This Is Atlas

by Tikur-Sew

This fic is dedicated to the gallant faunus of Atlas.

3. Tuck Your Gris-Gris

This Is Atlas

Chapter III: Tuck Your Gris-Gris

"Don't let your dog tags dangle on the ground,"

"Pick up your dog tags, toss 'em all around!"

—III—

Marrow twisted around in place to properly crack his back, yawning in satisfaction as he blinked the tears out of his eyes. Next to him, Felicia seemed a little better, but only because he'd watched with morbid fascination as she chugged enough coffee to make sure there was more caffeine than blood in her system. He wouldn't have been particularly surprised if she'd also been snorting Dust. Occupying the rest of the seats were similarly bleary-eyed initiates, increasingly irritated by the noise of machinery and Gods only knows how many crewmembers booking it in and out of the room to the hangar or the flightline. The initiates all perked up when the door swung open, heads swiveling to see who was entering this time.

In front of them was Schreiber and another sergeant, this one human. Looming over most of them and wearing a comfy-looking cold weather parka and trousers, his most distinctive feature was his mop of bright red hair threatening to fall into his eyes and kept barely within regs by a low taper fade. Sharp eyes, a glistening viridescent that reminded him of his mom's eyes, scanned the crowd seated before him. When he turned to mutter something to Schreiber, there were strange characters that Marrow vaguely recognized tattooed under his left ear. The man himself could've been from anywhere between Argus to the Throat of Pereiklon, and if that tattoo didn't confirm it, then the name MANESIS above his right breast did. Looking and sounding entirely too upbeat, he chirped, "Good morning!"

Few of them returned the greeting. In fact, most of them blinked at him slowly before mumbling something back to the affirmative. The sergeant scoffed, "You all sound like you're dying. Put a little life into it now! GOOD MORNING, FRESH FISH."

"Good morning, sergeant!"

That was apparently good enough for him. "There we go! Now, I'm Staff Sergeant Manesis, and I'll be the one providing y'all's guidance today. The risk assessment for today is high as hell, and obviously so! This is the Trial of Ice we're talking about. And what is the Trial of Ice, I hear you future Hunters ask?"

None of them had asked.

"Don't worry, I'll give you some free chicken so it'd behoove all of you to listen."

Wow, not even twenty words in and I already want to tear out my eyes. Maybe I should've just listened to Ma and taken my ass to college.

"Assuming you didn't cheat your way through history class, you'll remember that before this was Atlas Academy, it was Alsius. Part-R&D facility, part-officer candidate school. Vital to the war machine of the nightmare state that was the old empire, it also housed one of the few examples of a proper combat school before the Vytal Accords came into effect. After the Great War and the whole nonsense-mess that was the Great Upheaval, it was one of the last vestiges of Imperial power. General Dawnclaw himself set the example when he set off from Fort Dawnclaw and trekked through the wilderness and tundra with almost nothing but the clothes on his back and little supplies all the way to Alsius. There, he went to work transforming that part of Old Mantle into the same city that would become the heart of the Kingdom of Atlas. The rest is history."

Sergeant Manesis smiled at them, gently. "For the Trial, you'll be doing the same thing."

… Say what?

That last sentence might've taken a bit to sink into their bleary-eyed collective but when it did, it hit them like a drunk driver's fiacre hit the township's star football player and his girlfriend. The Sergeant just laughed at them, grin looking decidedly more vicious. "Now I got your attention! For the Trial of Ice, we'll be providing you with nothing but the finest bullheads, courtesy of Atlas Army Aviation. Our pilots will fly you over to Fort Dawnclaw and from there, you'll be meeting with your new friends, the refined gentlemen of the Twenty-Fourth Infantry on their fuckin' what, fifth time on rotation this year. Poor, poor bastards. Oh, and did I mention? We still use what's left of Fort Dawnclaw as a live-fire site & a combat training center. You guys might get some hip pocket classes from them on a little bit of CQB or MOUT! Pro-tip: you can't really double-tap a wounded dude but if you just so happen to, I don't know, step on their balls, and they flinch, you can legally shoot them."

Besides Sergeant Schreiber's snickering, the rest of them just. . . stared at Sergeant Manesis as he rocked back and forth on his heels, seeming to relish the awkward silence like he hadn't told them how to commit a war crime. He broke it by clapping his hands and made several of them, definitely not Marrow, jump. "Anyways! Given that this isn't back in the day, as much as some folks would love an excuse to go back to hazing and beating the shit outta new kids, we're not just gonna leave you out there with nothing. What do you guys think this is, Vacuo? That'd be completely counterproductive to our mission to produce Hunters! See, what we will be doing is having you head on down to supply where you will each procure a pack full of the necessary supplies and equipment that you'll need to make it out in the Grimm—and also possibly bandit, if not White Fang—infested wilderness. The kicker though? Your rucks will come in twos and that means your assigned partner will have the stuff you need! You'll be expected to find said partner over at Fort Dawnclaw and then make the trek to Mantle. Too easy, yeah?"

