March 4, 2282
He stood behind me all these years. When people their children the greatest enemies are themselves, they generally mean the greatest challenge they will ever face will be from their own deluded self-doubt.
In my case, however…
"Caleb, what the hell did you find?"
-Rose of Sharon Cassidy, upon the Courier returning from the Divide
Chapter 9: Broken Aura
"Sorry. That's everything sirs," the Courier said, looking across the table at the three men. The old Headmaster bowed his head, leaning it upon bridged hands, his fur lined collar swaying as if in the wind from the momentum. He sighed heavily and the professors who stood by grimaced in thought.
"Faunus traffickers..." the gray haired grimm professor said in his typical gravel filled tone. "I don't like the smell of this, it's too high profile-They're never this direct!" He closed his eyes for a moment before looking at the black haired wastelander. "But we can discuss that later. You mentioned... large trucks?" He asked, only getting a nod in confirmation. He turned the headmaster. "They're being shipped to Vale."
The Headmaster nodded twice, his eyes narrowed, and responded, "And from there, to Mistral and Atlas."
"I'll have my contacts in the SDC see if they can dig up any information about the trade," the combat instructor, Schwarz Schäfer, stated with a disgusted scowl forming on his face. "Wouldn't be surprised if they get some of their 'workers' from the traffickers."
"Ironwood needs to be informed of this," the headmaster spoke up, his voice quiet yet stern, gathering the attention of the two professors. Professor Schäfer gave him a quizzical look, even as the older of the two nodded in agreement. "Of the others, he's the only one who would take any action, Schwarz."
The young combat instructor sighed before speaking up, "I guess so. Knowing how Mistral works, I have no clue whether or not Haven's Headmaster would risk getting involved. I can never tell what goes through their head."
"And the less said about what Ozpin'd do, the better," the Grimm professor said with a growl of distaste.
The Headmaster chuckled and exclaimed, "Now, now! You give our mutual friend too little credit! Yes, he prefers letting things play out, like a chess game, but you, Wilk, know well that to beat a chess-master, one must think like one. He must be doing something right. After all, he held them off this long."
A lengthy silence overcame the office as the old grimm studies professor sighed and slumped his shoulders in resignation, as if hearing an old argument. The Courier looked back and forth between the three older men in the room, attempting to figure out where he stood in all of their discussions. From what he surmised, since he knew Headmaster Ozpin resided in Vale, and they mentioned a reluctant headmaster of Haven Academy in Mistral, that this "Ironwood" must be in charge of the academy in Atlas.
He frowned. They never mentioned the plans for dealing with the kidnapping situation in Vacuo. Looking across from him he found them staring back at him, knowing looks in their eyes, with professor Bialy giving him his trademark cynical grin. Schäfer just gave him a studious glance, before shrugging. The Headmaster humphed curiously when the Courier's eyes matched his, and smiled knowingly at him.
"What is on your mind, Mr. Caleb?" The Headmaster asked, still smiling.
"You mentioned the other countries... But what about Vacuo. If this place is where they get most of their victims," he said, letting his words sink in.
"Well," the grimm studies professor spoke up, shrugging and giving a half smile, "You took down one of their bases alongside just one of your teammates. I figure regardless of what we tell you to do or not do, you'll go after them again regardless."
The Courier blinked before speaking, "Wh-"
"Don't think you're the first student to attempt to go out and fight injustice," Schäfer stated bluntly.
"We even have a term for them: 'Interns'," Professor Bialy spoke up, an amused smile on his face, before chuckling. "Let's just say they don't stay interns for long. They either give up by the end of their fourth year, or they start doing it professionally."
"Mr. Caleb," the Headmaster interrupted, a frown on his face. "Know this. Of all that which students have gone out and fought, the enemies you wish to face are likely the most sadistic."
"Students haven't attempted to try and free slaves before?" the Courier asked, his eyebrow twitching and his nose scrunch in confusion.
"No," the two professors stated at once, causing the young wastelander to blink. They sighed sadly.
"They always focus on the high profile things: robberies, gang violence, White Fang-you get the idea. They've never attempted to stop something this... deep down, I guess," Professor Bialy continued, scratching under the ponytail on the back of his head. He smiled warmly, "But hey, I can't fault the interns. Those groups are dangerous, and this is world is better with them beaten down and in a jail cell."
The combat professor chimed in, an apologetic smile on his face, "It's likely because they lack the knowledge of such an enemy."
"Right," the Grimm professor stated, shaking his head. "Why would they know, when everyone tries to keep these things quiet?"
The room remained silent as the four looked at each other before drifting their eyes to elsewhere in the room. The sounds of distant arguments and laughter rose all the way to the top of the tower, creating a mental dissonance within the Courier's mind in regards to his experiences the night before. He looked over towards the electric clock on the holographic panel on the headmaster's desk, noting he slept past his usual waking hour. Moaning lightly, he rubbed his head in anticipation for having to deal with the extra nightmares the REM portion of his sleep cycle would throw at him since he knew through experience how sleep deprivation extends that stage of sleep.
"Well Mr. Caleb," the Headmaster said, grabbing his attention, "Thank you for informing us of your... activities last night, but I think it's about time you enjoyed the remainder of your weekend. Eat some breakfast, get some sleep, but by the First, at least attempt to talk to your friends. Social interaction may just help to alleviate your mental anguish."
