What's this? An update so soon? Why RYNO, what's the occasion?
I'll tell you. I passed my Network Security exam! I am now fully qualified to make your computer the electronic equivalent of Fort Knox! WOOT! I couldn't resist until next Wednesday... or this Wednesday, for that matter. So here you are!
Anyway, Connie's gun is based on the Mk. 32 Maverick from Destiny. I like the gun design in that game, even if my internet is too crappy to play the damn thing.
As the morning classes wore on, Connie made her way through the thin forest that had managed to eke its way into existence. She was flushed and sweating as she ran, but she loved the feeling of the ground under her feet. The freedom of moving. She leapt over a fallen log and pushed herself into the final stretch, running headlong down a game trail that would drop her just outside Beacon's rear entrance. Connie broke through the last of the undergrowth and stumbled to a stop, panting heavily as she walked in circles to cool down. As she did she took in the sights of the school's rear courtyard.
While it was nowhere near as grand as the walkway at the front of the school, it had its own fountain with a massive granite sphere that depicted Remnant itself. There was a path looping around it, disappearing under tall, stone arches as it wound its way back to the front. The sound of splashing water was relaxing, and it put Connie at ease as she began a breathing exercise that would allow her body to recover faster. Several minutes passed as she worked through the breathing, gradually calming her heart rate and leaving a pleasant feeling that would surely help during Initiation.
"I was hoping that you'd make your way back here."
Connie's ears twitched and she looked up to see Ozpin sitting on the back steps, his cane by his knee and sipping from a mug of coffee. She was wary, but she finally gave him a nod and said, "Good morning, sir."
Ozpin chuckled. "It's afternoon. You're missing lunch."
Connie wiped the sweat off her brow before standing at attention. "I'm fine, sir."
"Of course you are – that's why you've been living off MREs for god knows how long," he said, and from behind his back he pulled a tantalizing plate of eggs, bacon, and a stack of pancakes into view. Connie's knees weakened at the sight, but she caught herself from lunging forward and snatching it away. Instead, she took several deep breaths to calm herself again… which, unfortunately, carried the smell of a late breakfast.
Watching as she struggled not to drool, Ozpin chuckled again and held the plate towards her. "I've already had breakfast, if that's what you're wondering."
Not another word was spoken as she dove for the food, all decorum forgotten as she sat on her haunches and ate with her fingers. Three strips of bacon and half a pancake was gone in the time it took Ozpin to blink, the other half of the pancake hanging from her mouth as the plate balanced precariously on her knees. She moaned, eyes closed in delight before she remembered where she was and looked to see Ozpin staring at her with a raised eyebrow.
With a blush, she slowly tore the remains of the pancake from her mouth and swallowed. "…I haven't had real food in a while," she said lamely, her ears flicking.
Ozpin chuckled. "Of course you haven't. What do they call MREs in Atlas again?"
"…"
"Well?"
"…Meals of Regurgitated Entrails," Connie mumbled.
Silence reigned between the two of them as Connie ate, though she forced herself to eat at a slower pace – instead of inhaling her food, she merely shoveled it in with the fork Ozpin had offered her.
"Are you ready for the Initiation?" Ozpin asked.
Connie nodded and swallowed. "Yes, sir. I've checked her systems over and everything seems to be in order. I can begin at any time."
"Good. Because you start in ten minutes."
It took a moment for Ozpin's words to sink in, but once they did Connie's eyes bulged in surprise. Surprise which quickly turned to horror. With a yelp she shoved the plate back into Ozpin's hands – albeit reluctantly – and tore off into the school, the rear entrance leading her into a secluded atrium before opening up into the main hall. Ozpin, meanwhile, merely chuckled as he plucked an abandoned piece of bacon from the plate, chewed, and washed it down with coffee.
"This will most certainly be an interesting year," he said to himself, languidly getting to his feet to make his way to the Cliffs.
