It had only been several moments since they had saved his life, and Arthur had just gotten less certain on what to think about Pyrrha and Jaune.

It wasn't unreasonable to think that whatever parts of the world were still left standing had developed differently from Wellington Wells. It was quite the fair assumption to make, really. Twenty years of isolationism and trauma was hardly the best way to invite cultural and technological change. The differences were as clear as the bizarre, almost gaudy outfits the two teenagers walking nearby were wearing compared to his own torn, ruined suit.

That wasn't necessarily bad. He could accept change. If he couldn't, he'd still be happily spreading ink lines over old newspapers and bashing dead rats at birthday parties back in the Parade.

But that didn't make it any less strange when they casually started using devices that looked like they were torn out of an old sci-fi movie.

Shortly after they had begun walking to the surface, Pyrrha had brought out a glowing…thing, waving it around and trying to talk to it like some sort of handheld radio. Supposedly it was a communication device from wherever they came from, although they weren't able to find a signal this far underground.

And then there were the weapons.

Oh, Gods, the weapons.

Sure, having some sort of bladed or blunt instrument out in the middle of nowhere was a sensible idea. Nobody would want to be caught unprepared if something nasty showed up, like the Grimm, or bandits, or whatever other horrors were lying on the mainland. Granted, you were only slightly less likely to die horribly with a weapon on hand, but it still offered a chance.

But what kind of madman needed a sword that could transform into a shield? Or a spear that could fold over into a rifle? Wouldn't just sticking a bayonet on the end of a gun be simpler, like what the Home Army lads did?

All of these oddities only served to worsen his headache, which was already at the head-splitting level from everything else that had occurred thus far. If the fall hadn't given him a concussion, then Defoe almost certainly had.

If that was all that had happened, he would have been content just trying to ignore the oddities of his new compatriots in silence. After all, far from caving his head in, they were letting him walk straight back up to the ground level. And if they were being truthful, then they would be leading him directly to some desperately needed medical supplies.

But then, in order to pass the time until they reached the surface, they had started to engage in that most common and dreaded pastime of Wellington Wells.

Conversation.

"Hey, Arthur? What were you doing down in these tunnels, anyways?" Jaune asked from beside him.

"Dragging up bad memories, apparently." Arthur muttered.

"What?"

"N-nothing. I was just trying to find my way down to the train tracks. I thought that I could get out of town through the rail tunnels, but…" Arthur grimaced, glancing back towards the collapsed section. Nothing could make it past that much stone and rubble.

"Through the tunnels?" Pyrrha interjected. "Why not just walk across the bridges?"

Arthur wanted to laugh. Yes, why wouldn't he just stroll across the bridges? It wasn't like there were Bobbies, Spankers, and Joy Detectors that were standing in his way, let alone the hordes of good Wellies looking for anything out of the ordinary-

'Except what they think of as ordinary isn't ordinary around here. Of course they're curious about all this, they're bloody outsiders. For all they know, the other islands are filled to the brim with Grimm or more Headboys.'

"That route…isn't exactly open for me at the moment." Arthur hesitantly replied, unsure of how to explain the situation without coming across as a loon or a criminal. Granted, he was technically a criminal, but it wasn't like he had done anything wrong!

'Don't think about the fights, don't think about the fights-'

"What do you mean? Are the bridges destroyed?" Pyrrha asked.

"No…I just wouldn't be allowed to cross them." Arthur said, rubbing his arm. "They've got checkpoints set up on all of them to catch anyone who's gone off their-"

"Oi! Is that you there, Artie?"

Startled at the sudden shout, the three of them quickly turned towards the source of the noise. Standing at the top of the nearby staircase, a tall, bulky man was walking down towards them, sporting a curious look on his face. He was dressed up like a Home Army soldier, but he didn't seem to be carrying a rifle on him, and he wasn't wearing a mask-

Wait. That accent…the thick, brown beard…the sergeant's stripes…

"…Bloody hell. Ollie?" Arthur called out. Ollie Starkey, of all people, had been the mad wastrel who'd been chucking bottles at passing wastrels? That was…pretty in line with what he remembered of Ollie, actually.

