People piling into the bullhead's bay roused me from my sleep a mere 20 minutes after I had gone.

"Is that the kid?" asked the woman who let me in the bullhead. She pointed to my dazed self and addressed an average-or-so height man. He nodded and flicked his head inside.

"Get in now." Then, looking at me, he asked, "What's your name, kid?" I pulled a blank for a second, my dry eyes staring at him, before I answered him.

"Oh! Sorry, my name's Gainsboro Argent." He smirked and shook his head.

"Alright, don't freak out." The last person to jump in, aside from this man, was another, taller man. He had wild black hair and no sleeves, apparently.

"Count off, starting from the starboard." The woman, whom I assumed was the captain, commanded. I understood that starboard meant right, but not my classmates, who looked at each other confusedly. "From the right," she drawled in impatience.

My classmates - all of who were guys - then did as instructed and we had a head count of eight, as we were supposed to.

"Alright. Dust off in five. Get settled in. Frye, prep for takeoff." She squeezed her way into the cockpit from the tiny door and strapped in. The door shut unceremoniously.

After the five minutes of nothing, the low whirring of the engines increased to a steady but miniscule sound of even thunder. Then, through the bated breath and anticipation, I felt the whole craft slowly ascend like an elevator and accelerate.

A digital chime echoed in the hold of the bullhead followed by the voice of the pilot.

"This is Captain Carryl Raleigh of the Remnant Huntsman Transport Association speaking. We are en route for mission site Alpha-Niner at airspeed 430, heading 68. ETA will be 11 minutes. Out."

The incisive rundown of transport was incredibly quick and near inaudible, but entailed all the details I needed: we're landing in a little more than 10 minutes.

"Alright kids," that guy from earlier said. "I'm Bayard Bambino, a Beacon graduate and that's Lonan Delaney, trained by himself and recognized, officiated, and awarded by Beacon." Pulling a clipboard and a folder from his rucksack, he produced a slip of paper from the folder and attached it to the clipboard. "I'll be grading you guys on a great deal of criteria. Throughout the expedition we'll be mentoring and instructing you." His partner elaborated off of that.

"If you don't listen to us, your grades will be docked according to our jurisdiction. Don't piss us off."

"Along with that, we'll be grading you on your kills and end-of-day performance." He then rolled his eyes and finished writing our names, joking, "Don't die. You'll get a really bad grade if you do. Any questions?"

Some scrawny, spectacled guy with a massive unfolded axe raised his hand, asking shakily,

"What happens if we run into grimm that are too strong?" Lonan shook his head, his wild black hair slapping him lightly as he did.

"When it comes to grimm, violence is always the answer. If it isn't, you're not using enough," he listed, counting off of his fingers. "If it still isn't, then you aren't using it right. If it really isn't working, you're probably dead." I gulped.

Well our mission sites only detailed the three we discussed in class, so that really shouldn't be too bad. Still, it's not very funny to hear from a huntsman that if we can't kill a grimm, we'll just die.

"He's kidding. If the grimm involved is too much for any two of you to handle, then we'll step in." Bayard affirmed us with a nod and a grim frown, "But nonetheless, we will not be intervening if you encounter the weaker types, nor will we be held accountable for anything to happen to you from those kinds of grimm." It was at this point that my hands began to cold sweat and shake subtly. It felt like I had to swallow my breaths every time I breathed.

I'm pretty sure it was the altitude. I think.

Was I scared? Sure.

But you know what they say: a person can only be brave when they are scared.

Gods, my eyes burned. I kinda hoped that Dez didn't wake up so that she doesn't have to risk her life doing this.

No further dialogue was exchanged.

The chime from earlier again echoed through the bullhead's bay after some time.

"This is Captain Carryl Raleigh of the Remnant Huntsman Transport Association speaking. We are making our approach to mission site Alpha-Niner and will have wheels down in T-minus 30 seconds. Please stay seated as we descend."

Our time of reckoning approached us as we, in turn, approached the ground.