…
Connie sprinted frantically through Beacon's halls and up stairwells, all manners forgotten as she dodged wandering students. Such was her panic that she barely noted their annoyed yells when she bumped into them, something that would have her practically groveling back home. Still, she had the presence of mind to watch their faces to see whether they were curious, indifferent, or affronted that a Faunus was attending Beacon. Luckily the last were few and far between, and they let her be as she dashed up the final staircase to her dorm.
She flung the door open; she barely remembered to slam it shut before throwing off her clothes and running straight into the bathroom. Connie spent barely thirty seconds under the freezing cold torrent of water before racing back out in the nude, not even bothering to dry herself as she picked her undergarments and abandoned piloting suit off the floor.
Connie slipped into the second skin, buckling the flexible armor along the shins and thighs before zipping it up. She tugged at the padding around her neck to ensure it wouldn't slip, and then attached the shoulder pads and pouches to her legs and lower back, where her gear would be stored. Having saved it for last, Connie picked up a sheathed machete and strapped it to her thigh, and a thick-barreled revolver was finally shoved into the holster at the small of her back. In all honesty, they were the only weapons she had if one didn't count the multi-ton tank outside.
Despite her misgivings, wearing the suit and helmet gave her a sense of power and control that she couldn't find anywhere else. Constance Carlisle was forgotten and replaced with Connie, an Armor pilot, the best of her class and the youngest to have ever been enrolled at Ironwood, however forcibly it may have been…
And then she finally noticed that there were five minutes until one o'clock.
Gripped by panic, Connie shoved the helmet over her head – barely taking the time to get her ears into the horn-like protrusions in the top of it – and raced for the door, ignoring the fact that she could barely see through the eyeslits. Running straight into the wall, she cursed under her breath and thumbed a toggle under the elongated chin. The headgear hummed to life and sealed itself to the neck of her suit as cameras flared up where eyes should be, glowing an ominous red behind tinted lenses, and Connie squinted as her Heads-Up Display flickered on and nearly blinded her before she could adjust to it.
Naturally, it continued flickering like an old TV set with a bad signal.
"I need to calibrate it again," Connie muttered, ineffectually hitting the side of her helmet in an attempt to jar it back into working order. Needless to say it didn't work, but it occupied her as she turned a corner and made her way down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She was halfway down to the third floor when she heard a group talking, too muffled to hear clearly, and heading her way.
Connie froze, all too aware of the time blinking in the upper right corner of her HUD. At this rate she'd be hard pressed to get to her tank, let alone have it warmed up and running smoothly by the time this 'Initiation' began.
But…
Cursing under her breath again, Connie ran towards the doorway and sprinted up the wall beside it, propelling herself out of view before coming to a stop. Her rubberized boots and gloves hummed before she could fall and she stuck to the wall just above the doorway, out of view from anyone coming into the stairwell. With any luck, they would pass under her and she'd go on her way unnoticed. She'd rather deal with being a minute or two late than having to face anyone just yet.
The voices grew louder, and sure enough they came into the stairwell. There were four guys: one was scrawny, two were of average build, and the fourth was positively massive – probably giving even a few of the muscleheads back in Ironwood a run for their money. The big one looked to be in charge, as the other three kept glancing to him.
"…Absolute bullshit. We get called in for a school-wide meeting – at least let us have the day off and be done with it," the big guy griped. The scrawny one, sporting a Mohawk, shrugged.
"I dunno, maybe it's about that tank out front?" he suggested.
The one with blue hair snorted. "It's probably just target practice."
At this, Connie had to restrain herself from throwing her blade at him.
The leader laughed, raising clenched fists in a show of bravado. "That'd be awesome. It'd be a good workout to be able to rip that thing apart… it wouldn't last long though. It looked like scrap to me… what kind of a name is Grendel, anyway? Isn't that old Mistralan, or something?"
