For the people who want the Lone Wanderer's exact stats… sorry, but I lost the save files for the game that I roleplayed as him. I know I wrote them down somewhere a long time ago when I was initially planning this story, but I have no idea where those notes are now :(
I do recall some things. His intelligence was average. His charisma was trash (I think I only ever passed one speech check the whole game). Strength, endurance and perception were his strong suits. Pretty sure most of his points were invested in guns, lasers, explosives, melee and the like. Also bartering, I think. The only perk I remember having for sure was bloody mess (which Jaune clearly still has lol) and a child at heart (his love for ice cream, video games and comics still persists). A shame I overwrote those saves with a new punch-only playthrough, then lost the damn notes. Ah well, doesn't matter too much since I've been working mostly with RWBY mechanics.
Anyway, this chapter sets things up. Shorter, but it will lead directly into more personal stuff for Jaune right after. I feel like the pacing for this section works better with more shorter chapters. It's also easier for how busy I am otherwise :P
He clasped his hands together and stared at the floor.
Upwards of twenty-four hours had passed, and the only rest he'd gotten was from the good deal of morphine given to him a little while ago. Even now, he'd taken some painkillers to cope with the aching leg clad in a bulky cast.
But in his chest—at the place where his heart was supposed to be—a heavy, sick feeling weighed him down. It felt cold and disgusting. Heavy and hollow at the same time.
Jaune Arc sat in a cramped waiting room outside the medical quarters on the Atlesian main battleship, hovering a mile above Vale. The Atlas transports had also brought along some medics, and from there, it was faster to bring back some of the wounded to the battleship than it would be to try and get them out via ambulance.
That was how JNPR and RWBY had found themselves there.
Now, they sat on uncomfortable chairs with flat, stiff cushions. A few others hung around as well, the family of some civilians that had been picked up also.
Only Ruby and Yang were absent.
Jaune sighed. He looked down at his hands, which he'd gripped together and now occasionally squeezed, weakly. He tightened his grip, loosed it, tightened it, loosened. Just for there to be something, a feeling to distract him from his thoughts and the sensation in his chest.
Breathe deep. Hold. Release.
He closed his eyes. He couldn't shake a cold, weak feeling.
The silence was awful. None of them dared to speak.
Not him.
Not Pyrrha beside him, who had her eyes closed as well and nursed her head with an icepack. She had been groggy and incoherent after waking up. Still plagued by a headache and foggy thoughts, she was slow to react when you talked to her.
Not Nora, who sat bolt upright, because the bandages and struts they'd placed on her side to help her cracked ribs didn't let her lean or slump. She only held the hand of the one beside her.
Not Ren, who held Nora's hand. He was silent as usual. However, he had proven himself capable of having the right words at the right time, but now he only looked down at her hand, glumly staring at the fingers which intertwined with his own.
Not Blake, who sat on a chair with her knees pulled up against her chest. She was curled up, and she looked very small. Her bow drooped with her ears, and her piercing amber eyes now seemed dim and murky.
Not Weiss, who held the twisted, useless shape of Myrtenaster in her hands. The warped sword looked pathetic. She'd gotten a few cuts along her fingers from holding the blade, but she didn't seem to notice. She just stared at the steel, the expensive and impressive and previously beautiful creation that her family's wealth had provided her.
No one said anything.
Even when the door to the medical wing opened and Yang and Qrow entered, no one said anything.
Sure, there was a perking of heads, a brightening of hopes, a capturing of attention; but there were no words. And whatever hope had come alive, it was quickly dashed at the sight of Yang and Qrow's dark expressions.
Yang stared at the floor, eyes puffy and red. She ran her hands, shaking, through her hair. The long golden locks were frazzled and smeared with dirt and dust in places, dirtied from the battle. She hadn't taken a shower since then. Hadn't eaten anything, either. Hadn't slept.
Nasty looking bruises formed a ring around her neck, and she had a black eye and a bruise on her cheek.
She slowly walked and sat down beside Blake. The girl looked at her partner, but she couldn't think of anything to say. None of them could.
Qrow sighed.
"She'll be okay," he said. He tapped the empty flask hanging at his side, wishing that it was full, that there was a lot more on hand. "They couldn't find her hand, though. It was probably taken by some canis or something…"
Jaune shivered. He didn't like the thought of some grimm gnawing on her severed hand.
"She lost blood, but she's stable." Qrow nodded despondently a few times. He sighed again. "Jaune, come with me."
Jaune raised his head, looked at his mentor blankly.
"You know who that guy was?"
Jaune nodded.
"Then come with me. We want to talk to you about him."
Jaune looked back down at the floor. After a second, he nodded again, slowly.
