It was a wintry night, dark and nearly silent. I sat alone at my desk, insulated from the world beyond my enclave of a room. My family had gone to the relatives' house for the evening to celebrate the new year, myself electing to not join them. My mom had objected of course, but she knew that there was no swaying me. I was a stubborn bastard, especially now that I was 19, but she felt the need to try and coax me out of my comfort zone, nonetheless. It is what a mother does, after all, but I was having none of it. All I wanted to do was spend the new year in my room, doing what I loved best; playing video games on my sad excuse for a laptop, and trying to forget that other people exist.

This sounds incredibly morbid to me now, but back then that's exactly how I felt some days. I was but a child working through the sorrow of losing their father, except… not every child knew the pain that I knew. Not every child knew what it was like to wake up in the middle of a dead sleep, to hear their sister and mother screaming their father's name. Not every child knows that true CPR breaks bones. Not every child knows that it doesn't always work, performed in vain while life bleeds out from the mouth in between the foam and bile. Not every 13-year-old had to walk past their father's body splayed out on the floor across the hall, to see the last look of their father before embalming fluid runs in his veins instead of blood. No, it is not a common experience to see paramedics take their time, to know that even in an emergency, those who are supposed to save a life know that they are too late. No… I knew that normalcy was dead for me the moment my mother came home from the hospital, proclaiming that he was dead. I knew my life would never be the same when I heard my sister scream in hysteria, while my grandfather looked me in the eyes and said "You lost a father… I lost a son".

From that moment on, people came into and went out of my life easily. People who I thought would be a constant left without a single notice, while those I never expected to stay very long felt ever more present. Growing older, running through High School, graduating only made these oddities feel even more normal. I felt numb to many things, disconnected from the very strands of my life that had felt so plain and mundane when my father was around. I was socially dead, and all I had to show for it was a nearly perfect GPA and a broad list of musical extracurricular activities. I never had a girlfriend, never had anything close to a true friendship except for some who gave a damn more than most, and I tried my best to remain normal, but I did a piss poor job. I channeled my sorrow into Minecraft and my studies and did little else with my life. I neglected my family, my home, my friends, and even myself because I knew not how to do otherwise. This was my burden to bear, and all I could do was withdraw and quarantine the damage.

I had a lot to hide from that night. Staring at a screen on what was supposed to be the most joyous day of the year, alone and emotionally numbed to it all. As readily as I considered these words as if I could see them on a page, I shook my head and discarded them. After all, the new year was a time for celebration and drinking, not morbid thoughts on things that could not be changed. It mattered not that I was alone, I thought to myself, the least I could do for myself at the time was be drunk enough to feel like one of the many who were using the holiday to ring in the new year in a state of inebriated euphoria.

"Jesus... I really need to get some better hobbies" I thought to myself, wondering how much of a stuck-up prick I would sound like if I had said that all out loud. Luckily for me, there was no one, and the only thing I needed to say was 'bottoms up' when I finished my glass of liquor. I wanted to be drunk for many reasons, and being alone on a holiday basically dedicated to drinking was but one of them. I had refused my Mom's invitation to go out with them, preferring to simply stay home on my laptop and game away the night in as drunk a state as my 19-year old body would allow before I went to sleep. With thoughts of what Whiskey or beer I would drink, I dismounted my chair and wandered down the nearby stairs towards my kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights. I was alone, and the house was locked, so there would be nothing to worry about… or so I thought.

Fumbling around in the darkness, I opened the door to the refrigerator with much more force than was needed, hearing one side of the door slam into the wall with a small wince, wondering how much I would get bitched at for chipping the paint yet again. I paused for a moment as my hand reached out for the bottle I kept cold, wondering why I heard only one door slam when there were two walls. I tried to close the door in question, but it simply wouldn't move. I put all of my strength into it, but the thing would not move, almost as if…

Panicking, I flipped on the nearby switch for the lights above the table behind me, and my worst fears came to life. Below the doors, I could just make out a pair of shoes and pants, and a hand with white knuckles holding onto the steel handle of the door. I did not give whoever the figure was time to reveal themselves, as I sprinted back towards the stairs, towards a weapon. As someone who was always mentally prepared for this kind of situation I was always ready, and knew how to defend myself, but the fear and adrenaline made me trip on my stairs, hands shaking and heart racing, knowing that someone could easily be behind me.

