Christ, this was a lot longer than I remembered.
I'm gonna take a hiatus on this. Need to recheck everything just because I don't really know if it will be interesting and have a decent ending..
Also, my writing has gone to pot, I think... Though only for this story, I think...
07. Will I?
It was too easy.
Did she think that he'll just stay there? His time was running out! He wanted out! He wanted to be free from the looks and complete stagnation of his own life! He wasn't going to waste away here. His mind flashed back to the few meeting with Ozpin, their perfect poker face, partially hidden by a mug, hiding that-
That god damn smile…
This wasn't the cheery ray of sunshine type of smile that people could hold no matter the situation. This was the smile that was bored and wanted something. The Drifter couldn't understand why she would follow him…
Unless she sees it that way. Does she?
All he knew about her was that she was terrified of touching or even being near her. Using her powers to push and pull him by his hands, like some sort of slave-
Well that's too much. The meals were great.
Whether or not he should've fled was meaningless now. Once again he was alone with death's hand nestled around his heart. He should focus on the fact that he was free, and in a forest.
The canopy was thick and green, and the dirt below was hard and impacted, burying hundreds of roots, just waiting to burst up.
He couldn't count the number of forests he had passed on his hands and toes. The cry of an owl dug up memories from a thousand different places where he had heard the exact same sound. Crickets chirped by as he sped through the worn out dirt path, timing his bursts of speed just to keep his stamina.
He was running on fumes at this point, but needed to push himself just a bit more, in the distance there were lights, and lights meant a village, a village he could sleep and eat in.
The sun was peeking out behind him, the weakening shadows slowly watching over him. The forest line was beginning to thin out, below him upturned dirt morphed into thick green locks that rolled downwards, right into the stone walls of a town. Behind him the lustrous white walls weakly jutted out from the canopy. Hopefully he was far enough...
It was true that the town was in a much better state that the wood huts and fire stoves he had seen. A shame the same could not be said for the diner he was eating at...
It started with the small things, the guards at the front asked him if he was a huntsman. He shook his head and they stiffened up a bit, with one of them even tilting their spear towards him.
He tried his best to diffuse the situation, which involved putting his hands up. Eventually they capitulated, shocked into parting as his drone eyed their sabaton's.
Do people just bow down to anyone with tech?
Is that why Atlas is so big?
Without any hesitation he waltzed into a motel, whipping out a fat stack of money in exchange for a key. The room wasn't the worst place he napped in, but he wasn't interested in complaining. Dawn turned to evening and his stomach whined at the neglect.
In the second town square the people gawked at him, the only person with blue skin as he scanned to find a place to eat. As luck would bring it, there was one, the same one he had eaten last time.
He thought that this time he'll be able to enjoy the pecan waffles in peace, surrounded by the stench of smoke and incense. Just like before the only ones seated did not even dignify a glance at him, playing with their cloyingly sweet food or staring off into wherever.
Just two bites in and the door was kicked wide open, and six men swarmed inwards. They all wore matching clothes – green shirts with black pants – and hefted clubs, guardless sabres and small firearms.
They scanned the place, sniggering to each other about things he couldn't hear from his corner seat. One of the members, with deep red hair sauntered up to cashier, slamming his hands down almost cracking the glass counter-top.
The mouthful of food he swallowed jumped back up his throat and he quickly heaved it out, his sputtering coughs noticed by the other five who were held back by the – leader?.
"You know what's the date… right?" Their voice droned alongside the buzzing lights. The cashiers skin grew pallid and she begun to stammer out quick apologies and assurances that the money was in the back.
Racketeering…
A small gang, maybe only restricted to the one town, so more like a group of hoodlums staking their claim-
"Hah? You think we're just a buncha' thugs?" The Drifter stopped mid bite, even though his stomach ached for more. The red haired boy marched over to him. His bat silently trailed behind him. "Well, buddy. I got news for you…" Their shadow loomed over the waffles, one more bite…
"OI!" His wrist was suddenly trapped in a vice grip, although while it was bruising they weren't that strong. The table jostled as they held onto the edge of the table with slick palms. They scrambled for for more leverage, but slowly, and surely the fork found its way to resting on The Drifters tongue.
