Winston stalked through the halls of Beacon Academy at a slow, deliberate pace as he slipped through the shadows on his way to Ozpin's office.

His lack of weapons, not to mention his missing arm and all that injury entailed, was the reason why he quickly darted through the scarce light offered by the windows into what meager safety the obscuring darkness provided. While he was certain no Inquisitor would allow any potential threats to roam anywhere near their personal domain uncontested, he doubted the capabilities of any guards that might be on patrol tonight.

Of the few individuals under Ozpin's employ that he had the displeasure of meeting; one was a drunk, another was far more interested in past glories and impressing others with feats his present portly physique likely wouldn't allow him to repeat, one of them were as competent and imposing as the drill sergeants of Krieg much to his pleasant surprise, and the other fell asleep on the job. The majority of the staff he had seen so far did not exactly inspire his confidence within Beacon's security, not that he would have trusted anything related to the Inquisitor in the first place.

Besides, he hadn't outlived the millions of fellow Korpsmen in his regiment by being complacent and simply following the orders given to him like a servitor. Working alone, whether or not he had been initially deployed as such or found himself outliving his allies following a particularly devastating battle for Imperial forces, instilled more than a few habits that allowed him to continue carrying out the will of the Emperor where others would falter in addition to honing a few particular talents one wouldn't expect from a member of the Death Korps.

The almost uncanny way he slipped through Beacon's scarcely moonlit halls undetected, his presence failing to be noticed by the sole guard he did pass by, was one such talent he had acquired. Even if he hadn't been missing his bulky kitbag and his weapons, he was more than capable of moving at a marching pace in complete silence. Losing the extra weight only served to make it that much easier to tread unnoticed. His motley gray uniform, combined with the oppressive darkness that further camouflaged his small frame against the aging stone of Beacon's halls, left him as little more than a phantom blur that even a Faunus, with their enhanced eyesight and hearing, would have struggled to detect.

As Winston watched the lone guard lazily tread through the halls of whatever building he was in, he sighed in disappointment. The security of Beacon, much like the attitude of both the students and staff he had already seen, barring Headmistress Goodwitch and Cadet- Private Nikos who had both proven themselves quite capable, was an embarrassment. He had read a little about how only the 'best of the best' attended Beacon the previous night when researching as much as relevant information about Remnant as he could find and heard Ruby mention the fact in passing on more than one occasion. If people like Jaune were somehow counted amongst them, then it was nothing short of a miracle that the Grimm hadn't devoured every last man, woman, and child centuries ago.

The guardsman was tempted to beat a lesson into the guard but, lacking any weapons of his own that he felt could break through a person's aura with a single blow and not entirely confident in whether he could accomplish such a feat even if he used his carapace helmet as a bludgeon with only a single arm, he decided against it and instead would bring up the matter to Ozpin some time. Of course, that was if the Inquisitor wouldn't execute him immediately for being unable to serve.

The very idea that he could be heading straight towards his death did not bother Winston in the slightest. He had considered himself dead a long, long time ago. It wasn't an uncommon thought amongst the Death Korps either, as he overheard more than a few of the common infantrymen make jokes about how they were 'marching to their second deaths' whenever he was fortunate enough to be assigned a position in the frontline trenches. Of course, that was all before he lost everyone he had come to know within his regiment.

It wasn't that they wanted to die, but rather they had simply accepted their fates as inevitable and hoped their eventual sacrifices would be enough to redeem their worthless souls when they finally found themselves before the Golden Throne. The rest of the 483rd more than earned their place at the Emperor's side in Winston's eyes.

The fact that he was still very much alive and alone was not lost on him.

Winston quickly reigned in his thoughts as he reached the doors that would take him outside as no good would come of thinking of the past in such a way. He raised his right arm to push open the exit, only to end up gawking at the exposed stump and gleaming piece of metal capping off the end of it. He grunted his disapproval at his mindless mistake, thankful no one was around to witness it, and refocused on the task at hand before his next mistake had more damning consequences than some minor embarrassment.

Nudging open the doors with his shoulder rather than his arm, holding back a hiss of pain as a bolt of agony raced up from his synthetic nerves into the all too real flesh connected to it, Winston was greeted with a view of Beacon underneath a cloudy night sky.

