Jaune wasn't sure what the list actually was fully composed of. He knew that getting to Haven was on it. So was understanding what was happening to him. He wondered if this exploration of the mystery behind his hallucination fell under the second item, or was it's own thing.

Probably falls under the second.

I can't help but feel that we are severely underplaying, or perhaps even ignoring, the fact we just had a whole ass hallucination less than ten minutes ago! B practically yelled at his counterparts.

Eh. Jaune shrugged, trudging on through the dusty mud, staying a good distance away from the fields of corn. It's only slightly more concerning than what's happening to me now. The dreamer responded with a forced non chalantness.

Jaune had gotten used to being way over his head. He had a lot of experience in the matter over the last couple of months. From being in Beacon with no experience in combat, to whatever the hell he was doing now.

What was he even doing now?

I mean, right now? You're going back to the eternal city to try and find something out about this place. A responded.

I ment all over. The whole stealing the family sword, hitching onto a flight to Beacon, going to Beacon. Getting expelled from Beacon. Going to Haven. Almost dying, and dying here. That whole thing.

A nodded. You know. That is a good question. It's not like there's a particular lack of huntsmen. And judging by Team RWBY, and team JNPR- well, NPR now, the worlds in good hands.

Jaune shrugged, internally wincing at the offhanded mention of his old team. Yeah, i guess the world would be fine. He admitted after a moment. They didn't really need him, after all. They were quick enough to get rid of him.

Hey, don't think like that! B reprimanded. Saph always said it wasn't good for you.

Jaune raised an eyebrow, but let it rest. Saffron always did say that thinking like that would get him nowhere. He supposed she was right. He wasn't thinking like that when he forged his way to Beacon.

He was thinking like that immediately after he hit the enter button.

Jaune gave a cautionary glance behind him. The corn fields rustled in the gentle wind, or if could be more of those unknown creatures. Jaune turned his head away, his jaw turning to steel as he tensed up at the thought. Jaune started to approach the doors of the medical ward at a rapid pace. The sooner he was out of enemy territory, the better.

Jaune pushed open the heavy wood doors, looking around the surprisingly well kept once battle ground. The body of the doctor had turned to ash, but the black ish blood still stained the floor. Jaune looked around the white tiled room, hoping to find where the mad doctor might have hid away his journals, or medical notes.

Jaune had found what he was looking for. Kind of. He had found the doctors journal, which was helpful for understanding what had happened. Perhaps it was the best overarching source as to life before whatever hellish collapse had happened.

According to the Doctor, Alcoholism was rampant throughout the world, and with it came "A curse from Phetocph, a plague upon our minds and souls.". It had started with a seemingly normal, if not rather infectious form of dysentery.

Already not good.

And then things… evolved, for a lack of a better word.

More like had gone to complete shit. A commented as Jaune turned an ancient page of a large leather bound tome. Jaune had, after finding and skimming through the journal, moved to one of the many libraries in the "Wizard's" wing of the keep. It was full of books and notes on this place's magic. It was actually a fascinating topic, the mathematics behind it.

If Jaune had paid more attention in his physics class, he might have been able to make heads or tails of the subject at hand.

But in a very simplified nutshell, words have power. And the power behind those words rewrite whatever mathematical equations govern… reality? Various aspects of chemistry? Reality is a more broad word. And the rewriting of these equations causes quantum particles to change and act fundamentally different.

Now, the actual work behind this, a some six hundred page book, was far beyond Jaune's understanding of math and numbers. Jaune looked at the first ten pages, and skipped to the summary.

But apparently phrases only have effect if the speaker intimately knows what the outcome is, or the meaning behind the phrase. Something Jaune was also unsure of, considering his healing spell, and frost bolt spell to a greater extent, he knew very little of or about.

We're getting off topic. B reminded Jaune. Jaune nodded.

"Right. Finding out more about this mutation dysentery." Jaune reoriented himself. He looked over his hand scribbled notes, a horrid amalgamation of the doctor's notes from the journal, various medical and other writings, and published personal works. The first several pages were written in actual ink that he had scavenged together. But when what little ink he had ran dry for his quill, he cut his arm to fill the well.