The forward momentum that pushed me into my seat slowly faded and an impulse of leisurely descent came from under me. After a few dozen seconds that felt like a few dozen hours, the bullhead's wheels hit the ground with a gentle thud.

The doors on the bullhead were mechanically released, exposing us to a sight that likely not a lot of people get to see.

Our bullhead was parked on a poorly maintained landing pad over a ocean cliff coast that the waves crashed against. The other door was facing a beaten dirt path in the direction of a brilliant green forest.

"We have arrived in mission site A9," said Lonan into his scroll. Bayard pointed out to the dirt path, silently telling us that we were supposed to go that way.

"Follow that path to the right. That's where our campsite is." He flicked a finger at me and said, "Gainsboro, you have armor. Take point. And all of you, be quiet. There's grimm around as we speak."

Ah shit. Armor working against me.

I didn't bite back for whatever reason I would have, but definitely didn't like it. I followed the path to the right for a ways before one of the other guys got irritated enough to ask,

"Where the hell is that campsite?"

He was answered with a single gunshot and a small nevermore falling in front of me.

Again, no further dialogue was exchanged for the next hour as we walked.

The bullhead flew away overhead. As it did, I was nudged in the shoulder by Bruno, who was the person immediately behind me.

"Next fork in the path, go left. Bayard said so." I peered over my shoulder to see the huntsman in question, who nodded.

The fork came earlier than expected, and so did a small clearing with a stream.

"We're here. Mark a tree." We did as instructed and I in particular marked one with low hanging branches so I can hang my backpack. "Who here doesn't know how to climb a tree?"

I'm glad I wasn't the only one who raised their hand.

Lonan gave us the necessary advice like, "Don't commit to a move unless you're sure it won't break," and "Test branches you plan to move to." And then he just pulled himself all the way up to the canopy in what looked like a few steps.

"You guys are sleeping in the trees you've marked. If all of you kill enough grimm, we might consider letting you sleep with a fire." Lonan dropped down after Bayard finished, creating an indentation in the ground. "Lonan and I'll make the watch schedule while we watch who kills more."

All of us were handed lengths of rope that we tied around the tree. I tied mine around the trunk. The angular, shoddy 'GA' in the bark parted the rope in half from top and bottom.

We were informed that we would be moving out for our first incursion into grimm territory in two hours. First, I had breakfast in the form of a few jerky bits and a handful of trail mix. Next, I prepped for battle.

I carefully thumbed rounds of ammo into Thunderstruck's long magazines, painstakingly ensuring that each cartridge was seated properly. As each of the magazines filled, I stowed them into the pouches on my thighs' cuisses.

The final round was slid into the final magazine. Thunderstruck was out on my lap in an instant with that last of mags diligently placed into the magwell. My hand closed mildly around the bolt handle. Smartly was the bolt charged back, allowing me to witness a round glide into the breach.

And then I did that again for fun. The round flew out perfectly and landed at Bruno's feet.

His eyebrow raised and his ears twitched. His gauntlets opened and shut, opened and shut, and he placed them smoothly on the ground next to him.

"Hey, Gainsboro? You dropped this." He held the ejected but otherwise unaltered round out to me and I took it from him.

"Just call me Gray, man." I refilled the one-down mag and offered my hand, which he took after a moment in a handshake. I should probably put that homework thing behind me.

"Hurry up, boys. We're moving out. If you can't kill grimm with it, leave it here." I unhooked my Atlas army knife and stuffed the tool into my pocket and got up. The two legitimate huntsmen waited patiently for all of us trainees.

I took point again and went back out to that fork in the road. This time, we took the right side and that took us to a path that led into a craggy hill. The tree presence died down and the surrounding area became notably less green. As we reached the hill, we were given an outlook from the top, granting us vantage over the several cavemouths.

"In each of those caverns is a family of beowulves. I want every single one of those cleared out. Find one with your partner and take it out." Bayard sat down in the grass. "One pair at a time. Lonan will watch. Any volunteers?"

