers sitting back down.

"You will receive an access biochip soon," said his new XO. "We are going to the quartermaster now. You will receive an entrance packet and supplies, and then be granted your lodging. Formal education will begin tomorrow, and the details will be forwarded to your scroll."

"I don't have a scroll, ma'am."

Too expensive, and unnecessary for a foot soldier who was liable to go and die out in the wilds and lose it. The chips, mechanics and components used in such a device were far too valuable to squander like that, and for what – the ability to store treasured photos and talk to your friends and family at a distance? Unnecessary. They received rudimentary communication devices and that was it.

"You will be provided a scroll at the city's expense."

Jaune's eyes widened. He kept quiet however, bowing his head once in understanding. The internal corridors of the arcology were as he expected: grey, metal walls and narrow corridors with barely enough room for three people to walk abreast. The building was a maze, but signs at each junction, staircase and crossroads detailed what led where, with signs such as "firing range", "infirmary 1A" and "Classrooms 149-362". He soon found the ones labelled "Quartermaster" and tracked as best he could the path. He might need to return in the future, and map or no it was better to get acquainted sooner than later.

For all that Beacon was different, the Quartermaster's office was comfortingly familiar. Larger than he was used to, but about the same. There was a long wall of little booths with waist-high counters and steel-mesh cutting him off from the person on the other side. A soldier manned each, taking requisition forms and providing equipment in return. Never spuriously, and never with any kindness. They were paranoid and suspicious fuckers, quartermasters, but then they had to be because supplies were forever short, and it could cost your job – and the lives of others – to give out to the wrong person. Most of the bats were in use, but another labelled "priority" was clear. Glynda took them to that, and the man behind saluted.

"We are here to collect Cadet Jaune Arc's equipment. Starter pack. You will have been informed."

"We have been, ma'am," said the man. Not a huntsman, Jaune expected, though he could be wrong on that. Huntsmen were in such high demand that you couldn't afford to waste any in a non-com role. The only exception was in instructor roles for more huntsmen. "Step up."

Jaune did as ordered and took the spot before the wire mesh. He would never expect a commanding officer to carry his things for them. He couldn't even imagine the looks on their faces if he suggested it. Several packets were set out on the table, shrink-wrapped tightly and with as little material as possible. It would all be recycled, but any waste was a crime.

"Two Beacon uniforms. Four sets of regulated underpants. Eight waterproof socks. Thermal wear. One towel." The quartermaster rattled off the expected items, but in surprisingly generous quantities. Jaune had his own luggage, and among those two pairs of very warm and snug socks his mother had made him. A good pair of socks might not sound exciting, but when you were trudging in mud, rain and blood, you damn well appreciated them. "One set of regulation footwear. One EX packet."

Jaune touched his dog tags, and the little metal casing there. "I still have mine."

"You'll want these ones," said the man, not angry at being interrupted, but simply explaining. "Aura incorporates a healing property that can, in unfortunate circumstances, disrupt the ability of conventional EX pills to provide a quick and speedy exit." He tapped the new packet, wrapped in formal black. "These are heavier duty; you'll lose consciousness within fifteen seconds and gone within thirty."

Given the types of tasks huntsmen were given, and the enemies they faced, Jaune suspected a fast-acting blend would be helpful. Ideally, something that would remove pain in a second or less, from someone whose body had already been torn asunder by the Grimm. He dragged the packet closer to himself and nodded. The quartermaster didn't say anything stupid like "let's hope you won't need them, eh?" and Jaune was grateful for that.

"This is a supply of water purification tablets and three MRE packets as well." The last items were pushed onto the desk. "Any mission you are sent on will entitle you to further rations, and all your meals within the arcology will be provided for. These are extra rations, and a welcome gift to the academy, to be enjoyed at your leisure. Make them count. You will receive few opportunities to earn more."

Three extra meals in exchange for an early grave. That was actually rather generous, given that his former squad mates had never been able to access extra meals. Not even on their graduation or on birthdays, or even before a doomed mission. To be self-sustaining, the arcology needed to be frugal, and if you were going to die then you might as well do it on an empty stomach and save the rations for someone who still needed the carbs.

"Hand," said the quartermaster at last, holding out a snub-nosed gun. Jaune sighed and placed his hand on the table, palm facing upward. The quartermaster pressed the nozzle against his skin and pulled the trigger.

