Vale, Vale
VPD Car 47, Industrial District
9:49 hours
"Now this is what I'm talking about," Officer Mavi says as she takes another bite of her sandwich in the parked squad car. "No more dodging bullets from the Mob in Commercial and scraping the blood off the hood of the car."
"Yeah, this promotion kicks ass," her partner, Officer Luce, replies, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "This precinct is a lot smaller too, so we don't have to constantly bump into the dumbass rookies and jackoffs while on patrol."
"If we ever need to go on patrol," Mavi says, nodding to the empty street in front of them. Their car is tucked in between two buildings, facing the neverending ocean that much of Vale borders. "Look at this. Everyday during working hours. Fucking ghost town."
"Yeah, factory workers don't fuck around a lot, not with the kind of security guards the suits hire," Mavi says, remembering her first time seeing a "private security patrol." Without all the tactical vests, knee and elbow pads, thick gloves, oakley sunglasses, and automatic weapons, they'd look like ordinary civilians, with cargo pants and plain t-shirts and baseball caps of local and international sport teams. A lot of them are also as well trained as most civilians. "They're practically soldiers."
"Yeah," Luce agrees. "I actually almost joined the VAF before the PD."
"Shit, really?" Mavi asks in surprise. "You, a soldier?"
"Yeah, I was a dumbass back then," Luce laughs. "Thankfully my parents set me straight and I joined the academy. Would've sucked ass if I actually joined the military."
"From what I've heard, you'd probably be dead by now," Mavi says. "I hear the animals keep pouring more soldiers into the border countries, raiding villages to gain ground and shit."
"Yeah, no way I'd get stuck in the middle of that. Parliament really fucked themselves by getting into this war. Should've just let the Feds kill themselves, not legitimately declare war on them. Just gonna raise the body count." Mavi nods in agreement.
"Well, at least we won't have to worry about it any time soon."
"I hear that." The radio squawks.
"Dispatch to One Victor Forty-Seven," the dispatcher says. Mavi picks up the microphone.
"One Victor Forty-Seven, roger," she quickly responds.
"Well, so much for a day off," Luce mumbles.
"Forty-Seven, do you have a visual on the docks?" the dispatcher asks. The two officer look at each other, puzzled.
"Uh, negative, Dispatch," Mavi replies. "We're blinded by a few buildings."
"Command wants eyes on the docks ASAP."
"Copy, Dispatch," Mavi says, nodding to Luce, who starts up the car and drives out of the alleyway and down the empty street. The city's large docks, the largest in the kingdom, are easily sighted by the towering loading cranes and a handful of cargo ships that are always in port at any given time. Today, there is a small fleet of container ships in formation near the docks, but aren't moving.
"Command says you want to look for a cluster of cargo ships just outside the docks," dispatch says.
"Roger, we see it," Mavi says. Luce parks the car on the road near a turn, the closest they can get to the decks before moving farther away. A police helicopter, then a news helicopter fly over them, towards the docks. "Are we supposed to know why we're doing this, Dispatch?"
"I'm relaying what I have to you, Forty-Seven," Dispatcher says, then after a pause. "Command wants to know what the ships are doing now." Luce takes out a pair of binoculars and sights in on the ships.
"They're moving away from the docks, towards the beaches," he reports. "Looks like they're spreading out."
"Dispatch, ships are oscar mike north by northeast, away from docks."
"Roger, Forty-Seven."
"What the fu-" Luce mumbles. "The fuck am I looking at?"
"Talk to me, dude," Mavi says. Luce shakes his head.
"They look like space ships with propellers," Luce says. "Hovercraft maybe. They came out of one of the ships."
"Dispatch, be advised, one of the cargo ships have deployed what appear to be hovercraft, copy?" There's a moment of silence, except for the noise of the water and distant helicopters.
"Forty-Seven, return to station immediately," Dispatch says, then repeats the message to all units.
Fort Beacon, General Ozpin's office
9:49 hours
Blake sits quietly in her seat across of Ozpin, watching the officer rifle through a folder, presumably her bio report.
"I'm terribly sorry to ask to meet with you at such an odd time," Ozpin says, setting the folder aside and picking up his mug. "I know that I shouldn't be discouraging any time away from your squadmates, but I was hoping this would be a good time for us to talk." Blake keeps her facial expression neutral.
"Yes, Sir," she replies. Ozpin takes a sip of coffee.
