AN: I'm sorry. I am… so sorry. I never intended the wait to be this long. Nor this chapter to be so dialogue heavy.
(Four months into the year And I've already failed in following my resolution. Dammit)
I had a two month long case of writer's block (combined with the inability to focus for more than twenty seconds on ANYTH-ooh, Dark Souls 3-er sor-Ooh when's Monster Hunter Generations coming out… dang) trying to figure out how I'm going to get the arc I planned off the planning board. I hope you guys can forgive me.
Oh… also, the first paragraphs are intentionally repetitive. Thought I might mention that since the friend who proofread it asked about it. I also must apologize. I went back and changed Cu Rain's eye color due to a small oversight. While it's a minor detail, it is nonetheless a change I feel I must apologize for making. Also I added one of the "journal entries" to the start of Chapter Five.
I've read your comments guys and I felt I should mention that the Courier, while weaker and slower (by a small margin mind you), will still be able to keep up with the others. I said he wouldn't be serving ass medium-rare on silver platters-with a loaded baked potato, please-not that he would be given his own on one. When the characters involved aren't facing mooks like beowolves I will at least try to write an even fight.
-October 7, 2281
History is both a nebulous, wretched cancer, and an unbound, unlimited panacea. It provides a plethora of lessons to those willing to learn from it while also being an unlimited source of regrets for those who chose to never let go. It often goes without saying that focusing on the present is the only way to truly move through life with any semblance of happiness, and such a statement would be absolutely and unequivocally true.
Yet we still cling to our past mistakes without so much as losing our grips, despite all of the world telling us to let our mistakes go.
"Can I just go one week without someone trying to kill me?... Please?"
-Caleb, Courier Six
Chapter 6: Lonesome Roads
The broken and cracked road stretched infinitely towards the horizon in the distance, flanked on both sides by a thick translucent mist, hiding everything beyond a few meters. Neither heat nor cold troubled the boy, an early growth spurt making him tall for his young age, as he walked onwards towards the horizon. He continued walking along that road for an unknowable time, either for an eternity or a mere moment, he didn't know, and didn't care. To the boy, all that mattered was walking forward and the tug of the object in his left hand. For the first time in an eternity or for the millionth time in a mere moment he looked at the object in his hand.
A twine and beige package paper wrapped object met his gaze. Scribbles of writing could be seen on the side of the object, describing to the boy the recipient, whom the boy knew without reading long before. After all, he carried the same package an uncountable number of times before, so the odd unfamiliar package somehow felt familiar in his hands. He turned the package over as he began his journey towards the end of the road, waving goodbye to the smiling manager of an unknown Express office. The package and his left arm fell to his side.
He walked down the cracked and desolate road for what felt like a moment before deciding to finally look at the package. The beige wrapped package in his hands felt strangely familiar, as if he'd seen the package before. On a whim, he turned the foreign package in his hands around to look at the other side, despite a growing pit in his stomach. On the opposite side to the scribbles and stamps was a single painted image: a large white star surrounded by a circle of twelve smaller stars, all within a blue circle with five vertical red stripes flowing from under the bottom half.
The Courier opened his eyes to the pitch blackness of his room and the soft sounds of his own hyperventilating. Sitting up on the soft bed he placed a hand on his aching head, as he attempted to slow his breathing down. He plopped back down to the bed after a minute or so, his tired eyes throbbing. Looking at the darkened ceiling, he began to be able to see the shapes in the darkness as his eyes adapting to it.
I don't think finishing that dream would be conductive to my team's sleep he thought to himself as he mentally prepared himself for the day, plopping his head back down to the soft pillow, and wiping the crust out of his eyes.
"-Friday would from then on be known ice cream day, not to be confused with Wednesday, which was cake day" Octavia finished, gleaming at her teammates.
"... What I wouldn't give to have your dreams for just one night," replied Gwen, sarcasm flooding her tone.
"I know!" Octavia replied, ignoring the sarcasm. "One time, I dreamt my semblance was turning any… erm… body? Source? Volume! Volume of water I touch into chocolate milk!"
"That sounds like it might cause problems down the line though," Dew interjected, a worried expression on her face.
"Please don't encourage her," Gwen said as she placed her head on the table.
"I mean, what if you touched a river that connected with the ocean," Dew continued, ignoring her exasperated friend.
"That's how my dream ended!" Octavia exclaimed. "A chocolatey apocalypse! The Survivors gathered around the few sources of freshwater left. If I had woken up then, the ending would have been ambiguous, with the continued existence of society left up to interpretation" Dew nodded her head in understanding of the dream, a sympathetic look on her face.
"... But then everyone evaporated into chocolate milk and Nebula's grinning head rose in the distance while Gwen and I sat on the shore of the chocolate milk sea."
A silence fell over the other three members as they stared at their strange teammate whose expression refused to change. Each of the team members gave her different looks, from "amused to "disturbed" to "I'm getting choked tonight, aren't I". They remained staring at her until they decided to go back to their lunches, looking across the table as they did so. The carefully constructed silence broke when Dew spoke up.
