Yahto cascades down the helix staircase, engraving his feet into the cobblestone steps as he travels. His bounds were as large as his disdain for Ms. Noir. Planting his moccasins into the base of the staircase, he took a running start and shoves open the door in front of him. It busted open, startling the soldiers that were clocking in for the day. After the initial surprise, they return to their placid state of the daily grind. Yet, the soldiers condescendingly stare at him, just as hard as their bitch of a leader would have. Their eyes stayed on Yahto as he walks passed, constantly judging him at every step. Looking for something to make fun of later when the action is low and they're on lunch, no doubt.
All of them are piles of crap.
As he went to exit the room of awkward gazes, he accidentally body-checked a royal-purpled haired girl, spinning her around and making her drop the two books she was carrying. The ID that was held in her hand used to scan in for the day went flying, and the militia rifle she carried barely held on, thanks to the strap around her shoulder. He looks back for a brief moment to see a dainty soldier, a bit younger than him, give a dismayed groan as she bent over to pick up the scuffed books. The books themselves seem much too thick to be militaristic; Noir likes to keep things short and to the point for her handouts. She picks up the girthy mounds of paper and heaves them next to her body frame; only illustrating her frail figure more so. The girl turns back and shot Yahto a look of glum more than anger. Her soft and faded yellow eyes seem to depict her as being brittle as topaz; though he didn't care. He continues his course passed the guard post and slams the exit behind him. Making a beeline back to his rundown truck, Yahto grumbles to himself.
"Everytime I see that woman, its bad news. Do this, do that, obey these rules, we're taking this as collateral, stand at attention, yadda yadda yadda. The mainstay is a real pain in neck. Noir never lets things slide and has no sense of humor….Those soldiers aren't much better, thinking themselves judge, jury, and executioner; especially McPunchALot. They're simply brainwashed into taking orders by the false authority of an appointed figure. Haven't they ever thought that maybe they shouldn't fall in line just because they have been compelled to do so? And maybe, just maybe, that they don't have the right to box in people they know nothing about!?"
With a frustrated grunt, Yahto climbs into his truck and slams into the drivers seat; having some of his bounty of beowolves already taken off. Had the soldiers been a little less timely, he probably could have drove off with everything and just blamed Noir's ability to command her guards. Not his fault they didn't take the opportunity. Turning the ignition and returning to the road, Yahto resumes his driving towards Capture Corp.
"At least I can enjoy a peaceful ride there."
Having driven on gravel 15 minutes or so into the wooden maze of the forest, Yahto eased and began to enjoy himself a bit more; bobbing his head from side to side to the CD playing. Capture Corp.'s facility came into view, a similar structure to the wall encompassing Midbay. The wall wasn't as gritty looking, but it was made out of better material since it was further into the forest. It also had some extra goodies like blockades and barbed wire, but other than that the same design principal was implemented. Guards patrol the tops of the wall while others took up shifts inside the compound. AA guns whir into different positions, ready to fire dust shells at anything that came into their airspace. Yahto's truck slows to a halt as he approaches the main gate. Its features were nothing special, but its material was incredibly resilient. The gate shines in the sunlight, and its pearly white metal is the closest thing to the gates of Heaven you are going to get. The individual bars were as thick as an elephant's leg and the gate itself was large enough for an Atlesian Paladin to get through with ease. Beyond the gate is a high tech facility, filled up to the brim with security cameras vigilantly watching the grounds. Cross-sectional grates reinforce Its Plexiglas windows, acting as sentinels to keep monsters out, or in. The walls of the premises were nearly as thick as the barricade that protected it, and it has an unpromising navy blue coloring. Everything is up kept so well that it's as if the compound came out of a mint condition box. Had Yahto not known any better, he would have thought he stumbled onto the grounds of some secret fort built by the Kingdom of Atlas which by the choice of some authoritarian designer, changed their color of choice of white to blue.