He glanced to Pyrrha beside him, despondent. He patted her shoulder. She did not respond.
He grabbed a pair of crutches leaning on the chair beside him. He grunted and precariously rose to his feet. He leaned on his good leg heavily. He braced the crutch under him. He hobbled, slowly, to Qrow.
"We can get you a wheelchair—"
"No," Jaune said, cutting Qrow off.
"It'd be easier—"
"Don't need it," he said, gritting his teeth. He wobbled. His sore, broken leg pulsed with pain from the awkward movement.
Having crutches was a bit less demeaning. At least he wouldn't be wheeled around. At least it still took some effort, and it hurt more. He wanted that.
He slowly followed Qrow out of the room, bearing the pain and unevenly walking. His mentor looked at him sidelong, eyes pitiful and worried. Jaune didn't meet that gaze, since he really didn't want to see those emotions.
They went down the narrow steel corridors of the battleship. Military personnel, straight-backed and grim of face, passed them quickly. Everyone was busy and on high alert, waiting to intervene in another possible attack.
Jaune was breathing heavily by the time Qrow lead him to the right room. His aura had mostly recovered, but his body felt strained and weak from the drugs, the damage and the worry.
Qrow opened the door for Jaune, who shambled through.
He entered a small conference room. Talk immediately ceased upon his entrance. Sitting around a round table were Headmaster Ozpin, Deputy Goodwitch and General Ironwood. Some of the most powerful people on Remnant.
They were now silent as he hobbled. Jaune limped and hopped on one foot as he awkwardly positioned himself to sit down, then fell back into the chair. He grit his teeth again and held in a gasp as his leg flared with pain again.
"We can get you a wheelchair," Ironwood said. "That would be easier—"
"No!" Jaune snapped, suddenly cutting into anger. He frowned and glared down at the table, refusing to look up at any of them.
"Well," Ozpin began, "I hope you won't let your frustration overcome the necessities of your convalescence—"
"Did you call me here to lecture me?" Jaune asked. "Or did you want to hear about Bishop Beauvais?"
"That's the one who attacked you?" Goodwitch asked.
He only nodded. Qrow sat down beside him, closer than perhaps Jaune would have liked.
"He's from the wasteland, like me," Jaune began.
If ever there were a time to tell the truth, then this might be it. Let it all out to the powerful professionals. No, they wouldn't believe him. They'd just chalk it up to the medication talking.
But more than that, he was still held back by the same reluctance that had kept him from admitting the truth of his origins to his friends. They were close to him, and they were trusting, and they would believe him, right? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
But the real reason for the secrecy came because he just wanted to be normal. He wanted to be a part of this world. He wanted to be Jaune Arc from Vacuo. He wanted Maxwell Noble and the Lone Wanderer to be a world away, back on Earth, far behind him. And what did it even matter? He could tell them all the facts with a veneer of deception. They'd know all they needed to know, and they wouldn't think he was crazy.
"His name is Bishop Beauvais," Jaune began.
He's from Vacuo, like me. Grew up in the harsh environment, dealt with a lot of the same rough stuff. Something was done to him when he was a baby to change him, make him stronger and faster. No, I don't know exactly what they did or how they did it; I don't think you'll be able to find out how.
He killed my team. I still think back to that day. He gunned down the twins in front of me. He rushed me, stabbed me… Fawkes pushed him away, saved my life. Then Bishop cut his head off. I was only able to survive because Sarah saved me…
I've been thinking back to that day this whole time. I've been thinking about that, and I've been about the last fight we had, over and over and over and over again and I can't get it out of my head and I can't stop thinking about all the ways I could have done better and what I should've done and how Ruby would be okay now if only…
But you don't want to hear about that.
Jaune shook his head after his cursory explanation was provided; then he sighed and slumped over in his seat. The talk had become exhaustion.
"Explains how he was able to take us all on," Qrow said. He scoffed. "The kid was more than I thought, blindsided me."
"He's still young…" Jaune muttered. "He can't have been here for too long…"
"What do you mean?" Goodwitch asked.
"Back where we come from, no one had their aura unlocked," Jaune said. He stared down at the table, mulling it all over, finalizing and voicing what he'd thought over for hours by now. "He can't have had it for more than a few years…"
"So he's relatively inexperienced," Ironwood said. "At least in terms of fighting with aura."
"Though his physical buffs can make up for that," Qrow said. He patted the part of his stomach where Bishop had punched him. "Bastard has a hell of an arm. If I went with him one on one now, I'm not sure who would win. Might be up to luck in the end."
"Well," Ozpin said, "he's clearly affiliated with the ones in the gas masks. What do you know about them, Jaune? His allies? Any other connections we should be concerned with?"