The Courier grunted in acknowledgment before walking into the elevator behind him. As its double doors closed, he could hear the conversation begin once again. "Do you think she-," was all he heard before the elevator descended too far for him to hear any more of the conversation.
Stepping out as the doors opened, he looked about him to find no one waiting for him. The students remaining on the academy grounds over the weekend ignored him as he walked towards the cafeteria. The campus, despite the presence of some small part of its population, remained somewhat silent, the distant cries of animals in the distance creating a nice, muted ambiance for the weekend desert morning.
He took the quick route to his dormitory, ignoring the tantalizing scent of warm food wafting into the hallway as he passed by the cafeteria. After a few minutes of walking across the sizable campus, he walked up the stairs leading to the second floor dorm rooms. Similar in fashion to when Mr. House handed him the metaphorical keys to the Presidential Suite, that the alien feeling of sleeping in the same place for more than a day caused him to feel extremely uneasy. Traveling always caused him to experience nightmares far less horrifying than when he remained in the same place, due to having adapted well to a mobile lifestyle.
Stepping up the final step he let out a quick breath as none of the students who shared the same dormitory floor as his team had decided to mill about the hall like a Freeside Junkie. That made getting into the room much easier, and it lowered the chances of them ambushing him like a Legion Assassin squad and firing questions off again. It seemed that to the people of Remnant, coming back from a trip elsewhere sporting bandages or limping made you a target of inquiry. Then again, he felt like a hypocrite for being bothered by such inquiries when he did much the same back on Earth, even though his questioning often involved a more liberal use of the word "where" than those questioning him.
Shaking his head, the young wastelander placed his scroll up against the electric lock, and groaned as he remembered the scroll needed to be on to open the door. The sound of creaking and the door across the hall opening only caused him to clench his eyes before looking upwards at the ceiling in resignation. Turning his head to look at them with his right eye he found himself staring at two members from team NDGO, who lived across from his team, both of who gave him a rather surprised stare. Then Gwen's face took on an anger, and the Courier closed his eyes as she began to yell at him, despite her teammate's efforts to prevent her from exclaiming her anger.
"Where. In. The. DUST! Were you Last night?" She yelled her eyes twitching. "You were gone so long on your freaking 'errands' that we were beginning to think you got hurt again!"
"Sorry Gwen," the Courier said remorsefully, as he turned around fully, causing Octavia to gasp. "But it was important. You can trust me on that."
Her closed eyes twitched and she yelled out, "How could these things take all night? You had Cu worried sick! And... You're wounded? How? Why? You just finished recovering and you're injured again!"
The Courier winced at the mention of his partner's worry, and replied, "I'm really sorry, but I'm alright. They're just a couple of cuts and bruises, that's all!"
"That black-eye doesn't look like just a normal bruise to me Caleb," Octavia interjected, her usual energetic voice covered in unwanted concern.
The Courier held his expression as he touched the bruise around his left eye gently. The regret he felt from when Kumiho and he dragged the, sadly hornless, goat faunus to the alleyway returned, alongside numerous other negative emotions, all aimed towards himself. The Courier shrugged as he faced his two friends again, remembering the-thankfully-few times where his aid had been reciprocated with naught but anger and hatred. He compared the events following their exit from the slaver hub with such reciprocation, and felt little anger towards the young faunus, due to the content of the shouts he aimed towards the young wastelander.
"Just something I received for being racist," he said, chuckling without any mirth.
"Racist?" Gwen asked in tone that radiated skepticism like a nuclear waste disposal site, with eyebrows raised and her hands on her hips. Octavia gave him a surprisingly deadpan look, as if the words which came out of his mouth formed Remnant's most inane sentence.
Not exactly the reaction he hoped for, having banked on rage rather than skepticism. He found it odd that they only now gave him the "really" look, even after telling his altered tale about how he met Raul Tejada. Apparently highly trained criminals kidnapping an eighty year old automobile repairman to fix up a modified Atlesian Knight was more believable than him being racist.
I should feel honored that they don't believe me, but... now of all times?
"Caleb," Gwen said closing her eyes. "Just because you use 'humans' instead of 'people' before correcting yourself doesn't make you racist. Who called you racist?"
"It's a long story, and I don't want to talk about it. I just told a man I understood what he went through and he sort of...well... I kind of deserved it," he finished looking at the ceiling while rubbing the back of his head.
Gwen responded to the Courier's last statement by raising her eyebrows and glaring at him with wide eyes and an almost exaggerated pursed frown. Octavia smacked her face with her hand and gave him yet another incredulous glare, causing him to slump forward slightly. Looking on stoically, he watched as Gwen opened her mouth and took a large breath. Sighing, he closed his eyes, and shook his head.
Why me? the Courier thought as he blocked out the myriad shouts Gwen aimed at him. I don't deserve people's concern. Cu has a broken leg for God's sake! That's much worse than a black eye!
"-hate yourself!" She finished, looking at the Courier expectantly. "Well?"
