Chapter 1 (Niner) : Breakaway
When I was a kid, my mother used to tell me that I'm very subtle, but quick to anger. The first time my dad heard her say that, he laughed. I suppose she's partially correct. I've never been one to tolerate bullies, and that has gotten me into fights all my life. I speak my mind, I don't back down, and if I'm being completely honest I enjoy being in the spotlight. At this point, you're probably thinking the same thing my dad was that day.
Not so subtle.
My name is Nichalous Silver-Chulainn, but most people call me Niner. Today, I leave my home in the kingdom of Mantle, the place I've lived most of my life, headed south for Beacon Academy. There I'll train and study to become a Hunter. I have mixed feelings about the idea, but it's my idea. No way I'm backing out now.
Hm. Warm. Another dream? This one feels... different. Almost like… is someone there?
"Knock knock, knock knock."
"Nick?" Mom's voice. Gentle, composed, but with a certain strength behind it. She doesn't use this tone often, and certainly not with Uncle Jimmy. "Nick, wake up sweetie. It's almost time to leave."
I sit up in my bed, a little too fast, causing a rush of vertigo. My vision blurs and spins.
"Woah shit..." I say and shake my head.
"Language, young man," Mom says, her gentle tone long gone.
"Sorry."
While my senses recover, I look around the room. My room. It has the same gray concrete floors and painted white walls that other barracks have. Same low ceiling, same fluorescent lights, same lack of windows, same stainless steel rack with the same thin foam mattresses on it. The difference being that my room is a single one. One rack with one mattress, not twenty bunk beds with forty mattresses. I also have a desk, a floor-to-ceiling mirror, and my own closet. Perks of being the 'too young to enlist' son of a Specialist I suppose.
The same Specialist who is still standing in my doorway. Delihlah Silver-Chulainn. She's tall for a woman, standing about five foot nine. Her face lined with age, deep blue eyes holding an intelligence just as deep, her long graying brown hair gathered in a single braid down her back. She's wearing her uniform, which now that I think about it, I've seen her wearing this more often than anything else. The uniform is mostly white. White slacks tucked into black combat boots, a white button down shirt with a blue vest worn over it, a white and gray jacket worn over the vest, and a red ascot worn around the neck. Lacking any personalization and rank insignias, it is designed with complete practicality in mind.
Practicality is something my mother excels at.
"What time is it?" I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Zero five-hundred," Mom answers. "I thought you'd be up already."
I yawn. "Wasn't sleeping well, I guess."
"Bad dreams again?" Mom asks.
"Maybe," I answer.
Mom looks away and purses her lips to the side. An expression she does often.
"James wants to talk to you before you leave." Mom returns her gaze to me.
"What about?" I ask.
"He wouldn't say, but I have a suspicion." Mom pauses. "I'll be waiting with the transport that was arranged for you."
"Alright. I'll see you after I talk to Uncle Jimmy then."
Mom laughs, low and soft. "You know he hates it when you call him that."
Mom turns on the balls of her feet and steps out of my room, closing the door behind her, and leaving me alone in my room.
You'd think the chill in my room would cause me to sleep wearing more than just A-fronts, but you'd be incorrect. Living up here, you get used to the cold. Those poor bastards in Vacuo or Menagerie would need a layer of thermals just to not freeze to death in their beds.
Okay maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.
I stand up and stretch my back, my arms, and roll my shoulders. My right shoulder pops, causing me to wince. Then I grab my clothes from the closet, those that I didn't stow in my bags anyway. A pair of faded bootcut jeans, black combat boots, a black t-shirt with a white button-down shirt over top, and the jacket my dad gave me before he left. The jacket is brown leather, a little worn and rough around the edges, with thin, overlapping, black polymer plates on the shoulders, forearms, chest, and back. I grab my combat goggles as well and put them on, raised to my forehead for now. Lastly, I slap on my watch. An old digital watch with a cracked screen that barely fits my wrist.
Heading for the door, I stop in front of my mirror to make sure everything is right. Slitted, silver eyes look back at me. My copper-colored hair is cut short, shorter on the sides, and parted to the right. The very ends of my hair are gold, with a white streak following my bangs right, and it's been like that since I was a kid. My angular face is shaved clean.