"Gnh," grunted Jaune, flinching. The gun was removed, and a nasty little circle of blood remained on his skin. His XO offered a handkerchief, which he used to clean himself and handed back. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Bio-chip is coded for your clearance level," explained the quartermaster. "It will not grant you access to everywhere in the arcology. Your clearance level is blue. All access points will be brightly and clearly labelled with corresponding colours. Should you cross an access point you are not authorised for, an alarm shall sound. Do not proceed. Wait to be inspected and you will be escorted away. Repeated infractions at the same access point…" He trailed off. "Well, don't. Basically. No one will execute you for getting lost and ending up somewhere you shouldn't, but three times in the wrong spot starts to look a little suspicious."

Grimm Rot. Jaune nodded again, understanding fully. No one could afford to take any risks with sleeper agents, and somewhere like this least of all. He was certain that anyone caught in the wrong area would be taken for scans and blood tests before they were released; it was the same as what happened in the rank and file. Jaune picked up all his new supplies, stuffed what he could in his bag, then held the rest under his arm. He stood tall, unable to salute but clearly mimicking it. The quarter master returned it more formally.

"Welcome to Beacon, Huntsman. Remnant Invicta."

/-/

It would have been too much to ask that, when carrying so much, his barracks would be close by. No. Of course not. Unlike the city arcology where the lower levels were equated with lower ranks and social privileges, Beacon had been built with comfort and beauty in mind. To a degree, anyway. It was a utilitarian beauty involving sleek metal walls, grating and harsh, fluorescent lights. As such, the levels closer to the ground and the actual, real gardens were reserved for classrooms, training rooms, offices, command centres, operation theatres and the like. They were rooms of high traffic, to be used by hundreds and thousands of people over the years.

The barracks were much higher up, and students worked their way down as their time went on, upgrading to better rooms, Goodwitch explained, every six months, until, symbolically, they graduated Beacon near the ground floor, and would walk out its doors to live in the city. Or die in the field, more likely, but the symbolism was nice, poignant, and the promise of future upgrades was a cheerful one. The promise of less bloody staircases in the future was even better. Jaune was a soldier, a trained soldier with field experience, which meant that for him to be sucking great gusts of air in through his nostrils was a sign of how just how many staircases they had gone up. His legs weren't just killing him; they were plotting the assassination of everything he held dear.

"This is your floor," said Goodwitch, and Jaune could have cried in relief. "As I said before, you are entering mid-term, so the others here will have likely had time to get to know one another. You are being assigned a bunkmate to better acclimatise you."

As a good soldier, Jaune would never call bullshit on a commanding officer, even if he was thinking it inside. Sharing a room was standard, expected even, but the idea of someone having been allowed a quarter to himself just in case another joined was a little less believable. Someone died and I'm taking their spot, thought Jaune with a wince. It was something he was used to, but not something he enjoyed. No matter how welcoming a person his roommate might be, it was hard to see someone you cared about being replaced like that. Still, he couldn't argue. "Understood, ma'am."

"Your barrack is 422F. West wing. Your chip is coded to the door, as are the chips of commanding officers, maintenance teams and other staff. You are free to use your barracks as you wish, so long as they are not damaged. This is your nearest restroom and shower room. Make note of the fact."

Independent shower rooms for a block of barracks, with toilets and, judging from the signs, even separate sections for male and female troops. Luxurious. Jaune was used to showering with men and women alike and being told from a very early age to get used to the fact. That was when they were afforded them at all. Hygiene was important, but so was water, and a balance had to be struck. It looked like they would have free access here.

On from the showers, he was led to an open common room area with benches, seats, a pool table and even a television. There were shelves with books, boardgames and several people chatting who, upon seeing Goodwitch, scrambled in absolute panic to their feet and stood at attention. "Ma'am!" they echoed as one.

"At ease, people." said Miss Goodwitch, saluting back. "This is good timing. This is Jaune Arc, a new cadet joining late. He will be joining your wing and operating within your classes. His conscription is unusual, both in timing and circumstance, and he has limited control over his aura at this time. I ask you all to keep that in mind, and to assist if you are able."

There were winces all around at that. He liked to think it was less at the prospect of having to help, and more at the idea of someone who hadn't had years of extensive aura training like they had. The sympathetic looks said it all, but the worried ones said more. Those people would be avoiding him; there wasn't much point befriending someone who, by all accounts, would be dead before the year was over. He didn't fault them their distance.