"How much do you know about the bio report?" he asks. "And I don't mean what it is, I mean how it works."
"Very little, Sir."
"Yes, that's the most likely case. It's very difficult to explain exactly how the algorithm works; it took me years to perfect it myself, and would probably take just as long to explain it in full. Would you like me to try and tell you the condensed version?"
"Yes, Sir," Blake responds after a brief pause.
"Basically, the bio report takes separates the details of a person's personality and history, including their birthplace, family, upbringing, average income, police reports, school records, military history, allies and friends, enemies; the list goes on. These details are assigned a number, based on how they stand. These numbers and then either added or subtracted, based on how they function in the algorithm. The final number is placed into a range of numbers, along with three other numbers in that range. These four numbers are the four soldiers that will form the new Hunt squad. Do you understand?"
"I believe so, Sir."
"Like I said, there's a lot more to it than simple arithmetic and grouping, but that's essentially the process it goes through. The reason I've brought it up is that every other soldier that has taken a bio report has grouped fairly closely with their three squadmates, somewhere around the 47th percentile. You, on the other hand, match in the 13th percentile with your squadmates. Why do you think that is?" Blake gulps, and her heart rate starts to escalate.
"I was born in a border country," she replies. "It's a whole different world than the kingdoms, Sir. You have to fight to survive in order to survive. If you don't fight, you die."
"Yes, you are definitely self trained," Ozpin says, opening the folder back up and flipping to a specific page. It says here that you went from basic training to the Airborne Division in only three years, and have outpaced your fellow trainees the entire way. Your superiors took great note of you, as well. You're practically super human."
"Oh fuck," Blake thinks.
"I...survived, Sir," Blake shrugs.
"That you did," Ozpin says. "But your physical and mental strength doesn't impress me as much as your naturally militaristic mind. You fit into the military lifestyle completely before most recruits could get into the sleep cycle. Are you sure you never had any formal training?" Blake's heart rate speeds up more.
"No, Sir," she says with a hesitant voice.
"I'm not talking about an official armed force, like the Coalition or border country. Paramilitary outfits can train just as well. Anything from militias to mercenary groups to...well, to terrorist cells.
"Get the fuck out," Blake's mind commands, but she holds her ground.
"Did you know the White Fang employ former special forces from the Federation as drill instructors and have a chain of command as complex as the VAF's? What's interesting is that their accelerated training practices are frequently mirrored by human armies, including our Airborne. Although, according to Captain Svart, your former CO, you seemed to already know the training exercises." He takes a sip of his coffee.
"Sir, why are you telling me this?" Blake asks. She has to hold her leg down to keep it from bouncing.
"We know you're a Faunus and former Fang member, Blake," Ozpin replies. Blake's eyes grow wide and dart around the room, searching for cameras. Her hand goes to Gambol Shroud on her hip. "And you're not in trouble. Our records say that you left the Fang shortly after the shift in leadership, which makes you identify as a deserter and refugee." Blake remains silent, hand still on her pistol. "What I want to know is why. Why do you hide your identity and fake your papers? This is a non segregated army, and there are plenty of Faunus in the Coalition. Why try and pretend to be human?"
"The VAF may be non segregated on paper, but not in reality," Blake murmurs.
"Yes, racial tension has always been a problem on Remnant, ever since the Faunus were born. But that doesn't mean that you have to fake what species you are."
"With all due respect, Sir, your species doesn't want the Faunus."
"How so?"
"The First Human-Faunus War began only a few decades after the zealots created the first faunus in an attempt to contain them. Now we're in the Second Human-Faunus War for the same reasons."
"But wouldn't that make the Federation just as bad as humans?" Ozpin asks. Blake shrugs.
"What goes around comes around," she says. Ozpin sets his mug down.
"Do you hate humans, Blake?"
"No, Sir, only a select few of them," she answers.
"Do you think that most humans in the kingdoms feel the same way about Faunus?"
"No, Sir."
"Why?"
"They're racist."
"What about Faunus living in the Federation? Are they racist?" Blake remains silent. "I'm sorry if it's not my place to ask these questions, just food for thought. As a commanding officer of the Vale Armed Forces, it is my duty to make sure all of my soldiers know what exactly they're fighting for."
"I know what I'm here for, Sir."
"I'm glad to hear it. You are dismissed." Blake stands up, salutes, and leaves the room.
