Face could see a fair distance from where he'd been dropped off. As the aircraft went by a stack of cargo containers, Face had slid the side door open manually, held the brow of his hat, then leapt out onto the crate as the jet continued on its path. The other men paid only some attention to their human compatriot, only seeming to realize that he was going to go and set up with his gun somewhere after a few moments. He did a quick roll, whipping his SMG from his belt, flicking it upwards from his right thigh, then pressing his elbow into his hip to absorb recoil whilst he scanned the area nearby. He gave his surroundings a once over, keeping the SMG pointed where he was looking, before deeming it safe (from what he could see that night) and clipping it back to his belt. Keeping to a low crouch in case of opposing Snipers that may have been more accurate than he was, he raised his right arm slightly to allow the sling of his rifle to slip down it, flicking his hand up to jump the rifle to a point where he could safely catch it and hold it ready. Overhead, the aircraft that dropped him off settled behind a few cargo crates out of his view, followed by the sound of voices ordering for the men to move into positions, and finally the engine sound increasing as the jet moved off back into the air. If he weren't wearing sunglasses, and if he had given a brief glance through his scope, Face was certain he might be able to see who was flying: Cinder, or Roman?
From what little he'd actually said to his employers, they seemed good enough. Sure, they kind of took him to a different country, maybe even planet without his prior consent, but they didn't mistreat him or anything. If anything, both Cinder and Roman seemed to respect him as a Sniper and hunter. Though, it was difficult to read Cinder: Back on RED, most extra-facility missions that required the Mercs to move out and perform a task away from the main base usually had the same Mercs involved. Scout, Demo, or sometimes Engineer would normally be in civilian clothes on the ground so as not to raise suspicion, Face would set up on a rooftop overlooking the target area and need to be constantly prepared to make a move to a different location or possibly engage opponents in the street, whilst Spy would often take care of infiltrating buildings, escorting hostages, or important eliminations that couldn't spook the crowd via Face's loud rifle. When it came to kidnappings, the victim would be brought back to base, where Spy and Face would normally deal with interrogation.
That was where Face had learned to see through lies and almost literally 'read' people. Sweating, twitches, eye movement, stances: All things Face had been told to watch out for.
The only problem he had with Cinder (outside of the fact she was pretty hot) was that she had mastered the elusive Poker face. She hardly made any noticeable expressions that could be linked to lying or knowing something bigger was going on. She was impossible for Face to understand and it irked him considerably. Still, she seemed nice enough to give him a job without prior interview, and she seemed to trust him enough, but Roman and the White Fang members seemed almost insistent that Face was going to stab them in the back. Ironic, considering that Face would normally be stabbed in the back if he wasn't paying attention.
'Shame they don't understand how Mercenaries work,' Face mused as he gently dropped from the top crate to a lower container so he could get better sightlines. 'They seemed certain that I was undercover or something. I don't care, I just want to keep getting paid.' Making certain there were no security guards kicking around the ground level, Face once again kept a grip of his hat brow as he dropped a few meters, landing in a low crouch and once again keeping his rifle pointed horizontally to see off any threats that were present. Once again, since he was still wearing sunglasses outside and at 1:50AM, he couldn't see any noticeable problems and began making his way down the alleyway formed between the rows of cargo containers, rifle raised as though he were some kind of Special Forces operative (He liked to think he could have been, had the British Government, headed by Lord Prince MP PM OBE VC MBE Loadsa Money not have requested to cut military funding for more, and quote, 'wads to wop on the countah').
As he went along, he recapped his current situation. Alone, in enemy territory, helping a bunch of people in silly masks with ridiculous looking weapons, working for a man in a bowler hat and a mysterious woman, and he was now going to need to rely on unscoped shots from his rifle should anything come around the corner and surprise him.
He paused briefly.
It wasn't really that different from working at RED.
Momentarily, he remained paused, and in thought, before the sudden wash of thrusters flew over his head and landed past a few containers, presumably in the middle of the shipping port. If there was enough space to land an aircraft, then that probably meant long sightlines: Perfect. Face picked his feet up into a light jog, making his way to a position where he could see over to the jet. From what he could see, Roman was stood ordering a few White Fang thugs around behind the jet, and in the cockpit, Cinder sat with a calm expression. Upon sighting Face standing near some barrels, she almost smiled to him and gave a gentle nod of recognition, to which Face responded to by tipping his hat.