Your assigned partner. Marrow sucked in sharply through clenched teeth as noises came from the crowd of initiates, probably having had the same thought process that he and Felicia had had. Ironwood's almost offhand advice ran through his mind. Plans don't always survive contact with the enemy.

So then who was the enemy here? Ironwood? Marrow shook his head and glanced over at Felicia, who just looked unsettled by the announcement. Meanwhile, the sergeant's ever-present smile strained the littlest bit as he raised and projected his voice. "Yeah, yeah, I know, it's crazy, you have to actually be able to exercise flexibility and adaptability! Don't you guys have to go through some shit like this? It is what it is because as far as I know, your partners have already been picked. Don't sweat it though — we've taken the liberty of putting trackers on your rucks and if you somehow lose the ruck, which I would recommend that you don't, your scroll will have another we'll be following. You'll even be able to follow it to each other via the Loc app, so triple check it's been installed and keep that in mind! Aren't you guys happy we have little to no respect for your personal privacy? You did sign it away to come here after all. And on that note, you'll each receive your assigned number via text and go on down to supply to get your rucksack."

With that, he turned to leave the room and gestured for them to follow. Marrow rubbed his face, watching as some of the other initiates cradled their heads in their hands and snorted. They were acting like they were goats being delivered to the slaughter. Which, they kinda were, just to Grimm.

And also maybe the cadre.

As they all followed him out, his scroll vibrated in his pocket and Marrow pulled it out to check the number that'd popped up on the screen. His brows raised in surprise; lucky number seven. At least it'd be something Emiye would consider auspicious. Last thing she'd done on the platform was hug him like her life depended on it, whispering one last prayer in the old tongues in his ear and sneaking the gris-gris that she'd brought all the way from Mistral into his pocket. She didn't really talk much about her childhood in Mistral, but he could make a few guesses and watched enough times as a child as she clutched it in the very heart of a kingdom whose gods were that of ice and iron. He absentmindedly rubbed at where it lay under the layers of clothing; it was a piece of his Emiye and the old country, with all the warmth and love of her and their antecedents. It was nice to think about before he took the plunge.

The corner where the supply division was tucked away wasn't too far from the hangar. He blinked at the sudden rush of air that hit him, much warmer than outside, and felt himself relax. The layout looked no different than any warehouse he'd seen — aisles stretching out of sight, an inordinate amount of boxes, busy uniformed workers wearing white plastique helmets and reflector belts handling either piles of papers and folders or whichever piece of equipment their customers needed, and finally, several soldiers sitting behind computers at a desk a little bit off to the side. A single chevron on the shoulder of most of them marked them as privates second or third class, with one or two having the stripes of a corporal or a sergeant. Of course, they all looked no less hassled than any of the other soldiers rushing around and shouting at one another, furiously typing away with furrowed brows and matching the same frustrated energy the disembodied voices on their scrolls were talking to them with.

Felicia just whistled lowly, face pinched in sympathy and muttered, "I know exactly how they feel."

He turned to her, brow raised and let out his own whistle, impressed. "Wait, you was employed? Damn, they really do be taking anyone."

Felicia rolled her eyes. "I ain't even gon' cap, you on me like beoshit right now—"

"—Trust me girl, ain't no one on you—"

She kept going like he wasn't even there. "—I used to work for this one place, y'ver heard 'a Mammoth?"

Marrow's eyes flicked up to the brightly-lit ceiling in thought, regretting it as he looked directly into one of the fixtures and ended up trying to blink dark spots out of his eyes. "Sound familiar. That one faunus-owned company out in the boondocks? You worked for them? I thought you said you was from Zweisäulen."

Felicia huffed, sounding offended by the notion. "They wasn't out in the boondocks. They was based outta Z-Town, and it ain't like they don't got branches in Mantle. Shit, just 'cause I live 'round the Zwei now don't mean I stay there. Anyways, they had me start out as a runner on the floor and then work my way up into customer service. Hated that shit so much it ain't just make me wanna go back to working the floor with all 'em, it made me think 'bout joining the Army for real."

"And now look where you at," he said, smirking down at her and waving a hand at the scene as their sergeants stepped up to talk shop with the soldiers working the desk. One of them looked up and apparently started taking Sergeant Manesis to task about something, leaving the man ducking his head and looking bashful as his faunus counterpart just laughed at him.

Felicia just smiled at the scene, like she was recalling a familiar memory. "Would still rather take my chances out in the Grimmlands, no aura, no weapon, no nothing, than go back to customer service."