There wasn't much light available to observe the ornately and, in his opinion, gaudily designed campus but that didn't stop him from seeing his destination as clear as day. His mask, similarly to all those provided to the Death Korps, allowed for their users to see better in the dark and other low-visibility environments better than most. His mask, combined with one of his many augments and extensive experience navigating the poorly lit tunnel networks underneath Krieg's inhospitable surface, allowed him to see the moonless landscape without any issues. It wasn't nearly as good as true night vision provided by some of the rarer pieces of equipment used by the Imperium's elite, but it was enough to allow him to navigate even a lightless room with little difficulty. He would still try to avoid engaging any enemies is such an environment if he could help it though.

Exposed as he was outside of the meager safety the walls of Beacon's infrastructure provided, Winston's purposeful yet cautious march to Ozpin's office slowed down to a crawl. Alone as he was, without any allies or much cover to weave in between, the solitary guardsman made sure to keep low to the ground as he made the most of what little safety he could find. The Korpsman knew the few scattered bushes, pillars, and other unnecessary décor scattered around Beacon wouldn't provide him with much protection, but they would do a lot to conceal his form from any prying eyes or from the scope of a sniper if there were any looking for him as he quickly dashed between them.

It was incredibly unlikely that there was anything nn Beacon that would attempt to kill him, but it wouldn't have been the first time he and his allies thought the same about a supposed refuge only to be proven horribly wrong in the bloodiest way imaginable. At least there wasn't any chance that any hidden threats were inhuman in nature.

Well, aside from the Grimm, but they could hardly be called a threat. After facing down armies of barbaric two meter tall xenos almost as wide as they were tall, crazed cultists who fought each other almost as much as they fought him, legions of the dead that would simply never stay down, and worse, anything that could be consistently put down with a couple of lasbolts was hardly worth worrying about.


What should have been a five minute march turned into nearly an hour long affair of carefully treading across Beacon's grounds. As the lonesome guardsman finally reached the foot of the tower where Ozpin was waiting for him, he couldn't suppress the shudder that ran down his spine. The soldier himself didn't know how long he had taken, his chronometer had been one of the first things he discarded during his last campaign once it became clear untainted food and water were almost as invaluable as his own weapons and the few undamaged power packs he managed to scavenge from the fallen, but he knew he had kept the old man waiting for far too long regardless.

By the time the elevator reached the top of the tower and opened up to reveal Ozpin nursing one of the many mugs of cocoa strewn across his desk, none of the guardsman's worries of what his meeting might entail could be read from the impassive mask he was all too thankful to be wearing. Winston didn't bother focusing on the old man's obvious caffeine addiction, but rather the golden insignia of the Inquisition dangling from the chain around the headmaster's neck. Seeing the Emperor-blessed badge of office hanging from his neck put a somber end to the Korpsman's hopes of having a pleasant conversation with him.

"Ah, there you, Mr Votoyski. I was wondering when you were going to arrive." The Inquisitor said, setting aside his current mug beside the several empty ones in front of him.

"Inquisitor, sir." Winston saluted back, refusing to move a single step into the office of Beacon's leader.

"Please, come in and take a seat. It seems we have much to discuss." Ozpin gestured to the chair in front of his desk once it became clear the Korpsman would not do so without invitation.

Winston obeyed without question, feeling all too vulnerable as he came closer to the Inquisitor than he preferred given how he was unarmed in more ways than one. The guardsman stiffly marched over to the plain wooden chair he was expected to take, doing his best not to stare at the ornate metal cane Ozpin gripped too tightly for his liking in one hand. Once again, Winston was all too thankful that his mask obscured his face as he tried not to think about how many loyal servants of the Emperor that weapon must have killed to ensure no heretic escaped the old man's gaze.

"So, it seems you have had an… 'accident' in combat class." Ozpin said, pausing for a moment as he tried to address the matter as delicately as possible.

"Accident, sir?" The Korpsman questioned dispassionately, unsure of what the odd pause might have implied.