Just then, movement.
On a cargo crate near where Roman was standing, he could barely make out a shadowy figure creeping along the top of the containers. Quickly, Face slung his rifle over his shoulder, turned, and ran up to the edge of a nearby container, leaping up and grabbing the ledge so he could turn and jump over to another box. Barely getting both feet on top of it, he pushed himself up and ran up to the next crate off to the side, running towards it and using his boots to get up it slightly, allowing him to grab the top edge. Pulling himself up, he unslung his rifle, crouched and turned back to where the situation was unfolding. Over near where he once stood tall, Roman was now having a blade held to his throat by a young woman with black hair and cat ears. She couldn't have even been eighteen, looking at her, but she had cat ears and a knife, so to a trained hunter, that translates as 'target'. Raising his gun, Face steadied the crosshairs all the way across the yard and settled them firmly on the girl's head, between her almost glowing yellow eyes. She seemed to be saying something to the White Fang members, and they seemed almost as though they were considering it as Cinder took off in the jet, presumably to lead support troops to the location. But they were irrelevant to Face: He had a target, now.
Roman grimaced.
He had definitely been in a better position.
If only there were, oh, a Sniper to hand, to perhaps blow this brat's brains out and let him proceed with his day?
Goddamn Earthborn, never should have paid him that much.
Face steadied his aim, and held his breath. As the girl looked up to witness the arrival of several more jets, it seemed Roman had spotted Face. He frowned, and nodded in the direction of the Sniper, prompting Face to grin in an almost predatory way as he squeezed the trigger. The familiar recoil of his Sniper Rifle slammed against his shoulder, but he kept as steady as he could to ensure he'd hit his target. The loud report of the rifle signalled that he'd fired, but the girl's reaction to being shot in the head was...different.
To Face's undying surprise, she took the bullet and staggered back, releasing her sword from Roman's throat and grabbing her forehead as Roman ducked down. The White Fang members nearby were quick to attempt to open fire, however this girl was faster than Face had ever seen before: She gracefully leapt over the fired rounds, avoiding streams of bullets and following up by throwing her sword. It had a string of some kind tied to it, but before Face could even begin to question its efficiency, it fired. Just like a pistol, it fired out a bullet that took down one of the White Fang before the recoil sent it the other way. She used this to her advantage, somehow firing it again and sending it arcing through the air as a deadly windmill. Face shook himself of the awe and quickly loaded another round and took aim. She may have been able to create a kickass weapon, but she was also stood still.
Face's favourite kind of target.
Steadying his sights on her torso, he pulled the trigger once again, only for the girl to perform something Face would once have thought of as impossible. Seemingly detecting the bullet, she span to the side and dodged it, following up by catching her gun-boomerang and pointing it at where Face was standing. The Sniper grimaced and quickly loaded another round.
"That bitch can't hit me from over there..." he chuckled to himself, raising his gun once again to take another shot. However, to his surprise, she pulled the trigger on her tiny pistol again, and this time rounds pinged off a crate behind Face. He quickly recoiled and ducked, diving to the side and off the container. He landed hard on his back, but he'd had worse, and that wasn't important. The girl continued firing at him, and he scrambled back, finally opting to roll off the container and into the alley beneath. This time, he landed on his feet, and leaned against the nearest object to catch his breath. "Shit..." he murmured. "Guess she can." Frowning, and listening for the distant sound of metal striking metal in what was likely a sword duel of some kind, Face gathered himself, and quickly began to run in the direction of the fighting.
He hadn't fought anybody for a while, so he figured that now would be the ideal time to start again.