Jaune sighed. Seconds ticked by. His exhaustion and the lingering haze of drugs meant his thoughts were assembled in a fog. Eventually, he nodded.
"We destroyed his old group back in the wasteland. I recognized the one guy as Arthur, his right-hand man. Whatever else they have, it's new. He's gotten it since leaving Vacuo."
Jaune saw it before him. He saw the battle in the underground laboratory that he and the Lyons Pride had raided. He saw Bishop and Arthur, not far from the alien teleportation device. He saw its lightning blasting around, taking chunks out the walls as other combatants got out of the way, ducked for cover. Behind him smoldered a torn-open cage which the juvenile Orion had occupied. In front of him, the mini-nuke landed at Bishop's feet.
At the same time that a lightning bolt flashed. Then the explosion, which had left behind nothing but rubble dust and fire. Because Bishop and Arthur had been sent to Remnant just a fraction of a second before it detonated.
"I just don't understand…" Jaune mumbled. "Why is he working with the White Fang?"
"They likely hired him," Ironwood said. "Or there's some sort of coordination going on."
Jaune shook his head, and his frown deepened. He leaned over on the desk, scowling and pensive. "But Bishop hates non-humans…"
"He's racist?" Goodwitch asked.
"Genocidal." Jaune processed the information and the confusion and frustration at not knowing a damn thing, not really. "He tried to poison the water supplies back in the wasteland to kill anyone who wasn't pure human."
"Gods," Qrow said, face disgusted.
Jaune nodded. "He hates non-humans to the core. It's a part of his cause, his drive, his reason for living. Killing the impure."
Bishop certainly equated the faunus to the mutants and impure back home, right? Of course he did, since the Enclave was so obsessed with genetic purity. They hated mutations of any kind, even minor alterations or sicknesses caused by radiation over the generations. Super mutants and ghouls were especially a product of their scorn, but even normal-looking people were looked down on as impure. Even the 'moderates' like Autumn had conceived a plan where the normal-ish people were to be treated as a secondary class. Bishop and Eden, however, wanted pure cleansings. Being so extreme, why the hell was Bishop now working with people who had animal parts sticking out of them?
"There's something very wrong," Jaune said. "Something very, very wrong. If Bishop is willing to work with non-humans…"
"Then the potential rewards must be great," Ozpin said. "The stakes are high for him."
"Or he's desperate," Ironwood said. "He may see this as the only move he can make in whatever game he's playing."
"He's got a plan," Jaune said. "He must have a plan. He's definitely going to betray the White Fang at some point… after he gets whatever it is he wants."
"The gas masks have been on our radar for some time," Ironwood said. "We can trace their activities to at least a year and a half-ago. We think they're responsible for all sorts of blood-money black-ops since then." The general frowned and crossed his arms. "We have only scant reports, but they may have been involved in violence clearing out faunus colonies in the east. Some rumors have it that a warlord in Vacuo was annihilated by some people in black with gas masks."
There was silence as Ozpin brought the mug of coffee to his lips, then drank.
"The faction he used to work for," Jaune said, "was called the Enclave."
Ozpin choked on his drink. Glynda's, Ironwood's and Qrow's eyes all widened.
Jaune, staring down at the table, didn't notice those smaller details. He only glanced up at Ozpin, while the other three quickly hid their surprise.
The headmaster coughed but quickly regained his composure. He set his mug down and readjusted his glasses, then cleared his throat and asked, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"
"They were called the Enclave," Jaune said. His gaze fell back down to the table. Just saying the name made his shoulders feel heavier. "A bunch of psycho bigots who were a lot of like nazi's… "
"Nazi's?" Ironwood asked.
"Um." Jaune's mind was blank for a moment. "They were another evil group a long time ago… back in Vacuo."
Keep up the lies. Leave that world behind. Kill him in this one. Be normal for once.
"But yes, the Enclave," Jaune said. "Bishop is probably rebuilding them."
The four others looked at each other, as if searching for confirmation that they'd heard right.
Miss Goodwitch hummed. "Well, that's good to know."
More quiet.
"Aside from that," she said, continuing the debriefing, "do you have any idea what Bishop's semblance is?"
"I've thought about it," he said. "I've been thinking of our fight over and over again… but I'm not really sure. It felt like he was stronger at some points… but I don't know." Jaune shook his head, and his scowl deepened. "Stupid. I don't know anything. God damn useless…"
"Don't say that, kid." Qrow said softly. He reached out and set a hond on Jaune's shoulder—
"Don't touch me!" Jaune snapped, slapping Qrow's hand away with a sudden jolt of emotion. "Don't start talking to me like I'm some fucking puppy that just got kicked."