The Courier simply shrugged in response, earning exasperated glares from his two neighbors. Octavia looked once at his scars with what appeared to be concern, as if she suddenly came to some realization regarding how he earned them. He opened his mouth to respond when the door behind him opened, and he turned around for a single moment before quickly turning to face the girls with another one of his trademark blank looks, though he felt his eye twitch ever so slightly. His partner, Cu, stood in the middle of the doorway staring at the three students in the hallway as he wiped away the sleep discharge that accumulated in the corners of his eyes...wearing nothing but a loose sagging pair of boxer shorts the same tint of lightish-gray as his eyes. He heard as a student lightly popped out of their bed in one of the rooms at the end of the hall, before the permeating silence returned.
At least it's not as awful as that time Cass decided to leave the Lucky Thirty-eight drunk and-
The Courier shook his head to rid himself of the mental image of Cass nearly getting the entire group exiled from the Strip during one of the rare times the Courier's stayed more than five hours-which he normally spent sleeping-in the presidential suite. Of course, he only really hated the fact his bullet-riddled, bed-ridden body forced Boone into going after her, which only ended up exacerbating the issue.
Well the King thought it was funny, the Courier thought idly before remembering where he currently stood. He watched stoically as Gwen looked to the side, an embarrassed look on her face, while Octavia stared at Cu's stomach for a long moment, before staring at the Courier's. She squinted her eyes at his dirty, gray t-shirt for a straight fifteen seconds before realizing the young wastelander had been watching her stare at his stomach, and promptly looked away in embarrassment.
"Cu," the Courier said, listening as his partner came into full consciousness and gasped in surprise. "You might want to look down."
He listened and fought back a smug grin as his partner yelped slightly, before blinking in response to his partner dragging him inside the room. The indignant cries from the two members of Team NDGO could be heard through the dark wooden door, and the Courier snorted in amusement as Cu attempted to put on a pair of dark blue pants-with legs so short they might as well have been boxers simply missing the y-flap-with a desperate ferocity. Looking around the room, lit only by the filtered light through the gray curtains, he watched as the fourth member of his team, Lili, woke up with a massive yawn. She scratched her side as she quietly hummed before groggily getting out of bed, only to freeze when she locked eyes with him. Against the tranquil ambiance consisting of two girls banging their fists on a wooden door and a young man cursing the fact he fell in the middle of getting the pair of short pants on, she coughed and continued staring at her team's leader.
"So," the Courier began after the quietest member of his team blinked at him in surprise before walking over to the room's bathroom, grabbing her toothbrush. "How was the Atlesian breakfast?"
"Good," she said quietly, as she squeezed the toothpaste onto the brush. "And your barbeque?"
The Courier took on a dazed expression and replied, "Wonderful," before watching the grey haired teenager brush her teeth, spitting out the mixture of mint scented paste and saliva that accumulated during her short teeth-cleaning session. Hearing footsteps to his side he turned and faced his partner, who looked at him with his bright, light-grey eyes and gave him a relieved grin.
"Cu?" the Courier said, while looking down to the waistline that ended just below his partner's abs.
"Caleb," Cu said in a deep, faux-gravelly voice, hiding his accent while giving the Courier a sharks grin and a fake discerning glare.
"Sorry, but... Why are you still shirtless?"
Cu shook his head in faux-disappointment and said, "Caleb, Caleb, Caleb... bud, friend, pal. There are two gorgeous women standing just outside our door! How can I possibly impress them if I don't show them my magnificent abs?"
"Uh," The Courier replied with a blank look etched on his face. He blinked twice and mouthed a question too impolite to say. "Why does that matter?"
Cu gaped and responded, "Why does-Caleb! Impressing women-or men if you prefer, I'mnotgonnajudge-is like-like, the second most important thing for a huntsman! I mean... I can't really explain it all that well. It's just important!"
"I'm not telling you not to do it," the Courier replied shrugging. "I'm just saying there are things far more important than flirting right now."
"Oh yes, Caleb. You are absolutely correct."
The Courier clenched his eyes shut and grimaced in discomfort as the two male members of the four man team named after a confectionery long absent from his world turned around. In the doorway stood three women, two who appeared confused and one who stared at the two men with her arms crossed. The two members of team NDGO, a confused expression on their face followed Kumiho as she approached the Courier. Standing before her team leader, the young fox faunus jabbed a finger into his gut causing him to flinch slightly as she began rubbing her finger, having jammed it against his reinforced muscles. She groaned slightly as she looked up to his face, only to glare in surprise as she observed the young wastelander's rather worried expression.
"Is somethin' wrong?" Cu asked, causing everyone to scrutinize the pair. They only looked away when the sound of a growling stomach broke the brief moment of silence. Looking up, they smirked as Octavia looked to the side in embarrassment.
Kumiho sighed and said "It'll probably be easier for us if you two went to go eat."
The two girls barely managed to open their mouths before Kumiho began brusquely pushing the two members of team NDGO outside, much to their own chagrin. Closing the door she turned back towards the rest of her team, allowing them all to see just how dark the spots under her eyes. Wiping her eyes she took a seat on her bed just as Lili left the bathroom. The three other members of team CRML watched as she sighed and lied down onto her own bed, staring intently at the ceiling.
"Look," the Courier said in a stern tone, "You may be curious about what happened last night, but trust me, it isn't important."
"Caleb," she said stoically, blinking once, "why didn't you tell us your aura isn't activated?"