Marrow nodded, lip wrinkling slightly in distaste when he remembered the stories his parents had told him of the first jobs they'd taken when they were still settling in. From what he heard and as far as he was concerned, he'd take the Grimm over some passive-aggressive piece of shit that ain't even have the balls to say what he was implying to his face. At least the Grimm were upfront about wanting to kill you.

He was pulled out of his head when he almost stumbled ass-over-boots at the force knocking him forward and turned around sharply, barely catching Felicia shifting her arms behind her back and grinning at him with nothing but playful innocence glinting in slitted eyes. "They called you up. Gave you a lil' love tap 'cuz you wasn't paying attention. You know how they be getting on your ass 'bout attention to detail here, but you know I always got you. You're welcome."

"...Uh-huh," was Marrow's reply, eyes narrowed even as a sardonic smile kept trying to fight its way onto his lips. He shook his head, straightening his shoulders and walking up to the desk. The private glanced up at him when he approached, looking annoyed before her eyes flicked down to the tail wagging slightly behind him. She blinked in surprise while his own eyes lingered on the antlers sprouting out from her forehead, coronets covered by light brown hair, and then made eye contact with her. "Number seven? Amin, Marrow?"

She nodded and started flipping through the pile of papers in front of her, muttering all the while in a very Mantlese accent, "Number seven, number seven— Ah! Here we go, Marrow Amin."

She turned to yell over her shoulder, "Ay, lemme get number seven!" before looking back to him with an almost gentle smile, like she hadn't just looked like the mere existence of another initiate was enough to make her snap. Marrow tried to return the smile, even if it came out crooked and with way more teeth than he should've showed, flinching when a loud thud came from the rucksack being thrown down beside him. The culprit, a cat faunus with a private's chevron, leering at him with a knowing smirk that left Marrow feeling like he was the butt of a private joke.

The private opened his mouth to say something, cut off as his face twisted in a grimace and he folded over the finger planted in his side with a strangled cackle. The deer faunus next to him hadn't even looked up as she withdrew the finger she'd remorselessly jabbed him with, jogging papers in front of her while chastising him at the same time. "Schwarz, leave that poor boy alone. You know he got enough to deal with without you playin' with him. Remember them kids last cycle?"

Schwarz winced just at the mention of it.

Despite himself, Marrow latched onto one part of her statement and asked, "Boy?"

She made a noise of agreement in the back of her throat and drew it out, mirth dancing in her eyes as she said, "Yeah, you ain't graduate yet. You still a boy, but don't worry; we rootin' for you."

Marrow narrowed his eyes and tried to object to basically being called lil' bro, only for the air to be rudely expelled from his lungs when Schwarz shoved the rucksack into his chest and his arms came up to support its weight. The deer faunus— damn, he ain't even get her name— called up another unsuspecting initiate that looked like he was borderline tweaking from whatever he was taking to stay awake, eyes wide and twitching like some süchtigen feening for that next hit. Marrow stepped out of the way and rolled his shoulders, letting out a quiet sigh of relief at the quiet reassurance of Fetch settling along his back before looking back down at his rucksack and judging the weight in his hands. If he had to guess, it was thirty-something, maybe forty pounds or so? Not too bad now, but that didn't count Fetch or his baby's ammunition either. He grimaced when he realized that all probably came out to anywhere in the high sixties, low seventies — and that was if they weren't saddled with anything else, because Atlas' motto was embrace the suck, right?

He shook his head and walked away, slowing down when he passed Felicia to give her a nod and managed to finagle Fetch into one hand while trying to get the ruck over his head. He set her down along his boots and held out his ruck by its shoulder straps, remembering a little something he'd seen his dad do and tried to fling it up and over his shoulders. The key word being tried. Instead, he misjudged the path it actually went and ass firmly met ground when he tried to lean back with it. The silence following this was practically deafening, save for the hum of machinery from the flightline in the background, but not before a muffled giggle broke it. He looked up to see the Schnee girl swiftly turn away, her hand covering part of her face as she stepped forward in line, and then flushed as laughter filled the room. He attempted to save what tatters of masculine pride he had left by shrugging the ruck on and shooting to his feet, one foot kicking Fetch up into his hands as he made a beeline for the exit.

Marrow slowed in his stride when he noticed Schreiber waving him over and watched bemusedly as the lynx faunus dismissed the pair of initiates scrambling to shove their shit back into their rucks as fast as they could. He couldn't help but make a noise of sympathy in the back of his throat as he arrived there, ignoring the look of amusement on Schreiber's face, and bent over to try to help. The key word of the day seemed to be try. When he reached for a pouch, his hand was smacked aside and the initiate he'd tried to help was a girl with dark eyes that glared daggers like she was hoping that actual daggers would appear out of thin air and pierce through his aura. She snatched the pouch up for a frantic once-over and shoved it back into her ruck, hissing "I don't need your help," past clenched teeth before shooting one last dirty look Schreiber's way. The sergeant just looked back at her with a raised brow and she fled to the flightline with the other initiate in tow.