After a few minutes of circling, it was apparent that he could probably get the jump on the little bitch. She was preoccupied with fighting Roman in a duel of blade and cane, so if he waited for her to get further away, then he could get something done. Carefully, he stooped low and began to creep up on her, waiting for the right moment to strike as Roman deflected her blows. Once he was only a few meters behind her, his chance arose: Roman flicked her sword out of the way, and followed up by bringing up his cane in a quick smack to her face, staggering the woman back a few feet in surprise. At this point, Face stood, grabbed her by the shoulder to force her to look him in the eyes, and threw as much of his weight as he could into one, almighty right hook that knocked her straight off her feet and onto the ground with a loud thud. She groaned in pain, struggled slightly, then exhaled as she closed her eyes. Face frowned and looked at Roman, who was gently dusting off his coat. "I bloody well hope that didn't kill her," he said flatly. "If it did, then I'll have to start punching people more and I don't think my knuckles could take that sort of punishment." Roman just threw his head back and laughed, leaning on his cane.
"Well, at least you came through in the end," he sighed. "Could've been worse, she might have slit my throat at the start."
"It's called timing," Face retorted, tapping the woman on the foot to see if she was dead. Fortunately, she was alive, and Face noticed that the cat ears she had were indeed real. At least now it would only be an animal abuse lawsuit for knocking her lights out rather than an assault case. "It looks more professional, and it gets things done more efficiently in some cases."
"Did it do that in this case?" Roman asked bluntly.
"Not a bleedin' chance." Face said casually. He looked down on her. "Was that really our only opposition? A hippy catgirl? The fuck is this: Japan?"
"Hmm." Roman made the quiet noise as he looked over the teenage girl in the black clothes. "You're right."
"I am?" Face's ears pricked up. "Shit. No. Please don't say we're in Japan. I don't like the Half-Zatoichi as it is, I don't want to visit a place where they all use that fucking abomination." Roman groaned.
"No, no," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "You're right that it's strange she came alone. She must have brought support of some description." Before Face could formulate an answer, something dropped down in front of him. Both men pause, and looked down to see a banana peel sitting on the floor between them. Frowning, they promptly looked up, only to have to jump back quickly as a new attacker landed in front of them. Face was reaching back to grab his Kukri when the newcomer suddenly swung back what looked like a flintlock pistol on a chain and (possibly inadvertently) smacked Face in the forehead with it. The Sniper flew back a few feet, crashing down on the ground after a brief flight and landing on his back. Groaning, he made every attempt he could to get back up and into the fight, but his body simply refused to co-operate.
Wincing in pain and letting out a drawn out groan, Face let unconsciousness grip him as his vision went completely black.
After what felt like several days, Face awoke to the feeling of being yanked off the ground and to his feet. His vision slowly began to come back to him as he opened his eyes, and judging by the sudden warmth nearby, something must have happened after he went out. Blinking away the last remnants of the unconscious wall of black, Face took a look around whilst being guided along by two mysterious figures that held him as though he had been injured.
Simply by looking around, Face could reduce that the raid didn't go to plan: At least two of the jets that had arrived now lay on the ground as twisted, burning wrecks, with what seemed to be fire crews attempting to put out the flames. A few of the containers seemed to be gone, too: Roman's men must have managed to nab a few before they had to retreat. Face wasn't even sure who'd really won. Suddenly, something prodded him in the back.
"Keep moving," a voice ordered. Well, at least now Face knew that he didn't win. And his knuckles were still hurting from when he laid the smackdown on the hippy catgirl. Face made a mocking 'pfft' at the threat.
"What, you gonna shoot me?" he asked as he was dragged down an alley between a few cargo crates that seemed to go towards a group of police cars.
"We're not allowed to shoot you, by law," the gunman replied as they exited the shipping containers to see a few police cars, and a group of young women (and someone Face was assuming to be the asshole guy that smashed him one in the forehead) sitting on a few boxes and talking. As the officers guided Face towards the police cars, one person in the group, a teenager with white hair and white clothes, caught sight of him and went silent. The others followed her example eventually, all glaring daggers at Face.
"That's him," said the black-haired catgirl from earlier. "He's the guy that Torchwick had helping him." This statement from the catgirl (Who was now sporting a perfect black eye) prompted a slightly taller blonde girl to march over to Face, ignoring the other teenagers attempting to stop her. Once right in front of Face, the police officers escorting him stepped back slightly, leaving the Sniper standing with his hands cuffed behind his back.
"You punched my teammate?" she asked, glaring at him. Face nodded, keeping the same shit-eating smirk he'd had on since the officers had grabbed him.