"So Cu, are you feeling better?" she asked. Cu Rain's head lifted up when he heard the question, a chunk of noodles hanging from his mouth. Slurping the noodles quietly and swallowing, he sighed contentedly. His ears began to move up and down on the side of his head in contentment, and Octavia grinned as if she had just seen a puppy wag its tail so hard it made a drum sound against a table leg. He smiled and opened his grey eyes, giving team NDGO a friendly smirk.
"I'm a bit better than when I went to bed," he replied. "Stomach hurts a bit, but my leg and head feel a bit better. My pride's still in a coma though."
"Well," she said with a chuckle, "aside from your pride, I'm happy to hear you're feeling better! And you, Caleb, how are you holding up?"
There was a long silence as the table waited for a response, when no response came they turned to their resident unknown wastelander, who sat the left of the young wolfhound faunus. The Courier didn't notice them staring at him as he tried clearing his throat with the odd soda he had filled his large cup with, instead only noticing that said soda tasted too much like urined down beer for his taste. As the glob of food finally made it into his stomach he began coughing before taking several small sharp breaths.
"Ugh-Huh?" he groaned in his usual soft tone. "Ugh-Sor-Gh-Sorry"
"You need to chew your food before swallowing, Caleb" Kumiho pointed up from the Couriers left as she patted his back. "Didn't your mom teach you better?"
"Sorry about that," the Courier stated, shrugging before taking another bite of his lunch, chewing it thoroughly. As soon as he finished he found they still stared at him as if waiting for something else. Remembering the question he spoke up again, "Oh, I'm fi-"
"Oh no you don't!" Gwen interrupted. "We got enough of that crap yesterday, Mr. 'I-like to irreparably-damage-my-body-by-walking-on-my-shredded-leg'!" The Courier noticed his partner hanging his head with a rather ashamed frown on his face.
"Sorry," the Courier responded as he looked down at his meal. "That's all I really have."
"Come on, you have to have something!" Dew exclaimed.
"You guys seemed fine with Cu's short answer," the Courier replied, narrowing his eyes and gesturing to his partner.
"He gave details, though," Gwen spoke up, "You seem to think saying a two word statement's a satisfactory answer."
"Might as well drop it guys," Nebula said with a smile and sigh, "I'm pretty sure Caleb will only go below 'fine' if he lost a limb."
"Nah" Kumiho spoke up, grinning, "He's too stubborn to complain about such a minor injury." The others, sans a rather ashamed Cu Rain, laughed at her ribbing of the young wastelander, who subsequently adopted a rather confused expression. The girls at the table continued for a good minute as the teenage wasteland turned back to his meal, jamming his fork into the last bite of his country-fried steak, whose once hard crust became soggy from the brown gravy that absorbed into it like a sponge. He savored the brothy taste and the subtle bitterly creamy flavor of the brown gravy to gain one last bite of pleasure from his finished meal.
"So anyway," Gwen said as she finished laughing, "Caleb, you seemed to be rather interested in History this morning. I don't think there was a moment you weren't writing something down in that notebook of yours. Does it still have blank pages left?"
"Yeah," the Courier replied, "Need it?" Gwen nodded in response, a hopeful expression on her face.
"I'm just glad someone other than me paid more attention to the lecture than the professor" Cu droned out with a thin hint of either distain or jealousy. None of the six girls responded to the rather innocuous remark, and instead all turned their heads to avoid his eyes while red began to tint their faces. They looked anywhere but at the two males at the table, focusing on random tiles or the table itself and stammering out what appeared to be the beginning of a response. An overarching sense of embarrassment filled the air at the table, with only Cu and the Courier free from it.
Scratching his head in confusion at the situation, or in a vain attempt to ignore the implications made at the table, the Courier reached down to his side and pulled up one of the notebooks he had been carting around. Sliding it over to Gwen, he gave her a nod and a friendly smile.
"Keep it as long as you want," he spoke up, breaking the silence. Looking at the time on his Pip-Boy, the Courier got up from the table, the others looking at him briefly. "Sorry. Headmaster wants me to see the Doc' Calendula. I'll see you guys in a while."
The others nodded their heads in farewell or waved as he left, limping down the lane between the long cafeteria tables towards the maze of hallways that made up the bulk of the Combat School. The Courier, being a courier, one whose job requires an innate sense of direction, memorized most of the hallways through the observation of almost unnoticeable landmarks, such as small cracks and patches of missing paint. Following a familiar path he limped past the various students moving through the hallway, and managed to avoid bumping into them, having experienced enough of the cramped life in New Reno to know how. Leaving the building that housed the cafeteria he limped across campus, and entered the slightly smaller building close to the central tower.
As he entered the building he noticed the clean smell that had been overwhelmed by the numerous odors of the students in the other buildings, giving him a clue that the building was seldom occupied by more than a few students at a time. The halls were thinner, indicating that the architects intended for the building to be sparsely occupied. The desert colored walls were occasionally broken by doors opening into what appeared to be offices for the various professors of the academy. Several of the doors were open, allowing him to exchange glances with whichever professor happened to be organizing their materials for the day.