A sole guardsman was idling at his post, reading some sort of magazine on his work desk right outside the gate. His name was Doug, and Yahto has known him for a week or two now. His eyes were a funny shade of purple, though normally he wears a set of sunglasses everywhere he goes. Doug keeps his jet black hair in a boisterous pompadour, which was long as it was loud. The guard uniform he wears is standard navy blue, but he manages to give it his own unique spin with a gold pin he wears. It's a little worn, but he says it was a gift from his sister when they were kids; a hearken back to the good ol' times, as he put it. His sister gave the impression of being an investing bigshot over in Vale.
Yahto overheard Doug on his phone one time about how he came to Capture Corp. for the wages to help pay for his sister; some sort of entrepreneurship with a rag-tag group of hunters and a finicky faunus who owns a restaurant in Vale. Apparently, its signature drink- a special type of strawberry milk based on a recipe from a lesser known kingdom- could be the next big thing and Doug's sister wants to sell it all over Remnant. However, the faunus in charge of the restaurant is asking for an exorbitant amount of money, and she needs a ton of lien to coerce the owner. Doug was asked if he could work overtime at a new job to get that final push. Though his free hand went directly to his head at the time, he reciprocated with a grunt and a "sure thing, love ya." Doug doesn't seem to mind working here too much, but the profession keeps him on edge considering the danger involved. Yahto was doubtful Doug wanted to stay at this place more than he needed to. He desperately waved to get Doug's attention but to no avail. Yahto had to roll down his window and bang on the bulletproof glass that separated the two. Doug rouses from his traced state, puts his magazine aside, and smiles.
His pompadour flops a bit as he spins towards Yahto. Seems it was too early in the morning for gel.
"So, what'cha got today?"
"Bunch of Beowolves for the cause. Would have been more, if Noir and her lackies weren't so headstrong." Yahto grumbles back.
"Yeah, she can be a real hardass. Glad I work under Mr. Cobald instead of that bundle of fun. At least he knows how to have a good time. Give me a moment."
Doug began typing away at his computer, filling in the patrols and letting the docking bay know that there was some more Grimm on the way.
"Okay, seems like it's going to be a little bit; a convoy just came in about 45 minutes ago with a couple Ursas and a huge Deathstalker. They're just finishing up now, though it seems like they had some, umm, "complications" so-to-speak. Not sure what they can do with one of those monsters, but hey; as long as they keep paying me what they do I'm fine with it." Doug gives half a shrug, expecting Yahto to react and talk to him back. Yahto's mind buzzes.
Ooooh no. Okay. What should I talk about? Um…Sports? What's that one with the oval ball again?...Nah, Let's try something else. The weather? No, that's dumb, it's nice out, end of story. How about the entrepreneurship with his sister? AH! But then he would know I was eavesdropping! THINK.
Yahto grimaces, trying to come up with something to say. Doug's face slightly wilts; his posture falling a bit back on the defensive.
"Uh, Hello?"
Say something, you're making him sad! Stop being a statue!
Out of options and brandishing his fakest smile he could muster, Yahto goes with,
"So Doug, how's the wife?"
Taken aback, Doug's face becomes even gloomier.
"Yahto, I don't even have a girlfriend….."
Yahto's spine tingles and his eyebrows raise as he speaks,
"OH I didn't me-"
"Yeah whatever. The gate should be opening in the few seconds. Good luck and stuff."
It seems Yahto hit a nerve, as right after, Doug closes the window and went back to reading his magazine, though in a slightly more depressed mood.
I'M AN IDIIOOOOTTT!
Yahto's head droops as he lets out a sign of frustration. Thinking what he could do next time to make it up, a loud buzz overtook the distant clanking machinery. The gate separates in two and slides across tze asphalt, opening the path to the complex. Shifting gears, the truck lurches forward; beowolves nearly bouncing out after hitting an unexpected bump. Now inside, Yahto turns to the left and passes a nearby patrol. They glance at him, but seem too busy to pay him any mind and continued their routine. Driving at a little less-than-safe-pace, Yahto heads towards the docking bay. Suddenly, he has to stomp on the brakes, sending the fleshy cargo slamming into the back of the cabin. A loud blaring of a horn blast the air and Yahto is face to face with an enormous tire. The semis Doug talked about earlier were on their way out and had Yahto driven any further, he and his hulking truck would have become a pancake. He spins the wheel and drives over to the wall, where its shadow quickly engulfed his truck, giving room for the semis to pass. They begin to puff out some exhaust above the cabin when their monster wheels catch traction. The sun's glare was reflecting off of their gunmetal bodies, but Yahto could still make out the heavy dents and gashes in their trailers' frames; a huge claw mark taints the second semi's driver's cabin. Seems that they had a lively catch this time around.