Ozpin believed he maintained his calm façade well as he inwardly winced at how distant the student before him treated the matter, although a small part of him was relieved that the guardsman seemed to hold no ill will over the incident. "Yes, the accident, unless you mean to say Miss Nikos intended to remove your prosthetic by force." The headmaster stated, "She was quite upset about what happened, as you can likely imagine."

Winston couldn't imagine it, as he didn't see why a child he barely knew would be anything other than proud at having triumphed over a veteran guardsman so thoroughly. Unless, of course, their match had been declared undecided if the girl refused to fight a crippled opponent. If that was the case then the girl was as much of a fool as she was skilled, and she was very skilled.

"Your own team was also worried for you when you passed out shortly afterwards, Ruby in particular was so scared for your well being that she carried you over to our nurse's office herself to make sure you were okay." Ozpin mentioned with the intent to gauge what effect this particular detail would have on the guardsman.

"I'll do my best not to let it happen again, sir." Winston said dryly, earning a sigh from the headmaster as he completely missed the point Ozpin was trying to make.

"I'm sure they will be glad to see you are okay." The headmaster said, frowning slightly as he finally saw the old burn scars exposed by the tattered remains of his student's sleeve.

Winston, sensing where the old man's gaze had been drawn, shifted the tattered sleeve of his trench coat so it would cover as much of his crippled arm as it could. It wasn't much, as the metal cap where his prosthetic would ordinarily be connected to was still fully exposed, but now it was difficult to tell that the darkened area around his exposed pallid skin was actually an old burn scar rather than his own natural complexion.

"Anyways, there are a few things I would like to ask you about in regards to what today's events have exposed." Ozpin quickly said in an attempt to keep Winston amicable enough to continue speaking with him.

"Of course, sir." The Korpsman replied without any indication if he wanted to do so or not.

Ozpin felt it was wrong to continue the conversation knowing what it was he would be asking of the guardsman, but decided to do so anyway as there was no other way to learn more about his mysterious student. He wouldn't have many other opportunities to make firsthand inquiries like this and fully intended to make the most of it.

"To avoid any other repeat incidents I will need to know what, if any, other prosthetics or augments you have been 'blessed' with and how you acquired them." He said, still disgusted after brushing up on a few of the more disturbing ideals the Mechanicus, Mechanicum, or whatever those lunatic technophiles called themselves now in preparation for this meeting.

Winston shifted around in his chair uncomfortably for a moment before responding with a question of his own. "All of them, sir?" He asked, his voice far quieter than usual as he seemed to shrink into himself.

The headmaster did not let this momentary display dissuade him from pushing forward, even if his conscience argued against it. "Yes, Mr Votoyski, all of them." He sternly told the soldier.

Winston once again shuffled around for a moment before answering. "Very well, sir."

"The first few replacements I had installed were my lungs, left eye, and left foot which I lost to a landmine during a training exercise." He droned, casually detailing everything as if he were talking about the weather and not a near death experience.

Ozpin was disturbed by his pupil's choice of words but didn't let his expression show it. "You stepped on a landmine during training?" He interrupted with as much calm as he could muster, struggling to maintain a level voice with every word he spoke.

The guardsman immediately scoffed at the question. "Of course not, sir." He bluntly answered. "One of the cadets marching to my left stepped on it during a run through some old ruins on the surface. The idiot wasn't watching where he was stepping, unlike the rest of us. I had to wait a week before I was cleared to join regular training exercises again. Took me even longer to wash all the bloodstains out of my uniform during our downtime between drills and practical lessons."

It was just as the Korpsman finished his monotonous rant that he noticed the mortified expression Ozpin's face molded into. "Did I say something wrong, Inquisitor, sir?" He tentatively inquired.

The headmaster let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in before responding. "No, no, I just… I never would have guessed you survived being hit by a landmine."

Winston nodded in understanding and explained why, much to Ozpin's horror. "I had a few other cadets between me and the frag mine when it went off. They absorbed most of the shrapnel, if they didn't also become part of it. I only realized I had been critically wounded once we finished our march a minute or so later. I thought all the blood was from the others, not me."

A moment passed before the guardsman added, almost as an afterthought, "Most of it was probably theirs at first."

And the guardsman was talking about what should be a traumatic experience as if he were describing the weather. "Oh my Brothers…" Ozpin gasped.