They grunted and winced as The Drifter yanked it out from his mouth, resting the clean fork gently against their lips and chewing slowly. It felt satisfying to watch them embarrass themselves in front of his gang, or at least it would've have until he called out to them, stopping them in their tracks.
"Leave It!" The words were strained and clipped, in this moment of weakness The Drifter was able to pull their hand off his wrist. Which the newcomer quickly capitalized on. Pulling him into the a broken huddle.
"Listen… You already know what I'm about to say. But its true! You're the brains…"
"And you're the brawn I get that." They glared at the other customers and cashiers before continuing in the hushed tone. "But I want to help, I want to do something more..."
"Ok, lets just get the money and-"
His voice rose to a fevered volume. "No! This – Punk thinks he can make fun of us?!" Some of the customers stood up to leave, which they were gratefully allowed to, the remaining four men eyeing The Drifter the whole time. "He thinks we're less than the dirt underneath him…"
What..? I didn't say that.
"Oh, but you did." Turning his head to reveal pin-like eyes and frozen scowl, slowly stalking forth out of their grip while tapping the side of their head. "I can read your mind." He spat out. "I know your most deepest darkest secrets." Pressing a finger to their lip they continued, "Like, ooh here's one-"
Without warning The Drifter leapt over the affixed table, kicking them mid sentence into the glass of the tall doughnut rack, it creaked under the sudden jolt, but sprung back for him to be pinned up against it once more.
You. Wont. Tell. A. Soul… I'll kill you otherwise.
"Jonas!" A bat whistled overhead, stopping when The Drifter shoved Jonas aside and charged at the newcomer. Pushing his shoulder into their gut he shoved them back, hitting the wall before all hell broke loose.
Two other men brandishing their short sabres sped forth to skewer him. The Drifter dodged the first blade by pushing off against pinned mans stomach, and quickly materializing their blade to parry the downwards slash. The two leaped back against the screeching, puffs of smoke spilled out from the strike point. The other one winced before quickly squaring off.
The racking of a slide made all three of them focus on the opposite end. Behind them were the last two members, hefting their firearms aiming for centre mass.
"Wait, Wait! Don't shoot! It'll call 'em!" It was too late, by the time he had finished his sentence The Drifter had already dashed towards them, his blade gouging the upholstery before colliding with them.
Instead of cutting their heads wide open the first one staggered into the second one, both of them dropping to the floor with their firearms quickly kicked away. But they weren't dead...
What?!
"Hah, You don't know about aura?! Then you're just a regular shmuck?" The other three looked with panicked eyes to Jonas, even so they kept their guards up.
Aura? I… don't think that will be useful?
A pink shell was spat out of his hand, several more following it to strike against one of the sword wielding mooks. The force of the projectiles knocked them off their feet. Their head struck the edge of the table which made their body flicker with an unnatural green lustre. Just before they could hit the floor their partner reached out, silently dragging him into the hidden corner. He kept his newly introduced firearm cycling between them, blue smoke oozing out getting sucked up into the air conditioners. They all slowly took a step forwards, pure determination burned in their eyes.
Energy weapons are quiet… Good luck...
Jonas gritted at that statement and he quickly took the initiative, tightly gripping the polished bat in both hands. The other bat holder was quick to follow, calling out his name. They kept their bats close to their chest, presumably in order to guard against shots. They didn't need to know that he was out.
"He's out!" Quickly their demeanours changed, now barrelling forth.
Oh yeah…
The one that wasn't named Jonas swung first, his bats whistling was overpowered as the screeching began again. The hard light blade remained steady, gradually illuminating the middle of the bat. They were strong, effortlessly deadlocking them and boldly taking steps that pushed him back up to the wall.
I wish you didn't stop me while I was eating… I'm getting tired.