Schreiber snorted, shook his head and then turned to him. "Wouldn't let that shit slide if it was me. Empty out your ruck."

The command made Marrow lurch forward before he got hold of himself, laying Fetch down on his boots tentatively and going to his knees to empty out the rucksack while Schreiber's foot impatiently tapped away a familiar rhythm. Was that This Is Atlas?

"See somethin' you like?" Schreiber's tone was drier than the Vacuan desert and it wasn't until he heard it that Marrow realized he was staring. "I'on' judge, but you definitely ain't worth riskin' it all."

Despite himself, Marrow snorted with abject disgust at the idea. I ain't the one who said to the captive audience that my boots got more action than a bunch of Hunters. Miss me with that shit, too.

"You know what's crazy?"

No, but I'm sure you'll tell me.

"That you not payin' attention when I clearly told you to show me ya' damn E-tool. Attention to detail usually what they gig y'all on, too."

Marrow muttered something vaguely offensive under his breath as he rummaged through the pile of gear for the same piece. The sergeant seemed entirely unimpressed with him as he had been with the dark-haired girl that had been on the edge of a temper tantrum, raising a brow at him. He finally asked, again, "You know what else crazy?"

"What, sarn't?" he sighed.

"Y'all damn kids can't even stand on business when they feel like they wanna say some shit. Like don't get me wrong, we can drop tops and take it to the damn woodline if you feelin' some typa way. I got gloves in my fi, and I ain't talkin' 'bout no damn issued gloves. Can't even tell if it's y'all generation or just some brats that get tight-lipped when they come face to face with my furry ass. See, back in the day, I look at my NCO like that?" the sharp sound of exclamation that came out of his mouth startled Marrow, uneasiness settling in at the bitter amusement underlying the chuckle that followed it. "I'm lucky if all I gotta do is low crawl the parade field. And we ain't got no aura, so whatever kinda corrective training —or whatever the hell they callin' gettin' fucked up nowadays— they got in mind, we gotta deal with like regular folk. Cold weather top and bottom."

As Marrow made to go for each bulky garment and shook them to unfurl them fully, Schreiber's eyes glided over them once or twice before nodding. It still didn't stop him from going in on whatever lecture Marrow was unlucky enough to be subjected to. "I think y'all are luckier though. Now we finally startin' to get rules and regulations outlinin' what all can and can't be done. Turns out, the big men upstairs got a problem with taxpayer lien being wasted whenever some crazy-ass Hunter that lucked out on gettin' a cushy gig as an instructor somewhere can't handle some trainee not doing what he teaches first try or mouthin' off 'cuz they daddy ain't never make time for 'em and they don't know how to act with the first mature male authoritay figure in they lives. Next thing you know, some kid gettin' rushed to the ER, and some veteran Hunter get a Kill Order put on him 'cuz he shoulda been the bigger man."

Schreiber paused. "Where was I goin' with this again?"

… How the hell am I supposed to know?

The sergeant just shrugged, one ear flicking irreverently. "Anyways. Cold weather tarp?"

Marrow shook his head, holding up the neatly folded tarp that was just shoved back into the ruck as Schreiber kept prattling off more items from the list. He didn't seem in the mood for any further lecturing or conversation, fortunately, which might have something to do with the slowly stretching line of anxious applicants behind him. Thankfully, it wasn't long before he was done and the lynx faunus told him, "Get the fuck away from me, Amin."

He didn't need to be told twice, not even bothering to get all good and comfy with his ruck before he was heading straight for an awaiting bullhead with his same number emblazoned next to the roundel of Atlas Academy. Marrow waved back at the crew chief waving him down, grinning when she stared at him like he was a complete weirdo. She shook her head, taking no time to get him settled in before she launched into a very succinct rundown on how not to strangle himself with his own straps and you know, just generally avoid death by bullhead beoshit.

Still, it helped take the edge off his nerves when she walked him through the process. He smiled when he handed off Fetch to her to properly buckle himself in and the crew chief —specialist Braun, she introduced herself as— marveled at the custom-built weapon Marrow had spent the better part of his early years as a Hunter-hopeful busting his ass building and iterating on. She let out a low whistle, seemingly impressed. "Not bad, Amin, not bad. But—"

Of course, she had to humble him by draping herself over the big fuck-off minigun bolted onto the HMS SOGGY CROW's platform, side-eyeing him with a smirk as she caressed the cold, unfeeling steel like it was her bull and Marrow her jealous husband in a loveless marriage. "—mine's bigger. Don't worry, though. Size don't matter much when it come to Grimm, right?"