"The next prosthetic I received was when I joined the Death Korps 483rd Siege Regiment after passing my initiation into the Imperial Guard. Our regiment's highest ranking tech priest installed it before I regained consciousness in the middle of the warp jump to my first deployment with the regiment in return for acting as his assistant for procedures he couldn't trust a servitor to complete on its own." Winston told him, sounding slightly saddened at the mention of the 'tech priest' despite pouring no emotion into his words and instead held his hand over his chest.

So the Korpsman had been close with a tech priest? How interesting.

Ozpin pulled open his scroll for a moment and wrote down this connection so he could explore it more as he was beginning to fear any further prodding into the subject might arouse some suspicion. "And how did you lose your arm?" The headmaster asked, bracing himself to an answer he already knew wouldn't be pleasant to hear.

"Lasbolt." The guardsman tersely answered.

Winston's response, while thankfully shorter than his previous one and intriguingly vague on top of it, was not anything Ozpin wanted to inquire into any further. The headmaster was far too familiar with exactly how much damage a lasbolt could do to a person. He absentmindedly rubbed his throat at the very thought of how even a glancing blow could spell a long and painful death for their victims if their aura failed to protect them.

"What about your fingers?" Ozpin pointed at Winston's gloveless left hand which lacked all but a thumb.

The guardsman quickly tucked his hand into one of the pockets of his trench coat before telling the headmaster, "They were replaced by the same tech priest who provided me with a new arm," surprising Ozpin with how quickly he tried to gloss over the subject.

"Would you mind telling me how you lost your fingers?" The headmaster asked, hoping his continued questioning wouldn't leave his student with a bad impression of him.

"They were c-cut off." Winston softly replied after taking a few moments to answer, stuttering as the words barely escaped from the confines of his gas mask. He started to tremble for a moment as he pulled his fingerless left hand free from the confines of his trench coat and fell deathly still as he looked down at it, "B-by a bayonet."

There was clearly more to this story than what the Korpsman offered him, but Ozpin was not foolish enough to push his pupil any further on the matter. The boy clearly had his demons, and whatever it was that he was refusing to speak about, in his eyes they apparently made several near lethal shrapnel wounds from a landmine look tame by comparison.

"Is that all of the injuries you have to declare to me?" Ozpin asked, hoping that was the last of them.

"No, sir." Winston told him.

"Then only tell me what other prosthetics and other implants you have and we can save the stories behind them for a later date, otherwise we might be here until dawn in a few hours." The headmaster joked in a failed attempt to lighten up the dour mood that had settled in his office.

"Very well, Inquisitor, sir." Winston sighed in what sounded like relief to the old headmaster. "In addition to the major injuries and prosthetics I have already informed you about, I have also had all of my teeth gradually replaced as they had been knocked out, my hearing augmented after suffering extensive damage over several years, and multiple reinforcements made to my spine since my first days as a cadet until I was officially inducted into the Imperial Guard.

"If any more modifications have been made to my person, then they were added without my knowledge." He added, somehow looking as uncomfortable as Ozpin felt despite the impassive mask he wore.

"Ah, I suppose you are lucky that it was only your arms and fingers that were damaged in your match against Miss Nikos." Ozpin said in an attempt to add some life back into their conversation.

"I wasn't lucky. She also damaged my lungs." Winston informed him. "I believe I lost consciousness due to a lack of oxygen and my lungs repaired themselves shortly afterwards before any long term damage could be done."

Well, no long term damage he hadn't dealt with before at any rate. The faint taste of copper and oil lingering in his mouth was proof that he hadn't escaped with his health perfectly intact. He had coughed up blood and lubricant plenty of times after suffering a particularly powerful blow to the chest after receiving his augmetic lungs. That was likely where the blood on his uniform had come from.

It would probably happen several times a day until whatever damage Pyrrha had caused had completely repaired itself, whenever that would be, but such a minor annoyance wouldn't stop him from carrying out his regular duties while attending Beacon. If anything, he wanted to push himself harder to compensate for this weakness of his until it finally vanished.