The Drifter saw Jonas swerve from the side before he saw their partners body twist to the side. A strike below the belt allowed him to shove him through the doorway and quickly bash Jonas with the butt of his sword, using the window of opportunity to quickly grab him by his collar and deck him into the far side of the wall.
His head dangled off the cushions with a vacant look in his face, and the other sword bearer reappeared from the corner sandwiching him between the two.
Back and forth, they came at him with a modicum of skill more than the goons from before. He ping-ponged between the two of them, pushing them back with the threat of damaging their weapons.
Even then the heat shock was taking its toll, the metal beginning to warp. Their surfaces growing more and more pocked marked. Every ring slowly transferring kinetic energy to his reserves.
A quiet beep deafened the area, both members leaping back, eyeing The Drifter tentatively. A stout revolver materialized pointed right at the sword wielder. The roar of the large sphere shocked all into silence. People outside cried as the pulsating orb of energy struck their arm, and his pained shrieking joined to create a chorus of pain.
Except this one… I forgot...
Their sabre clattered to the floor, their body quickly following suit. All the while they clutched their arm, it was fine though as their 'Aura' had completely protected it. Trails of cyan light coalesced around the impact site. The hand cannon, having dematerialized was safe from slipping as his head snapped forwards, his blade however, was almost torn from his grip. The imprint of the metal bat remained fixed in his mind as a kick to the back of his shin made him stagger towards a dining table.
The Drifter tried to turn but was quickly upended onto the table, slowly rolling up to the window. By now his grip on the weapon had completely slipped off the couch and rolled deep under the table. Through the mild fuzziness he could see their stoic expression, darkened as they raised the bat up...
You didn't see where the weapon came from.
Another large sphere of energy surged forth, striking him right In the chest, the ungodly whirring of machinery deafened his pained yelp.
Again, a veil of bright red rippled over him as he staggered back onto the display counter, slowly slumping to the floor.
Even though they were all unconscious there was still yelling. Behind him only a small handful remained on the opposite side of the road, gawking at the sight, or pointing something at him. He was running out of time though.
Where did it fall again?
Unceremoniously sliding onto the couch like a pancake, he pawed at the shiny red handle that stood out from under the checkerboard tiles. When he accepted that he couldn't reach it he pulled his upper body off the couch, the rest of him accidentally slipping onto the cold floor with a wince. Quickly he crawled back out with his handle in a death grip.
Silence fell once again, looking at the stock of silently groaning bodies. The only thing that was spilled was the shards of glass that surrounded his front, the tiling on his cheek felt grainy.
The lamps watching from above continued to sway in the dead breeze. His eyes took stock of Jonas, now nursing his head on the floor, in the corner he could see the man he shot first, his chest slowly heaving with jitters.
They're just kids…
But so were they…
Am I-
No, there were many of them.
But I walked in.
Someone else sounded my presence.
This was getting confusing- no. actually, it isn't. They were a threat. These guys aren't. The Drifter didn't know what they were doing, they were an unknown. But them?
I guess we really are scared of the unknown.
Was he even a Faunus? Turning over to the metal bottom of the display cabinet. The only unique thing about him was his blue skin… Was that enough?
Is Faunus a label for those not like them?
If so, then everyone in Central Town…
Seeping through his thoughts was the quiet sobbing of the cashier hiding behind the counter. The scrapes and bruises he had gotten flared back up free from the tension, and they couldn't be healed unless he's willing to turn his sword onto it. There was a nasty bruise running up the side of his offhand, glowing a deep red. The surplus of adrenaline he had was washed out as marching from the outside grew louder and louder.
They're here… No time for regrets.
The Drifter weakly rested his bruised arm on the dining table, with his other hand he reached out to grasp at the back cushions. His damaged arm came next to grasp at the next couch, then the dining table, cycling his hands until he reached the battered doorway. Staggering out into the sweltering evening sun-
"Hey! Stop right there!" There was no way in hell he'll be staying here, the guardsmen disappeared as he speedily rounded the corner, the civilians around him screamed and pulled each other away from his erratic path. He swerved around them, keeping his side close to the stout wall. Up ahead was an exit, with guards that were watching him barrel down at breakneck speeds.