"Gods, it is you!" Ollie said. "What are you doing all the way out here? And who are those lads supposed to be?"

"They're…um…" Arthur trailed off, glancing at Pyrrha and Jaune for help. They seemed much more concerned with Ollie's sudden appearance than he was, but at least they were only resting their hands on their weapons instead of immediately drawing them.

"Pyrrha Nikos and Jaune Arc." Pyrrha said. "We're student Huntsmen from Beacon, sent to investigate something in this town."

Almost instantaneously, Ollie's face morphed into a tired frown. "Oh, Oum, it's bleeding Huntsmen. And they didn't even send in the trained ones?" He groaned, shaking his head. "What's next, the Mantleans coming back to finish the job?"

At this, Jaune and Pyrrha exchanged confused looks. "Mantleans? Why would they be a problem?" Jaune asked.

Ollie simply stared at the two teenagers, his frown deepening slightly. "You really don't know a bloody thing about this place, do ye? Look, just head outside and-"

All of a sudden, Ollie stopped speaking, glancing over towards some point above the stairs. His expression changed again from exhaustion to surprise. "What do you mean, let the rest of them in? How is that going to-"

He fell silent again, glancing between the unseen point and Arthur. Out of the corners of his eyes, Arthur could make out Jaune and Pyrrha glancing between him and Ollie in confusion.

'How should I know what's wrong with him? This is the first time I've seen him in over a decade!'

After several moments of increasingly awkward silence, Ollie let out a small sigh. "You're right. You're always right." He said, turning towards Pyrrha and Jaune. "If there's anyone else you brought along, you two ought to bring them inside. It'd be best to have a bit of a chat about what exactly you lot have dropped yourselves into." With that, he turned around, climbing back up the stairs.

"…Is…is that normal?" Jaune asked, shooting worried looks towards Arthur and Pyrrha.

Arthur wished he could provide some sort of rebuttal to Jaune. Ollie had been kind to him in the past, and had been mostly normal in the memories he could dredge up about him, but…

…well, this was the Garden District. Based on everything he'd seen so far, insanity was practically a requirement to living here.

"…Probably." Arthur muttered, following in Ollie's wake. If he was due for another round of hair-tearing madness, he was going to make damned well sure he could get some painkillers first.

As soon as Ollie had heard the word 'Beacon', he knew that everything was about to go to hell.

His past experiences with Huntsmen had been infrequent, but exactly none of them had ended on a positive note. Whether it had been one of von Stauffenberg's jack-booted bastards or the rare wandering gun-for-hire from Vale proper, they were always a bunch of smug, overconfident numpties with more firepower than sense.

But Margaret had never steered him wrong in the past. When he'd made a right mess of things previously, like the whole television smashing spree, she always seemed to be able to come up with a solution to pull him out of the fire. At this point, even if he disagreed with what she said, he would never just throw away her advice.

And he supposed that they couldn't be that bad if they had brought little Artie along with them. The poor lad looked like he'd been mauled by an Ursa with all the cuts and bruises he was sporting. It was a good thing the newcomers were willing to fork over some medicine to deal with that. All Ollie had left was an expired bottle of painkillers and some dirty rags for bandages.

He just had to keep reminding himself of these valid, reasonable points as eight of the young bastards-in-training invaded his home. After the lightest of introductions, they'd certainly gone and made themselves comfortable, scattering all over the damned place.

As expected, each and every one of them was an insult to sensibility and standardization. From the orange-haired lass with the anvil on a stick to the young child clinging onto a sniper scythe, it looked like the damned parade had finally come to town.

"Are you sure that's not just your age catching up with you?" Margaret asked, sitting nearby on a crate.

"It's bloody nonsensical is what it is." Ollie grumbled. Sure, having great big guns like that would be all well and good for killing the Grimm, but it would play hell with logistics. He could still remember the damned Numb 'Stormtroopers' nabbing everything that wasn't nailed down from the ammo dumps, even if the specifics were a tad blurred.