Fort Beacon Mess Hall
9:55 hours
"Hey, where've you guys been?" Yang asks when she notices Blake and Ruby walking up to their usual spot in the mess hall. She pats the spot next to her and Blake silently sits down while Ruby takes her spot next to Weiss across from them.
"Ozpin's office," Blake says as she attempts to rip open a bag of bean burrito.
"Why?" Weiss asks, staring at her scroll while munching on a piece of packaged bread.
"Talked about bio reports, that's it," Blake says. She immediately dives into her food even though she's not that hungry.
"Aw, nothing about another mission?" Yang says.
"It's only been two days, Yang," Ruby says. "Even special forces need to rest every once in a while."
"Would've been helpful if we didn't fail the-" Weiss starts, but is interrupted by Yang loudly clearing her throat. Weiss looks over and Yang raises her eyebrows. "Right, right, it doesn't matter anymore. I remember." Weiss turns to Ruby. "By the way, where have you been?"
"Uh, what?" Ruby asks before taking a sip of chocolate milk.
"Why are you always late to mess hall? Every meal, every day?" Ruby continues her sip until her cup is empty. She sets it down in preparation to ignore the question until she realizes all three girls are looking at her.
"I hate to say it, but I have to side with Ice Bitch on this one," Yang says. Weiss shakes her head. "You're always five minutes late to eat. The food isn't that bad."
"It's not the food," Ruby says meekly. "I'm just not a fan of mess halls."
"Why not?"
"They're just, uh, you know...loud."
"You slept through a Templar flying straight over the base last week," Blake says. "They even wake up everyone on the base so we aren't awoken by the noise. How is a mess hall too loud?"
"Well, it's not just the noise. It's really, uh...compact."
"...Compact, huh?" Weiss says. "It's one of the biggest buildings in the base.
"No, not the building, the people. Almost every single person in the base is in here right now. I just…" Ruby trails off.
"If you're claustrophobic, we can eat in the barracks if you want," Yang suggests.
"No!" Ruby immediately replies. "I mean, uh, I don't want to be away from everyone again."
"Again?"
"I said move, alpha golf!" the squad hears from across the room. They turn and see a squad of Hunter trainees, easily identified by their patchless Hunter uniforms, confronting a veteran Hunter. The veteran, with long dark brown hair and darker brown eyes, keeps her head low while the trainees block her path.
"Hear him, bitch?" one of them, with blue hair, says to the veteran. "Make way for the humans."
"I don't want any trouble," the veteran mumbles. Heads start to turn to the scene. One of the trainees, with a team leader patch on his uniform, takes an extra step forward, towering over the little soldier. Her tray is visibly shaking.
"If you didn't, you wouldn't have stepped foot in the kingdoms," he growls.
"I was born in-" the veteran starts, but the trainee slaps her tray out of her hands, the contents clattering and scattering on the floor. Many soldiers from nearby tables stand up.
"Hey!" Glynda shouts, shoving her way towards the scene. "Cardin! Back the fuck up!" The trainee, Cardin, raises his hands and takes slow, small steps back from the veteran.
"I don't know what happened, Ma'am," Cardin says. Glynda's speed doesn't change. "It just slipped and I was gonna-"
"Shut up, Cardin!" Glynda shouts. "Attention, all of you!" she commands, waving at Cardin and his squad. They sluggishly stand at attention. Glynda shoves Cardin back to speed him up.
"Permission to speak, Ma'am," one of them, with a light green mohawk, requests.
"You can ask the General," she snarls. "All of you, move!" Cardin sighs, motion his squad forward, and they towards the mess hall entrance. They pass three more Hunter veterans; the team leader has dark brown hair dyed bright red at the end and wears black aviator sunglasses and a black beret. One of her companions has bright copper hair and unusually white eyes, and the other is a giant of a man; nearly seven feet tall, with a traditional Mistral shaved haircut and Mistralian robe. He stops and watches Cardin and his squad, whose pace quickens, then continues forward.
"Let's go, Velvet," the team leader says to the veteran, who quickly nods and joins them. The team leader turns to the rest of the room. "Show's over, people," she shouts. The room obeys, and the usual chatter of the room continues.
"Fuckers," Yang mumbles, watching Cardin exit the room.
"The hell is alpha golf?" Weiss asks. "Never heard that one before."
"Velvet's a faunus," Blake replies, watching the veteran squad. Velvet's team is reassuring her as they stand to get more food, but it's obvious Velvet is having trouble controlling herself. Blake's seen plenty of it in her life, both in New Tango and in the kingdoms. "It means animal garbage. Classic racist slang in the military, mostly in the AA."