"That deathstalker must have been a real fighter…."
Now that semis have chugged by, he turns his truck back on the path towards the docking bay. After plowing over a speed bump, the docking bay opens up to him. Its smooth black pavement allows for a nice ride, at least. Three entrances lay ahead. The one closest to the way into the docking station is massive, built to accommodate only the largest of Grimm like the Nevermores or Deathstalkers. However, there were pieces of the adjacent wall scattered about the zone, like someone left a time bomb unattended. It seems like the previous shipment was not sedated correctly, as the barrier next to it was crumbling from what appeared to be, an impact zone from a claw of a Deathstalker.
That would explain the deep dents on the semis, I suppose, Yahto ponders.
The second opening is for the medium sized Grimm, Ursas and adolescent King Taijitus. The final entry way -where Yahto was heading- is for the smaller Grimm such as Beowolves and Boarbatusks. Passing a newly constructed helicopter pad for aerial retrieval of Grimm, Yahto maneuvers his truck and backs up to the lower level area of Grimm. Everyone is a-flutter, speed walking, shouting directions, entering and exiting vehicles. A great deal amount of soldiers and laboratory employees alike still gather near the largest entrance. The scientists seem to be arguing over the size of the crater in the wall, making ridiculous hand gestures as if that would win them the argument. Modified fork lifts putter about, and one comes up behind Yahto's truck to get the beowolves. Its forks extend, sweeps under 3 wolves, and carries their bodies by a unique adhesive that Yahto knew nothing about.
Shutting off the engine, Yahto jumps out of the truck and abruptly confronts a worker firmly grasping a clipboard. She gets incredibly close in his face and squints at him with fiery red eyes. Yahto immediately takes a step back and tries to wave her off. Her face haughtily puffs up as she slips out a dignified "hmph." Instead, she adorns a pair of glasses from her laboratory coat, takes a deep breath, and began to command orders to him through the fakest smile he's seen in months.
"Hello, how are you? That's good to hear. Now, if you could take this clipboard and put your name, number, address, and the number of Grimm traded, that would be appreciated. Also, state specifically what type of Grimm was captured, what vehicle they were transported in, what time of day or night the Grimm were incapacitated, time of arrival, and what they were bagged with. Oh, and don't forget about how the…."
Yahto's eyes glaze over as the woman's words meld into the beeps and whirrs of the machinery around him. He retreats into his own mind and waits for the storm to pass.
You know what sounds good right now? Like, 5000 pancakes….But if I had that many pancakes, then I would need 2500 liters of milk. Wait, what's the perfect ratio of mllk to pancakes again? Something like a third of a liter to a pancake right? Hold on, divide that by five and take the ratio of fluffiness…..
Finally after a minute or so from what he was able to gather, a piece of that dazing sound stops. He slurs out,
"Are you finished?"
"Yes. Wait, were you even listening to me?" She warily responds.
"Loud and clear." Yahto grasps the clipboard and takes the woman's ballpoint pen. He turns the check-in sheet sideways and writes in large letters YAHTO TIAMA across the sea of questions. Tossing the clipboard to the redhead, she fumbles to catch it due to the surprise. The boy in pajamas shoots her with a finger-gun.
"Here ya go. Time for me to get going!" Yahto exclaims as he frantically speeds away, running up the ramp. Half to get further into the complex, half to avoid the trivialities that the lab worker asked of him.
The woman stares at the clipboard and stands baffled. She did a rapid shake of her head to make sure she had enough coffee today.
What just happened!?
Calling after him, she yells,
"Can you at least fill out the customer service review so I can get a raise?!"
However, Yahto already ran into the laboratory through an automatic door; its closing ding was the only response back.