"Smokin'."
I grab my bags and take one last look at my room. Empty now. An empty bed, a seemingly untouched desk. No sign that anyone had actually lived here. Sighing, I step through the threshold into the just as cold hallway, closing the door behind me.
That's the thing about having a flying military base, even though every room and hallway is heated, and they need to be heated, the entire complex is still on the colder side. Every hallway, office, and training room stay at several degrees colder than the average room temperature below in the city. That said, Atlas is a fortress, not a day spa. The job of the personnel is to watch over Mantle and be ready to deploy anywhere at a moment's notice. I think being a little chilly is of little concern for the Marines and Navalmen stationed here.
At least the air gets warmer the closer you get to the center of the base, and the higher you go. Uncle Jimmy's office is north towards the center and up a few levels.
"Niner!"
A male voice echoes down the hall, commanding and fluid. I pivot, turning almost completely around and looking down one of the branching hallways. Walking up the hall are three individuals in slight variations of the Atlesian Specialist uniform. Two men and one woman. The woman, Rhana Tortuga, is slightly shorter than my mother, roughly the same age, but with a darker complexion, fluffy black hair, and large round glasses over her light brown eyes. The taller of the two men, Vine Zeki, is taller than me, nearly seven foot tall, but way skinnier, he's pale, and his platinum hair is buzz cut. The man leading the other two is Clover Ebi. He's almost the exact same height and build as me, with cheerful blue eyes, and his brown hair cut short. They stop a few feet from me.
"Clover," I say. "I thought you'd be running drills with the specialist recruits."
"Harriet and Elm are taking care of that," Clover says, dropping his voice to a conversational tone. He chuckles. "Good thing too. Harriet would have blown a gasket if she heard you call me out of rank."
"She would have done the same for not saluting you either," I add. "Always about the regs with her. She'd make one helluva bureaucrat. Well, until she beats someone half to death for not crossing a T."
Rhana steps around Clover to stand in front of me. She puts her hands on my shoulders and stares into my silver eyes with her brown ones.
"Oh Niner," Rhana almost sighs. She talks like what I imagine a tired aunt to talk like. "You sweet little cupcake. If only you focused half as hard on your training as you did sharpening that tongue of yours. This is your fault, Stringbean." She glares over her shoulder at Vine.
"I never told him to insult others." Vine's voice is even, almost monotonous. "I merely taught him how to refine his wit. His proficiency with snark and sarcasm is his own doing, not mine."
"Besides, I trained plenty hard," I add. "None of you would have allowed for anything less than my best."
Clover laughs, quiet and as fluid as his voice. "They've got you there," he says. "Niner didn't need our help turning into a wise ass. And he's certainly come a long way from the little kid that couldn't even hold up a sword."
Rhana turns her head back to me, her mouth pressed into a firm line. She drops her arms from my shoulders and pulls me into a nearly back breaking hug.
"You do us proud, Nichalous," Rhana says. "And don't you dare forget about your Auntie Rhan. You call up here as soon as you're able to take a trip to the CCT."
"Yeah yeah." I chuckle. "I got it. I'll make sure to let you know how I'm doing."
Rhana pushes me back and pokes her index finger into my chest.
"I mean it," she exclaims. "You had better keep in contact. I want to hear how you're getting the best grades out of all the first years. I want to hear about no one being able to touch you in combat. And most importantly, I want to hear about all the girls fawning over-"
"Okay we can stop right there," I interrupt, taking a step back.
"Or guys," Rhana quickly adds. "Or both, if that's what you like. I don't judge."
"Rhana," Clover says. Firmly.
Rhana sticks her tongue out at him. For someone her age, she sure acts like a teenager a lot.
"Fine," Rhana says. "Wait actually… one more thing."
Quick as a gunshot, Rhana jabs at my throat with her flattened hand. I barely move in time, as the side of her hand grazes my neck. She jabs again, this time for a pressure point below my shoulder, but I dodge again. She jabs a third time, but this time I pivot sideways and grab her arm. Then I sweep her legs out from under her with a swift kick.