"Whoa," Cu whispered, "awesome."
"Cu, you say something?" Kumiho asked giving Cu a curious glance. He merely shook his head and motioned for her to continue.
"Anyway," she said, looking from Cu to the Courier. "Seriously, though Caleb. What in the dust filled hell made you think fighting without an aura was a good idea?"
The Courier opened his mouth only to be interrupted by-to both his and Kumiho's surprise-Lili, whose spoke out calmly with just a hint of apprehension. "He has exactly seven, Miho. Not one more...not one less."
Kumiho's eyes went wide and she stared at her own partner in horror for a good moment. It took her a good fifteen seconds before she returned her gaze back to the Courier. She stared at him in confusion for a dozen seconds before repeatedly studying him from head to toe. She then turned back to her partner.
"Like... right now?" she asked. "Without his armor? Without his helmet?"
Lili responded quietly, "When he's in his gear, two disappear and all but the obvious are diminished."
"His neck?" Kumiho asked, only to receive a fierce nodding in response from the quiet sniper wolf faunus.
Uh oh
"My neck?" the Courier asked, hiding his nervousness by keeping an emotionless tone. The two girls simply looked at each other for a moment before turning to face him, at which point he noticed Lili's eye color changed from her normally dark gray to a bright green, and for some reason, white string-like lines formed the shapes of numbers in her pupil. She blinked a few times and looked to the side, her eyes returning to their natural color. She shrugged and looked away, in a manner he knew by experience conveyed the message: "I would rather not talk about it".
Kumiho opened and closed her mouth several times before speaking up. "S-So anyway, I think it'd be best if we unlocked your aura. That way we won't have to worry about you getting killed out in the training arena."
"Uh," The Courier quickly responded looking back and forth nervously, passing over Cu, whose eager grin continued to grow in intensity, to the point he appeared bloodthirsty. "That's alright! I don't really need it unlocked."
"Yes you do," Lili spoke up, with surprising assertion in her voice. "Even with only seven... uh... never mind... but you do need aura... um... other... otherwise you might not..." Lili trailed off looking away nervously from the Courier who continued to look about himself in confusion. "You need it to protect yourself... it... it's required to use dust properly."
"I've been able to use dust rounds without it." The Courier retorted.
"Dust rounds are different, Caleb," Kumiho explained. "All you have to do is pull a trigger and ignite the dust inside the cartridge. Lili's referring to Dust Manipulation. The use of dust in things such as weapon coatings, armor coatings, and what's colloquially referred to as 'Dust Magic'."
"Or as Noire likes to puts it," Cu interjected with an amused chuckle, "Dust Magecraft."
"Noire's an international treasure," Kumiho said with a faux-angry glare, before returning her gaze to the Courier. "But yeah. Caleb, get over here so I can unlock your Aura." She pointed to a spot in front of her for emphasis.
"No you see," The Courier said, backing up towards the door until his back came into contact with Lili's outstretched hands to push him forward again. He gave a quick look of betrayal in the hopes she would let him leave and not experience the exceptional agony that he felt when the Headmaster unlocked his aura. He opened his mouth to explain only to be interrupted by Kumiho grabbing his right arm tightly, causing him to grimace in pain as she rubbed through the bandages to the burn scars underneath.
Kumiho humphed, gave the Courier a half confused glance and said, "Take it easy, Caleb. I don't know why you're so nervous, it feels good to have your aura unlocked!"
Lies!
The Courier closed his eyes and grimaced as she began the same ritual that the Headmaster started when he attempted to unlock his aura. He felt his eyebrows raise in confusion when she spoke the lines differently than that of the Headmaster.
"It is said, by the crossing of our paths, we transcend mortality.
In this, we become beacons of hope and compassion, to guide all.
Endless in distance,
Our graves stand forever empty.
I bring forth your soul, and with mine own, guard thee."
As the warm feeling of the aura coming forth flowed through his body the Courier opened his eyes and flinched in anticipation for the pain that came the last time someone attempted to unlock his aura.
"You're going with that one?" Cu asked in what sounded like disgust. "You're putting 'im at a disadvantage!"
"So he may have to stretch his out," Kumiho retorted defensively. "I'm too tired and exhausted to do it the standard way. I'm too damn tired to- Oh First..."
Opening his eyes, the Courier watched as Kumiho gaped, opening and closing her mouth like one of those electronic singing fish that hung annoyingly on the walls of cheap wasteland bars. She growled and in anger and began opening and closing her mouth repeatedly in an attempt to find words that seemingly eluded her and failed to match up to the sheer fury that the Courier could see painted on her face. Lili just stared at him in what appeared to be utter shock, her eyes looking from his head to his toes before she bit her lower lip. She appeared to be close to crying. Looking down at his hands he realized exactly why they looked concerned.
At least it wasn't painful this time.
"That's… that was a thing." Cu said, a slightly curious look plastered on his face, before turning to Caleb. "So, I guess this means our fight's postponed then?"
"I don't think you understand how bad this is! Caleb's aura is broken! We have to get him to therapy! Make sure he doesn't hurt himself!"
"Broken things can be fixed," Cu replied nonchalantly while shrugging. "The best we can do is be there to pick 'im up when he falls down. I can, at the very least, do that right. I'm just surprised none of us noticed anything. You're pretty quiet in your suffering, man."