Marrow looked up from where he'd been tightening his straps and raised a brow. "What're you 'bouta do with the Grimm? Actually nah, it ain't even with at that point, it's what you 'bouta do to that poor Sabyr? I always heard y'all was goin' through it in Aviation but I didn't think them six months on, six months off was gonna get to y'all like that. I'm really 'bouta call you Dane Shawsohn the way you talk like you wanna clap some Grimm in more ways than one, and I ain't talkin' 'bout that piece over there."

She snorted out a laugh, leaning away from her beloved minigun and reached up to readjust her helmet with one hand. The way she nestled Fetch in between the crook of her arms, the end where bullet comes out thankfully pointed away from his face, only made him chuckle. The way Braun shot a puzzled expression his way only emphasized how much she looked like somebody's kid and he coughed into his fist to pretend he hadn't been snickering. Dark brown eyes glittered from under the helmet, even as Braun adopted a mock-offended look and handed Fetch back to him so then she could put her hands on her hips. "What's so funny?"

He put his hands up, still grinning. "Nothing, nothing. I'm just surprised your shit ain't fall off. It would've made my day, just 'cuz I know the next few ones finna suck. Really can't have shit out here."

The look on Braun's face shifted to one of eager anticipation, even as her tone remained flat. "Oh, that's crazy. Now you done gave me a reason to kick your tight ass out this bullhead when we drop y'all."

"Wait, what?"

"What?"

Marrow stared.

She looked off to the side, eyes latching onto something out of his line of sight and started waving someone down. "Oh shit, look; it's your lil' friend! And ooo, she's coming over here!"

He leaned out from the bullhead and turned his head, making eye contact with a grinning Felicia as she strode directly towards the HMS SOGGY CROW and waved at him. He just snorted, in spite of the smile making its way onto his face, and waved back. Damn, that ruck ain't slowing her down at all. She's moving like it's back in the day and she's late for her shift in the Dust mines.

"Damn bruh, what took you so long?" he couldn't help but call out when she finally made it to the bullhead, looking like she hadn't even broken a sweat booking it to them. He stretched out a hand and helped heave her up into the HMS SOGGY CROW, taking up almost half the doorway with her own rucksack.

"Oh, y'know," Felicia said, with a flippant wave of her hand as she rolled her shoulders, "I had to wait for your ass to get up off the floor so the line could actually move. Fallin' in front of all 'em is crazy. Couldn't be me."

Marrow decidedly to graciously sidestep that comment of hers, as it had no basis in reality. He just held up a hand, two fingers crossed. "Yeah, you lucky me and Ironwood been like this since day one. You better take back every bad thing you ever said 'bout him. Ain't no reason to worry—"

"Hold up, ain't that the Schnee girl?" asked Braun, leaning forward to squint at the rapidly approaching figure and frowned. "There ain't no way we flyin' her 'round too. Ain't she got her own shit on stand-by? This is crazy."

The way the motivation left them both like a Zweisäulen father left for cigarettes had to be a new record or something because there was no way. Marrow and Felicia watched was the seven stages of grief also ran the gauntlet across her face when she came close enough to recognize them, eventually settling on pained acceptance. She stood away from them at a literal arm's length and stared pointedly at the door, determinedly ignoring the way the crew chief was coughing into her hand in the same way a cat sounded like it was choking on a furball. They both just glanced at the place she was looking to and stared back at her again, Braun's barely-contained laughter only growing. A sigh not too unlike the noise Abati made whenever he came back from the field and collapsed face-first on the couch came from the girl's mouth.

"Can either one of you," she bit out like it was physically causing her pain to ask, "please move?"

They both traded looks and moved apart at the same time to leave enough space for the Schnee girl, who just looked surprised. "Oh. You both actually listened. I wasn't expecting that."

Marrow squinted at her and actually considered moving back just to spite the girl. Unfortunately, she was faster than both of them and scrambled into the opening, moving like a woman possessed to hook herself up. The scene of the Schnee girl getting wrapped up like a mummy with all the ratchet straps only made Braun break, the crew chief's belly-laughter ringing through the airfield and drew the attention of several other crew chiefs and initiates. After a few moments, she managed to regain whatever bearing she had lost to re-explain basic bullhead safety to the newcomers. When they were done, the pilots made their last checks to make sure they were all good and lifted off. The strange sensation of vertigo spread through his body and Marrow instinctively flared his Aura as they became airborne, leaving an unsettling feeling in his gut as they flew off.

He watched as the airfield grew smaller, its people still buzzing around like busy little bees, even as the other bullheads crawled up into the sky and lined up after them in formation. His eyes couldn't help but go to the fleeting sight of the Academy on the horizon. It didn't look any less ethereal than when he'd seen it from the Hansa and it even managed to replace the vertigo with something warmer that wasn't just his Aura. Marrow sighed, mumbling to himself, "What's a few days out in the Grimmlands? Damn, what was it ol' dude used to say?"