The Courier heard the shouting before he even noticed Professor Bialy standing outside a door, grinning in that sarcastic manner as shouting continued to be heard through the door. The young wastelander sighed at the sight. From what he could tell, someone was laying into poor Professor Laurel, likely for his dress code violations, and the white-bearded Grimm Studies professor took advantage of the free entertainment. As he walked past the door, the older professor gave him an unregretful grin as another professor dragged him inside while grinning sweetly and apologetically towards the passing wastelander.
The Courier closed his eyes and continued on, attempting to ignore the growing screams of muffled, but most likely ear-shattering, rage behind him as he attempted to finally make it to the doctor's office. Some of the professors looked out from their doorways towards the screaming fits as he passed, and paid the injured courier only a passing glance. The history professor's muck up at least gave him the satisfaction of not being the center of attention for once, though it made him feel awful for leaving the poor young teacher to his doom.
After another few minutes of walking the Courier found himself standing in front of the academy's Doctor's Office. After waiting a few pregnant seconds, he entered the room and greeted Doctor Calendula… who slept quite loudly on her desk. He blinked for a few seconds at the odd sight, before moving across the office towards the examination table, pulling the removal lever on his Pip-Boy as he approached. Sitting down, the Courier began to take off his duster and desert-brown shirt, placing the Pip-Boy down next to the pile of clothes.
"Play the guitar. Play it again, My Johnny~ maybe you're cold, but you're so warm ins-"
Auuugh the Courier groaned in his head, putting a hand on his forehead. Whyyyy? Why Johnny Guitar? Of all the constants, why does that freaking song have to be one?
The Doctor woke up at this, groaning as she groped around for the still playing scroll. After several failed attempts, she finally managed to find and turn off the alarm. Groaning as she stood up and stretched, she finally managed to fully wake up. Scratching her lower back, she turned around and paused as she faced the Courier. She blinked a few times, before speaking up.
"... You're here early," she said blankly.
"Yup," the Courier said succinctly.
"Were you watching me sleep?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I didn't want to wake you up. That'd be rude."
"Mmmmm. I guess. Hey, can you answer me a question?"
"Uh sure," the boy responded, looking to both sides of the medical office.
"Is it true that Doctor Laurel taught his morning class naked with a throb-" She began to say
"No. No he did not," the Courier responded while closing his eyes in attempt to stop a rather odd image from appearing in his head.
"Oh," she said hanging her head down. She then raised her head up and looked around, smiling awkwardly before continuing. "Er, that's great. I really wouldn't want you kids to be scarred for life by a young, strapping, intell-erm. I mean… I'm really glad I don't have to provide a bunch of kids with therapy. Yeah… that's it."
A silence formed between the two for a minute as she began to gather various pieces of medical equipment, an embarrassed look on her face. The Courier simply watched as the young bright eyed woman hung a stethoscope around her neck, soon after grabbing a small tray with a needle, a sphygmomanometer, a reflex hammer, and a large scroll.
"Alright, Caleb, do you know why we're here?"
"Four point one billion years of evolution?" The Courier asked in response, looking nervously to his left and right.
"No," she said laughing. "I meant why the headmaster wants you to have a medical checkup. We don't have any prior medical information on you… or personal information for that matter. So that means we have to start from scratch!"
"I can give you my medical information if you need it."
"That would be great!" she exclaimed. "How long ago was your last physical?"
"About a year and half ago" the Courier mumbled.
"Ah, then we'd still need to update the information anyway. Though I'll still need that information. Now, I'll ask you some questions as this physical goes on to get a good idea of your general health. I'll also need to take a blood sample. I know it's not standard procedure, but… well... we don't know what's in your system. You might have a blood borne disease that could kill off millions of people... or the common cold. We also need it to determine your blood type. Honestly he should have sent you to me the night you got here."
"O-negative" he responded as she wrapped the sphygmomanometer cuff around his left arm. She typed down some information on the scroll. Looking at it he found the screen displaying his first name at the top, his blood type along with several empty white text boxes on the right half, and an image of his face on the left, above a few lines of information. According to the data under his picture, he was born in a small village called Marron in Southern Vale. There was a small black flower next to the name of the town.
"Ah that actually explains a lot… Hmm…. seventy-eight systolic and fifty-five diastolic… that's not good… have you lost blood in the past month?"
"Yeah. I don't really know how much...feels like half … three quarters of a liter… maybe a little less." Please don't ask why.
"Definitely need to add Iron and Vitamin B supplements to your diet… Have you been eating regularly?" she asked after tapping down some information in her scroll. Pulling off the now loosening cuff, she wrapped a thick rubber band around near his left elbow.
"Now, yes. I hadn't had much food before getting here though."
"Alright. I'm going to have to ask you to increase your food intake for a while, we don't want you suffering from anemia." She said as she pulled out an empty blood testing syringe. After wiping a part of his arm with an alcohol swab, she removed the rubber band and the cap of the syringe in stuck it in a protruding vein. The syringe filled as she continued, with the process completing after a good thirty seconds. She placed pressure on the wound with a bit of gauze after removing the syringe and placed an adhesive over the bandage.
"Alright, I didn't get a chance to ask questions earlier, so I'll just ask them now. Do you normally take any form of prescription medication?"
"They used to give me Methadone."