Rhana starts laughing. Imagine a crow laughing, or trying to, and that's what her laugh sounds like.
"You're gonna do just fine at that school." Rhana sticks her hand out. I grab it and pull her to her feet. "Show 'em why we have the strongest military force in the four kingdoms."
"I will," I promise her.
As Rhana moves back behind Clover, still giggling, Vine steps forward, pulling a small red notebook from his back pocket. He holds it out to me.
"This notebook contains a number of puzzles I have devised," Vine says. "Both ethical conundrums as well as questions designed to promote critical thinking. I avoided using any such questions that you and I have already discussed."
"Thanks, Vine." I take the notebook. "I'll go over one whenever I have time."
"Good." Vine steps back and returns to parade rest.
Clover steps forward now. His turn to talk, I guess.
"Rhana, Vine," he says over his shoulder. "Meet back with Elm and Harriet. I'll be there soon. Dismissed."
"Sir, yes sir," Rhana and Vine say in unison. They turn on their heels and march back down the hall.
Clover crosses his arms over his chest as Vine and Rhana round a corner at the end of the hall, his expression a mix of amusement and contemplation. "Remember your training," he finally says. "From all of us. I don't expect you to have any problems down there, but… Well, if you need a helping hand, you know how to get into contact with us. We're all rooting for you."
"I wouldn't say all," I add. "There are some people here that'd rather see me crash and burn."
Clover laughs so softly it almost sounds like a sigh. Very well could be both. "That's true no matter where you go. That said, I don't think you have the right people in mind."
"How so?" I ask.
"The other two don't hate you," Clover explains. "They just don't like you. Truth be told, you're like the little brother they never wanted. You drive them up the wall with your smart mouth and short fuse. But they'll still have your back no matter what."
"I wish I could say I believe you. But I don't. Not this time." I pull my sleeve up and check my watch. "I'd better get going. General Ironwood wants to speak to me before I leave."
"I see." Clover rubs his jaw. "I'm sure it's very important then. Good hunting, kid. Like I said, we're rooting for ya." Clover firmly pats my shoulder before turning and walking down the same hall as the others.
He knows something. Well, that is to say he knows something he isn't telling me. I hate secrets. Especially the kind that some people know while others are deliberately kept in the dark. I get it, sometimes people can't handle certain things or there's certain information that could hurt a lot of people. Still pisses me off.
Regardless, I get the feeling that my conversation with the general is going to be less than pleasant.
As you go up in levels within Atlas, the floors go from cold, sterile concrete, to combinations of marble and hardwood. The walls are still technically concrete, but they're plastered over and painted so as to not clash with the solid oak doors. Such as the door to General Ironwood's office. The door I am standing outside of right now.
I raise my hand to knock. Three raps of my knuckles.
"Come in."
The voice is firm and formal. Leave it to Uncle Jimmy to make a two-word invitation sound like a union address. Aside from the click of the knob turning, the door doesn't make a single sound as I enter the room.
It's a lot like the rest of the base in here. Same color pallet, anyway. Same marble and hardwood floor as the rest of this level. The walls are lined with full bookshelves and maps of various locations throughout the kingdoms. The far wall has a bay window set into it, offering a view of the majority of the base. In the center of the room is a large, heavy wooden desk. Uncle Jimmy sits behind it, his fingers interlaced, dressed in his uniform, broad shouldered, his white streaked black hair combed back, and his chiseled jaw cleanly shaven. To his right is a young girl I don't recognize.
She looks about my age. She's on the shorter side, about five foot six, small framed, and her orange hair is chin length with a large pink bow on the back of her head. Her clothes are simple, a white blouse under a green dress, black and green tights, and black combat boots. Nothing overly fancy. She's standing almost completely stock still, but she's smiling and watching me with sparkling emerald eyes brimming with excitement. All around she's kinda cute.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" I ask, shifting my gaze from the girl.
James holds up his hand as though to stop me. "We can drop the formalities, Nick. I've called you here as a personal request, not a militant one."
"Alright then." I cross my arms. "So what is this request then, James?"
He gestures to the girl beside him. "Nick, this is Penny Polendina."