As they took him in, Jaune took them in as well. They all wore dark grey baggy combat pants with two sets of large pockets down the outer edge of either leg; those led down to black boots that some had kicked off already when they had their feet up on the table. To a one, their tops were thin tank tops in a lighter shade of grey than the bottoms with their shoulders and arms exposed. It was simple, uniform and functional, and suggested people who could be called to an action at any moment.

"Is he Neptune's replacement?" asked a blonde girl.

"Xiao-Long!" barked Glynda. "That is out of order."

"What? I didn't mean anything by it, ma'am. He is what he is."

A nearby girl, much shorter, with dark hair tipped with red slowly slapped a hand into her face and groaned under her breath. Several others smothered their laughter in the presence of an irate officer.

"Regardless, that is uncalled for. Report to scullery at o-six hundred hours."

"Oh, that's bull-" the blonde, on seeing the XO's expression, bit her words off with a grumbled, "Yes ma'am."

"Is Cadet Wukong here?"

Another man stood. His skin was sun-kissed, his hair a similar shade of blonde to Jaune's, and a golden tail swayed behind him. Faunus. Useful. He wore a wry smile tinged with a little sadness. "Here, ma'am."

"Jaune Arc. Sun Wukong, He is your roommate and partner for assigned training. Wukong, I expect you to see to his orientation and ensure he makes it to lessons on time. You will both be held responsible for any lapses."

"Ma'am." The faunus saluted. "Shall I take him off your hands, ma'am?"

"That would be appreciated, Wukong, yes. Arc, I will leave you to your roommate. Your scroll shall be delivered to you during your lessons tomorrow; there will be contacts available should there be any issues." Raising her voice, she said, "I expect the wing to welcome a new member, whatever their circumstances and however sudden it may be. A huntsman must adapt to unknown variables in the field and will not always get to select their squad mates. Let this serve as a lesson."

Everyone saluted. "Ma'am."

The officer saluted back and left, but it wasn't until she was well and truly gone and out of sight that everyone dropped their stances. Jaune knew it well, the constant paranoia, born from experience, that they might come back with "just one more thing…" and catch you slagging them off. He'd had more than his fair share of punishment details for that. Once it was obvious she wasn't coming back, the blonde girl threw herself back on one of the seats, tossed her head back and shouted, "FUCK!" at the top of her lungs.

"You can't even try and claim innocent on this one, Yang," said the short girl. "You just had to open your mouth. You just had to. Would it have killed you to stay quiet?"

"Fuck," replied Yang. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Blake is going to have kittens."

"Don't mind her," said Sun, stepping out from the pack, who were slowly going back to their own things, and approaching Jaune with a wry smile. He offered his hand and, after realising Jaune had no way to take it, gently punched his shoulder instead. "Sun Wukong. Your partner in crime and, most likely, getting ourselves killed. What did you do to end up here?"

"Is everyone going to ask me that? I thought aptitude tests were standard for children. Or has this become a penal battalion while I wasn't looking?"

"It's not like that. The children that show aura get drafted here early like us; they don't show up three months into the year like you are. You stand out, man, and I got to admit I'm curious as well." He shrugged. "Sorry."

"It's fine. My squad got killed on a mission; I survived. On the way back, the rot tests found I had aura and the rest…" He shrugged, but the faunus could piece it together. People with natural aura was rare enough that, risks or no, it was better to throw him in the academy and give him a chance of becoming a huntsman than to leave him in the rank and file.

"Aura aptitude discovered this late in your life? Crazier things have happened, I guess. You're in a shit spot though, mate, I have to say. I spar against Yang on the regular," he jerked a thumb in the girl's direction, "and if I didn't have aura she'd rip my head off with one punch. You're gonna have to master it fast."

"I know. My chances aren't good."

"His chances aren't good, he says," laughed the same girl from before. She sauntered up, lazy grin in place, temper from her punishment detail in the morning gone. Jaune couldn't help but notice her bright purple eyes and her large assets and locked his attention on one over the other. She was beautiful. "This is Beacon. All our chances are low by default. Yours are astronomical. Yang Xiao-Long." Her hand came out, and again saw he couldn't do anything. Her punch to his shoulder, however, was enough to make him stumble back. "Resident badass, best drinker in the arcology and best fuck-"

"You're a virgin," said Sun.