"They seem to be doing well for themselves so far." Margaret continued, gesturing towards the others. Most of them were sitting around a small fire in the center of the hall, either talking to each other or glancing around at the dilapidated scenery around them. Every so often, some of those stares would land right on his back, almost as pointedly as those bawbags in the Village.

"Aye. For now." Ollie said.

'You've faced worse before, Ollie. You can get through this bloody mess.'

All he had to do was explain to them what kind of hellhole they've just stepped in and convince them to just go home, preferably taking him and Margaret with them. Maybe even Artie as well, if they had enough room. It wasn't like complaining about Wellington Wells would be difficult.

"Hey, you!" A shrill, angry voice called out. "Weren't you going to explain what's going on here?"

"As much as I hate to agree, we probably should get this conversation back on track." A more cheerful, deeper voice called out, dragging out the pun.

'…Gods help us all.'

"Fine, then. You want to know about Wellington Wells, right? See the sights, meet the people, all that bollocks?" Ollie asked, glaring at each of the assembled teenagers. Most of them nodded, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. "Then I'll say the only thing worth saying. This place is dying, and you ought to just head back home."

"Head home already? After we just flew all the way out here? Sorry, pal, but that's not happening." Yang said, crossing her arms and grinning defiantly.

"I'm telling you, this place is a lost cause. Half the town is starving to death in a bunch of bombed out ruins, and the other half is running around like a bunch of madmen, beating everyone who's not high as a bloody kite." Ollie growled.

"That seems…excessive." Ren said. "But that still doesn't mean that there's nothing we can do to help-"

"Wait…did you say that people are being attacked for not taking drugs?" Weiss asked. "Wh…what kind of system is that supposed to be?"

"A bad one. They've been like this ever since the bloody occupation." Ollie replied.

Several of the students glanced at each other, clearly confused. "Occupation?" Jaune asked. "Does this have something to do with those Mantleans you were taking about?"

"Mantleans?" Blake asked. "Why would they-"

"Enough, enough! Oum, what a mess." Ollie moaned, rubbing his forehead. "You want more bloody answers? Fine. Then we'll start from the beginning. Any of you heard of Colonel von Stauffenberg?"

Silence.

"…The Mantlean Loyalists?"

More silence, along with several uncertain glances.

"Well that's just peachy." Ollie muttered, shaking his head. Well, he wasn't much for storytelling anyways. "Right. Long story short, we got invaded and occupied twenty years ago by a bunch of idiots that thought they were the second coming of Mantle."

Now that got their attention. Instead of simply looking at him like he might have been a loony, now they were looking at him like he actually was a loony.

"So…you're saying that a bunch of people wanted to rebuild Mantle…by invading here?" Blake asked, with one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"It's not like they bothered explaining their plan when they were rolling tanks across the bridges." Ollie said, rolling his eyes.

"Tanks? This…insurgency had access to armored vehicles?" Weiss asked. "That doesn't make sense. If they had that kind of equipment, the military should have been tracking them down!"

"If they were, they certainly took their bloody time to catch up to them! Now, as I was saying," Ollie trawled, glaring at each of the student Huntsmen, "we got taken over. They started taking supplies, had people build gear for them, and all sorts of other nastiness in the name of upholding the 'mantle of Mantle', whatever the hell that was supposed to be. But that still wasn't enough for them. They…they did something worse…"

Ollie trailed off, glancing towards the side. Sitting on a table, well lit by a handful of candles, was one of the few photographs of Margaret he had been able to hold on to. Still smiling, as if the day was just another great big adventure. Like she used to do before the occupation.

Before that traitor helped the Numbs shoot her in the back.

…Compared to what happened to the others, he still wasn't sure if she had been one of the lucky ones.

"Um, sir? A-are you okay?" Ruby's voice called out.

Ollie looked back, noticing the young Huntsmen continuing to stare at him. Right. He had been talking about the dark days. Well, the dark days before the current dark days.

'…Why does the past have to be so bloody complicated?'

'Why does this town have to be so complicated?' Weiss wondered, glaring at their bizarre informant.