"Salutations!" The girl salutes. Her tone is up-beat, but not overly high-pitched.
I raise an eyebrow at the girl-erm, at Penny. "Doctor Polendina has a daughter?"
Now that I think about it, she is the spitting image of the Doctor. Same ginger hair and fair skin, freckled cheeks, hell even their eyes are almost the exact same shade of green. Her cute button nose and ovular face must be from her mother.
The General nods. "Penny is very important to him. And rather than isolate her inside these cold walls like some families I could mention, Enrico decided she should be given the opportunity to see the world outside of Mantle. We both agree that it would be best if she accompanied you to Beacon Academy. I'd treat it as a personal favor to me if you'd look after her."
"And the reason that you chose me specifically is...?" I ask.
"Two reasons, actually. For one, you have already been accepted into Beacon. I don't expect you to have any trouble with the entrance exam, and we think that Beacon would be the best place for Penny to go in order to experience as much as possible."
"Affirmative," Penny chimes in. "Father and I both agree that attending Beacon academy would be most beneficial. Beacon Academy would provide a thirty-two-point seven percent more diverse combat training experience than Atlas Academy, and a fifty-six-point three percent more diverse human and Faunus interaction."
I slowly nod my head. "And the other reason?"
"Penny has lived a sheltered life," James explains. "She isn't as experienced, in any sense, as your average teenager. You, however, have more experience across the board than most others your age."
"So a balancing act, then."
"That's one way of putting it." James stands up to his full height, a few inches taller than me, revealing just how brawny his frame is, and he turns to Penny. "Penny, retrieve your things and load them onto the transport. I would like to speak to Nick alone about a few more things."
"Aye aye General!" Penny salutes again before marching out of the room.
Uncle Jimmy grabs something from his desk. A heavy, flat, dark wooden box. The kind of box you keep something special in that you're not worried about it breaking, like a pocket watch, or a knife.
"So, is this a volunteer gig?" I ask. "Or am I being volunteered?"
"Both." James starts towards me. "As I said, I'm asking you, as a favor to me, to watch over Penny. Help her adjust to social situations and life outside a lab. Clearly, I can't force you when you're half a world away, but she will be going to Beacon regardless. Besides, it's not like you to leave a damsel in distress on her own." There's the hint of a grin on his mouth.
I scoff. Son of a bitch. "Oh that's low. How can I refuse after all you've done to swindle me?"
James chuckles, a similar sound to a wolf growling. "I knew you'd come around."
James and I share a brief laugh.
"Now, what's in the box?" I ask, pointing to the box.
"Something that belonged to your father. He wanted me to give it to you when the time was right, in case he wasn't here to give it to you himself." James opens up the box, facing it towards me. Inside is a fairly simple looking handgun, if a rather big one, laying on a dark leather holster and a bed of velvet. Blued steel, ebony wood grips, and the words 'Sins of the Father' engraved on the slide. "Custom Atleasian Casull long slide, modified to fire overpressure 454 caliber cartridges. Your father said he also designed it with the idea in mind of firing gravity dust rounds in addition to everything else."
I let out a long whistle. "Damn! You'd only need one or two shots from this to put down an Ursa. And I could see using fire dust or even impact dust, but gravity? That has gotta be hell on the kickback."
"It is," James confirms. "Just not as much as you think. The weight of the handgun itself helps with that."
"And this engraving." I trace the words with my fingers. "'Sins of the Father.' Know what it means?"
"Only the old proverb," James says. "The sins of the father are paid for by the son."
"I see." Dad always did love his riddles.
I grab the pistol from the case. It definitely has some weight to it. Heavier than your average handgun, anyway. I pull the slide back to check the chamber, aim down the sights, then strap on the holster and stow the pistol with a flourish. I also grab the spare magazines from the box and put them in my inside jacket pocket.
James places the box back on his desk. "Before you leave, there is one more thing I have for you."
"What's that?" I ask.
"Information. About your father."
My heart skips a beat. Then another. What could he possibly tell me that I don't already know? I put up my best poker face. "Go on."