"I… I see." Ozpin stammered as processed this new information, "That is quite the extensive list of injuries. I'll be sure to let Dr Schwarzer know about your condition later in case you ever find yourself in his care again."

"I'll be sure to tell him myself when I see him tomorrow." Winston responded.

"Oh, he asked you to see him again tomorrow for a wellness check, I presume?" Ozpin asked.

Winston tensed up after hearing the decidedly unfriendly tone in the headmaster's voice. "Yes, sir. That is standard protocol here, isn't it?"

"Yes, well, I suppose it is." The old headmaster admitted, humming thoughtfully. "Be sure to visit him at the start of your first class, and don't worry about missing anything. I'm sure the good doctor will want to make sure you are healthy and cleared for combat classes soon as possible. I'll also let Professor Port know you won't be showing up to his class tomorrow and have him prepare some notes for you to study on your own time, not that you need them if what he told me about your ability to grasp his lessons is true."

"Yes, sir." Winston dutifully replied. "Is there anything else you would like from me?"

"Not for the time being. You are dismissed." Ozpin said with a wave as he offered the guardsman a pleasant smile, "I'm sure your team would be relieved to see you are okay."

"Of course, sir." Winston said as he saluted the Inquisitor.

"Oh, and one more thing before I forget." Ozpin called out as the Korpsman started to make his way back to the salvation the elevator would provide him, "Glynda has retrieved the majority of your possessions that were removed from your person and stored them in your locker, in case you are wondering where they are. Your bag, guns, knives and… other belongings are there, although I regret to inform you that we are still unable to find one of your fingers."

"Which one?" The guardsman asked.

"Your middle finger, I believe." Ozpin reluctantly informed him.

"I can make myself a new set of fingers in case I lose any more, if you would allow me to requisition the raw materials I require." Winston monotonously replied. "I have experience tending to my own prosthetics."

Ozpin visibly perked up at the mention of this. "Is that so? I will happily arrange for any parts or raw materials you need to fully tend to yourself, if everything you need isn't already in the academy workshop. Don't be afraid to use anything that isn't already in use in another student or teacher's weapon or vehicle. Everything in the workshop is provided for both Beacon's faculty and student body to use freely."

"Although, I must ask you, how long will it take you to make your replacement?" The headmaster inquired.

"Maybe an hour or two." Winston shrugged, "It depends on the quality of the tools and materials I am working with, sir."

"That's good to hear. I'll try not to detain you any longer than I already have." Ozpin said as he waved his student off. "Be sure to get some rest for tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir. I will try to do so." Winston saluted, before finally disappearing behind the elevator doors as he made his way down to the base of Ozpin's tower.

After a few moments had passed, Ozpin pulled up his Scroll and watched the guardsman depart from his tower at a near sprint before disappearing somewhere amongst the nearby shrubbery. The old headmaster hummed thoughtfully to himself as he turned his attention to one of the many drawers in his desk. He allowed himself a small smile as he removed the Inquisitor's badge of office from around his neck, pulled open a drawer, set the necklace beside a metallic finger, and tenderly closed it shut.

It pained Ozpin to lie like this, but if this is what it took to see what Winston was capable of beyond acting as a huntsman, then he would betray his student's trust as many times as it took to make it happen. It wasn't if it was the first time he failed to tell the guardsman the truth or the most damning thing he lied about. Even if all that came from this deception was a new type of prosthetic the headmaster could send to his counterpart in Atlas Academy to reverse engineer then it would be well worth it.


Rather than head straight to the dorms and take a well deserved rest alongside the other members of Team RWBY, Winston proceeded to head to his locker to retrieve his equipment. Without his weapons he was powerless, and as a guardsman sworn to defend humanity to his dying breath, that was simply unacceptable.

Caution was thrown to the wind as Winston threw open the door to his locker, not caring what the machine spirit tasked with securing his every possession thought of him as he retrieved his gear. The first thing the Korpsman made sure to do was reattach his fingers. Reconnecting them without his other arm to assist was slightly challenging, but luckily he was able to pull up his mask and screw each of them back in using his teeth with only minor difficulties.

