Lousy Scumbags

"No, I'm not overworked... I'm at just the right level, I'd say." Doug sat in front of Ms. Goodwitch's desk like a student seeking counsel, though he was the one who'd been asked here. Glynda looked like the response to her question was a bald-faced lie.

The woman set her hands folded on her desk after pushing up her glasses, something common of her. "Four days of fifteen-hour split shifts, with two days of eight hour shifts? That's quite a load to handle, but not unreasonable... Tell me, Mr. Brightsnap, how long has it been since you last ate?"

He took a moment to think. "Yesterday." She gave him a pressuring glare, and he divulged further. "Yesterday morning..." Another few seconds of Glynda's unrelenting eyes, and he lowered his head. "... It was a pack of noodles..."

Glynda let up on her gaze but didn't slow on the lecture. "As much as I commend your commitment, Your purpose at this job is more of an image to uphold than tasks to fulfill. We've been over that... so while I would let you go on with your diet of coffee and cigarettes, I can't turn a blind eye. Not to mention the nature of your second job..." She sighed, and crossed her legs under the desk. "I can't stop you from digging your own hole, Mr. Brightsnap, but I can at least warn you that it's getting too deep. Beacon doesn't need a hollow husk of a man cleaning the halls. If I catch you slouching," She drew her crop from her waist lightning fast, whacking the table at the edge closest to him. He jolted back in fright at the gesture, while she finished. "- don't expect a light punishment."

Standing from the seat, he gave her a nod and a quick; "Understood," before turning tail and skimpering out like she were chasing him with a broom. The door felt like it couldn't shut fast enough for Doug. Here he'd thought she'd already caught on to his charade, but it was his declining cheer factor that she'd zeroed in on? What weird twilight zone was he in, where Glynda Goodwitch could tell he was dragging his feet?

As much as the teacher had a point, Doug had never felt so accomplished before. The days when he thought his options were limited, his image would do nothing but diminish, his social life would be full of naught but crooks and degenerates –these all seemed like worries of the past. The thought that had been nagging at him since his pride in recent diligence was simple; Dirk was on the rise. Doug, on the other hand, was not. He was growing attached to a temporary identity that could do anything, be anything, like he could make it last. When his looney employer pulled the plug, it would be over and done with faster than he could blink, and there was no way of really knowing when his services were no longer required.

Despite this, it was easy to direct his full attention to acting the part of 'Dirk' when Dirk had so much to do. Doug would keep a clear mind through this, waiting for the next secret directive, whistling away as the fragile walls of his new life stood waiting for the fastball that would shatter them. And since this beat going back to the way things were immediately, he'd do it with a smile.

"Mr. Brightsnap, wait just a moment." He'd been about to leave her office's doorway behind him, but Ms. Goodwitch had other plans. Popping out of the room, she had her scroll in hand, and her brow furrowed. "One of the students' lockers was sent off, but it looks to have gotten stuck... and appears to have been an accidental launch to begin with." She looked up from her device only when the one in Doug's pocket chimed a notification. "Can you go to that location and retrieve it?"

"Consider it done, ma'am." Glynda didn't much care for the word ma'am, something he easily forgot about when Lt. Wyser wanted to hear nothing but. "Er, Ms. Goodwitch. I'll be back as soon as possible." The teacher retreated to her space. Doug dropped another sigh of relief before heading off.

Down the stairs, out the landing, and nearly a healthy jog's distance out of that god forsaken courtyard. He made his way down, out, and down again to get to his car, hopping into the driver's seat and only having to try at starting the engine twice this time around before getting acknowledgement. The drive out into Vale took him about twenty minutes, with fifteen more getting to the heart of the city and off the risen highway. Once at the coordinates specified in the message from Ms. Goodwitch, Doug didn't see any lockers lying around the nearby blocks of apartment buildings, corner stores and the casino –but there was a crowd outside the casino itself, which wouldn't be an oddity, if not for the fact that none were actually going in. He hopped out to have a look himself –at which point, he looked up with the rest of them, and saw the problem.