"Oh..." She said as she tapped some things on her scroll. "Why did you need painkillers?"
"I had a rather gruesome injury as a child," he said, shrugging. "That was the only prescription medication I was ever needed."
"Well that's good to hear!" She replied cheerfully as she swiped her finger across the scroll. "Do any chronic illnesses such as diabetes or cancer run in your family?"
"I don't know" the Courier responded. "I don't think I'm predisposed to any illnesses.
"Hmm… alright," she said as she squinted her eyes. "Do you drink or smoke?"
"I rarely drink… maybe once or twice a month. I've only smoked twice in my whole life."
"Hmm. That's more than done," she said with a frown. "You really shouldn't be drinking at all. Alright, now, I'm going to have to ask you to take off your shirt and your bandanna scar—"
"No," the Courier said simply.
"Caleb," she said in a voice that emanated the feeling of frustration. "I've seen it all before. You don't have to be emb—"
"No," the Courier said again, shaking his head. "No. Please. Just…Please, can you just use the stethoscope under my shirt? I'm… I'm not taking anything more off. No one needs to see what's under it."
The doctor sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, clearly the result of experiencing something unlikable for what must have been the hundredth time. Slowly she raised her hands in acquiescence to the Courier's demands. Shaking her head she walked forward and began to feel around the young man's torso through the shirt, smiling when he snorted in surprise. He felt her prod around where his organs must have once been, frowning in concentration as she prodded the areas that must have been his kidneys.
After a few minutes of curious prodding she shrugged. Grabbing her stethoscope she began to listen around his chest, asking him to breathe in and out deeply. The Courier continued to follow the directions until he felt her cold fingers slide over his chest. He held his breath as she stopped and slid her fingers over his skin again. He began to sweat as she dropped the stethoscope and began sliding her hand all around his torso, as a look of growing horror appeared on her face. She removed her hand from his chest and the courier waited a moment for the inevitable question.
Oh boy, this isn't going to end well for anyone.
The Courier gagged in shock as she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it so far upwards that the crew neck was just under his chin. On reflex, the wastelander bent his abdomen and his torso back sharply, pushing her by the shoulders away. Ripping off the undershirt from his right arm and face with his left, the young wastelander backed up several steps and adopted a boxing stance, with his back arched slightly and his body twisted so his left hand, holding his crumpled grey undershirt, was in front, as he reached around his waist with his right. After about half a second he realized she meant no harm by blinding him temporarily, and relaxed, moving his hands up to his neck to ensure his cowboy scarf was still in place.
"Sorry. I shouldn't hav-"
"Who did this to you?" She responded tersely, with concerned anger in her voice.
Sighing to himself, the Courier turned his body towards the young doctor, who displayed the appearance of someone blurring the lines between anger and horror. She clenched her lower jaw with her hand, and her brow angled downwards in anger. She studied his bare chest with her eyes narrowed, going over from the bottom to the top, with each second her appearance growing even more furious. Turning towards the mirror above the sink, the Courier finally looked below his neck, nearly bringing himself to vomit in disgust.
The somewhat pale skin of his left arm ended somewhere just a few centimeters into the actual torso, and disappeared into the "skin" of the torso itself. Where years ago the Courier once saw slightly rough skin and flesh, lean muscle giving it a toned and youthful appearance now hung a disgusting, eldritch looking mockery what could only technically be called "skin". Only a few brave patches of relatively unblemished skin remained unflooded by scars. Bullet holes, stab wounds, cuts, burns from flames and plasma, a veritable unholy menagerie of scars covered the entire torso from the bottom of his neck to his waist, with most near the center and sides of his chest. He remembered a few doctors in the past who claimed his chest looked like someone stole his skin, threw it in a wood chipper, and sewed the results back on using rotten black medical fibers. He personally would have added "made into Swiss cheese" at the end but what little humor in the situation would die from that.
Gagging again and closing his eyes, the Courier threw his grey undershirt back on, and leveled an emotionless gaze on the doctor. She breathed in and out a few times, rubbing her head before leveling an angry but concerned glare back at the young man. The two stood there for a moment before she broke the silence.
"Who did this to you?" she asked again, with a little more force behind it.
"I did," the Courier said.
"No," she whispered through gritted teeth, her eyes wide open in anger, "No you didn't."
"I—"
"Did you cut yourself? Stab? Shoot?" she practically yelled.
"No, but—"
"Then who… who hurt you like this?" She asked, concern lining her voice.
"My choices led to this. They scars are disgusting, but with few exceptions, I don't regret what led to them," the Courier said with confidence.
"What kind of messed up world did you come from" She asked, exasperated and horrified.
"One that's slowly getting less messed up, believe it or not," the Courier said, chuckling. "Yet still not as nice as this one."
"Hmph," she exhaled, "I won't let this go. I will know what happened to you, even if I have to shake it out of you. Hmmm...I'm guessing your neck is the same as your chest, isn't it?"