Flexing his fingers once all three of the ones that had been returned to him were reconnected felt odd, but no more unnatural than before their violent removal. Unlike the arm his tech priest provided him, Winston's fingers did not have nearly as much work put into them, owing to the rushed nature of their creation. They felt no heat, no pain, and felt as if they were submerged underwater whenever he moved them. The lack of sensation was almost certainly intentional, a punishment he felt far too light for the action that left him in need of the faulty augmetics in the first place.

Despite how unnatural they felt, Winston savored having his fingers back and made several gestures to ensure he had full motor control over them. He heard stories of other injured troopers accidentally punching through adamantium reinforced doors due to miscalibrated prosthetics and wanted to make sure no such incidents occurred to avoid angering the Inquisitor. Once he was satisfied that he wouldn't unintentionally crush any of his other equipment or injure one of his teammates, the guardsman pulled out his kitbag and checked it to make sure everything that belonged inside hadn't been disturbed.

All of the obvious items were present, although none of his spare power packs or bayonets were in the right compartments. A quick reorganization solved that issue allowing Winston to go over his more sentimental objects, which were thankfully untouched. His Commissar's cap, the sack full of data chips recovered from his fallen kinsmen's masks that he had yet to download into his dataslate turned genescanner, and other memento moris he had collected over the years all laid in the order he had left them undisturbed. The only exception was the cogwheel necklace that he thought he was wearing until spotting it on top of his Commissar's cap. Winston briefly panicked as he felt around his neck for the missing trinket and failed to grasp onto it, but instead hacked up a small, oily glob of blood that he swallowed back down before it could escape his lips and stain his uniform any further than it already was.

The Korpsman quickly put the necklace back on and tucked the holy symbol of the Omnissiah that his tech priest once wore in between his flak vest and body glove before glancing at his weapons. The laspistol looked mostly undamaged, but he knew looks could be deceiving. The sights had certainly been deceptive in his fights against the noble he glumly recalled as he tucked the sidearm back into the holster at his waist.

He didn't even bother inspecting his lasrifle as, even in the improbable event its newly rewired internals had escaped damage, he couldn't use it as anything other than a club without his other arm. Speaking of which, his missing limb was hanging from a rack directly underneath his lasrifle. Winston did his best to ignore the eerie green glow emanating from where the arm should have connected to the neural implant embedded in his flesh as he threw on his kitbag, slung his lasgun over his back as best he could, and finally took up his arm and made his way to the weapon's workshop rather than the dorms.

Getting some sleep was not high amongst the guardsman's priorities. Not even the Inquisitor's request that he do so would stop him from getting himself back into fighting shape first. He didn't scurry through the halls like a scared rat this time, clinging from the shadows to avoid detection from friend and foe alike. Now that he had his bayonets and a laspistol, even if the bloody thing wasn't sighted properly, he felt as if there was little in Beacon he needed to hide from.

Once in the workshop, Winston immediately went to put out the green glow emanating from his arm. A quick, point blank lasbolt courtesy of his quartermaster's laspistol followed by a liberal amount of electrical tape applied over the now lightless and lightly scorched end solved that problem. He whispered a prayer afterwards to ensure it would stay that way, following his tech priest's instructions as best as he could remember.

Next he started looking for the proper tool to help him attach his arm, soon finding that he lacked the proper tool to do so. The Korpsman wasn't surprised that the tools available to him in the common workshop of a planet without a Mechanicus presence would be missing the circular wrench he required, but it was disappointing nonetheless. Winston quickly made a note to request the wrench he needed from Ozpin when he saw the Inquisitor next.

Unable to fix his most glaring problem, the guardsman did not let this discovery deter him as he set about working on what issues he could resolve with the tools at his disposal. He intended to fix his laspistol first, thinking it would be an easy task to accomplish, but soon found his lack of an arm to be far more debilitating that he initially thought it would. It took four hours, a table mounted C-clamp, and a copious amount of cursing at the nonsensical measurement system that several of the tools were organized under once he realized Remnant likely didn't know what the metric system was until he felt fairly confident he could trust his laspistol with his life.

All he did was readjust the sights and perform a routine cleaning of the sidearm as he inspected it, yet the entire process took him several hours instead of the five minutes it ordinarily would have. Sure, a large amount of that time was spent trying and failing to hold his weapon steady before accepting defeat and using the clamp as a poor substitute for his right arm, but he eventually accomplished what he first set out to do.