B looked over Jaune's shoulder, metaphorically. You know, it looks like this is straight out of a horror movie. He commented as Jaune crossed a T in blood. Jaune raised an eyebrow, looking down at his work. After a moment, he nodded in agreement.

"There is something about this whole thing that gives it that kind of dark academia vibe." he admitted as he read another page.

After the infestation takes hold in the international system, it starts to digest and dispose of the organs, causing for the victim to shit the organ slop out violently. This is the dysentery portion of the disease's lifespan.

Jaune closed his eyes, taking a break from the words. They were enough to cause him immense mental distress as it was.

The victim becomes delirious, unresponsive to cognitive stimulation (according to the Doctor's journal, and several other medical records discovered at library at Warden's Keep designated Library one. They apparently start to mutate and undergo painful physical changes after a couple of days. Normal medical cures, such as magic or medicines, are not effective.

The data, records, and personal accounts were honestly horrific. The description and detail in the doctor's book alone was… disturbing. What might have been even worse was the drawing from live patients and autopsies that were put in the journal. Jaune had painstakingly copied down those into his notes, ironically in his own blood.

Once the transformation period, about four days to a week, dependent on the size of the infected, the infected "drunkard" (I think they're the drunkards) becomes cannibalistic and desperate for alcohol (according to eyewitnesses of particular events where the infected would drink copious amounts with abandon).

But there was still what seemed to be a missing link to the puzzle.

Why hadn't the doctor been infected with this horrible disease? He had been exposed to this thing for at least months on end, perhaps years, searching frivolously for a cure that he would never discover.

Jaune knew what that doctor was wearing. Jaune knew that that mask would not, could not protect him from whatever disease this was. He had taken that mask apart to see what was inside that beak. (News flash, it was made out of herbs.) Particularly because of how fast this spread, considering that there was no other once human life in this place.

The dreamer leaned back in his chair, running his hands down his face, exhausted from all his reading. He looked at the desk he had accommodated. It was covered in papers, stack of stacks of books towered to his head.

"I wonder how long i've spent here." Jaune wondered, looking at his thick booklet of notes, mental dissections, theory crafting, and speculations. He paged through the dry writing, checking over his work.

It feels like we've been reading for a long time. B commented.

"And it still doesn't answer what happened to the farmlands." Jaune said, standing on legs, sore from sitting for so long.

Really? I mean, the town caught this disease, and things went to shit. A reasoned. Jaune considered it for a moment.

"You would think that, but it doesn't match the memory's narrative." Jaune said, remembering the scene.

The burning town in the background, backlighting the panicked farmers and common folk, running for sanctum. Those fleshy, shaggy, meat bound quadruped dog like things on their heels, catching and ripping into those unfortunate enough to be just too slow. Jaune shook the memory out of his head before it drew him deeper down that train of thought.

A bloodied and shocked dog faunus's face flashed through his mind. Jaune turned to the door.

Where are you going? A asked as Jaune strode out of the room.

"To blow off some steam." he responded coldly.

Jaune found himself in the training yard, dual sabers drawn at his sides. He gave them an experimental swing, testing how they felt.

Suitable. Jaune thought as he approached the dummy. He leveled his right sword, resting it on the dummy's shoulder. Jaune then slowly worked his way through a series of moves he had seen one of his classmates do in Goodwitches combat class once. He couldn't quite do all the flips that they pulled off in that fight.

Jaune stopped, ending the combo. He reset his position, and did it again, just at the full speed this time. He spun and slashed, the continus criss cross pattern flowed within itself. Jaune ended the combo with a spinning move.

Now, the huntswoman, huntsgirl? Huntswoman, ended the combo there and disengaged to attack from a different angle. Jaune took a different path, instead flipping the grip of his left saber, slamming it backwards under his arm. He felt it make contact, and threw his right saber over his shoulder to stab the dummy in the head. He lurched forward, throwing his entire body into his arms as he practically folded in on himself. The dummy, being impaled by the blades, went with them.