Someone nudged him with their elbow, and he turned to look at Felicia smirking at him toothily, resting an arm on his shoulder and leaning in to yell over the din of the bullhead's machinery. "Why're you so worried? You know we got this. All you gotta do is lock in for like, the next ninety-six hours, or however long the Trial actually is."

"Ain't like there's no reason not to worry," said Braun from where she was sitting behind the minigun. Marrow envied how comfortable she looked in the cramped cabin, even if that trigger finger of hers looked itchy and she kept scanning the endless expanse of the Solitan tundra as she spoke. Or rather, shouted. "Even if y'all got the Shine— or my bad, Aura—it don't necessarily mean you won't catch your death out here. Aura can still buckle 'n break to the same shit the rest of us fleshies can, just takes a lil' bit more work to get at that yummy core for the Grimm. Or bandits. Or White Fang. Anything, really. If y'all survive this and pass the Trial, you'll prolly hear some cadre tell y'all how it is on the frontier."

She smiled grimly. "Then there's folks like me. Regulars, militiamen, reservists, civvies. Weren't lucky enough to get the Shine, so there ain't nothin' protectin' us when a bull go down or some hungry Ursa out here if we go down. Not sayin' it's y'all fault, but y'know. Somethin' to keep in mind while y'all out there."

Marrow's eyes went to the holstered pistol at her side, then the beat-up rifle slung on her back and winced at the idea of having to land out here without Fetch or with some "military-grade" shit that really meant we beat the shit out of this thing and don't know how to properly allocate our funding to replace it. And bullheads like this, with pilots and crews like the SOGGY CROW's, were usually flying back-to-back missions across Atlas. Brave, insane motherfuckers. And if he had to guess from the looks on the other initiates' faces, they were thinking the same thing.

Braun seemed to notice the drastic attitude change and even though her face was covered by her helmet, she came off just as sheepish as her tone. "My fault, y'all. Don't mean to make y'all too nervous before yer jumpin' out there and makin' your way out the Grimmlands. Me personally? I enjoy this shit. Where else I'mma get paid to work out, shoot shit, turn wrenches, and fly out here? Ain't really that bad after you spend a hot minute in and get institutionalized. Same shit'll prolly happen to y'all."

Her regretful tone did little to soothe their unease, especially as Fort Dawnclaw, well, dawned on the distant sunrise and grew bigger the closer the bullhead drew. Marrow blinked as the tundra had given way to dense, snow-tipped forest and then felt his heart try to explode out of his chest when the bullhead banked sharply and rose. He steadfastly ignored Felicia's laughter when he didn't make a noise akin to a shriek, no matter how much she insisted he "screamed like a lil' bitch" after that. When he felt confident enough in the straps connecting him to the SOGGY CROW, he leaned forward to take in Fort Dawnclaw proper and hunched over Fetch to get a better look.

The first thought that came to his mind was it kinda looks like Mantle. All these buildings pressed close to the next, built up because they were supposed to be able to weather a Grimm Night if they had to, even if that was practically the opposite with the fort nowadays. Some buildings were stripped to the bare bones, slowly crumbling into ruin as the slow march of time took its toll. Others looked like they had just come out of the Great Upheaval, bullets leaving pockmarked trails in the masonry and something heavier gouging out craters that exposed their structures' innards. Levels and rooms that made Marrow realize it'd probably been a barracks back in the day, grimacing at the second thought of what had probably happened to the original residents. Then there were those that looked almost untouched, like they had just been built. They almost reminded Marrow of the old apartment he'd spent part of his childhood in the Platz, and he reached up to rub at the gris-gris under his jacket in distant memory before he remembered where he was.

Save for the distant shouts and gunshots that probably belonged to the same soldiers Sergeant Manesis had mentioned before, Fort Dawnclaw was a dead city. Devoid of anybody, but not anything unfortunately.

Marrow watched with morbid fascination as a lone beowolf lurched out of a gutted apartment complex and into the street. It pawed at its visage, covered with a skull-like mask of bone and red markings that vaguely reminded him of the henna tattoos you'd see across Vacuo, and glanced up. It'd heard the roar of the bullhead's engines as they passed overhead, and it looked directly at him. He took a deep breath and brought up Fetch, bracing her stock against his shoulder to keep her steady as an ancient instinct hissed at him from the back of his head and threatened to flood him with that familiarly distinct sensation of hollow wrongness even from up above. Those same feelings made sure the ancestors never strayed far from the Guenete, and Marrow ignored them. The beowolf was begging for its money shot and he wasn't gonna say no. He put the front sight blade on its forehead and put two rounds through its face; one was enough but an extra bullet never hurt nobody. It slumped to the ground like a marionette that'd had its strings cut and Marrow kept staring long enough he could see its corpse turning to ash in his sights.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder and startled him. Marrow twisted around to look up at the expressionless visor of Braun's helmet. She sounded like she approved as she yelled, "Ay, good work? My advice though? Try savin' your ammo for later, 'cuz you're gonna need it! Y'all're leavin' right now!"