Nobody moved a muscle.

"Ey, Gainsboro. You and your partner go first." Bayard demanded.

Bruno glanced over at me.

"You wanna start out small?" Our eyes both locked on a small hole in the side of the hill. His uneasy foot fidgets indicated that he wanted to start small.

"Yeah. Let's get a good feel for it first." We marched down the hill with Lonan trailing us.

We approached the cavemouth, and slowed our movements down to a stealthy crawl. We could feel the presence in that cave. Claw-marked stones littered the entrance alongside the shattered pieces of a skeleton.

I made the executive decision to head in first.

The cave was dark and stuffy. I grabbed my scroll and turned on its torch, a luminous, white light.

The sound of heavy breathing called for me to keep my eyes open. The scroll in my right hand was handed to my left and Thunderstruck's rifle form unfolded in my right.

The safety was flicked off.

I kept my rifle held aloft, aiming it at anything that moved. Shadows and falling pebbles kelt drawing my attention as each breath, each sound caused my skin to shrink and my blood to thin.

Scrolls' torches are strong. Of that I am thankful. Otherwise, I would have gotten conpletely bodied by the beowulf that hurtled through the air.

"Get down!" I yelled to Bruno, the echo of the tunnel rattling around in my skull. He crouched low and cocked his claws.

I dropped to my face onto my elbow and the snarling grimm flew right over the both of us. It hit the ground really hard but sprung back uo to its legs.

Bruno swept his legs around and spun himself standing up. I gave an aura fueled push from my elbow and turned around smartly.

And standing hunched before us was the menacing mug of an abstract emotion given form. Its slouched posture did not express apathy or indifference, but the ghastly noises it produced reminded us that it was not friendly. The black of its jagged fur was only sparsely interspersed with deathly pale white bones on the ribcage and shoulders. Its face was encased with a skull of the same white with flashing red eyes. The beast emanated hatred for mankind, and we were the subjects of its wrath.

Bruno went straight for it, closing on the grimm faster than it could track. His weapon closed around the left arm of the beowulf, paining it enough to almost yank the whole appendage off. Bruno's claws held steady.

"I'm opening fire!" I warned, planting Thunderstruck's sights on the struggling beowulf. A single, deafening shot tore into the spot Bruno had locked down, completely severing the grimm's clawed arm.

It swung its intact limb around ferally. My battle buddy dodged a telegraphed wide right swing and jumped up to the large werewolf grimm's back. Then, in a swift motion, he punched and clamped his claws through the grimm's nape, decapitating it.

The head of the grimm fell and the body - of which it was separated from - slumped. The light from my scroll shimmered as the grimm's body dissolved into smoke.

Bruno caught his breath.

"Holy shit." He looked to me. "I got one!"

Another snarl prompted me to lob my scroll to Bruno, who barely clumsily caught it.

I dropped to my knee and about faced, my supporting hand coming up to stabilize my rifle.

Two slightly smaller beowulves came running up. My firearm sung its song twice and two shots made their mark. While it hadn't killed them, a round to each of their chests slowed them to a figurative crawl. Thunderstruck was flipped around and extended into its lance form.

Bruno came bolting in and snagged the beowulf on the right, throwing it sprawling off to his side. I pulled my arm back in a textbook javelin throw and loosed it on the other, still reeling beowulf. The grimm caught the lance with its skull and promptly began disappearing into a cloud of black nothing.

Bruno pulled his claws out, tearing the grimm's clawed limbs off, kicking it into the cave wall. He reached back and thrust his fist forward, bisecting the grimm across its abdomen.

"Nice one," I complimented through ringing ears. Perhaps firing in this cave was a bad idea. Nonetheless, my body tingled in satisfaction.

So this is what it's like to kill something that tries to kill you? There was only one word I had in my mind:

Exhilarating.

Maybe I'm an adrenaline junkie. Whatever the case, I wanted more.

"You good to go?" I asked Bruno rhetorically before I flourished Thunderstruck into its rifle form and racked the action. "I like this!"