Connie dropped from her perch before another word could be spoken, landing with a thump loud enough to cause that the group to spin around in shock. She smirked beneath her mask at their stunned expressions, taking a ready stance with her right foot forward and her side tilted slightly towards them, fully showcasing her machete and her hand resting on it's pommel.
"Uh, what the hell are you?" the dishwater-haired one asked, his hand moving to where a weapon should be on his belt.
Connie shifted uncomfortably, her anger fading just enough to wonder what the hell she was doing before she let out a breath. It came out in a soft hiss through her helmet's respirator as the red eyes glared at them.
"…The pilot of that, 'scrap,'" she said, looking pointedly to the big one as her helmet modulated her voice deeper. "Retract your insult to my machine."
The big one stared at her, an eyebrow raised. He slowly looked to his left, to Mohawk and Bluehair, then to his right, to Dishwater, before they all burst into full-bellied laughter. Their laughter echoed in the stairwell as he choked out, "Who-who do you think you're talking to? I'm Cardin Winchester, you get it?"
Bluehair chuckled. "A tank? Really? What good is a tank against Grimm?"
"You'd be surprised," Connie said quietly, inwardly fuming. Still, thanks to her helmet, the only outward signs of her anger were her strained voice and clenched fists.
The one named Cardin laughed and came closer. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but- wait…"
Connie laid a subtle hand on her blade.
He frowned and looked closer at her helmet before a sinister grin spread across his face. "You're a Faunus, aren't you? What's an animal doing with hardware like that?"
She flinched at his words.
"Get up! Get on your feet, fox!"
"In any formation, the Faunus units will be deployed ahead of our Hunters to find what the situation is, as well as soften any hostiles."
"But… sir, shouldn't our Aura be unlocked? If our Armors get destroyed, how will we defend ourselves?"
"…Have you ever heard of the term 'cannon fodder?' The Hunters are the important ones – if things play out like Ironwood expects them to, you'd damn well better take down as many hostiles as possible with you. We need as many Hunters as we can spare, and if your bones distract the enemy, so be it."
"It's a good thing you're an animal then. You don't have to make the tough decisions us humans do."
Emotion gripped Connie's chest as unbidden memories leaked from the dam she'd erected in her mind. They disoriented her with their intensity but one thing was clear – she did not like where this was going. Not at all. All she could focus on was the white-hot pressure that begged her to rip Cardin to shreds, her instincts screaming for blood.
She was roused from her daze when Cardin reached for her and harshly snapped, "Oi, are all your ears deaf? Listen when a human speaks, ani-"
In a flash, Connie grabbed Cardin's wrist and pulled him in while snapping her free hand out in a backhanded strike, socking the bully in the eye. As he reeled back she shoved him for good measure, sending him sprawling into his shocked team's arms and bowling the whole lot of them over. Before they could say anything more, Connie sprinted down the descending stairwell, leaving them all to sputter in rage as she made her escape.
Pure, raw glee filled her when she heard Cardin's echoing scream, "Get back here, you bitch!"
She heard thumps and yells as the team gave tried to give chase, still tripping over themselves by the time Connie reached the ground floor. However, now that she was away from them, Connie felt… disappointed. Her first encounter with another person here, and it just had to devolve into that?
"This is just like Ironwood," Connie muttered to herself, alone in the main hall.
Despite her misgivings there was still Initiation, which was supposed to take place at 1:00. To her horror, 1:05 was glaring her in the face, blinking unassumingly in the corner of her HUD.
Connie sprinted through the front doors with a yelp, nearly taking them off their hinges in her haste. Her sheer speed caused the busts to wobble dangerously on their pedestals.
"Emergency warmup, override one-one-seven," she said, speaking into her helmet's integrated microphone as she ran headlong down the steps. At her words, Grendel came to life. A hidden turbine spooled up and a dull blue light flickered within her thrusters. As the vector jets tested their movement, a panel of armor at the nose of the machine lifted up and away, revealing a compact but fully functional cockpit. Connie leapt into the air and flipped, landing in a crouch just behind the cockpit before tucking her arms in and jumping down into the reclined bucket seat.