Everything about Wellington Wells, from the dilapidated state of the nearby structures to the weak bands of criminals, had been eating at her mind since they had arrived. This was the town that her father had gotten so furious about? This was the sort of place that needed two teams of student Huntsmen to assist? The town was already as good as abandoned!

And now this new information only made the situation worse. Violent, drug-addled mobs ruling the streets? Revolutionaries with access to armored fighting vehicles? An entire town falling under occupation and being ransacked, with nobody else hearing about it?

…Either their newfound acquaintance was delusional, or there was something horrifically wrong with this entire situation.

Sadly, she couldn't just blindly accept the former. Something had to have attacked this town, and the damage the buildings had sustained lacked the typical thoroughness of Grimm attacks. There was likely at least some truth to what he was saying, even if it was unlikely.

For now, they'd just have to take him at his word, as horrifying a prospect as that was.

Thankfully, her teammate's question seemed to drag him out of whatever internal dialogue he was going through this time, finally turning back to face them.

"Not really. This part is…difficult to explain." Ollie said, sighing. "A while after they arrived, the Mantleans gave us one last order. We were told to sign up every child under the age of thirteen into a ledger, gather them up, and…bring them here…"

"Bring them…but why would…" Weiss trailed off, her eyes slowly widening in shock. There was only one reason why a group of heavily armed militants would bring them here, but…to take that many children…what kind of monsters would do something like that?

"Aye, looks like she's got it figured out." Ollie said, nodding glumly at her. "The Numbs packed the children onto the trains, shipped them out…and they never brought them back."

Those children hadn't returned? Even after twenty years? But…surely actions like that would warrant a military response! Or an open bounty on that entire insurgency! Or…or…something! That kind of barbarism couldn't have just been ignored!

"B-but what about the military? O-or the Academies?" Jaune asked, mirroring her thoughts.

A harsh, cruel bark filled the air. It took Weiss a moment to realize that it was Ollie laughing, bitterly and unhappily. "We didn't see a single soldier from the mainland until a month after the Numbs left, and all they did was ask us which direction the Blanks went before leaving us high and dry. I think they were surprised to see that we still alive, to be honest."

A sharp crack filled the air, this time coming from Yang. The brawler's hair was burning fiercely, and her eyes were glowing in a brutal crimson. Her hands were clenched on the bench she was sitting on, with the wood splintering from where she was gripping it.

"Oi, calm down! There's no need to be breaking my bloody chairs!" Ollie shouted, seemingly heedless of Yang's anger. "Those bastards are long gone, lass! Save your anger for someone you can get to."

"Calm down? You just expect me to be calm after hearing some assholes kidnapped an entire town's worth of kids?" Yang growled, standing up and glaring furiously at Ollie.

"Of course not!" Ollie exclaimed, returning her glare. "I got kicked out of my damned house because I wouldn't stop caring about what happened! But if you think you can just walk over the bridge and punch these problems away, you're about two decades late!"

Yang didn't respond, simply staring at Ollie as her Semblance raged around her. However, after a few moments, she seemed to calm herself down. Her fiery hair slowly cooled down, and her eyes returned to their normal coloration.

'…That was somewhat surprising. I was half expecting her to throw him through a window.'

Ollie sighed, shaking his head. "I get that you're upset. It's not like we're exactly pleased that all this has happened. But there isn't anything you lot can do to fix this. The best thing you can do is go and bring back-"

"Uh, teams? Can you hear me?"

The sudden broadcast brought the discussion to a halt. Digging out her scroll, Weiss quickly opened up the interface, revealing the Bullhead pilot's signal connecting to them.

"Yes, we can. Is there something wrong?" Weiss asked.

"Um, probably. I'm seeing a large group of people approaching this building from the south. Looks like they're dressed up in old army uniforms, or something."

…Old army uniforms? But Ollie had said that there wasn't a military presence in the town. Or had one been established after the occupation?

Confused, Weiss turned to Ollie for an explanation, only to be halted by the very exhausted look he was throwing at them.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Ollie groaned. "You've brought the bleeding Home Army on our heads."