"Well, at least it's clever," Weiss says, turning back to her scroll.
"Surprised you haven't heard of it before," Blake says. Weiss pretends to ignore her.
A few minutes pass in silence, then the doors of the mess hall fly open. A guard runs in.
"Is there a tv in here!?" he shouts, looking around frantically. Everyone looks at him.
"Yeah, why?" one of the mess hall workers shouts back. The guard runs towards him, pointing at the large screen above the counter when he spots it.
"Turn it on now! Now!" he shouts. Murmuring spreads throughout the run. Yang looks at Ruby, who shrugs.
"Why?" the worker asks.
"The fucking Feds are attacking! Turn it on!" the guard shouts. The murmuring turns into worried talk, and everyone starts to stand up and migrate towards the counter.
"Attacking?" Weiss repeats.
"Let's go," Blake says, and stands up. The rest of the squad does the same.
"Turn it on, any news station!" the guard shouts. By the time the worker finds the remote, the entire room has packed as close to the tv as they can. The worker turns on the screen, which is on a sports channel. He flips it one channel to the local Vale news station. The newscaster is wide eyed, his face plastered with sweat as he reads the teleprompter like a zombie.
"...and so far there has been no official statement from city hall, the Vale Armed Forces, or the VPD, only scattered reports of random...randoms acts of," he stutters, occasionally glancing at the set behind the cameras. There are occasional murmurs behind the scenes, including "We gotta get the fuck out; they're coming; we gotta go."
"This is Vale?" Yang asks. The newscaster is handed a few papers by someone and quickly reads him. He gulps and looks back up at the camera.
"I have received reports that the first responders of the Vale Police Department have been unable to stop the threat-" the news room shakes, the lights flicker, and panicked screams are heard from behind the cameras. The newscaster is breathing hard now. "Uh...the...more police forces have been dispatched to help in evacuation. All citizens are advised to leave the city immediately." Someone apparently begins talking into his earpiece, and he pauses. "I've just gotten word that one of our reporters is in the streets, a few miles away from the docks. We'll try and connect you now...I think…" The screen flickers a few times between the reporter's view and the news room's, but finally settles on the reporter.
"Oh shit!" she shouts. She and the camera man are standing behind a VPD SWAT van. The distant sound of sirens, gunshots, and helicopters nearly drown out her voice. Civilians covered in dust run down the street, while police officers work to guide them, some of them even charging down the opposite direction of the street.
"What's happening, Lisa?" the newscaster asks. There's an explosion and Lisa nearly falls down. Her makeup is running in every direction on her face, her dress is covered in dust and torn in several places.
"The...the…" she mutters, then clears her throat. Two squad cars slowly drive past her, trying to not run over and civilians. "There are people everywhere. The police are attempting to set up a barricade here and buy the civilians some time before the enemy makes it this far, but judging by their numbers and speed, I don't...I don't know how much longer I can stay here!"
"What enemy, Lisa?" the newscaster asks. An explosion blows away an entire floor of a skyscraper in the background, and Lisa squeals. Some of the cops drop their flimsy wooden barricades and join the fleeing civilians.
"What are you doing!?" a riot officer shouts at Lisa and the camera. He's reloading his M79 grenade launcher with a smoke grenade. "Get the fuck out of here!"
"Lisa!?" Another explosion, close enough to send half of the people to the ground and the rest stumbling to regain their footing. The camera is out of focus for several seconds. It finally settles back on Lisa's terrified face.
"They're Faunus!" she hollers. An APC with twin autocannons rolls into the intersection down the street, crushing a taxi.
"Let's go! Let's go!" the cameraman shouts, and drops the camera. The picture settles perfectly on a group of officers taking cover behind a squad car and the legs of dozens of fleeing people. A split second later, there's the sound of an autocannon firing, and the large 25 millimeter round pierces a hole straight through the car, and the officers fall to the ground. An MG3 opens up from the Beowolf, and bullets fly into the asphalt, the vehicles, and the people. Cries of pain and agony fill the air as blood and bodies begin to fill the street. The screen quickly cuts to the SMPTE color bars.
The mess hall is dead silent as the soldiers process what they just saw.
The doors are blown open again, this time by Port, who is wearing full AURA gear and carrying an FN FAL.
"Grab your gear, people!" he shouts as the air raid siren goes off outside. "We're going home!"