"Halt!" To say they were shocked would be a gross understatement. He almost clotheslined one of them while he bolted out the town gates. His stamina was still as horrible however, and he had to push his stiff legs to keep running, whilst behind him a small group slowly made gains. In a moment of weakness he booked it towards the slowly thickening trees.
He ran and ran with no regard for the time. The bright red sun sunk deeper in the tall horizon, supplanted by a dimmed white glow.
The forest was a deep blue and the tree's were more thicker. The ground was completely marred with roots, he couldn't dash through this place, he could only hope he can outrun them. Deeper and deeper into the forest, leaping over roots despite his aching body. He stumbled onto a aging, stout, stone tower.
The stonework look fragile, loosely packed together like wooden blocks and smelling of them after a baby chewed on the edges. But the small entryway in front of him shining the sole beam of light into the stairwell promised him shelter: shelter from the elements and shelter from the guards who would've hopefully turned back by now-
A growl weakly echoed from the first floor.
...No shelter from the Grimm though. Or maybe this one was looking for shelter… It was a pathetic little thing that resembled a baby wolf, the only way he knew it was a Grimm was by its glimmering red veins. It had no bony plating to speak of, only its teeth which were short and rounded. It snarled and yipped at him. Scuttling back with its stubby legs and pressing itself back against a wall. Absent-mindedly he rubbed at his numb arm, weakly soothing it.
So they're just territorial? It makes sense… kinda?
After every battle they would just dissipate into the air. They didn't seem to have any muscles or organs, they were more like… big, heavy blobs.
But they did eat, he saw them pull out someone's organs once, chewing on it like a rubber hose… It was supposedly a mystery to even the academies, according to Ozpin… Was it bad that he couldn't feel any hate against him? Was it bad that he couldn't think of a reason to hate him…
The baby Grimm lunged out, hopping the metre and more just to try and hinge his jaw around his thigh. The teeth were completely blunt, so it just felt like a bad massage. But still it kept at it, his thigh slipping out from its mouth every so often. The moment he went to readjust the scarf it tumbled back - actually rolled a good step first before crab walking back to their little corner, where they tried to keep up the 'dangerous monster' act.
It was oddly cute, he remembered when a cat he visited would yowl at him, stretching her jaw to weakly nip at his arm. It was weird that he would repeatedly flinch at the feeling of her teeth rubbing against him…
Why do I get scared when they bite? No matter how weak it looks...
The deep bellow of something shook him to the core, causing the baby Grimm to tumble onto the floor. It still snarled at him like it was his fault. Out of the corner of his ear he could hear the snapping of the rifles and pained cries of people.
Grimm? This close?
Or were they waiting for the guards to go in deep? The snarling thing across him had nothing to contribute to the conversation in his head.
More shouting, now getting closer, calling for backup. Another roar shook him to his core, much to the delight of the baby Grimm if the howling is any indication. It does look like a wolf… No, actually, growling is just normal for beasts…
Are they looking for you?
He wasn't interested in hearing the answer so he willed his body to stumble down the stairs, quickly making a mad dash out of the woods, Reminding himself that the guards were possibly following him. After all, he wasn't that far and he'd rather them not take their pound of flesh.
The full moon was high on his tail, obscuring his way out in shadows which swelled as time went on. But he could see the end of the forest, and he leapt from stump to stump before busting out from the messy forest-
Stumps?
Before his very eyes, concrete homes with corrugated roofing sat around a slick metal pump like a cul-de-sac. Surrounding the pump were puddles deep as night, lightly illuminated by incandescent glowing in the far distance, which itself began to dim. His ankles cried out upon landing on the awfully hard dirt path, and he quickly realized that there was a wall surrounding the site…
And he had just leapt out from a gaping hole that warped the surrounding concrete.