"He…" Lili started, fidgeting as others looked at her. "He wakes up every night holding his hand over his mouth to mute his own screams."
"Oh," Cu responded, looking to the side in embarrassment. "I just thought that was how he snored. Sorry I didn't notice bud."
"Why aren't you concerned about this?" Kumiho shouted, grabbing the entire team's attention. Her hair fluttered about, messy with strands hanging off, as she began pacing back and forth within the room. "Is fighting him all you really care about? Is that the only reason-?"
Cu shook his head, and spoke up, interrupting the fox-tailed berserker. "Of course I want to fight 'im! He's my bud, and a certified badass. That's two fer one! But I won't show 'im pity. No one deserves pity."
"There's a difference between pity and compassion Cu!" Kumiho shouted, causing the Courier's head to turn to her again. He fidgeted a bit as he watched his teammates argued over his issues, not knowing how to deal with such an argument.
Cu shook his head again. "I never said they were the same, Kumiho, but the way ya' sound, it's as if you're looking down on 'im because of this. As if he's someone to be coddled. That's pity, and he don't need it."
Kumiho spun around and flashed a hate filled glare at the dog-eared spearman. Marching up to him she poked her finger straight into his chest, causing the spearman to blink and look down at the rather diminutive girl. Lili looked on from the background in worry as her two teammates
"If you haven't noticed, things aren't as easy as you think!" She emphasized with another finger point to Cu's ribcage. "Psychological scars don't just up and disappear. They don't sell psych meds over the counter! We can't just go to a pharmacy and say 'Hey, Our friend has a broken aura! Can we get some antidepressants?' He's going to need therapy. And lots of it!"
"Caleb having PTSD doesn't mean he hasn't stopped being Caleb." Cu voiced, his eyes relaxing. He walked over to his partner and put his hand on his shoulder. "He's my partner! That means I got his back, even if he's fighting a psychological disorder."
"Guys," the Courier said, getting an angrily concerned glare from Kumiho. "Can we stop, I can-"
"The least you could have done was tell us about it," Kumiho spoke up, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The fact you're not writhing in absolute agony means it already broke. You kept this a secret from us!"
The Courier opened his mouth and immediately shut it when his partner lightly knocked the back of his head. "Kumiho's on the ball on this one bud. You really shouldn't be keeping secrets." He grinned slightly as he punched the Courier lightly in his shoulder. "Honestly. This is a problem ya' need help on! Ya' can't just fight this on your own!"
"I was hoping to fix the problem on my own," the Courier said. "I don't like putting my burdens on other people."
"I'd normally call that admirable," Kumiho piped in, "But…you're being hypocritical! You don't like putting your burdens on others? You sure like taking others' just fine!"
The Courier fidgeted and responded, "Well, I mean, that's different."
Lili interjected for the second time since the entire interrogation began, and asked, "Because they aren't you? Because you feel weak when someone helps you?"
"Because they actually deserve help," The Courier responded simply, shrugging.
His teammates simply gave him a dry look before nodding at each other. Kumiho turned to face her team leader with the most nonplussed look he's seen since Boone forced himself to tell him about the panty raid he went on before he earned his beret. "So that's why you've been silent."
"And why, Caleb," Cu said looking straight in the Courier's eyes, "do you feel as though you don't exactly deserve compassion?"
The Courier shrugged. "I just don't. I've hurt too many innocent people."
Lili raised her eyebrow and spoke, in a stern voice for once. "Does hurting these innocents have anything to do with your self-hatred? Or the nightmares?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," the Courier replied.
Cu shook his head and looked at his partner dead in the eyes. Placing both of his hands on his shoulders, the spearman spoke, "Look bud, you can tell us what's eating you. We won't judge."
The Courier looked down, his brows furrowing. The room became silent, the sounds of students waking up and walking down the hall towards the stairs. Laughter came in through the underside of the door, creating an awkward clash with the somber atmosphere of the dark grey room. Biting his lip, the Courier tasted his own blood, its thin taste matching up to his slightly low amount of it. He looked towards the curtains of the room, studying the swirling textures for about half a minute.
"I… don't… I really don't want to talk about it in detail," the Courier said. "But… I made a mistake, and people died because of it. The land where it happen is filled with nothing but death, decay and monsters, and it is all my fault."
Cu wrapped his arm around his friend and asked, in a surprisingly gentle voice, "That's what your nightmares are about aren't they?"
The Courier simply responded by nodding his head, his eyes half lidded. He sighed and took a step towards the door, taking his partner's arm off of his neck. Opening the door he found himself blinking as he stared at Roy, who gave him a smile and a look filled with empathy. The wastelander slid past him and into the hallway. "I'm going for a walk… I'll… uh… I'll see you all later…"
Chet Whitehorse lit up another cigarette as he leaned against the darkened beige concrete walls of Central Vacuo Police Station. Two of the buttons at the top of his white shirt had been undone and he felt the cool desert breeze blow on his face and upper chest, drying the barrier of sweat that formed over past twenty hours. He grimaced as he inhaled the bitter smoke from the burning tobacco, sighing it back out while adopting an absolutely tired facial expression, complete with his eyes squinting in absolute exhaustion.