The locker itself had gotten caught in the 'O' of Casino Traviata's neon sign on the roof, and sparks were raining down from the damages. None of these reached the ground before fizzling out, but it must have been quite a crash by the look of it. Doug stepped through the doors of the casino to hunt down a floor manager and get access to the roof, as well as someone to shut off the power for the sign while he would get the thing dislodged. He'd been here before; thugs and casinos went well together, as hired muscle were often set like dogs on the trail of any gambling addict who'd struck out one too many times. The plush green carpeting, wheels spinning, haunting jingles of try again's and clatter of coins falling for a lucky player almost distracted Doug from finding the right people to talk to.

Five minutes and one breaker flipped later, Doug rode the elevator up and passed a few more stairs to get out onto the roof and spot the object of interest. On approach, he had to climb the base of the sign as well as half the letter in order to get a good grip on the locker, which fortunately came free with only a few strenuous tugs. It dropped on its head, fell on its back, and popped open to release one blonde kid gasping for breath.

Doug was taken aback, of course. "What the FU-"

"Ooooh dear god am I glad THAT'S over! Those aren't made for people, it's too small in there! Too cramped! Too possibly airtight!" The kid got past his little episode of claustrophobia in order to nearly throw up for what he claimed was his stomach's third attempt –maybe due to vertigo, orairsickness –but finally pulled himself together. This was at around the same time Doug finished the smoke he'd decided was necessary at that moment.

They stood in silence for a minute or two while staring down at the now-empty locker.

"... Dirk. Beacon Janitor. You?"

"Jaune. First year. Nice to meet you." The silence returned in full force. Doug grabbed the object at one end, prompting Jaune to take the other. Surprisingly, it wasn't all that heavy, but the length of it made it simpler to take with two people.

Doug propped his end on one knee to press the elevator call button, and looked to the student while he waited on it to arrive. "How'd you end up in this stupid thing?"

"Not by choice..." Jaune mumbled. Doug saw what he meant quickly.

"Was it the burly kid with the crew cut? CRDL's head honcho?"

Jaune looked surprised. "Nice guess." They both clambered into the elevator as it opened up, and Doug got Jaune to stand the locker up partially so it would fit. He couldn't reach the pad, so Jaune had to stretch over and push the ground floor icon.

Doug continued; "So, do you get jammed into lockers a lot?"

"I haven't had long enough for it to become a habit." Jaune muttered, likely expecting this to happen again based on those words. Doug chuckled at the blonde's expense, which earned him a dirty look. The two carried the locker out of the Casino's ground floor, the spectacle gaining some attention from the guests here, but went mostly unnoticed –there was lien to be lost, after all.

In order to get the locker into Doug's car, they had to take the back cushions of the back seats and fold them down, so as to extend the trunk space to include this area. Even then, it stuck out, and they tried lifting it enough to stand the end slantways between the front seats. This struggle ended up futile, but eventually the two managed barely enough space to get the boot closed after turning the object diagonally, and using their weight to forcibly shut it in. As Jaune put on his seatbelt in the shotgun position, Doug kept a sour expression, abusing his lungs by lighting another smoke. Starting the old Voxwagon took three coughs of the similarly abused engine.

"You smoke a lot." Jaune said. Doug rolled down the window a crack so he could hold the cig toward it, let the castoff escape.

"Yup. And wolves hunt in packs. Shoes, they're made for feet. Fire trucks are red, too, Captain Obvious." Doug grumbled, turning onto the road. Jaune gave him a look, and he squinted while trying to ignore the kid. Communications were cut, only the sound of bustling city commerce filtering through the space between them until the highway approach.

