The Grey Freelancer of Remnant Volume 2

Chapter Eight

Military Intelligence

To Headmaster Ozpin, from Councilman Julius Aurelius:

Your suspicion of the Atlesians was, at first, shared by the men and women of the council as well, headmaster. However, in this investigation, General Ironwood has been most cooperative and helpful. The same, meanwhile, cannot be said for you, my dear headmaster. Produce conclusive evidence that you were not, in fact, involved n this peculiarity, or the council will take action.

Ruby was miserable.

She had been ever since the business on the highway, but that misery was only compounded by the tedium of Team RWWBY's new task: planning a party. Weiss, meanwhile, was positively ecstatic, and Yang certainly seemed to be enjoying herself as well. Blake was gone, as usual, but at least Wash was there, even if he was just sitting awkwardly at another table and pretending to be deep in thought. All this stuff, choosing colors, decorating the ballroom, choosing food to cater... it was all just so boring! And boredom left plenty of time for Ruby's thoughts to run wild. Thoughts of that dreaded night on the highway.

She was, however, momentarily snapped from her thoughts when Weiss slammed two identical paper squares on the table in front of her. "I need you to pick a table cloth," she announced.

Ruby looked at the cloths confusedly. "Aren't they the same?" she asked, not understanding what the big deal was.

Weiss threw out her arms in exasperation. "I don't even know why I ask!" She walked off, presumably to attend to some other minute detail.

Just then, Yang dropped a massive subwoofer on the ground just behind her, shaking the entire ballroom. "So," said Yang, dusting of her hands, "have you picked a dress yet?"

"What's the point?" replied Ruby miserably. "Who cares about the dance if Blake's not going."

"Oh don't worry, she's going," Yang assured her confidently. Her attention was suddenly grabbed however, when she Weiss', in her mind, atrocious sense of decor. "Weiss! I though we agreed, no doylies!"

"If I don't get doylies, you don't get fog machines!" Weiss yelled back.

"Ugh!" Yang groaned, and stormed off to give the ice queen a piece of her mind, leaving Ruby to stew in her own misery once more.

Wash could see the distress and boredom plainly on his team leader's face. Deciding to do something about it, he got up his chair and walked over to Ruby. "Hey," he greeted awkwardly, "You, uh, you wanna shoot some stuff?"

Ruby looked up at him, her forlorn expression lightening up somewhat. "I... Yeah," she responded.

Bang!

Ruby's target split in-half as her high-caliber round tore into it.

"Good shot!" complimented Wash.

Ruby smiled up at him. "Thanks," she replied. "And for, you know getting me down here."

"My pleasure," replied Wash. "Oh, that reminds me, I made you something."

"You?" You made me something?" responded Ruby incredulously.

"Hey, I've been known to dabble in mechanics," Wash defended himself. "Here, have a look." He passed her a red magazine filled with massive, red-tipped rounds. "They're incendiary rounds for Crescent Rose."

Ruby took the magazine eagerly. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "How did you do this? Did you use fire dust or something?"

"Uh, phosphorus, nitrocellulose, and some other incendiary compounds and zirconium powder," Wash corrected. "Well... also fire dust, I guess."

Ruby looked at him adoringly as she took a round out of the magazine and examined it closely. "That's amazing!" she mused. "I bet you could put down a Nevermore with just one of these beauties!"

Wash grinned. "You can," he confirmed. He'd also made some modifications to his BR55. He'd modified it's firing system to take .308 instead of 7.62; it'd have some more kick, to be sure, but, given that he was fighting monsters now, he figured the extra stopping power would be worth it.

"Oh, thank you, Wash!" exclaimed Ruby, shoving the incendiary magazine into her belt and leaping onto Wash, taking him in a tight embrace.

"Ugh-" gasped Wash, unprepared for his team leader to suddenly pounce on him, driving the air from his lungs with a surprising amount of force. "It, uh... it was my pleasure, Red." Wash mentally slapped himself. He was supposed to be a battle-hardened, special agent, and yet here he was having a mild panic attack because someone was making physical contact with him.

Ruby hopped down off of him, laughing embarrassedly.

"I made another two mags too," added Wash, taking out the other two red mags.

Ruby excitedly took them from his hands and put them on her belt. "Guess I have to repay you now," said Ruby.

"No way, I'm just paying you back for the spike grenades. I guess we're square now," replied Wash.