It slammed into the ground, bouncing and sliding along the ground harshly for a couple of feet. Jaune once he had recentered himself, he lunged forward with two thrusts into the dummy. The two embedded itself into the dummy's ribs. With a grunt, they ripped themselves out of the sides. Jaune reintroduced the twin scimitars to the dummy, furiously slashing away with reckless abandon into the dummy.

His arms burned once he finally stopped, gasping for breath.

I think it's dead, jaune. A said, looking down at completely destroyed dummy.

"I hate this place." jaune said finally, staring that the ravaged thing underneath him. He blinked, and it was replaced with Reed's body, the field stained in blood. He shook his head, removing the vision. His vision blurred.

He could feel his eyes welling up. "I hate this place so fucking much." He whimpered, his lower lip shaking, threatening to let the damn break.

B rested his hand on Jaune's shoulder. It's ok. You can break. He comforted him, knowing what he needed.

Jaune nodded, taking the permission, and let himself break down.

A watched his host fall to his knees, curling into a ball. A watched as jaune's ribs heaved and hitched with his sobs. A couldn't help but feel pity that Jaune lived to see such terrible days. But this was the life that he had chosen. This was a fact of this life.

Keep that up, and you'll end up sounding like me. B said, his joke tainted by soberness.

A remained silent, watching Jaune water the earth with his sorrow, crying an ugly river of tears for his failure.

None of them knew how long they were there for.

"I want a shield." Jaune said as he walked through the farmtown. He had collected some more relics from a bygone era. A dusty journal, the notes he had taken on a corpse, gnawed and gnarled on by something more physical than time, a collection of prayers and some other possibly useful knicknacks. Jaune had learned a couple of new spells during his research.

From the mad doctor's notes, he had discovered the secret behind both a more powerful healing spell and that flesh-rotting touch. While neither were as strong as the doctor could probably use, they were good spells.

From the libraries, he had discovered a small pyrokinesis spell, and a set of larger fire spells. In addition to that, a handful of more varied and random spells were collected. Minor telekinesis, locate an item, a kind of radar ping, those kinds of things.

And he had learned from the books of prayer how to throw spears of sunlight at his foes. Those were the most draining spells, however. He only had two or three of those he could use in a fight at a time.

B brought the conversation back round to the topic at hand. Why do you want a shield?

Jaune shrugged. It would be useful to have. He said simply. A knew what was up though.

You want to prevent ever having another Reed, don't you?

Jaune's face hardened upon hearing that. His silence was telling.

Alright then. B said, turning the thought train away from Reed. Hopefully. Let's go find AFDA.

The trek to AFDA was surprisingly annoying. The leeches had almost gotten Jaune twice, swarming him like massive, slimy locusts. Fortunately, they burned just about as well as everything else did.

As for the rest? Well, it was good practice for his new style. Eventually, covered in blood, spirit cured cuts, and two bottles lighter, jaune made it AFDA.

"Hello. I am AFDA, Automated Forge and Design Algorithm. How may I help you?" The orange screen put out.

Jaune typed out his response. "I need a shield."

"There are no shields in stock. Would you like to look at possible blueprints?"

"Yes."

A wide array of blueprints for various shields appeared on the screen. Jaune scrolled down, looking through the various files that were on hand.

Nothing all that appealing? B asked at Jaune's indifference. Jaune hummed as he looked at a 3d model of a trick shift shield. A standard heater into a bladed Katar thing.

"Yeah."

You could make your own. A commented.

Jaune considered it. His fingers met the keyboard once more. "Is there a way to make a custom weapon?"

Of course. AFDA responded. Would you like a tutorial

"Yes."

AFDA pulled up a prerecorded video describing how one started with making a weapon file for AFDA.

Jaune had endured a lot of infuriating things. Any coder worth their salt would tell you that coding was hell. And Jaune was an experienced coder and programmer, so he had his fair share of bullshit experiences.