"That is something I refuse to talk about," the Courier said
A silence filled the room as she turned and shook her head, tapping for a while on her scroll as she wrote down the young wastelander's medical information. After several minutes, she turned back around and stared at him for a moment, and sighed. She pointed towards a tall scale near the wall and the Courier walked towards it, no longer carefully hiding the sounds the heavy boot made as he stepped forward. After taking a moment to remove the cumbersome device, the Courier winced slightly as a small jolt of pain ran through his leg when he stepped up onto the scale. The doctor took a moment to balance out the scales, while also using the extendable height rod to measure the young man's height. When the scale was balanced she tapped her scroll several times and then paused, looking between the scale and her own scroll several times before speaking up.
"Why do you weigh over one hundred and thirty-one kilograms?"
"Huh. I lost weight, the Courier said closing his eyes. After a moment or so of silence he opened his eyes and spoke again, having come to a conclusion in his head. "Okay, remember that implant I told you about?"
"The Phoenix one?"
"Yeah," the Courier said while looking out the window, watching some hawk land on one of the small trees planted about the mesa. "I have more than just that."
"How much more?"
"I honestly don't know if I'm more machine or human anymore," he said with a humorless smile on his face. Another round of silence began between the two, as the statement registered in the orange-eyed nurse. After several seconds she took a seat in her chair and began tapping away at her scroll. It took her several minutes to finish tapping, and the Courier had finished redressing long before she finished, but after a few seconds she squinted at her scroll.
"Alright,' she said, tapping the device and swiping her finger across it. "That's all there is for now, it's… ah, it's already one. You should head to combat class, though… uh, you might want to pick up your guns though"
"Got it," the Courier stated as he raised his eyebrow, "I have a couple of guns on me, though, so I'll just… uh head on over there. It's on the west side of campus right?"
"Nope, east" she said cheerily. "Oh the headmaster told me to tell you to come to his office after combat class."
The Courier nodded once before leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. After backtracking through the building the Courier exited the near empty building into the open air of the desert. Following several paths, and once again avoiding the occasional student, the young wastelander found himself on the east side of the campus facing out over a now shady looking desert which rounded downwards as it approached the horizon. The Courier held back a gag at the sheer height he was at, trying not to stumble as he continued forward.
It took little time for him to find the combat class, as the sounds of mild gunfire echoed from down a staircase. After reaching the bottom, which existed on a slightly lower table of the mesa—of possible artificial make, due to the low amounts of erosion on the cliff side—the Courier raised his eyebrows at the various sights that stood before him. Towards the wall to his right stood a dark haired young man surrounded by various students, making gestures and displaying movements while the students nodded and wrote down notes. In contrast to such a scene, to the left the young wastelander witnessed almost two dozen students duking it out in hand to hand, or with melee weapons, with odd bursts of light coming from their bodies every time a blow landed. From down below another set of stairs he heard the same series of gunshots from before, more than likely a shooting range. Considering his injuries, the young wastelander felt that should be his first destination.
However, his attention shifted to the sight straight in front of him. In a large surrounding ring, two students were fighting each other with more power than the various sparring matches to the Courier's left. A small, sparsely-distributed crowd watched from outside a white line as the two students continued duking it out like psychoed out New Reno boxers. He could even hear small explosions from the fight, and flinched in surprise as one of the combatants hit an invisible barrier above the white line. Behind the arena, under the portrait of one of the students a bar ticked down by a chunk. Getting closer, the young wastelander decided to observe their manner of fighting.
About a minute in, the Courier began to think of strategies to fight the faster students on equal footing. While the defending student, who he recognized as Noire Pinot of team PEAR, fought with slower movements than the wastelander and could thus be fought "equally", the young trench-coat wearing youth's opponent moved at speeds even deathclaws couldn't match. While the faster student had just taken a serious blow hard enough to send him flying, he managed to recover quickly and dashed towards Noire, flapping the eagle wings that stretched from under his arms to his shirtless torso to increase his speed.
The Courier blinked in surprise and quickly studied the student's wings, and began observing the manner in which they played into his fighting style. The faunus dodged shot after shot of fire, ice and wind that Noire shot from the grey crystal tipped end of his staff, using his wings to propel him left, right, and above the shots. As the winged student closed in Noire flipped his staff around, allowing the young wastelander to observe the polished machete like blade attached blade that sprang from the base. Attempting a horizontal slash, Noire watched as his blade sailed under the feet of his opponent, who, having used his wings to allow him to continue his charge just a meter off the ground, slashed his blades in an 'X' motion, sending Noire flying. Right as Noire hit the edge of the ring, a buzzing sound filled the air, and the eagle faunus walked over to the young staff wielder and helped pick him off the ground, saying a few things to him as they left the ring. Two new students entered the ring, and the Courier nodded in understanding.
He left right as new blows began to sound from the arena, and began to walk down the stairs towards what he hoped was a shooting range, and not a dueling arena. He found himself relieved when he reached the bottom the stairs, where various students stood or laid down near a cliff edge, firing dozens of shots out into the distance. Behind them, near the cliff edge a large pit could be seen with waist high bars blocking it from access. Staring at it further, he realized the pit was an elevator shaft, and that there were more gunshots coming from the bottom. Looking at the small number of students that fired from the top, he noticed that they all wielded some sort of high powered rifle. Smiling to himself he walked towards where the ground stopped, meeting with a cliff that rose into the air, where he noticed his teammate Lili firing her powerful rifle at something in the distance.