"Oi. I am not."

"Your fingers don't count. Neither do Blake's." He ducked quickly, narrowly avoiding a fist that blazed with actual fire and heat. Yang's eyes were burning red, though she blinked them away and sneered at the madly grinning faunus.

"You just love toying with death don't you, monkey man?" Her grin returned, and she winked at Jaune. It didn't look like Sun's comment bothered her, and the laughter from the rest suggested it was a common occurrence. Just banter. "Ignore him. He's just jealous he can't get any. This is Ruby by the way." Yang dragged the shorter girl in front of her. She was petite, with pale skin, silver eyes and a nervous smile. Despite that, he could see the definition in her frame that told of her harsh training. Small or not, no one could be called weak or frail in the army. "She's my baby sister and shyyyy," Yang dragged the last bit out, just to make Ruby blush.

"I'm not shy!" cried the girl, stomping a foot on her sister's. Then, as if to perfectly prove the lie, she smiled awkwardly at Jaune and stammered out "H-Hey. N-Nice to meet you. Welcome to the wing."

"Blonde Kickass wing," said Yang.

"That's not what it's called!"

"It will be if we keep adding more blondes to it." Yang sniggered at her own joke. "Okay, fine. We're technically called Phoenix Wing." She made finger quotes in the air as she said it. "Which isn't bad and all, but it's just… meh. A bird on fire whose claim to fame is getting itself killed is just lame."

"The wings are named after mythological creatures, heroes or weapons," explained Sun. "I'm told it rotates every couple of years. It's to foster competition, pride, belonging, yada yada. Honestly, it's mostly so when one of us-"

"Yang," said a few people sitting nearby.

"-fucks up and gets in trouble," continued Sun, "The officers can call for all of Phoenix Wing to be punished. They're hoping for that social pressure thing to kick in and teach the perpetrator that it's not a good idea to talk back because it affects all their friends." He raised his voice meaningfully, "Which obviously hasn't worked out yet."

"Never will," said Yang, more proud than repentant. "Like any phoenix, I shall rise from the ashes."

"Or the potato peels," said Ruby.

"Or those. And come back angrier, flamier and hotter than ever."

"Flamier isn't a word." said Jaune, voice flat.

Yang glared at him, clicked her tongue and sighed. "Oh, Blake is going to love you. Another grammar-grimm. Blurgh."

"Anyway," interrupted Sun. "I need to take my new pal here to our bunk. Then-"

"Celebration," said Yang.

Sun blinked. "Celebrating what…?"

"New teammate."

"Isn't that an initiation?"

"Look, I'll be honest with you." Yang linked her fingers together and angled them at the two of them, grinning madly. "I'm saying this is a perfect excuse to get shit faced. Call it a celebration, initiation, hazing or whatever. We should get some drinks and have a little fun."

Despite himself and his feelings, Jaune felt a tiny smile crack through. He knew Yang saw it because her eyes flicked his way, and her lips quirked up, but she quickly pretended she hadn't. Drinking with the squad was about as normal as you could get, even if you only had rat poison. Not actual rat poison, of course, but that was the colloquial name for the moonshine that was definitely not being brewed somewhere hidden in every barracks. Not that the CO's didn't know about it, but there was a rule, an understanding, that as long as they hid it well and didn't let their hangovers slow them down, their officers would play dumb and ignore the bloodshot eyes.

More than that, drinks were a good sign. It was a quick and sure-fire way to get past the awkward stage of introductions. Nothing said "part of the pack" like telling embarrassing stories, singing terribly, and throwing up alongside, or on, one another.

"You literally have punishment at six in the morning," said Sun. "But whatever, sure, I'm game. I'm not the one who is going to have to show up to the kitchens tomorrow morning feeling like shit. Come on, Jaune. Let's go let you put that junk down. Yang, can you and Ruby rustle up some booze then? Ruby, make sure she doesn't literally kill us like the last time she made punch."

"One time!" complained Yang. "One time!"

"It only takes one time to kill a person!" growled Ruby, kicking her sister's leg. "I was throwing up all night!"

