The blistering sun hung high over the Vacuoan desert, casting long shadows over the rolling dunes as Atlesian armored trucks kicked up clouds of sand. A convoy, resilient against the oppressive heat and vast emptiness, trudged forward, its purpose clear but dangerous. Dust clung to every surface, embedding itself in the vehicles' crevices, but inside, the soldiers moved with purpose and focus. Riding shotgun in one of the lead vehicles was Jaune Arc.
Jaune wore body armor that covered his upper torso, the sand-gray color blending into the environment, providing both protection and camouflage. The familiar Arc family symbol adorned his left pauldron, a legacy he both cherished and carried with reluctance. His helmet covered most of his face, leaving only his mouth exposed. His dark pants, streaked with gray, bore the wear and tear of combat. On his belt, a few pouches hung loosely, while his handgun was strapped securely to his hips. His trusty Crocea Mors, collapsed in its sword form, rested against his lower back, and a rifle was slung over his shoulders, ready for action. Despite the layers of protection and equipment, the weight of responsibility pressed heavier than the gear on his back.
Jaune squinted through the visor of his helmet, scanning the endless horizon. They had been trekking through the desert for hours, maintaining vigilance in the face of uncertainty.
"Oscar Charlie, how do you copy?" Jaune's voice crackled over the comms, maintaining the sterile military cadence he'd adopted.
"All Anvil, maintain speed, maintain dispersion fifty meters," came the response from Brown, the team leader. His voice was crisp, authoritative, commanding without breaking under the tension.
"Copy that." Jaune settled back into his seat, though the tension never left his body. He was never at ease anymore. The long training sessions, the brutal combat exercises, and the weight of constant survival had drilled out any sense of relaxation from being a dumb teenanger. But today, there was a new kind of heaviness in the air.
Anvil Team was a small but well-trained unit. Three human members rode in the armored truck alongside Jaune. Humpty was at the wheel, his large frame almost too big for the cramped space, his grip on the steering wheel tight. Rumple, the trigger-happy soldier manning the chain-dust gun on top, surveyed the sands with keen eyes. And in the back of the truck, Green sat with a smaller crew of Atlesian Knights that reinforced most of the squads these days.
Humpty, never one for silence, broke the monotonous hum of the engine. "See anything, Arc?"
Jaune's eyes scanned the horizon again. Nothing but sand. Endless dunes, shifting under the force of the wind. The heat distorted the air in the distance, creating the illusion of water that was never there.
"Don't see nothing other than fucking sand," Jaune muttered.
Rumple, always eager to needle, chimed in. "Geez, what's with the vomit boy's attitude? Sand got in your eyes?"
Humpty grinned, his eyes never leaving the road. " Nah, he got his ass kicked too much while in basic training. Hey, Rumple, remember that shit he went on about? Being a Huntsman when he didn't even know what the fuck Aura even was? Bro, no wonder he didn't get accepted anywhere. What kind of idiot tries to forge his papers into fucking Beacon, of all places?"
Jaune clenched his fists, his knuckles going white. It wasn't the first time they'd brought up his past, and it wouldn't be the last. The sting of their words hadn't faded over the years, though he tried to let them wash over him. The truth was, he had screwed up. Big time. He had no business trying to force his way into a life he wasn't ready for, and it had cost him more than he cared to admit.
Rumple laughed, the sound echoing through the comms. "Probably why Drill Sarge gave him too much loving."
"Shut up, will you?" Jaune growled. His temper was getting the best of him again, and he knew it. He was tired of being the butt of every joke, but years of self-imposed penance had taught him to endure it.
Before the banter could escalate, Brown's voice cut through. "All Anvil, kindly shut the fuck up and clear the comms."
Rumple smirked, though Jaune could feel the tension radiating from his seatmate. "You fucking heard the man, VB," Rumple quipped, using the nickname 'Vomit Boy' with the smug satisfaction of someone who'd held a grudge for too long.