Looking to his left, the Courier snorted and smiled dryly, figuring that like everything else in Remnant, even the strangest things classified as mundane. Out in the distance he watched as small, young, and simple grim moved about near specific devices, or towards the cliff itself, only to die from either the small amount of sniper fire from atop the cliff, or from the gunners who took the elevator down. The wastelander nodded as he watched on, glad to be at an academy which knew how to train future grimm killers by actually having them kill grimm on a regular basis.
Standing next to his teammate he watched as she searched the horizon for a grimm to kill, one which wouldn't affect the others' practice. The Courier sat down to her left, finally getter her attention, as she made a quiet yelp as he plopped to the ground. She stared at him in apprehension for a few moments before deciding to go back to firing her sniper rifle.
"Need a spotter?" the Courier asked.
"... Yes...Thank you." she said quietly, with a voice that reminded the young wastelander of some of the French women he had seen in old movies. Smiling, the young wastelander began pointing the various grimm she could snipe, and watched as she began her work.
"Yo! Lili! Caleb!"
The Courier, his back propped up against the cliff side rising up to the flat area that composed most of the training area, watched as Kumiho approached them, her jacket slung over her shoulder. Her face was covered in sweat from exhaustion and she had a small, insignificant cut over her right eyebrow.
"Need a bandage?" the Courier asked, pointing above her head.
"Aww, how sweet," she cooed, before giving a friendly if amused chuckle "It's a small cut man, it'll stop in a bit. Thanks for the concern though."
"Did the arena fail?" Lili practically whispered.
"Nah," the dark clothed girl responded, "I just decided that I could spar after my aura was in the red. Got a nasty bruise on my back." The orange haired girl rubbed a lower part of her back some before giving an uneasy smile to the other two members of the team. There was a terse silence between the three students for a good two minutes.
"Anyway," the orange haired girl said, breaking the silence, "combat class is almost over, so… wanna hit the dusty trail?
He chuckled at the way she slowly spoke the last lines. Standing up, he nodded as the two girls followed behind as he limped up the stairs. A series of chimes filled the area and most of the students began dropping what they were doing. As the three members of team CRML climbed the stairs, they met their fourth member at the top, happily discussing something with the black haired teacher. The teacher gave an appraising look at the young spearman as he continued before nodding his head and responding. The conversations around the members of team CRML made it difficult for the young wastelander to hear the conversation but he could have sworn the phrases "Schnee Dust Corporation", "Solar Power", and "the Iron Woods" were dropped.
After a farewell, the young spearman turned around and noticed his team waiting for him. In a quick motion for a man on crutches, the young student joined with his team on their journey back to their dorm. No one had to attend any additional classes that day, and they figured that they all could use a shower. Halfway to the dorm however the Courier remembered his meeting with the headmaster, and he slip up from his team for the second time that day.
I hope I'm not setting a precedent, he thought
The Courier walked towards the central tower, observing the various students as he made his way to the center. Standing outside the double doors which led to what the young wastelander could only assume to be a long, elevator ride, he took a deep breath and entered. In the cool, air-conditioned bottom floor the young man found himself debating whether or not to ride the elevator, knowing there were only glass windows separating the youth from a painful, fruitless death.
After a minute or so of deliberating the young man stepped into the elevator, which after a momentary shudder which made the Courier think of shooting out the glass separating him from safety, began to rise. For the young man, the ride felt as if it lasted an hour, but by the time the thirty second mark had passed, the doors had opened and he quickly walked inside the office.
"Ah," the elderly headmaster stated, "Welcome, Mr. Caleb! Ah! Don't take a seat just yet!"
The Courier did not respond as he watched the headmaster rise, the sunlight giving his greatcoat an experienced and distinguished appearance. The fur-lining near the collar shined in the sunlight in such a way as to appear to be a lion's mane. He walked over to the windows and looked out towards the horizon.
"Such a beautiful landscape, wouldn't you agree?"
"If you say so," the Courier responded, looking upwards away from the windows.
"Mr. Caleb, Dr. Calendula sent to me just a few hours ago, information regarding the results of your physical," he said with a stern air. "As well as information on your… extensive injuries."
Oh dammit! The wastelander thought.
"After looking at your injuries, I decided to rewatch the footage from the initiation, and I have one question for you Mr. Caleb." The headmaster turned around, giving the Courier a level stare. "Does your world know about Aura?"
"No, sorry" the Courier responded quickly, meeting the gaze of the headmaster. "If we did, we lost the information during the war two hundred and four years ago."
"I'm guessing you don't know what a semblance is either?" the headmaster asked.
"I do not, sir," the Courier replied, earning a sigh from the headmaster.
"Aura is the physical manifestation of a soul, Mr. Caleb. It aids us in battle, keeps us safe, strengthens us, and follows us farther than any companion. It is a part of us that walks besides us in battle, like a steadfast guardian" the headmaster stated, pride in his voice. "A semblance is an extension of Aura; a projection into this world of that which makes every one of us a warrior. It is a unique ability which affects all hunters' daily lives.