Marrow blinked blankly and was about to ask her what the hell she was saying when she swiftly undid the straps connecting him to the HMS SOGGY CROW. She put her boot to his ruck and next thing he knew, he was falling out of the bullhead backwards and the last he saw the inside of any bullhead for the next few days was a laughing crew chief waving after him and Felicia's alarmed expression.

"Shit, shit, shit, FUCK," he hollered like a mantra as the roof of one of some apartment came too close and too quick for his liking. He brought up Fetch and fired off a round, the recoil knocking him back and away from becoming a serving of injera, which was good. What wasn't so good was that it sent him right through a window and he barely managed to cowl himself in Aura before he broke his spine in three different places when he went through a wall. You know, Marrow hadn't thought about it before but black mold and drywall had a very distinct flavor, very rich, very fucking disgusting and in his mouth. All it needed was a whole lot less of masonry, and a little seasoning to top it all off. Definitely recommended with a side of painkillers and water too.

Marrow propped himself up against a counter and sat there hacking up more drywall and mold as he taught himself how to breathe again. What a great start to Initiation. Marrow Amin, Huntsman of the Year, y'all. Know damn well I'm finna get that "by the way, none of this service-related so fuck you, guy."

When he was sure that at least half of it was outta his throat—pause—he scrabbled for one of his pockets and managed to snag an ancient hand me down-ass canteen, unscrewing the cork cap and taking a swig of water to gargle the drywall-black mold collab popping in his mouth into a thick, soupy something and spat it out to the side. He repeated the process again, before forcing himself to pace himself and sip in moderation. It was only interrupted by the sound of low growling and that same damn sensation from before itching at his Aura. He froze and looked at the Marrow-shaped hole in the wall.

A long, boney snout came through the opening, sniffing at the air and chuffing. It even fucking sneezed from all the scattered dust particles, drywall and God only knows what else was gathering in the air. And then it smelled him, skeletal grin twisting even further and maw swinging open as it recognized the scent it had picked up and grew excited at the prospect of one faunus steak, served raw and bloody.

Marrow watched as large, grasping paws tipped with long, white claws made of thick bone found purchase on the edges of the gash in the wall and the beowolf tried to heave its bulk through. His canteen was tossed aside in favor of Fetch, kicked up into his hands like he would a football back home. Her stock was in his shoulder and he was staring at another beowolf's face in his sights. Lucky me.

One round through the eye was enough to put the motherfucker down, decorating the intact part of the wall with a viscous vantablack splatter and small chunks of stylized bone. Missing part of its head, the beowolf's body dropped to the floor. Marrow didn't bother moving Fetch from where she was aimed at the Marrow-shaped hole, finger still resting on the trigger and waiting for another Grimm to pop out because he knew his luck. A few beats passed, and more and more of the beowolf corpse crumbling away into dust. He felt confident enough to gingerly take a step forward, and then another. A couple more steps, and he was leaning into the line of direction of the gash for what felt like an eternity, waiting for some Grimm to jump his ass.

The Grimm never came, and Marrow allowed himself to relax slightly. Only slightly, though. He didn't know how much of the place was infested with Grimm and he wasn't about to end up dead because he wanted to do some cool guy shit. Braun hadn't been wrong when she said Aura didn't make somebody invincible, even if it did give him a better fighting chance against the Grimm and most other folks. But then again, Braun had also punted him out of a moving bullhead so what did she know? To be fair, he'd also thought it was a good idea to use the recoil impulse from Fetch to avoid crashing through somebody's ceiling, only for him to end up blowing out somebody's window and wall. So. You know.

Gangsta type shit.

"Where the fuck was I even going with that?" he said aloud, rubbing his face. Fetch, faithful like always, dropped back down to the low-ready as he scanned the room. It looked like it could have been a snapshot straight from a history textbook; an open bay with an assortment of bunk beds lined up dress-right-dress, rusting footlockers in faded feldgrau paint set in front of them. Opposite the bunk beds were several notice boards, of which he couldn't make out shit on the papers pinned to them besides several fading Imperial Eagles that made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Why are you surprised? It's an old Imperial base. Of course it's still gonna have shit like that still up when ain't nobody even here to tear that shit down. Except for you.