There was a hiss of hydraulics as the panel slid back into place, leaving her in claustrophobic darkness before Grendel's holographic screens lit up. Connie looked over performance readouts as a robotic voice intoned, "Weapons online. Sensors online. Reactor online. Life support online. All systems nominal. Please state user identification."
Connie grabbed a slim hose by her elbow and attached it to the port on the side of her respirator, letting cool, filtered air fill her lungs before stating, "Dann wird unser Panzer ein ehernes Grab."
"User authorized – Carlisle, Constance. Commencing startup."
The soft whine of the turbine increased to a hellish screech and the blue glow turned to jets of flame that had the power to lift Grendel off her footpads. Connie gripped the twin control yokes and jerked them to the side, spinning the tank around before launching her forward. Banking as an aircraft would, she steered Grendel around the massive statue before veering off onto the lawns, scorching the grass as she sped to the Cliffs.
-O-O-O-
Ozpin, for one, enjoyed the solitude at the Cliffs. It was peaceful watching the endless green sea of the Emerald Forest sway with the wind. It was high enough that he couldn't even see the hordes of monsters that infested it… most of the time, anyway. While Beacon was virtually impenetrable to the forces of Grimm, there was still that slim chance of a single moment of distraction that had led countless heroes to their death.
Still, as he sipped from his mug, Ozpin felt completely at ease.
Sighing beside him, Glynda checked the time on her scroll. "She's late."
"She'll be here," Ozpin reassured her.
"Professor Ozpin, it's already ten after," Glynda said. "Considering her background, if she was going to be here she would have arrived long before us."
Ozpin smiled. "Not everything is as it seems, Glynda. You know this just as well as I do."
With a sigh, Glynda deactivated her scroll. "Professor, of course I do. But if she can't even make a scheduled meeting on time she has no business-"
"I didn't tell her when it started, Glynda," he said, looking at her from the corner of his eye.
"What? Why?"
"To test her. And neither did you, I might add."
Glynda rolled her eyes at his simple response. "Of course you did. And you assured me that you had."
She was stopped from saying anything further when they heard a screaming turbine in the distance.
Ozpin smiled and nodded his head. "And there she is."
Just as he turned around the M7 careened into view, banking hard around a thicket of trees in an attempt to keep from spinning out of control. Blue fire spat from its jets and torched the grass as it righted itself – something which Glynda noted with a scowl – and once it spotted the pair by the cliffs, it turned towards them and accelerated.
It showed no signs of stopping.
"Professor Ozpin," Glynda said warily. "Perhaps we should move."
Ozpin shook his head. "We will be fine."
The monstrosity came closer.
"Professor Ozpin?"
"We'll be fine," Ozpin repeated, his voice tense.
Glynda could see the scratches in its armor.
"Professor Ozpin!"
Ozpin, to his credit, simply grit his teeth.
Just as it seemed like disaster would strike, the tank turned its side towards them and flared all seven of its starboard thrusters, killing off its speed almost instantly and sending shivers of relief down both Glynda's and Ozpin's spines when it stopped not even ten feet away. Still, Glynda had the presence of mind to see the name emblazoned on the side.
"Grendel?" she muttered to herself.
The roar of the M7 died down, turning into a high-pitched whine as it settled to just a few inches off the ground. Now that the ringing in their ears was beginning to go away, the teachers had a chance to collect themselves as a panel of armor lifted away and revealed Connie tucked snuggly into the cockpit.
"I apologize for the delay, Professors," Connie said, her voice amplified. "I was unavoidably detained."
Ozpin took a sip from his coffee, attempting to calm his rattled nerves. "That's quite alright. Are you ready to begin?"
Connie nodded.
"Begin the broadcast, Glynda," he commanded.
Glynda nodded, typing a few last commands before nodding to Ozpin to let him know they were live. Connie, meanwhile, tensed in her seat and glowered at Ozpin.