"Would've stabbed her in the head, but I just couldn't do that to a teenager," he laughed, before narrowing his eyes at the blonde in a way that prompted her to recoil in slight fear. "But if she weren't just a teenager, I'd have beat her for hours. I'd have pulled that gun from her broken bloody fingers and shot out her kneecaps with it just to watch her try and crawl back to freedom. But, I'd let her live, because I'm a nice guy. I show mercy. I wanted to her dead, she'd be nothing but a rotting corpse floating in the sea by now. I'm a professional, kid, I do my job as I see fit. And if I hurt more people along the way, I'll gladly take a detour to my objective."
This was more than enough for blondie. Before anybody could stop her, she clenched her fist, gritting her teeth, and threw a punch straight onto Face's jaw. It seemed to carry enough force to nearly knock him over, but he caught himself with his left knee in a low position. "You stay the hell away from my friends." she snarled. Face just grinned in a mocking way, and as the officers grabbed him again to take him to the cars, as he went past the group, he welled up some blood that had gone into his mouth and spat it at them. Most of them recoiled from the red jet of gore as the Sniper walked away chuckling maniacally.
"I've taken worse hits from a Fan o' War, you little cunts!" he laughed, as the officers uncuffed him, moved the handcuffs around the front, and placed them on his lap, before pushing him into the backseat of the vehicle. The blonde girl remained standing, glaring at Face even as the car left down the road.
And as the car drove away, the teenagers at the docks were certain they could still hear his dark, almost evil laugh ringing through the air.
The light slammed on over Face's head, but the effects were negated by his slightly cracked sunglasses and hat brow. Instead of wincing as the interrogation officers had expected him to, he remained with a slight frown on his face, looking the officer on the other side of the steel table dead in the eyes. The man interrogating him had nothing about him that even remotely scared Face. He had faced down angry tigers, black bears, and packs of wolves, surviving every time using his wits and a machete. So, a man with closely-cropped hair, stern features, and an office shirt and trousers wasn't going to even faze him. The man seemed like this was his job, so Face figured he might indulge him as his interrogator shined a lamp in his face in the dark room. "So, Torchwick's hiring extra muscle, huh?" He began, narrowing his eyes at the Sniper in front of him. "You don't look that tough to me. You're just another petty crook, just a stone in the shoe of Torchwick's ga-"
"Ten thousand, four hundred and thirty eight," Face interrupted. The officer paused, looking at him.
"What was that, sunshine?" he asked mockingly, leaning in and putting a hand to his ear as though listening. "That was a big number for such a small crook. That how much he was paying you to work with the White Fang?" Face looked at him, and laughed.
"No," he chuckled darkly, the light above casting a sinister shadow over Face's eyeline and giving him the look of a truly crazed killer. "That was my kill count from my fifteen years of experience as a Mercenary for Reliable Excavation and Demolitions incorporated." The interrogator and his companion in the room nearly burst out laughing at the ridiculous statement. Over ten thousand kills? That was absurd! Not even that number of people live in the Northwest of Vale!
Suddenly, their laughing was interrupted by a low chuckling. Casting a glance over to their 'victim', they could see his shoulders moving gently up and down as he looked down at the floor, and he was laughing.
"Hey, pal, what's so funny?" The interrogator marched over, slid the table out of the way with a sudden violence, and grabbed Face by the collar. "You sayin' that you've murdered people before? You think this is somethin' to smile about? Do you even know where you are, you low-life thug?" Face rolled his eyes at the term.
"I think you should call me a Gun for Hire," he corrected. "I was paid money, I did jobs, I got kills. I don't care where I am now, but as far as you're concerned I'm just another petty criminal. As far as my service history in the New Mexican Badlands is concerned, I'd be considered as one of the most dangerous Mercenaries this side of Saxton Hale." The two interrogators paid no heed to his later statements, looking at Face in awe. The man standing over him backed up slightly, leaning back further to examine Face properly before turning to his companion. They mouthed a few words, a brief exchange at most, but Face just looked at both of them with contempt. "Am I missing something here?" he asked flatly, snapping their attention back to him. There was a pause, and the first interrogator looked him up and down.