"Son," Ironwood said, "we're just trying to give some consolations."
"Is there anything else you can tell us about Bishop?" Ozpin asked, pivoting back to the matter at hand and away from the emotions. "Or anything else about the Enclave?"
Jaune crossed his arms and slumped back into his chair, tightening up closer to himself.
"He's a freak," he eventually said. "They made him stronger, faster, harder. He always smiles. He's always smiling. All the time. I can feel it. Even behind that gas mask, behind the helmets… I can feel his smile.
"The only thing that the psycho wants to do is hurt people. I don't think there's ever been anything he's felt empathy for in his whole life, the monster."
Qrow looked at Jaune from the side. He looked away.
"Well," Ironwood said," I think that we can still be grateful for your success—"
"The fuck are you talking about, success?" Jaune asked. His voice immediately filled with disdain, a sneer coming to his face. "You call getting our asses handed to us and getting Ruby's hand cut off a success?"
"I understand that the losses may seem severe, but the fact of the matter is that you minimized the damage of a terror attack and your whole team survived." The general nodded to him. "Even if it might hurt, even if there were still civilian losses, you were still successful to an extent."
"My best…" Jaune scoffed. "My best has never been good enough."
"Sometimes, that's certainly how it feels," the headmaster said. "I've lived long enough and failed many times. The bitterness of falling short of perfection is sour, but we must persist."
"Hey, Ruby's gonna live, right?" Qrow said. He leaned over in his seat, closer to Jaune. "And that's what matters. At the end of the day, no matter how rough it is, coming back alive is what matters."
Survive. His team. His closest friends. They'd barely survived this time. They hadn't last time. They may not next time.
His chest constricted. His hands shook. That spot in his chest tightened, as if Bishop himself had thrust his hand through his ribs, wrapped his fingers around his heart and crushed it. It felt like a huge weight suddenly fell upon him. His breathing quickened immediately.
He saw it. He saw it all over again. He saw the twins. They were waving to him and Fawkes. Those two had been with the other regulators, backing up the brotherhood knights with rpg's and armor-piercing rounds.
Then he saw a hail of plasma, and their flesh turned to goo before his very eyes.
Bishop rushed in, blade aflame, and the young Maxwell Noble gasped as the sword pierced the plating of his armor. Fawkes, ever the hero, charged in from the side. He drove Bishop back as Maxwell collapsed, helpless, feeling the heat and blood drain from him as his strength fled. He could only look as Bishop Beauvais, made even more powerful as he wore tesla armor from head to toe, cut down Fawkes. The mighty, curious, compassionate super mutant was repaid for his valor with decapitation.
Jaune saw all of this in the flash of a second, and then he saw it again. He thought back to it, and all the feelings of horror in that moment came to him again. His breathing got even faster, and then it stopped. He choked.
"Steve, you alright? Jaune, are you okay?" Qrow came to his side, put his hands on Jaune's shoulders to steady him as he shivered.
Jaune swatted him back, even as a creeping fear came upon him that he was about to die, that he was going to choke to death on nothing, the most pathetic and useless death he could have.
The others around the table rose in concern, look as he stared at nothing, shivered and struggled to breathe.
"Give him some space," Ironwood said to Qrow. "He's in panic."
Qrow bit down, looked between Jaune and Ironwood, then ultimately decided to take a step back.
"Just try to breathe," the general said. "Breath when you can. This will pass. It will pass."
Jaune clasped his hands together and squeezed them as hard as he could, so hard his bones popped, and his aura flexed to keep his hands from crushing each other.
A minute passed as he silently shook. He stared down at his hands. A few tears ran down his cheeks as he envisioned the death of those he once knew, and he saw the pain and maiming of Ruby.
But another minute passed, and the others in the room felt their worry subside as his quick breathing stabilized, and he stopped shivering so much.
Breathe deep. Hold. Release.
Breathe deep. Hold. Release.
Jaune got a hold of himself. He wiped a few stray tears away with his shaky hands. He balled them up into fists.
He felt anger.
Anger at Bishop. At himself. At the world.
You pathetic bastard. Do better. Do better than this. Win. Win for them. Don't let it happen again. Be stronger.
Be better.
Jaune coughed, and then he breathed in a bit, and the weight in his chest persisted. He felt colder.
"I need to go," he said. He gulped and breathed desperately. "I'm going to go."
He twisted in his chair and pushed it away from the table. It loudly scratched and the floor. He grabbed his crutches, placed his weight onto his good leg, pushed up—
And lost his balance and fell onto the floor.