I pushed deeper into the cave with my partner trailing just behind me. Fortunately, in my state of stupefaction, the cave only winded one way, funneling me and the faunus towards a larger room in the cave with no other way out. In that room was a den of even smaller beowulves. One hardly came to my height.

Bruno went to work following me beginning the engagement with a throw powered by the dangerous combination of aura and adrenaline.

Dangerous in the sense that it pinned the largest of those beowulves to the ground, the monster spurting out a black blood that vaporised instantly.

Despite me shifting my center of mass down, Thunderstruck pulled me to it. I was losing this tug-of-war battle with my weapon and had to fend for myself against the beta of the pack without my weapon.

The 'wulf swiped at me and hit me pretty damn hard. Flung towards the disspating and dead grimm I killed, my only choice to not faceplant was grab the stuck lance. In doing so, the weapon was wrenched from the ground and the half dissolved grimm.

Bruno finished off the smallest two and charged straight for the one that struck me. He latched onto the grimm's skull but could not crush it. He swung around onto its backside and yanked himself rearward. His weapons were detached and he rolled back as the beowulf fell to the ground.

I took my cue to leap high and aimed my instrument for the beast. The grimm made a valiant attempt to survive amidst its death throes, but the force I exerted was too much for its large, savage arms to block. I broke straight through that and embedded the lance cleanly into the open maws. It was ended on the spot and all resistance efforts immediately ceased.

We had just cleared the cave.

And it felt great.

But the bruise on my back did not. Thankfully it was nothing more than that.

"So four for me and three for you?" Bruno questioned, retrieving his jaws from the evaporating remains of the last grimm.

"Yeah," I brushed off the question and pried my lance from the ground yet again. As we emerged from the cave, we were startled by Lonan.

"Good job boys." Bayard came up and asked him for our scores.

"Gainsboro: three kills, one minor injury. Bruno: four kills." Bayard created a score from that somehow, with each kill adding five points and my one injury deducting three. "You alright kid?"

"Yeah. It doesn't really hurt." That would likely be changing soon, as the effects of adrenaline were being replaced with sobriety.

So don't let the grimm hit you.

I wasn't planning on letting that happen, but now I'll be actively trying to prevent it.

The next quarter dozen of those beowulf dens were cleared by my classmates with one of the students nearly wiping all of the grimm in one singlehandedly. He has gotten a pretty clean record of seven beowulf kills and his partner only got one.

After that was all done and done, we took a short water break at our camp. A little fire dust to boil the water was all it took to purify it and make sure I don't unnaturally empty my guts.

I hardly had any time to drink it because it was still hot. I'll probably want to bring some ice dust next time too.

We moved out to an unbeaten path in this arboreal biome to a less dense section of it. The towering, emerald trees were gradually supplanted with stubby, low shrubs. Dead and dying branches littered the field and every now and again, you'd see a black feather poke out from beneath the detritus.

Nevermore loved transitional places like this: trees for shelter and low grasslands for hunting.

Sure enough, looking up revealed more than a few nevermore nests. A single fleeting thought of anger found its way up to me and I armed my rifle.

A pitch black raven with beady red eyes popped its head out from the snaggle that was its nest and I readied to fire.

"Wait, kid." Lonan put a hand on Thunderstruck's muzzle and delicately lowered it. "You shoot now and they all leave. And no one gets anymore kills for the day."

I begrudgingly flicked my safety switch and stood down.

So much for that.

-XXXXX-

Last week, we began this godsforsaken expedition. Today we finally get to leave.

I was totally underprepared for this trip. I expected my supplies of food to last longer than they did, but it was ultimately too little. Some of my classmates shared my anguish; we all had to hunt for our meals.

Jerky will never taste the same to me. Because I got tired of its taste.

Speaking of being tired... I am probably going to sleep an entire day away. We had to tie ourselves to our trees to sleep those long, chilling, damnable nights.