"And today, Mr. Caleb. I am going to unlock yours," the elderly headmaster finished with a satisfied smirk. The Courier hesitated for a moment.
"Is this 'Aura' what allows the students to fight without being hurt?"
"Indeed, Mr. Caleb. You seem to be accepting this all faster than I would expect!" The headmaster exclaimed cheerily, only to get a dry chuckle out of the Courier.
"Well sir, I've seen and experienced my fair share of the impossible. After seeing the things I saw, I'll believe just about anything given enough proof."
"I see. Are you ready?" the headmaster asked. After seeing the young man nod his head, the headmaster slowly approached the young student. "I'm going to need you to close your eyes Mr. Caleb."
Following the elderly man's directions, the Courier slightly flinched when he found a hand on his shoulder and over his heart. Then he heard… no… felt the words the headmaster flow through his body, like a clean, crisp river flowing coolly through his entire being.
For it is in passing that we achieve immortality.
Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all.
Infinite in distance
And unbound by death,
I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee.
The Courier opened his eyes to find the old man standing there in front of him, an exhausted smile on his face, but standing firm. He felt a warm light flow through his body through every organ system, both artificial and natural. He felt immediately connected to all of the world, as if he were part of its very heart and soul. Looking at his hands he could see a faint yellow glow outline his arms, and he could once again feel the warmth of that light.
The pleasant feelings stopped with the sounds that he could hear only in his mind. The glass walls of the office stood sturdy and unbroken, and yet he could hear the sounds of a million windows breaking simultaneously in his ears.
Then he looked at the light on his arms.
The pale yellow glow burned bright for a second, and he noticed innumerable cracks formed in what could have been described as a beautiful yellow shell. When the light faded into his body, he began to hunch over in absolute misery. He wanted to scream, to bite his own tongue off in sheer agony. He felt as if a million tiny glass shards flowed through his entire vascular system from his toes all to the way to his cranium. He began to scratch at his eye, trying to remove the invisible glass shard that he felt inside of it. He collapsed onto his knees and clenched his teeth harder as the pain only increased as the clock ticked on. He felt compassionate arms carry him into what could be described as a comfortable chair had his body not felt like it was currently being fed to a paper shredder.
The Courier had never felt such agony in his life before.
It took five minutes for the pain to finally die down completely, and his arms continued shaking as the sounds of shattering glass muted in his mind. The only sounds the young courier could hear were his breathing and a coughing from the headmaster.
"I don't know if I should be impressed or horrified that you have enough pain tolerance to actually go through that without passing out like most huntsmen would" he said dryly. "But I'm happy to see you're alright."
"Wh-wh-"
"Mr. Caleb, do you know what you just experienced"
"No," the Courier stated.
"A broken aura, Mr. Caleb… and it is all the proof I need to have you sent to Dr. Calendula for psychological therapy."
"What?" the Courier asked.
"What do you think causes a broken Aura?" the elderly headmaster asked a stern emphasis in his voice.
"I… I guess… The Cybernetics I have," the Courier said with an apologetic grin. The headmaster stared at the young man for a few moments before sighing.
"I'm sorry, Caleb."
"Er… what?"
"Mr. Caleb, a broken aura is a symptom of a divide between the soul and the mind, and is always a symptom of minds which put themselves through hell itself. More often than not, this hell is called Post-Traumatic-Stress Disorder." the headmaster repeated.
"PTSD? I don't thin-"
"Mr. Caleb. I hate lies. No … I detest them," the old man interrupted, looking down as he spoke. "I hate seeing horrors made far worse because of them. I hate how they result in men coming home broken physically and mentally. I especially hate how I let my wife lie to you all about the initiation."
Owyn let out a sigh and paused for half of a minute before continuing. "And I loathe the truth that I withheld from you."
The Courier shrugged, giving the old headmaster a friendly smile, letting him know that he was used to it. This only made the old man respond with a tried gaze.
"Surely whatever it is isn't that bad?"
"Mr. Caleb," the headmaster stated clearly for the young wastelander to hear. "The truth of the matter is that your skill is only half of the reason I brought you here. The other half is why I 'threw you to the beowolves' so to speak." The Courier tilted is his head in curiosity.
"When I met you and I looked into your eyes…for a moment, I saw someone besides Caleb." The Courier stared at him, a frown forming on his face in concentration as he sunk into the leather chair.
"I told myself during that meeting we four had: 'He's just in shock over the colony. He's too young to have seen true horror'" The headmaster said as he shook his head dismissively. "But when you looked out towards the sands of the Avarus Rex… you still had that look. So when we arrived I left you to socialize with the other students, hoping that it was still just shock, and the presence of others would help mend those wounds. But now… this."
"So what?" the Courier asked. "Because my Aura's broken, you think I have freaking PTSD? I still think it's because I have all these cybernetics."
"If that was the case then I know of at least two people besides yourself who would suffer from broken auras. No, Mr. Caleb, this is a problem that we as a society have sadly only recently begun to understand," the Old headmaster said, once again shaking his head, but with a rather melancholic tempo rather than dismissive. "Battles leave scars in places the eyes cannot see, where they are hidden. And all I dare to say to you, Caleb, is that you hide your scars well."