But nothing, nothing compared to using AFDA's 3D modeling system. An eternity was spent designing, fussing, modeling, rendering and shitting himself at the program's fussiness. But he managed to do it. A sliding aperture round shield that could collapse into a buckler-like compact mode. It could then expand further out into a triangle like a heater shield.

Are you finally done? A asked, bored and exasperated at the eternity Jaune had spent.

"Yeah. I'm done." Jaune said. "All I have to do is print it out."

FINALLY! A exclaimed. Now get printing! I wanna see what it looks like!

Jaune hit the print button. The Machine clunked and whirred, and then stopped.

Jaune groaned, his head met the metal conveyor belt. "What's wrong now?" he groaned, and begrudgingly typed in the question.

This unit has run out of materials in stock. Please retrieve additional materials. AFDA's screen said. Jaune took a deep breath in, his face contorting in anger.

"FUCK!" he yelled out, his voice echoing throughout the sewers. "God damn it!" The dreamer paced angry for a moment, kicking the water and listing off a string of curses under his breath. Burning his steam, he slowed down and took a breath.

"Where can I find more material?" he asked AFDA.

You can purchase more Steel in the northern mountains of Krythhollen. There should be a leydoor in the northern province of the eternal city.

Jaune groaned. Another place he had to explore. Wait.

"What's a leydoor?" The dreamer asked out loud.

A and B shrugged. They knew just about as much as he did.

"You think it's like that door that we found in the lake?" B asked. It was a semi logical conclusion. That was the only type of conclusion you could make about this place after all.

Now, Jaune thought about something.

Did he want to get a shield, or explore the mysteries and horrors of the farm town? Jaune pulled out his map, looking down at the mage crafted paper.

"Huh, the farm place is called Grainsbarro." Jaune noted. He had been calling it Farm Town for a while now. He really should check his map more often, when he discovered a new place.

"You know what I think we should do?" B said.

"What, B?" Jaune asked.

"We should totally find a grave stone and go to sleep, and go back to the real world. We've been here a long time." B suggested. "We've been here so long that you've taken up carving in our down time here."

Jaune was inclined to agree. He had been here for what felt like a while, hadn't he? And while the amature carving he did was enjoyable, it did state something about just exactly how long he was here. he palmed a roughly carven wood coin in his hand, hewn from broken barrel planks. The duel crests of his former house on one side. The other was a simple scale based texture. Such a coin must have taken hours, perhaps days, to carve. And that was not including the time it took to develop that skills. Perhaps it would be best that he leave this place for a bit.

Jaune looked down at the oily dark sewer water. Jaune knew, or at least assumed, that it must be teeming with microbial life. Tiny swarms of existence in defiance to this barren lifeless place.

Or maybe the water mirrored this place's dead theme, and was as barren as the fields of Grainsbarro. Lifeless husks of existence.

Jaune vaguely tried to remember what corn and wheat looked like. He knew that they had a gold color, and could grow to surprising heights for a grass. But he couldn't picture it in his head. Not truely.

Jaune let out an almost defeated sigh. He was going to bring in a whole load of paint to this place, even if it was only to give the place some color.

Not that Jaune was a particularly good painter in his life. He had tried of course, but was always overshadowed by his sister, an actual artist. Or, at least she intended on being an artist.

Jaune wondered if she ever got that scholarship she was had applied to. He hoped she did. She always painted the prettiest vases, after all.

yes. he probably should go back. The shield could wait for another day, as could the mystery behind Grainsbarro

Jaune turned to find himself a gravestone to sleep at.

Jaune awoke in a ditch along the road. Standing up, he looked around at the clouded sky.

"I forgot how green the tree's are." jaune noted, taking a breath of dirty, green forest air damp with earth and the scent of coming rain. "I always forget, don't I?"

"We always forget, for that is the nature of dreams. To dream is to forget, in a sense." A gave a sagely nod.

Jaune twisted, popping his back. "I suppose you might be right." he said with a yawn, stretching out his sleep sore muscles. "I wonder what day it is?" he asked, looking up at the clouded sky.