Marrow shook his head and stepped forward until he could reach out to tear the papers down. He flinched hard when the room's silence was broken by buzzing and snapped his hand back to support Fetch as she came up. He stayed like that for a solid several moments and then closed his eyes in embarrassment when he realized the noise was coming from his now-vibrating pocket. He could practically hear Felicia's laughter in his head as he made to pull out his scroll, holding Fetch up with one hand as he did. He swiped past the home screen, eye twitching at his impatiently wagging tail shaking out what drywall was stuck in his fur and ignoring the growing temptation to rake through it with his fingers. He could do that whenever he wasn't stuck in the middle of an old, partly-overrun military base with only soldiers and Grimm for company.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief through his nostrils when he finally got to the Loc app the Mistrali sergeant mentioned and it flickered before flashing a griffon's claws clutching a handful of lightning bolts and the words ATLAS ARMY SIGNAL CORPS. Marrow rolled his eyes when he recognized the symbol he had gotten assigned — two crossed bones, both colored a bright orange. Damn, they ain't even include the skull with the crossed bones either, just went straight to the Vacuo-colored bones too, like they couldn't choose between clowning on me for being a faunus or for being Vacuan. Low key kinda funny though.

Marrow let whoever thought they were funny have a snort they'd never hear and picked apart the map displayed on his scroll, praying he was close enough to Felicia to link up. He grinned when a pair of crossed silver blades appeared on a route, rapidly approaching his location. Shit, at least somebody was coming, so maybe there was a god out there listening to him. He'd take anything that wasn't trying to eat his ass. Pause.

After picking up the canteen he'd thrown aside and being very cautious when he turned corners, Marrow took his fuzzy ass downstairs as quickly and quietly as he could manage. The rotting floorboards seemed to creak and groan under his weight, leaving him to wince and grimace whenever the noises felt like they were coaxing out some Grimm lurking by. Realistically, he knew that they wouldn't wait for the last moment to pounce— or wait, no, that's not guaranteed, 'cuz older Grimm actually know when to pick and choose their battles.

…Marrow really needed to stop distracting himself before he invited more Grimm his way. It always helped to be careful but it didn't do to dwell on shit like that, least of all during an Initiation which was set in a live fire site purposefully and partially overrun by Grimm so then the military could get some conditioning and target practice in. Of course, the only thing he could remember when he had asked about Fort Dawnclaw to a cousin was him looking up and saying, "You know that feeling when you open an old food container that wasn't clean and you know it's gonna smell like shit but you have to open it anyways to clean it? Like, it's an old shaker bottle with protein powder juice still in that bitch that you thought you left at the gym but nah, you left it in the trunk of your fi. That's what it's like. That's Dawnclaw."

That's exactly how Marrow had felt flying through that wall and starting his sleep apnea arc at the ripe old age of seventeen so it wasn't like he'd lied. He suppressed a jolt when his scroll buzzed and quickly drew it out of his pocket, swearing under his breath as he fumbled the first swipe. This time, the crossed blades were just across the street. Marrow kissed his teeth as he looked up and examined the floor he'd reached, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Thank God that some Amin back in the day had fucked somebody who could see in the dark and passed that down to him.

Walking down the hallway just revealed a path to the entrance, nominally guarded by some kinda sequestered area that only had two overturned chairs and tomes aging like fine wine. Off to the front right side was a doorway with no doors. Marrow couldn't even tell if it'd been one of the Grimm inside, or just some overzealous doorkicker. It really didn't matter so long as he could get out, link up with Felicia, and get past the entirety of Initiation. And speaking of her, another cursory check of his scroll had showed the crossed blades hadn't moved and he was only getting closer. Frankly, it was only a matter of sprinting across the street and hauling ass from there.

He stuck his head out to catch a glance, shaking it quickly and blinking out dark spots from all the bright light. There didn't look like there was anything in the street stopping him. He ducked down slightly as a bullhead screamed overhead and ripple fired a couple of rockets at some unlucky target he couldn't see. He drew his head back inside, let it fall against the wall and his gaze go up to nothing in particular. He moved to reach into his shirt and grasp his gris-gris, muttering a quick prayer under his breath before bolting out into the street.

To his immense surprise, Marrow wasn't just immediately tackled by some hungry Ursa and his momentum carried him right into the alleyway he'd hoped he'd last seen Felicia in. His eyes widened when a figure in white and gray instead of blue shot up into his path and he couldn't slow down. They collided hard enough that Marrow could hear the air get knocked out of the other as he bounced off of them and onto the hard ground. He just ignored the dull pain in his tail bone as he reached down to snatch up Fetch and sling her over his back, to leave his hands to help up whoever he'd knocked down. The apology on his lips was strangled in his throat when the person he'd knocked down moved to get up and bright blue eyes instead of bright green ones met his. An incredulous expression made its way onto Winter Schnee's face just as she realized who she was staring up at, and who had knocked her over.

Marrow wasn't even thinking when the next thing he said was, "Ain't no fucking way."