You: Hey, look! Douchebag McGee finally decided to get off his ass and write another chapter. Boy, his butt must be sore from sitting down for nearly two consecutive months!
But I'm sure you're not here to complain (its fine if you are), so let's just get back into it.
Chapter 13: Superiority
During the journey back to Beacon, Six had found himself fiddling with Benny's lighter. He tossed it about every now and then, often igniting a flame with the spark wheel when he desired a little change in the environment. He examined the intricate details carved into the lighter, each twist and turn making the simple piece of metal look as if it were worth ten times its actual value. It was clearly a pre-war piece, but it seemed to fit quite well in the Courier's current surroundings, blending rather well with the odd look of the buildings.
Six, much to Jessup's disappointment, couldn't find the time to shove the lighter up Benny's ass, but he was glad enough to have killed the bastard that shot him in the head. In fact, he killed the son of a bitch the exact same way he had tried to kill the Courier - tied up with a little sympathetic talk, and then a bullet to the head. It was quite odd how the circumstances returned those many months later, only to side with him instead of Benny. He even got the Platinum Chip back.
As they say, karma's a bitch.
The lighter gave him ideas for some fancy weapon designs, and the Courier was sure he would be able to find the time to make said designs reality with all this free time he seemed to have on his hands. He felt it was good for a man to have something fancy to look at whilst he bludgeoned a poor animal or, more commonly, some poor human soul that had managed to find its way into his scope. He wouldn't have any trouble admitting that he couldn't care less for the appearance of his weaponry, but after taking a tenuous examination of some of the Beacon students' weapons, he felt he was being put to shame.
Fancy shit.
Then again, he had never actually seen those kids actually use their weapons, so he wasn't quite sure if they were effective killing tools or just there for looks. They didn't seem disciplined or focused enough to be good fighters, so Six wasn't expecting much.
Six had definitely felt a great rush of relief and, perhaps, joy when he shot down his first White Fang grunt. He found himself unable to go about without something to kill for a few hours; it seemed to drive him to the brink of insanity, if he remembered back correctly to the previous day or two – whenever it was.
On the lines of killing, Six had realised that his weaponry had become inferior since he arrived, this 'aura' stuff absorbing a good amount of force and bullets, always requiring another shot to drop a single person. An extreme waste of ammunition, thus an upgrade was required. It was almost painful to see ammo wasted, Six having a rather short supply of the stuff. It was only a few days before he ran out of Microfusion Cells for his Plasma rifle, providing he would kill a minimum of one animal (or person) each day.
Six shook his head free of the thought of murdering innocents, though he had never considered it murder in the Wasteland (because it wasn't). He was here to start a new life, but he still doubted his ability to do so.
He also doubted his comrade's ability to do so, among his own. He knew that Joshua Graham would have troubles settling into an urban environment, the man told the Courier that himself, and Ulysses would most probably share a similar predicament. For all Six knew, they might have to take a hike back to the Wasteland, where they belonged.
Six slid the lighter back into his duster's pocket, setting about adding a couple new factions to his Pip boy's interface. It was always good to keep track of where you were and weren't accepted since getting shot wasn't always too fun. He added the White Fang, Beacon, Vale, Atlas, Vacuo, and Mistral factions,pulling the kingdom names from a couple books he had read. Each faction stood at Neutral for the time, the Pip boy would need some time to do that karma thing it liked to do. The Courier was unsure of where he would be without that thing.
He slipped the Mysterious Magnum form its holster, the gun he hadn't once used since his and his companions' arrival in this seemingly detached world. Then again, he never had any reason to use it, his other weapons proved effective enough for the time being. The same could be said for Chance's Knife, the Courier never having the opportune moment to unsheathe his proclaimed blade. Besides, that knife would hardly have any effect on the aura these people all seemed to possess.
The revolver glinted in the small slips of sunlight that broke through the aircraft's tinted windows, showcasing the gun's unique framework and intricately carved patterns, coated with a fine silver finish. An odd factor about the gun was the seemingly impervious characteristic it seemed to adopt whenever it came to dirt, the magnum simply refusing to be stained by any of the natural Mojave filth that would flutter about the arid wasteland each day.
His boot hit heavy against the concrete and his legs ached from countless minutes of solidifying himself in a single position for the past twenty minutes or so. He stretched his limbs, clicking his bones and feeling a small rush of relief overcome his body as the stiffness and pain subsided.
The Courier checked his weapons, ensuring each was still securely in place on his body whilst awaiting the emergence of his comrades from the aircraft of which he had just disembarked on earlier in the sunrise.
The sun cascaded upon the large frame of Beacon Academy, the magnificent morning light casting a fantastic beauty about the building for all to behold. Six idly shrugged his shoulders as he stared up at the building's centrepiece, a tall tower that seemed it would stretch into the clouds, resting a hand on his sidearm.