Jaune ignored him, his focus back on the horizon. His eyes narrowed as something caught his attention — a flash of movement, a dust trail that didn't belong to their convoy.
"Something at one o'clock," Jaune said, his voice sharp, all humor drained from his tone. "Four unknown vehicles at one o'clock, two klicks."
The radio crackled to life again as Brown relayed the sighting. "This is Anvil One to Command Post. Enemy contact, four vehicles, one o'clock, two klicks, how copy?"
There was a tense pause before an Atlas soldier responded. "Anvil, you have contact. Enemy soldiers inbound."
Brown's voice took on a more urgent edge. "Rumple, fire some rounds!"
"Firing!" Rumple roared, the chain dust gun whirring to life as it sprayed bullets toward the approaching vehicles. The deafening noise filled the truck as rounds tore through the air, slicing through the desert heat.
The enemy convoy had been spotted, but it wasn't going to be an easy fight. As Jaune gripped his rifle, ready for action, a familiar sound filled the sky above — a Manta airship, carrying its own payload of destruction. Its shadow loomed over the battlefield as it swooped down, releasing a missile with deadly precision.
Humpty, gripping the wheel, let out a whoop of excitement. "Yeah, get some!"
The missile hit its mark, and an explosion rocked the desert. The sand erupted in a fiery cloud, and the enemy vehicles were engulfed in the blast. The shockwave rattled Jaune's truck, but they pressed on.
Brown's voice cut through the chaos. "Watch your sectors."
Misfit, another squad running parallel to Anvil Team, confirmed their attack. "Cleared hot. Missile away."
The second explosion followed, lighting up the desert in a flash of orange and black smoke. But even with the chaos of battle around them, Jaune's focus was razor-sharp. He scanned the horizon, looking for any signs of enemy movement.
"Is there any contact on the left?" Jaune asked, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Contact right," came the response. "RPG team, two o'clock. Five hundred meters behind the truck."
Rumple cursed under his breath. "Shit. We'll get some later."
Another loud explosion rocked the convoy as a supply truck in their formation took a direct hit. The sound of metal tearing and fire igniting filled the air, but there was no time to stop.
"This is Anvil One," Brown barked. "We have suppressed a Vacuoan truck. Request Misfit pushes north to sweep the flank and search for possible targets."
"Misfit One, copy," came the response, as the second team adjusted their course to handle the new threat.
Rumple, still manning the gun, let out a whoop of triumph. "Sweet! We grilled them desert dogs!"
But their moment of victory was short-lived. One of the Atlesian trucks swerved violently out of line, smoke billowing from its undercarriage. Panic erupted over the comms.
"Command Post!" Brown shouted. "One man down! Green's down!"
Jaune's heart sank. Green. The soldier who had sat in the back of their truck, the one who had shared stories of his family back home, was hit.
Jaune could feel the air being sucked from his lungs.
"Oh shit, Green's hit! He's hit!" Jaune's voice cracked with desperation as the reality of the situation sunk in. He wanted to move, to do something, but the truck's momentum and the chaos of the battlefield kept him pinned in place.
"He's stopping," Brown growled. "The fuck you doing, Humpty? Push, push, push. Get us out of the kill zone! Grab the wheel!"
Before Jaune could react, another rocket-propelled dust grenade slammed into their truck. The blast sent them flying, metal screeching as the vehicle flipped forward, tumbling through the air like a ragdoll.
Jaune's world went dark.
He wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious, but the sound of his heart pounding in his ears was the first thing he registered when he came to. His body felt like it had been shattered into a thousand pieces, pain radiating from every limb. His helmet, still on his head, had a crack in the visor, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Making wish he had an aura again.
Blinking through the haze, Jaune could make out the surrounding wreckage. The truck lay on its side, smoke rising from the engine. The rest of his team was scattered around, some moving, some not.
"Humpty?" Jaune croaked, trying to force himself upright. His hands slipped on the sand, and his legs wobbled beneath him as he staggered to his feet.
No response.