"You're Earthborn?" he asked. Face nodded. The results were instantaneous as the officers walked right over to Face, went behind the chair he was seated in, and uncuffed him. Immediately, Face brought his hands to his front and began rolling his hands around in a circle, just to get feeling back in them as he looked at the officers. The second man that had been at the back of the room crouched next to Face whilst his partner went away, pulling out a small device and beginning to tap away on its screen. The guy closest to the Sniper put a hand on his shoulder.
"Alright, sir, you're going to need to understand that the Vale Police Department meant no harm in bringing you here," he began, Face still looking at him like he was insane, "This was the result of a misunderstanding, and due to your unintentional summoning to Remnant you will be required to remain in this prison until we are able to identify a method for you to return to Earth. There is nothing to be worried about." There was a moment of silence.
"...how long did your fucking training take if you had to learn bullshit statements like that?" Face asked bluntly. "Is this your equivalent of the whole 'you have the right to shut your mouth or I'll blow your head off with this gun' thing that Mann Co. funded cops say?"
"No, we have that here," the officer replied, remaining in a crouched position next to the Sniper. "However, this means you are going to have to remain in a prison cell until we have a way to send you back home, or until suitable accommodation can be found for you."
"So I'm basically still going to prison?"
"Yes."
"Bollocks."
A few weeks pass.
Face's walk back to his new cell was rather...insightful. The area he'd been designated in the multi-storey jail was near the top, had a window, a personal door guard, a bed (hell of a lot better than the Steel facility's 'beds'), a mirror, personal toilet and sink, plus a small cabinet to store things in. While Face had brought his equipment backpack with him, it was likely on the jet that Cinder was piloting, and if that one had crashed that dashed his chances of his other weapons being available, and also his plans to eventually have sexual relations with Cinder, since she probably died if her jet crashed.
Shame.
But his cell wasn't so bad.
It was mostly the walk back up there from the cafeteria and outdoors that annoyed him. Other inmates would often yell abuse as the 'new meat' could freely walk anywhere in the prison so long as his guard knew where he was going and radioed out to all other guards that he was moving about. Face didn't mind: The occasional BLU with the voice of a child had given him more than enough resistance to such incendiary comments. If anything, the abuse Face would throw back would sometimes be worse than what they said first.
It had only been a few weeks since he'd first been placed under guard, and so far, he didn't mind being behind bars. Yes, he had been given a comfy cell, as per the apparent norm for the arrival of an 'Earthborn', and he was even allowed to keep his clothes. All they did was take away his weapons and munitions, and apparently even then they were being studied for their functions. Face just refused to believe they hadn't ever heard of Mann Co. It was the biggest company in the world!
Then again, he wasn't on Earth, apparently.
So to the few who asked about weapons, he simply told them how Mercenary warfare happened on Earth and the crowds of inmates and guards alike gathered to listen to this mysterious warrior from another world.
The inmates were willing to listen, and Face's favourite story that Medic once told him, how he lost a Medical License, got some pretty loud laughs whenever it was told. It was as though these people had never actually been in combat of any kind.
But Face didn't mind.
Upon reaching the corridor that housed his cell, Face gave his door guard a nod. Jerry nodded back silently as Fave approached, and opened the heavy steel door. "Evening, Jer," Face said politely as he went in. The door closed behind him and Jerry opened the metal slat that allowed people to see inside the cell. Jerry was quite a young man, and apparently watching over Face was his first major task since beginning his job at the Vale prison. He was rather polite, but knew when to take charge, so Face could respect him.
"Evening, Face," he greeted through the door. "You have a message from the top brass, surprisingly."
"Ah, the guys up top, my favourite new friends," Face said in a flat, monotone voice as he took his sunglasses, hat, and jacket off. He folded the jacket, opened his bedside cabinet, and placed it down, putting his hat and sunglasses on top. Then, he jumped onto his bed in a reclined position, crossing his booted legs and putting his hands behind his head as he stared at the same spot of ceiling he had been looking at for the past few weeks. "What brilliant and fun adventure have they been up to today, I wonder?"
"Apparently, they've allowed you to have a visitor later," Jerry replied. "Someone is supposedly coming to see you in relation to the docks at nine o' clock. Sounds important."