As the two joined with a variable sea of other vehicles, Doug began to relax a little more. They'd gotten the locker into the car without leaving anything sticking out, and having some teenager in the front seat wasn't so bad when he knew how to shut his yap. Normally he wasn't altogether too fond of having passengers, but since this one was exercising quiet time, the buildup of irritation could lessen. Jaune must have been shut down by the bothered nature of Doug this present time, even after a little friendliness before now.

The armored truck ahead of them on the highway was flanked by black cars.

A Bullhead matched speed and flew above the vehicle, dropping people onto it.

"... what is my life? Jaune, what holy ground did I piss on to deserve this kind of wrath?" Doug flicked his cigarette out the window, expression still blank. "We're getting off at the next exit."

As no ramp veering off from the highway came into sight, they both watched as the truck was ransacked. Doug's grip tightened on the wheel when it became apparent that the men on the truck were White Fang members. Well, wasn't this bold of them for a change. Jaune had his arms crossed, staring ahead. "Shouldn't we do something? Anything?"

"I'm driving. That's all I'm gonna do." Doug replied. "You could always dial up the police?"

"Oh, right." Jaune took out his scroll, intending to make the call, as Doug spotted the off ramp. He went to turn into it, but more cars backing the robbers came up and prevented his chance. Doug punched the dashboard, and through the windows of these vehicles he could see more White Fangs. Apparently, they could also see his passenger calling for help, too, because they aimed their guns out the windows at his poor Voxwagon.

"No no no please goddammit I'm not insured for that-" Doug slammed the brakes as shots were fired, avoiding bullet holes but getting rear-ended by the hood of the vehicle behind him, which turned out to be another one of theirs. Doug grit his teeth and looked ahead. Jaune had dropped his scroll during the minor shake and now felt around the floor for it. "Okay, now's the time to do something!"

"What should we do?" Jaune asked. Doug took his eyes off the road to give the kid a dumbfounded look.

"What do you mean?! You brought it up! You're the Huntsman here, get out your semblance-thingy! What do you got? Eye lasers? Breathing fire?" He manoeuvred what little he could to avoid getting shot again, ducking into his chest on instinct despite that doing nothing to protect him.

"I don't know what my semblance is yet!" Jaune shouted. "I only had my aura unlocked when this year started!"

Doug rammed another car for the sake of trying to make an opening for the next exit, but his crumby little rust bucket didn't have enough weight behind it. He was on the verge of tears for his old hunk of scrap. "Okay, fine, what overpowered weapon do you have? Does your chestplate shoot rockets, what?"

Jaune froze for a second, and then his expression sank to mock joy in the sheer ridiculousness of the situation while showing off his ranged-combat-inept sword and shield. The shield sprung open to get caught between the dashboard and his chest. Doug headbutted the steering wheel.

They were surrounded on all sides, and the Bullhead maintained course with the armored truck. The White Fangs on board were hefting crates out to waiting winch hooks from the aircraft that then reeled them up inside, and a redheaded man in a white coat was directing them all in doing so with a sweep of his cane. Wait... Doug recognized him. And he wished he didn't.

"Torchwick! Of all the lousy scumbags, this guy just had to turn up in front of me!" He tried strongarming his way out of the encroaching circle of vehicles again, to no avail. Rust and paint flew off his own, and he clenched his jaw at the frustration. More bullets sprayed at them from the left, two of which struck his leg and bruised through his aura. He considered thanking Ms. Goodwitch soon...

Jaune came back up from under the dashboard with scroll in hand, but didn't bother with it now as he pointed ahead. "Do you think we can shove the truck enough to get out? They're already moving forward, maybe we can bump them up!"

Doug shook his head. "Too heavy, even if they're lightening the load. Hang on, kid, I need you to switch spots with me."

"W-What?!" Jaune exclaimed. He looked as if Doug asked him to defuse a bomb. "I can't drive! I've never even been in the driver's seat before!"