"Brown?"
The only answer was the crackle of distant gunfire and the roar of engines in the distance.
Jaune stumbled forward, the weight of his armor feeling heavier than ever. He reached for his rifle, finding it still attached to his back. His fingers were numb as they gripped the familiar weapon, but the motion brought a small surge of clarity.
He wasn't out of the fight yet.
The battlefield stretched out before him, a scene of destruction and chaos. The enemy vehicles were closing in, their figures barely visible through the haze of dust and smoke. But Jaune couldn't focus on them. His immediate concern was his team — his brothers-in-arms who, despite being shitheads, were still his brothers.
His heart hammered in his chest as he scanned the wreckage, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He had trained for this. He had been in combat before. But nothing could have prepared him for this moment. The uncertainty, the fear, the overwhelming sense of failure that gnawed at him.
He spotted movement to his left. Brown. He was dragging himself through the sand, one hand clutching his side, the other trying to pull himself toward cover.
"Sir!" Jaune shouted, his voice hoarse and desperate.
Brown looked up, his face twisted in pain, but there was a fire in his eyes that hadn't been extinguished yet. "Get to cover, you fucking moron!" he barked, coughing violently between words.
Jaune sprinted toward him, his legs protesting with every step. He slid into the sand next to Brown, reaching out to help him.
He barely managed to drag Brown behind a chunk of the overturned truck, sand swirling around them like a suffocating blanket. Brown was breathing heavily, blood soaking through his uniform from a wound on his side. His face was pale, but his eyes remained sharp, determined.
"Hang on, Brown. Just… hold tight," Jaune muttered, voice cracking. Field first aid was his strongest suit, but the surrounding battlefield was still roaring with chaos. Making him forgot all the shit they taught him.
Brown grunted, clutching his side. "I'm… not going anywhere… Arc. Get back in the fight…"
But Jaune's attention snapped to something else — a rumble in the distance, growing louder by the second. At first, he thought it was more enemy vehicles. His pulse quickened as he grabbed his rifle, ready to defend what was left of their squad. Then he saw it — the familiar Atlesian markings on the armored hulls.
Misfit's manta was here.
The convoy arrived like salvation, a storm of dust and firepower cutting through the battlefield. Their lead vehicle, a heavily armored Manta, swooped low and unleashed another barrage of missiles, forcing the Vacuoan trucks to scatter. The enemy soldiers who had once been closing in on Jaune and Brown were suddenly caught in a crossfire as Misfit's ground units began to deploy, rifles firing with precision and efficiency.
"Misfit One to Anvil, we're here. How copy?" came a voice over the radio, clear and controlled amid the chaos.
Jaune fumbled with the comms for a moment, trying to collect his breath. "Copy, Misfit! Brown is down! Green's… gone. He's gutted! We need extraction, fast!"
"Stay put, Arc. We're moving in," replied the commanding officer of Misfit, the calm authority of his voice offering a sliver of reassurance. The situation was dire, but at least they weren't alone anymore.
Jaune could hear the roar of engines growing closer, and within moments, Misfit's vehicles were pulling up beside the wreckage of their truck. Humpty and Rumple were still alive, Jaune realized with a surge of relief. Both soldiers emerged from the smoke, coughing and battered, but very much breathing. Humpty waved his arm, limping toward Jaune and Brown, with Rumple in tow.
"Shit, Jaune, you still alive?" Humpty called out, his grin visible even through the dust. His face was streaked with dirt, but he looked more irritated than injured.
"Barely," Jaune managed to reply, his voice still hoarse. "Brown's hit bad."
Rumple jogged up, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Brown, you stubborn bastard, still kicking, huh?"
Brown grimaced, letting out a weak laugh. "Shut up, Rumple… Not in the mood for your shit."
"Not in the mood?" Rumple feigned shock. "You're lying in the dirt, half-dead, and that's when you're not in the mood? I thought you loved attention."