"Oh, wow!" Face cheered sarcastically, half-heartedly raising an arm in a lazy show of appreciation before letting it flop down onto his stomach. "Visitors are fun. I wonder if they'll bring me a cake with a file? That'd be funny, because I can't be arsed to file things and they'll have wasted their money." Jerry chuckled at the comment.
"Can't really see anybody bringing you a cake," he replied. "I don't think any of the people of Vale even know you're here. As far as they're concerned, that docks incident was just a White Fang operation in conjunction with Roman Torchwick's gang. Nobody would even think there were Mercenaries involved, people are too naïve these days."
"Well, at least I'll get to meet these people personally." Face checked his watch. Eight forty five. He still had fifteen minutes to chat with Jerry and get his gear on.
First, though, he decided to wash his face.
Things in the cafeteria got a little...stabby, between one of Junior's boys and a White Fang hate preacher, and Face had been sat just next to them the whole time, yelling directions on where Junior's henchman should stab next.
Sure, it was prison.
Didn't mean Face couldn't enjoy it.
At nine o' clock sharp, footsteps became apparent down the hallway. Through the gap in the metal door, Face noticed that Jerry visibly straightened up, and that pretty much meant he had to slip his jacket, hat, and sunglasses on before the people showed up. Face got up, and walked over to the cabinet, opening it and removing his usual apparel. As he put on his Chronomancer jacket and looked through the door slat from the angle he was at, he could see a pair of large boobs.
Good.
Face was great with women
Except that teenager at the docks, because that'd be weird.
"You're here to see Mr. Face, ma'am?" Jerry asked.
"Yes," a rather formally toned woman replied, punctuated by the sound of the screen being tapped on a Scroll tablet, "I'd be labelled under Goodwytch, G." Jerry paused and looked at his wristplate, where he had taped the day's orders to the metal on his arm.
"Goodwytch, G..." he murmured. He finally tapped the sheet of paper. "Ah, name's here. Go right on in, ma'am." Jerry reached over and grabbed the door handle, the large steel door creaking open and allowing a woman to enter. Face quickly slipped his hat and sunglasses on before she looked at him, and he stood by his bed in a neutral pose. 'Goodwytch' was intimidating, Face could give her that. Whilst Cinder was slightly smaller than his six foot one form, this woman towered over Face at what looked to be over six foot six. She was dressed like a secretary; relatively tight-fitting white shirt, black skirt, and black leggings with high heels. She had a small pair of glasses poised over her eyes, and her green eyes were narrowed at Face constantly as she looked him over. She was a natural blonde, though, which Face found impressive when considering how vibrantly that blonde girl's hair was glowing when she bashed him in the face at the docks.
Good times.
"Mr. Face, I believe." She didn't make any effort to introduce herself.
"That's me," Face replied, raising a hand and not changing his expression. "And you are?"
"Looking for a reason why I shouldn't just leave you here to rot and never bother you again," she shot back. Face raised a brow.
"Cheers for that, good to know you trust me."
"Fortunately for you, I have someone with me who'd like to speak with you."
"I have two visitors?" Face muttered as he scratched the back of his head. "Lucky day." Just as he was reaching for a cup of water that he'd left on the table near him, there was the sudden, unmistakeable sound of a Disciplinary Action hitting the table, and Face whipped his hand back in unbridled terror. "AH, FUCK NO." he cried. Goodwytch was stood with a whip she had obtained from somewhere, the end cracked down where Face's hand nearly was. She was looking at him with a raised brow.
"Really?" she sighed. "You claim to have killed ten thousand men and you squeal when faced with a little whip?"
"You wouldn't believe how dangerous whips were back home," Face said quickly. "Fucking things could hit you when you were behind the guy using it. Stung like a bitch, too." Goodwytch rolled her eyes.
"Nevertheless, you had better not make any sudden moves when he's here. This man's life is worth more than all those you claim to have taken, and if you so much as try to get a hit on him I will whip you into submission. Are we clear?" Face looked at her with a neutral expression.