Doug turned to him, grabbed the back of his head with one hand, and aimed his face at the driver's area. "This circle turns us left and right! That pedal is go! That pedal is stop!" Doug released him, and then climbed out of his seat to crawl into the back. The sudden release of the gas dropped their speed, and they were rear-ended by the backmost car again. Fortunately, those directly behind them weren't going to fire as stray shots could hit those robbing the truck. Jaune smacked his head into the driver's side door as he tripped over himself getting into the driver's seat, then untangled himself to get his feet situated and hands on the wheel. The poor boy's eyes were wide and knuckles white as he hung on for dear life.

Doug's car was punctured by another burst of fire, and Jaune flinched as his aura deflected several from hitting his torso. The backseat windows both shattered, and Doug sat hunched in the back. "Jaune, how do you make these lockers launch off?!"

Jaune jolted forward as they were rear-ended again, seatbelt pinning him in place. "Uh... I, uh... You punch in coordinates on the thing with the keys on the right, and hit a button on your scroll!"

"Gimme your scroll, then!" Jaune rifled through his pockets one hand at a time, until taking it from his back pocket and reaching back over his seat. Doug grabbed it and found the app, punching in raqndom numbers and soonafter opening the backseat's left door. He fed the end of the locker through, so that he could begin to lift it, until he had it over his shoulder, and he awkwardly propped a foot in the broken window of the door while the other stayed on the floor of the vehicle. Yes, Doug had popped halfway out of the car, holding the student's locker like a bazooka- and the look on Torchwick's face was a satisfying reward as Doug braced the roof of his Voxwagon with the hand he had holding the scroll, and pressed launch.

The locker flew out of his hold, causing Doug to lose his balance and fall out of his car, hitting the pavement but bouncing high enough to land on the hood of the car behind them. His elbow went through their windshield, and this was all that anchored him to it as they momentarily lost control and had to straighten themselves out. Doug shook himself out of the pain-induced daze, and glanced over to see if he'd done the trick.

The locker had flown out of his grasp, and done a beautiful 180 degree turn, to leave the situation as harmlessly as it could. Roman was laughing hysterically.

"God DAMMIT!" Doug lay stranded on the front of their backmost enemy's craft, and the one driving this vehicle took the liberty of pointing a gun at him this time. No way to miss at this distance... Doug braced himself, going rigid as the entire clip was spent on him –every last missive fired pelted off in other directions as they failed to penetrate Doug's accidental defense, and the White Fang that took the shot was now blind –the windshield was damaged enough, but the cracks from the bullet holes effectively clouded the transparency of the glass. As he lifted a foot to boot the useless thing out of his way, the windshield parted with the vehicle and tore off onto the highway behind them.

Doug tumbled into the passenger seat after going limber again, ending up upside-down but grabbing at his opponent's gun for a momentary struggle. They both fought to take the weapon for themselves, but Jaune had slammed the brakes to avoid more shots from either side of him, pounding into the car they were in and lurching the two of them forward, which was startling enough for Doug to steal the gun. He pointed it at the Faunus, trying to look intimidating with his one leg out the window and head next to the gear shift. "Pull over and get out."

The box surrounding Jaune and the Voxwagon was compromised when Doug made the back of it stop moving, and now Jaune took the chance to pull out and let the robbers all move on without them. The armored truck continued to get assailed in the distance, short one car and Faunus.

Doug kept the White Fang member under gunpoint while handing Jaune his scroll back. They stood in silence again, almost as if the whole crazy debacle never happened. Jaune hadn't put the Voxwagon in park, and it ended up rolling down the slope they were on in the highway until it hit a divider and went halfway over it. Doug appeared to be dead inside.

"Well?" Doug said.

Jaune glanced at him apologetically once again. "Er... sorry about your car."

"No, no." Doug muttered. "Call the police already. We need a ride back to the school. And a tow..." Jaune jumped and remembered why he had been trying to get a hold of his scroll to begin with.

As they waited for the authorities to arrive, Doug opened his pack of cigarettes to find it completely bare. Maybe this was an unhealthy habit...