The shooting range and training gym were actually quite busy, considering all the other things going on at Beacon. No less than a dozen Atlesians were at the range, firing with rigid, military precision, while Cadell and Dove Bronzewing were sparring in the ring. Why Cadell bothered with any member of Team CRDL was beyond him, but he was friends with South too, so it just seemed like the long-haired swordsman simply had an... interesting taste in friends.

Speaking of South, she was at the squat rack, well, squatting. But, even with his friends and enemies all around, Wash still found his attention taken most of all by the Atlesians. They weren't just at the shooting range either; there were plenty either in the boxing rings, either exchanging punches or weapons strikes, and lifting. They were, supposedly, students, huntsmen trainees, just like the students at Beacon. But, watching them, they reminded him much more of his time in the UNSC marine corps, or even his early days in freelancer. Those lifting or fighting all wore identical training gear, and those at the range had strikingly similar kit. They were more reminiscent of a UNSC officer academy than anything else.

"Mister Washington."

He was suddenly roused from his musings on the Atlesians by a deep, commanding voice. He turned to see a tall, broad man with jet black hair, dressed in a sleek, white suit, striding across the training floor towards him.

"That's... that's General Ironwood!" whispered Ruby.

Washington reflexively stood straighter and brought his feet together, keeping his rifle by his side at attention.

Ironwood smirked down at him. "Good form, huntsman. I'm General Ironwood, but I take it you figured that out," he introduced himself.

"Sir," replied Wash stiffly, "what can I do for you?"

"That remains to be seen. Come with me, if you please?" Despite his amicable tone, Wash knew it was not a question.

He turned back to Ruby. "I'll... catch up with you later," he said. "Alright, General, what do you want to talk about?"

Wash followed the general out of the training gym, Ruby watching him go, a concerned frown on her face. When the two men left the room, the door sliding close behind them, Ironwood turned to face the young huntsman in-training.

"Let me be frank, Washington, you are an... interesting individual. With many interesting things happening around you."

Wash was panicking on the inside. What does he know? But he did a good job hiding his consternation. "Sir? I'm not quite sure I follow?"

The edge of Ironwood's mouth turned up ever so slightly. "No? I guess I have been rather vague. Well, let me explain. First of all, those weapons, they're unlike anything I, or anyone else, has ever seen. The ballistics are unique, but not unheard of, but the feed system? Quite remarkable. And I've never seen a rifle or handgun in the style of your rifle and handgun, and, believe me, Mister Washington, I know my of firearms."

"But you have encounter sniper-scythes and rifle spears?"

"That's fairly standard huntsman kit, a melee weapon modified to double as a firearm, but those are the opposite. Firearms that have been modified with melee features. No, clearly those weapons of an industrial make, not cobbled together at some feeder academy," Ironwood was ready with a retort.

Shit. "What are you getting at, General?"

"To be honest, Mister Washington, I'm not entirely sure," responded Ironwood honestly. "But I do know that no weapons like what you use can be found on Remnant. Well, until a few weeks ago, that is. An aircraft of some, also matching no pre-existing designs on Remnant crashed in the Emerald Forest, carrying half a dozen rifles just, well not quite just, like yours. Tell me, Mister Washington, what do you know about Misriah Armory?"

Misriah armor was the company that had manufactured Wash's BR55 and M6C, as well as every other BR55 and M6C in the universe. "Erm..." was all Wash could bring himself to say instead.

"No, the ballistics for the weapons on that transport? Those are really unlike anything I've ever seen. No dust, none at all, in the cartridges," the general continued. " As I'm sure you know, you can't fight even the smallest grim if your gun doesn't operate dust. So I wonder why anyone would even bother to manufacture these weapons."

"Perhaps to fight human opponents, Sir?" suggested Wash.

"Hmm, he even talks like a soldier too, and stands like one, and fights like one," noted Ironwood. "You're not just an average seventeen year-old, are you?"

Wash thought quickly. "Well, given that I'm attending one of the most prestigious academies on Remnant? No, sir, I suppose I am above average."

Ironwood gave a dry laugh. "You're a smart kid, Mister Washington. Smart enough where I almost wonder..."

"Wonder what, Sir?"

The general's expression suddenly hardened.

"Wonder just what you're doing here, Mister Washington."

To Be Continued...