Quickly he took a breath, not realizing that he was holding it and sputtered it back out when the sharp punch of copper flooded his mind. The puddle he stood on stained his boots and seeped into his socks with a familiar, slimy and cold sensation .
This…
"We have the prisoners. Go! Go! Go!" Prisoners?! OK, he needed to bolt-
The crack of a rifle filled the air, catching the side of his feet. The round punctured through his boots. Ripping flesh and dragging blood along with it. It stung like hell. Shuffling back to hide in the shadow of the nearest hut had nearly made him trip over his own blood.
The wound weakly spurted strands of blood with every twitch of his muscles. In his shock he began to fumble through his pockets for the Medkit, going over the same three pockets trying to push through the pain to remember where he kept them. His bruised arm weakly pressed against the cold concrete wall, reminding him of his predicament.
Kinetic weapons really are the worst. At least plasma shots cauterize nicely, and don't make me slowly pass out…
Footsteps nearby coincide with him finally yanking the Medkit out of his pocket… and onto the floor. That was fine, it was already making its way into the gaping hole in his boot. The marching stopped and he could feel the rifle pointed at him, "We got them! Surrender- Oh, shit!"
Oh, Shit.
Why didn't he hot-limped it back out the gate? Facing them he was glad he can't gasp. It was the 'White Fang' from before… Their vests may be battered and stained with blood and dirt but the masks were the same as before, bright white with thin slits for the eyes. Quickly he hid the worming Medkit with his good leg, twisting his body into the crude approximation of a fighting stance.
That means… Is he here?
"What's the matter?" Someone else walked into view. They wore all black, adorned with deep red vines that trailed up to their collar… Their mask was the same as all the others, just with red adornments. Obscured by the night were glints of polished metal resting by their side. The moonlight reflection illuminated the edge of the scabbard like a monkeys tail, but with the deep red horns back lit by the moonlight...
The Grimm's father?
"I thought they were an escaping guard, but T-They – I shot a Faunus!"
Through their mask he bore down on him, his hands crossed under his arms, eyeing both The Drifter and goon. The latter was drowning under the jeers and hushed whispers of his compatriots, pushing him into a circle whilst he meekly begged for forgiveness. Before that was quickly hushed when the Faunus in black clapped his hands. The group winced at the thunder clap, quickly scattering partially to look at him.
He's the leader…
"You may have shot a fellow Faunus. But don't be fooled, this one is a traitor." His voice dipped with simmering rage. They all gasped at the revelation, slowly moving away from the one guard to gawk at The Drifter. The Medkit's hands finally reached into his boot, pulling themselves into his leg with a shuddering squelch that no one seemed to hear.
"This one worked with her! To stymie our plans…" He clamped a hand over their shoulder, muttering a quick "You did well…" he turned to address the group, who were now surrounding the wall he kept his side pressed up on, their rifles and blades and clubs were pointed in his general direction ensuring death would be painful no matter what he did. "Capture him, we'll interrogate him first. Let him become a warning to the traitors of the cause!" It took quite a lot to not pull out his blade as their own neon red blade shot out with speeds that he could rival if he had the energy to spare.
I'll never enjoy those pecan waffles, will I?
It was surprising that he was still upright after that half-assed meal. Just as surprising that the Medkit's luminous green fluids weren't seen by anyone. Or that his foot was fully healed despite the odd angle he couldn't help but push it under… He really wanted to move just a bit but the guns surrounding him gave a good reason not to...
"That man scares me..."
"Really?"
"There's something... Off about them."
"I'm pretty sure its a he."
"It's a monster..."
"..."
"I'm sorry, it's just-"
"I agree with you."
"..."
"There is something about him, I agree"
"But..."
"But, they promise that this will be over."
"What are they even giving you?"
"..."
"Ozpin?"
"A chance. They told me I can't, but now?"
"..."
"It's getting late, you should clock out."
"The bullhead hasn't arrived yet."
"..."
END
This Is My Private Life is *almost* done-ish. At least with six chapters I can breathe. I think. Let us see what happens next.
My head hurts.