There was a silence between the two as the clock on the wall ticked away, and they continued to stare at each other over the desk. The Courier tilted his head back and rested it against the chair before breaking the silence.
"I don't mean any offense, but what does any of that have to do with Aura? Where is the link between it and a person's mind?"
"Aura is greatly affected by mental status, Mr. Caleb. We have many cases every year of huntsmen and huntresses going through the very thing you are going through right now. All I can tell you, Mr. Caleb, is that continuing to hide it… continuing to lie about it… It will only bring you pain."
"I'm fine Head-"
"You are not 'fine' Mr. Caleb" the headmaster interrupted, giving the Courier the glare of a concerned and angry father. "I may be foolish for only realizing now, but I am no idiot. I refuse to watch you kill yourself like this. If I must, I will give your friends the information to help you, with or without your consent, and they will be the ones browbeating you, not me!" The old man shouted before he began stroking his beard. "Maybe I should regardless."
"Please n- Why? I don't… I don't deserve this," the Courier said in a despondent voice. His eyebrows pressed down and he could feel his lips part and his teeth clench slightly in discomfort. Owyn observed this and sighed.
"Why?" He simply said, "Why do this to yourself? Why won't you let us help you?"
The Courier breathed in for a moment, holding it before releasing it. He relaxed his posture and slumped forward. When he looked up he knew his eyes had once again betrayed his mind by the headmaster's saddening expression.
"I've handled it on my own for a while… I don't want people to worry about me. Besides," he said looking down, "I deserved this."
"Mr. Caleb, you and I both know that's a lie," the headmaster stated with pure compassion.
"Maybe," the Courier said with a sigh. "I'm heading back to the dorm. Have a nice day."
"Mr. Caleb," the headmaster stated sternly, causing the young man to stop in his tracks. "Dr. Calendula will bring you a bottle of pills later tonight. I want you to follow her instructions to the letter. Furthermore, you will see her for therapy once every three days, until your issues are resolved"
"... I hate being rude sir, but, what exactly makes you think I'll make attempts to attend the therapy?" the young Courier asked.
"You don't want your team to suffer right? You are their leader. If you suffer, they suffer. By alleviating your own suffering you can alleviate theirs," headmaster Lyons stated, a slight undertone of regret in his voice.
"... Dammit," the Courier whispered as he entered the elevator to head back down. The elevator ride was quiet, and he didn't experience the same panic as when he went up to the office. Silently walking back to the dorms he stopped himself before entering the dorm, stealing his face from his previous anger.
"Hey Caleb," Cu Rain spoke from his bed, his scroll in his hand. "What'd the headmaster wanna talk to ya' about?"
"Nothing, really… Just wanted to ask me a few questions about adjusting."
"Alright," the other male said.
"It's almost five now, though," Kumiho spoke up. "Think we should head to dinner."
"If the question involves eating food," the Courier spoke up, a smile on his face. "The answer is always yes."
"...Unless it's toxic," Cu Rain added.
"Right. Unless it's toxic," the Courier repeated.
AN: This chapter can also be called: Lonesome Roads or: Why being a Fallout Protagonist sucks.
I mean, you're shot at, stabbed at, blown up, taken advantage of in multiple ways, and you never get to experience the joys of scrambled pornography on the television.
But… yeah, I actually want to see where I can take this, and I hope you do too.
Oh, and one more thing before the Omake (Yes, I'm doing that, because why not?) The "Combat Class" in this story is a supervised pseudo-free period in which the students are expected to work on either tempering their weaknesses or building upon their strengths, whether that's through "target" practice, sparring, having a grizzled hunter explain combat techniques, or the straight out fights seen in the show. It's a system designed around practice rather than theory like in the show (as the students probably took more mental notes than spend time actually fighting in that class, even with the super speedy fights).
Omake: Who's George Washington Carver?
The Courier flopped down onto the bed, enjoying the freedom of finally having the giant boot removed. He began to doze off when he smelled something in the air which he knew he had never smelled before. Sitting up he looked around the room only to find himself staring at his partner.
"Hey Cu?"
The dog faunus looked up, licking the last bits of a brown paste off his lips, but not before opening and closing his mouth several times, and creating a smacking sound.
"Yeah bud?"
"What are you eating?" the Courier asked, his eyebrow raised. Cu Rain narrowed his eyes.
"Peanut Butter— and yeah! I know! A dog faunus eating peanut butter out of a jar! Look I like the taste, and not because I'm a dog eithe-"
"What's Peanut Butter?" the Courier asked, his head tilted. Cu dropped the large plastic jar onto the floor where only one or two globs shot out and stained the hardwood material. The young faunus then began to get teary eyed.
"That is, without a doubt, the saddest thing I've ever heard," Cu said, before sniffing. The Courier was tackled by his friend who held his head in his chest like he was a child being comforted. "But don't worry your head! Cu here will teach you the wonders of Slippy, Gip, and Porter Pen."
The Courier gulped. Fifteen minutes later Kumiho walked into the dorm to find her teary eyed leader tied to his bed being force fed spoonfuls of peanut butter. She wisely shut the door as she immediately left the dorm room.