After several officers responded to calls made regarding the sounds of gunshots coming from a small abandoned area just a few hundred meters from the edge of the plateau, the untamed narrows of the city on the border of the Avarus Rex, they discovered a building filled with the stench of human sin, so thick it could be cut with a knife. Exploring the building after calling in backup, the two officers came across rooms locked from the outside while the sounds of banging came from within, as well as quiet rooms where no sounds came out. When the backup arrived they had finally made their way upstairs to find themselves staring at an odd display of a large number of bodies, half of which lay in pools of blood, while the other half made faint breathing sounds from their broken down and unconscious forms.
The discovery of exactly eleven of the nearly three hundred faunus who disappeared over the course of the previous month lying naked in various unlocked rooms resulted in the deployment of the local Special Weapons and Tactics team. Detective Whitehorse woke up at two in the dark of the morning to the chief of police calling to request his presence at a crime scene. After a twenty minute drive, the tired detective came across the barricaded off crime scene filled with heavily armed SWAT officers and half a dozen fresh recruits from the academy upchucking in an alleyway.
After interrogating several of the uncooperative faunus traffickers, the detective had turned to gently questioning the dozens of victims that had been locked in various rooms on each hallway. When they finally deigned to inform the black clothed detective about the exact nature of the previous night, he finally rediscovered the notion of surprise.
Instead of the victims being locked into such rooms for the purpose of a later transaction-though over half had been left in the rooms they had suffered in-instead they found themselves locked inside to prevent further harm to their persons. A group consisting of two huntsman and one member of the terrorist organization known as the White Fang came to the building, knocked out-or in the case of the Fang member, knocked out and subsequently stabbed half a dozen times-every member of the faunus trafficking ring inside the building, including a rogue huntsman with a ten-thousand lien bounty on his head. The two huntsman had gone through the entire bottom floor without raising any alarm, indicating that one or both might have infiltration training. After dealing with the rogue huntsman, the two huntsmen then fled, dragging the presumably wounded Fang member with them.
Whitehorse blew out a long puff of smoke from his mouth and dropped his cigarette, crushing out the flames underneath his boot. The rogue huntsman hadn't so much as spoken a single word in response to any of their inquiries, and he began to feel the toll of the night burning in his skull. His head reeled from the sounds of the high number of cars honking and speeding past the street in front of him, each driven and occupied by people with no knowledge of the absolute human filth the police added into the holding cells deep within the station early in the morning. He sighed as he walked into the brightly lit station, his break nearly over. Greeting the receptionist, the detective made his way through the station, heading directly towards the break room to grab yet another cup of coffee to get him through the next few hours of fruitless interrogations.
Standing in front of the dust damned device he poured out some of the coffee still left in the pot into a small foam cup, and began sipping only to spill a few drops when he felt the tip of someone's finger tapping on his shoulder. Turning around he grimaced at the sight of the man before him. The man wore a pair of long brown slacks, a white undershirt tucked into it, and an unbuttoned leather jacket, held in place by several belts with holsters for multiple vials of various powdered dust. The man had a metal shoulder-pad on his left side, further pushing away any notion of symmetry the ensemble of myriad clothes at one point could boast. A beige wool cap covering the man's dirty-blonde hair just finished off the image that the man had the fashion sense of a typical huntsman. He stared at the longsword sheathed on the man's back, guessing the huntsman either understood little of the actual workings of unsheathing a weapon, or, more likely, rightly didn't expect a fight at a police station.
The detective sighed before opening his mouth only to be interrupted by the huntsman. "It's a mechanical sheath actually, opens up from the top so the weapon can be drawn."
"Oh," Whitehorse replied, uninterested. Huntsmen and their special-snowflake weaponry didn't rightly sit with the detective, as he'd rather trust his life to the simpler weapons the government hands over to them to use in their rather thankless daily task of keeping the population of criminals away from the lawful people of Vacuo. At least the huntsman in front of him just had some normal longsword, in spite of the mechanical scabbard. Though for all the detective knew, it could be one of those mecha-shift weapons or, worse, one of those dust-conduits. The fact his children often argued incessantly over the best weapon type was definitely not responsible for his disdain of such weaponry. Not at all.
"Yeah, well, I could tell you all about how it works if you want," the huntsman spoke up, his North-Atlesian accent giving away his origin. "Or you could let me interrogate one Mr. Clay."
Whitehorse felt his right eye twitch, and he held back a steam of insults from pouring out at the huntsman in front of him. "And why should I let you do that?"
"Names Drake Willow," the huntsman said, holding his hand out for a good fifteen seconds as the detective just stared at him blankly before retracting it. "As you can tell, I'm a huntsman."
"Not one of ours, though," the detective responded as he felt his face distort in slight unease. "Why are you here?"
Willow sighed and responded, "Look, I can do things your department, including your huntsman and huntresses, can't, if you catch my drift."
The detective closed his eyes. "As much as seeing such scum get what's coming to them, I'm gonna have to decline you're offer Willow. You know well we don't torture for information."
"Well, sorry but" the huntsman said, adopting a smug smile full of nothing but teeth. "Your boss hired me for just such a task! Check your scroll."