"Sorry, but that seriously sounded kinky as fuck," he said flatly, causing Jerry to start stifling laughs on the other side of the door. Goodwytch was about to make a counter argument saying how she had standards, but was interrupted by a gentle cough behind her. Immediately, she backed away into the darker corner of the room with her Scroll tablet out, and kicked a chair up to the other side of Face's table as she went.
Standing in the doorway was an older looking man, probably in his late forties or mid fifties. He had grey hair and glasses, and his clothes consisted of a green suit with a green scarf alongside it. He was holding a mug of what looked like coffee, and to Face's surprise, a bottle of what seemed to be beer. "Good evening," he said calmly. "You must be Mr. Face."
"Your assistant is doing her job well, then," Face replied smartly, glaring daggers at Goodwytch over the man's shoulder as the two blokes sat at the table. Once seated, the visitor placed his mug onto the table, along with the beer, and pushed the latter towards Face.
"Here." The man's expression didn't change. "I presumed you might have wanted one of these after all you've been through." Face looked at it, then cautiously picked it up and raised his right boot onto his lap, cracking the bottle cap using the steel toe of his Tooth Kicker boot. He gave it a small swill around the bottle, finally deciding to drink some.
Beautiful.
"Well, thank you, Mr...?" Face asked, swallowing his beer as he extended a hand.
"Professor Ozpin," the man replied. Once they'd finished shaking hands, they got to business. "So, from what I understand, you were employed by a certain gangster we have had running around Vale, and you were brought from Earth to Remnant."
"Apparently that's what happened," Face shrugged. "I remember getting on a plane of some kind on top of an apartment building in downtown New York, then when I got off I was definitely nowhere near New York. And I'd only just been fired from my Mercenary job the day before, so I figured that so long as the job paid, I'd do it." He paused, looking at the bottle of beer. "Bloody big mistake, that was." Ozpin made a 'hmm' sound.
"And so you were a Mercenary before coming here?" he asked.
"Fifteen years of experience," Face nodded. "Mostly in and around the Badlands area of New Mexico. Before that, I had a hunting and dangerous pest control career, then some army training experience, then came the fifteen years of Mercenary work. I operated as a Sniper, which wasn't really as the name implies."
"How so?"
"We...didn't work like conventional Snipers. Most of our targets were moving towards us, at high speed, and most of the time were shooting at us. It was our job to defend control points from these guys, so there was quite a lot of close combat on the point. Most Snipers were the opposite of what was implied: Quite often, we were in the thick of the fight."
"Interesting. And your hunting career?"
"I dealt with large animals that pest control couldn't sort out. Sometimes it was something safe, like a deer that needed to be caught, but most of the time some idiot had let a panther loose in a town centre and it had eaten his hands. That's where I came in: I'd either shoot it, punch it to death, or stab it to death. Afterwards, part of my contract allowed me to skin and eat the animal, so I didn't pay much for food. The hunting otherwise was as you'd expect; go out in the forest, stab some tigers to death, skin and eat them, that sort of thing."
In the back of the room, Goodwytch was staring worriedly at Face. Ozpin, however, pressed on.
"Interesting. You know, Remnant does have a pest problem. Creatures of Grimm. Heard of them?" Face looked up in thought.
"A few guys in the cafeteria mentioned them once. Said they were basically just big, evil versions of regular animals."
"They're right, if it's a rudimentary description you're after."
"But I assume this is leading up to something?" Face asked. Ozpin smiled.
"What gave you that impression?"
"Well," Face began, "First, you come looking for someone unimportant to your interests and find them in prison." He raised the bottle of beer. "Then, give them something to earn their trust. You inquire about their past, and make it seem like the conversation is flowing naturally towards a subject of your choosing. So, Professor Ozpin," Face asked, looking him dead in the eye. "What is that topic?" There was a brief pause.
"I am a head teacher at the prestigious academy for Huntsmen and Huntresses. We teach warriors how to defend humanity from Grimm and other forces. As it stands, our teaching staff is spread thinly, and we have no backup in case any teacher falls ill." Ozpin sipped his coffee. "I believe that you may be able to fill this role. This is a difficult choice to make, so I reccomend that you take your ti-"
"OK, when do I start?" Face replied casually. Ozpin sighed, and smiled.
'At least he's eager.'