If only it hadn't taken so long, he would have also tried to see if any damage had been done to his lasgun and sharpened his bayonets, but that would have to be done later. He had spent far too long working on what would certainly be the quickest weapon to repair, and with Ozpin wanting him to skip his first class of the day to meet with the Beacon's medicae, that left him with less than four hours to return to his team and get whatever sleep he could.

Not letting his exhaustion show, not that he particularly noticed it compared to the slight hunger he felt as he devoured his final ration bar, Winston marched back to the dorms in absolute silence. It was still dark out, Beacon's halls fully illuminated by dwindling moonlight as the clouds blocking the shattered satellite had dissipated sometime while he was working on his laspistol as dawn rapidly approached.

It didn't take long for him to reach his team's room, but the weight of the day's trials finally fell upon him now that he was so close to the sanctuary the girls could provide him with. He didn't dare call anywhere without his allies safe, and even then, he would still perform a thorough inspection of their room for any weak points in the immediate area's defenses before allowing himself a small nap.

Or at least, he would have, if the door leading to Team RWBY's room hadn't been locked.

He jiggled the door handle a few times to make sure it was not his missing finger which was somehow to blame before knocking on the door a few times to alert his team of his return. Instead of being welcomed with open arms, concerned questions regarding his ability to serve as their teammate, or silent disapproval at having disturbed their slumber so early in the morning like he expected from them, he was instead greeted with absolutely nothing. Thinking they might not have heard him, he knocked louder and louder until he finally did get an answer. By the time he did get a response from one of them, the door was visibly starting to rattle on its hinges.

"Keep it down and go away." Someone from inside drowsily called out at him, possibly Yang, without bothering to open the door and inspect who it was.

Not wanting to be a burden to his team once again after having been crippled, Winston obeyed the order he received without protest and walked away from his team who continued to sleep through the night without noticing they were missing anything important.


Lacking anything better to do until classes started, Winston wandered the halls of Beacon, slowly learning the layout of the academy. Halls, gardens, classrooms, stairwells, and any other area that he wasn't locked out of were explored to their fullest. The entire process took a little under two hours, but it was undoubtedly time well spent. The guardsman had been wondering if he would need to bother his commander or other teammates to help him explore campus previously. Now, he didn't and not only that, he had also found himself quite the vantage point to watch over most of the academy from.

The view the roof of Beacon's dorms provided him was nothing short of spectacular. From over a dozen stories above the ground, he had a complete view of every part of Beacon as the dorms were located near the center of the academy. The scarce few pieces of cover surrounding the dorms in between them and the surrounding buildings would make it almost impossible to launch an assault on the building without the attacking force suffering massive casualties, something that Winston was all too appreciative of. He would take a battle on an open plain without cover over the chaos of a ruined hive city or forsaken foundry any day.

Fighting in the confines of a well designed trench was one thing. Fighting in the twisted corridors of a hive city's underbelly was as close as one could get to the Warp in the Materium, if one chose to ignore the Eye of Terror's existence for a moment.

Winston suspected the Inquisitor had this in mind when choosing Beacon as his base of operations. Then again, knowing just how poor the headmaster's judgment was when choosing his subordinates, the old man might have thought the view alone was worth living here. The guardsman turned his gaze to the distant city of Vale that lay beyond the cliff and the gulf that separated the two and found himself unable to disagree despite his reluctance in doing so. Underneath the moonlight the city looked no different than any other he had seen before months of shelling and vicious close range engagements turned them into little more than smoldering mounds of corpse filled ruins. That was exactly why Winston begrudgingly appreciated the scarce few minutes of moonlight he had to inspect the largest city in the kingdom sharing the same name.

There was a strange beauty that the broken moon hovering above Remnant held, and that beauty carried over the lands its light touched. Bathed in the light above, the sleeping city of Vale looked serene and untroubled by the looming threat of Grimm that could wipe it off of the map at any day. Not even Winston could deny the charm the sight before him held, as he too was enraptured by it.