He clenched his jaw and forced himself not to react to the pain.
"Kid—"
"Don't touch me!" Jaune said before Qrow could help him. Anger. He felt angry. At something. At someone. He just felt it.
He reached a hand up to the table, grabbed the ledge and hauled himself onto his good knee. From there, the used the chair for leverage and shakily got to his feet, leg burning in its cast.
He wobbled, then unsteadily braced his crutches.
From there, he hobbled out of the room, breathing heavily as he did.
The four watched Jaune Arc depart. The door slowly swung shut behind him.
Miss Goodwitch sighed. She took off her glasses, squinted at them, wiped off a slight blur, then put them back on. Then she sighed again, and her shoulders sagged.
"I feel the same," Ozpin said to her. "That children have to bear the weight of war…"
"It's brutal," Ironwood said. "The youth deserve better than this. We're supposed to be the ones fighting for them, fighting to make the world good enough so that they don't have to fight." He glared at Ozpin. "If you'd let me send a team of specialists—"
"It would have taken them longer to get here, the attack would have gone off without a hitch and the casualties would have been much greater," Ozpin said with a cool voice, cutting him off. "As it is, team JNPR is already among the best in Beacon and had experience against the White Fang. Arc himself had experienced in ruthless city fighting and fighting against sapient enemies.
"The other trustworthy hunters we have loyal to us were out investigating Grimm irregularities… in case it was her."
The room was quiet. Glynda Goodwitch clenched her fists.
"A decoy," Ironwood said. "She was just luring us away, so we wouldn't be able to counter her here."
"Likely," Ozpin said, "and we have to keep a certain number of trained hunters in Beacon, lest the relic be endangered."
"Still a shame. A damnable shame," Glynda said. "He's come so far from the sad boy I first interviewed half a year ago. And yet this happens."
"Tell me about it," Qrow said. He slumped back in his seat. "Gods, I need to get a drink."
"Forbidden on my ship." Ironwood crossed his arms. "And there are going to be a lot more of these ships here, soon."
"The death of subtlety," Qrow said mockingly. "The expansion of war to the public domain. The potential for greater conflict, tragedy, political messes—"
"Are all worth it if it means we win," Ironwood said. "An emergency meeting of the council has given my troops the ok to operate in the city for the time being. We've already opened negotiations to bring in more forces and to put Atlas in charge of security for the Vytal Festival."
Qrow scoffed. Glynda crossed her arms.
Ozpin looked at his old ally. "I know you only do what you think is best, James."
Nothing more was said for a moment, as Ironwood looked Ozpin in the eye.
"This is needed, old man," Ironwod said. "We live in a new era. And if Salem is gathering more allies..."
"If it really is the Enclave…" Qrow said.
"Impossible," Glynda said. "Mr. Arc has to be mistaken. Or it has to be some coincidence."
"A group of crazy human supremacists who might be after the power of the relics," Qrow said. "Not easy checks to mark off, so this is one hell of a coincidence."
"A thousand years," Glynda said. "At least. At least a thousand years ago, they were annihilated."
"They were wiped out, and everything they ever accomplished was wiped out, as well," Ironwood said. "No recorded trace that they ever existed has been found since then. They live now only through mention in the oldest records and stories."
"Like the boogeyman," Qrow said. "But lots of things go bump in the night."
They were quiet again.
Ozpin drank from his mug, emptied it. Then he said, "If they survived, they certainly would not have waited a thousand years to strike again." One by one, he looked the other three each in the eyes, affirming the thought.
"Regardless, this is still a group of evil people. Knights, our mission has not changed. This Enclave… they have cruelty in their hearts, they threaten the relics and they threaten peace on Remnant.
"As such, the Brotherhood of Steel is responsible for their destruction."
Wuuuuuut? Timey-wimey teleporty shenanigans can occur when you mess with alien tech.
I promise that next chapter is going to be focused almost entirely on Jaune and his friends. I just wanted to get this one out of the way because it felt like it was reasonable that they'd try to get a debriefing from Jaune asap and that everybody needed some time to heal physically, and I wanted to throw this little bombshell out.
I may have made a mistake by putting in last chapter immediately after 36, where it's almost all from Bishop's perspective. After all, he's hardly the main character, and having one chapter from his pov for one big event makes sense, but in hindsight I realize it may have dragged with the immediate second chapter from his pov. It was just the first stuff that came to mind that I could write, and I wanted to put something out soonish amid my busy irl schedule. I'm sick and it's midterm season and I have a job, ugh. I just wanted people to see more of the 'real' Bishop and why he is who he is, divested from the artificial caricature portrayed through Jaune's experience. I still think it fits the best chronologically.