"When Roland disappeared, he was investigating a territory in Vale to the south of the main city. The location is Mount Glenn. A city long abandoned. We don't know what he uncovered, if anything, but we do know that he had established a base of operations there."
"Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?" I keep my voice steady, but my blood is boiling. Why did no one tell me this? It's been years since he disappeared. Why wait till now to bring it up?
"This is the first you're hearing about it because we didn't know until three weeks ago." James clears his throat. "An associate of Headmaster Ozpin found Roland's hideout. Until now, we neither knew where he had set up, nor that he had set up at all."
With every word out of Uncle Jimmy's mouth, all the anger just boils off. Slowly. I want to be mad. I want to be furious. But… James would have told me if he knew. He's always been honest with me.
"Thanks," I say. "For telling me, that is."
"Of course." James puts a firm hand on my shoulder. "I know how much this means to you. We're doing everything in our power to find out what happened to Roland." He pauses for a moment. "You're going to be in good hands. The Academy's Headmaster, Ozpin, you can trust him."
I nod. "I'll keep that in mind. Don't work yourself to death while I'm gone, Uncle Jimmy."
James rolls his eyes and muffles a laugh. "You know I hate it when you call me that."
With nothing left to say, I just turn on the balls of my feet and walk out of the room. I've got a long flight ahead of me.
The airstrip is fairly calm this early in the morning. Very little traffic. That's not to say there isn't traffic at all, just very little. The wind is cold, cold enough to see my breath, but the wind itself is fairly calm. Calm for the altitude, at least.
There's a single V22 Bullhead by itself with the cargo ramp lowered. Mom is standing by the ramp waiting for me, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets.
I wave as I approach her. "I don't think the pilot would mind if you had waited inside the VTOL."
"Trust me, it's not any warmer in there," Mom says.
"I meant so you're out of the wind," I clarify. "Chapped lips are a pain."
Mom laughs. "I'll be fine." She pauses and looks back at the Bullhead. "It seems my suspicion was correct. James asked you to chaperone for Enrico Polendina's daughter."
"Is she in there?" I point to the ship.
Mom nods. "She is. I had a very… interesting conversation with her when she arrived. She doesn't want for enthusiasm, I'll give her that much."
"Lucky me." I chuckle. "I get to play babysitter for a bundle of pure energy."
"It won't be that bad," Mom says. "You'll finally have someone to keep up with that mouth of yours."
Mom and I share a laugh. Then she pulls me into a hug.
"You take care, Sweety," Mom says. "After you're settled in at Beacon, I'll send you a few things."
"Alright, thanks Mom." I pause for a moment and step back. "Do you know if 'Sins of the Father' meant anything to Dad?"
Mom looks off to the side, thoughtful. "Specifically, no," She finally says. "But you know how he was about his riddles."
I nod. "Yeah. Just another mystery I guess."
"I love you, Nichalous." Mom hugs me again. Much tighter this time.
"I love you too, Mom." I break out of the rib-cracking hug and check my watch. "I have to go."
"You still have Jack's watch..." Mom kisses my cheek but she doesn't say anything else. She smiles at me with tears in her eyes. I smile back before stepping onto the ship.
Mom was right. It's not any warmer in here. I was right too, though. There's no wind blowing in my face. It's pretty empty in here, too. I don't see Penny, but there are a few large green and white bags in the corner that I assume are hers. I set my own bags next to them.
Penny steps out from the cockpit and grins ear to ear when she sees me.
"Salutations Nick!" She stops in front of me and salutes. "I look forward to your guidance and companionship!"
"Thanks, I think." I stick out my hand. "And call me Niner. Almost everyone does."
Penny shakes my hand. "Affirmative, Niner."
I step around Penny and stick my head inside the cockpit. "I'm loaded up. Ready to head out."
"Copy that," The pilot says in a gruff voice. He flips a few switches. The cargo ramp closes and the engines roar to life.
"Mind if I smoke in here?" I ask.
The pilot turns and looks at me for a second with an eyebrow raised. "Go ahead. Just keep away from the jerry cans."
I nod and grab my metal lighter and a pack of cigarettes from my coat, lighting one as I pick a spot to sit down. Penny gives me a confused look.