The moon was a broken beacon of hope watching over countless unsuspecting people underneath its care who were blissfully unaware of the myriad dangers that surrounded them on every front, the warmth of its light keeping extinction at bay one more night with what little strength it had left. Damaged but not defeated, regardless of whether its services would ever be appreciated or even noticed, no matter if anyone ever cared to discover how it had ended up in such a sorry state or tried to do anything about it, the moon would carry out its duty until the bitter end, Winston suspected. Even though the moon was nothing more than a force of nature incapable of comprehending the world it was a part of, he felt he could perfectly understand its plight.

Perhaps that was why he found himself unable to look away as the moon disappeared over the horizon, only to be replaced by the light of dawn which heralded a new day for the people of Remnant. A new day, a new beginning. Winston wanted to look away from the scene before him but couldn't. He couldn't remember the last time he was able to just stand and watch the sky without a care, or if there even was a last time.

A small pang of sadness hit him at the very thought of it, but he soon recalled that whatever he thought didn't matter. Classes would start soon and he still needed to inform his team that he was mostly okay. Winston swiftly departed from the rooftops, but not before vowing to return one more time and savor the sight of the shattered satellite that hung over Remnant similarly to Krieg's own broken moon.


Special thanks to Tireless Traveler & Doc43Souls for beta reading this chapter!


Author's Corner:

Alright, another SLOW chapter for you all but worry not, the other teams will finally have a presence in the next chapter even if it is initially minor. I wasn't kidding when I said this story will take a while until current events start to pay off. I too want to rush into the bulk in the story, but I still need to show both exactly how screwed up our protagonist is and the kind of environment he has been placed in without presuming everyone reading the story knows all there is to know about W40K, RWBY, and my own interpretations of each franchise while giving fans of either just enough information that much more insight into what is happening before things start to finally happen.

Also, I would like to take a moment thank my new beta reader for accepting my request to help maintain the standard of quality I like for my stories. Commenting corrections that need to be made to a chapter might earn the ire of some writers on this site, but for me that'll earn you an opportunity to help out.


Comments:

Akashic Silhouette & 'Guest': (Thoughts on the doctor)

Context is important, and the lack of context given as to why the doctor looks like a total asshat here is entirely on my part. My line of reasoning when developing this character was that Beacon would obviously need some medical staff to deal with any injuries that occur during training or missions, but due to the miraculous power of aura, wouldn't need too much of a presence. Hence why we have one crotchety Faunus in charge of the well being of an entire academy's worth of patients ranging from the rare injury suffered in combat class to managing their regular check-ups and prescriptions as well as ensuring his department is stocked up on everything he might need at any given moment.

Trust me when I say further insights into why the doctor isn't a complete dickhead will be coming soon.

Maglad: I can't wait to see Pyrrah's reaction when Winston comments that he's sorry for fainting, but apparently she briefly turned off his artificial lungs and gave him a migraine when she fiddled with the chip on his brain.

When and if Winston ever admits the full extent of the damage Pyrrha did to him, you better believe both his team and hers will be freaked out to say the least.

The Baz: Is Ozpin aware of the implications of being a Inquisitor, like does he understand that Winston is scared shitless of him and if so does he know why?

What a wonderful question indeed. To me, the answer is obvious but that's because I'm the guy who is writing this story. As for the rest of you, I'd recommend paying close attention to exactly how Ozpin behaves and reacts whenever he and Winston are together if you haven't already come to your own conclusions.

Ziggy2277: (Faunus and the benefit of hindsight)

I 100% agree that it was likely animation and budget constraints that prevented certain character models from being shown at the start of the show. Remember when every RWBY background character was a black silhouette? Even so, as supplementary materials provided in later years have yet to change anything and the question itself provides a lot of interesting plotlines to explore, I kinda like the idea that Ozpin, Beacon, and Vale are not the paragons of peace and equality they make themselves out to be.

Clear battles between good and evil are alright, but a conflict between two factions which are different degrees of morally gray? I don't know about you, but I find that much more interesting than your bog standard heroic tale WHEN DONE RIGHT. Of course, being a fan of W40K, my opinions on the matter were probably obvious.


As always, thanks for reading and I hope to see y'all again. Happy holidays.