Jaune shook his head, unable to hold back a small, relieved smile. Despite the chaos and the loss they had just suffered, the way these two kept the banter going felt like an anchor, something real amidst the carnage.
Humpty knelt down beside Jaune, pulling a med kit from his belt. "Let me help you take a look at him," he muttered, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he began applying pressure to Brown's wound. "You did good, Arc. Kept him alive long enough for us to get here. Not bad for a guy who used to puke after every drill."
Jaune let out a breathy chuckle. "I thought we weren't bringing that up anymore."
Rumple, now hovering nearby with a mischievous grin, couldn't resist. "Oh no, that's never going away, Vomit Boy. It's practically your badge of honor now."
"Rumple, I swear—" Jaune began, half-annoyed, half-grateful for the familiar teasing, but Humpty interrupted with a bark of laughter.
"Come on, Vomit Boy! Don't act like you didn't earn that title. I still remember the day you painted the inside of the training room." Humpty glanced at Brown, who groaned in pain but managed a weak smile. "Right, Brown? Arc here couldn't handle basic drills. Now look at him. Saving your sorry ass on the battlefield. Fucking pathetic, brah."
Brown chuckled through gritted teeth. "Yeah, maybe we should start calling him Hero Boy instead."
Jaune snorted, shaking his head. "I'll pass, thanks."
Another explosion rocked the area in the distance, and Jaune's attention snapped back to the battle at hand. Misfit was still engaging the remaining Vacuoan forces, but it looked like the tide had turned in their favor. The enemy trucks were either disabled or retreating, and the few soldiers still left on the field were being picked off by Misfit's precise strikes. The immediate danger seemed to have passed, but the weight of the situation still pressed down on Jaune. Green was gone. There was no undoing that.
As the sounds of combat faded, Jaune stood up, glancing around at the wreckage of their convoy. The Atlesian Knights were already securing the area, ensuring no enemies were left to ambush them again.
Jaune finished patching Brown up enough to get him mobile. "He's not going to bleed out on us, but he needs proper medical attention soon," Humpty muttered, glancing up at Jaune.
"Misfit's got surgeons," Jaune replied, his voice steadier now. "We'll get him to a Manta and evac him back to base."
Rumple stretched, leaning back as he surveyed the aftermath. "Gotta hand it to you, Arc. Not bad for a guy who used to carry around forged transcripts and didn't know shit about Aura."
Jaune couldn't help but roll his eyes, though the sting of those words had faded long ago. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks, Rumple."
"Don't mention it," Rumple said with a sly grin. "But you know, if you start crying on me, I might actually take it back."
Jaune smirked, pulling his rifle back onto his shoulder. "I'll try not to get emotional, then."
Humpty and Rumple both laughed, the sound echoing across the desert, a strange but welcome contrast to the devastation around them. Misfit had secured the area, and the enemy forces were either retreating or dead. The battlefield had quieted down, leaving only the wind and the distant hum of the Atlesian trucks.
As Jaune turned to help Brown toward the Manta, he couldn't shake the feeling of loss that clung to him. Green was gone, and no amount of banter or teasing could change that. But they had survived — barely.
"Hey, Jaune," Rumple called, his tone softer now as they made their way toward the waiting transport. "We gave you a lot of shit back there, but... you did good today. You kept us alive."
Jaune looked over his shoulder, meeting Rumple's gaze. For once, the teasing glint in Rumple's eyes was gone, replaced by something more sincere.
"Thanks," Jaune said quietly. "Just doing my job."
Humpty slapped Jaune on the back as they reached the Manta. "Well, you're getting better at it, Hero Boy. Maybe next time, you won't even need us to save your ass."
Jaune chuckled, despite the weight on his chest. "Yeah. Maybe."
The Manta's engines roared to life, lifting off the ground as the team climbed aboard. The vacuoan desert stretched out beneath them, a vast and unforgiving expanse. He wasn't the same naïve kid who'd tried to forge his way into Beacon anymore.
Jaune was a soldier now, for better or worse.