"Why are you smoking?" She asks.
"Because I want to," I respond.
Penny points at me in an accusatory fashion. "Smoking cigarettes is a momentous health hazard. Smoking increases the risk of heart attack by an average of three-hundred- and sixteen-point six percent for individuals aged sixteen to twenty-five and increases risk of cancer by an average of seventy-eight-point five percent."
"That's… a very specific set of statistics, Penny." I take a drag. "I know how unhealthy it is, but it's not like I smoke for my health anyway."
Penny cocks her head to the side. "Why do you smoke if you are well informed of the health risks?"
"To soothe my temper." I take another drag. "Don't worry about it. I can quit at any time."
"When you put it that way..." Penny holds her chin, as though she's thinking. "It makes sense that you would know yourself best. However, the statistics are still valid, and it would be more beneficial if you were to quit smoking soon."
"Understood," I say. "Thanks for the input."
"Affirmative!" Penny salutes again.
I chuckle. "You're a peppy little spitfire aren't you. How are you so energetic at six in the morning?"
"Well I..." Out of nowhere she's super nervous, but only for a moment. "I-I'm a morning person! *hiccup* Yes! *hiccup*."
"Do you need some water or something for those hiccups?" I ask.
"No thank you," Penny answers.
I shrug and throw my cigarette on the floor. I smash it with my boot before laying down across the bench seat. "I'm gonna try to catch some shut eye during the flight. Wake me up when we get to Beacon, please."
"Affirmative."
I close my eyes, and it's not long before the hum of the engines puts me to sleep. Lulling me into the void of my subconscious.
Warm again. And the same sensation as before. As though someone else is here in my dream.
I guess a restful nap was too much to ask.
Hello?
I call out into the warm void but there's no sound. I don't even hear the engines anymore.
Who's there?
Still no sound comes out, and still no response. But there's someone there, I can feel it. The burning sensation of a pair of eyes watching me. Analyzing me.
I know you're there damnit! Show yourself!
Again, no sound leaves my mouth. But the sensation changes. Rather than just being watched, I feel something else, something more… intimate. The feeling I'd get every time I would beat my mother at chess, and she would smile. Or when I finally keyholed my shots at the range for the first time so Dad took me to a steakhouse to celebrate.
The warmth recedes, and I'm left alone in the void. At least I can hear the hum of the airship again.
"Nick, wake up!" Penny's voice. "Nick, we have arrived!"
When I open my eyes, I'm greeted with Penny standing over me. Her green eyes sparkling and a mile-wide grin on her face. I slowly sit up.
"Already?" I ask. "What time is it?"
"Eleven fifty-seven AM," Penny answers. "We will be arriving at approximately the same time as the other first year applicants."
"Hey why don't you kids come up here?" The pilot calls. "Come check out the view."
Penny and I exchange a glance.
"Ladies first," I say with a crooked smile.
Penny smiles and I follow her into the cockpit.
The view is… breathtaking. I mean there are some spectacular views from Atlas, but this is something else. A huge structure, designed in such an ornate way that it looks almost like a castle built during a long-forgotten age, sits on the edge of a massive cliff. Surrounded on all other sides by a small clearing and a dense green forest. As we approach, I realize that it's not just one large building, but several interconnected ones. And at the center, a tower that stands well above the rest of the facility. A shining beacon for everyone to follow.
How poetic.
"It's… amazing." My words are drawn out.
Penny nods. "Very aesthetically pleasing," she says.
The pilot chuckles and presses a button on his console. "Flight Control this is Zulu Five-Seven incoming from Atlas. Requesting permission to land, over."
A male voice crackles through the radio. "Permission granted, Zulu Five-Seven. Landing pad nine is clear for you to land."
"Copy that, Control. Landing now." The pilot looks over his shoulder at Penny and I. "Get your stuff ready you two."
"Got it," I say.
"Affirmative." Penny nods.
The aircraft comes to a halt. The engines cut out, and the cargo ramp lowers. The cargo hold is immediately filled with the sounds of dozens of people talking all at once. Penny and I grab our begs.
"Ready?" I ask Penny.
She nods, and we exit the Bullhead.