Normally, the risk of falling outweighs getting attacked by an animal by a large margin. With grimm around, on the other hand, the chances of you dying in your sleep while on the ground is multiplicatively higher than falling from a tree. That's even after you consider one of the larger nevermore swooping in on you.

But let me tell you: trees are not very comfortable to sleep on. And apparently, our kills were below the quota Bayard said would get us to sleep with a fire. In reality, we had gotten more than enough but he denied it regardless when the fourth night fell.

Our worst injury was inflicted upon Bruno. He had become just a tad overzealous in engaging an Alpha beowulf, of all things, and sustained a broken nose. Not to be disregarded when one considers that we have aura. Otherwise, from the few bruises I had accumulated, everyone got off comparatively unscathed.

Highest kill count was me. Beowulves and creeps clocked in at 43 and Nevermore - of all sizes - at a staggering 201. Trust me, everyone else is only a few behind.

As of the moment, we are all functioning on less than 3 hours of sleep.

In short, I brought too much ammo and not enough provisions. I'm so tired I feel like I could pass out. My clothes are dirty and my armor has lost its shine. My hair is flat down against my head, being pressed flat by sweat and oil. I can feel the barest growths of stubble around my face.

I'm ready to go home.

RT4742 touched down and all of us that were out in the field gathered around the craft, despite us being buffeted by the countless leaves and twigs kicked up by the hot air from the engines. Last minute checks and the bullhead opened to us.

I've never seen anyone board an aircraft so readily before.

I have also never fallen asleep so fast. There was only one thing I made out before knocking the fuck out.

"This is Captain Carryl Raleigh of the Remnant Hunstman Transport Association. Welcome aboard, juniors. We are headed back for Signal Academy, heading 257, airspeed 430. ETA is 12 minutes. Good job and goodnight."

-XXXXX-

I was out of the bullhead faster than anyone on it. Bayard and Lonan said that they'd submit our statistics to Signal's dean of academic excellence and that we should all head back to our rooms. We were dismissed from there and us eight students piled into the cramped elevator.

We shared stories of how stupid things would happen as we killed grimm, like how I nearly shot someone because I was deadset on killing a single nevermore. Luckily for him, he didn't get a face full of lead because my gun was empty.

From the bottom floor we all did our zombie walk of shame to our dorm rooms.

My keycard was out from my bag and into my hand in a flash in craving for the silky sheets of my bed. I basically just ignored the door to see Desiree sitting up in her mess of blankets.

Holy shit.

She looked just as bad as I felt. Her typically iron straight hair was frazzled and messy. Underneath her bright red eyes were unhealthy grayish purple bags of fatigue.

All of that fell away when she saw me. All of the characteristics of a half-dead girl disappeared.

Dez ran up to me and pulled me into a hug. She squeezed me so hard I heard a drumbeat of my joints popping. From there, the waterworks began.

"Oh my gods, Gray..." Her wavering voice bespoke the emotion my mere presence had over her while she begged me not to leave and pulled me down to the floor.

I sat with her latched onto me and spoke softly to calm her. "I'm here" I repeated to my shivering sister. "I'm not going anywhere."

I gave her time to calm down, during which I noted with perplexity her plate carrier torn asunder.

"What the hell happened to you?" I asked, stroking her head to soothe her. She sniffled and spoke in broken, near-incoherent sentences.

"We were fighting 'wulves, when..." She took a small breath and sobbed, "When- when ursai came out. My partner, Kermes, told me that she'd take care of it. She didn't even get halfway when... when..." My sister stopped for another second to gather her thoughts. "She got pounced by one of the beowulves and it just... it just ripped her apart. And- And..."

Her distress came to a head. She wasn't telling me the full story. I hadn't even processed her grip strength nearing bone-crushing proportions yet when she screamed,

"AND ALL I DID WAS WATCH!"

The situation couldn't have gotten worse. But it did. Through the blood draining from my face and my spine quaking under the pressure of the embrace, I blurted out,

"Jesus fucking Christ."