Jaune let himself be pulled out the common room with a smile, watching Yang grab her sister and rub a fist into her hair. They quickly began to wrestle, with others getting up to chant "fight, fight, fight" and "pull her top off, Rose". Sun took him around a corner and then down an adjoining corridor to a singular metal door. Sun whipped his hand over the pad and it whooshed upward to reveal a cramped interior, not three metres wide and four lengthways, with two bunks slammed against opposite walls. There was a metal container at the bottom of each bed, and hooks on the walls for uniforms above those. A single window looked outside, over the tall buildings and off into the distance. It wasn't a bad view.

"Welcome to our room. It ain't much but… well… it ain't much."

"It's fine. A room to two is luxury enough."

"Used to communal barracks?"

"Yeah. This is nice."

"Beacon treats us well," said Sun, taking a seat on his own bunk. The door closed with a hiss behind them. "Well enough, anyway. We get three meals a day, rooms, three hours off each evening and eight hours sleep. Don't get much better than that. You met most of the wing outside. They're a good lot."

Jaune nodded. "They seem like it."

"Yang is the mother-hen of the group, if the mother-hen was perpetually drunk and could only gain sustenance through cringe humour and teasing people. She's crazy, but she's also sort of our constant morale booster. Can't stand for the mood to get heavy. Ruby is our markswoman. Excellent shot. Very quick. There are others you haven't met yet – Nora and Ren. And Blake. She's actually from Manticore wing, but she might as well be phoenix for how often she's here."

The name tickled Jaune's mind. "Blake is Yang's girlfriend, then?"

"Casual lovers. Allegedly. They have a no relationships rule between them. Yeah, I know, it makes no sense, but they both act like the fact they're constantly at each other's necks is casual, even if neither plays around with anyone else. Honestly, they're am item and everyone knows it. Same for Ren and Nora, who are apparently not together but are regularly found very much joined together if you know what I mean."

Jaune snorted. "I know what you mean."

It was a distance thing, then. Jaune got it. Easier to stay emotionally detached if you convinced yourself you weren't together, even if the lie was flimsier than a rookie's bladder. Same-sex relationships were an odd thing in the arcology; you'd have thought they would be discouraged because of the focus on maintaining and growing the population, but that just wasn't the case – especially in the military. He'd had his fair share of gay squad mates, both male and female, and he'd always figured it was because no one expected any of them to survive long enough to have children anyway, so there was no point stopping a good thing. It was highly unlikely either of the girls would live long enough to want to raise a family and taking a huntress off duty for nine months or more was just not feasible.

Besides, technology had advanced to the point that some things weren't needed.

"You said Ruby and Yang are sisters." They looked nothing alike. "I take it they're vat babies?"

"Yup. Ren and Nora, too. They grew up in different farms. Ruby is two years younger than Yang, but they adopted one another early on and refused to be separated, and Ruby accepted coming to Beacon two years early to stop the arguments. Don't make an issue of them not looking like one another," said Sun. "They're not secretive or angry about being artificially grown, but they get aggro on anyone who tries to say they're not technically siblings because of it."

"It's not a problem for me," assured Jaune. "I was just curious."

"Fair enough. They're pretty cool about people asking questions. Yang's the sort who will let you know if you're pissing her off. And if you're pissing Ruby off, then Yang will let you know there as well. Speaking of the vat farms," added Sun, "We need to donate every month."

"We do?"

"Natural aura," said Sun, tapping his arm. The realisation struck Jaune a second later, and he made an understanding sound.

"Right. We're prime stock now. Wow. I never thought about that."

"Yep. You can get some canisters at the medical bays. They have booths there, so please, for the sake of my nose, don't do it in here. The girls have eggs extracted every six months. It's not nearly as easy for them as it is us."

Their eggs, and the sperm from the men, would likely then be mixed together in an attempt to create designer babies who could access aura naturally and who might, in the future, take his place in the academy. It was crazy to think that far ahead, but the philosophy of an arcology was to be self-sustaining, and that included sustaining itself for each individual person who died. An empty room or job was inefficient. A singe missing cog could mean the death of the entire machine.

"I take it you're natural born?" said Sun.

"Military family. My mother and father met in the army, survived, married, and she retired to raise a family. Eight of us. Well, five of us now. You know how it is."

"Damn, she must be high-society for that."

"A little," admitted Jaune. "We weren't well-off or anything, but being ex-military got her benefits, and then the fact all of us joined, or are training, in the army got more. They've been drifting off since dad died though. We've had people around suggesting she put herself forward for IVF or take another husband. You?"