The huntsman watched with a self-satisfied grin as the detective pulled out an old scroll model and tapped a few buttons on the side, before swiping around for a bit and scowling. The chief never hired huntsman or huntresses for jobs like this unless he felt crossing such a line to be both absolutely necessary, and the individual interrogated to be of such a wretched stock that even the most compassionate souls would shed few tears over such actions. Thus the detective gave a grudging sigh as soon as he finished reading the message sent from his scroll detailing the recent hire. He rolled his eyes as the huntsman in front of him gave him a victorious smirk and arm cross.
Rubbing his tired eyes, Whitehorse groaned and said, "Alright fine, do it. But at least try just scaring him into giving information. You should very well know what you're planning isn't a good source of information."
The hunter nodded, "Yeah, yeah, they say whatever will stop the pain, even if it's a lie. I get this. Completely understood detective! But... just on the safe side, I'm gonna have to disable the camera in the room. Can't have you guys suffer negative attention like that, eh?"
The detective grumbled as he led the huntsman to the interrogation room, knocking several times on the door, to let the current officer trying fruitlessly to get the rogue huntsman to speak up about the rest of the operation to come out. The detective gave off a surprised expression when he noticed a red-haired huntress walking out.
"Oh hey Chet!" she said, trying to smile. "How're the kids?"
"Fine, Rachael. Continuing to argue on whether or not mecha-shifts beat dust-conduits as weapons," he responded without a beat. The hired huntsman looked back and forth and opened his mouth only to close it when the huntress spoke up again.
"Did you tell them I said I simple weapons were better, since their single state lowers the amount of moving parts?" she said smiling.
"Didn't believe me, in fact-"
"Can we get down to business," Willow spoke up, "I have a man to intimidate into giving up information, thanks."
Rolling her eyes, Rachael gave the man a glare. "You must be Willow then. I'd be lying if I said it was a pleasure."
"Aw come on!" he said in a flirty tone. "We're both huntsma-huntress-hunts-people here. Why give me such treatment?"
Breathing in and holding her breath for a few seconds, Rachael exhaled, and leveled a glare at the huntsman. "If being a rather dickish man who gives off an 'I'm superior to everyone else' vibe isn't enough, I can tell Chet isn't really a fan of you." She gave off a shrug, while loosening her expression. "I figure if he doesn't trust you, there's probably a good reason for me to not give you the time of day let alone my trust."
The huntsman tsked, and shrugged before walking into the room. "Got it, can you two at least watch to make sure the guy doesn't try and overpower me to escape?"
"Maybe you should leave your weapon with us," Rachael replied, a rather disgusted grin on her face.
"Not. A. Chance." He replied darkly, causing the two to blink in response as he closed the door, preventing them from hearing anything going on in the room.
The huntsman approached the corner of the room with the camera, carefully removing the wires allowing it to broadcast the happenings of the room. After unhooking several more wires, some of which required the removal of one of the plates on the back of the camera itself, the huntsman placed a small cloth over the lens of the camera. Walking over towards the table, the huntsman ducked under the table and paused the recorder that had been placed under the edge of one side of the table. After having ensured the privacy of the room and that it remained unobserved the huntsman turned to the rogue, who gave him a rather surprised expression.
"Y-"
"That's Mr. Willow to, Mr. Clay" the huntsman said strongly. "And you're going to tell me exactly what happened at the compound. As well as the locations of any other bases for your organization. Otherwise," the huntsman smiled darkly, "something horrible might happen to you."
Clay smiled sarcastically, "Oh, you should know this, Willow, but our organization actually has an amazing security system. If one of our bases goes dark, the pack all the merchandise and move to various selected locations around the city. Locations that you and your pig buddies couldn't find without some form of map. Even I couldn't tell you where they were. Only the boss knows where the secondary locations are."
"Well damn," the huntsman said, with faux-distraught in his voice, "And here I thought I'd have to beat the information out of you. Then again, you might be lying, so maybe I should rough you up anyway, see if you don't talk then."
Clay looked around nervously and made a few words with his mouth before sighing. Looking down at the silver table, Willow got another good look at the huntsman, his black spiked up hair looking slightly caked in blood from the rogue's... odd hobbies. "I'll talk man! I'll-I'll talk!"
"So tell me then Clay... what happened? From start to finish."
Clay growled and looked to the side. "That damn animal, Griss Cielo. We captured him trying to acquire our merchandise. He-"
"I see now" Willow responded, a disgusted grimace on his face. "The details I got make sense now. Some huntsmen came in under the cover of darkness and freed him yeah?"
"That's right," Clay said, looking at Willow with brows furrowed and his lips in a snarl. "One animal and man in strange armor. Couldn't even tell if he was a freak or not. They snuck through the downstairs area and knocked out all my men. Meanwhile the goat bastard killed the guards upstairs and started slaughtering us." Clay smiled sadistically. "Until he came across me."
"Judging by the… trophies," Willow said as his eyes narrowed and a scowl appeared on his face, "You were testing your merchandise weren't you? Never mind, don't answer. Tell me about the huntress first."