He took a moment to take in the sights before his comrades joined him by his side.
Joshua took on an impatient stance, his fingers dancing about A Light Shining in Darkness whilst he stood idly, simply begging to be put into use.
Ulysses remained stoic and calm as always.
Six took the first step forward, his steel boots echoing against the loose concrete stones whilst his step remained heavy and powerful. His companions followed along soundlessly, their shoes daring not to make a single sound as they silently crossed the campus.
Shouting was heard in the distance, some sort of one-sided struggle, somebody making a poor attempt to restrain somebody. The shouts continued for a while as the Wastelanders kept their walk steady, advancing forth towards Beacon's main hall, completely disregarding the background noises. The shouts still remained faint and, though he may have disregarded them, Six still heard them clear as day.
As they trudged forward, the distant struggle became more apparent, as if it were nearing them. As the sounds became clearer, Ulysses recognised the voices, though refrained from speaking knowing that it wouldn't much change the outcome of whatever event was about to occur.
Six marched on ahead, hand on the Mysterious Magnum, ready to draw, intent on discovering what the distant bickering was about. His fingers waggled impatiently as his legs continued the stride. He could see figures now, figures about the main hall's great doorways, seemingly fighting with a sort of angered intent.
The Courier's eyes narrowed, honing in on the agitated group as they drew ever closer. He could barely make out a few familiar figures, though he hadn't bothered to commit anything else to his mind aside from their names… if he could fish them out from whatever hole they had been dwelling in.
He shifted his head to face the Burned Man, no opinion showing on his figure. The same lack of care was also expressed by Ulysses, so Six simply redirected his view to the scuffle ahead. Drawing nearer, Six's mind ticked and he was fairly confident he knew all four figures. Well, he definitely remembered one with much greater detail than the others, after all, he had shot her. You don't just forget someone you shoot, mental episode or not.
Two of the recognisable figures marched on ahead, one with murderous intent, the other with… some other (presumable negative) intent. One figure, the smallest, Ruby if he remembered correctly, was making a mediocre attempt at restraining the more angered one. The last trailed slowly behind. Now that Six had joined his previously divided attention to focus on the four advancing figures, it was fairly easy to notice that the lead of the four girls had a rather distinct feature about her, that feature being her rather… bright hair. In fact, it seemed to resemble something of a shattered lightbulb (and nothing more as a result of the Courier's limited imagination).
A click sounded from his rear and his head twisted to see Joshua Graham with The Survivalists' Rifle readied in his hands. His gaze shifted to Ulysses, casually holding Old Glory by his side. The Courier allowed his eyes to drift back to the four advancing girls, now a mere twenty feet away. The Courier unslung the Plasma Rifle in preparation for something… less than pleasant.
"Yang! Wait! Please!" The little girl in red was screaming, yet her elder sister didn't seem to take notice. Her eyes burned with a fierce hatred as she marched forth, body locked in a vicious fire toward the Courier.
'Oh,' a thought ticked in the Courier's mind, 'This is about that one time I shot someone, isn't it?'
The Courier just shrugged at his own thoughts, unholstered his sidearm, and shot.
"I'm sure you understand why I can't have you shooting my students at your free will."
A few short moments after the miniature morning shootout, the Wastelanders had found themselves locked in a conversation with Ozpin in his office. The Courier tapped his foot impatiently as he and his comrades conversed with the headmaster.
"And I'm sure you understand we have a very different background." The Courier retaliated, clenching his fist over his chair's armrest.
"I'm sure you acted this way for a reason and, whilst I may not understand your background, I cannot have the death of any students on my hands." The headmaster replied calmly as Goodwitch took over the conversation at his side.
"Behaviour like this is intolerable on school grounds. If anything, I should have you arrested for attempted murder." A scowl crossed the stern woman's face as she let out her frustration towards the Wastelanders. She hadn't trusted these men the moment she had laid eyes on them.
"Then maybe it's best we just go home." The Courier spat
"I am inclined to agree." Goodwitch hissed. Professor Ozpin remained idly at the side of the conversation, refusing to add his personal opinion to the matter. He simply looked on, much like Graham and Ulysses.
The Courier raised to his feet, hand wrapped firmly around his holstered sidearm.
"I knew this would happen," he started, "Some bullshit like this. Nobody here knows what it's like to live like we do! You're all so fucking high and mighty in your fucking palaces and God damned royal fucking foods!" The Courier screamed through gritted teeth, prompting Goodwitch to raise her crop.
"You know nothing about us! NOTHING!" He continued, screaming his words to the faces of Goodwitch and Ozpin, "You all just think you're too good for the likes of us…"
The Courier turned to his comrades, "I'm leaving. And then I'm coming back with an army and I'm gonna throw this place to its knees." He pivoted around to face Ozpin and Goodwitch for a final time.
"You will know superiority when it arrives on your doorstep. We are survivors. You are nothing."