"Broadcast?" she muttered.
As Glynda began to type once more, Ozpin continued, "Now then, this initiation will not be like any other held at this school, due to your particular skills. It will be broadcast so that the student body will be able to observe your skills as well."
At this, Connie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Why?" she demanded.
He smiled. "Not one of these students have seen combat outside the skillset of a Hunter. Seeing how the other side fights will do well for their own combat strategies."
Though Connie hesitated, she nodded all the same.
Ozpin cleared his throat and turned to Connie, though his voice suggested he was making a speech as he said, "Your coming here was an unusual event, but while it was unplanned, it was also one of the greatest things to happen to this school. Even most veterans are aware of your set of skills, and as Huntsmen and Huntresses, it is our job to know of every possible way to stem the tide."
"As this is an exhibition more than anything else," Glynda interjected, "you will not be undergoing the standard Initiation. Rather, you will make your way to the target area and defend your position. There are ruins at the northern end of the forest where you will find your objective. You will then escort the objective back to the Beacon Cliffs. The Grimm will be attracted to that area, so you can expect heavy opposition. Additionally you will be monitored by our teachers – however, they will not interfere under any circumstances."
Connie nodded.
Taking a sip of his coffee, Ozpin continued. "This is unknown territory. Whether you succeed or fail is up to you. Now, prepare yourself."
With another nod, Connie closed the hatch. "So, just drive off the cliff?" her voice boomed in query.
Ozpin gave a slight nod of his own.
There was a pause before Connie opened the throttle, lifting the M7 off the ground once more as the cockpit hatch shut. Ozpin and Glynda moved to the side to give her a clear run off the cliff, but she simply hovered there, not moving aside from the minor twitch as the tank worked to keep itself in one spot. There was a breath amplified over the loudspeaker, gaining the attention of both the teachers and the students watching in the auditorium.
"Beacon Academy…" she announced, "this is how cannon fodder fights."
With that, the tank rocketed forward and dropped over the edge of the cliff, leaving the pair of teachers to stare after it blankly.
"That was certainly… interesting," Glynda said.
Ozpin hummed in agreement.
Meanwhile, Connie worked her controls with a single-minded intensity, ignoring the pit in her gut as her tank plummeted to the forest floor. She fiddled with her left hand to keep Grendel leveled out and her feet to keep her machine pointed forward even as the wind battered against the machine's hull and threatened to send her into a spin, while the stern thrusters flared constantly in an effort to keep her from scraping against the cliff. With the ground rapidly approaching, Connie hit a switch that overloaded the tank's Dust reactor, letting it burn uninhibited.
The turbines howled angrily as white jets of flame gushed from every open port, rapidly slowing Grendel just before she hit the ground. Still, the M7 kicked up a wall of dust and wobbled before a pocket of air formed under the machine once more.
With a sigh, Connie flicked her 'Overdrive' switch off.
"Magnetic dampeners online," Grendel droned. "No anomalies detected. Dust reactor operating at 83% efficiency."
The area at the foot of the cliff was bare of trees, giving her a nice, clear view of her immediate area… which still wasn't much. They weren't packed close enough together that she would have to make a path, but she would still have to take her time to keep from damaging Grendel. Her baby could plow through thin trees, sure, but without treads to grip the ground it was like trying to cut a ribbon with a pair of sledgehammers – it just didn't work. Still, she grudgingly closed the throttle, reducing the noise as much as possible without scraping Grendel's belly along the ground. Connie would have to be constantly on guard as the tank would now be horrendously slow, and as it was, when she looked at her radar there were intermittent blips closing in.
Though, with all the trees she couldn't be sure. Foliage was notorious for reflecting the pulses used by radar, unanimously called 'ghosting' by Armor pilots the world over.
She urged the tank forward with a sigh, hoping against hope that the Grimm hadn't noticed her dynamic entry.