"The fox bitch was strong," Clay said shaking his head. "Tore through concrete with her ax without so much as slowing. She engaged in combat after I attempted to off her partner. I think she took the stupid goat somewhere else, 'cause I didn't see him anywhere behind her. I tried cutting at her neck, but she simply ducked under the blade, the short little... AGH! She... she disarmed me too quickly! Managed to parry that blow with that freak strength of hers. She's definitely a huntress. My blade embedded in the ceiling, she had me defenseless. Then she shot me with the shotgun barrels on her battle-axe. Dust that stung so bad! I got knocked back into a wall so hard my aura nearly reached the threshold. Next thing I know she fires again-I didn't even think shotgun shells were accurate at that distance-and I'm waking up in one of those police vans heading for this dust damned place."
Willow shook his head with a curious expression as he wrote furiously in a small notebook. Looking up, he watched as Clay stared at him before continuing. "Alright, so... what about the other one?"
"The other one... You know... I- I don't think he was actually a huntsman. Too efficient."
Willow paused and looked up at the man, giving him a gesture to continue. "Too efficient? Huntsman are pretty efficient."
Clay shook his head in the negative. He looked straight ahead in abstract fear. "Not that efficient. Almost everything he did screamed efficiency. I think he was Spec-Ops." Clay shook his head, and took on a rage filled expression, his mouth furling and his eyebrows tilted. "He used one of my men as a shield when the idiot got within range of him. Took out five men with headshots-headshots! With a revolver! Well… one was in the neck, but still. That isn't all! He had some sort of laser weapon that... it... it didn't act like a dust-conduit at all! It looked like some kid's idea of a science-gun or something, but it actually worked! He didn't have the girl's strength though, so he focused on dodging my strikes first and foremost. He also bled whenever I cut him."
"So his aura wasn't unlocked then?" Willow asked, a curious expression plastered on his face.
"No. He was bleeding after I shot one of my explosives at him," Clay said shaking his head.
Willow nodded, "That's good info. Can you tell me what they looked like?"
"A midget fox faunus in a slutty orange dress and a short douche in dry-shit colored ballistic armor and a duster," Clay said shrugging. Willow glared at the Rogue huntsman. "That's all I got! Look: the girl wore some huntress outfit with a bandana and sunglasses, so all I can tell is she's a damn fox. A very short one at that! The guy? He had a freaking gas mask over his face, connected with his brown as dog-shit helmet. They hid their faces. All I can tell you is the girl's a damn midget and the ghost's short! That's it! That's all I can tell you."
Silence reigned for a good minute before Willow stood up, a smile on his face as he pocketed the notepad. And walked towards the corner, and reattached the myriad wires to the device. Sighing to himself he walked to the door, briefly looking back at the rogue huntsman who stared at him with an expression of pure confusion.
"Thank you very much," he said smiling, "You've been very informative."
The huntsman stepped out into the hallway to stare at the detective and huntress chatting away over some random family business, the tall redhead smiling gently down at the graying detective. The huntsman smiled as he walked up to them.
"So Willow," The redhead asked, giving the strange hunter a rather dismissive glare, as if she stared straight through him. "Anything? Or was he being silent throughout your... techniques."
"Oh I didn't hurt him red," he said, inwardly smiling as her scowl deepened. "But uh, no. He told me that they're shifting around their locations, and that no one but their head honcho knows the new locations."
"Son of a bi-" the detective started.
"Did he say anything else?" Rachael interrupted. "About the huntsman and huntress duo? The Fang Member?"
"He said the fang member's name was Griss Cielo. But good luck finding him. The man's goat horns were cut off."
"He's a goat faunus?" The Detective asked, his eyes widening. "I guess that's what those disks the victims kept mentioning were." He shook his head. "Anything else? Did he mention the huntsman and huntress duo?"
"Nope," the huntsman said, shaking his head sadly. He frowned as he watched the two looked down in concern. "Whelp... unless you have any more questions, I'm going to head home for now. My job is done."
"Job is," Rachael began quietly looking at the man confused. "No it's not done! We all have work to do! You were paid to-"
"I," the huntsman began, "was paid to get information out of him. I got all I could, but if you need me again, your chief has my number." The huntsman smiled slyly and winked "Wait, is this an excuse to get closer to me? Well, I might just stay then."
"I'm married asshole!" Rachael yelled, disgusted. "Just get out of here you lazy prick."
The huntsman simply shrugged and waved as he exited the building. He walked out confidently, yawning all the while, and angering several other police officers and another PD Huntsman. He continued walking as his face contorted into an angry grimace and disappeared into a thinning crowd. He continued walking as he looked up at the broken moon through the silhouette of the myriad rooftops and sun tarps that people strung high above the street, sighing deeply.
He continued waking as he removed his jacket and cap, temporarily placing his beloved sword, ever in its mechanical scabbard on the ground, and tossed them into a wire-mesh trashcan when he noticed himself alone. He continued walking as he placed the scabbard on his back once more as he turned the corner, throwing his scroll into the road to be run over by a passing truck.
He continued walking as police sirens filled the night, responding to the call about the hours-old huntsman's corpse lying in the middle of a dark alleyway.
AN: Did you honestly think there wouldn't be a villain?
Name: ?
Age: ?
Semblance: ?
Before someone asks, the numbers Lili mentioned have something to do with her semblance. I'll likely drop more hints over the next couple of chapters. Also, you should expect to see Cu live up to his namesake very soon.