"You think it will rain today?" B asked.

Jaune considered it. Looking up at the sky, he watched the clouds swirl and dance. They didn't in the Dream. At least, not like that.

"I hope so." The dreamer said. "I miss the rain." He couldn't quite remember what rain smelled like, and his recollection of the sound it made was hazy at best.

"It makes a pitter patter sound, right?" Jaune asked his compatriots. A shrugged.

"I dunno. You're asking one of the voices in your head, mate."

Juane sighed, turning to B. B made a frowning face, forcing his brain to recollect what rain sounded like. "I suppose it would. I mean, it guess it would sound similar to a shower, right?"

Jaune hummed in agreement, setting his sights down the road.

Arslan Altan, leader of team AMBR, looked out the window of a bullhead. The rain had started a

week ago, and showed no sign of letting up.

"Remind me why we're on this mission?" Nadir asked as he looked over his auto rifle, Old Reliable. It was a simple thing, being an AK-42 with a tactical laser and a shorter bayonet attached to its end.

Bolin rolled his eyes. "Yes, I wonder why we, a group of huntsmen, specifically trained to hunt and kill grimm, would be assigned to do?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Nadir wilted under the cold gaze. "Sorry." he said sheepishly.

Arslan turned away from the window, giving Bolin an scolding glance. "Nadir brings up a good point." the Lioness said. "The dossier didn't actually state that we're hunting down grimm."

Rheese perked up at that, sitting up from her slunched position. "Oh? That's different. What's on the doc?"

Nadir spoke up at that question. "Apparently local hunters have seen a strange figure in the woods, and the Grimm population in the area has been dropping. They want us to check it out."

Nadir looked around at the surprised faces. "What?" he asked, confused. "Am I the only person that reads the dossiers?"

Arslan shook her head. "I'm just surprised that someone else on the team actually bothers to read the paperwork." She said as she returned to watching the rain fall. I wonder when it will end. The coca colored huntress pondered.

"May I have your attention please. May I have your attention please." The intercom spoke as the pilot, Marshall, spoke. "Will all the huntsmen here please stand up, please stand up."

"We will be landing shortly."

The team AMBR got out of their seats, grasping the panic handle bars to steady themselves on the descending aircraft. The side door slid open with a mechanical cranking sound. The soft and dented sound of rain on the metal bullhead became more pronounced as the walls preventing the soundwaves from fully reaching AMBR's ears were removed.

Arslan saw a semi-well dressed faunus briskly walk up to the bullhead, and an umbrella protecting him from most of the rain. Arslan walked to the edge and jumped down, her combat boots landing and sinking into the mud with a small splash. Arslan closed her eyes in exasperation. That was going to be annoying to wash out of her robes.

"Team AMBR, I presume?" The faunus man said.

Rheese nodded, sliding her hoverboard onto the muddied ground to avoid the slop.

"We are team AMBR." Arslan confirmed. "And you are?"

"Archibald Derothoga." The man said, giving a small bow. "Secondary magistrate to the townshend."

Arslan nodded, understanding his position as being essentially vice mayor. "Well, then, Mr. Derothoga, what appears to be the problem?"

I'm back! and with a surprisingly quick downtime! yay me!

So, Our first real insight into what the hell is going on in the Dream, and Jaune starts to cope with Reed's death. kind of.

Anyway! we get our first taste of some more characters! Thank god! You have no idea how difficult this has been to write just Jaune (even if he has A and B, which are figments of his imagination.) I feel that I've kind of failed to encapsulate how alone Jaune feels, but will endeavor to make that more clear in the coming chapters.

As always, please leave a comment on your thoughts about the story, and what you think might happen or other cool ideas that this word vomit of a google doc has given you. I enjoy reading them.

And as for the person who noted that I have Jaune cursing a lot, a major break from character: you are right, and I will endeavor to have him, as Jaune, curse less. While I do have a plan to explain a lot of things, that will have to wait for quite a bit later.