"I was born in Mistral."

Jaune winced. "Shit. Sorry."

"It's fine, man." Sun waved it off with a laugh. "When Mistral fell, I was one of the lucky ones chosen to get out. Have my aura aptitude to thank for that, I guess. A lot of younger children were left to die because they weren't as valuable. Me and Neptune were shipped out, then brought here for training and tossed in Beacon. My family didn't make it, but then I was taken off my mother when I was ten, so I don't remember much anyway."

"Neptune was your…?"

"That bed was his." Sun didn't sound angry, only resigned. "Training accident. Not even his, but some fuck who failed to do the necessary checks. One second he's walking beside me, the next he's laid on his back with half his head blown away. The docs said it would have been instant." He drew a breath and released it. "Not a painful way to go but… fuck, man. It's just not what I – what we – expected."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah. It's cool. Honestly, I'm glad to have another bunkmate. It's been hell sleeping here on my own when I've had someone else around most my life. I was bad the first few days. Yang even came and slept in here to give me a little normalcy." His smile turned sickly. "And then Blake, too, and suddenly shit was three times as awkward and I kicked them both out."

Jaune couldn't help his choked off laugh. "They didn't!"

"Course they did. I mean, I guarantee it was on purpose. Sort of a make the scene so embarrassing the mortification overshadows the grief thing. And yeah, I was mortified alright. Fuck me." It was Sun's turn to throw his head back and laugh. "But they're good people, great people even, and I bet you'll get along with 'em. I hope we will too. We're bothers in arms now."

Brothers in arms. How many times had he heard that now? Too many. The number of squads he'd bounced between were more than most people saw in their short, violent lifetimes, and there was a part of him that wasn't ready to make the commitment to another. That wasn't ready to open up, grow connected, and then be hurt when they were torn away from him again.

But then, this was no normal squad, and this was no normal unit. He wasn't in the Engineer Corps anymore. He was a huntsman. Their lives were measured in months, years if they were lucky, and the title was practically a death sentence. Their survival rates were lower than a penal legion, and it would be a small miracle if he survived the two year education, let alone what would come after.

There's really no way I survive this, thought Jaune, and rather than frustration or fear the realisation brought a strange, heady calm. There's no way I can be the last one left. I'll definitely be the first to die.

In which case, it couldn't hurt. He linked his arm with Sun's.

"Brothers in arms."

Definitely no flags abound.

I've had some interesting debates with readers about how a society like this would work especially when it comes to repopulation. Would same-sex relations be looked down upon or even made illegal? I could see arguments both ways, but I personally don't think they would be (or should be) in a more advanced society where results are important. After all, you don't need both genders involved when a man could just be asked to give his sperm elsewhere, and certainly not in the military (in a world like this) where you would likely be given forced sterilisation anyway. Can't be having units disrupted by sudden pregnancies, after all.

If Yang and Blake weren't huntresses, and thus would be expected to put serious thought and effort into "giving back" to the arcology then they could just offer to have aura babies from huntsmen's donated sperm, and that would be MORE VALUABLE to the arcology than breaking up and marrying random men. After all, the chance to pass on hereditary Semblances would be a major point of interest for the eugenics programs you could rest assured would be running here. I'd suspect that there would be a lot of single mothers in the arcology, and not all widowers. Many would just not be interested in anyone at the time, but would get financial benefits from having children, and could probably just ask their doctor and have suitable (advantageous) sperm picked out for them like from a 'd probably be quite natural that when people did get togethger, one side might already have children, and that it'd be a societal shock if you were to get upset about that fact, as if you're spitting on a war veteran or something.

The only real advantages of marriage would be saving space by having family units live together and pool resources, and anyone can do that. Most people in this fictional arcology would probably be living in communal homes of 3-4 families at once anyway, excepting "privileged people" like Jaune's family, thanks to their strong military ties and Juniper's canon status as octomom.

I also based it a little on Greek/Roman military society in values, who were both very cool with same-sex relations among the troops. Especially the Romans, who were perfectly happy to let legionaries shack up together and even share tents and be considered "married" if they developed a relation on campaigns. I probably don't need to tell you how relaxed the Greeks were about it. Wink.

Next Chapter: 8th November (fixed)

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