I slammed my measly door, the sound reverberating across the wood floor. The lock had been broken for years, but it was not a concern as I threw open my closet. I grabbed the unassuming leather satchel from the corner and revealed the antique shotgun inside, a gift from my Grandfather. It was not loaded, of course, but whoever was on the other side of that door did not need to know that. I cocked the action nonetheless to let them know I meant business but was keenly aware that my gambit would fall apart if they were armed in any way. All of these thoughts and more flew across my brain like static, my hands shaking as I stood but a few feet away from the closed door, praying that the person would simply go away, that maybe this was a drunken stupor of a dream.

My ears disappointed me, however, as I heard the creak of the carpeted stairs outside the door. Slowly, yet methodically, I could hear the unknown figure ascend towards me, finally stopping with a final creak outside of my door. Cheekily, I heard three soft yet even knocks on my entrance.

"Stay back, I'm warning you! I'm armed, I'll shoot if you enter! Leave now, that is your only warning!"

For a moment, I heard nothing. However, after a few seconds, the only response to my threat was a soft, distinctly masculine chuckle.

"Come now", the man said through the door, "Surely there is no need for such violence. I am not here for your belongings, I simply wish to speak to you."

"What, so you can shoot me and run off my family's things? Fat chance, jackass. Get out now or I'm going to call the police."

"We both know that you will call them anyway, Mr. Cortes. There is no need to lie to me."

Hearing him say my name out loud took the wind from my lungs, sending me into further panic. Just who was this man, a stalker? Despite my fear, I could have sworn that I knew that voice from somewhere…

"How do you know my name?" I asked.

"I know much more about you than your name, Mr. Cortes. I also know that your weapon is unloaded, and you are simply trying to gamble your way out of a situation."

"Oh yeah? Care to test that theory? I got 4 shells in the tube just for you if you keep talking wise" I yelled, pumping the action once again to prove that I meant business.

"I dare say that I shall, especially considering that, if the weapon had actually been loaded, there would have been the distinct sound of a shell impacting the floor beside you."

FUCK

"… I am coming in now, Mr. Cortes."

True to his word, I saw the man enter. Before me stood the perpetrator of the home invasion; a tall, grey-haired man of no more than 40 years of age. He wore a suit of dark green and black, small spectacles lining his eyes. In his hands sat a mug and a cane, from which he took a small sip, then smiled at me warmly. His eyes spoke of wisdom beyond his years, and his demeanor could not have been any more relaxed.

I knew this man, I was sure of who he looked like, but there was little in my mind that could convince me to believe in what I was seeing. Hands shaking even more, I pushed the barrel of the gun into his chest, forcing him to stop just a few feet from me. He looked straight into my eyes

"You… you're…you look a lot like..."

"Yes, I get that quite a lot. I am sure that you have many questions, but for now, would you be so kind as to put down the weapon? Unloaded as it is, I don't think that a simple conversation requires this much armament" he asked, looking down at the barrel pointed into his sternum.

I backed up slightly, still keeping hold of the gun but at least aiming off of him. still staring at the man in disbelief. Much about this didn't make sense, and I knew damn well that his voice was just a little bit too good of an impression, not to mention the outfit. It wasn't some cheap vinyl and nylon knock-off, nor was his heavy-looking cane. Everything about this man was questionable and yet convincing, so I had to ask.

"Who are you, and why are you dressed up like Professor Ozpin?"

He gave me a small smirk from behind his mug, sipping whatever was inside and meeting my eyes dead-on.

"Well, I quite like my outfit, so I had a few copies made so I could wear it every day."

"You know what I meant by that. Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house?"

"Well, I'm sure the only reason you haven't attempted violence on me by now is that you at least have some kind of idea, don't you?"

I furrowed my brow, wondering what game this man was playing with me and far from trusting him.

"And what if I did? Would that change the fact that you broke into my house and scared the shit out of me?"

"While I do apologize for the forced entry, I did not want to waste any time. It was far more important that I spoke to you than to obey simple legal precedents"

"I... seriously doubt the cops will think that"

"Oh, I don't think we will need to involve them. *Ahem*... I'll...keep this brief. You have traveled here today in search of knowledge-to hone your craft and acquire new skills. And when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people. But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose – direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step."

I didn't know what to say to any of that. So, he memorized the monologue from Ozpin's 2nd episode, so what?

"...Does that not mean something to you, Mr. Cortes?"

"Oh, it does, it just still doesn't tell me what you have to do with the person you're so clearly trying to impersonate."

The man chuckled, smiling at me and looking down.

"Well, I certainly hope that I could impersonate him. I am him, after all."